#like there's cocksucking but it's very sweet

[lawrites]

Oswald Cobb x Gender Neutral Plus Size! Reader

CW: NSFW, like HEAVY NSFW, descriptions of Oz's body and a little massaging of his club foot (the poor man deserves it), body worship, PLUS SIZE/FAT LOVE, and lots of blowing/cocksucking and dirty talk.

This is for the people who watched the first episode of the Penguin show and went "okay so...raise a hand if you wanna suck his cock?" Like I'm not joking this is mainly 2k words of Oz tummy worship and cocksucking. So...enjoy 😅. Ty to @finniestoncrane for encouraging me to post this lol

------------------------

You feel like you are in heat tonight. A voice snaps inside your head, asking what's wrong with you, but you brush it to the side. You can't tell if your reactions are due to Oz’s weeklong absence or if it's because he's being particularly doting towards you. Or…maybe it's his outfit.

Oz being out on business was always stressful, 1) because he is a criminal at the end of the day and he could never return again and 2) you are left to your own devices for a whole week. Sometimes he calls to see you through his security cameras, walking you through it and getting off on the other end, but it is never the same as having his hands, his voice in your ear, his tongue…

And his first night back, Oz has decided to forgo his usually very well-dressed image, instead opting for a white suit with a fitted purple shirt. It's casually done up so you can see his chest and a little bit of his belly, the dark hair that covers all of his skin on full display. To complete his look, Oz is wearing a nice, heavy gold chain, which sits directly at the point of his body where his tummy begins to round out.

You lost your mind when you first saw him, but kept your cool. The only thing that betrayed your initial feelings was your face turning red and your inability to meet his eyes, which Oz supposedly attributed to your choice of tight dress and nervousness to head to the Lounge with him. Thankfully he didn't pick up on or didn't comment on your pupils which had blown wide, and your slightly husky voice when you said you were ready to go.

Before you left out the front door, Oz grabbed you to his side, his thick fingers digging into the generous meat of your hip, and whispered in your ear, "I like this dress, Dove. You look so good for me tonight."

And now you find yourself at the Lounge, directly next to Oz as he schmoozes and smiles and charms those that come to ask him favors or update him on business. (You tease him about his Mob-boss like behavior, saying that he should just have them kneel down and kiss his ring at this point, with all the groveling he makes them do. He grins wolfishly in response to you calling him Don Corleone. “Sweetheart, I'm being nice to them by letting them leave with a little dignity here.")

Oz has gone from having you sit next to him, to laying a hand on your soft, plush thigh, to pulling you so close that you're almost on his lap. His strong hands dig into the softness around your waist, forcing you against him so your hands have to hold onto him for support and your head rests on his shoulder.

Leaning on Oz, he occasionally whispers sweet nothings in your ear and chuckles when they make you squirm in your seat.

"Who bought you that pretty dress, Bird? They have good taste."

"You're so soft against me, Dove. Driving a man to distraction over here."

"Want Daddy Oz to get you one of your fancy drinks, hmm? For bein' so good tonight?"

It's like you're possessed, you can't help it…your hands start to wander. Not too much, you don't want to make him nervous or be inappropriate, but Oz has never minded you reminding others that you're his.

First, when Oz has no business partners around, you slowly move a hand through the fuzz at the nape of Oz's neck, carding your fingers through his hair a bit farther up and making his eyes roll back. "Guh, that's the stuff, sweetheart. You treat me so nice."

Then, your other hand slowly inches down to rest just at the edge of where his shirt is unbuttoned. One finger extends to trace the seam, where it slowly, slowly inches so it is lightly running up and down the little sliver of tummy he is showing, right below his gold chain. You pick up the texture of his rough body hair against his soft, warm belly, and it makes you clench your thighs together. His breath hitches just slightly and Oz lets out a soft groan. "Just playin', Dove? Or do you intend to follow through?"

You look up at him, and Oz has to hold back a pained noise when you say, "I'll do whatever you want Oz. Been gone for so long, and you look so handsome tonight. Can't think."

Oz grins, still unused to a pretty thing like you giving him so much attention. "Yeah? You like this look? That why you're feeling up my chest?"

You stop your hand in its path, realizing that you had started fully running it up and down his hairy chest absentmindedly. You blush and pull it away, but Oz grabs your hand and brings it up to his lips. He coos at you, voice low "Pretty Dove, don't be ashamed. Just surprised that you're so handsy tonight." He leans over a bit so you can feel his breath against your neck as he whispers in your ear, "Where's my prim and proper birdie, huh? Flown away for the night? Left a sexy little thing like you in place?"

He nips your ear when he pulls back, making you whimper and squirm again in your seat. Oz takes you in hungrily, eyes roaming down your rolls and bumps on display as he presses you to him harder. "God, you do look good, kid. Decadent. So much for a man to grab and play with. Perfect for a guy like me." His hands dig into your hips, shaking the excess flesh there and taking in the way your body wobbles with dark eyes.

Oz looks at his watch, takes in his club, and then stands up, hauling you up with him. "Let's leave early, Sweetheart." You giggle and take his arm when he offers it, acting the gentleman even after his teasing words.

Heading back to his place feels like it takes forever, especially with Oz getting handsy. The driver closes the partition between you and the front as Oz’s rough hands pet up and down your body, pulling you all the way onto his lap. He gives you a mischievous grin as he brings you down against the bulge in his pants and grinds up into you, his eyes shining when you let out a soft whine.

But he keeps your pace slow, trying to edge and tease but not end anything too soon. You feel your eyes screw up as your body gets hot, letting out a groan of frustration as they open again to give him a pleading look. He lets out a sound like he's been punched, throwing his head back against the seat. "Can't look at me like that, makes me wanna just give you everything you want.”

A thrill moves through you, filling you with a tingling pleasure at the thought that you were so pretty you could make him do whatever you wanted, in this moment. But instead, you just give him a pleased grin paired with a blush that makes his heart skip a beat.

The driver taps on the glass, and the two of you hurriedly try to straighten your clothes as much as you can. Oz hands over a tip, and then you both turn towards his place. He limps behind you as fast as he can, trying to match your pace. Usually, he may feel insecurity over his leg at this moment, but instead he just thanks whatever fate allows him to get a glimpse of your ass and wide hips shifting and swaying as you take the lead.

As soon as you're through the doors, Oz pushes you up against them and kisses you. You both breath heavily and desperately try to take in as much of the other as possible. Separating, Oz presses his forehead to yours and shakily speaks, "Whatever you want tonight, Dove. I'll do it. You…you got me. I can't say no.”

The thought of bringing such a powerful man to his knees…it makes you whine and grind against his front. He bucks into you, his soft tummy pressing against your own. "O-Oz! I-"

He grins, realizing how flustered you already are. His fingers skim up and down your hips, lightly pressing into them, "Yeah? What's my Angel want, huh? You just gotta say it."

You pause and swallow heavily, trying to slow your racing mind and even out your heartbeat so you can think. The mind you're stuck with manages to form only one thought: "God, Oz...wanna suck your cock."

Oz blanches, but then grips your hips harder and grinds into you again involuntary. You whimper and grab desperately at his arms. Oz is breathier now, "F-fuck, bird. Whatever you want."

He starts to pull you behind him quickly, desperate to get to anywhere where you can kneel in comfort. Oz grips your hand harder as you see his office, bringing you through the wide doorway and shoving the doors closed behind.

He hurriedly walks to his desk, stealing a cushion from the couch as he goes and putting it on the ground for you. Impatiently, you wait for him to settle in his office chair, and then get on your knees immediately.

You look up, hands resting in your lap, and Oz groans at how good you're being for him. He hastily starts undoing his belt buckle, but fumbles a bit. You whine, "Ozzie…let me help."

Oz groans and holds his hands up, gesturing for you to get to work, and your hands dive in. They make quick work of his buckle and separate his belt, and then start unbuttoning, unzipping, even undoing his shirt, until his cock is free, so hard it's resting against his soft, fuzzy belly.

You almost drool. But then, you go a bit further. You move down his pants-covered legs and start to leave little kisses on his brace, making him draw in a shaky breath. When you get to his shoes, you carefully untie them, slowly and gently removing them until he is left in socks. Your clever hands start to knead and rub his club foot, making his eyes roll back and his posture soften almost instantly.

After a few minutes of massaging his poor foot, that he never lets anyone know is almost constantly in pain, his whole body is relaxed and his voice lets out occasional grumbles of praise. "Right there, Dove, yeah, that's the stuff."

Deciding that you've given him enough kindness for the night, your hands pull away. Oz's head raises up, and you almost giggle as his face screws into a confused look. "Why'd you stop, sweetness?" You do giggle now, "Oz, don't you remember why we are here in the first place?" And to remind him, you spit in your hands and Oz whimpers, "Dove, so dirty, where'd you learn that?"

But he doesn't get to speak more as they close around his length, your fingers gently tracing and running up the vein at the underside of his cock until he's panting, already leaking. You take time to gather a drop from his tip, sweetly looking at it on one finger before desperately plunging it into your mouth, groaning at his salty taste. Oz sees your thighs rub together and his eyes roll back, hands gripping his chair.

You lean forward when you're done, looking up at him and sweetly licking the tip of his cock with your pink little tongue, making Oz shiver and moan. "G-good, good job-fuck."

His praise makes you whimper, and that's when you decide to really go for it. You barely give him notice before your mouth is surrounding his tip, tongue laving around the head and making Oz shout out your name. Your mouth works down his length, using your fingers to spread out your own saliva and Oz's precum to allow you to move further down his length.

Oz is spewing obscenities, doing everything to keep from bucking into your mouth like some sort of teen who is getting his first blow, but it's difficult. His heart, his sweet bird, acting like a whore and begging to suck him off? Your sweet little mouth and hands working him so nicely? He's close already.

Vision starting to go black around the edges, you realize you have to breathe after being so obsessed with him for too long, and you pull back. Your lungs fill with big gulps of air and you can only taste and see Oz, his cock, his tummy…"So good. You taste so good. Wanna take you all the way now." Oz swears again.

He nods, out of breath, and you sweetly wrap your lips around his length and start opening your mouth wider, opening your throat, letting him slide in until your nose is pressed into his hairs and his gut is pressing into the top of your head. You whine, feeling him surround you, and your hand reaches down, pushing up your dress and playing with yourself. Oz looks down, sees your glazed over eyes and your drool around his cock, your plush body pressed into his leg, and hears your hand moving.

Oz bucks up, unable to help himself. "Fuck, Angel." You choke around his length, your throat muscles clench, and then he's finishing with a shout of your name. Sputtering, you're unable to even think about swallowing, allowing it instead to drip down your chin and onto your chest. Oz feels like he's in heaven and hell as his orgasm lasts a while, for him, groaning and throwing his head back and reaching for you. He clenches a hand in your hair and murmurs to himself “Mine, sweetness, God" around his moans.

When he comes back to Earth, he sees the mess he's made of you. His spend is pooling in the valley of your soft chest, and he groans and bucks up, his cock softening. "Dove, you killed me. You gotta stop it."

But his brain kicks in only a moment later, his eyes darkening and cataloging every part of you like he needs to remember it. "Fuck you look good, all covered in me." His hand reaches out, fondling your chest and making you moan and whimper as his cum starts to run down from where it had pooled and onto your dress, soaking it.

He fishes a handkerchief out of his pocket with his other hand blindly, loathe to stop playing with your chest or look away for a moment. Then he gently starts with your mouth, cleaning your chin and pressing a thumb to your lips, making you open for him. You do, of course, eagerly, gladly.

"You got messy, Sweetheart. Too eager for my cock, huh?" You nod and blush and he is on the cusp of getting hard again, your embarrassment after basically pawing at his cock making him feel obsessed in a way he only remembers experiencing around you.

He grins, but his eyes remain dark, like his mind is racing with vicious plans. “Well, fair’s fair, Dove. Gotta let me show you how a real man thanks you for a show like that, huh?”

[fourgods-nobrakes]

@caiusmajor has gotten me really invested in Perturabo, and in Fulgrim/Perturabo, over the last however long, and I figured for once I would try a story where they got to connect with each other early enough that they could appreciate everything they have in common. And then get together over their victory.

If he makes even a fellow Primarch feel so daunted, Fulgrim realizes, it's little wonder that the reports from human observers paint a picture of a grim, terrifying titan. Fulgrim steps forward. "Perturabo, my brother," he says. "It's good to finally meet you." It is gratifying to see that Perturabo seems equally affected by their meeting, as he stares at Fulgrim in silence for a long few seconds. "Likewise," he says at last.

[bastard-sweet]

why do leftists always have one area they’re completely mask off in. from minimising fatphobia (and/or being outright fatphobic), to using “gay” as an insult, to saying being trans is defined by gender dysphoria, to subconsciously always favouring the whites in fandom and saying “why can’t you just let people enjoy things” when called out, to deciding asexuality or polyamory or enbies are “cringe” identites: why the hell are leftists some of the worst bigots I’ve ever had to deal with?

[strang3lov3]

Phone a Friend

Joel Miller x fem Reader

Summary: A story involving two sexually frustrated assholes and how they resolved the tension. (Alternatively, Joel is sick of you keeping him up late at night with your hand between your thighs)

Warnings: Smut, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, PIV, the softest of soft dom joel, masturbation, spanking, slight perv!joel, sleazy!joel, implied age gap probably, enemies? with benefits?? Idiots in luuuurrve

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Was thinking of doing an enemies to lovers story and then thought, fuck it. Enemies AND lovers. Thank you @speckledemerald for proofreading!

please please please comment/reblog if you enjoy, i love reading the sweet things you say <3

It was amusing at first.

The first time it happened Joel was in bed reading a nice book Ellie picked out for him. He was just about to doze off, the words on the page illuminated by the warm light of his lamp began to blend together. 

“Oh,” 

It caught Joel off guard. And then a few more, quicker and breathier. 

“Oh, fuck,”

Frustrated moans spilling from your lips, right in the next room. They continued for an hour and Joel listened with an amused smile curling his lips as he palmed his bulge. He followed along with your moans, using your sweet noises to work himself up. He removed his cock from the confines of his plaid pajamas and stroked himself, every breathy moan of yours pushing him further and further to the edge. Joel had no issue coming in a timely matter, but you? You let out noises of frustration for what seemed like hours before finishing with a frustrated groan. And then silence.

Thin walls, what can you do?

The next morning Joel said nothing, just quietly sipped his coffee while you were slamming doors and cabinets and stomping around the kitchen. You had yelled out a perfectly crafted string of curse words, something like “Motherfucking piece of shit can’t toast one goddamn slice of bread without having a fucking aneurysm!” followed by “Cocksucking bastard of a toaster!” before you slammed your fist on the countertop.

Joel just smiled to himself in his coffee mug, knowing exactly why you were in such a charmingly pleasant mood. 

You had broken your dominant hand’s wrist a few weeks ago, and it was still healing. You couldn’t do much of anything with it, not write with a pencil or flip a pancake or butter a piece of bread. You had started trying to use your nondominant hand for more, but that had proved to be futile with mundane daily tasks. 

Apparently it wasn’t working very well in between your thighs either, Joel had deduced.

Joel just got up from his seat at the table, silently futzed with the toaster, then placed two slices of bread in for you. “Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” he asked, one eyebrow cocked in amusement.

You didn’t bother replying, too frustrated in the early hours of the morning to entertain him. 

The routine happened nightly for weeks. 

Joel would be in bed, sleeping or reading. Your frustrated moans would wake him up, and he’d be rock hard at the dead of night. He’d jerk himself off tiredly, and then still spent hours listening to you continue to play with yourself. He’d be exhausted the next morning, sick of you inadvertently getting him all hot and bothered, and you’d be seeing red as you stomped around and slammed cabinets in maddening frustration.

It was amusing at first. Really. 

But it got old quickly.

Once, at breakfast, the situation was addressed. After a particularly long night of listening to your moans, Joel was practically falling asleep in his over-easy eggs and toast. “Morning, sunshine!” you said. He had said something rude and off handed to you in response, to which you replied “Aren’t you a fucking peach this morning?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Whatever,”

“I said, shut up,” Joel was the picture of exhaustion. Heavy bags under his eyes, a distant look in his pupils. One of his hands pinched the bridge of his nose as he furrowed his brows.  

“What’s your deal?”

“You,” he responded, not missing a beat. He decided the night before enough was enough, and you and he were going to share a conversation about noise levels.

Your brows knit together in confusion. Before you could ask, Joel interrupted. “Thin walls, darlin’,”

“What are you-”

“Fuckin’ playing with yourself all night. I hear you, you know,” He removed his hand from his face and stared at you with an irritated expression, his eyes boring into your own.

Your face heated up in embarrassment. “Jesus, Joel,”

“S’okay, hon. We all do it. But some of us like to do so with a bit more consideration for others, hmm?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,”

“You’re too loud,” Joel stated plainly. “And you take for-fuckin’-ever. Might as well make you come myself. Lord knows I do it better than you.” 

You glared at him, beside yourself that he was bringing that up. It’s not enough to embarrass you for masturbating, apparently.

You and Joel had a tricky relationship, to say the least.

He was simultaneously the person you trusted most in the world, and the biggest piece of shit you knew. He was arrogant, brash, and rude. He thought you were annoying and naive, and yet, you still slept with each other.

It was a night of drinking gone too far. One thing led to another, and then another. Before you knew it you were naked and tangled in each other's limbs, whimpering and moaning praises into his skin. You told him the next morning that it was a mistake and that it would never happen again. 

And then you’d do it again, of course. And again, and again.

Fucking Joel left you feeling full of all sorts of complicated things. You were sleeping with your enemy, and it was fucking incredible. He learned to play with your body perfectly, knowing exactly how to touch you to get you to fall to pieces for him. He could make you come embarrassingly quickly, melting for him in mere moments with the most feather-light and gentle touches. But he still drove you absolutely mad.

After each time, you told him the same thing: it would never happen again. But like clockwork, it would. After a bad date or another night of drinking too much, you’d be back where you started. Under him, on top of him. It didn’t matter. 

At this point, you and Joel hadn’t had sex in a few months. Your longest spell yet. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of it a few times, wishing for his skilled fingers instead of yours. But this time, this time would be different. You were determined to quit your addiction, even if the withdrawals were miserable. 

“My god, you’re an asshole,” you stood up from your seat angrily and put your plate into the kitchen sink. It fell with a loud clatter.

“I know you’d like it,” he said with a bite of food in his mouth. Gross, you thought. For a man who’s always on Ellie’s ass about manners, he sure didn’t have much of his own.

“You wish, dickhead,” you scolded, putting on your boots and lacing them up. “Fuck you. You try getting off with a broken wrist,”

“Wouldn’t have to. I’d just phone a friend, sweetheart. You should try it,” God, his smirk. His fucking shit-eating grin. You could slap it right off his excruciatingly handsome face. 

You rolled your eyes and put on a jacket, leaving Joel without saying goodbye. 

That night, while in bed, you decided to fuck with him for being such an asshole to you that morning.

With your hand between your thighs, you moaned loudly. Right into the wall. High pitched and unrealistically. Annoyingly. It was the middle of the night, surely waking Joel up.

Joel pounded on the wall with his fist. “Oh, that’s very mature,” he yelled, his voice muffled by the barrier. “Knock it off.”

You just moaned louder, more obnoxiously. Joel slammed on the wall. You were dicks to each other the next day, constantly at each other’s throats. 

You did this dance for a while. Was it ridiculous and completely unreasonable? Yes. But so was Joel. And you, for that matter. Fuck being the bigger person, this was Joel Miller you were dealing with.

Tonight, Joel was supposed to go to the bar with Tommy, but he had canceled. Stomach flu, said Tommy. So instead, Joel had a quiet night in. After dinner, he got into bed and picked up his book from his nightstand. 

He was about half an hour into reading when he heard you moan. And then you did it again. 

“Very funny” he grumbled to himself, tapping on his wall lightly. He was tired and didn’t have the energy to do another silly moaning/wall pounding argument. 

You didn’t stop. Truthfully, you didn’t hear him. You thought he was out with Tommy, nobody had let you know that plans were changed. 

Your moans were different tonight, Joel noticed. Not obnoxiously loud to piss him off. Just genuine, regular moans of pleasure. He decided to give you a break, let you let off some steam without him giving you shit for it. 

But then he heard it. 

Joel. 

Clear as day. His name, whimpered from your lips. He missed it dearly, how sweet his name sounded rolling off your tongue. Memories of his arms wrapped around you tightly while you’d whisper his name like a prayer into his neck. 

And that’s when he gets an idea.

He tiptoes out of bed, straight to your room. He twists the handle of your door, thanking god the lock is broken. Joel’s quiet, silent as he tiptoes to your bed. There’s a dim light illuminating your face, your eyes are scrunched tightly shut as you work sloppy circles into your clit, still moaning Joel’s name. 

He’s right next to you now, and taking a seat on your bed. “Moanin’ f’me and I ain’t even touchin’ you,” he whispers as he puts a hand on your bare leg. 

Your eyes fly open and you jump, nearly kicking him. “Joel!” you gasp. “What the fuck are you-”

“Thin walls,” he reminds you, though it’s not really an answer to your question. “Was that my name I heard you whispering?”

You shake your leg from his touch and sit up, covering yourself. “Jesus, Joel. No,” you spit, shooting daggers at him. “Get the fuck out.”

“Right,” he says, blatantly refusing to acknowledge your request. “Coulda’ told me you were missin’ my cock.” Joel’s hand returns to your leg, dragging his fingers up and down the soft skin. You kick his hand away again. Presumptuous piece of shit.

Heat is rising to your cheeks and you continue to glare at him with pure hatred. “You wish. I don’t miss any part of you,” you hiss. 

“Oh, how you wound me, sweetheart,” Joel clutches a hand to his heart sarcastically. 

“I am not doing this with you. Get out. Now,” you demand. You’re not entertaining this asshole and his flagrant violation of your privacy. 

Joel chuckles. “No. I’m not leavin’ yet,”

“Why?”

“Because you keep me up night after fuckin’ night. I’m not leavin’ until I know you’re finished,”

You don’t have the time or energy for this bullshit. “Joel, move,” you warn, kicking into his thigh with your foot. But he doesn’t budge. 

You think for a second, taking in the situation. Joel’s watched you come a million times before. And he looks fucking sexy tonight, his plaid pajama pants hanging low on his hips, giving you a perfect view of his happy trail. He’s not wearing a shirt, his salt and pepper hair is a curly bed-headed mess. His eyes are darkened with lust, sparkling in the dim light. His hand has returned to your ankle, rubbing slow circles with his thumb. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to have some eye candy as you pleasure yourself.

“Fine,” you concede. “I come, you leave me alone, and we both go to sleep after.”

He shoots you a sly smile. “That’s my girl,” he whispers, pulling you closer and separating your thighs. His touch on your skin is electric and sends desire shooting through your veins, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you feel good again. If he wants to torture you, you’ll do it right back to him.

“You’re not touching me,” you say flatly, wrapping your fingers around his wrists and pushing him away from your thighs. “I’m doing this myself.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Joel replies. He figured you’d say that, seeing as how stubborn you can be. “You just come for me and I’ll be on my merry way.”

“I’m coming for me. Not you, Joel,”

“Hmm, s’that right?”

“Yup,”

You’re silent then, unsure of the logistics of this sexual endeavor. Joel’s seen you in so many vulnerable positions, tasted your most intimate places and heard your most desperate moans. Still, you’re shy. Masturbating for someone else is vastly different than being an active participant in sex.

And his eyes, good fucking lord. Staring at you intensely like you’re artwork. Or rather, an artist. Desperately waiting to see the way you paint circles on your clit.

Fuck it. With a deep breath in and then a deep breath out, you rip the bandaid off and begin. You close your eyes, unable to look into Joel’s piercing gaze any longer. Your fingers begin trailing under your shirt, pinching and twisting at your nipples gently. You lean into your touch, your hand slides further down the soft skin of your tummy and then your tuft of coarse hair, finally settling at your cunt. 

You’re not quite wet yet, you realize as your fingers grace your entrance to gather your arousal. Rather hurriedly, you bring your fingers to your lips and cover them in saliva before returning to your center. You adjust slightly, spreading your legs wider. And then you begin. 

You start with slow circles orbiting your clit, somehow over sensitive and yet not feeling enough. You quicken your pace, then slow down again. And then speed up. All the while, letting out frustrated grunts and moans. 

“Need some help, sweetheart?” Joel’s voice interrupts.

You let out an exhausted groan at the way he breaks your concentration, as if you were close at all. “No, just shut the fuck up,” you hiss, not opening your eyes to meet his gaze. You wonder if you offended him, but you don’t really care. Joel can go scratch for all you give a shit.

You continue your actions, circling your clit with your fingers. And it just doesn’t feel right. It’s fumbling, awkward. You wish you had your other hand between your thighs. Really, you’re dying for Joel to touch you. It’s his skilled fingers you want tracing circles into your clit. But you remain firm in your protest of his pleasure. 

“Doin’ it wrong,” his voice interrupts. He says it flatly, like it’s so glaringly obvious. Like he would fucking know, you think. Except, deep down you know that he does know. 

He reaches forward and adjusts your fingers to better suit your needs, and you gasp when his fingers touch your skin. “Try that,” he whispers. 

And so, without changing the placement of your fingers, you continue. It’s…better. Much better, actually. But you’re still struggling to get even a hair closer. 

“Look at you,” Joel whispers tauntingly. “No wonder you can’t come. You don’t know what you’re doin’ with all this. Need me to take care of this pretty pussy.”

“I most certainly do not,” you huff, irritated with his pompous and smug attitude. You gasp as you feel one of his fingers tease your entrance, slowly pushing inside. 

“Really?” Joel teases with a tantalizing tone. He curls his finger inside you, finding that spot that makes your head spin as you continue your circles. Your hips jut upward in search of more, more, more. “Don’t you want me to make it all better for you?”

“N-no,” you stutter in response, still bucking him. 

“That’s fine,” he mumbles, removing his finger. You whine at the loss, reaching your hand to grasp at his and put it back at your center.  

“No, no, don’t stop,” you whine, voice wrecked and desperate.

“Can you ask nicely?”

Oh, fuck him. “Please,” you rasp out, opening your eyes to meet his. He looks so fucking cocky, wearing a smug grin as he pushes two of his thick fingers in you with ease this time. You’re much, much wetter than you were before. 

He pushes upward inside you repeatedly, fingers dancing in your wet heat. It’s deplorable, loathsome, the way you melt under his touch. 

“Wanna know what your problem is, honey?” His voice is soft and syrupy sweet, and you hate that stupid charming affectation he puts on.

“No,” you breathe. “Just make me-”

“I’ll tell you what your problem is,” he interrupts. Dickhead. “You ain’t gentle with yourself. Need to be more patient,”

“Joel, for the love of god,” your voice is strained as he continues teasing you, his touch feels infinitely better than your own but he’s holding back, not yet giving you what he knows you need so desperately. 

“Pretty pussy like this needs love, sweetheart,”

You ignore him and buck your hips into his hand, needing more than what he’s giving you. “Joel, shut up and make me come,”

He swats your ass. “You ask me nice, now,” he instructs. 

You roll your eyes as far back as they can go, and comply with his unreasonable request. “Please,”

“Please what?”

“Please shut up and make me come,” you snap.

“God, you’re a fuckin’ delight,” he says sarcastically, irritated. “You wanna try that again?” He begins pulling his hand away, threatening to leave you high and dry. He knows he’s your only way of finishing tonight. 

“Fuck, please. I just wanna come,” you sigh, defeated and exhausted. It’s been an eternity since you had a proper orgasm, and you just want to come. If only the man getting you off wasn’t such a tool. “Please.”

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” Joel taunts, smiling. He pulls you close, pushing your shirt up to play with your plump breasts. He grabs a handful, and begins kissing your inner thighs, kissing down, down…

You gasp when you feel him press a kiss to your sex, his fingers now twisting and teasing your nipples as his tongue explores every inch of your slick folds. Not that he needs to experiment at all, he has your body memorized. Every fucking inch of you. 

He fucks you with his fingers as he kisses your pussy, tonguing your slick folds and licking up every last drop of your sweet arousal. 

“Fuck, yes Joel. Just like that,” you breathe, pushing your hips into his face. His nose and mouth are hidden by your body, his eyes are intense and teasing when he raises his brows in amusement. Honestly, he thought you’d take longer to crack. But here you are, whimpering his name with every flick of his tongue and his fingers on your sensitive nipples, twisting and teasing them just so. 

He takes a moment to just taste you, get his fill of you before finishing you off. He flattens his tongue against you, then points it into your clit. He spends moments alternating between the actions, savoring every inch of you. The way you moan, the way your insides flutter around his fingers. The wet noises of your pussy are downright pornographic as he devours you and you can feel his devious smirk against your pussy.

When he’s satisfied, Joel wraps his plump lips around your sensitive bud gently, still flicking his tongue against you. You fall to pieces instantaneously, your thighs tremble and shake as your orgasm builds in the pit of your stomach.

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” is about all you remember how to say when you come on his tongue. He has this effect on you, making you forget how to speak. It’s even worse now. 

You’re a mess of heaving breaths and whimpers as you ride out your long-awaited orgasm on his tongue. All you can do is cry his name as he overstimulates your pussy before he finally slows, kissing up your body and neck. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips and you taste yourself on his tongue, suddenly feeling bashful.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear. He pulls away then and leaves your room, just as he promised. 

His footsteps fade out as he returns to his own room, his cock painfully hard and leaking precum. You’re still in bed, not yet fully satiated. 

You know what you need. As if you haven’t been a needy mess for him enough already. You’re an addict, completely powerless against your addiction. You wince as you get out of bed, following his footsteps as you contemplate the kind of sickening satisfaction you’re about to give him. 

Joel looks surprised when you enter his room, but you say nothing as you walk up to him. He’s tall and imposing above you, staring you down with an eyebrow cocked in interest, wondering if you’re about to do what he thinks you’re about to do.

You shove a hand down his pants, his cock is achingly stiff. You palm him, pushing him back towards the bed as your other hand tries to push down his pajama bottoms. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” he stops you, grabbing ahold of your hand on his dick. “Thought you said you didn’t miss my cock,”

“I don’t,” you reply firmly. 

“Then what’s your hand doin’ down my pants?”

You mumble incoherently, babbling something about just needing to fuck him. He stops you, “You can just ask, baby. I don’t mind givin’ you a little extra lovin’ if that’s what you need,”

You nod, unable to form a coherent thought. 

“Words, my love,” he reminds you. 

“Please,” 

“Please what?”

“I need you,” 

“Why?”

You groan angrily, tired of his boorish act. You push him on the bed and kneel between his legs. “I don’t know,” 

“Because like it or not, I make you feel good. Right?” Joel taps your cheek, encouraging you to look into his eyes. “I take good care of your pussy, don’t I?”

“You do,” you mumble under your breath. 

“Couldn’t hear ya, need ya to speak up f’me. Got bad ears, sweetheart,”

“You do,” you say a little clearer this time. 

“One more time. Who takes care of you?”

Oh, you could kill him. He must think this is so funny, watching you squirm and try to spell it all out. But then you remember, with his aching cock in your hand, you don’t have to listen to this. You have the power to shut him up. 

You pull his cock out of his pants quickly and part your lips over the blushed tip, tasting his salty precum on your tongue. He loses himself, gasping at the feeling of your tongue circling his tip and tracing thick veins as you lower your head down his cock. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this. 

“Ffff-” he hisses, one of his strong hands tangling in your hair. You’re using your mouth just how he likes, sucking him and swirling your tongue on his shaft. He’s breathing deeply, his soft tummy hitting your forehead with every deep breath he takes. 

You relish in the feeling of him falling apart for you, but more importantly the silence. The sexiest thing about Joel is when he shuts the fuck up. 

Your nose brushes the tuft of hair surrounding him, pushing yourself deeper and deeper, as deep as you can go. You hollow your cheeks, using your soft and wet mouth to massage him. You feel him twitch in your mouth, and he yanks you up by your arms, spit dribbling down your chin. 

Both of you are silent, save for your panting breaths and moans. No words need to be spoken, both of you know exactly what you’re needing. You’ve done this dance a million times before and have memorized a routine.

You straddle Joel’s thighs, centering yourself over his cock. You reach down to grab it and line yourself up, but something changes in Joel. In a swift motion, Joel flips you over on your tummy and presses down on your head with his big hand, using the other to pull your ass up to his cock. You gasp in surprise.

“Stay like that,” he instructs you. “Don’t move.”

You feel so exposed like this, on display and waiting for him to fuck you. Joel shimmies off his pajamas and kneels behind you, dragging the tip of his cock through your slick folds to gather your arousal. Despite the way your cunt drips for him, it’s not enough. 

Roughly, he pulls you up by your neck and shoves a palm under your mouth. “Spit,” he commands. 

And so you spit into his palm, feeling blood rush to your tummy in nervousness. He’s never been this way with you before.

“We’re doin’ things my way,” you hear him growl as he smears your saliva over his cock. “Been listening to you play with yourself for too damn long.”

“Joel,” you whine, arching your back and pushing into his hips. He swats your ass just enough to sting slightly, not hurting you too bad. 

“Shut up,” he says, pushing his tip into your center and dragging it through your folds. “I think,” he starts, notching his tip in your entrance. “I think when you come from now on, it’s gonna be ‘cause I let you.”

You can only mumble in response, head going fuzzy at his words. All you can think about his how much you need to be fucked. 

“Think you need to learn some self control,” he begins pushing in at an absolutely achingly slow pace. Millimeter by millimeter.

“Joel, move,” you demand with a groan, ignoring his words and pushing your hips back. He holds your hips  tightly, not allowing you to move further. You’re so needy, so ready to just be fucked hard, the way you picture him each night. Pounding into you mercilessly.  

“See, now that’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about,” he chides you. “No patience.”

Joel continues pushing into you at a slow pace, letting you feel every inch of his member. He stretches your hole deliciously, allowing you to feel completely full. “Remember what I said? Gotta be gentle, like you love it,”

You’re breathing deeply, waiting for more. Joel pulls out, then slides back in with ease. He’s still going slow, but with enough force that you grunt when he bottoms out inside you. 

“That’s it,” he purrs. He watches his cock disappear inside you, then pulls out again. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

He begins fucking you at a steadier pace, somehow finding a happy medium between gentle and rough. “Feelin’ good?”

You’re at a loss for words. You feel all of him, every stroke so fluid yet firm. It’s nearly perfect. “Yes, Joel. Need more, please,”

“Oh, listen to that. Askin’ me nicely,” he says as he picks up his pace. “See what happens when you’re good to me?”

“Mhm,” you choke out. The way he fucks you is brutally delicious, just how you need it. He knows your body like the back of his hand.

“I promise I only wanna help, sweetheart. I know what’s best for you, don’t I?”

You abandon every ounce of protest in your body. Normally you’d bite back to his audaciousness with some quippy remark. But sweet fuck, he does feel good. He knows exactly how to make you dance under his touch, and you relish in the feeling. You almost feel guilty, denying your body this pleasure for so long. “Please, Joel,” is all you can say. And you don’t even know what you’re asking for, you just need Joel and Joel alone. 

“I like you like this, beggin’ for me. So much nicer when I fuck you,” 

The wet squelching sounds of your pussy fill the room, along with both yours and Joel’s heaving breaths. You feel his balls slapping up against your clit with each and every thrust he delivers onto you. 

“Joel, need you,” 

“I’ve got you, baby. What do you need?”

You can barely form words, so you let your body do the talking instead. You pull off of his cock and lay down beneath him, your eyes wide and your legs spread. You pull him down to you, kissing and nipping at his hot skin. Your moans are breathy and you buck your hips up to his, telling him what you need. 

Joel picks up what you’re putting down. He pulls away from you, lining himself up and pushing into you, as if just picking back up where he started. His arms are bracketed on either side of you as he fucks you, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep inside. It’s too much, you turn your head to the side and bite into his wrist to keep yourself from screaming his name. 

Your pussy squeezes him, walls fluttering and pulsing with every thrust of his cock. His once precise movements are beginning to falter, and he reaches down between your bodies to find your clit. 

“Not gonna last if you keep doin’ that t’me,” he warns. “I want you to come with me, okay baby?”

You nod, spreading your legs wider and wrapping them around his torso, the heels of your feet digging into his asscheeks. Your hands are holding onto his thick forearms for dear life, you watch the way his veins twitch and flex under your fingers. 

Just like each time he’s fucked you before, it’s almost pathetic the way you come undone for him with such ease. He’s rubbing your clit in steady circles for merely a moment before you come for him, sobbing in pleasure into his skin. When you come, it’s a mixture between explosive and slow. It’s simultaneously fireworks and a pot bubbling over, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. It’s nearly too intense, your eyes screwed shut as you cry his name like a prayer.

It’s all Joel needed to come. His name on your lips, your cunt gushing and squeezing him. He can’t help but spill inside you, shooting hot ropes of his seed inside you as he helps you ride out your orgasm. He collapses on top of you for a moment, pressing sloppy wet kisses into your skin. You hold him close, savoring the way his body feels so comforting on yours. He’s such a fucking dick, but he’s your person. Your home. 

“Fuck, I missed you,” he whispers. 

You smile mischievously. You know Joel cares deeply for you, maybe even loves you, but it’s amusing to hear him vocalize that. “You missed me?” 

“Ugh, no,” he lies. 

“Good,” you say. “I didn’t either.”

Joel leaves then to clean you up, then he gets back into bed pulls you into his side, your head resting on his chest. You fall asleep like that, holding each other sweetly in the early hours of the morning. 

Neither you nor Joel never did get much sleep, but at least you were kinder to one another in the morning. No doors or cabinets were slammed in anger, and innocent toasters were free of your verbal abuse.

@swiftispunk @rosaliedepp @pedrotonin @kittenlittle24 @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @brittmb115 @bigboiseason123 @laysmt @venusdemonroe @guiltgoreglory @aubreysylvain @leeeesahhh @oliveg95 @ifall4dilfs @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @harriedandharassed @vickie5546 @louisxosblog @southernbe @ravenouswild @luvrking @r02eg0ld @amythenortherner @walkintheprk @zpandaqueen @silkiers@angel-with-a-heart @kdogreads @boofy1998 @theoremrobin @ihatespoilers @2valentines @happy--birthday--kiddo @elissaaa @paleidiot @brie-annwyl @str84pedro @sesigsss @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @palomaluvsdilfs @kyloispunk @tiredbuthappy @yuk-for-president @jazzy-music-cat @anoverhwhelmingdin @dontatmethebeasts @venus122idkpleaze @nopealoupe @blackvelveteen1339 @monboudoir @darleneslane @bbyanarchist @spideysimpossiblegirl @speckledemerald

[satosugusandwich]

His Angel and His Brat

Part 1!!! Part 2

Hard!Dom!Geto x Brat!Gojo x obedient!afab!reader

(I also try to write my fics to be racially ambiguous! No mention of skin tone or hair type!)

Summary: Gojo is a mega-brat to y/n and Suguru and likes to push buttons cuz he can so Suguru decides to overstimulate Gojo until he thinks he’s broken. (Key word: thinks.) To add to Gojo’s humiliation, he ensures that the reader is getting princess treatment while watching Gojo suffer endlessly. But, of course, things don’t always go as planned with Satoru Gojo.

CW and whatnots: Overstimulation, vibrators, cuffs, finger sucking, condescending!geto, usage of the word “cock”, gojo’s boundless stamina and cocky attitude, anal play, cum licking (off the floor and gojos pp) praise, cocksucking, angel ass reader that ends up in trouble cuz gojo can’t shut his mouth, geto is actually so mean to gojo but so soft cuz he’s actually a teddy bear dw. Use of “brat, princess, angel.” There will be aftercare in future parts cuz imagine leaving pathetic satoru a cum drenched mess. Poor baby. :(((

There will be additional tags in future parts. This is how I cope with ch 236.

Suguru runs his thumb along your bottom lip, licking his own lips while you whimper. Your pretty eyes fixated on his blushing face and half-lidded eyes. He looks at you with so much lust and is so gentle with you, just so in love with how much you please him and how willing you are to do what he wants. You eagerly await him and his orders, always ready to obey.

But.

“Suguru!”

Satoru’s cry makes his face go from pure admiration to utterly sadistic. “Satoru.” He says, looking at the man to the right of you, the same man that’s panting and whining as the vibrator in his tight hole runs relentlessly. “Jealously doesn’t look very good on you.” He grins and hits a button on the small remote he holds in his hand that isn’t occupied with your mouth.

“Fuck—FUCK!” Satoru’s eyes clench shut, the whirring sound coming from his bottom getting faster and bit more high pitched. You’re grateful you aren’t in his position, you don’t know if you could handle Suguru having full control of how much pleasure you get to feel. Especially if that pleasure is ongoing… and nonstop.

Satoru looked unusually pathetic and… weak. It’s insane to think that the so called strongest sorcerer, the cocky, the arrogant, the man on top, bends to the will of his pretty best friend. Suguru’s change in character comes as a shock too. The sweet, soft-spoken, gentle, and empathetic sorcerer is now grinning down at his partner, showing no mercy, no kindness, and is only sending Satoru into deeper throes of overwhelming pleasure. You almost didn’t want to look at Satoru, what if Suguru surmised you wanted the same treatment. Would he show you mercy?

“Now, now,” Suguru muses, “if you can beg me properly, I’ll stop your torment. And of course you’ll need to apologize to Y/n and I for being such an impatient little shit.” He chuckles softly and withdraws his thumb from your mouth. “She’s being so well-behaved while you whine and whine and cry and cry about how much it is.” He mocks him, furrowing his eyebrows together in a false pity. “I suppose I should expect it, after all, you’ve cum how many times? That pressure against—“ Suguru crouches as he speaks “—your prostate—“ he runs the tip of his fingers up Satoru’s base “—it’s been nonstop for 30 minutes now.”

You can’t help but watch as Suguru’s hand starts to stroke Satoru now, giving expert attention to his neglected yet tortured cock. Suguru notices how you eyeball his actions and can’t help but smile wider.

“Ah, do you feel left out?” His false pity changes back to his gentle expression. “It’s alright, princess, why don’t you show Satoru how impressed you are with his stamina. Give him a little reward?”

Suguru is evil.

“I don’t think he could take it, Sugu.” You answer honestly.

He looks a bit disappointed but he relents his ministrations. “I suppose you’re right. But he still owes us an apology before his punishment ends.”

You nod and meet Satoru’s eyes. He can barely speak as his next orgasm approaches. “I-I’m so—“ his body is shaking. “I’m so sorry! I’ve been so—Suguru—so impatient! Please, I’m so so soo!!! So sorry!” He’s almost in tears now, you can tell Suguru is even beginning to feel pity for his best friend and his brat.

“Ahh… cum one more time and I’ll take it out. Show me you deserve mercy by pleading. Plead for mercy.” Suguru’s fingers tug at your nipples now, clearly losing interest in Satoru’s torment. You know that you aren’t being punished, but seeing Suguru like this… makes you a little weary.

“Please please!” Satoru repeats the word over and over. “I’m so sorry! Please, mercy!” He keeps prattling on, thrusting into the air as he struggles to keep together.

“Y/n.” Suguru looks to you. “Clean up his next mess for me. Lick his cock clean and then it’ll be your turn.”

Satoru starts to mumble and moan out different variations of thank yous and Suguru’s name as he reaches his final high. And when he cums, It’s a mess. Semen spills from his cock and your immediately there to catch it. Suguru’s eyes widen, absolutely loving your eagerness to take his cum down your throat.

“Good boy, good girl.” He pets your head and clicks the toy off, causing Satoru’s to collapse completely, his body weight bearing into the now standing legs of Suguru. He catches his breath, still whimpering as Suguru pets his head. Satoru looks you in the eyes, his beauty keeping your gaze fixated on his body. His six eyes are a little red, probably from the tears that he held back, and his body is flushed beautifully, his pretty cock slowly going soft as he does his best to calm down.

Satoru relaxes back on his knees while Suguru goes behind him to remove the toy from his ass and undo Satoru’s hand cuffs. You breathe a sigh of relief for him, always impressed by Satoru’s unwavering stamina and attitude. You wondered how Satoru enjoyed pissing Geto off so much, does he really enjoy these punishments that much? Suguru seemingly loves the after effects of a good punishment, his adoration of Satoru is evident in the way he kisses his head and gently rubs his back while Satoru regains his strength.

As much as you love watching, you are wondering why Suguru invited you to observe Satoru’s punishment. You’re not really complaining and it definitely isn’t the first time you’ve seen it, but, all you’ve had is a thumb in your mouth and a little bit of cocksucking. After all, Suguru can’t ever stay entirely focused on Satoru, he needs some pleasure himself.

Satoru seems to be wondering the same thing. “So, baby, why did you bring her in to watch?” He asks, rising from his knees to give them a break.

Suguru looks down at you. “Just on a whim.” He strokes your face before looking back toward his brat. “And I’ve noticed you get more worked up with an arousing audience.”

“Well, wouldn’t you if she was licking your cum from the floor?” Satoru grumbled, sitting on the bed.

Suguru turns his attention back toward you. “She does love cum in her mouth.” He strokes himself slowly, catching your attention.

“I want yours next.” You tell him, shifting your weight and sending him a smile.

Satoru watches as you lean forward to lick Suguru’s cock, taking his precum on your tongue. He doubt he could handle anymore cumming, but he certainly loves to see you take cock down your throat. If he had more energy, he’d love to stuff his down as well. “Like it that much, y/n?” He chuckles.

Suguru’s eyes shoot to Satoru. “Jealous again, Satoru?? Well, the question is are you jealous cuz my cock is down her throat or are you jealous cuz it’s not down your throat?”

Satoru sucks his teeth. “I want to watch her take me balls deep.”

Uh oh.

Suguru removes his cock from your mouth. “Satoru,” you start, “I don’t think you have enough energy to keep that attitude up.” Indeed, his stamina is incredible.

Suguru waits to see his reaction.

And of course, the other man grins and only adds fuel to the fire. “Think she’d look better with my cock in her mouth. She’s been paying more attention to me than you anyways.”

“Satoru…” you sigh and in seconds Suguru has him pressed back into the bed and is beckoning for you to get on with him.

Satoru laughs. “Aw, did I bruise your ego, baby? What are you gonna do about it?”

Suguru points to his mouth. “Sit on him to shut him up and I’ll give him a nice view of my cock in your mouth.”

Fuck, that sounds hot. Satoru just grins and motions for you to ride his face, pointing at his eager tongue that’s already out and waiting.

“Y/n, make sure he stays quiet I don’t want to hear him make a single peep. And since he likes being punished so much, I’ll punish you instead if he speaks.”

What?

You blink. Undeniably aroused but a bit scared of his now very evident sadism. “You know he’s going to try to speak now on purpose?” Mercy isn’t exactly his thing right now but you’ll pry at it for sure.

Suguru gives you an evil grin as you lower your weeping pussy onto Satoru’s face. “Then keep his mouth shut.”

[yanderestarangel]

can you please write a johnny cage cock warming fic maybe as like a punishment i love your johnny cage so much

TW: afab anatomy, ftm reader, reader wears a dress, v!sex, blowjob, cock warming, hard!dom johnny, toxic relationship, possessive sex, insecurity (on johnny's part), spanking, degradation, dark!johnny cage, smut, porn plot,orgasm denial.

You really loved Cage, however, you couldn't deny how jealous he was sometimes - you could say that the Hollywood actor was crazy about you, completely obsessed.

You went out that night with a dress shorter than normal, you really didn't see anything wrong with such a choice - after all, it was a party with all the best directors and actors - but Johnny did. All the lustful eyes were on you, awakening your boyfriend's fury, insecurity and jealousy.

Johnny Cage soon stormed out of the party with you, pulling you roughly by the wrist to his sports car, driving angrily in silence to his mansion. "-You dirty little bitch," Johnny growled, his voice filled with a mixture of desire and anger, as he directed you upstairs quickly, making you stagger down the smooth marble stairs. "-Walking around in that short dress, tempting every man who sets eyes on you. You wanted their attention, didn't you? Well, now you're going to pay for it."

Without hesitation, he forced you to your knees, holding your hair firmly as he guided his cock towards your waiting mouth. You could feel the undisciplined power in his actions, his dominant and possessive nature taking full control. He rammed his cock hard into your mouth, forcing you to take him deep, gagging you with each powerful movement, your jaw aching from the force he put on his hips - There was no room for tenderness or gentleness, just the raw display of your control - and your submission.

"-You're nothing but a filthy cocksucker," Johnny groaned, taking his cock out of your mouth with a loud pop, slamming his member into your cheek hard, over and over, until your skin was reddened with the outline of his pulsing shaft "-That's all you're good for, isn't it? Pleasing me, worshiping my cock like the needy little slut you are."

Johnny lifted you off the floor, seeing your pussy completely wet and needy, taking two fingers to the thin fabric of your soaked panties, while whispering in your ear "-You like that, don't you?" His voice filled with smug satisfaction. "-You like being fucked hard, being used like the good boy you are. Tell my whore... Tell me how much you love being my fucktoy." You could only moan at the rough treatment of his fingers in your wet entrance, you tried to look everywhere, except at the older man, but this made his excitement and anger worse, he pushed your panties to the side, tearing the fabric and slapping your overstimulated flesh hard.

"-Look at me, you slut", Johnny ordered, removing his fingers from your body and grabbing your cheeks hard, to the point of hurting your face. "-You dressed like that because you wanted to be fucked by other men, didn't you? Admit it...Admit that you're nothing more than a filthy little whore." As Johnny slapped him hard across the face, leaving your cheek red and burning with pain, your words of devotion and loyalty fell on deaf ears.

"-See how desperate you are for me? How eager you are to be used by me. You are mine, sweet boy. Every inch of you." With that, Johnny placed you in his arms, sitting on the nearest surface, while his cock dripped pre semen mixed with your saliva - you could tell that by the look in his eyes, deep in his honey colored eyes, he was unsure, very insecure - with a quick movement, he brought the tip of his thick shaft closer to your aching pussy, slowly entering it while forcing you to look at him again.

"-I swear... I swear on everything honey, that if you leave me like Cris left me..." he pauses for a moment, placing his head in the crook of your neck so that you avoid seeing the tears falling from his eyes. "-I can't lose you baby... I can't." Johnny's grip on you only tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh, marking you as his possession, pleasure and pain mingled together, overwhelming your senses, you felt every pulse and every hot inch of him hit your G-spot with precision, and every time he realized you were going to cum, he pulled out quickly, torturing you and making you beg for more moaning and spilling more and more explanations, however, your attempt to explain yourself was met with disdain and merciless control.

"-I'm going to breed you until you're swollen and dripping with my seed. You'll be begging for mercy, but I won't stop. I'll keep fucking you until you're broken... Every inch of this pussy belongs to me. You're mine, and no one else can ever touch you again." His thrusts intensified, each movement a testament to his desire for complete control over you - the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, punctuating the symphony of your moans and his primal grunts.

"-You begged for this. You wanted me to fuck you like the obedient little slut you are. And I'm going to give it to you, over and over again until you can't take it anymore." He breathed, his voice filled with both possession and satisfaction, a little choked by the tears that insisted on falling on his face. "-And don't you forget that. You'll always submit to me, my good little hoe." The wave of pleasure that washed over you was like a lightning bolt, electrifying every nerve in your body.

Your pussy clenched around Johnny's cock, the powerful contractions rippling through his body as he roared: "-F-Fuck!C-Cum for Daddy!. I wanted this so much. To feel your body tremble around me, to watch you lose yourself in my touch." With an animalistic growl, Johnny surged forward, burying himself deep within you as his orgasm took hold.

The tight grip of your muscles sent him spiraling into blissful oblivion, the intense sensation igniting his own release. As the waves of pleasure receded, leaving you both spent and breathless, Johnny collapsed onto the bed, still inside you. The intensity of the moment was palpable; sweat dripped your bodies, mixing together in a messy of lust.

"-That was... intense," he managed between gasps for air, his expression softening slightly. "-You okay?"

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

[tainted-red]

Lingering - Patrick Hockstetter

Summary: Rumours that Patrick is stalking Y/n. Are they true?

TWS: Vouyerism, Masterbation, Stalking.

"Y/n" A short boy shouted at the older girl, Y/n froze in her tracks and turned to face the prepubescent boy. "I heard Hockstetter is stalking you! Be careful?" Eddie told the girl. She chuckled and responded with "Why is everyone so scared of him? I'll call the cops if it's ever concerning- plus I told you not to listen to rumours anymore Eddie" Y/n disclosed.

"I know-" Eddie tried to reason with Y/n. He wanted to warn her how dangerous Patrick could be. That one time he allegedly "took" Liah Carmen's dog for not letting him play under her skirt.

"Then let it go Eddie" Y/n cut off Eddie.

Eddie was about to speak again but his friend whom Y/n didn't like too much came around. "Hey, Bunny" Richie exclaimed, standing beside Eddie. Checking Y/n out.

"Hey Sweet-cheeks" Y/n teased.

Y/n and Eddie had no clue how they became close friends. Maybe it was because Eddie gave Y/n his sweater after Greta had slapped a jam sandwich on her shirt.

"Heard Cocksucker is stalking you... every night" Richie appealed,  Y/n groaned "Seriously? Have you heard that shit as well? How did that dumb rumour even start?" Y/n questioned.

"Well Linda told her mother she saw Patrick lurking around your house, So Linda's mother told your mom, your mom told the neighbours so maybe one of your neighbours has a big mouth" Eddie rambled, Playing with the hem of his shorts.

Y/n rolled her eyes "I don't think he even knows who I am. Anyways kids I got to go. See ya later" Y/n dismissed. Walking off, with an uncomfortable feeling lingering on her.

Were the rumours true or was just another one of Greta's friends being a shit-talker?

1

Y/n arrived home very late, Walking a couple of miles wasn't worth it. Just so she wouldn't get a couple of skepticalal looks.

She definitely felt a bit strange to hear people talking about Patrick like that. Creeping around her house. Apparently having a gun or something like that. It gave Y/n the chills. She thought she was an absolute nobody in this small town, now she plays a big role in a rumour.

Y/n decided a hot shower would relieve her from all this pressure and panic.

Stripping her clothes off her sticky and sweaty body that felt like it was overheating. Once she got her clothes all of she felt like she was freezing.

She grabbed a towel and placed it on her toilet. She then turned on the water for the shower.

2

Patrick was in-fact stalking Y/n, it was what he was doing right now.

Standing outside of her bedroom window. He was lucky she lived in a one-story house that wasn't very tall.

Every day she would take a shower, Walk into her room with only a towel on. Find an outfit then go back to the washroom to change. Patrick felt like it was the universe teasing him, waiting for him to make a move.

Y/n finished getting changed and walked into her room with only panties and a baggy shirt that covered most of her bottom.

Patrick felt his heart pound faster. The way the shirt would show off one of her soft-looking shoulders. She jumped into her bed, She never used the covers. but today she did.

Patrick could see her throw her underwear across the room, It was very dark in her room but Patrick could see her blanket faintly move around. Y/n gripped onto her sheets as she (Patrick assuming) played with herself.

Her mouth fell open. Patrick loved that. Her plump lips have moans and whimpers escape her mouth.

The blanket's movements now fastened. Patrick felt the blood go straight down to his dick. Unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down slightly, pulling his dick out of his pants.

Slowly pumping it, Seeing Y/n bite her bottom lip in pleasure. He stroked faster. He wanted them to climax at the same time. Although Y/n had a head start.

"Fuck Y/n" Patrick groaned, one hand on his shaft and the other attempting to pull his pants lower so it would be easier and quicker.

Y/n was clearly about to climax. One hand was now on her boob, squeezing it for more pleasure than she needed. Gosh Patrick wanted to be in both of her hands right now.

Patrick could picture Y/n underneath of him. Moaning and begging for more, His dick would fit perfectly.

Patrick saw Y/n's legs now shaking the blanket slightly, it was obvious she was about to finish. Patrick gripped onto his dick harder and stroked even faster than before.

The only time he ever felt this amount of excitement is when he was at his fridge in the middle of the woods. With a lifeless animal in his hand. Or when he "innocently" killed his little bother, Avery.

If Y/n could make him feel this excited could she really exist and not be a figment of his imagination?

Patrick felt his balls tighten, His legs and arms shiver and go numb as he came. Directly on Y/n's house, outside of her room.

If this wasn't a giveaway, Patrick didn't know what was.

He felt his crotch and spine tingle then go slightly numb. He loved whenever that happened just from a little bit of release.

Y/n was now sitting up, putting back on the underwear and wandering off to the washroom. She probably to go clean herself up

Patrick smirked. With all the rumours and gossip about Patrick stalking her, wouldn't she at least close the blinds? Yet she still left them wide open.

Even when she decided to have a fun time.

Patrick pulled up his pants and wiped his hand on his thigh. Buttoning his pants and smiling when he saw Y/n come back with a glass of water.

Sweat shimmered on her body. She looks beautiful.

Y/n sipped on the water and placed it on her bed stand. Getting back into bed with a smile. Patrick swore she looked directly at him, but maybe he was just wishing she did.

3

Patrick decided today he was going to ask Y/n out. He built up enough courage and confidence from seeing Y/n do something so secretive.

Patrick saw Y/n exit school and go to her younger friends. They seemed to be the only ones that didn't care that Patrick was stalking her. Patrick hated those fucking kids. But put on a nice act.

Approaching the group like a creep, "Hey Eddie. It's been a while, huh?" Patrick taunted, wrapping an arm around the squirming boy.

"Y-yeah" Was all Eddie let out. The biggest hypochondriac being touched by a guy who was speculated to have more diseases than hairs on his head.

Patrick let go of Eddie and turned his attention to Y/n "Hey Y/n. Heard the rumours." Patrick joked, letting out a deep chuckle.

Y/n blushed and started fidgeting with the hem of her skirt "Yeah, I- I have" Y/n stuttered. Patrick usually had that effect on people. intimidating them so much that the person he was talking to stuttered.

He adored it when Y/n did. Her voice was so soft and airy. She had the voice of a kitten, an angel didn't even speak but if it did it would sound like Y/n.

"Sucks. Hope that didn't scare you away" Patrick asked theoretically. Leaning down on his knees so he could be face-to-face with her.

"N-no of course not"  Y/n giggled. Patrick felt the blood rush down to his dick. He's gonna have to ask quickly or else someone will notice and ruin his chance.

"Good. I was wondering if you wanted to watch a movie or maybe go for a drive with me and my friends" Patrick wondered. Anticipating for a response.

Y/n's eyes opened wide, quickly looking away from Patrick's stare. She felt like she was about to explode in embarrassment for no reason.

"Yeah, sure. A ride sounds fun- not like that- I meant with your friends as well... Like in a car," Y/n stammered on her words, trying to save herself from her dirty-sounding remark.

It got worse each time she added more words to her sentence. Patrick chuckled at this, and so did Richie.

"Great. Sounds like a date? I'll pick you up tonight" Patrick preached, standing back up straight "Do you need my address or my phone number?" Y/n asked softly. Doe eyes batting at him.

He tugged on his bottom lip with his teeth "I think I can manage" Patrick said slyly with a light chuckle.

[gabessquishytum]

Hob is paying his way through college as a sex worker. He is safe and takes care of himself and has some regular customers, but is careful to keep it separate from his college life. Then one day he’s requested by someone he knows from campus. Hob is scared at first—he doesn’t want to get kicked out of school. This person has the power to ruin his life. So he shows up, prepared for anything, from blackmail to shaming to having to fight his way out.

He gets to the motel and…Dream, a student at the same college, is waiting for him.

Dream actually has not seen Hob around. He doesn’t pay much attention to people. He’s only here because he is a virgin. He’s technically dating someone but is sure he won’t be able to please them, so this was his great idea: hiring the most attractive escort he could find. He asks hob to let him practice so he doesn’t disappoint his soon-to-be lover.

Hob relaxes when he realizes this isn’t a trap. So he is happy to flop down and let dream sweetly explore his body. He talks dream through how to open someone up and make it good for them—how to kiss hob and massage his thighs and finger him gently. He teaches him how to reach his prostate and read his body. It’s actually super sweet how attentive Dream is to hob’s pleasure. And rare, honestly. Hob rarely gets to think about his own pleasure with clients.

Hob lets dream fuck him for the first time and takes great pleasure in seeing the awe break over his face. They actually spend the night together, and hob teaches dream all his best cocksucking tips, and they really work on Dream’s stamina (and ability to fuck hob in the shower, on the bed and against the wall.)

In the morning, hob sits dream down and tells him that if his partner is the right person it won’t matter how experienced dream is. And that he has no reason to be ashamed of himself.

Then he leaves.

Dream is … beginning to realize this was a mistake. And he feels more comfortable with kind, lovely hob than he ever did with his partner. Dream ends up deciding to end the relationship because of his feelings for hob. But Dream tells himself it would be wrong to pursue him. Surely he was just a job to hob. So he loses hob’s number.

…only to literally run into hob in the campus library a week later.

Aww this is very sweet!! I'm imagining Dream getting out a lil notebook and very studiously making notes on what Hob is teaching him... until he gets too distracted by their practical lesson, heh.

He keeps the notebook even though he has no one to use his new skills on. He doesn't want anyone except Hob, and he's so bummed about the whole situation. He really wishes he didn't delete Hob’s number now.

And then, like fate itself is watching, they walk into each other in the library. Dream spills his to-go latte all over his notebook and Hob’s face turns scarlet, desperately trying to keep quiet while Dream stares at him and tries to mop up the coffee. Hob helps him clean up and tries to explain everything in hushed whispers but they're still too loud, and end up being booted out of the library.

Outside, Hob pleads with Dream not to expose him or tell anyone, and of course Dream agrees, he'd never do such a thing. He's just glad Hob is ok. And Hob relaxes, asking if his first time with his boyfriend was a success?

And Dream admits that he actually broke up with his partner. So he'll have to use Hob’s techniques another time. Although his notes are ruined now, so he might not be able to.

Hob rolls his eyes fondly. And takes Dream back to his flat, this time. The hotel room is for clients. Future boyfriends get the privilege of coming home with him.

(Dream firmly cements his status as boyfriend by rocking Hob’s world even without notes, making him cum until he's dry and aching. His focus is entirely on Hob’s pleasure, and that is... revelatory. Ultimately Hob decides to switch into a part time job bartending, but he'll never regret his time in sex work. It helped him find a love he never could have imagined.)

[acepalindrome]

I want an OFMD universe version of the Avengers Tower where everyone is living together. They all retire to a quiet little port town that is initially very unsure of these weird newcomers, especially because they’re very cagey about what they did before they came to town and keep changing their story, but they mostly seem nice and are very generous tippers at every local business! Like, insanely good tippers. One guy bought some fish and paid five times what they’d usually charge, saying something about how he understands how hard fishing is.

Where they get the money to support themselves is also a mystery, because while a couple of them are running businesses, none of them seem to bring in the kind of money they would need to live as comfortably as they are. The bar they opened has some high quality liquor and the inn somehow got silk bedsheets, but they don’t charge locals anything close to what it should cost to have those drinks and stay a night at the inn. Very strange indeed.

Periodically a Chinese ship docks nearby, and they all get together to have a party, particularly with a few members of her crew who seem very close to the new folks who moved in (and who also might be the lovers of the captain of the ship?) The rumor is that the ship is owned by Zheng Yi Sao, and she’s bringing them money from her conquests to fund what they have going on here. But that’s ridiculous. Just a coincidence that they call the captain Zheng. Must be a different Zheng.

The newcomers include:

- a very odd married couple who run the inn and will periodically close down for a few weeks at a time while they go try some new career on a whim. Their inn is filled with nicknacks from their various misadventures.

- a guy who makes fantastic little figures out of wood and calls people things like ‘twatty’ and ‘fucking cocksuckers,’ but it all seems affectionate. The local kids love the toys he makes, but he’s having a terrible influence on their vocabulary. Strange relationship with the guys who run the inn, unsure what the dynamic is there.

- an extremely sweet man who has started a little candy shop and has adopted every single stray dog and a couple goats

- another married couple, these two are artists. One does beautiful sketches and the other whittles. There might be something going on with them, the candy shop owner and the other guy who whittles. They certainly seem to get along well.

[memobread]

𝕴'𝖉 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖊 - 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖔𝖓𝖊 -- (𝕵𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖓 𝕯𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖘 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗)

=================================

Contents: 1994! Jonathan Davis x reader (tag empty asf), HEAVY mentions of s*xual and mental ab*se, smutty smut, friends to lovers, TONS of fluff, angst, insane amounts of GORE, very violent language, violence, drug and alcohol use, etc.

Honorable mention: @jonathandaviskisser

=================================

~~find my nest full of salt…everything's my fault…~~

Kurt Cobain soothed my weary mind as I lugged my last load down interstate 110, trying not to pass out at the steering wheel. I dreamed of starting my two-week winter break with a sweet night at Wes's, an underground bar below a gas station that sold inexpensive but effective products, my favorite kind. I was in desperate need of a cigarette, just like after any long busy day of trucking. Once I got to the designated location, I heaved off the supplies and signed a few papers. Once I got back in my truck, I sighed in relief. I would have the next two weeks off for winter break. All that was left to do was to go to Wes's and drink the night away. Once I arrived at Wes's through a rough, snowy highway, I filled my truck with gas, parked it in a safe spot, and stopped under the store's awning to look at the snowy night sky. It was strangely beautiful to me, even though it was pitch-black under the streetlamps. I suddenly remembered this was the weekly night that hillbilly Joe Singleton and his wife go on a frenzy of religious insanity. I wanted to kill them both, so I avoided them to keep myself from doing so. I quickly ran inside when I heard their radio blasting behind me. I grabbed a Heath bar from the shelf near me and made my way to the register, waving to the cashier, my best friend, Mikey.

"Damn y/n, you runnin' from the devil or sumn'?" Mikey asked, slightly concerned.

"Yeah, man. Joe and Monica came here to unleash hell." I whispered, keeping an eye out for them.

Mikey leaned forward on locked arms.

"Don't worry about it so much, Y/N. They dumber than rats on PCP."

Mikey knew about my anxiety. He never failed to help me calm down with his humor. He's always been my human antidepressant ever since we were teenagers.

"They came in here earlier today bitchin' at me because we sell pot here." Mikey laughed, putting on his red baseball cap.

Mikey did a typical redneck pose and stuck a rolled-up receipt in his mouth,

"And-And they was all like-"

Mikey slammed his fist down onto the table, a mocking look of disgust.

"YOUSE ALL GOIN' STRAIGHT TO HELL WITH YOUR DEVIL HIPPIE SHIT!!! GOD CAINT STAND FOLK LIKE YOU!!!"

I cracked up laughing, my nerves disappearing mostly.

"Man, when will they accept that the Aryan race isn't a thing anymore!" I laughed, leaning forward on the counter.

That's when Mikey burst out into laughter, playfully slapping me.

"Jesus Christ Y/N…" He wheezed, unable to keep a straight face for even a quarter of a second.

While our laughing fit was happening, we didn't notice Joe and his whore wife hearing our conversation. Joe threw a dime at me to get my attention. My smile instantly faded. Mikey cussed under his breath. We both turned to face the two cunts. They looked as aggravating as ever.

"You two won't be sayin' that shit in the lake of fire, imma tell you that!" Joe snapped, stepping towards us.

Mikey looked like he was about to commit mass homicide.

"Great! I'll see you two there, cocksuckers!" Mikey fumed, flipping Joe the bird.

Joe lunged at Mikey, to which I responded by kicking him in the stomach, making him fall to the floor. Mikey jumped over the counter and started beating the living hell out of Joe while the whore made a beeline for me. I tackled her down and repeatedly punched her with all my might, forcing an annoying squeal out of her. It was the best I had felt in a long time since she reminded me of my mother. It was like I was trying to kill my past. Mikey held off Joe while I got up and stomped on the whore's face repeatedly, blood starting to ooze from her annoying nose. I was laughing while the whore screamed in pain, unable to fight me off. I got back onto her and plunged my fingers down her throat, thrusting them in and out at an inhumane pace until she started vomiting on herself. Nearly screaming with maniacal laughter, I took my vomit-ridden fingers and plunged them back into her throat, making her swallow her vomit. My elbow plummeted to her face, her eye exploding into seeping red. All the memories of her groping Mikey, aiding my mom in assaulting me, stealing my cigarettes, and reminding me of my mother fueled my primal rage while I beat her senseless. I felt like I was taking revenge on my mother; a wave of utter bliss and satisfaction washed over me, causing me to burst out in shrieking laughter before plunging my fingers into her eyes. She burst into tears and screaming when I fingered her eye sockets like my mother did when my brother broke her glasses. Blood spurted out of her eyes and onto my cheek, my maniacal shrieks only getting louder.

"YEAH!!! YEAH!!! TAKE THESE FUCKING FINGERS IN YOUR BLOODY HOLES, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT SLUT!!!" I got up and stomped on her bloody, snot-and-vomit-ridden ugly face.

Tears streamed down her bloody face when she wailed;

"No! Please stop it now! I've d…done *cough* nothin-"

Already having enough of Monica's shit, I jumped up and plummeted back down, my elbow making a beeline for her face before it crashed through her thick skull with all my body weight. I swear I nearly peed myself with joy when I heard her skull crack and a pig-like squeal, followed by loud sobbing and thick, metallic blood soaking my sleeve. I dove onto her and slammed my tight, rock-solid fist into her bloody mess of a face multiple times, each punch getting more lethal. When I looked up, not noticing my surroundings, Mikey knocked Joe unconscious with a bottle of Busch and dragged him back to his car.

"Hold her down with me, Mike!"

Mike rushed over to me and the dying bitch on the floor and gleefully held her wrists above her head.

"Yeah, fuck her up!!" Mikey shouted, spitting on her face before getting up and stomping on it.

"P…Please…..Joe….Joe made me do it…."

"Bullshit!"

In a fit of blind rage, I grabbed Mikey's broken bottle and plunged into Monica's face, lacerating the soft, pink tissue under a chalky burlap sack, blood spurting onto my face. I gave the bottle to Mikey with a bloody grin. He snickered and shredded the bottle side to side in the bitch's torn face, a tent growing in his jeans.

"Wait, wait, Y/N, hold her down for a sec." Mikey panted before standing up and unzipping his fly.

Mikey groaned in pleasure and relief when he pulled out his unit and started pissing on Monica. He and I both laughed maniacally at the humiliation.

"Yo Y/N, you think we should string this bitch upside down from the roof and have folks have their way with her for tips?"

Before I could agree, I felt a thick rope fling around my neck from behind; Joe woke up.

"Shit!" Mikey shouted, trying to fight off Joe but getting kicked by him square in the bare nuts.

Mikey howled in pure agony, his gonads obliterated and his eyes watering.

"Nobody fuckin' touches my wife…" Joe snarled, too shellshocked by anger to yell.

I kicked helplessly against my oxygen restraint, trying to pull off the rope while not being able to reach any punching points on Joe. With merely a few factors of dying, I accepted my fate; I had always wanted this, but I didn't want it to be then. I was having too much fun. My vision started to blur, and my head started racing with memories as Mikey's cries became more distant and inaudible. I flailed in Joe's grip and heard him laugh amid my panic.

"This is what you fuckin' get, slut…"

When I felt like I was a few seconds away from dying, I suddenly heard a loud crack, and I felt glass tumbling down my face and into my lap. Joe's grip went limp instantly, and I started coughing.

"Fucking piece of shit…" I heard a familiar voice spit.

I felt Joe getting hauled out under me, and my head hit the floor, awakening me a bit. With my vision blurry, I could only make out a tall blurry figure with long, dark brown hair kneeling over me.

"…c'mon…" The figure murmured, seeing me struggle to clear my vision.

Once my vision started to clear up, the familiar features of the figure became evident. The pretty, deep inky eyes, the heart-wrenching dorky face, the frazzled long hair; it was none other than Jonathan Davis in the flesh. He was the cute boy I worked at the Fritz warehouse with in high school. He was always shy and never talked to anyone except me. The second we met each other, we hit it off instantly like we needed to be best friends. We would laugh together about the shit we saw in magazines or what we wanted to do when we got older. We would play video games together at the local arcade, and Jon would always beat me at Street Fighter, and I'd have to carry him home as a losing punishment. We would even hang out in a nearby alleyway and eat Chinese food while looking at the smoky sky and talking nonsense.

Yeah Y/N, I kinda wanna start a band, but this job doesn't pay shit for equipment… 

Eventually, I fell in love with him, MADLY in love with him. I haven't spent a living second without thinking about him since.

He's so fucking cute-

"Hey!"

I snapped out of my dream-like state, bursting into a coughing fit, aiming my spurting blood away from Jon.

"Shit!" I heard Jon's voice again.

I wasn't hallucinating.

"Agh…fuck…" Mikey's voice trailed closer to where Jon and I were.

Mikey ran to Jon and me once he saw me coughing.

"Oh my god, Y/N!"

Hacking out my last bit of blood, I turned to Jon, shit-and-blood-faced, drooling everywhere. Jon couldn't help but laugh a little.

"Is that…y-*cough*you, Jon?"

"Um…yeah… You look kinda familiar…"

Oh god, please don't fuck this up…

I prayed that he recognized me.

"It's Y/N from high school, remember?"

At that moment, Jon analyzed me, processing the two versions of me. When he realized who I was, his face lit up, morphing the prettiest, most heart-wrenching smile known to the universe. I flung my arms around him and buried my face in his shoulder. Just as shocked as I was, he squeezed me back, providing a comfort I had never received from anyone else.

"I missed you so much…" I whispered into his shoulder, rubbing his back.

Burying his face in my hair and running his fingers through it, Jon said,

"I missed you too, Y/N…a lot…"

Jon hugged me tighter, nuzzling into my hair and groping at my back, leaving no space between us. I swear I almost fell asleep in his warm embrace until Mikey said,

"Yo…uh… Jon?"

Jon lifted his head, all flushed and full of serotonin.

"…mm?"

"You uh… you know Joe?"

Jon chuckled and pulled back a little, still keeping his arm slung around my shoulders.

"Oh, that sister-fucking piece of shit? He narced me and a meth dealer and nearly got us thrown in jail. If his wife hadn't fucked up the evidence on accident."

"Jesus, man…"

"Y-Y'know I was trying to quit, I really was, and I did! I fucking-"

I found myself completely zoning out, only listening to Jon's attractive voice, staring at the veins in his hands, his side profile, his dorky smile, his adorable laugh… I wanted him.

I need him so badly. I need him to know about my feelings for him. I need to-

"Y/N!"

I jolted awake, still semi-conscious and dreaming of Jonathan.

"Shit-sorry…" I coughed, my spit slightly red.

"Oh no no no it's fine Y/N, take your time." Jon wiped my teary eyes with his thumbs.

"Nah you're good Y/N, I was jus' gonna ask if you and Jon're ready t' go to Wes's."

"Oh yeah, mmhmm…" I said.

Jon helped me up, keeping a hint of his cute smile.

"So uh… what's your name?" Jon asked Mikey as we walked to the secret entrance to Wes's.

"Oh, I'm Mikey; I'm a friend of Y/N's."

Jon hummed before Mikey led him and me into the storage cabinet behind the front counter. I entered the code into the number pad attached to the trapdoor on the floor; 110192837. I pried the door with the broomstick handle next to me; the only way to open it.

"Damn, guys! This is insane!" Jon exclaimed, impression dusting his pretty face.

"Yeah, the owner designed this; it's pretty fuckin' cool," I said before stepping aside to let Jon and Mikey go in.

The second Jon held my hips to help me down the ladder I nearly had a full-blown panic attack due to how completely and helplessly flustered I was by this man. Even one tiny touch can send me spiraling into insanity. His grip on my hips was so tight, but not to the point where it hurt, but to an extent when I felt protected.

"Oooooh Y/N's blushing!!!" Mikey jeered like a teenage girl.

"Pr-probably because I almost just got murked." I lied, a slight stutter and a hint of nervousness in my voice.

Mikey scoffed and led us down the dim tunnel to the venue. My mind raced, wondering if Jon noticed my mannerism and thought I didn't like him touching me. Once we reached the entrance to the venue Mikey knocked on the door. Jon looked a little distraught. With one overreaching thought came another, then another, and so goddamn forth.

I acted so fucking nervous around him before he left, does he think I hate him, or does he hate me now? Does he even-…No. He was happy to see me, but why is he-

"Hey, Mike, who's this zesty Raggedy Ann lookin-"

"He's a friend of Y/N's, calm the fuck down." Mikey interrupted the bouncer, stepping forward slightly.

The bouncer, Jim, pursed his lips and lowered his eyes to me with dangerous intentions.

"He a friend or what?"

Clearing my throat, I said calmly,

"Yes, he's with us, I promise."

Jim's nostrils flared, and he pursed his lips again.

"Come in."

We hurried inside, avoiding Jim's death glare. The place was just as I remembered; dimly lit, with a touch of gray in everything, a putrid odor of meth and piss in one particular spot, but the rest smelled like sandalwood and cigarettes.

"Wanna go to the bar?" I asked Jon.

Jon obliged, and we slinked to the bar while Mikey trailed off toward a leopard-print-clad chick. We awkwardly sat down, and I waved to the bartender.

"Oh hey, Y/N! Who's this guy?" The bartender, Sid, asked me.

"Oh I'm Jonathan; I'm Y/N's old friend," Jon said.

"Always nice to see newcomers who aren't pieces of shit! Anything you want, Jonny Boy?"

Jon chuckled.

"Just a rum and coke, please."

"Oh, Y/N, you want that too?"

"Oh yeah, thanks, man," I replied awkwardly.

Sid walked off, leaving Jon and me alone. I nervously shifted slightly in my chair before asking,

"So, uh…you're in a band now, huh? That's pretty cool!" I said, screaming at myself not to sound so awkward.

"Oh yeah I started Korn last year after Sexart broke up, and we're doing pretty great!"

"Oh, I saw you guys in concert, all of you are just so talented, I swear to god."

"Wait, what? Why didn't you come to say hi?"

My head hurt with negative anticipation.

"I…I didn't wanna intrude on anything or piss off security…"

Fuck.

I swear I nearly burst into tears when Jon looked slightly hurt. I felt god awful, but my misspeaking was hard to take back.

"I-I mean, I really wanted to, but-"

"Y/N, this whole 'band' thing hasn't made me into some posh asshole! You can come up and say hi to me after shows! There isn't even that much security!"

I froze, trying not to cry as I watched my world crumble around me. I hurt someone I loved more than anything else to ever exist like an incompetent piece of garbage. I couldn't speak, or else I would start crying.

Okay, why is Jon so pissed off and why am I such a FUCKING IDIOT?!

Jon scoffed and turned back away from me, taking his rum and coke from Sid, who slid a second one over to me.

"Whoa, whoa Y/N! Are you alright?" Sid noticed me trying with all my strength to hold back tears.

"I-……I'm okay…" I choked out, my voice cracking.

"No you're not Y/N, what's wrong?"

I needed to lie somehow.

"M…My pet cat needs to get surgery, and I'm just-"

I burst into loud sobs in front of Jon, even though I didn't have a cat. Sid rubbed my back and said,

"Aw, Y/N, the vets here are great, okay? Your cat's gonna be fine, promise."

I looked up at Sid, tears still streaming down my red face.

"Here, Y/N, just drink the worries away, and you and your cat will be alright…"

I nodded, taking a sip of my rum and coke and slipping Sid five dollars.

"Th…Thanks…"

Once Sid left, I turned back to Jonathan, who was rubbing his temples and running his fingers through his dreads.

I hate myself so much…

Jon turned back to me, a troubled look on his face.

"Y/N, please look at me."

Fuck.

Reluctantly, I slowly turned to face him, my face red and wet with tears and snot. Jon knit his brow and lowered his head when he saw what he did.

"I…I'm so sorry, Y/N…I just…This whole 'fame' thing, it just…"

Jon set his hands on my knees.

"*sniff* It's really okay, Jon. You don't need to apologize."

Jon clasped his hands around my face, cupping and caressing it.

"Y/N, look at yourself! Of course I need to apologize! I hurt my best friend!"

"Jon, it's *sniff* okay, I know what fame can do to someone…" I sniffled, wiping my tears.

Jon sighed, taking his hands off my face and sipping his drink.

"Yeah… it's been god-awful, but that doesn't mean I just get to bitch at everyone." Jon said, setting his drink down.

"I know… But I'll let you bitch at me just this once." I said, attempting to lighten the mood.

Jon snickered, turning back to me.

"You should drink that before it gets warm."

I nodded and took a giant sip, feeling the sting of alcohol rush into my sinuses, starting to cleanse them of horrible thoughts. Jon cleared his throat.

"Yeah, I have security on my ass 24/7, I can't fucking go anywhere without being bombarded by fuckin' fans, I got fuckin' bruises from being tossed around during concerts, and I just-…"

Jon trailed off and ran his fingers through his hair, his brow knitting again in frustration.

"I needa stop drinking, but nobody likes me when I'm sober…"

My heart dropped into my shoes.

This can't be happening…He deserves so much better…I need to get him out of this…

I scooched over to Jon and wrapped him in a big bear hug, cradling his head to my breast while he clenched his arms around my waist for dear life. Even though I hated seeing him like this, I loved holding him so much. The side of his face resting against my chest while he held my waist flooded my stomach with butterflies.

His hair, oh my god…

Even though it was in dreadlocks, it was still soft to the touch, and it was so satisfying to scratch at his scalp, making him hum through sobs.

He's so adorable it hurts…

Jon looked up at me with red, glossy eyes.

"Jeez, it's like you never left…"

I smiled and nuzzled his head before taking another sip of my rum and coke. I was starting to loosen up.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't get ahold of you. I tried, I really did…" I whispered into his dreads.

Jon pulled away and held my hands.

"I know, so did I, but this whole fucking-…"

Jon trailed off, realizing he was repeating himself.

"Well, you have me now, and I have you," I said, trying to calm the mood again.

Jon turned back to me.

"I'm so glad I do…"

Over the next few hours, we continued laughing with each other through drinks, catching up and talking about what was happening within the past few years.

"Hehe…Yeah, I remember one time; Head got so fucked up on stage he pulled down his pants and humped his guitar…"

"Whoa, what the hell? Did you guys get banned or something?"

Jon laughed.

"Oh no, no; it was a chill venue…The guys were mad though."

I finished my rum and coke, setting the glass down, my nerves relaxed.

"Y-You guys were so fucking good in concert, like…I was afraid you were having a seizure or something, just turns out you're really fucking talented…"

"Nah, we're alright; we're just really *chuckle*, we're just really fucked up in the head, that's all…" Jon laughed, flashing his pretty smile yet again.

We continued laughing and talking until the dancefloor lit up in the center of the venue. All of a sudden, "Loser" started playing.

"Oh my GOD, I love this song…" I said, turning around to get ready to leave.

"Oh man, me too…You wanna dance?" Jon asked, hopping off the stool and extending his hand for me to take it.

I happily obliged, taking Jon's sweet hand and traveling smoothly with him to the dancefloor. The song started with us swaying next to each other, grooving to the beat, but when the beat dropped, Jon and I threw our heads forward and started headbanging, swaying around like headless chickens. But then again, so was everyone else.

"SOYYYYYYYYYY UN PERDEDORRRRRRRRRRR IM A LOSER BABYYYYYYYY SO WHY DON’T YOU KILL MEEEEE…."

"GET CRAZY WITH THE CHEEZ WHIZZ!!!"

Jon and I nearly screamed the lyrics while getting fucked up on straight dopamine.

It feels so good to have this much fun without getting blackout drunk…"

We danced through "Fucking Hostile," "Pull the Plug," "Enjoy the Silence," and god-knows-what-else, and spun ourselves silly. During "Total Eclipse of the Heart," Jon motioned for me to come into his arms. Of course, I obliged, blushing profusely, and he took me into his arms, swaying me side to side with my arms around his torso and his on my upper back.

He's so pretty up close…

His vantablack eyes twinkled with the dim lights, as did his soft features.

Right here is the most kissable motherfucker alive.

Without thinking, I tightened my arms around Jon and laid my head on his chest. He was taken aback at first when he suddenly loosened his grip but held me tighter as if he was trying to keep me as his. I laid my head on his chest and listened to Jon's heartbeat, which ran faster than Bullet Bill on speedball and steroids.

Am I doing anything wrong, or does he want me too?

Suddenly, I heard a loud crash and glass shatter everywhere.

"Get the fuck out now!"

I swiveled around to see Joe and Monica, both mutilated to unrecognition. Monica had jumped behind the bar counter and knocked over all the alcohol on the shelves, and Joe stood beside her, holding a lighter. Monica saw Jon and I and lunged at us.

"Jesus!"

Monica smacked me down before swinging at me with floppy fists, clocking me square in the nose. Jon tried to help me, but Joe tackled him, socking him in the stomach. I threw Monica off me and tried to kick Joe off of Jon, crying out for backup.

"Hey! Someone help us!"

As soon as those words left my lips, a stampede of beefy men and angry intoxicated girls came to our aid. Joe got knocked down, instantly thrown against the wall and socked in the face hard. I could only watch in awe as Joe, a man I couldn't even look in the eye, was effortlessly shredded to pieces.

"You heretics!"

Those words were Joe's last words before a guy grabbed a spoon and started digging out Joe's eyeballs, turning his swears into breathy screams and sobs. Watching the scene unfold, I prompted myself to grab another old spoon and lunge at Monica, who was sitting on the floor screaming at the men to stop, not doing shit about her dying husband. I tackled her to the floor and took a broken bottle, contorting her squirming body before ripping off her shirt and piercing the flesh of her thin abdomen, a pocket of thick blood bursting from the laceration and making her vocal chords raspy with how much she screamed. A random guy pinning her down with me, I got up, got a running head start, and plummeted onto her face, the heels of my boots bursting her eyeballs and nose with red, slimy fluid.

"Y/N please just stop! This won't bring back the little pussy, Chris, you called a brother!"

She did not…

Monica had the nerve to put the name of my brother she drove to suicide into her mouth. She tormented him relentlessly, telling him nobody loved him, pretending to kill his imaginary friends, and used his autism to make him do whatever she wanted, including sexual favors.

C'mon Christopher, be a man and fuck me! You don't want Whizzy to be sad, do you? He would just LOVE to see your porn star dick before he DIES OF CANCER!! Now come on, you little fa-

The memories flooded back to me of Monica's abuse towards Chris and how I was too young to fight back against her. I didn't understand that he didn't want it.

And now Chris's bones are still hanging in his bedroom…

With tears pricking at my eyes I got up, allowing Monica to hobble to her feet, a smirk teasing at her face.

Now's my chance to show Chris I love him…

Stepping up closer to Monica, my nostrils flared slightly.

"I hate you."

Monica scoffed.

"Oh really? You weren't saying that when I bought you pizza after your brother ate my pussy like he was starving! I just know he liked it when I used a little…FORCE on him, is all!"

"Chris wanted you dead."

Monica cackled, slapping her thigh before getting all up in my face.

"Then why was he so eager to fuck me and give me ALL his money when I was the only one that could save his little imaginary friend? That motherfucker needed me!"

Monica stepped closer to me.

"And all you and Chris could say was 'we love you Monica!'"

At that moment, I lost all means of composure, adrenaline shooting through my veins and my eyes red and wide as saucers. My blood was searing through my skin; it needed to dart my hands at Monica.

She's gonna regret even LOOKING at Chris.

Using one-hundred percent of my strength effortlessly, I seized Monica by the throat and slammed her down WWE-style to the floor. One of the guys pinning her down, I grabbed my spoon.

"No! Please!"

I cackled, followed by a harsh smack to her face.

"You were talking so much shit just a minute ago, and now you're crying like a little FUCKING BITCH for me to stop?"

Monica loved using that line with Chris.

"I'm sorry!" Monica cried, trying to slap my hands away.

I got up and stomped on her throat.

"Bullshit!"

I got back down and positioned my spoon at Monica's left eye.

"Chris would be so fuckin' happy to see this…"

I spread apart Monica's cyan-pigmented eyelids and started wedging the rusty spoon into her cornea, earning another strained scream from her.

"Y-You don't have to do this!" Monica tried pushing me away again.

The guy holding her down landed a violent smack to her face.

"Shut up, bitch."

I shot him a friendly smile through all my anger before slowly digging my spoon into Monica's eye again.

"Hey y'all, come watch this!"

The people who killed came and watched me torture Monica.

"Fuuuck, this is gonna be so good…"

I jabbed my spoon behind her eye, more blood seeping into the well of the spoon. At that point, Monica couldn't even scream anymore; all I heard was the attendees cheering. Deep red hues pricked and teased into the whites of her eyes while I pushed the spoon deeper, her eyeball emerging from her socket and out from under her decorated eyelids. I yanked the spoon, dislodging her eye and earning loud cheers. I stood up on top of Monica's retching body.

"Alright, who wants to keep the eyeball?"

Almost everyone raised their hands excitedly.

"Alright, let's see here…"

I chose a short girl in the back because she and I both liked Cannibal Corpse.

"You, in the Cannibal Corpse shirt! Catch!"

The girl squealed with joy as I ripped the nerve and threw her the bloody eyeball. I dug out the other eye and threw it to a big guy wearing no shirt and covered in tattoos, to which he responded by laughing,

"You crazy as shit!"

He and a group of guys came up to Monica and I.

"May we?"

"Sure!"

I stepped back and watched the scene unfold, my body trembling with sheer dopamine. One guy had picked her up by the wrists with ONE hand and hung her from a ceiling beam like a piñata. I grabbed a half-drank Heineken left on the floor and looked for Jon when the men had their ways with Monica, violating her in every manner, from sexually to emotionally, to straight-up physically.

"Yeah, take this fucking knife in your saggy ass, you brother-fucking cow!"

"Tsk…making my bro fuck your fishy cunt when you can't even suck dick? What a fucking ingrate…"

"I bet you had your first time with your dad, you little pissy shit-whore slut!"

I took another sip of my beer, getting into the closet where the exit was.

I need to find Jon soon…

I was about to leave when I got called back to where the guys and Monica were.

"Yo! You in the closet! Come out here you crazy motherfucker!"

I opened the door to see every attendee, including Sid, forming an aisle leading me to Monica's now naked and mutilated body. She was barely holding onto life.

"Will you do the honors?" One of the men asked, holding out a dull, rusty box cutter.

I happily obliged, approaching Monica while drawing the box cutter.

"Monica…"

All she could do was cough up semen and blood.

"You may think you're hot shit and that all the poor men you manipulated are groveling at your feet…"

I stepped closer.

"But all you are is a fucking disease that they just happened to catch."

I angrily drew the blade to her throat.

"…and I'm the cure."

I jabbed the blade deep into Monica's jugular vein and ripped it through pale flesh all the way to the other side, almost completing a 360. The bar attendees cheered while they watched Monica choke and bleed pathetically down her face. I dropped the boxcutter like a microphone and stood in the crowd to watch Monica die, finishing my beer. I earned pats on the back and cheers of my name.

"Damn bro, you fucked her up!"

"MAD respect, dawg."

Turns out I wasn't the only one Monica messed with.

I want to see Jon.

Nudging my way through the crowd, I exited the bar through the closet. Once I reached the snowy surface, I saw Jon sitting in the alleyway where we used to hang out.

"Jon!"

He turned to me, flashing his pretty smile.

"Hi Y/N!"

I hurried over to him and sat down next to him.

"Why'd you leave?"

Jon sighed, his smile fading slightly.

"It was just…too much."

I immediately went to comfort him. I hated seeing Jon like this.

"Oh no I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry I didn't look for you or fu-"

Jon put a finger to my lips.

"It's okay, Y/N! You need to stop apologizing so damn much…"

Jon chuckled, putting his arm around me. I laid my head against his shoulder and looked up at the snow. It was strangely beautiful to me.

"Besides, it wasn't even your fault! That bitch had it coming." Jon said, snuggling into me a little more.

I chuckled.

"Couldn't've said it better myself…"

I yawned, and without thinking, I wrapped my arms around Jon and buried my face in his neck. He pulled away slightly, taken aback and flushed.

Fuck!

I pulled away as well, scrambling to give Jon space.

"Shit, I'm sorry…"

Jon immediately scrambled back to me.

"Oh no, no, no, no I didn’t-…I mean I-…I liked it!"

My heart jumped out of my throat and into his hands.

"Oh…uh..."

Y/N, you idiot…

Jon broke the awkward silence by asking,

"Y/N, I'm just gonna say this straight up because I need to know; Do you love me?"

I froze, shellshocked by what I heard. Without holding back, I drunkenly blurted,

"Yes, Jonathan! I love you so much. I can't even spend a living minute without thinking about you! You're the only thing giving me hope in life, and I hope I did too with yours. You know why? Because I fucking love you! I would go through a fate worse than hell for you! I would give up everything in my life just to see your…BEAUTIFUL smile! Every night I hug my pillow and pretend it's you, and it's the only way I can sleep! I would do anything for you! I would buy you anything and everything I can't afford! I love you, I love you, I LOVE YOU!"

Jon's face got burnt to a crisp. He never given that kind of dedication from anyone other than his mother.

"Y/N, I…" Jon stuttered, shifting in his place.

I scooched back, my eyes burning with tears.

I just ruined my relationship with him, like I ALWAYS FUCKING DO! I ruin everything!

"I'm really sorry, Jon. I'll leave you alone."

Before I could leave, Jon instantly grabbed me and pulled my face an inch from his, holding it in deep devotion.

"I love you too, Y/N."

He pulled me in and connected his soft lips to mine.

HOLY FUCK, WHAT?

My stomach jumped out of my anus, and my head raced.

Is it getting hot out here, in this snowy weather?

I hugged around his upper back and pulled myself in closer to Jon, deepening the kiss. He hummed, moving one of his hands to the back of my head, taking off my hat before scratching and massaging my scalp.

He's so perfect…

I moved my hand up to his head, letting go of all my nerves completely. I buried my fingers in his dreads and caressed his soft cheek with my thumb. Jon wrapped his legs around me to get closer, more blush spreading across my cheeks. I buried myself into him, wrapping my jacket inside his so there would be no space between us. Jon broke the kiss, still holding me in the cuddly position.

"You're a good kisser, Y/N."

I smiled, nuzzling his cute nose.

"So are you, Jonathan Howsmon Davis."

Jon giggled and pulled me in closer with his legs, shifting me over so my back was against the brick wall.

"I love you so much, Y/N. I always have…"

I pecked his lips.

"I love you more."

Jon kissed me again, this time a little more passionate, turning the kiss into a sweet makeout session.

I feel so safe under him…

Jon pulled away.

"You look so flustered, isn't this what you wanted?"

I stammered,

"Oh no, no, I want this, it's just…"

Jon cocked his head to the side.

"You're so fuckin pretty, it hurts." I finished my sentence, pulling him in for a harder kiss.

Jon kissed me back, grunting as he shifted more onto me, pinning me against the brick wall. He squished my face into his with his hands, starting to eat at my lips a little.

I need him so bad…

I moved my hands to his hair and face when he moved his to the small of my back, enveloping me into him and allowing me to bring him closer. His skin was softer than anything ever felt under my calloused fingertips. His hair was so long and frizzy; I could hold onto it for hours. EVERYTHING about this man was absolutely perfect in every way.

"I've been wanting this for so long…" I breathed in between kisses, lost in his pretty face up close.

Jon smiled again, nuzzling into me and pecking my red cheek.

"Me too."

We continued to lazily make out, snuggled in each other's jackets and making up for all the missed time we could have spent together. I felt like I could disappear into his arms and snuggle him forever. Jon's fuzzy hair surrounded my face while he straddled my lap and held my head sweetly. Our noses and eyelashes fluttered on each other under large snowflakes, more slow songs playing in the background. When we weren't kissing and nuzzling, we just gazed into each other's pretty eyes for a few seconds before kissing again.

He's so soft…

Jon pulled an unopened beer from his jacket pocket and cracked it open against the wall. He took a sip before offering me the bottle, to which I obliged to him feeding me like that. From then on, gentle beer kisses and sweet nothings got shared between us. As we finished the bottle, there was more tipsy shifting and growing lustful tension, both of us wanting more than just cuddles.

"My pretty baby…" Jon murmured before tilting my head backwards and planting sweet, open-mouthed kisses on my neck, making me gasp and bite my lip.

When Jon said those words and kissed my neck, my heart rate went from zero to infinity. Kissing Jon was every nightly desire come true; my fantasies had become realities. I felt my nether regions tingle in my thick, baggy jeans. I ran my fingers up and down his hot body under his jacket, raking my fingernails over his sensitive spots, making him whimper against my neck.

Fuck, his noises are so hot…

I could feel Jon's erection poking at my lower tummy as he started shifting on my lap.

He's so desperate, it's so cute…

Jon pulled away, crashing his lips back into mine while gripping the sides of my face again. My fingers trailed down to his waist, feeling all over his hot back.

"I want you bad, Y/N…" Jon husked between kisses, biting and tugging my bottom lip.

I slid my cold fingers under his shirt, making him yelp.

"I want you more, Jon…"

I latched my mouth onto his neck, feeling up his sides and hairy chest.

Now I'm in charge…

I snaked my hands down to his hips, dangerously close to his crotch.

"Oh fuck, Y/N, please…"

Jon was already at my mercy, begging me to touch him. I continued teasing around his throbbing cock, licking and sucking hickeys all over his neck. He was a moaning mess on my lap, like a little slut in heat. I snickered against his neck.

"You want me to touch you, baby?"

Jon buried his face in the crook of my neck and nodded frantically. I removed my hands from him and whispered in his ear,

"Use your words…"

Jon thrust hard into my hand and begged,

"Please, Y/N…make me cum all over your hand…or mouth…or pussy, I don't fucking care which…"

I got up, helping a whining Jonathan up with me.

"Let's go somewhere a bit more private…"

Jon followed me around the front of the building to my truck. He was practically shaking from my hands, making me shiver with anticipation at how he would take revenge on me later. I opened the back of my truck and turned on my lantern next to an old mattress.

"Shall we?" I asked, hopping inside.

Jon scrambled into the back of my truck, desperate to have my hands on him.

"Fuck yes…"

I stood up and closed the opening.

"Unzip your pants, babe."

Jon unbuckled his belt and pulled down his black khakis just past his ass, his erect cock stretching the fabric of his red boxers. He laid down, ready for me.

"C'mere…"

I slowly crept towards Jon, like a predator catching its prey, then I pounced on top of him, slamming my hips down onto his member.

"Oh fuck!"

Jon threw his head back and moaned helplessly, bucking his hips into my beaver. I bit my lip, holding my hips down for Jon to grind against, feeling powerful on top of him. I quietly whimpered when his bulge rubbed against my clit.

"You're so fucking hot…I need to go down on you…" I groaned, lifting up Jon's shirt and trailing hungry kisses down his hairy torso, him squealing when I nibbled at his nipple.

When I reached Jon's crotch area, it was warm and throbbing for me, a strangely comforting and cuddly feeling, even though it was a sexual situation. Jon whined when I cupped his clothed nuts and traced my tongue along his trapped length, placing kisses on his swollen tip through the elastic fabric. I teasingly nuzzled Jon's tip with my nose and kissed down his shaft to his balls, earning cute twitches from his cock. I slowly licked up between his nads and trailing lightly at the base of his cock with my fingers.

He's so cute, it hurts…

I turned my head to the side and put his shaft in my mouth corn-on-the-cob-style. I moved up and down, my tongue tracing the bulging muscle on the front.

"Oh, Y/N…" Jon keened, gripping my hair and humping into my face desperately.

I gripped Jon's erection and started slowly stroking him through his boxers, making his pretty little head fall back and making whimpers tumble from his cute lips. Continuing the teasing with my mouth while I stroked him, I cooed,

"You're so cute when you're all flustered like that…"

Finally gathering up enough strength to say something clearly, he replied with,

"Just imagine what you'll be like later…"

Feeling challenged, I yanked down Jon's underwear and sucked his tip hard, making him gasp and turning his cocky words into loud moans. Snickering at his duality, I slowed down again, sliding my wet tongue all over his tip sweetly while looking up into the prettiest eyes to ever exist. In between tingly licks, I pressed loving, gentle kisses to Jon's tip, precum sticking to my lips. When Jon bucked his hips into my face and groaned, I decided to stop teasing. I started pumping his wet shaft at a medium pace and sucking hard, twisting my neck different ways and putting my tongue on the bottom of his dick while I sucked his soul out, earning the sexiest moans and whimpers any ears could experience. Jon's grip on my hair pushed me down to deepthroat him, making me grip onto his feminine thighs for extra endurance.

"Oh my god, Y/N, you're so good at that…Oh shit!"

Jon yelped when I spread his legs out and started going faster, squeezing his nuts lightly. The saliva dripping from my occupied tongue trailed into the hand that squeezed Jon, lubing up his sensitive areas and making him lose his damn mind down my throat. Jon desperately fucked my face, rambling curses and praises while nearly ripping out my hair. I flicked my tongue wherever it could and went deeper, fitting Jon's whole shaft down my throat and increasing suction at the back of my throat.

"You're gonna make me bust twelve nuts at once, fuck…"

Already soaking wet, I ground my clothed pussy into the heel of my boot, needy for friction while I continued blowing Jon hard for the next several moments; I lost track of time in a fit of desire. I looked up at Jon again while he was nearing his orgasm, earning the view of a pretty head tilted back all the way and a spotted neck above a dark green heavy jacket.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, good god, Y/N you're so…" Jon stammered, my wet, tight mouth driving him to insanity.

Once I started gagging, I pulled off and slobbered all over his cock, pumping his squelching cock with a vice-grip. Jon's pretty unit glistened in the lantern's light, all red, throbbing, and tingly. I dived back down and continued my attack, arching my ass up in the air and going all the way down, more precum leaking down my throat. My tongue explored him, tasting his desire for me.

"Oh god, oh my-oh shit!!"

Warm, salty, delicious ribbons of semen shot down my throat for each one of Jon's strained moans as he tugged on the roots of my hair, making me whimper a bit. He desperately fucked into my face, drunk on both beer and his need to cum. I took every drop down my throat, like I had always fantasized. Once Jon was done, he shakily leaned forward and caressed my raised ass.

"That was the best…fucking head…I've ever gotten…even compared to my own hand…" He panted, giving my butt cheek a squeeze.

I hummed and licked the remaining cum up his shaft teasingly, planting more sweet kisses to the tip, making him twitch and groan.

"Fuckin' tease…" Jon growled, smacking my ass.

I gasped and whimpered on his cock, not used to him being all dominant like that. My time was over.

"C'mere…" Jon said again, trailing his hand up my back.

I sat up and straddled his lap, looking down at his cute face and caressing it.

"Hi…" I giggled tipsily.

"Hey…" Jon replied before suddenly whirling me around, throwing me down under him with my back hitting the thin mattress.

I could feel my panties overflowing as my dominant demeanor dropped. Jon was in control now.

"We might wanna go home for what I'm about to do…" He breathed, his teeth scraping against the shell of my ear.

I trembled underneath Jon, feeling up his body as I nodded, both of us leaving the truck. We took a tense bus ride to my apartment, and once we arrived, we ran out, throwing the driver a dollar. Once the bus was gone, Jon lunged at my lips, grabbing me by the face and pulling me into him. I hugged around his waist and raked my nails up his back again, groping and scratching wherever I could reach. Jon pushed me to the stairs, traveling with me on his lips the whole way up to my apartment.

"Fuck…"

I fumbled with my keys to find the right one, Jon leering behind me impatiently, needing to fuck my brains out. Once I found the key and unlocked the door, Jon grabbed me and pinned me up against the wall, slamming the door behind him with his foot. He crashed his lips into mine, gripping my face hard enough to break my jaw while I shifted into him as much as possible, raking my fingers under his shirt after he took off his jacket. I quickly put down my purse before pulling into Jon harder.

"Mmh-.…" Jon moaned into my mouth at the mercy of my cold fingers.

Jon gripped my hair, and his tongue slithered between my teeth into my mouth, challenging my tongue to a battle for dominance (his obviously won).

I've always wanted his sexy body pressed up against mine…

Still making out, Jon led me to my pullout couch bed I slept on and pushed me down onto it, crawling on top of me. After giving me one last peck, he removed his shirt and undid his belt, throwing both on the floor. He came back down and started kissing my neck again, sucking and harshly biting my throat while pulling my hair, drawing an erotic whimper between my lips. Jon did his signature chuckle against my neck.

"Told you…"

I wrapped my legs around Jon's waist and humped into his crotch, making him groan against my neck.

"So…so…desperate…"

He took off my jacket and shirt, throwing it with his clothes.

"So pretty…"

Pale hands and long fingers immediately latched to my breasts, squeezing the plump flesh through my bra in an insane and hungry manner, making me dizzy with arousal. I was helpless under Jonathan, so pathetic I couldn't even speak. All I could do was whine and whimper into his mouth as we ate each other's lips hungrily.

"Please…Please, Jon, let's fuck…" I keened, my face hot and flushed a deep red.

Jon bit his lip, wanting nothing more than to pound me open.

"…I'm gonna need to prep you first…"

Yanking off my bra, Jon lunged at my tits, not caring what they looked like enough to look at them first. He buried his face between them, enjoying my warm skin against the sides of his face and leaving purple hickeys. My breath hitched in my throat, stopped by his demanding mouth. I gasped when Jon's tongue glided to my nipple and started sliding around comfortably, the tiny tingles in my chest and cunt making me whimper more. I helplessly ran my fingers through his dreads roughly while he gently attacked my tits, making him hum at the feeling and crack a smirk against my nip. More hickeys were sucked and bitten onto my chest and neck, making sure to leave no bald spots. Jon pulled back to admire the number he did on my chest, now covered in deep purple and red blotches.

I love his biting love language…

While he was up, I took the ample time to admire how pretty Jonathan is, running my fingers around his thin waist, his soft chest and tummy, his body hair that was strangely comforting, like every other part of him.

He's nothing short of an angel…

Completely smitten, I sat up under Jon and started kissing his chest, feeling his warm skin under my lips while still feeling up his body. I tugged down his pants a little, signaling them to come off. He obliged and pulled them off, only wearing red boxers bearing a throbbing erection before flashing a sexy smirk and pushing me back down.

"Be patient, Y/N…"

Jon nuzzled between my ribs before trailing kisses down my tummy, stopping at my pelvis, the anticipation of my wet pussy on his lips making me shiver. He undid my belt and pulled down my pants, throwing them onto the pile on the floor. When I looked down, I swear Jon was drooling when he saw my panty-clad core.

What a great day to wear gray panties…

Jon could see every ounce of wetness caused by him for himself; he could see, feel, and taste what he did.

"Oh my god…" Jon groaned before tearing off my panties hungrily, needing my pussy like oxygen.

He took a second to look at his midnight snack, a string of drool dripping onto my throbbing clit, making me bite my lip. Jon dived down to nip at my inner thighs, trying with all his being not to immediately start eating me out. I whined, and my pussy twitched, needing Jon's mouth. Unable to contain himself, he swiftly attached his mouth to my soaking cunt, nudging his mouth between my red, puffy folds and tasting my wetness.

"Mmh…you taste…so good…"

Jon slowly started licking up and down with his long tongue, making me gasp every time his tongue flicked against my clit. He snickered against me when he heard my little noises, proud of his dizzying tongue skills. My poor cunny was engulfed between Jon's pretty lips as he suckled on my clit, circling it with his tongue.

"Ah…Jon…that feels so-…good……" I whimpered and moaned helplessly, pushing back the dreads in his angelic face.

Moving his head side to side, Jon snaked his long fingers to tease around my entrance before easing two into it. Tingly sensations shot up and down my spine, producing more wetness to coat Jon's mouth and chin.

"Oh god….tastes so fucking good….." Jon huffed into my messy cunny, pumping his fingers faster and slurping my whole pussy hungrily.

I could feel the knot in my tummy start to tighten to the point of unraveling while Jon pushed his mouth deeper, paying the most attention to my clit.

"Oh my god, Jon….please don't stop….I'm gonna cum…." I whined, followed by more pathetic inaudible moaning.

Jon's actions became desperate, him moaning into my pussy while he devoured me senseless and punched my g-spot swiftly.

"Ah, fuck!" I squealed, my pussy pulsating as I released in Jon's pretty mouth, my back arching almost ninety degrees and my pussy magnetically attached to Jon's mouth.

He moaned relentlessly and drank up all my juices, swallowing me whole and trying to get more like he was starving. With a loud pop, Jon released my quivering pussy from his mouth, crawling back up to my eye-level with a cum-coated grin.

"How was that?"

My face red, I replied shakily,

"Fucking crazy…"

I pulled him back down to kiss me, tasting my salty cum on his lips.

"Ew…" I giggled, nuzzling his cute nose.

Jon snickered and pecked my lips again.

"Yum."

I was oblivious to the party upstairs until "Closer" started playing right as Jon crawled back up to me.

Shit's going down…

I fired a Kubrick stare at Jon and started teasing his erect cock with my fingers again while taking off his boxers, a pretty cock springing out, ready to fuck.

"Oh god, Y/N…"

Jon violently shoved my legs over his shoulders, throwing me upside down and angling me so he could pile-drive me insane. Leering down at me, he slapped his tip on my wet entrance, triggering a quiet moan and a lip bite in both of us.

~~you let me violate you~~

Jon slowly pushed himself inside me, his teeth gritting when he hit contact with my tight insides.

"Shit…" I moaned, my eyes rolling back in my head while I squeezed his unit hard.

With that, Jon started moving in in and out slowly, leaning forward a bit to get closer to me. I could feel his cock breaking my pussy in, claiming it as its new home.

~~I broke apart my insides…~~

"You good?" Jon breathed, subdued by my vice grip.

I nodded, needing him to go faster. He leaned forward more to hold himself up on my shoulders at a dizzying angle that could have anyone screaming in no time. Jon changed his pace from slow to medium, both of us choking out heated whimpers and moans. It was like our genitals were becoming inseparable friends, like a magnetic field inside me.

The view is so beautiful…

Jon smeared his face with desperation, his chest hair, eyes, and forehead shining with sweat in my dimly-lit apartment, tints of dark orange and yellow saturating him into the dark, raggedy, peeling room. I felt up his skinny waist, him fitting easily in my hands while I trailed them all over his back and torso.

"Ahh…."

Jon's movements turned into thrusts as he held onto my leg for leverage, kissing it between loud moans.

I swear, his moans could kill god…they're so hot, holy fucking Christ…

"oh-Oh god, Jon, fuck!…." I cried when Jon snapped his hips into my g-spot.

~~help me get away from myself…~~

~~I wanna fuck you like an animal…~~

I cried out when Jon slammed himself forward to clasp his hand around my throat and pummel my g-spot repeatedly, groaning and pussydrunk.

"I'm using…this-oh fuck!- this pretty pussy tonight…"

With an erotic moan, I thrusted back into him and did a Kegel, causing a yelp to jump from Jon's chest before he fell down to me.

"Do that again…"

I squeezed another cock-crushing Kegel around Jon's throbbing cock, earning the hottest whimper known to this earth right in my ear.

"…so good to me…"

His groans becoming carnal, and dangerous, Jon gripped the roots of my hair and starting pounding me into oblivion, my g-spot crying from all the battery. It felt like we fused together, like a loud, sweaty, horny creature whimpering, moaning, and producing every bodily fluid possible.

~~you can have my everything…~~

I hooked my arms under Jon's lean shoulders, pulling his chest to mine and squishing my boobs under his.

Empty space isn't allowed between us…

Still gripping my hair, Jon scooched up, buried his face in the top of my head, and rammed into me harder, both of us groaning and shaking at the feeling of each other.

"Oh my god, Y/N…so….so…tight…..shit!"

I violently raked my nails down Jon's back, sending each other straight to paradise and desperate for more. Jon's growls turned into loud whimpers, pleas, and cries as he struck my g-spot even faster at the mercy of my fingernails.

"You feel s-so good, Jon…..I've b-been wanting th-this for so long…." I finally managed to choke out through erotic noises.

Jon crashed his lips into mine, gripping my throat and jaw with brute force and sloppily pounding my cunt open.

"I have too…but I didn't-…know you'd be…this crazy…"

Jon reached his hand down to flick my clit, making me squeak and dig my nails harder. He groaned loudly, and his head fell to the crook of my neck.

~~my existence is flawed...~~

~~you get me closer to god…~~

Jon choked out various whimpers and loud, desperate moans into my ear, holding me down and pounding my gushing pussy open.

"Fuck, Jon…!" I yelped when he deepened his thrusts to the maximum and flicked my clit faster.

With a slutty groan, Jon bit down harshly on my neck, moaning on the marked skin,

"You're so fucking good….dirty slut…"

I hooked my legs around his hips and buried my face in his shoulder. Sounds of clapping, pornographic cries, and the painfully erotic song in the background seeped into my dim, filthy apartment. If I had not been horny, I would have cried tears of joy.

I dreamed about being with Jon for so long…It's just as amazing as I imagined…

I needed this pretty boy in my life and I finally have him…I love him so much…

I smothered kisses wherever I could reach on Jon's hot, sweaty skin, addicted to every part of him and never wanting to let go. He cried out when I bit down on his chest. Taking the hint, I bit another part of his chest and left a dark red hickey, my g-spot being destroyed in the process, distracting me and making me nearly fall back in a fit of slutty moaning.

"Shit, Y/N, I'm close…." Jon choked into my ear, followed by a harsh bite on my neck.

The dizzying feeling of nirvana crept into my tummy, my walls twitching on Jon's throbbing cock.

"Oh god, yes! Right there…" My back arched, and my head craned backwards into my pillow.

Thank god Livvie's out on a business trip…

"Fuck, Y/N!" Jon cried out, grabbing my hips and leaning backwards, exposing his decorated neck.

~~you are the reason I stay alive…~~

Jon's pretty eyes were fixated on my pussy gripping him, my thighs clapping at an inhumane speed against his.

"Oh god, I'm cumming!!"

When the song ended, Jon released strings of hot cum into me, quickly followed by a euphoric wave crashing over me and my pussy coming undone with my cum while I rubbed my clit. Jon's signature growls and whimpers trailed to my buried ears, causing my pussy to squeeze more cum out of Jon. Once we finished, Jon collapsed onto me, panting heavily into my neck. I heaved hot breaths under Jon and rubbed his clawed back, planting a sweet kiss on his shoulder. We laid there for a few minutes, trying to comprehend how happy we were with each other.

"…you good?..." I breathed, feeling the back of his neck.

Jon nodded.

"…yeah…what about you?...you doin' alright?"

Jon raised himself up and caressed my red cheek. I smiled up at him and said,

"Never better."

Leaning back on his knees, Jon reached out for my hands, taking them and pulling me to him, catching me in his arms.

"Round two?" Jon asked, brushing a strand of hair out of my face.

I ran my hands up his thighs and obliged, desperate for more. Jon held my face sweetly and pecked my lips.

"Ride me?"

When I heard those words, I toppled on top of Jon and positioned his tip at my entrance.

"Anything for you, Jonathan Davis…"

Flashing a dangerous grin, Jon smacked my ass and grabbed my hips.

"Such an impatient little whore…"

With a bone-breaking grip on my hips, Jon started grinding my cunt against his shaft, his head falling back in tingly pleasure.

"So wet…feels so good…"

I instinctively tried to buck my hips forward, but Jon spanked me again, tightening his grip.

"My pace."

With that, I continued to let Jon get off on my pussy, biting my lip and moaning quietly at the feeling of his hard cock against my clit. When Jon let go of my hips a bit due to the pleasure, I leaned back and held myself up, my hands on his knees. I started shoving my pussy farther into Jon's shaft, making him groan and completely engulfing it with my folds, leaning my head back and splaying out my boobs. Shortly, Jon pushed me off and huffed,

"Alright, NOW you can ride me..."

I snickered, swinging a leg over his and wrapping my arm around his neck, using the other to position his tip at my entrance. As soon as the head entered me, my eyes rolled back into my head.

"Ohhh my fucking god…" I groaned, pushing myself deeper.

Jon craned his neck back and moaned loudly while my pussy swallowed his cock whole. I felt so powerfu, like I had him in the palm of my hand. I slowly started moving up and down, clenching his cock like Andre the Giant was squeezing it in a massive fist. In mere minutes, Jon changed from a cocky dickhead to a whimpering, pleading mess inside me.

"God, I love you…" Jon growled, weaving his fingers into my hair and grabbing my face before pulling my lips to his.

When I sank down, I moaned pathetically into his mouth, squeezing my thighs around his.

"I love you more… I pulled away and wrapped my arms around Jon's neck, angling my pussy better to fit his fat cock.

Resting my head against the wall behind Jon, I picked up the pace, arching my back for maximum ass-bouncing efficiency. My walls crushed his cock so hard it made his head spin like he was getting fucked senseless instead of me.

"Ahhh Y/N!!" Jon cried, so deep in euphoria that he was nearly overstimulated.

Feeling too powerful, I went faster, overstimulating him and making him squeal like a little girl. He twitched rapidly underneath me, gripping my hips so hard it nearly broke the thick skin down there. I kept going, enjoying seeing Jon writhe underneath me. Trying to get revenge, Jon started sucking my left nipple and flicking my clit hard, triggering a pornographic moan to fall from my lips and more wetness to gather on his cock.

His dick is so sensitive, it's so cute…

I looked at him while bouncing with a Kubrick stare through my shaggy, long black hair, resembling a sex gremlin with tits. This attribute turned him on to the maximum.

"Fuck, you're so hot, Y/N…I wanna fucking destroy you…"

Speeding up more until I hit my maximum speed and depth, I pounded myself onto Jon's dick hard, the moaning and clapping louder than ever in the heated room. I rode this man like I would never walk again, unable to get my hands or pussy off his hot body.

"Oh god! Right there!!"

"Shit, Y/N!"

Jon suddenly trapped me in a big bear hug and slammed up into me rapidly, needing to cum more than anything. I hugged my arms around his neck and squeaked and whimpered into his ear, making him growl various praises to me.

"Fuuuck, you're gonna be the death of me…"

"You're gonna make me cum again, baby…"

"You want me to make you squirt like a little dirty slut, huh?"

Jon rolled over on top again, positioned my ass was in the air, and pounded me fast and violent like a hungry animal catching its prey.

…the best way to die…

I could feel butterflies raving in my stomach as my climax neared its time. I could tell Jon was close too.

…shit, do I need to pee or am I gonna squirt?...

"Oh my god, Y/N I'm cumming!!"

"Me too, oh fuck!"

A harsh stream of wetness shot from me onto Jon's sexy pelvis, soaking his nuts and pubes.

"Oh my fucking god, Y/N…that was so hot…"

Jon flicked my clit with his fingers so fast it made my head spin while he kept fucking me, trying to cum again. The pleasure of him continuing with me after I came and him flicking my clit hard made me bury my face into the pillows and twitch violently, squeaking like a mouse and tears pricking at my eyes. I could hear him nearly screaming as he and I came close to our second orgasms.

"Oh god, oh my- fuck!!" Jon cried out as he fucked the living daylights out of my twitching cunny.

Once he finished, Jon lazily flipped me around and gently laid beside me. When I saw him, his eyes glistened, and he was panting. I turned on my side to face him and wrapped my arms and legs around him like a koala, burying my face in his shoulder.

"Awww." Jon beamed, turning to face me and wrapping me in his comfy arms.

I snuggled up into his chest, happier than ever before.

…I finally have him all to myself…

Jon kissed my head repeatedly, just as happy as I was. We lay there panting for a few minutes before Jon said,

"…glad I could get that off my chest…"

I hugged him tighter.

"…me too, honey bun…"

He chuckled and nuzzled my hair.

"…are you sleepy?..."

"…not really…just relaxed…" I replied, my eyes slowly fluttering.

Jon took a thick strand of my hair into his mouth.

"…i'm hungry…wanna order pizza and watch movies?..."

My stomach growled right as he said that. I hadn't eaten dinner yet and it was almost midnight.

"…mmh…yes please…"

Jon sat up groggily, bringing me up with him. He was strong despite his skinny frame. My head fell on his shoulder, still hugging him. He quietly laughed.

"Babyyy, I need to get the phone…"

I sighed, not wanting to let go.

"…ok, but i'm coming with you…"

Jon chuckled,

"Fiiine…"

Jon struggled to get up with my arms around him, but he finally managed to do so, butt-naked and dizzyingly happy. I shuffled with him to the telephone, hugging him from behind around his skinny waist.

"What kind do you want?"

"…pepperoni and onion…"

"Me too."

Jon dialed Tony's Pizzeria lazily, resting his tired head against the wall.

"Yeah, hi. One large pepperoni and onion pizza please…yeah thanks, see you…"

Jon hung up, turning around to give me a big bear hug.

"I love you."

I nuzzled into his chest.

"I love you more, Jonathan…"

Jon picked me up, straining a bit.

"Lies."

I wrapped my legs around his waist and kissed him.

"Truths."

Jon carried me back to the bed and laid me down, crawling onto me. He kissed my cheeks sweetly.

"Yeah, well I love you just as much…"

Before I could protest, Jon kissed my lips.

"You better not say shit…"

I laughed, pulling him into me. He giggled against my neck, pecking it softly.

"Okay, fine…you win…"

Jon laughed evilly and laid beside me, pulling me into his chest and stroking my hair. I koala-hugged him again, squishing my cheek against his chest.

…he's all mine now…he's my boyfriend…or at least he's acting like it…

I couldn't believe it; the boy I had loved since I was a freshman in high school was holding me tight in my bed, squeezing me and kissing me because he loved me.

He loves me…?

Even though Jon told me he loved me and fucked the dogshit out of me, I couldn't convince myself that he, let alone anyone, liked or loved me; I hated myself so much. In the time spent in silence cuddling, I had time to think.

I hate thinking so much.

 I felt stinging tears well in my eyes.

…he's too good for me…he's out of my league…i'm such a piece of shit…

Jon noticed my sniffling and immediately sat up, pulling me into another hug.

"Oh god, baby…what's wrong?"

Jon pulled away and held my face, wiping away my tears. When I saw his concerned expression, I sobbed, burying my face in his bare shoulder. He stroked my hair and rubbed my back, sweetly muttering words of comfort to me.

"It's okay Y/N, take your time, baby…"

Embarrassing sobs escaped my eyes, nose, and mouth as I tried to explain myself.

"I…I just…"

I broke down again, Jon humming and stroking my hair.

"I…I hate myself so much… and I keep thinking I'm forcing you into this…and that nobody actually loves me when they say they do; I think they're lying…"

I felt like I was talking out of my butt right to my high school crush.

"…baby…why would I say I love you if I didn't mean it?"

That contradicted all my illogical thinking, stumping me.

"I….I dunno…I-I'm sorry, I'm not making any sense…" I replied, feeling helpless.

Jon held my face, caressing my cheeks and gazing lovingly into my eyes.

"Y/N, You're my best friend, well, now you're more than that but you WERE my best friend all throughout high school. You loved me like no one else. Why would I think you weren't good enough for me?"

I hung my head in embarrassment.

"I…I dunno…I'm sorry Jon, I just-"

Jon cut me off by connecting his lips to mine for a long kiss. He held the small of my back, and I moved my hands to his hair and around his neck.

"Don't apologize, Y/N…There's no need to…I love you…

We continued sweetly making out, just like we did in the snow. My bare skin locked with his, and it felt so good; rough hands ran along my back tattoos, tracing my shoulder blades and my ribs. I played with his dreadlocks with one hand while trailing the other one all over his shoulders and chest, him humming at my gentle touch. It felt like I was in heaven, like an angel blessed me with Jon. We kept making out sweetly until we suddenly heard a loud knock, startling us both. When we realized we were completely naked, Jon panicked, quickly throwing on his boxers and a random hoodie while I got up and searched my purse for a five dollar bill. Once I found it, I passed it to Jon, and he opened the door, blushing profusely.

"H…Hey, what's up?" Jon stuttered when he opened the door.

The delivery guy chuckled and said,

"Nothin' much, thanks for the cash, you have a good one."

"You too."

Once the door closed, Jon set down the pizza on the kitchen counter and lunged back at me, tackling me in another big bear hug.

"Jonathan!" I squealed, caught off guard.

He laughed and kissed me again, resuming our makeout session. Jon set me on his lap, allowing me to envelop his neck in my arms and comfortably hold him while he gently held my waist, rubbing my back sweetly.

"…we should probably eat that before it gets cold..."

Jon's tummy growled.

"Agreed."

Putting on a pair of boxers, a comfy Aerosmith t-shirt, and a thick, fluffy hoodie, I snuggled up next to Jon, who had already turned on The X-Files and was waiting for me with pizza and open arms before I came to him. Engulfed in each other, we finished our pizza and binged countless episodes, our minds calmed and forgetting about the earlier events.

…I have him now…that's all that matters…

At around two in the morning, Jon flopped his head against my chest and asked me to turn off the TV. We were both unbearably sleepy.

"…can I turn on my fan?..."

"…i was just about to ask you that…i hate silence…"

I carefully laid sleeping beauty down and turned on my fan, taking my sleeping meds and brushing my teeth on the way back. Jon used my toothbrush after me, which I somehow found adorable. Once I got back, I nestled into Jon's chest under thick, fluffy blankets and held him close. He dragged his fingers through my scalp, creating the effect of a horse tranquilizer.

…he's magic…

Jon sleepily placed tiny kisses on my embraced head, nuzzling my scalp with his nose and fingers.

"…i love you so much, Jon…i wanna be your S/O…" I murmured, feeling his arms tighten around me.

"…i'm all yours, Y/N…i'm your boyfriend…i love you too; so, so, so, so much…"

My sleepy head lay in Jon's protective arms, under warm blankets as I drifted into a deep sleep, never having slept that peacefully since I was in a coma. I remember dreaming about some guy dressed as a celery stick and buying a house where Jim Carrey was my realtor. It was a nice dream, in sweet arms, in a comfy bed.

…i never had all three until now…

…i love him so much…

THE NEXT MORNING:

"…oh and in case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and JESUS CHRIST WHAT IS THAT?!?!-"

…..fwoooosh…..

krkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkr…..

The rattling windows and snowstorm outside awoke me from my dream, groggy eyes still closed and my surroundings still unclear. I felt well-rested, like I had slept for several days. I huddled back in my blankets and lay with my eyes closed and a familiar essence surrounding me. It was a comforting essence, like one of a sleepy cat. Once I noticed the arms loosely draped around me, I slowly fluttered my eyes open, coming face-to-face with an adorable sleeping Jonathan. My heart immediately warmed when I remembered the night before; all the revenge, fighting, cuddling, kissing, and a nice hardcore fuck. I gave Jon a light kiss on his nose and closed my eyes again, too sleepy and cuddly to think about my internal struggles. Jon's soft embrace and warmth melted my troubles like an ice cube in hot tea, making me sleepy. I felt myself drifting in and out of sleep, Jim and the celery guy reappearing to try and sell me an inexpensive but great house. It was a one-story shack-like abode with a dirty, stone-floored basement and a couch and TV right in the middle of all the filth.

…perfect for me and jon… 

Once I woke up again, I huddled up to Jon as stealthily as possible, not wanting to disturb his peaceful sleep. However, soon after I cuddled him, he shifted semi-consciously and instinctively hugged me close to him, groaning a bit in his sleepy state. I hugged Jon tighter and kissed his nose again, humming in his warm embrace. The frigid, howling winds outside my apartment calmed me down as I fell asleep one more time, a warm snuggle engulfing me into another dream about Jim and the celery man. This time, it was a recap of the night before, the celery man sharpening a celery stick and slitting Monica's throat with it, then Jim Carrey delivering a cheesy one-liner, then chopping her in half with an axe.

"How you like them celery sticks?-"

FWOOOSH

When my eyes fluttered open, my face got buried in a Pantera hoodie, and my scalp massaged gently. Jon was awake. I hummed and wrapped my legs around him, holding him tight. He giggled, ruffling my hair.

"…g'morning…"

"…g'morning…" I murmured, snuggling him a little harder.

Jon rubbed my head a little more, still being gentle. I hummed against him at the relaxing feeling.

"you're making me sleepy…"

Jon giggled and kissed the top of my head.

"mmh…can't have that happening, It's already 2:35 p.m…"

"oh really?..."

"yeah."

Jon sat up, resting his head on the headboard, leaving my sleepy head in his lap. I huddled up into him like a sleepy dog, trying to get as close as possible to him.

"Babe, if you do that you're gonna give me morning wood." Jon laughed, pulling me up into his chest and stroking my hair.

"…mmh, sorry hon…" I murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

"It's okay, baby…no need to apologize…"

I love Jon so much. He makes me feel so warm and fuzzy inside, kills the alcoholic drug addict in me, and makes me a cuddly bastard…

After a few moments of warm cuddles and random conversation, Jon asked,

"You doing anything for Christmas?"

I shook my head.

"Nope. Ever since I moved out, my extended family never wants to see me again."

Jon hummed, nuzzling the top of my head.

"Wanna spend Christmas with me and my mom?" He asked.

My heart jumped out of my throat with that sentence. Fully awake now, I sat up and faced Jon.

"Wha- Really?! I mean-…Are they okay with it?"

"Of course, they're okay with it! They love you."

I almost started crying again.

"Jon….What did I do to deserve you?"

I held his pretty face in my hands and kissed his lips.

…pepperoni…

My heart wrenched at the offer. I wanted to turn it down in humility, but I wanted to be a part of the Davis family so badly.

"You were my best and only friend throughout high school and after; I should be asking that question…"

Overcome with insane amounts of serotonin, I threw my arms around Jon's neck and pulled him into a massive hug, burying my face into his shoulder.

"I can't believe this…"

"I can." Jon beamed, chewing on a strand of my hair.

He pulled me into his lips, kissing me passionately and holding my head against his, initiating another lazy makeout session. Jon spun us around and sat on my lap, holding my face while I hugged his tiny waist. He squished my cheeks and caressed them lovingly as if I was a five-foot-two teddy bear. After several minutes, Jon pulled away, still holding my face.

"Wanna get breakfast and play in the snow?"

I pecked his nose.

"I'd love nothing more…"

[writingkitten]

what about favourite places the Molina boys like to fuck you? Hope you are feeling better x

Thank you, I am!!!! Sorry, I know this is an old ask, and there are even older asks I haven’t answered. I’m trying to it’s just my life is kinda wild right now

Ricky: ooooh omg okay so I’d say bed because he’s a little more traditional and loves making love to you in a safe space, but I’d also like to offer this as a fun public option: a jail cell. Dude. Fucking you against the bars, handcuffed. (CAREFULLY!!) Using a baton to spank you, just enough to sting and leave bruises, then using it to fuck you… oh god do I have another wip????

Robert: a movie theater, especially if it’s during the premiere of one of his films. He can’t help but feel very powerful at those, and he wants to use the power on you as he fucks your mouth in the back of the theater, then makes you cockwarm him until he’s hard again while he plays with your clit

Harold: on the balcony while it’s raining, because he’s such a romantic and loves the rain. Hearing your breathy sighs mixed with the sound our rain and the smell of ozone? Oh man it’s heaven to him

Otto: in a classroom, probably pretending to hold you back for some sort of indiscretion so he can punish you. ORRRRRRR while his students are taking an exam, so you have to suck his cock under his desk and be super careful not to get caught

Doc Ock: in his lab, probably pinned down to his workbench with the actuators. Maybe roleplays a little mad scientist thing, he probably would have toys (that he made!!!) hidden under the bench and he’ll experiment on you with those

Harding: somewhere at the hospital, likely 311 or an empty patient’s room. If it’s the 311, he loves to role play that you’ve made a mistake and then punish you for it

Edelweiss: in the morgue. Because it’s him. Don’t worry, no bodies are laying out while you’re suckin it sloppy

Chandler: similar to Ricardo, an interrogation room, because he wants to make you sweat. He asks you inappropriate questions like “why are you so wet?” “how good of a little cocksucker are you?” etc. And you are DEFINITELY handcuffed

Big Boss: anywhere. Literally, man’s gotta get his dick wet 24/7. Probably loves public spaces, because he wants people to hear how well he fucks you

Andres: at his villa in Mexico that overlooks the pacific, probably is licking sangria off your skin

Boris: sweet baby boyyy probably just the bed, he’s very simple with his pleasure and as long as you’re involved he’s happy (and hard)

Dunlop: in the back of a military hummer, especially one that’s locked up and in a restricted area that he’s allowed in but you’re not so y’all gotta be careful, but he’s not being careful he wants you to scream and squirt all over the equipment

Arden: in a ufo (jk) ummmmm probably at a bar, discreetly having you sit on his lap in a booth at the back of the room, rubbing your clit while you order a drink, get drunker and drunker until he doesn’t care anymore and just bounces you up and down

Jim: anywhere in his home, he’s kinda reclusive so I don’t think he’d want to do it anywhere but there, but he’s down to fuck you on every surface of the house

Jimmy: his workshop, similar to Doc (less mad scientist, more “hey honey I made you some toys, let’s try ‘em out 😉”

Armand: in the forest, because, similar to Harold with the rain, he loves the smell. Especially if it’s a pine or juniper forest, and ESPECIALLY if you’re tied to a tree

Manuel: IN CHUUUUUUUUURCH YOU ABOUT TO SING YOUR PRAISES TO GOD (him) HES GONNA MAKE YOU CUM IN THE CONFESSIONAL

Maxim: in his luxurious penthouse suite, in the giant bed with satin sheets and your hands tied to the headboard

Hank: in his mayoral office, and he leaves the stains for as long as he can because he likes the reminders and is gross (in a great way). He loves fucking you in his office chair at his desk, it makes him feel so powerful

Oswald: in his private office, especially if it’s looking down on his lounge because he looks he’s the idea that he can fuck you against the glass and, at any moment, someone could look up and see just how good he’s owning you (credit: @chrism02)

Dick: in a bookstore (so cliche for a writer lmao) but the smell of books can be intoxicating, especially in the erotic section. Reads the dirtiest books to you while you sit on his lap, secretly cockwarming him

[breadvidence]

yay prompt time! love your writing. So: javert/grantaire hookup (perhaps stoned dammit versions?), dammit characters watch Les Mis 2012 and begin to come to an uncomfortable realization about their lives (have not been able to get this out of my head), and maybe musical javert fantasizing about getting choked out during the confrontation again (or post-seine, him explaining this fantasy to a bemused jvj)? wow this got really long. I hope one of these is exciting!

Pretend this is less than 1k (it is not). Dammit Javert/Grantaire, explicit, set during chapter 16.

⁂

He walks into Hal’s where the lager comes with a free shot of Jägermeister on Wednesdays and lets his feet take him back to the worst idea in the place without the kind of preparatory thought that he’s really truly trying to foster in himself on the principle that not knowing where you start makes it harder to find where you’re supposed to end but all the same with an intent he thinks that stems out of the decision to stand up—didn’t Combeferre go out of his way to extend the helping hand to this guy? Who he expects to find at Club Changes or one of the places that don’t hang Pride flags at all but attract the kind of man who calls you cocksucker, not right here in Oak Lawn in one of those mayfly bars that’ll come and go in a couple years max but in the meanwhile sucks on the queer nightlife energy that radiates off of Cedar Springs. Grantaire tosses himself down into the chair next to Mr. Fucked-Up Ex-cop’s, props an elbow on the table, and asks, “Did you move?”

Without a single motion of those stiff-held shoulders, he pivots his head around and stares, cold and intent. There’s two shot glasses in front of him and a sweated-out beer not even one-quarter down, something piss-thin and probably domestic. He’d been contemplating the scrim of foam on the side of the glass pretty intent for a man who didn’t want to be drinking, and he wasn’t watching the crowd like a guy who wants find a person to fuck, which seems uncharacteristic. 

“There’s no discretion in the pig,” he says, and watches Javert twitch, “who drops his load at the trough where he eats, and you strike me as a very discreet kind of hog. Never on the Dallas side of the metroplex, never with the car parked right out front, near the back exit like your might wanna make a hasty retreat should your coworkers come to check everyone’s at least three pieces in dress code, all told trotters ready to hit the bricks as soon as you rooted up the morel you were after. So: did you get a new job on the opposite side of town and have to swap around to the bars far enough from home to feel safe?” He remembers, having been clever, that he was here to be helpful. “Er. Are—also, uh, are you alright?” When this raises no response, he adds his first name in an inquiring tone, to remind him they’re familiar with each other.

They stare at each other some more, ’til he says, his tone flatter than sweet home Florida, “No. Also, I go by Javert.” 

“Ah, pre-empting the history book’s preference of calling a man by his sur—” Grantaire breaks off, with a great act of willpower, and frowns. “Wait. No to which part?”

“To you.” 

“I might not be trying to get into your pants,” Grantaire protests.

Javert raises an eyebrow.

“—this time. Right off. Unless it would help.”

“I’m not leaving until I finish this beer,” he says, tapping the side of the glass. “I’m sure you’ll have lost interest by then.”

How terrible, to be known! He goes to get his free shot and lager, comes back, dumps one in the other, and does most of the talking for the next hour. It’s a waste of both their times, probably, and it might be wrong of him too—but nobody’s glanced Javert’s way, not the right crowd for him in tonight, so Grantaire’s pretty certain he’s at least not cock-blocking the guy, and each of the comments he throws in whenever Grantaire’s stopped for a drink come across as a prompt to keep talking—he’s not being enjoyed, but he’s being engaged with, and that’s irresistible. He remembers, when Javert has about half an inch of beer left, that he’s supposed to be engaging back, and asks, “Why are you still here?”

He gestures to the beer glass.

Grantaire observes, “Last time we had a palaver, you stood up and walked away—a retreat—a neat military maneuver—and I admit, I didn’t mind seeing your backside, after having—”

“You,” Javert says, “are an adequate distraction.” He tilts a look at him. “And you sure as fuck look like you need one, too.” 

That quiets him, for a moment. “What, you’re being friendly?” 

“Evidently,” he says, chewing over the word, and finally finishes his drink. Grantaire has been through—several. “Go close out your tab. Yours or mine?” 

It throws him. “Is yours a seedy motel?”

He pulls a wry expression. “Is yours? I didn’t get the impression you were quite that pathetic.” 

“Pardon me, should I imagine you will sweep me away in a limousine to the Joule so that we can contemplate a Warhol or two on our way to cock-sucking? Because—”

“I did mean my apartment, you jackass, though I’m inclined to retract the offer. Jesus.” He glances away, unsettled, maybe with himself.

“I, ah, stay in walking distance,” Grantaire says, a little thrown, then rallies enough to lean forward and mock-whisper, “If there were theoretically illicit substances in open view, would you narc me out? Or can you be convinced to cut out the difficulty of stealing it from lock-up later and smoke it where you find it?”

“I would never have—” Then he stops, and shrugs. “You know what, fuck it. I’ve been told it would be good for me. Yeah.” 

Grantaire has no trouble backing out of a deal, and near does, but the intrigue is greater, his fuck its as ample as Javert’s evidently are. Outside the door, he says, “Do you want to stroll holding hands? A mile of pretending at some beautiful romance, one over which Nicholas Sparks would weep were he brave enough to depict a couple of fags as dear sweethearts struggling through the unkind world to come to some saccharine tragic finish.” 

It gets him a flick of a look, surprise. “I can walk a mile, yes.”

He’d been a little worried he would have to ask the question outright, rather than more comfortable implication. He shrugs, bundles his hands into his pockets against the cold—he can’t feel it, through the Jägerbomb he capped his drinking with, but he doesn’t want his fingers clumsier than they already are with booze, when they get where they’re going—and leads the way. Courf came by yesterday to help tidy up the place, pretending he was trying to find a copy of The Faggots & Their Friends Between Revolutions that Grantaire borrowed years ago while he helped get trash bagged and sorted out the laundry-floor situation. It’s still not super clean, he sees, through a stranger’s eyes. Javert wrinkles his nose, a little, with a glance around, maybe like he’s got that middle class Boomer standard for everything looking like a stay-at-home wife keeps it neat. Half of Grantaire’s surprise to be invited to Javert’s place was an idle bet with himself about whether he kept up appearances by maintaining a heterosexual relationship, and he’s only just sober and smart enough not to say that aloud as he locks the door and goes to get the weed and rolling paper and lighter, which he’s not actually foolish enough to have sitting out, waving Javert to the couch—and he doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, idle chatter. His mind keeps wanting to go back to how he’s a lot fucking worse off since the protest, with Enjolras detained moreso than he even was before by the light of progress—does that shine still inside a cell?—and a lot fucking better, too, trying to find that light himself, rather than relying on seeing it in the aureole of pretty blond hair.

He turns, shit in hand, and—pauses, a moment, at the predatory interest leveled at him, and he’s netted so many men before by being generous with his drugs that his first thought is that it’s for the weed, but they didn’t talk about that until after Javert agreed to fuck around with him. His second thought is that his friends are gonna have to bail him out again, that this is some kind of weird honeypot sting, and Javert’s expression is for the satisfaction of catching someone with a felonious amount of marijuana on hand. Except—Javert’s thighs are sprawled out, one of his arms is thrown over the back of the couch, relaxed, his color’s high in a way that’s almost charming, a pale blondie’s inability to hide the blush of arousal, of one kind or another—he’s just a guy anticipating getting his dick sucked, probably. Grantaire never clarified what he’s actually into, but that one is always a fair bet.

Gesturing broadly, unsettled to be the object of desire, Grantaire says, “Have you ever reflected on the satisfaction of getting what you don’t want? I feel we might have our books open to the same page. You might say I’ve heard rumors to the effect.”

“You haven’t even lit up yet,” he replies, tone dry. “Can we keep the philosophical questions for when I care less? Besides, whoever’s on your mind, I’m here for cock, which I assume you can provide—unless there’s a terrible accident you’d like to tell me about.” 

Cosette’s poor papa. “I could tell you about a hundred thousand terrible accidents. I read them all in the news. I turn on the television—Ukraine, Palestine, our own New York City—death, murder, suffering, war, racism, you, sir, I’m sure you have your opinions, I certainly have mine, they diverge, but as to the thing you apparently are most invested in—” He tosses the lighter onto the living room table so that he can reach down and seize his own crotch, waggling his eyebrows. “—that is intact and can stand at the ready more or less on command, which is better than can be said for our social unity and all our international boundaries.”

“I wouldn’t call New York ours,” he says, idly. “You want to own the Yanks? But then, South Florida never does feel properly like the South. —Come here.” He gestures to the seat beside him.

“Spoken like a true Texan. I bet you want to secede. Beating your meat to dreams of Stephen Austin.” He’s not actually sure Javert is, now that he reflects on his comment and from the way he snorts, but he doesn’t have his grandma’s ability to pick out a person’s birth county hearing two words out of their mouth. One hand still full, he’s willing enough to sit down, anyway, and goes with it when Javert hooks a hand around his upper arm and pulls him closer. The kiss surprises him some—you get discreet guys skittish about the least hint of romance, though this ain’t really got a lick of romance in it, for all there’s lick aplenty, filthy, devouring. When he’s let go his breath whooshes back into him, and he gives an appreciative little, “Damn.” Before, “The mouth’s for consumption, and you—”

Javert curls a lip. “Christ, what was that last drink you had? I can taste cough syrup through the Jäger.”

“Then don’t stick your tongue so far down my throat,” he says wryly, then, “No, never mind, I can be self-defeating—it’s my little corner of righteousness, to own my faults—but I’m not gonna discourage that. Let me roll a blunt and we’ll have something better on our breath than Red Bull, anyway.” 

“Better,” Javert mutters, doubtful, and lets him go, thumbing spit off the corner of his mouth before he lounges back again. It’s surprisingly effective, the invitation in his posture.

Grantaire has the faint suspicion that this man has fucked often. He might even fuck well. It is a surprise, and peculiarly discouraging; thinks: one hates to have standards to live up to, in bed as elsewhere, and by one means himself. He focuses on rolling the blunt, for a minute—it takes a little attention, with his vision a little off and his hands wanting to wobble. When he takes the first hit, he waggles his eyebrow at Javert, hammy erotic gesture as he wraps his lips around the paper like it’s the worlds most delicate little cock. It gets him an unimpressed stare, which is unfair—he knows for a fact this man has a sense of humor. He breathes out smoke, tension easing out of his shoulders—he pretends it’s not there, and he’s real good at slouching despite it—before he hands it over. 

Javert breathes in smoke with the grace of a guy who’s had something in his mouth for most of his lifetime, that broad chest stills a moment as he holds it, but he grimaces some when he breathes out, squinting at the blunt before he hands it back over.

Grantaire says, lightly, “That expression! A virgin might so peek at what she’s presented with for the first time in person, having spent some time investigating the territory on video. I know mine’s not as shabby as that; I buy good bud. Do you buy better?”

“I haven’t bought at all,” Javert says. “Been around it plenty. Not in a long while, granted.”

Which—“Oh.” It’s been a while since he felt like a corrupting influence, and it’s not the context he expected in. He has a brief raised-evangelical twinge before he rallies and says, “A cherry could be an achene, in another world! Popped, my good man, I’m honored to do the honors.” And takes a hit.

Javert goes loose and glassy-eyed pretty quick, quieter, which is a better result than the vague concern over a bad trip that struck Grantaire—paranoia seems like a natural feature, given past profession. But it looks like he won’t have to summon help, given he’s not the man to manage someone in distress, though maybe he could take Courfeyrac’s direction on how to handle Javert and fetch the ropes, in that instance. It gets him giggling, imagining that, and he asks, “Do you, ah, you into being tied up?”

“Not by you,” Javert says. “No. Well. Never thought about it, actually. Never tried it. Maybe.” Which is a hell of a speedrun of personal development.

Grantaire makes a moue of disappointment, exaggerated, and puts the blunt in the ash tray—just for a minute; he’s realized he should, as the experienced party with a newbie, probably slow down and keep an eye out. Took him a minute, but look: he’s not gone for abandonment. “You’re a cherry tree in June, my friend, heavy with fruit. How unexpected.” 

“I ain’t. That fruit’s mostly harvested.” Javert pivots towards him—winces, maybe that broken-up back and hips of his, and gets hands on Grantaire instead, pulling him almost into his lap, which is novel sensation for a big man; not as big as this guy, as it happens. The kiss this time goes a little slower, a little easier, a precise nip, a flick of the tongue, parted lips, and it takes Grantaire a moment to understand the invitation there, to take him up on it, which earns him an approving rumbling groan, he feels it in the chest he’s braced his hands on to keep from falling too far forward. Which illuminates some questions of preference. He feels his own thoughtless clumsiness, a moment later, in how Javert draws back a little, guides the kiss without taking control of it, and he’d be embarrassed by that—he does, whatever his friends think, know how a blush feels—except that the other man doesn’t comment on it, just gets them on track, and Grantaire tries—he does know, he’s got experience, he’s just not often messing around with someone who cares enough to be good at this, he doesn’t normally care enough to be good at this. This isn’t where he was looking for care—or maybe it’s simply investment, like a retail employee who shouldn’t give a fuck but gives their all anyhow.

The fingers that pop the button of his jeans, undo his zip, the big hand that slides into his boxers and palms over his dick, the lightly-stroking thumb over the head of his cock—getting the feel of him, not at all polite, but measured—that distracts him, he loses track of what he’s doing other than chasing the sensation, restless uncoordinated hips bucking up because he doesn’t want it light at all. Javert gives up on him, a little, trails his mouth down to his ear, an obscenity committed against his earlobe, teeth scraping down his jugular in a way that only won’t leave marks because his skin’s a little too dark to bruise easy. Pauses long enough to spit into his palm, casual, to make it easier. Grantaire is faintly aware of commentating on all of this, but he’s never had to mind his own mouth for it to run. In one of the moments when he’s got his feet braced and his hips lifted Javert uses his free hand to shove his pants down properly, and Grantaire helps, uncoordinated, ass-out on the couch, feeling his legs bound up and unable to spread as much as he wants to and harder for it. He’s still talking.

Javert uses that hand to reach up and slide two fingers into his mouth, jacks his cock like he’s got serious intent to end this here. Which is Grantaire thinks faintly, a curious choice, maybe a sign he’s bored or wants to get out early, though he’s more fucked-up than Grantaire thinks he should let a person leave and drive. He sucks those fingers with a sloppy enthusiastic attempt to demonstrate he can reciprocate all this attention, catches up at last to the fact that he ought to be reciprocating—there’s so many things he should do in life, and he’s so belated all the time—he reaches out, gets his hand on an appealingly thick thigh, becomes disoriented and ends up at a knee, tilts his head back and laughs at himself, manages to reorient and squeezes over—well. That package is impressive, but it ain’t impressed with him, feels like. “Ah.”

Javert lets up, doesn’t take his hand away but merely cradles rather than strokes. Sighs, then drawls, “I hope you weren’t real committed to me topping tonight,” and gestures towards the joint. “Worse than whiskey, apparently.”

“I have so many dildos,” Grantaire says, amiable. “You still can. Hard is a mindset, my friend. Hard is a latent potential. Do you really think, before they went their separate ways, while Abelard still had the wound between his thighs, he didn’t consummate his love with Héloïse? She wouldn’t have sent all those letters, friend, if he didn’t offer some kind of hardness to her. When God turned Lot’s wife into a pillar of salt, it was a suggestion to us all for what the people of Gomorrah and Sodom got up to, when the flesh got tired, she saw those artificial columns and she could not resist mimicking them. Samuel L. Jackson himself says there’s no shame in a limp snake, and he would know. Yeah. So, you wanna, like, pick one out from my collection and do me?”

He leans his head back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut, and sighs. “Sure.” 

“That’s not enthusiastic consent,” Grantaire replies, scolding.

His brows bunch together, glassy eyes opened then narrowed, agonizingly he removes his hand from Grantaire’s dick, he says, “Wait, wait, wait. You know, I have been to a training session about consent and substance use. Is this okay, or—”

“I have fucked while high so many times. Shh. We agreed beforehand. It’s not a big deal. C’mere. Unless you don’t want to, now, I guess.” He tries to get his boxers and pants back on, but his coordination’s worse than he thought, and he reverses track and kicks them off instead, aware he’s being idly watched. He’ll try to remember to get them into the laundry basket later, so Courfeyrac doesn’t have so much to do, next time he visits. He reaches down and helps haul Javert up to his feet, both of them stumbling a little, and they mutually forget about the cane; he’s strong enough to keep them both on their feet when his left leg wants to give, surprised when Javert gives an appreciative moan and gropes over his arms and chest, where the muscles have tensed, hard enough touch to get through the fat and really feel what strength’s there. Kisses him, this time with as much enthusiasm as skill.

The things you learn about a guy, when you’re fucking him. Remarkable. He gets Javert’s cane for him, feeling uncomfortable touching someone’s mobility aid without having asked first too belated not to do it, and they get to the bedroom with a few stops to grope each other along the way. Javert mutters, at one point, “You don’t have to—”, with a shrug, and Grantaire takes it as a don’t, lets up on his prick. He’s got a standard white boy’s underwhelming ass, but it’s still nice to get hands on, when it makes him growl and grind up on him.

In the bedroom, Javert strips off his shirt, then pauses, tilting a look at Grantaire. “Am I staying long enough to bother undressing?” There’s nothing uncertain or sad or insecure in it—it’s just a straightforward question.

Grantaire makes a show of leaning close, an inspection, says, “You’re staying long enough to sober up, right?”

“Sure,” Javert says, and starts in on his pants. “I don’t actually care which dildo you take up the ass.” 

“Yes, yes, let the house sommelier determine which vintage to choose, wise man—”

“Got pretty strong opinions about wine, actually, though you shouldn’t discount a somm’s advice,” Javert mutters, then shakes his head. “Fucking Christ, no, please, I’m not taking any of your metaphors serious, don’t bother to clarify or expand.”  

Grantaire laughs, at that, weirdly pleased to be put down—none of his friends bother, anymore. He gets the twisty purple number out, and the warming lube, ’cause he does know how to be nice to himself sometimes. “Do you ‘got’ pretty strong opinions on how you want me positioned?”

“Yeah, actually.” He pushes himself up to the headboard, and, damn, Grantaire’s gay enough and honest enough to admit he’s pretty sad that he’s not gonna see what that cock looks like hard; it rests against his thigh, flushed though soft, and there’s a kind of optical illusion going on—it looks average enough, ’til you consider how big the hand is that Javert reaches down with to idly readjust himself. Looking at him nude, Grantaire’s acutely aware of their age difference: twenty years, a little more? He’s got a wolf’s pelt worth of hair on that chest, heavier than he’d expect of someone so fair, gone to mostly gray and silver, and his pecs have begun to sag a little over his belly, the skin of his lean stomach wrinkles over the cut of his hips, his feet are neatly-kept but thickly knobbed, maybe even arthritic. There’s a sadness in that Grantaire can’t quite grasp, that it’s them fucking, and it’s not his side of the equation that’s got him edging up on the cliff fall into maudlin, though average wisdom would say that it’s the old guy getting to bang a young thing who should celebrate. Neither of them, Grantaire thinks, are in bed with the person he wants. If he keeps on that trail he’s not gonna want to have sex at all, though, and if he’s done that plenty before—cut guys off and annoyed them right back into their pants—well, he doesn’t want that, tonight. 

He says, because he’s maybe gotten a little caught in the lingering weed-haze, “I’ll have to write you an apology note. Don’t forget to write down your address for me so I can send it. I didn’t catch a damn thing you just said.” 

Javert laughs, teeth and a heave of breath. “I noticed and stopped halfway through my explanation.” He stretches out his legs, cups his hands in front of himself. “Ass here, you self-described fag. Not the hottest position but I can’t kneel, so you’ll have to settle.” 

“It doesn’t feel like settling,” he assures him. “Y’know, we’re anti-ableism now. We fuck our disabled comrades how they want it, when they want it, in the position they want it.”

“I’m not—” He pulls an odd expression. “Come here.” 

“I intend to!” he says, brightly, and strips off his shirt, palming down the heft of his stomach for the sensation of coarse hair on his hand—he’s not too shy for all forms of self-gratification—to work at his own cock for a moment, making his expression appreciative as he looks Javert over. He’s done a lot of looking with desire, and he thinks he manages an echo of his usual, and it’s not his most sincere—sincerity he’s not always good at, outside certain company—it is with genuine intent, and yeah, it makes Javert’s cock twitch. Most people get off on it, being looked at with want, and if he’s at peace with the fact that it’s not the case for everyone—oh, he needs to not think about that. He gets up on the bed, brackets Javert’s calves with his knees, and before he can kneel up he’s pulled back by a long arm around his chest, face turned back with fingers on his chin, and this time there’s no invitation: the tongue pressed into his mouth makes promises. When he leans back, Grantaire plants himself, turns forward, and surprises himself saying, “This is going to sound stupid as hell, but don’t, um, I don’t like it real rough, actually.”

“Ain’t stupid,” Javert mutters, and gives his ass a little pat, surprising him with the niceness. It sounds a bit strained, but he’ll take it. “Bet I can still make all your words come to pieces, doing it easy. Gonna get you so worked up you can’t remember any of those obscure political figures. Yeah, you’re gonna lose the Bible, with my fingers fucking your ass.” There’s the sound of the lube cap; he takes the time to warm it up in his palm before he reaches around to give his cock an idle tug; a first slick finger teases around his hole. As Javert pushes in, he says, “And don’t touch my feet, please.”

That last bit is was said real quiet, during a distraction, but Grantaire pays mind. He tries to keep minding as his cock is wrung casual easy, as another finger slides into him, they press against his prostate, and for long minutes Javert’s taken that not rough as maddening soft, rocking against him so slow it’s just a tease, Grantaire glances down and there’s precome slick on the head of his own dick. He pushes up on his knees to get off those fingers, shoves Javert’s arm out of the way, and drops down into his lap—and it really is strange, to be the smaller partner—grinds down on him in an attempt to start something different. Gets rejected, totally and utterly, an annoyed grunt, Javert’s hands on his hips pushing him forward—back up onto his knees, a hand between his shoulder blades urging him to drop forward onto his elbows, a suggestion short of a shove—but only just. He feels the difference, there, very stark, between a good fuck and a considerate partner. He goes along with it, moans into the bedsheets, clutches at them, at the touch of the narrow head of the dildo against his hole.

Javert’s less practiced with one of those, he can tell, but he’s attentive—not so high anymore—and he gets an angle and rhythm steady and sure, there’s always an edge of control when a guy’s not using his own cock that does it for Grantaire, and he sees clear in that moment how much that’s because that’s as close as he thinks he’d ever get to the dick he wants, were he in bed with—yeah, he’s not gonna do Javert wrong, thinking about someone else while he’s thrusting down into the circle of his meaty thumb and forefinger and babbling at him about enemies who’ve fucked, did Simon Peter take Judas’ cock?, did Hector and Patroclus ever cross spears?, until with a huff of amusement Javert discards the dildo—Grantaire cries out into the sheets, broken off—shifts a little clumsily onto his knees, gets his hand between them and fucks three fingers in, slow push, his hips rocking forward, his weight on Grantaire’s back, and that does it, it’s all that hot sweated-up skin, it’s panting breath against his shoulder, the connection, the sense of being desired in that moment, this man hot for him, fired up, whatever body part’s not cooperative. Grantaire comes, bucks hard into air because Javert’s free hand is off his cock on his side leaned heavily there for steadiness, shudders and clenches and drops his head down between his shoulders. 

Javert pulls out, falls back onto his haunches. Grantaire glances over his shoulder, too unfocused to register much other than how relaxed Javert is, lounged back against the headboard, with his hand loose on his knee—’til he glances down at it, and gives a twitch. His cock’s chubbed up some between his thighs, fading fast as he swings his legs over the side of the bed, reaches over for his cane, and gets up to limp towards the bathroom to wash up. 

Grantaire shuffles around, drops onto his back, then groans at his own stupid decision—he’s almost sure they didn’t get too much lube on the sheets right until this moment, and now he’s planted his fucked-out ass onto them. Ah, well. He’ll smoke the rest of the blunt after Javert is gone, and then he won’t mind sleeping in the mess. 

Javert comes back as far as the edge of the bed, looks down at him with his eyebrows bunched.

“Leaving dissatisfied,” Grantaire says lazily. “Does it come as a surprise to you?”

“Dissatisfied with myself. You were talking right through your orgasm. Impressive, in a terrible way.”

“No, don’t judge yourself,” Grantaire advises. “Some promises aren’t meant to be kept.”

[billthedrake]

THE BULL (PART ONE)

1

Kevin bobbed up and down on his husband's cock. He'd been married to Paul Stanson for five years now and had dated him for five years before that. So Paul's dick was by now familiar. Every inch and curve and ridge on the seven incher, the slightly flared head, the way it spasmed as it neared orgasm.

It was getting there, now, he knew, also from the way Paul was sucking harder at Kevin's own smaller cock. Faster, more furious in his sucking pace, with more suction. It was going to get Kevin to the finish line, too.

It wasn't split-second timing, but Paul's seed spurted into Kevin's mouth. Kev loved the test of his man's cum... sweet with just a little salty flavor. That taste and the sensation of it gushing into his throat was often the trigger for his own orgasm and indeed he felt his cum hit his body with waves of pleasure. His husband sucked down his ejaculation as greedily.

They uncoupled and rearranged themselves to meet in a kiss. "Favorite way to start the weekend," Paul said. The man had long hours as a CFO for a small company and often had his sexual needs backed up if he and Kev didn't have enough time for regular sex during the week.

Kevin loved 69-ing, too, even if he sometimes wished they fucked more. Mutual oral was an act he never got the hang of till he met Paul. But his husband was a great cocksucker, having both technique and enthusiasm and their bodies were proportioned similarly enough in height to make it work.

"You came a lot," Kevin said, grinning.

"Should hold me for a couple of hours," Paul winked. He looked over at the clock. Almost 6pm. "What do you say we shower up and get some dinner?"

"Sounds good."

****

Life with Paul was great. Comfortable, even. Kevin Connors had been a personal trainer in his 20s and early 30s before getting into the marketing and then sales side of the business. Now 47, he worked in sales for a tech company specializing in apps for gyms and fitness companies.

The main challenge was their schedules, since Kevin traveled a lot for work, and Paul put in long hours. So weekends were their time for hanging out, and for sex.

And the sex was good. Great, even. Sure, familiarity sets in, but that had its positives as well as its drawbacks. Surprisingly, for as much as Paul was a type-A, even controlling guy in most aspects of their lives, even their relationship, in bed it was all mutual. He even liked it when Kevin topped, though Kevin would consider himself very much on the bottom side of the vers spectrum.

The one disagreement they had was about threesomes. They had done them a few times, and yeah they could be fun, but Kevin never liked the emotional aftermath or the awkwardness. For him, it just wasn't worth it. He had settled down and married a handsome, successful, and considerate man (faults notwithstanding) and wasn't looking to play the field.

Paul, though, LOVED threeways. He stopped pestering Kevin, but he did talk him into them a couple of times after their marriage. Kevin had started to get the sense that Paul enjoyed watching him with another man more than actually wanting to join in.

Kev brought that up with him and Paul admitted, sheepishly at first, that this was one of his big turn ons. "I don't know what it is, but it's crazy hot to watch you service some guy. If I can be honest, I'd love to watch some man fuck you some time."

"I don't know about that, babe," Kevin said, a little bothered by the suggestion. When they had played with a third, it was all oral, or both men topped the guy. Having the third fuck either of them seemed wrong. "I don't feel comfortable with that."

Paul smiled. "It's just a fantasy, and if you don't feel up that, that's cool."

****

Paul brought up the idea a couple of times, almost in jest, but didn't pursue it any more after he saw Kevin was not warming up the idea.

Kevin still wasn't crazy about it. But Paul's 50th birthday was coming up and Kev wanted to do something special for him. The man made a good salary and could afford most of the things he wanted to buy. And being the type-A control freak, he actually planned his own 50th party, with friends, some from out of town.

The idea had come to him and it seemed perfect. He knew Paul had a strong fantasy for a threeway, and a threeway where the man fucked Kevin. It would be a special treat, something only Kevin could give him. And he knew that it would be a one-time thing. A man turns 50 only once.

Kevin couldn't decide whether to tell Paul in advance and arrange for the threesome on his actual birthday or to wait till his birthday to tell him of his "present." He chose the latter, waiting until they were coming home from Paul's party, more than a little tipsy.

He knew Paul had some anxiety about turning 50, but he seemed to be in a good mood. "I'm the luckiest man in the city," he said as he slipped his arm around Kevin's and pulled him in for a quick kiss. "Ended up with the hottest guy."

Kevin ate up the flattery. He always did. He'd always had "it," the stuff that gay guys went for. Good looks, great body, and a Midwestern personality that meant he never was short of admirers. He kept his middle aged body in perfect shape, even if that took more effort than before. The result was that Kevin's presence lit up a room... 190-something pounds of lean muscle at 6-foot-even, light brown hair that was getting gray at the temples, green eyes, roman nose, and bright smile.

It's what drew Paul to him, and it always amused Kevin to think that the guy wooed him with the same headstrong determination the man had in every aspect of his life. His husband was always proud that he'd snagged a hot stud like Kevin and never hesitated to express his gratitude.

While Paul wasn't in the same league, physically, Kevin had fallen for him immediately. Tall, strikingly handsome looks, trim swimmer's build, the man's serious personality was also an appeal for him. He looked up to Paul's educational and professional achievements, which inspired him to pursue his own MBA degree and get more serious about his career. He loved the way Paul's rationality balanced out his own often impetuous nature.

And, not to mince words, Paul had a bigger cock. Longer, thicker, at 7 thick inches. Kevin loved sucking on it and loved the way it felt fucking him. Kevin didn't like to think of himself as shallow, but he preferred a guy with a big dick.

Now, Kevin was proposing that another man fuck him, for the first time since he and Paul got involved.

"You serious?" Paul asked, surprised and very excited by the idea.

"Yeah, babe. You deserve to live out your fantasy once," Kevin said, clarifying that this would be a one-time thing.

Paul embraced him, holding him tight and planting a kiss on the mouth. Not a normal husband's peck but a heated, sexual kiss. Paul was turned on, for sure, and Kevin could feel his rigid boner in his pants as he started thrusting and backing Kevin toward the bed.

"I take it you like your present?"

"Fuck, yeah," Paul growled and they kissed again.

They couldn't get our clothes off fast enough. Paul was horny and his desire fueled his husband's.

They made out on the bed, gripping each other's muscle. Paul's trimmer build was on top of Kevin and his legs were kicking his husband's apart as he reached over to the nightstand for the lube. Paul was going to top and Kevin was very OK with that idea. It had been too long.

He slicked up and took just a second entering. But Kevin was horny and relaxed both and pretty quickly his pucker gave way and he felt the hot, hard shaft burrow in.

"Fuck me, babe," Kevin growled.

"Oh yeah," Paul hissed, his hips bucking fast. The alcohol was going to delay his cum just a little but they were going for a sprint rather than a marathon. "Fucking hot stud."

Kevin spread his legs wider and took his fucking. "You thinking of it already aren't you?" he asked. "Some guy fucking me."

Paul nodded, not embarrassed but turned on beyond belief. "Oh yeah." Then all of a sudden he started cumming, with a loud cry. Then he collapsed on the buffer man, taking a second to catch his breath before raising himself on his arms once more. Paul now pumped Kevin, slowly now, but it felt good.

"I want you to come, Kevin," he growled. "Come with my cock inside you."

"Oh yeah," Kev nodded and started stroking. His orgasm took just a little longer to arrive but when it did it felt great, and Kevin shot white ropes of jism on his chest and abs.

They kissed and uncoupled.

"Thanks for an amazing birthday, Kevin," he said, smiling and relaxed, like a happy kid.

****

They went online to arrange it. Kevin had a long defunct profile from a hookup site, which he updated with new pictures. He made it very clear in the language: good looking, in shape, married guy, 48, looking for a fit, masc, good looking top to fuck me while my husband watches. Should be hung, be able to fuck for more than five minutes. Safe only, no strings.

As predicted he got a lot of replies. He and Paul scrolled through them, laughing at some of the cheesy things guys wrote and mentally putting some of the guys on the short list. They finally came across a simple, straightforward message. "Dude, you're hot as fuck, but you know that. I'm younger and can usually come a couple times in one go. I'd love to show you what your husband's not giving you."

"What about that one?" Paul asked. It was almost a statement - let's pick this one - more than a question. Paul was definitely excited by "Mike."

Kevin looked at the profile. Something about the cocky nature of the message was a turn off, but he had to admit that Mike was a seriously hot guy. 25 years old, 5'11", 180, muscular as fuck, 8 inch fat cock, buzz-cut brown hair and blue eyes. "He's hot," he admitted to his husband.

"This may be my present, but I want to make sure you're into him," Paul said, patting Kevin's knee.

Kevin was. Maybe that was the problem. This guy was almost too hot. He wanted to seem open to this experience but not too eager. And his heart did pump faster imagining this younger man doing him. And especially looking at the photo of Mike's hardon. It was hard to judge the real size from a picture, and guys always exaggerated their size on these apps anyway, but the prick looked beautiful. Big, hard, ready to fuck. "All right," he said.

And just like that, he was firing back a message. It didn't take long for them to set up details. Next Saturday night, at Paul and Kevin's condo.

****

Saturday came and Kevin was nervous. Not ready to back out but feeling like he'd be happy if Paul called this off. In fact, he kept observing his husband that afternoon and it was clear that Paul was excited. It was a warm early summer day and Paul was wearing a preppy pair of khaki shorts and a blue-striped Oxford button down. He was handsome and Kevin couldn't help but remark how attractive his man was. Tall, distinguished looking with more salt-and-pepper hair than Kevin, who had just several flecks of gray coming in along the temples.

Kevin for his part went casual. Just a pair of gym shorts, commando, and a faded T-shirt of his Big 10 alma mater. He figured it would show off his gym-conditioned body. There always was the possibility with an online hookup not panning out. First Kevin had been nervous Mike wouldn't live up to his profile. In his single days he'd seen the flakes and the dudes with misleading and outdated pictures. Then, he worried he wouldn't live up to Mike's expectations. That message was right: Kevin knew he was hot. But he also was no longer in his 20s.

Before he could contemplate longer, the doorbell rang. Paul bounded up to answer it, and Kevin could hear their conversation down the hall.

"Mike?"

"That's me. You must be the birthday boy."

"Yes," Paul laughed. "Paul. Come on in."

Kevin watched as a medium-tall man entered, living up to his picture but somehow even better. He was dressed in jeans and a tight gray T-shirt that accentuated his build. He had just a hint of padding on his body, the kind of thickness 20-something guys often have when they focus on putting on muscle and don't want to avoid the occasional beer. But Mike was in shape and big, almost football player beefy. The man's smile broke out when he entered and saw Kevin. He was clearly pleased with what he saw.

"Mike," he said offering his hand to shake. Firm grip, steady eye contact. His eyes were almost sea blue in person, and his hair looked lighter than his picture, not quite blond but definitely light brown.

Kevin stood up, the nervousness fading rapidly, as he shook the hand. He was very much into Mike, the guy was definitely masculine with a laid-back deep voice, but there was something cute about his face, surprisingly, a bit of that boy next door appearance and a playfulness, too.

"I'm starting to think it's my birthday," Mike grinned and winked.

Paul seemed very pleased this was going to work out. He could tell Mike's interest immediately and read a similar lust in Kevin's face. "Can I get you a beer? Wine?"

Mike could barely take his eyes off Kevin. "How about we get down to business, if you guys don't mind? It's been a couple of days since I've gotten a load off and I'm horny as fuck."

Kevin laughed. There was something brash but adorable about this guy's approach. Like he was living up to the cocky messages he'd sent but not in a cheesy or overbearing way. More like he was just a horny young guy who craved sex.

"Oh yeah, we can do that," Paul answered for them. "Let's go to the bedroom."

When they got there the men were just a little awkward of how to start. Thankfully Mike took initiative. He turned to Paul: "It's your birthday, Paul, tell us what you want to see."

Kevin was glad Mike was looping Paul into this. Deferring to his husband in fact. With a wry grin, Paul sat down on an armchair we had off to the side in our bedroom and nodded toward me. "I want to watch Kevin suck your cock for starters."

Mike turned, an impish look on his face. "It was like he read my mind, dude." He started undoing his belt and unbuttoning his jeans. Kevin didn't waste time kneeing in front of him, and he had a close view of Mike's cock appearing. Not fully erect but very full looking. Mike was going commando and Kev sighed excitedly as he hauled out his meat.

"Fuck!" Kevin growled when he saw the length. He had assumed the guy was bullshitting about his size but there it was. At least eight perfect inches, real fat ones, too, maybe even a shade bigger than advertised. He leaned forward and took the head into my mouth.

"Oh God!" Kevin could hear Paul's excited gasp as he started sucking on the younger man's dick, feeling it firm up in my mouth. He never considered myself an expert cocksucker - Paul was more talented in that department, actually - but he did his best. Opening his mouth and relaxing the jaw and throat. Slowly working more and more into his craw. Kevin was almost deep throating him when Mike finally placed his hand on the top of my head to ease him off.

"Enough of the warm up, bud," Mike said. "Don't want to cum just yet." He reached down and hoisted Kev up and just like that initiated a kiss. The couple hadn't talked about kissing, but Paul wasn't making any objection now and Kevin was definitely keyed up for it. He kissed Mike back, feeling the strong hands slip down his shorts and massage his exposed ass cheeks. Mike's hands were strong, all right, gripping Kevin's gym-toned ass muscle.

"Fucking perfect ass," Mike mumbled and leaned back to remove his shirt while Kevin followed suit. He stripped off his jeans and now their naked bodies connected. His muscle felt warm to the touch and Kevin could tell he was getting off on the better definition.

Mike walked the two back toward the bed and they collapsed in embraced. The man may have been young, but was a skilled lover, covering Kevin's body with his own and humping against him. He kissed up the older man's neck, muttering into his ear. "You like your husband watching?"

Kevin hissed. This was Paul's part of the scene, the voyeur aspect. Kevin just enjoyed the sexual contact.

Maybe Mike mistook his silence. "Don't worry, man," he whispered. "I'm going to give you a fuck you'll remember."

"What are you guys whispering about?" Paul said, a tone half amused, half annoyed.

Mike craned his head back and looked at the 50 year old. "I was telling him I'm going to give him a fuck he'll remember."

With a grin he scooted down and lifted Kevin's legs up. Kevin aided the process by pulling his legs back the rest of the way. He trembled as Mike's breath fluttered against his crack and then moaned as the man planted his face right there.

"Oh fuck," Paul gasped and as Kevin looked over he could see Paul undoing his shorts and pulling out his rigid prick. As rigid as he ever remembered seeing his husband. He was glad Paul was enjoying the show. He was even happier feeling Mike's tongue circle around his hole. Paul wasn't a big fan of rimming, either giving or receiving. In contrast, this young stud was downright enthusiastic, munching Kevin's hole for a good five or ten minutes before pulling back.

"Hot fucking hole," he growled, giving another swipe or two of the tongue.

"Fuck me," Kevin urged. As he said it he realized it was the first time he'd actively initiated the process. Not waiting for Paul's request. He wanted Mike to fuck him. Bad.

Mike leaned up, grinning big. "Gladly, stud." He turned over toward Paul, showing off his large erection. "You ready to see me stuff this in your husband?"

Paul was so horny he could barely speak. "God yeah." He didn't touch his cock which was reddened and throbbing and dripping precum down its length. He couldn't remember ever being so turned on. "Just wear a rubber," he reminded.

Mike nodded his agreement as got off the bed and picked up the condom and lube. He walked over to where Paul was sitting. "Maybe you should put it on."

Kevin lay back, his legs still spread but now resting on the mattress. He hadn't expected this turn of events, for Paul to be brought in physically. He wouldn't have minded getting this young stud prepped and ready, but it was insanely hot to watch Paul take the Magnum and tear open the foil packet with his teeth, then gripping Mike's rigid prick in his hand to roll the rubber down.

"You like feeling this cock, man?" Mike asked, his hands on his hips as he looked down. "It's going right up your husband's asshole. Is that what you want?"

"Oh yeah. Please," Paul's voice was soft but definitely excited.

"More lube," Mike instructed. "Your husband's got a horny hole, but he's not used to cocks this big."

That made Paul audibly grown. Kevin wasn't sure where this was coming from. It must go beyond the voyeurism, he guessed. Paul seemed to get off being put in his place by a more muscular, better hung man.

Finally Mike stepped back and then crawled back onto the bed, his hardon throbbing and waving with each step. Kevin was nervous he'd get right to fucking and was growing apprehensive given the girth of that dick. The length he could take just fine, he knew, but Mike's cock was fat, almost cylindrically shaped.

But Mike just squirted some lubricant on his fingers and started working it into Kevin's hole.

"Lean back, buddy," he urged. "Relax." Then as his fingers pushed in and out, first two, then three, he hissed, "feels good."

Kevin was getting into that horny space again. That I gotta-get-fucked urge. He pulled back his legs to his chest, hiking his toned ass up. Mike got the message, withdrew his fingers and scooted forward.

The penetration was slow and steady. Kevin's hole would tighten then relax again, and more of that gloriously fat cock would slip inside. He forgot about Paul entirely, in fact, as this hunk was hovering over him, looking down with an intense, lusty smile. His fucker was about 20 years younger than him and was definitely into Kevin. Hungry, almost possessive in his fuck. Mike was enjoying this, and that somehow thrilled Kevin even more.

Pretty soon his pubes pressed against Kev's hole. "All the way in ya, man," he boasted. "How's that feel?"

"Incredible," Kevin grunted.

Mike pulled back just an inch and pressed in. Then again. Priming the pump. When he was sure Kevin was ready, he started fucking.

Kevin's mind was feeling overwhelmed with the sensation. He felt full, amazingly full. Possessed, stimulated inside and out. His dick was rigid and leaking on his hairy taut abs.

Mike built up a steady pace, working both men up. Not rushed, but gradually faster and harder. "Yeah you love this," Mike growled, putting more power into his hips. Rhythmic hard thrusts, that somehow Kevin was able not only to take but to crave. "Love being fucked by a real man."

At those words, Paul came, shooting his seed all over his hand and stomach. Mike looked over and saw the man go through the aftershocks. "Your husband just nutted," he grinned as he looked down on Kevin's horny state, muscles tensed, dick hard. "You about ready to come, too, bud?"

"Fuck, yeah," Kevin urged. As much as he wanted this to last, it was all so intense. He gripped his bone and started stroking.

That seemed to urge Mike to fuck faster, that fat rod hitting Kevin's internal gland more insistently. "Do it, man. Come on my cock."

Kevin did. His body shook and he gave it up. Heavy hard spurts of cum sprayed all over himself, some spurting against Mike's smoother torso in the process.

Mike's look of satisfaction was giving way to his O face. Kevin's spasming hole was gonna make him come. "FUCK!!!" he cried as he held his hips steady and filled his condom. Leaning forward he met Kevin in one last deep kiss, as his body tensed in the waves of pleasure.

That rubber was bulbed at the tip with jizz when he pulled out at last. He stepped off and Paul could see that magnificent, powerful cock.

"Mind if I rinse off?" Mike asked.

Paul had come a second time and was wiping his hands off with kleenex. "Yeah, sure, the bathroom's there," he said, pointing to the master bath.

"Thanks. And I may take you up on that beer if you don't mind me sticking around just a bit."

"Least we can do after that performance," Paul observed. As Mike stepped into the bathroom, Paul got up and crossed over to where Kevin lay, relaxed and satisfied. "You doing OK, babe?" he asked.

Kevin looked up with a dreamy expression. "More than OK. That was awesome. Was it everything you wanted?" He felt guilty now he'd enjoyed it so much but Paul seemed to have enjoyed it too.

"Oh yeah," he nodded and met Kevin in a soft kiss. "You can clean up and join us."

***

Ten minutes later, the men sat, dressed once more, in the living room sipping their beer and making small talk.

Finally Mike addressed the elephant in the room. "You guys done this before?"

"No," Kevin said. "Not exactly."

"We've had a few threesomes," Paul clarified. "But never a scene like this. With me watching. What about you?"

Mike nodded. "Yeah, a couple times. I had a running thing with a couple... you know, one of the guys had a big-time cuck fantasy." He took a sip of beer and looked squarely at Kevin. "The bottom wasn't as hot as you, though. Not by a mile."

"Thanks," Kevin replied.

"I'll just say you surpassed our expectations when we decided to do this," Paul said, his arm affectionately around Kevin's shoulder. "Guess we didn't expect a younger guy."

Mike got a sexy grin. "Oh, I have a real thing for older guys. Especially DILFs. It's one reason I come into the city to hookup with guys." His expression turned more serious. "Besides, I'm not out on my job, so it's just easier this way."

"What do you do?" Kevin asked.

"State trooper," he replied, clearly anticipating the surprised reaction from Paul and Kevin. He'd seen it before. He didn't usually tell guys his profession, but he felt comfortable with these men.

"No shit?" Paul exclaimed.

"You definitely look every bit the part," Kevin observed.

"I wish I was in your kind of shape," Mike answered truthfully. Kevin was his type to a T.

"Kev was a personal trainer," Paul volunteered proudly. "Hard keeping up with a dude this hot, I'll tell ya."

"You're a good looking dude, too, Paul," Mike admitted. "Thanks for setting this little play date up. Made my week. I think I was a little backed up."

"Looked like it from what I saw trapped in the condom." Paul observed.

Mike laughed. "Yeah." He reached down and gripped his crotch. "I could go again, too."

Paul looked shocked. He'd assumed the sex part of the evening was over.

"You're not fucking me again," Kevin said, his eyes locking on Mike's. "But I'll suck you off."

He was too nervous to look at Paul for confirmation on this. But his husband was the one who'd hounded him to play this scene, and Kevin knew he wanted another chance with Mike's amazing cock, since this was a one-time threesome. He stood up and crossed over, getting on his knees between the state cop's spread legs.

"Fuckin' A." Mike hissed, undoing his jeans once more.

Paul didn't think he had any more boner left after two cums not even twenty minutes ago. But here he was growing hard as he watched Kevin give Mike the Cop head.

Kevin felt a little more comfortable Mike's big dick this time, slowly working more of the thick shaft into his throat with an up and down bob. Sucking on that dick in the process and rubbing the cop's heavy nut sac with his right hand. He wanted to give the young stud pleasure.

Mike for his part seemed engrossed in the blowjob, looking down on Kevin's bobbing head, guiding him a little, until he looked up and over at Paul. "He's really good at this. Man your husband is so friggin hot." He leaned back and let the pleasure climb until he was having his second orgasm, firing a healthy load into Kevin's sucking throat.

Now it was Kevin with a look of proud satisfaction as he stood up, gripping his boner to calm it, and returned to sit next to Paul as Mike tucked in and buttoned back up.

"Fuck," the cop growled. "I won't say that was better than your ass, but... wow."

[cheesetalia]

Teach My Heart to Bend Instead of Breaking Day 2: Royalty & Wedding

For @hetalia-rarepairweek's Day 2: Royalty & Wedding England/Canada | warnings: cheating and dubcon, NSFT

Summary: Arthur whisks Matthew away to his lakefront cabin, and we see what he really thinks of his student.

Can be read on the Archive of Our Own or underneath the Readmore:

The window in the bedroom of Arthur's little lakeside cabin was wide open, letting in cool air and the earthy smell of the nearby water. The curtains weren't drawn; it was November and no one came to the lake when it was cold, not to fish and certainly not to swim or water-ski.

There was no one to see or be offended by the nudity of one middle-aged blonde professor and his nubile young student, kneeling before him like a penitent, worshiping at a decidedly uncelestial altar.

The cold air blowing in was soothing against their heated flesh, sweaty from round one and heating up again with round two. This was only their second time meeting up, and Arthur patiently waited while Matthew experimented, trying to work out the best way to please his first lover.

Arthur could find few faults in Matthew. The main one was his inexperience, but it was balanced out by how exciting that was. A little questioning had revealed he was to be many of Matthew's firsts. There was something thrilling about knowing his was the first cock to plunder Matthew's virgin-tight holes, the first fingers on him and inside him working him over and pleasuring him.

It didn't change though, that despite how willing and eager to learn he was, his warm sweet tongue and cocksucking lips moved less adroitly around Arthur's swollen member than Gilberte's smirking mouth did.

Still, Matthew treated Arthur like a king.

Didn't whine or bitch or complain when Arthur pulled his cock out with a wet popping noise, then set his hand working his cock with rapid harsh strokes, the tip pressed against Matthew's cheek.

Didn't scrunch his face up in disgust or gag when Arthur let loose ropes of hot gluey semen all over his cheek, moving his pulsing cock to paint stripes across Matthew's soft skin.

Those wide violet eyes looked up at him adoringly, no hint of irritation or recrimination swimming in them.

He hadn't gotten tired of Arthur yet.

Deep down Arthur knew that couldn't last, it never did. One day Matthew would begin to find fault with Arthur, to snipe at him over petty things and demand he change. (If his past lovers had truly fallen in love with him, then why did they always want that?)

But there was another part of him that cynicism couldn't erase. The romantic sentimental side of him that made him believe in fairies and tear up when looking at old photos, and it kept him hoping to find someone with whom the magic would never fade.

He couldn't help wishing Matthew would turn out to be that true other half of his soul.

That's why he didn't protest when Matthew wiped the cum off his face after Arthur had finished emptying his balls, instead of insisting the boy let it dry. Arthur did instruct his student to hold off for a moment while he took a few photos of the lovely sight though. Maybe the relationship would fade, but now he'd be able to look back on this forever.

When Matthew was done cleaning up, Arthur pulled him down onto the bed beside him and kissed him. It was leisurely, desultory, the lazy movements of a very spent man. He was in his forties now, and had thought these kind of passionate romps long behind him.

Matthew didn't mind settling down for a nap. He might be young and fit, but he'd discovered that riding a man used very different muscles than hockey.

There was many risks and unpleasant questions about their relationship that they could have pondered on, but they didn't think about those. For now, they lived in the moment and thought only of each other, and drowsed peacefully in each other's arms.

[codgod]

OKAY. slightly more comprehensive and hopefully more useful tips for writing qmariana because the other post i made was kinda a mess. this one also is but hopefully less so. this is basically me expounding upon everything i already said + adding info from a lot of the tags i got on the original post pointing out stuff i didn’t mention

also going to mention again that a lot of this IS related to slimeriana because that’s the main flavour of qsmp fics i read BUT they should all work as general pointers. slimeriana are just gonna end up as my go-to examples for what i’m talking about. and second disclaimer that i barely speak even basic spanish so there are probs gonna be even more things i may have missed or messed up, i’m forging through with the power of youtube auto translate

all that said, here:

he’s not great at speaking english —

it is okay to write a character not being good at speaking a language! i don’t know why everyone seems to be fine with writing charlie speaking broken spanish but not the other way around. so many times i’ve seen him written as speaking perfect english and then just sometimes swearing or having a few lines of dialogue in spanish, if even that. that is simply just not how he talks

common things i personally have noticed mariana does: repeats words, says words that sound similar to the one he wants but not Quite [think words that rhyme or have a similar sound to them, like nipples and pimples lol], he’ll often get frustrated and switch back to spanish and just rely on the translator, especially for longer or more complex sentences/statements, there’ll sometimes be pauses between words or he talks slowly. he tries his best to speak english around the english speaking server members but again, will also just speak spanish and use the translator if he’s gonna be talking a lot

other small things: he swears quite a bit, and has a few favourites [namely mamahuevo (eng equivalent is cocksucker) is the one that comes to mind. and i don’t feel like i’m writing this out correctly but also chinga tu madre (fuck you/fuck your mother? i think?). in english the first one that comes to mind is motherfucker]. also calls kids mami/papi a lot, not even just juanaflippa

he’s almost always written as either too nice OR too mean —

he’s not a one-dimensional piece of paper just there to either dote on slime or make his life hell. he jokes and teases and he has a bit of a harsh sense of humour sometimes, but he’s very rarely malicious in his actions. if he’s really in the wrong about something he’ll get defensive, but will eventually end up apologising

that said, again, he’s not always nice! he gives as good as he gets when slime picks fights with him, he and bobby had a very playfully antagonistic relationship as far as i could tell. it’s like picking playful fights is part of his love language

he was always very sweet to juanaflippa though :D except a few teasing jokes here and there. he was a good dad, besides the murder JHVSJD

speaking of his sense of humour —

it can be very… blunt? for lack of a better word? he says some bizarre shit with a completely straight face. best example i can think of is him suggesting he and charlie could play a porn game together because they wouldn’t have to talk. obviously that’s cc not character, but it carries over. or, alternatively, the circumcision bit on day 1. basically if u watch charlie more, look at his sense of humour and translate it into spanish — there’s a reason they get along so well :D zero normal people in this relationship. the most you’ll get is them occasionally passing the “straight man” role back and forth, getting bewildered at each other but ultimately going along with whatever the bit is

he’s not a cheater! —

i know. i know ppl like the angst. but he never actually cheated on slime, not beyond being kinda flirty with other men but then pulling back and saying he was married whenever they returned that energy. he’s a bitch, but a loyal one /silly

but seriously, qmariana loves his family so much. he always wanted things to work out between him and slime. the only mc skin of his that actually shows his hands has him wearing his wedding ring, for christs sake. he’s not an absentee father, and he’s not a cheater, he just likes to joke flirt with his friends

he’s very open about his emotions! —

i have never once known this man to hide his feelings or be stoic in any situation. if he’s sad he cries, if he’s angry or frustrated he yells and swears, if he’s happy he laughs. if you are writing mariana as a person to keep his feelings hidden you are Doing It Wrong. the most he might do is hide one emotion behind another, but he’s almost always showing something

he LOVES music —

this man will sing at any given opportunity. he quotes song lyrics out of nowhere constantly. english, spanish, doesn’t matter, he loves music. it is literally always worth it to have him singing a lullaby to juanaflippa in a fic because it is both very in character and very cute

[slowlyhardgoatee]

Now, I bet you’re wondering why I brought you over here to my house today, right?

Well, there’s a couple of reasons, Smith. Let’s just say I’ve got a proposition for you.

Firstly, there’s the work situation. You’ve worked for me at my construction business for a long time now, and it doesn’t take a genius to understand why you stick around despite the low pay. Hell, everyone knows you like nothing more than jacking off over a pair of dirty construction overalls and boots in the back workroom. We’ve all seen you doing it. But I’ve noticed that, nine times out of ten, you specifically pick MY overalls and boots. Am I your type, Smith? ‘Yes Boss’, was that? Good. Keep that subservient attitude up, faggot. Oh, that’s your name from now on, by the way. Faggot.

The second reason you’re here is actually to do with my wife. As you probably know, I’m a married man. Been with my wife for just about 30 years, and let me tell you she is a classy lady. Very proper. Now, me, I’m the opposite of her. I’m ex-police, ex-military, hell, even did a stint as a prison guard for a while. Tough work, done by tough men. Thing is, all that testosterone flying around turned me into a 24/7 horn dog. My wife puts out once a month for the most missionary sex possible, and that’s nothing like enough for me. I need my dick sucked several times a day - and she does not suck dick. She said to me, ‘Find someone else if you want that shit’ - so faggot, I’m finding you.

I’m shutting down the construction company. But don’t worry, I’m keeping you on. Your new job is as my personal cocksucker. It’s a full-time, live-in and entirely unpaid position starting immediately. I know you live alone and have no family, so you should have no problem getting started right away. What do you say, faggot?

Atta boy - ‘Yes, Boss’, and dropped straight to your knees. Good faggot. Go ahead and get my cock out. Look at that. Look at the piece of meat that’s gonna be running your fucking life from now on. You want to nurse on it, faggot? Go right ahead.

Fuck yeah, right down the back of your fucking throat. Fuck, that’s a sweet and talented mouth. I’ll be putting it to near-constant use.

Ah - what do you think you’re doing? No no no - hands well away from your cock, faggot. In fact, give ‘em here. There. That’s where your hands belong when you’re sucking your Boss’s cock, faggot - tugging on my fucking nipples. I’ll be locking your cock up in a cock cage first thing in the morning - and you’ll beg me to throw away the key.

Oh, fuck yeah. Oh, you’re gonna be at my beck and call whenever I want. I think to start with, I’ll keep you down here in the basement. But every so often, on special occasions, I’ll take you upstairs and let you suck me in the actual house. Y’know, on my birthday, or our wedding anniversary, or my wife’s birthday, days like that. I’ll always make sure she’s in the house when I take you up there, as well, so she can see first-hand how you satisfy the demands she wouldn’t meet. If my wife won’t give me what I want, I’m happy to make a cuckold out of her in her own living room.

Last thing, faggot - you don’t smoke, do you? No? Good. Nor does my wife. She hates it when I smoke. So - I promise that every time I fuck your mouth up in the house, I’m gonna light up the biggest cigar I can find, and I’m gonna smoke it nice and slowly while you’re servicing my meat. Then, because we can’t have you taking too much pleasure out of your new life of servitude, once you’ve swallowed my cum in front of my cuckold wife, you’re gonna beg me to put my cigar out on your faggot balls. And believe me, faggot, the sound of you screaming and whimpering like a pathetic little bitch is only gonna get me hard all over again.

Now, hold still. I’m gonna blow my load all over your face, bitch. Here it comes, here it… fuuuuucking comes, you CUNT. FUCK. Look at that, dripping all over your face. That’s the first of many, believe me.

What do you have to say to me, faggot?

Yeah, ‘Thank you, Boss’. Good fag. Now clean my cock off for me, and then let’s go upstairs into the house. The wife’s due back from work in about fifteen minutes, and the first thing I want her to see is you begging for my cock in your mouth while I’m smoking. If you’re a good faggot, I might rape you in front of her, too. You like the thought of that, eh? Your Boss’s married seed up your faggot cunt? Yeah, thought you would. Well, you just concentrate on being a good cocksucker, and we’ll see what happens. Now, come on. Up we go. Time for you to get a good feel for your new job.