#now this…I have no excuses for this thot

[andy-clutterbuck]

3x12 | Clear

[proudtobealuthor]

Apparently Katie’s mom has red hair???? And we know Katie is naturally blonde…so…some kids are born with red hair and then their hair turns blonde. BABY RED-HEADED KATIE???

[gimmethatagustd]

gang shit | knj

Your daughter's classmate has a really hot dad. Apparently, you're his arch-nemesis.

○ Pairing: Dilf!Namjoon x Single Parent!Reader

○ Rating: Sfw

○ Genre: Kidfic, strangers/romantic interest, an attempt at humor

○ 1 / 100 Drabble Challenge (Single Parent)

○ Word Count: 1204

○ Warnings: Shockingly none!! aside from my terrible sense of humor, jokes about Crime!!, and also Namjoon's dimples

○ Notes: Inspired by this tweet. I hope you enjoy the first drabble of my 100 Drabble Challenge I'm doing with @sailoryooons - Please check out Hali's drabbles throughout 2024, too! Happy New Year, besties! ✨

○ Post Date: January 1, 2024

○ Masterlist | Send me ur thots

○ What was Jai listening to? GOAT - Number_i

“I don’t make the rules to this gang shit. I just play my role.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you cock your head to the side in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Namjoon adjusts his black baseball cap. His bicep bulges out of his short sleeve when he lifts his arm. 

You’re too old to be thirsting for a man like this. In all honesty, you’ve been acting childish all day – literally. It’s the last day of school before summer break, and your daughter’s preschool teacher invited parents to an end-of-the-year celebration. Having the privilege of working a hybrid schedule means it’s relatively easy for you to swing by the school with primary-colored cupcakes in hand. They’re the disgusting ones kids love that’ll stain their fingers and mouths bright blue. Oh, to be a four-year-old. So easy to please. 

Unlike little Yuna’s father, who has a stick shoved up his ass, and for what?

“What are you even talking about?” you ask with your arms crossed against your chest. 

You’d said literally five words to the guy, intending to start a pleasant conversation while the kids ran around the playground and the other parents mingled at the picnic tables outside. 

“Hi, I’m Y/N, Brooklyn’s parent.”

Apparently, that was offensive.

Namjoon’s sharp eyes drag up and down your body, and you try not to let his heavy gaze affect you – and fail when you feel your stomach dip. 

“Brooklyn said Yuna dresses weird,” Namjoon finally says with a pout that shouldn’t look so cute on a grown-ass man. 

“Did she?” 

“Are you calling Yuna a liar?”

“No!” This man is so volatile. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. We’ve been practicing using kind words, but, well, you know how kids are…” 

Namjoon doesn’t look convinced. 

You feel antsy under his gaze, unsure what to say or do. Are you supposed to apologize? Maybe that’s the mature thing to do. You’re still new to this whole “I’m suddenly responsible for an entire human being even though I barely even know how to take care of myself” thing. It’s a little bit unbelievable, actually! 

“I’m sorry for Brooklyn’s judgmental behavior. What kind of weird-, what kind of clothes-” you stumble through what you already know is a shit apology, “Which one is Yuna?” 

“That’s her.” Namjoon nods in Yuna’s direction.

You look across the playground to the swing set, where a little girl is lying on the swing on her stomach and spinning around with her arms and legs hanging limp. She’s wearing her hair in asymmetrical pigtails, one higher on her head than the other. Her sneakers are mismatched, as are her colorful knee-high socks. Her pants are polka-dotted, her shirt striped, and she’s got a bright purple cape tied around her neck. 

“She’s adorable,” you say softly. 

“She’s weird as shit.” 

Your mouth hangs open when Namjoon shrugs. 

“What? She’s my kid; I’m allowed to say that.” 

“Fair enough,” you concede with a smile, “So, we got beef now?”

“Yup.” 

Namjoon crosses his arms against his chest to match your stance. You tell yourself it’s very inappropriate to be eyeing your new enemy’s boobs when you’re in the middle of a showdown. 

“I’m not gonna lie, I don’t think I’m down for going to war for Brooklyn. Usually, I just like to blame her bad behavior on her dad,” you say with a barking laugh. You cover your mouth with your hand when you snort. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.” 

“You’re good,” Namjoon finally cracks a smile, and, wow, it’s breathtaking. His eyes crinkle at the corners, his teeth are big and bright, and he has dimples… “Yuna’s mother doesn’t let her dress how she likes, so when I have her, I let her do what she wants. Self-expression is important, y’know?” 

You nod because he’s right. Kids should be kids. 

“Plus, I like being the fun parent.” 

“Right! Who wants the parent with all the stupid rules?” You perk up, taking a step closer because now you’re partners in crime rather than enemies. Maybe. You’ll work on it. He’s too cute not to get up to some parental crime with—gang members, not rivals. 

“Not cool parents like us,” Namjoon lightly elbows you. 

“Yeah, they can’t ride with our gang.” 

Namjoon makes a face the moment the words come out of your mouth. He bites both lips, rolling them in and hollowing his cheeks, eyebrows raised. 

“What? What!” you gasp, knowing when you’re being made fun of, even if it’s in silence. 

“Don’t ever say anything like that ever again.” 

With a huff, you give him a tiny punch to the arm and tell yourself that it isn’t because you want to feel how tight his muscles are. 

“You’re the one who–” 

“HEY! NO HITTING!” 

Groaning, you throw your head back as a tiny blur of pink collides with your body. Brooklyn tugs on the hem of your shirt, repeatedly chanting, “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” until you crouch to meet her at her level. Taking her little hands in yours, you hold them to your lips to give her knuckles a quick peck. 

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that to Mr. Kim,” you admit, “I should apologize, shouldn’t I?”

Brooklyn nods, and the bulbous beaded hair ties at the end of her pigtail braids swing like a deadly game of tetherball. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kim,” you say as you look up at Namjoon. He taps his finger against his chin in mock thought, and you can’t help but think that you’ll actually punch him if he fucks up this teaching moment by pretending not to accept your apology. 

“I forgive you,” he says with another grin that makes you feel like a silly teenager. 

“Y’know, Brooklyn, Mr. Kim told me something about you and Yuna…” Brooklyn immediately ducks her chin to her chest. No one has ever looked guiltier. “It’s not very nice to talk about how people look, love. I think you should apologize to Yuna, don’t you agree?”

It takes very little convincing for Brooklyn to run off toward the swings. She flops on her stomach in the swing beside Yuna, and then, after a bit of talking, both girls spin around. 

“If Brooklyn throws up from doing that, it’s your fault,” you mutter to Namjoon. 

“Real aggressive coming from someone who just physically attacked me.” 

“Okay, Mr. Gang Shit,” you quip back, catching Namjoon’s widening grin out of the corner of your eye. 

“Listen,” Namjoon touches your elbow, his fingers lingering just long enough for you to give him your attention. Heat spreads along your forearm and makes your fingers tingle. “I don’t really accept either of your apologies. You might need to try a little harder to get me to forgive you.”

“Oh.” You feel your stomach twist. 

“Might want to start with getting dinner with me, and then we can see where it goes?” 

Oh.

“I mean, if you think it wouldn’t hurt my street cred being seen with the likes of you, then, yeah.” 

Namjoon grabs his baseball cap bill and pulls it down until his hat covers his face. “Don’t make me rescind this offer because I’ll do it.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see how it goes.”

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

[bluemusickid]

Private Chef! Joel thots

ok so I've had this idea lingering for a while now, and the SAG outfit has just FUELLEDDD more of my thots!!!

Side note: (He has never looked sexier, how dare he age this well; how am I supposed to go on with my life; this is absolutely not fair)

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!plus size! reader

Warnings: smut, mentions of sex, oral (f receiving), Joel Miller, 18+ only, minors DNI

Sharing a smallish drabble/thotty abstract, if you will:

Ok, so maybe Joel has joined your family as your private chef. After all, your parents are SUPER rich, so they might as well look and feel the part.

You had to admit, he was worth every penny your mother was paying him. Not to mention he was easy going on the eyes, which made your mother glad; she would parade him around her lavish parties to the "cougars"/bored rich housewives, something which made your eyes roll.

Little did they know that the ever so charming Joel was a FREAK with a capital "F" in the sack.

You honestly don't even remember how it happened. A few conversations here and there, he had offered to teach you how to cook and bake; and those lessons were often plagued by thoughts of him bending you over and having his way with you, leaving you throbbing and wanting. If you didn't know any better, you could tell that it was affecting him too. His voice got huskier, eyes darkening every time he looked your way. It was a game of chicken, almost, how long either of you could keep the distance before the inevitable damn bursting.

You had once gone to "ask" him "a cooking doubt", and saw quite a sight indeed. Gone was the prim and proper Joel, with his neatly ironed and clean apron and immaculate dress shirts. His curly hair was mussed up, his shirt slightly untucked and his top buttons undone; he seemed to be engrossed in a video, hie eyebrows scrunched together as his fingers kneaded some dough, prepping for tomorrow's party. It was honestly like porn, the way his strong arms kneaded the dough, his thick fingers making you nearly drool. It took all your strength to walk away from there before you embarrassed yourself and begged him to throw you to the ground and pound you into the ground, no matter how desperate that sounded.

And it had happened finally. Another one of your parents' shindigs, and you found yourself bored out of your mind, only half listening to one of your mom's friend's son, whose one semester in London had "like, totally changed his life." Excusing yourself, you made your way to the kitchen, topping off your drink.

You saw him there, again, making small talk with Angela, one of your mom's friends who just wouldn't take a hint. You'd never seen Joel this tense and yet Angela seemed oblivious, throwing herself at him, her screeching laugh loud enough to wake the dead.

You took pity on the man and made up an excuse on his behalf, beckoning him to join you, picking up a few wedges of limes on the way, an idea forming in your mind. He bid Angela goodbye, hurriedly following you before she engaged any further.

"...Whyyy are we going to your room?" He asked bewildered, hesistant as he stood at the threshold.

You shrugged, "figured you could use a proper drink, not the shit downstairs." Taking out two shotglasses, you handed him a rather large shot of Hendricks, your drink of choice to get "classy-drunk".

You toast, downing the smooth liquid as it left a slight burn. Wincing, you pour another, his eyes widening at the pour.

"I'm technically on duty."

"And i'm technically meant to like all the guys my mom has shown me, but life doesn't work that way, does it?" You quipped, clearly goading him.

One shot turned to two. Two to four. The party was long forgotten, the both of you pleasantly tipsy and unguarded. For the first time, it felt like Joel was opening up to you.

"If I didn't know any better, i'd say you were planning on getting me drunk, sweetheart." He drawled.

You smirked. Making your way towards him, you poured another shot, promising him it that it was the last one, and that he could go back to his job. He chuckled, knowing that he would a tough time walking to the kitchen, let alone serving the guests. Lucky that the crew took over for the rest of the night, huh?

Wincing, Joel blindly searched for the wedge of lime to soothe the burn. Opening his eyes, he saw your cheeky grin as you held the lime between your lips, challenging him to take the next step.

He nearly growled as he shuffled closer, your faces mere inches from one another. His fingers ghosted over your lips as he inched closer, his lips tasting the juice of the lime. Plucking the wedge from your lips, his mouth was on yours, urging you to open up for him. You groaned, tasting the citrusy hints of the gin along with the slight tang of the lime, your tongues weaving an intricate dance.

While the party downstairs was loud and had taken a rather raucous turn, up in your room, the only noise you could hear was the sound of harsh grunts and panting breaths.

When your mom had first hired Joel, you didn't understand exactly why she did so, because the chef you'd had earlier was perfectly fine. Now, you couldn't thank her enough for hiring him.

Joel had you pinned to your bedroom door, as he ate you out enthusiastically. Pulling your thigh on his shoulder, he doubled down on his efforts to get you to come undone. Running your fingers through his beautiful curls, you tugged on them as his wonderful tongue worked its magic on your swollen nub. He hummed, circling his finger around your center, urging you on.

Pulling your other leg on his shoulder, he moved to pick you up. You were uncertain about this, but he was insistant, picking you up like you weighed nothing at all. He didn't stop his ministrations as he dropped you on her bed, continuing his amorous assault.

This display of strength had you clenching and reaching your end in no time, as you moaned loudly, yanking on his curls to ground yourself.

"Oh baby, keep doing that, don't stop." He moaned, as he made his way up your body, leaving small kisses and nips along your thighs, your belly. He reached your breasts, taking a swollen nub in his mouth and sucking enthusiastically.

Looking down, you saw one of the most erotic sights ever. Joel worshipping you, his curls a wild mess, his pristine white shirt damp with your release and with a few buttons undone, coming untucked out of his tight black pants.

You groaned. You needed him so badly it practically hurt. Reaching down, you palmed him through his pants, as he thrust himself into your wandering hands.

Pulling his erect length out of his pants, you panted as you worked him over, stroking him as he moved his hips in tandem with your hands. His harsh breaths as he groaned and grunted through gritted teeth turned you on like nothing else.

"I'm close, sweetheart." He managed to blurt out, as you increased the speed of your strokes, tongue moving along his already sensitive head. He pulled his length from your grasp as he worked himself to his climax, yelling out and cursing as he came all over your breasts.

You were mildly disappointed that he held back from fucking you; hell, you were sure he was going to finally take that step and put you through the mattress.

"Joel, I need you. Please." You begged, the need to feel him fill you up dangerously high. You sounded pathetic, sure, but you were beyond caring at this point.

Joel smirked, catching his breath.

"I have to get back sweetheart. Your mom would kill me if she didn't see me in the kitchen."

You couldn't hide your frown as you watched him neaten up, running a hair through his curls. Joel leaving you high and dry was not how you saw your plan panning out. He was about to leave as he turned back, made his way to you, holding your chin between his fingers.

"But I promise you, this isn't over. Not by a long shot." He breathed against your lips, leaving a small peck as he left, leaving you weak and wanting for more.

Silently seething, you began to plot your next steps. Joel Miller wouldn't know what hit him.

Oh no i don't like it i don't think this is my best work but omg it's out there *runs and hides in a corner*

Will there be a part 2?? That's a great question. Honestly i think i could've done better so maybe i have a redemption arc as well lolol, who knows atp

[allpiesforourown]

Thots on cam boy shen yuan?

cam boy shen yuan would be super hot in theory, but in practice he's too rich and thin faced to ever do it.

you know who would ?? binghe. 100%, i will elaborate underneath

alright. you are luo binghe. love of your life shen yuan is obviously physically attracted to you, but you don't know if he realizes it. now how can luo binghe do that?

first, make a sexy calendar for charity or something. tell your buddy shen yuan about it and obviously he buys like 50 to support you, which is perfect because you only made 50. he will put one up and stare at your abs in 'heterosexual admiration for your physique' so this plan isn't for that: it's to give shen yuan your onlyfans account

You see, when shen yuan sees the 'about this model' section in the calander, he'll find out that binghe has his social medias listed, including one that shen yuan doesn't know about??

boom he finds binghe selling nudes or jacking off or whatever. this is all part of the plan. Now shen yuan is in a position where he thinks he knows about something that binghe didn't want him to know about. he fidgets around binghe with guilt for a while until one day he pulls him aside for a talk

He stumbles around the topic with general lines like "you can talk to me about everything" or "there's nothing wrong with asking for help with money" etc etc.

NOW THIS IS THE MOST IMPORTANT PART: shyly say actually you've started trying a new way of making money because you don't want to be a burden. this is the one and only shen yuan, so obviously just to help you, he will subscribe to your cam show or whatever and shower you in money

at this point you sort of have him in a trap, because he can't make a straight excuse for paying for his bro's ball pics, but shen yuan often closes your streams halfway (probably out of shame or denial) so you have to make a scheme to make him watch the whole thing. it's easy for binghe to say some shit like "actually guys... lately it feels like no one appreciates the effort i put into jacking off on camera boohoo im so sad.. and shen yuan feels soooo guilty he starts watching the whole videos and the whole time he's blowing up your chatbox saying shit like "youre doing great!" and "wow it's really cool how long you can go"

and now, the end scene, the grand finale: you are hanging out at his place. at this point he has been pavlov'd through the cam videos so when you stub your toe and your groan sounds a little like a moan, shen yuan immediately yells out "YOUR COCK IS GREAT, BINGHE!" and you watch his soul transcend his body as he realizes what he's just done

[konigsblog]

petition to bring back cheater könig. that mf was toxic but hot‼️‼️

i have so many requests for cheater-könig, it's ridiculous... so, here's some more cheater-könig thots™️ (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

tw: open relationship, toxic relationship, jealousy, manipulation, guilt tripping, dark content, toxic-könig. dead dove: do not eat. MDNI 18+

it was könig's idea to open up the relationship.

of course, it didn't take a genius to understand that he was doing this only so he could cheat without consequences or repercussions. although, you were almost too happy to agree, to open up the relationship, just for some time away from könig...

what könig didn't expect, was for him to get jealous. he wanted to see you sob out at the hickeys on his bare neck, but instead, he found himself guilt tripping you into explaining who gave you the marks and hickeys on your bare skin, cursing you out and shaming you during the entire argument, throwing harsh and degrading names, like ‘whore’ and ‘slut’.

he didn't think he'd be the one to want to close up the relationship due to jealousy and bitterness, but seeing you coming home, a fucked-out and pleasured expression on your face after a delirious moment with your other boyfriend left könig sick to his stomach. he'd grit his teeth the entire time he'd fuck you — which instead of being a common and regular occurrence, was now something that barely happened as you had other men to go to for your arousal. he barely got into your panties anymore, mostly because you'd drunkenly excuse yourself that you're too exhausted after already being fucked, or simply uninterested.

what you don't seem to understand, is that könig needs some control over the relationship. he enjoys controlling the clothing you wear or the people you speak to, seeing you cry after countless, fruitless arguments over the exact same thing, over and over again. so, when you begin moaning out your other boyfriend's name during sex with könig, he can't take it any longer. he can't just allow you to be happy with another man... you're cheating on him!

of course, this argument is incredibly hypocritical and makes absolutely no sense as it's coming from konig. accusing you of being a cheater, whilst doing the exact same thing? fuck, he expected you to come crawling back by now, to comfort him as he forced tears to well in his waterline — instead, you screamed with tears running down your burning cheeks, threatening to leave him if he didn't get his shit together.

and you did — you didn't even wait... ‘poor’ könig tried so hard, and so desperately to shame you, with the hopes you'd pity or sympathise with him. :(

but, it's a shame you think it's that easy, little mouse. haven't you learnt anything from your time together? you belong to him, and only him.

[thisismeracing]

wholesome thot time:

decorating Christmas cookies with Lando and singing horribly along to Christmas songs and then having a lil smooch and you can taste the icing off his lips are YOU LYING 😫😭

He would be cracking jokes the whole time, finding excuses to kiss you and eat the dough before it was even finished.

"Lannn, c'mon, let's get this done with so we can get to the icing part," you whine, trying to add the eggs while he keeps kissing your neck and hugging you from behind.

"'m sorry," he mumbles against your skin. "You just look so cute with this Christmas PJs."

You smile, rolling your eyes playfully, and pecking his lips.

You wait for the cookies to bake with a nap in the living room enjoying the warmth from the fire and from your boyfriend's body under you. When the phone rings and you start icing, Lando is using the icing to write random stuff on the plate like "ily" "u cute" "wanna bang?" and you're trying your best to hold back your laughter because what is wrong with this dude.

Ariana starts playing through the speakers from the Christmas playlist that was going on for a while, and Lando is suddenly singing along to "Santa tell me" terribly off-key while adding orange icing to his car cookie.

You chuckle, and he turns his attention to you, "what?"

"I'm glad you're a driver, it would be hard to make a career as a singer."

And with that he's singing even harder and louder, taking giggle after giggle from you. He bends just enough to get closer to you who's sitting by his side minding your business - watching him while doing your own icing because he was this entertaining-, and kiss your shoulder through the layer of clothes. You face him and smile before bringing your lips together in a kiss. He tastes sweet like the icing with a hint of chocolate, and you can't help but hum.

"Were you eating the icing, Lan? I told you not to, we're gonna run out of it before finishing with all the batches."

He just grins, kissing you one more time, lips finding your cheeks, jaw, nose, and forehead. "Sorry, lovie, it was just so sweet. It's good isn't it?"

"I don't know, let me try again," you grin, holding him by the chin and kissing him again, Lando gladly accepting.

IDK WHAT THIS IS ITS NOT A BLURB BUT IT'S NOT A THOT EITHER, BUT ANYWAYS, I HOPE ITS GOOD, IM SWOONING OVER THIS SCENARIO NOW UGH <3

▸ my masterlist | my taglist | my patreon and my ko-fi

[jolapeno]

in the locker room

frankie morales x f!reader | frankie masterlist

summary: when you join him for benny's fight, frankie appears stressed. you have an idea to de-stress him.

warnings: TF canon compliant. explicit smut/oral m! receiving. my spellings (written on phone) wordcount: 1.6k

an: dedicated to @rhoorl who I wound up yesterday with this. babe, ily and our thot chats.

Waiting feels like a whispered question in a room of time.

Phone in your palm, glancing as you watch the text change from received to read—smiling, locking it as your grin is caught in the reflection of the screen, illuminated, proof that once again he does this to you. Has this effect on you—makes you a little reckless.

Your nose catches another whiff of the slightly off citrus disinfectant. The ones doing its best to smother over the stench of old sweat and socks. It lingers, attempts to embed itself in your clothes, lets you walk away with the reminder you were here.

A part of you hopes to walk away with something a little more than a reminder. A memory, maybe. Tapping the back of your phone against your palm, nervousness begins to ebb over the adrenaline from sending the message.

Waiting. Waiting.

Waiting—

BANG. 

Leaning against the locker, metal sinking into your bones past clothing and skin, you pocket your phone. Listening to it, the door shutting behind him, his gait in those boots—heels clicking as he rounds the lockers and spots you.

Frankie drinks you in. Does so like a man starved, parched—as though he wasn’t seated beside you moments ago before you excused yourself. Before you made a beeline for a different door that wasn’t the ladies' bathroom.

He's looked at you like he's wanted to devour you since the night you met, and all the nights that have been since. Even if he has, plenty and plenty of times. The look doesn't waver, it doesn't lessen.

Now, it's just embroiled in love, affection, care.

“You alright?”

Nodding, he comes closer—more lines deepening around his brows, eyes; shoulders almost hanging like earrings they’re so high up.

“Querida, what are…”

As soon as you can, you pull him close by his jacket. Brown, worn—cuffs rolled up and suede greet the pads of your fingers as he moves close to you with ease.

Still, Frankie frowns.

Still, he’s weighed down by something, irked by it. Brain totting things off that he won’t share or spill—just offers hollow smiles and barely-there glances.

“You look stressed, baby.”

His jaw ticks, just when your palm cups his cheek—thumb brushing over the patch. The little heart you trace when you can, that your thumb finds when you’re kissing him, when he’s so canting his hips and making you sing.

But, you suspect he’s still not caught on. Not grasped why you’ve sent him a mayday message to meet you in an old, smelling locker room. 

“Baby,” you whisper, more sweetly—a slice of sultry to it. Like a cocktail you hope he’ll drown himself in.

Chewing his tongue as he averts his eyes, storing secrets and hiding terrible truths from you. Things you’ll pull from him in time, retrieve. Probably wish you hadn’t, too.

But it’s not why he’s here—not why you want him here.

You don’t want to talk, to find out.

“Wanna make you not stressed.” 

Swallowing, you see it shift and feel him freeze. His eyes slide back over you, almost snapping to you as his hands rest on your hips.

“Here?”

Smirking, you tilt your head. Offering nothing, saying nothing.

It’s then you feel Frankie’s hands. Those large, capable and fucking perfect hands sliding around your waist, pushing you flush with the locker and his frame. Little to no space between you. Soft stomach against yours, your thumbs fingering at the suede of his jacket as you stare into his eyes. 

“Want you in my mouth, Morales.” 

“Jesus, fuck.” 

Hands sliding down over the curve of his stomach, eyes not wavering, never leaving, your palm runs over the growing bulge in his jeans as you tell him. As you describe to him how bad you want him, how it’s all you thought about—that having him in your mouth would make your night, your day.

“—so, can I, Morales? Can I suck you off in here?”

“Yeah, baby. Fuck. ‘Course you can.”

The thank you comes out on its own, escapes in a whisper as his head tilts around yours to glance at the door—the sound of cheers echoing down the corridor, leading here, cutting through silence and held breaths. 

It’s with ease his belt undoes, clanging and clattering; his jeans open next, zip grating against teeth as you slide it down, pulling the fabric down next—just enough to free his straining cock.

“We gotta be quiet, baby.” 

And he snorts, offering a roll of his eyes. Hand taking yours as he helps you descend to your knees—the floor hard, cold as it crawls in past your jeans. But, head level with him, your mouth waters at the sight of him. All of a sudden desperate to feel the weight of him on your tongue, to feel him kiss the back of your throat and coat the back of your teeth in his pleasure.

It’s teasing the way you wrap your fingers around him, lightly pumping, making him groan somewhere deep inside of his chest—a grumble in Spanish, one that makes the corners of your mouth lift as you clear your throat.

“You’ve got such a nice cock, Morales,” you whisper, leaning forward, pressing a kiss to the tip—salty tang lingers on your lips when you kneel back. Watching as his hips buck, cock twitching in your hand. 

“You want to come in my mouth?”

It’s a murmur, an array of letters merged together to say please as you slide the tip of his cock inside your mouth, your smirking lips closing around it. Hearing it, the hiss from his teeth; but, you pull from him. 

Hearing it—the tortured sound that feels like a reward. But the prize is the way he looks a mess already. His lips were already parted, nostrils already slightly flared. That line between his brows gone, something you’re more pleased about than the sounds.

It’s why you lick a stripe up the base, smile at the pained fuck he lets escape. Taking him back into your mouth, fully, no games. Feeling his hand on the back of your head, before his grip tightens as you take more of him, feel him deeper—tears pricking at your eyes as spit begins to soak your chin at your enthusiasm.

Flicking your gaze up, you find his hidden under the shadow of his hat, the angle different—but you know his forehead is smooth. The furrows of whatever had caused them to melt away on your tongue as you taste what you crave. All salty tang and stress, it seeps into your throat as your head bobs and cheeks hollow.

Because it’s a reward to do this for him. To do this to him.

To have him like this, relaxed and yet tense. 

“Fuck, y’so good for me.”

The crowd masks over the sinful sounds of your mouth working him. You only lift off to catch your breath, letting the tip trace your swollen lips as you stare up at him, finding him transfixed, unable to see anything but you.

Fingers swipe over your chin, cleaning the spit from it, showing it you glistening on his fingers. “Don’t make a mess.”

The command—you’re sure has ruined your underwear. The same fabric that would provide so much relief if you could angle yourself to gain some friction.

Moaning, you clutch the base of him, mouth close to taking him as you breathe, “I love your cock, Frankie.”

Angling his head in a ‘yeah?’, his words are stolen as you slide him down your throat. Knees shuffling closer, you nudge them against the tips of his cowboy boots, hands around the back of his jeans for leverage. You feel it, the familiar fabric you’ve got in your palm—the one you’ve had chafing on your thighs when you’ve been bare and wanting; the one which you’ve picked up and washed with your clothes.

And it’s that familiarity that makes you moan, makes you swirl your tongue over the head of his cock, as you hear him curse in a deeper, more gravel-filled voice.

You love him, love this—love this thing between the two of you that you’ve never had with anyone else. It's like an inferno, consuming, not yielding even as time ticks on between you. There's only trust, understanding—a hard honesty, but the two of you work to keep there every single time.

Then, there's the fact that you know from the sounds he’s making he’s getting close. It makes your skin warm, pussy flutter; it makes you tempted to slot his boot between your thighs and ride him. Especially as you notice the sweat shining on his forehead, it twinkling under the shitty fluorescent lights when he rests his head against the metal behind him.

Fuck, it spurs you on. 

That and the taste of him reaching his pinnacle—how it’s stronger, tangier; his moans louder and less reserved. 

“Fuckfuckyesqueridafuck—“

The expletives flow freely, not held back or restrained. They practically echo, becoming a song that only your ears get to hear as his hand tightens and you watch his other fist clenched at his side.

Then you feel him at the back of your throat—him filling your mouth. Breaths ragged, pulled from him as you slowly continued to bob, not wanting to waste a drop, to not have everything you could.

You don’t consider moving until he loosens his hold on the back of your head, until his eyes unclench, and you’re washed in soft brown. 

He slips himself free from your lips as you swallow, his palm cupping your chin and jaw as he tilts you to look at him. 

“You alright?”

Nodding, you trace your thumb over your lip. “You feel better?”

He hums, for a moment looking all at peace as his hand aids you to your feet. You believe him, believe it—the hum. Looking away, for less than a second, allowing him to stuff his softened cock into the confines of his clothes as he redresses.

Then you see it.

The shadow in his eyes, the thing that had been there when you’d made it just for the last round of Benny’s fight. When you’d kissed his cheek and he’d gripped your hand and said he’d missed you—even if he'd seen you this morning.

Breath shaky, you fold your arms loosely. “You need to talk to me when we get home, don’t you?”

Not saying anything, not needing to, he pulls you close, unravels your arms and kisses your forehead. 

“I love you, querida.”

“Lo sé, Morales.”

Because you do.

[writefightandflightclub]

Suddenly got hit by the thought of Leto taking his sweet time eating his cum out of you after fucking you over and over for hours…

Um. Excuse me? Ok. Um. Help?! Like. My God. Um. Yes?!

(Thank you for this delicious thot, Erika, and please accept this hastily scrawled offering in return for your kindness in sharing this 😝🧡 Also sorry for typos or incoherence. Wrote this in a haze and I’m about to go to bed so no time to proof!)

P.s. I’m keen to write more for the Duke atm so anyone (18+ ofc) feel free to hit me up with requests 🧡

Word count: 1.1k ish

Warnings: SMUT: oral, cum-eating (lots) 18+ only, Minors DNI

Plenty: (Duke Leto Atreides x fem!reader)

You’re sure his tongue is tracing the shape of the Caladan coastline as it shivers through your folds, pleasure blooming through your core like the surge of waves into your deepest coves.

You cry out, clamping your own hand over your mouth to quiet yourself, the sound digressing to something muffled against the palm of your hand.

You feel Leto chuckle warmly against your cunt, before sucking a puckered kiss over your clit. “What is the use of a palace so grand as this if my concubine cannot make noise, hmm? Who is it that will hear you, all this way from the halls?”

“The guards, perhaps.”

“Let them hear you.”

Your breaths grow ragged as he works at your folds with his tongue. “I think they have already heard plenty from me for today, my Lord.” Leto knows well how to please you. Perhaps he does not care as to who knows it.

“There’s no such thing as ‘plenty’ when it involves you, my dove.”

He must believe that, for all day he has not tired of you. All day he has bred you, filling you over and over with his seed until you were full of him. Until, when he shoved inside of you with his throbbing cock, his own release was forced out around him, coating your thighs, his balls, his abdomen, the silken sheets - both your writhing bodies.

And, now that you have finally drained him dry, he settles himself over your sensitive cunt, his tongue laving the apex of your thighs, licking up his own spend.

He huffs his warm breath against your folds again as he adjusts, settling his head more squarely between your thighs. Your legs are folded back towards your chest by the firm press of his warm, broad palms, your Duke laid out on his front - in an undignified manner, quite unbefitting a man of his position.

You take pride in it. In him. At stately functions you have gossiped with other concubines - or, rather, have allowed them to gossip in your presence, as that would be unbecoming of your position. You’ve heard them tell that their Lords are more than content for their concubines to sink to their knees in service, but that the equivalent act is never bestowed in their favour.

And then, there’s your beautiful Leto.

You could count out whole calendar months against the time he’s spent between your thighs, and you know you are endlessly lucky to be at his service, when he gives you so much in return.

Indeed, you moan as his tongue probes greedily at your sensitive, fucked-open entrance, humming as his lips and beard glide over the mess he’s made of you. “Leto,” you gasp, as you realise he must mean to suck you clean of him.

He hums and you hear him swallow, the idea of him tasting himself sending a wild, throbbing want to your over-worked clit.

You throw your head back on to the propped stack of pillows he’d arranged you on when, moments ago, you had grown limp and boneless through your earth-shaking release. Your body positioned so that his seed must be gradually eking out of you, you now realise; taking a slow, honeyed surge down to his wanting lips.

You lick your own lips, imagining the moreish salt-tang of him, and once again pleasure crests as his tongue shivers through your folds. His ministrations dance over you in a gentle, teasing pattern; then, he flattens his tongue, licking a hot, greedy stripe along the full length of your throbbing slit.

Even the air is full of sex, just like you are, the room salted like the sea, a rousing musk which fills your lungs and makes you think of home.

You whimper, clamping your hands either side of his head, twisting your fingers into the regal, grizzled waves which undulate between the slack grasp of your fingers. You know not whether you mean to pull him closer or to push him away, but in the end you do neither, instead bucking your arousal up and into his mouth, grinding your heat against his beard and chin and nose until he is coated - a mess of your juices and his own seed as though he is the shore now, and you the dragged, liquid tide coursing over his stony face.

Leto does not complain, however. Instead, when you look back down to him his eyes are glinting wickedly - like black stones winking out of rock-pools. He hums into your heat, the sound low and drawn-out; sending vibrations singing through your core and reminding you you are empty of him.

“Leto!” you squeal suddenly as he swirls his tongue against you, flicking and thudding against your clit. Using all the power and finesse in his lips and tongue to stake his compelling argument.

You grow breathless, an impossible pleasure building as he writhes his tongue along your sensitive folds, meticulously cleaning every last drop of him from you.

“Do you like to taste yourself, my Lord?” you ask as a warm heat blooms right through your middle.

“I like to taste how full I made you, my dove. I like to taste how many times I claimed you as my own.”

From his position, you watch crinkles radiate out from around his eyes as he looks up at you - with a wicked amusement at the growing state of you, already a mess and about to become further undone. Then, he resumes his focus, his proud nose nudging against your clit as he sinks back towards your entrance.

The blooming pleasure makes you clamp down on nothing, empty of him, squeezing more of his seed out of you. You feel it trickle out of you, moments before it is met eagerly by Leto’s lips and tongue. You shiver as you feel the pleasant scrape of his drenched, coated beard, flattened to his shapely chin as he laps up every drop.

He grunts, pushing your thighs further back, opening you up to him further, and, as his tongue curls and slides and probes against you just the way you like, you fist your hands into the sheets in desperation. “Leto! My Lord! What do you mean to do to me?” You can barely take it, so overcome with pleasure already. “Do you mean to clean up every drop?!”

He chuckles warmly, a sound only you are ever privy to. He grips your thighs to manoeuvre them downward, settling them either side of his ears for your comfort. Allowing him to twist and to plant a delicate kiss to your inner thigh.

“I plan to keep going until I can only taste you, my love,” he rasps into your skin, and his words cause your eyes to roll skyward once more.

Leto dips his eager mouth towards your cunt once more too, entirely unrelenting.

You interpret that you are going to be here for some time at his service; but that suits you just fine.

When it comes to Leto - and his supple tongue - there’s no such thing as plenty. Never such a thing as enough or too much.

He shoves his tongue inside of you, finally through with his teasing, it appears. Indeed, the benevolent Duke finally grants you a consistent pace and motion, carrying you forcefully skyward as your pleasure lifts - like a hawk tossed aloft by the graze of the wind under its wings.

And, this time, when you come undone, you do make enough noise to befit a palace of this size.

In fact, by the time your Duke is done with you - which won’t be for some time - they may even have heard your gracious, lilting moans from all the way down in the halls.

[andy-clutterbuck]

9x01 | A New Beginning

[dilfhos]

STRAY

#!WHO : SHIGARAKI TOMURA

#!CC: puppygirl!reader, thoughts of depravity, readers kinda naive, no thots just dick, there’s no expressive consent but reader’s kinda dumb and needy, use of “doggy” and “pup”. reader does actually bark (not them arf, yips! like a husky, heady bark.) MDNI.

+bringing back this banger from my old blog. you can also read it on my ao3. im nervous lol idk how its gonna hold up 2 years later, diff audience. i can’t remember the ask specifically but it was something like Shigaraki finding a stray and he ends up using her. omg and i want to tag @bakatenshii idk if you remember my old alias but i do remembered you loved this fic!

+NETWORK(S): @angelshub @bitchcraftinc (i keep forgetting to do this mL, excuse the random @/lovelies)

“Good girl,” Shigaraki whispers and he really means it, at least for now. It makes him think having a pet like you may not be all that bad…

Shigaraki still wonders how he ever let this be, an animal-woman hybrid living in his already cramped apartment. Doesn’t know why he hadn’t bothered to kick you out either. But it could be anybody’s guess as to why you still remain.

It all started when he got into an argument with his landlord, one that required him the self control to back off and avoid killing the bastard. It was rainy but Shigaraki paid no mind to the stinging raindrops that pelted his skin and soaked his clothes. It was dark out, but not too dark as to not notice you cowering against the side of his building upon his return. Your eyes were closed as you trembled in the cold rain.

Shigaraki didn’t know why he found himself moving closer to get a better look at you but when your eyes shot open, he found himself almost curious. He’d never seen anything like you before. Especially when your ears, you very doglike ears twitched forward, erect and alert. But you didn’t seem all that afraid. You were dressed in soaked shirt that was too big for you as it sagged off your body.

He crouched down and you inched toward him reluctantly and as you moved from your previous position, his eyes sought out the tail that had been tucked in between your legs.

“Hey, there you are,” Someone cooed from behind him. Shigaraki turned to eye the man. There was nothing all that remarkable about him; he wore all black, his hood over his head save for a few dark locks that stuck to his brows. Shigaraki wasn’t the least bit intimidated. But that couldn’t be said for you as you frantically dove into his arms, letting out a frightened whimper. Your ears flattened against your head as your hands curled into Shigaraki’s coat.

He wanted to back you off and leave from the situation as it had nothing to do with him and was fixing to do so when he looked down. Your pupils were blown and eyes glossy, pleading.

He sighed before standing, pulling you up with him to stand on trembling feet.

“She yours?” Shigaraki mumbled. You moved behind him, your hands tightening on his clothes.

“Heh, yeah, ran right out through the door. Isn’t that right baby?” You growled all while cowering behind Shigaraki’s form.

“No collar,” Shigaraki noted.

“Been meaning to get her one. C’mon baby, why don’t you leave the nice man alone and come back home with me?” He cooed.

The utter confidence and trust you had in Shigaraki at this moment was appalling. He barely covered the man in terms of height and upon first glance, he looked rather average. Definitely not the type to win in a fist fight. So why were you so dependent on him to save you?

Shigaraki didn’t have time to really think too much about it because the man advanced, silver glinting under the streetlamp. You yelped and cowered back against the wall again, covering your eyes.

You heard a grunt followed by a pained cry as that then died into the sound of pelting rain. When you lowered your shaky hands, Shigaraki was standing over a pile of what looked to be ash, the knife a few feet away.

Ever since that night, he couldn’t seem to shake you.

You’re loyal and to him, it’s annoying. Showing up at his doorsteps turns into you sleeping on his ratty couch. His chasing you away turns into grumbles of tolerance. The typical sneer he wears when you come sniffing around dissolved in hidden blushes and twitched lips as your distrustful cowering eventually turn into you becoming disturbingly comfortable around him.

After another day of pressing his key into the lock does he already see you on the other side of the door, tail whipping back and forth in excitement as you await his return. Except he isn’t really in the mood. Today was particularly bad and he wanted nothing more than to possibly let off steam, maybe watch something, blow his load and sleep.

“Stupid mutt, stop doing that!” He growls when his back immediately slams against the door, eyes narrowed in the way you smile up at him.

“Welcome home sir.” You beamed.

Another thing you picked up was calling him ‘sir’. Despite the many times he tells you not to. He wasn’t your last owner, and honestly, he’d like it if you didn’t call him anything. But every one of his complaints go through one ear and out the other with you having half the intelligence of an actual dog.

He recoils when he feels your tongue graze his neck. Groans when it doesn’t just end there. You’re licking his chin, his neck, and when your tongue laps over his lips, he’s trying to buck you off. But you’re so persistent as you press further against him, your front grinding up against his groin unknowingly.

Shigaraki bites back a moan at your ignorance, his cock already hardening from your aimless shifting.

You couldn’t feel the bulge pushing against your thigh? The soft grunts he’d release when you’d lap at the rough skin of his neck? You can’t be that stupid or then maybe you are.

But would it be that bad if you are? Because then he wouldn’t feel guilty when he dreams of stuffing you full with his cock. You practically ask for it every chance you get with him. The sleeping in his bed, your excessive show of affection, the sickening devotion in your eyes.

And then, isn’t it what he deserved? He did save you that night. Do you even remember how easy it could have been for him to just walk away? To give you up to that creep? Sure it only happened a few weeks ago but he thinks of that night as if it was only the last. How when he brought you home and went to retrieve a towel to dry you up, you were on your hands and knees practically presenting yourself to him as you slumped in exhaustion. As if giving him the go ahead to do what he wanted to and by gods, it took everything with him not to.

He wasn’t a hero, not by a long shot. And maybe you didn’t have the mental capacity to accept that he was actually a villain because in your eyes, he was your savior.

But as said, today was a particularly bad day and right now he felt anything but.

So just this once he’ll give in. Whether you wanted it or not didn’t matter to him at this point, already past contemplation. After all you’re his pet now, his property and if he can’t do this then what good are you really?

You release your little whimpers and when you look up, your eyes are wide, so full of confusion when he suddenly has you on your hands and knees pressing into you from behind on the floor. Your owner wears a new look, his eyes so feral, teeth gritted. And you know that look; it was the look of your last owner among all the other men that tried to take you on the streets. Hunger. Greed. Desperation.

And you should be wary, should cower away from the carnality in his eyes because you know better than anyone that when it’s present one thing is desired. Yet, you hold your ground. You don’t struggle, in fact he could just make out the way your hips shimmy back a little bit and the whine that surfaces from your throat.

You just can’t help it, the air around you has changed. A thick cloud of hot lust is weighing down around you and so much so, you can’t help but to submit. Besides you trust him one for reasons you can’t figure out.

Shigaraki refuses to meet your eyes, instead he quickly fumbles with his belt and takes out his hard cock. A blush spreads across his face when he eyes the steady slick trailing down your thighs and upon closer inspection he can see how swollen you were and that’s what does him in.

It’s what has him surging forward, bottoming out completely inside of you. Your ears flatten against your head as you let out the neediest sounding moan, one that has a shiver licking down his spine.

“Shit. Shit,” He should feel ashamed, taking advantage of you like this. But he clings on the fact that he’s a villain, that’s his justification. A villian with his pet, that’s all this is.

It’s fueling his newfound vigor as he speeds up, the heat of your tight cunny sucking him in with every cant of his hips.

His fingers dig into the plush of your hips as his own thrust forward, his cock forcing past your tight ring of muscle. You look back again, your eyes glossy with tears, long tongue hanging out as you whine and pant. He was so thick, so heavy within your tight, hot walls. Your nails scrape helplessly against the dingy carpet as he rocks into you with so much drive.

In the midst of your panting and whining surfaces his voice, so grating and filthy as he tumbles every degrading name in the book. It should worry him and yet it has his stomach knotting up, his thighs and glutes tightening as he holds on to your hips for dear life. And in the midst of that is the loud, wet, shlicks of each sink into you.

“My needy little bitch. Taking my cock like a good doggy,” He grits, eyeing the recoil of your ass against his hips.

His hand seeks out the base of your tail as he uses it as leverage to pull you back onto his cock. And it hurts, it has the tears spilling over and yet, your cunt only tightens around him some more.

“F-Feels good sir!” You cry out at about the same time as he mumbles,

“Good doggy, such a good pup,” And at his praise, your ears bend forward, and your tail begins to switch slowly in his gasp. You feel a knot in your tummy, desperately winding down to what you’re chasing. It has you rocking back against him needy to have, so so needy. And the way your resolve has melted away, it makes all his thoughts of guilt completely vanish, leaving him with an unbearable need to fill you up.

He’s quickly pulling out and flipping you onto your back, nails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he spreads you wide.

You were so wet, inhumanly so as it’s gushing down onto the carpet and the sight alone has him nearly cumming right then and there but he holds it. At least until he’s thrusting into you again, your head thrown back as you let out a broken whine. Your tits bounce with all the force he’s using as he’s putting everything into these last moments. His one track kind only focuses in the tuft of fur above your cunny, at the way your puffy lips pull part each time he's pushing forward and the slick coating his cock.

You’re yelping with each kiss he delivers to your cervix, hands desperate to hold onto to your new owner. You reach out and he grasps your wrists, using you to thrust impossibly deeper into you. Static fills his mind as his eyes roll back, his hips slamming against yours, balls smacking your ass each time.

“Fuck, fuck cumming!”

“Sir! Sir please-” You cut your own self off with a heady bark, one that startles him. It’s also what has him groaning as he twitches, his seed spilling so suddenly into you. Your pussy milks him as you gush around his dick and it has him falling over, elbows pressed into the carpet on either side of your head. Your legs wrap around his waist as your hips shimmy up against him, whining as you push past your own limits, twitching every so slightly at the overstimulation and sealing this moment of what would be the best one in your simple little head.

“Good girl,” Shigaraki whispers and he really means it, at least for now. It makes him think having a pet like you may not be all that bad.

He also thinks he should probably name you.

dilfos. do not plagiarize any parts of my content— current or archival. all rights reserved.

[jmdbjk]

Dear diary: day 613 on the couch...

Not really. It's only been 7 days. See what I did there? Actually, it has been exactly 7 days.

I'm about done with this covid crap but still at home out of "Abundance Of Caution."

And because I am a little stir-crazy/cabin-feverish, having seen everything on the internet twice and three times already and shit and having nothing left to do, I started rewatching Are You Sure?. Of course I did.

And as my now recovered brain would do when its not laying like a pile of grey jelly suffering from covid cooties, it is speeding through all the thoughts that are thotting up there. Damn it and them.

One in particular... that great pic of Tae and Manager-nim with JK photobombing in the background, supposedly taken in Hawaii, is the biggest thot thought of all. Not for the same reasons that others are celebrating the pic for. Redrum.

This one that Tae said he forgot about.

Tae posts pics of he and JK which supposedly was taken when he was in Hawaii and was apparently going skydiving and invited JK to come do it with him...very early 2023 by the look of JK's hair. So you're telling me Taehyung went skydiving... SUPPOSEDLY literally jumped out of an airplane from way up in the sky in Hawaii... yet in Jeju in late September of same year, he acted like he was too scared to jump onto a sandbag from a stationary platform 30 feet in the air in a controlled environment with a safety harness on... (side-eye).

Or did Tae chicken out at the last minute in Hawaii and not actually jump out of a plane? Will we ever know? Did JK fly all the way there to hold his hand and he still chickened out? It kind of looks like JK is having to convince Tae in the above pic. Don't back out on me now bruh, I flew 9 hours to do this shit, I'm doing it with or without you.

Pretty sure JK went through with it because during an interview last year, he said he's been skydiving, right? So if he did, SURELY someone caught that on camera? Will we EVER see it?

And if Tae DID jump out of that airplane too... please explain exactly WHO is doing the fan-service in Are You Sure?

In other news, I heard the cult was mad at JK because guess what? They finally actually watched original content (episode 4) thinking they'd see more of what they thought they saw in Ep. 3 and therefore hijack the show. Wrong. Original content is kryptonite to the cult. Surprised they didn't all melt into the ground like the wicked witch when they watched it.

I haven't seen anyone mention all the secret hand signs or codes that supposedly pass between Tae and JK. Duh. Because there is no such thing as secret hand signs and secret codes.

Except this one which isn't secret at all:

FYI, I think the pool moment when JK reminded JM the pool was transparent, I think Jimin was gonna yank JK's pants down. I think its one of their silly kinks when they are down to their skivvies. Which they were. Those two... I swear... can't take them anywhere.

And lastly, no excuse now for JK to not do that CK underwear ad... maybe he's already done it and it'll hit us when we least expect. The thoughts are thotting.

My brain would welcome any perfectly logical explanations to any of this.

[jadequeen88]

As someone who has worked many different service industry jobs, I obviously have lots of thots about line cook! Eddie. Let me elaborate:

Eddie is the one cook who keeps all the other younger hooligans in line. Did they make a rude comment about your skirt riding up while you’re picking up a drink someone spilled? Spatula to the back of the head. They need to learn to treat these hard-working girls with some respect. One of them wolf whistles? Eddie pinches their ear, looks at you apologetically, and says, “Sorry, sweetheart. This one here is barely housebroken. Doesn’t know how to act around pretty ladies.”

He’s also definitely the one all the servers have a crush on. He’s the topic of many smoke break discussions. You didn’t even smoke until you worked there, just wanting an excuse to bat your lashes and bum cigarettes off him. One night, he grinned as he took a long drag and let the smoke curl out, saying he was smoking his last one, but you could have a hit off it if you wanted. Instead of taking it from him, you wrapped your lips around the filter as he was still holding it. Watching his pupils widen and seeing him lick his lips in response was a big payoff for such a risky move. 

The other servers start getting jealous of your special treatment, but Eddie really doesn’t give a fuck, and as long as your boss is happy with your work, you’re fine with it too. Sometimes he moves your ticket to the front of the queue if it’s a really busy night and the other girls have been giving you a hard time. You shake your head in weak protest, but Eddie just says, “I gotta give my favorite girl the red carpet treatment every now and then, don’t I? You work so hard, darlin’. I gotta do my part to help you keep those bastards out there happy. Keeps that tip money coming in for ya’.” He gives you a wink as he twirls his spatula and gets to work, leaving you a blushing mess. 

Up to this point, you thought it was just Eddie being a flirt because you were the new girl, but the night you see him with one of the particularly annoying cooks pinned against the wall by his throat for calling you a “dumb bitch”, you start to suspect your crush might not be as one-sided as you’d originally thought. Afterward, he walked up to you and asked if you were okay. The gentle caress he placed against your cheek made your lashes flutter before you could stop yourself. “Y-yeah, Eddie. Thanks.” His thumb brushed along your cheekbone, and he graced you with the lopsided smile you loved before pulling away to say, “No one talks about my favorite girl that way.” You were in a daze the rest of your shift. 

A couple of nights after that interaction, you stay late to wrap all the silverware and cut all the lemons. You knew the other servers left those time-consuming tasks for you as a punishment, but you refused to neglect to do them and put the opening shift in a bind. Even if it was fucked up of them to do that to you in the first place. You realized after a few minutes that someone else was there deep cleaning the grill. You nearly dropped a whole container of freshly cut lemons when you heard whoever it was singing along to one of your favorite songs you’d been silently head-banging along to as you worked. 

The soulful delivery of this mystery man’s singing had you weak in the knees, and it only got worse when you peeked around the corner to see that big voice coming out of Eddie’s mouth. His eyes were closed, bandana-clad head thrown back, as he scraped the grease off the grill and sang his heart out. He must have sensed you standing there, because he turned towards you and jumped a little, those pretty chocolate orbs widening. It was kind of adorable. 

“Shit, sweetheart! Didn’t know I had company, or I’d have kept my wailing to a minimum!” He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. How dare he have the nerve to look embarrassed when all you could think about was getting on your knees and under that apron after hearing his voice?

“Eddie, that was…” your voice cracked a little. You cleared your throat and continued. “That was amazing. I love that song, by the way. Not many people here listen to them. You do it justice.”

He turned red and couldn’t meet your eyes, a rare way for the bold man to behave. You liked this side of him. “I do okay, I guess, but I’m better on guitar than vocals.” It seemed to dawn on him that you revealed that you had a similar taste in music then because he perked up and met your gaze again. “Wait, you listen to this kind of stuff?” You nodded and grinned at his sudden switch in tone. “Damn, I didn’t know you could get any more badass!” You laughed at that. “You know,” he continued and cleared his throat. “I’m in a band. We do okay. Decent crowds. We play Tuesday and Friday nights down at the Hideout.”

That’s how you end up at a dive bar the following Friday night, front row cheering Eddie on as he shreds on stage. Afterward, he grabs you up into a sweaty hug, spinning you around. “That’s the best I’ve ever played, baby.” Your heart fluttered. He hasn’t used that pet name before… “You gotta come to every show now and be my good luck charm!” You giggled and agreed. Like you’d ever turn down that offer. 

The flirting amps up at work after that. Eddie yelling out, “There she is! Light of my life, goddess incarnate! How’s your day going, sweetness?” from behind the grill becomes a daily thing. “‘M doing fine, Eddie. How about you?” You always answer. You know what he’s going to say before his mouth even opens, but it gives you butterflies every time. “Million times better now I’ve seen you! Now go out there, kick-ass, and get those tips!”

Things come to a head one night when you’re dealing with a table of Hawkin’s “elite,” the rich boys that thought being born on the right side of the tracks made them special. It didn’t help that their table was in view of Eddie’s workstation. He had a front-row seat to the show, watching them flirt with you, and you have to put up with it, having to smile through it. When the loudest one slipped you his phone number, Eddie couldn’t take it. You heard a clatter and saw a flash of dark curls exit through the back. “What’s going on?” You asked one of the other guys. They all shrugged and looked at each other, just as lost as you were. 

You walk out back and see Eddie leaning against the rough brick wall lighting his second cigarette. He jolts upright when he sees it’s you. “Oh, hey sweetheart. Need to bum one?” He holds the carton towards you, and you can’t help but notice his sad eyes. 

“No, Eds. Can I just have a drag off yours?” 

“Course darlin’,” he mumbles around his cigarette before holding it out to you. He just expects you to let him hold it for you by now. It doesn’t mean it makes his chest ache with want any less, though. 

“What’s the matter, Eds?” You ask sweetly. It embarrasses him that he’s so weak for you. 

“Nothin' to worry about. Promise.” He tries to smile, but he knows you can see right through him. 

You had a feeling it had to do with the asshole trying to give you his number earlier, but you’re still a little nervous to address it and get rejected. So you take a deep breath, brace yourself, and ask, “Was it because that guy gave me his number?”

Eddie couldn’t meet your eyes, “Am I that obvious, sweetheart?” he sighed and looked up to the star-speckled sky overhead, “Some days, I wanna come clean so you’ll reject me already. Put myself outta this misery. But I always chicken out,” he turned to you with misty eyes, “I'm a coward, you know? I’d rather have little pieces of you than nothing at all.”

He barely finished his speech before your hands found his stubbled cheeks, and your mouth was on his. Eddie tasted how you’d imagined he would, the cigarette you shared and cherry chapstick. His eyes closed and he sighed sweetly. It was pure heaven. You pulled away and he smiled bigger than you’d ever seen.

“You silly man,” you whispered, nudging his nose with yours, “All you had to do was ask me out and I’d have said yes.”

“All this time?!” he said, eyes bulging and voice going high.

“Yes! All this time,” you responded. Now it was his turn to initiate a kiss, this one more consuming than the last, his tongue barely swiping your bottom lip. You whined under his touch, making him turn desperate.

“Baby, we gotta revisit this in a couple of hours. Just so I know that I'm not hallucinating.”

“You got it, Eds,” you bit your lip and pulled away from him to go back inside to finish your shift. Before the door closed behind you, you could hear Eddie whooping and cheering in celebration. Needless to say, as soon as you were both clocked out that night, you never kept your hands off each other again.

NOTE: Thanks to everyone on the discord server for fueling this madness. I’d love to revisit this and write an actual fic with smutty goodness. So everyone, let me know what you think!!

@trashmouth-richie @munson-blurbs @pinkrelish @eddiemunsonsmum @courtingchaos @corroded-hellfire @chestylarouxx

[reveluving]

Thot of the Day: College COD men x shy!wife AU where they're your best friend... and then more!

After you finally break up with your sorry excuse for a boyfriend, your best friend immediately confesses to you.

Telling you how much he loves you and he always has, and also how sorry he is for not saying it sooner, especially after the mistreatment by your ex. He was worried he might ruin what the two of you had, even as just friends. 

He should’ve acted on it so long ago. Something he should've done from the get-go.

But now that the jerk's out of the picture, all that matters is the two of you. It always has been. One day, when the two of you are attending a college party, your last one before graduating, you stick close to each other in the corner of the room.

And then, he sees your ex with his new girl.

But that man also wouldn't stop looking at the two of you to the point where he's not even focusing on his new girl anymore, even when she's grinding up against him and nipping on his neck.

His presence also catches the interest of a few partygoers. Always known as the self-assured, overachieving and respected figure of the school.

He exudes confidence with those he meets, but he prefers his tight-knit circle of friends. With his achievements and how he carries himself, he was intimidating just as he was inspiring, so it was a surprise (but not really, because you are his best friend) to see him shamelessly showing you his affection.

Word spreads fast about the 'best friends' finally dating, after all.

So, he takes advantage of the situation, holding you in his arms at all times, kissing you ever so softly and whispering God knows what that has you looking away with a bashful smile, all while your ex watches as if you had betrayed him.

The glass in his hand shakes just a tad bit, threatening to break it as he watches your face contort in pleasure from a mere kiss. Then hiding in his chest because you're scared the students around you might be watching.

Oh, how he enjoys seeing the jerk's eyes widen in fear when he looks up at him. Sharp and darkening as he stares him down.

He's gonna have to keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid just to try and win you back. 

Again: try. 

Because the bastard can try all he wants, but there's no denying that he'll look fucking stupid in the process. 

But if he tries anything. Anything that'll scare you like he did when you were still dating.

He's going to get it. Worse than what was already coming for him. 

Real soon.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

;; — Price, Soap, Keegan, Ghost, Gideon, Graves, Alejandro, Horangi — ;;

Come & check out my COD m.list!

[starrylothcat]

Handful

Crosshair x Fem!Reader One-Shot

Summary: You drive Crosshair wild in your new dress. 2300 words.

Warnings: Smut. Smutty smut smut. NSFW 18+. Minors DNI. Established relationship, consensual PiV sex. Crosshair is an ass man.

Everyone is Happy on Pabu AU. (Yes, Crosshair is rescued and on Pabu. Yes, Tech and Phee host weekly family dinners. Yes, everyone is alive and happy)

Author’s Note: Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. This is pure debauchery. I have no excuse.

I wrote this kind of fast bc I had to get it out of my drafts (aka purify myself of thots) so I apologize for any errors or weirdness. This man is haunting me LOL. This is also in honor of sundress szn starting. (Crosshair is def an ass man, change my mind). I hope you enjoy 🙈😘

It was an exceptionally tropical and humid day on Pabu. The ocean was glass, the air devoid of any breeze to lessen the heavy humidity. The only promise of relief was coming with the setting sun as it began its descent toward the horizon.

Crosshair was sitting at your shared kitchen table, pretending to be absorbed in his datapad, sweating like a Gamorrean on Tatooine. His clothes felt too tight, too constricting. He had been feeling like this all day.

The heat wasn’t the reason he was hot and bothered, though.

It was you.

In that dress.

Crosshair’s trained eyes haven’t left your backside for one moment as you putzed around the kitchen, putting dishes away and humming an unrecognizable tune to yourself, a sheen of sweat visible on your bare shoulders and neck, exposed as your dress only had thin straps holding it up on your body.

It was a new dress, thin and flowing, perfect for a scorching day such as this. Crosshair watched intently as the material hugged and highlighted all your delicious, delicate curves. The dress framed your body perfectly, especially your ass. His desire to take you right then and there growing with every jiggle of your body under the silken fabric.

Tech and Phee had invited you over for a family dinner, a weekly tradition that started not too long after you all settled on Pabu. You had just finished making an appetizer to share and were cleaning up the kitchen, due to be over at their place soon.

You bent over to put a final plate away in a lower cabinet, giving Crosshair the perfect view of your voluptuous behind.

Now this was just unfair.

You were teasing him at this point, you had to be. He was going to wait until after dinner to completely ravage you, but his mind was already made up. Crosshair was not a patient man, not when you looked like this. He plucked his toothpick out from between his lips, silently setting down the datapad.

He advanced soundlessly, quickly maneuvering up behind you like a predator to prey.

You weren’t paying attention, standing up straight now, still absentmindedly humming a tune under your breath.

Crosshair smirked, realizing you were unaware of his presence, making what he was about to do even more satisfying.

He licked his dry lips as he reached down, grabbing fistfuls of your ass through the tantalizingly soft fabric of the dress. You yelped, startled by his sudden gropes as his body trapped yours against the kitchen cabinets.

“Cross…!” Your voice came out breathier than you intended as he kneaded his strong fingers into your supple flesh.

Oh, it was divine how you felt under his palms through the satiny material of the dress, just begging to be bunched at your waist as he fucks you into oblivion.

Crosshair let out a low growl at the thought and began leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses starting at your bare shoulder, up your neck, and to your ear, tasting the salty sweetness of your skin. “You’ve been teasing me all day with this kriffing dress…do you realize how you look?” His breath was labored, his hands now snaking up the front of your abdomen, his hips grinding into your ass.

You whined and instinctually brought a hand back to grab at his head, tugging at his silver locks, now grown back from his buzzed look when he first arrived on Pabu, free from imprisonment.

His teeth nipped at the side of your neck. “C-Cross…I’m glad you like my new dress but…” You couldn’t help but let out a gasp as his fingers began playing with your nipples through the dress. A wave of fresh desire rushed through him as he realized you weren’t wearing a bra, spurring him on further.

“…if you keep this up we are going to be late for dinner…”

“Dessert before dinner never hurt anyone.” Crosshair’s voice was a husky whisper, becoming more desperate to feel your curvaceous ass against his hips as he pounds into you.

You were turning to putty under his touch as your head lolled back against him, his fingers expertly rolling your now-hardened nipples.

“They can wait. Wrecker will be late, anyway.” He grunted, his lithe body grinding harder against you, knowing you were giving in.

Crosshair grasped your waist, stepping back slightly and spinning you around to face him. His expression was intense, his eyes wandering up and down your body.

“I was going to wear this dress to dinner.” You breathed, a coy smile on your lips, your eyes now hooded with want as you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him down closer to you.

Crosshair pinched your hips, a smug expression flashing across his face. “Not anymore.”

He pinned you again against the counter, this time his lips meeting yours in a fiery kiss, his hands once again groping up your ass through the dress. Crosshair groaned into your mouth as he bunched up the material, slipping his hands up under the fabric. His calloused palms squeezing and roaming up and down your backside was igniting you with lustful yearning, your blood boiling and skin impossibly hotter in the already sweltering heat. You needed to feel him, too.

Your hands shot down to his belt, trying to unbuckle it without looking. Crosshair smirked against your now swollen lips, removing his hands from their fervid exploration of your supple behind to help remove his belt.

Once the belt was off, you tugged down his pants and boxers, letting them fall to the ground as he stepped out of them, kicking the discarded clothing to the side. You saw how hard he was, precum beading at the tip of his swollen cock, showing you just how much he wanted you, needed you.

“I’m going to fuck you in this dress.” He muttered, his pupils blown with lust, his voice dangerously deep. “The way your ass looks…fuck, I’m going to make a mess of you, doll.” Crosshair’s hands quickly maneuvered under your dress again, practically ripping your panties off you, tugging them down past your thighs.

Before you could respond, he rubbed his fingers over your now wet and aching core through the dress, sending shockwaves of pleasure up your body. Crosshair’s mouth was hot on yours again, groaning as the fabric dampened under his fingertips. The material provided mouth-watering friction against your sensitive bud as his fingers worked magic over your cunt. You couldn’t help but let out a lewd moan at the sensation.

“That’s right…so wet for me…” He panted, increasing the pressure and movement of his fingers as you writhed against him, relishing in how your pussy felt through the delicate fabric. Your lips crashing together again, his free hand back to feeling up your ass through the dress, lost in everything that was you.

You grasped his hard length with your hand, the other digging into his bicep, giving him a few slow pumps over his velvety flesh as his tongue roamed your mouth. A deep growl left his chest, bucking into your hand.

Crosshair’s fingers continued their ministrations, and you could feel your release approaching, the front of your dress now soaking. “C-cross I’m…”

Your voice was hoarse, Crosshair’s lips devouring yours so ferociously you could barely think, his fingers increasing their pace of rubbing your clit through the dress. Your knees buckled, squeezing his length as you cried out against his lips, your orgasm rushing over you. Crosshair swallowed every mewl and cry that left your throat, feeling you fall apart against him. Your hand left his cock, both hands now gripping his shoulders to keep you from falling. Crosshair pulled away, breaking the kiss, both of you breathless and sticky with sweat.

“I’ll have to wear this dress more often.” You gasped, his mouth now on your neck again, biting and licking every square inch he could, his bare cock pressing up against you. Crosshair chuckled darkly against your neck.

“Yes, you should. But only for me.”

Without warning, he hauled you up, your legs instinctually wrapping around his waist as carried you to the bedroom, dropping you down onto the bed.

Crosshair tossed off his shirt, wild with lust. He was on you in an instant, his hands and mouth everywhere. No part of you was left untouched by him, squeezing, fondling, rubbing. He was rutting against you, spreading his precum on your dress, adding to the already large wet spot on your front. The feeling of the exquisitely soft and thin fabric against his cock was sending him into overdrive, needing himself in you now, to feel your softness without any barrier.

“Hands and knees. I want to feel your ass as I fuck you, watch you take me. Is that okay, doll?” He hissed into your ear, moving up and off of you. You nodded, his words causing pure arousal to burn through your veins. “Y-yes…” You obeyed, offering yourself to him, sticking your ass in the air as you settled on your forearms.

He kneeled behind you, sliding the dress up just enough to show him your perfect ass and pussy. “You’re gorgeous like this, all for me.” He drawled, rubbing the tip of his swollen cock at your entrance, shuddering at your slick folds waiting to be filled by him.

You moaned softly, trying to press back into him. “Crosshair, please…” You begged, needing to feel him inside you. He continued to rub against your entrance, teasing you. “Tell me how badly you want me…” He groaned through gritted teeth, positioning himself at your entrance, not able to hold back any longer.

“Crosshair, I need you, please…please fuck me…” He let out a dark chuckle, hearing the shake in your voice, the want for him. His chuckle turned low sigh as he sank into you, inch by inch, your walls tight around him, almost overwhelming him with the sensation.

“That’s…my girl…” He uttered as he rolled his hips slowly, pulling out almost completely and pushing back in as far as he could go. Crosshair did this a few times, relishing in how you felt, in how you looked. Your dress was messily bunched up around your waist, just as he imagined. His hands roamed up and down your ass and hips, squeezing, massaging, worshipping, savoring in all that was you.

Maker, he needed you, more than you’ll ever know. He craved you and your softness. You were the one to help him pick up the pieces after his imprisonment, showing him kindness and forgiveness he didn’t think he deserved.

Crosshair wasn’t the best with words, but at least he knew he could show you how much he cares, how much he hungers for you, how much he fiercely loves you.

“I told you-“” Crosshair stuttered out as he increased his pace, “-I’d make a mess of you.” He watched as your hands desperately tried to find purchase in the bed sheets, your cheek pressed into the bed, hips being held up by his strong hands, your knees trembling and eyes screwed shut in euphoria.

With every snap of his hips, your body spasmed with white-hot pleasure as he drove deeper and deeper into you. Your back arched as he hit that special spot inside you, your breath hitching with every devastating thrust, ripping moans from your throat.

Crosshair was losing any semblance of control as he watched you completely come undone beneath him. With one hand digging into your hip, he snaked the other underneath your dress, rubbing at your clit with practiced ease, causing you to see stars as you tried to match his thrusts. “I’m - ah so close…” You managed to sputter out, completely succumbing to him and the pleasure he was giving you.

Crosshair could feel your climax approaching, your walls fluttering around his cock as his fingers rolled and rubbed your sensitive clit, his thrusts not slowing down as he felt his own end rushing toward him.

One, two, three more expert circles of his fingers and you were cumming hard, clenching around him, your body shaking as you cried and sobbed out his name over and over.

Crosshair wasn’t far behind, watching the bounce and wiggle of your ass with each thrust, his hands roaming again as he came undone, cursing and grunting your name through his clenched jaw. He pushed in as deep as he could, giving you all that he had. Your body was weak, the shockwaves of your orgasm still pulsating through you as his thrusts slowed.

Crosshair’s chin dropped to his heaving chest, pulling out of you slowly. You lay down on your stomach, catching your own breath, your dress sticking to your sweaty skin, completely spent. Crosshair laid down next to you, pulling you into his arms. He pressed his face into your neck, listening as your ragged breaths slowed, trying to regain control of his heartbeat, basking in the afterglow of your shared passion.

Crosshair lifted his head, gazing at your flushed face. You gently ran your fingers over his tattoo, cradling his head in your hands. He kissed you, gently this time, his lips slow against yours. You melted into his kiss, loving the tender side of him that he only reserved for you.

“Help me out of this dress?” You whispered. Crosshair pulled away, a smug look returning to his face. “Who says I’m done with you in it?” He rolled himself on top of you, kissing you again, more passionately. You traced his back muscles with your hands, feeling him shiver under your touch.

You were definitely going to be late for dinner.

@wanderer-six @mylifeisactuallyamess

[missredherring]

Lap of Luxury

(Moodboard made by @psychedelic-ink )

Liam (Nikita) x Fat F!Reader

Rating: M

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: He’d told himself that you were a distraction, a liability, a weakness he’d be foolish to give in to, but he hadn’t been able to stay away. He hadn’t been able to stop wondering what it would look like to press his fingers into your skin.

Contents: established relationship. pwp. grooming of body hair. mentions of canon-typical violence. insecurity. oral sex (f! receiving).

A/N: I started writing this in Sept... and then I got distracted, but finally finished it today.

There is no one else I've thought "what a weirdo"(affectionate) more than Liam, so I'm glad to finally share this thot with everyone.

@psychedelic-ink I've finally finished it! Sil made this amazing moodboard. Please look on it with awe, cos I sure am.

Thank you to @fhatbhabie for looking over this.

“Did you start without me?” You ask after finding him on the couch, naked except for a towel wrapped around his slim waist. You toss your keys into the catch-all bowl on the cluttered entrance table and send him a pout before going into the bedroom.

Tracking your route through the apartment, he admires the way you weave around obstacles you’d placed there yourself like the ottoman that’s used as a side table, currently stacked with a wobbly tower of books you checked out from the library. Photos and prints on the walls that you stop to straighten, not remembering how you’d bumped them askew when he’d pushed you up against the wall so his hands could do other things while he kissed you.

When he’d moved into this particular space it had been intended for a short stay. A place to fulfill his basic needs and then he’d move on. To the next city, to the next apartment; wherever the job took him. Then he’d met you. And kept meeting you, finding excuses and then planning run-ins with you during your routines. His path had always been straight and to the point, but now with you, it’s a meandering wander through the days. Liam finds he doesn’t mind the slow and indirect path with you by his side.

“No. I’m just setting up.” He says, raising his voice to reach you in the bedroom. 

He glances back to the pad of his thumb where he’d been testing the sharpness of his straight razor and notices that he didn’t startle and cut himself when you’d come in. His smirk is a prideful little thing. Even so, he makes sure to move the blade when you come out to join him. 

You’ve changed into some of the clothes he’d gotten for you to keep here before you’d officially moved in: a plain t-shirt made from soft cotton in the biggest size he could find. You swim in it and often tell him you couldn’t be comfier when you wear it. He takes in the slope of your shoulders, the way you roll your head on your neck, and the lines that crease between your brows; all signs of the day’s stress. 

Liam motions for you to join him on the couch and hands you the bottle of shave cream in exchange for a kiss. When you settle in with your body turned towards him, you reach for the towel he’d put on the coffee table and drape it over your plump thigh before popping the bottle cap open. 

It would have been unthinkable to have someone else handle the razor before. He’d had acquaintances in Division, and after he’d gone rogue there was no one he’d let close to him. Until you. You, with your civilian background, civilian job, and civilian life. You’d had no idea who he was or what he’d done when you’d smiled at him and offered your help in finding what he’d been looking for. 

He’d told himself that you were a distraction, a liability, a weakness he’d be foolish to give in to, but he hadn’t been able to stay away. He hadn’t been able to stop wondering what it would look like to press his fingers into your skin.

Now here you are, about to take part in a ritual that calms his nerves and soothes the paranoid voice in his mind when it speaks louder of men around every corner that are coming for him.

Removing all the hair on his body had been a necessity so he didn’t leave any genetic evidence on a job. He isn’t as anxious about it these days, able to leave the hair on his knuckles and toes, but it’s still comforting and he knows you take some comfort in it as well.

You warm the cream between your hands before you smooth it up his forearm, pressing down to massage the muscles underneath his skin. The back and forth of your hands lulls you both into a sense of calm and not for the first time, he marvels at how he doesn’t react when the blade is put to his skin. No offense or defense, Liam sits still in your care of him. It’s a luxury he’d never been able to afford. The first pass of the razor is done in silence and you both let out a breath when you lift the blade from his skin and wipe it on the towel.

From there on it’s an easy rhythm: the back and forth pass of the blade against skin, the reapplication of cream, and his thoughts are calmed and settled.

There’s a look of intense concentration on your face that he soaks in. It means that you’re taking every care with this task and with him.

The blade is warming up now. The scrape of metal louder over their quiet breathing in the apartment. 

Liam’s very aware of the places you have access to, the places he’s opening up to you. Even before Division he wouldn't have let anyone have this much access to the soft points of his body.

He idly catalogs all the points where you only need to press harder, deeper, into his skin to kill him. His wrist, the crook of his elbow, the thinner skin of his armpit, his neck. The next observation supplies the moves in sequential order he would need to perform to take the blade from you and kill you. It would be easy. He’s done it before and you have no defensive training to protect yourself against him.

You turn your head, exposing your neck to him, and he can see the faint throb of your jugular vein. Another vital spot that would be so easy to strike. 

Instead he puts his hand there, his palm protecting the thin vulnerable skin, and brings you to him for a kiss. For all of his self control Liam has never been able to limit himself to just one of your kisses. 

Mouths brushing together, his lips are dry and catch at yours until he licks them to ease the way. You sigh and lean into him. One of your hands brushes down his chest and touches the scratch marks you left behind the other night. It’s tender and the flash of nerves offers up a reminder of the way your eyes looked up at him with eyelashes spiked with tears. He’d only pressed his cock harder into your mouth and thought you beautiful when you’d gagged and accepted him as much as you could. 

The straight razor is held steady in your other hand until he takes it from you and sets it on the coffee table. The towel is tossed down next to it.

“Don’t you want to finish shaving?”

“Later. Right now I want to eat your pussy.” Liam says, chuckling at the way your eyes dilate and how your breathing picks up.

All you have to do is nod and he’s pushing you down on the couch, a hand on your leg extending it and giving him access to even more of your softness.

He strokes up and down your thighs, moving the hem of your shirt higher and higher with each pass. He takes his time watching, he’s always watching you, and tracks how your body reacts to his attention. You’re leaning back more and more, relaxing until he reaches where your shirt is bunched at the top of your thighs. Muscles tense when his fingers delve underneath the fabric to follow the line of your underwear around and under your ass cheeks. 

His biceps flex and it’s the only warning you have before he grips you and yanks your body towards him so you end up on your back.

Your shout of his name breaks down into sounds of delight. He tsks at you; by now you should know his slim build is deceptive, and if he’s strong enough to take on men bigger than him, he has the strength to move your body. 

Liam understands hang ups and those little voices that lie even when you see the truth with your own eyes, so he watches as the momentum of his action meets the momentum of your laughter and keeps your body in motion. He just wants to sink into you and keep you in motion for as long as you’ll let him. 

He begins to lift your shirt to remove it, but you stop him. 

“You don’t want me to take it off?” He asks. 

“Not today.” You say in a quiet voice. 

Another weakness so easily revealed. God it’d be easy to manipulate you into whatever situation he wanted. He knows the exact things to say and the right tone to use that would break you, but he’s surprised every time at how much he doesn’t want to. Not when you trust him to stay by your side when you’re feeling vulnerable and to be there when you’re ready to hold your head high again. 

The sheer amount of trust you have in him, whether he’s earned it or not, drives him insane with the need to reciprocate in some way. To shorten the distance between the sheer goodness of you and all the bad things he’s done.

So he pushes your shirt up enough to bare your hips and legs and strokes his thumbs along the sensitive skin there.

“Ok, baby.” He assures you, nuzzling the soft skin of your inner thigh and enjoying how it feels against his freshly shaven cheek and jaw, the way your pubic hair tickles his lips and nose, and how your scent offers a reminder of how you’ll taste when he finally opens his mouth to swipe his tongue through your folds. “Can I still eat this pretty pussy?” A kiss to one thigh. “Just a few licks?” A kiss on the other with just the barest scrape of teeth to make you shiver. “Just a taste?”

“Yes, please.” Your voice is still quiet, but firm, and he takes one more look at your eyes, studying them over the hem of your shirt and the hills of your stomach and breasts, before turning his attention back between your thighs. Holding your legs open, he picks up where he left off: nuzzling and kissing his way around the familiar territory of your vulva. 

He knows how to make you relax, how to have you blossom for him, your lips parting on their own as your legs open wider for him to reveal your clit and all the beautiful soft tissue that’s swelling under his careful ministrations. 

Satisfied with that start, he moves down from the couch to the floor to get a better angle. He takes the towel from around his waist and folds it a few times before kneeling on it, adjusting his growing erection into a more comfortable position between his legs. He can’t resist thumbing the bead of precum that’s gathered on the head and spreading it around while you too get into a better position on the couch, rocking back and forth to get your shirt out from under your ass and a throw pillow behind your back. When you spread your legs for him again with enthusiasm he dives back in.

Just like with his work, his perfectionist tendencies serve him well in the pursuit of pleasure. Where to touch, how much pressure to use, whether to go faster, slower, or to maintain his current pace; everything is lined up like a to-do list waiting to be ticked off. Or at least that’s how it’d been with his past partners. A transaction with agreed upon parameters before the encounter. 

It’s different with you. It changes from moment to moment, directed by your desires instead of the end goal. There’s an element of the unknown that he can’t anticipate, that he can’t pin down and define, but he can feel it creeping up his spine even now as he swirls his tongue over your clit. 

Your pleasure surrounds him, feeding his own desire and bringing it to new depths when your hips wiggle in an attempt to get the stimulation you want in the right area. He follows your lead and can just hear the moan you let out as your thighs start to shake against his ears. 

You're gasping now, one hand clutching a breast and making your shirt rise and reveal more of your body, but you don’t seem to care anymore, not with the way you’re trying to grab any part of him that you can reach. He takes that searching hand and entwines your fingers together. You squeeze them and sigh when he rests the two hands on your pelvis just above his head.

The twitch of your muscles, the sounds you make, the taste that coats his tongue and makes him salivate for more. It's all-encompassing and he's dizzy with it. He wants more, he wants to devour every drop from your body and then some.

He paints his name onto your cunt, his spit mixing with your slick. Centering the peaks and dips of the letters over your clit. Another way to leave his mark on you without a trace. Just like the bruises and marks that fade with time. He likes to see them, likes to watch you touch them with fondness when you find them, but more and more he wants them to last. He wants to stay in you, on you, with you. 

Another undulation of your hips presses his face deeper into you and he can't breath. The pressure builds in his lungs until you move back just enough and it releases, moving up from his chest and out of his mouth, pushing sounds with it.

He moans into your pussy, the sound strange to his ears.

"Liam." You answer his moan with one of your own and he's lost. “Do that again. Oh, fuck–”

"That's it, baby,” His voice is wrecked. No longer able to maintain it’s usual steady cadence. The tone of command is gone and he's begging you now, another moan punctuating the request. “Make my face messy with your pussy."

Your orgasm ripples through you, cum spilling out onto his waiting tongue to mix with the sounds his vocal chords are making. He can’t stop them so he gives them to you; tucking them away in your folds until the sensations are too much for you and you push him away. 

His cock lays pulsing in his lap with drips of precum rolling down the sides of his legs, but he makes no move to tend to it.

He feels exposed and suddenly there’s too much room around him. His bare back is too wide, too easy of a target to hit. His kidneys, his neck, the spinal cord between C1 and C7. 

Instead he rests his head on your lap, feeling the give of your thighs and the warmth of your stomach as he presses into it, allowing the softness of you to surround him, to hide him. Your free hand starts stroking over his short hair, moving lower and lower over his skull until your hand pauses on the back of his neck, gripping him there for just a moment, protecting that open target, and then you start again. The rhythm calms his racing heart as he breathes through his nose and tries to regain control of himself.