#piss yellow socks

[raynui]

all BL protagonists can have awful yellow ankle socks, it's only fair.

[slynoitrash]

I woke up in a cold sweat with a sudden realization about Aoba's piss yellow socks

[dmumt]

my flatmate’s cat pissed on my toilet mat and i fucking stepped in it

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook wants you all for himself (and bam) and you buy him flowers.

> fluff, a little angst / wc: 2.8k

> warnings: jk gets pissed off at a guy who tries hitting on you T_T, making out!!

note: i couldn’t resist and here i am with the post-jungkook live effect [deep sigh] as always i hope you enjoy and i also hope you let me know if you did <333

—

standing infront of the door of your apartment, you struggle to unlock it with your fingerprint because of the paper bag you’re hugging to your chest and the small bouquet of red roses occupying your other hand. in the end, you decide to put down the paper bag on the cold tiled floor. you press your index finger on the rectangular pad above the numbers before turning the doorknob.

the familiar ringing of the door opening and closing make jungkook and bam comically perk up at the same time. the dog stands up by resting his front legs on the backrest of the sofa, tail excitedly wagging as he anticipates your arrival in the living room.

“hello, baby. i’m home.” you sweetly hum as you pad across the floor with your feet only clad in white socks after lazily leaving your shoes by the doormat.

jungkook isn’t even sure if you meant ‘baby’ as in him or bam, but that thought shortly gets pushed to the back of his mind when his confused doe eyes zoom in on the flowers you’re securely cradling.

relieving yourself of its weight, you finally set down the paper bag from the convenience store, sliding your phone out of the pocket of your sweatpants to leave it on top of the center table as well. bam jumps off the sofa sniffing loudly at the flowers, but you quickly raise your arm to put it out of his reach.

“no- no, bamie. you can’t eat this! this is for your daddy.” you tell him with a giggle, digging your hand into the paper bag to dish out the new toy you bought him.

“for me?” your boyfriend chips in to the conversation with a toothy grin, but his question is left unanswered as you squeeze the yellow fish to make it squeak.

the high-pitched sound makes bam hyper. he stretches out his front legs forward, leaning down on his elbows — a posture that usually indicates that he wants to play. you throw the toy into the air and it lands near his house. he runs after it not even a second later, nails clicking against the floor. he carries it in his mouth and jumps on the other corner of the couch, living in his own little bubble to chew to his heart’s desire.

jungkook steals this opportunity to snake an arm around your waist, pulling you down to the open space next to him. you whimper in surprise as you fall on top of the bundle of blanket he abandoned, lifting your butt quickly to remove it from under you. bam inches closer to snuggle against the soft cotton, ears abruptly moving in curiosity when he successfully makes the toy squeak too.

“where are these from, huh? was someone trying to steal you away from me again?”

they almost make you instantaneously melt — his deep voice laced with half humor and half truth of bitterness, accompanied by a soft squeeze of your hip.

“babe!” you scold him with a laugh to mask how flustered you’ve become, as if you’re still not used to his flirting after all these years. “i passed by a flower shop on the way home and i thought i should be the one to buy them for you for a change.”

you extend the hand holding the bouquet, eyes twinkling with devotion that causes his resolve to crumble into ruins. it never stood a chance in the first place.

—

you walked away from the cashier while stuffing the book you just bought inside your tote bag, the man you strongly refused to allow and pay for it still hot on your heels.

“wait! i’m sorry. let me just- uh-”

you froze awkwardly before the lean and blonde stranger who blocked your path to the door, probably standing somewhere around 5’10. based on his complete nike get-up, you were pretty sure he was outside for an afternoon jog.

“i just wanted to let you know that i think you’re very beautiful, and maybe ask if we can hang out this weekend? at my place?”

and you could tell he was trying his best to appear confident, but the shaky hand that was holding out the bouquet of fresh tulips betrayed him. it was the first time in your life that you found your favorite flowers to be undesirable, no matter how perfectly and intricately arranged the beautiful colors were.

‘at my place?’ what the hell happened to chivalry? oh, a lost art indeed.

despite being extremely irritated at him for causing an embarrassing scene infront of the cashier earlier in addition to this, you forced yourself to give him an apologetic smile for the sake of being polite.

that was when jungkook came back after buying two cups of hotteok from a cart only half a block away. his walking pace slowed down as he watched the scene unfold through the glass separating the bookstore from the sidewalk, eyebrows knitting in growing confusion and annoyance. he failed to read your lips while you were talking. by then he was already prepared to join the conversation, even more after he realized that he recognized the man.

however, before he could reach the door, you were already pushing it open. the gush of wind blew through your hair, and your face lit up when you were greeted by the sight of your boyfriend holding your favorite snack. with a thrilled smile, you practically skipped your way to him and took the cup from his left hand.

“you got them! the line was pretty long so i thought they would sell out before your tur-”

your smile slowly faded when you realized he wasn’t listening. jungkook’s eyes were too busy shooting daggers at the stranger walking to the trash can, jaw clenching when he saw how aggressively he slammed down your dearly beloved flowers. he was the only one to notice the lone orange tulip that slipped and fell on the ground, firmly rejected and thoughtlessly discarded.

your warm hand held his cheek, gently coaxing him to look at you instead.

“what did he say? did he touch you?”

it’s very rare to see jungkook this seriously angry. therefore, you are only reminded at times like this that he can be scary if he wants to. at first, you thought his protectiveness would only last until the early stages of your relationship and eventually fade like those who came before him, but he never changed.

you shook your head, rubbing his arm in an attempt to soothe his temper. “no, not at all. he was kind of stubborn but i handled it just fine.”

he only nodded in response, features still hardened, but relief washed over him after confirming that nothing dangerous happened to you while he was gone. but he was swept off his feet before his mind could run for another mile. you pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt, the torrid kiss you granted him with lasting seconds. insatiably craving more of your ministrations, he made a move to chase your lips, but a rude car honk jolted him awake to the fact that you were still in public.

you gave him a coy smile. “want to eat ramen with me at home? i’m getting cold.”

“let’s go home, baby.” he hummed in agreement. “i’ll warm you up.” he hung his tattooed arm over your shoulder, guiding you to his other side to put himself between you and the rushing vehicles passing by.

he spared another sharp glance at the bookstore before walking away. he met the eyes of the asshole who has been indiscreetly observing you still regardless of the disaster that just transpired. he panicked at the interaction and turned on his heel, disappearing into the fiction aisle.

jungkook smirked, shaking his head in disdain before taking the first bite off his hotteok.

—

walking didn’t seem to help shake off his inflexible thoughts.

“something still bothers me about that guy.” he mumbled after tossing your empty cups in the trash bin you passed by.

“what is it?” you frowned worriedly, intertwining your fingers with his. by this time the glorious sun has started to set, splashing the sky with light orange paint that reflected on his honey skin.

“he was already there when we went in the bookstore. i know he saw us holding hands. i’m obviously your boyfriend.” vexation continued to run in his veins until it dripped from his tongue. his satoori accent came out thick and heavy as he spoke with wide, expressive eyes. “and he still had the fucking audacity to go out and buy you flowers?”

your lips parted open in surprise, tilting your head to the side as you tried to recall the surroundings when you entered the establishment earlier. no wonder he was instantly upset and worried.

“i don’t remember seeing him . . . but you know, if he’s as brazen as you think he is, why did he only approach me when you left?”

your stream of thoughts got interrupted by a scandalous gasp when you arrived at a new angle of looking at the situation.

“he invited me to his place.” you halted on your tracks, glaring back at your previous location. you were already five blocks away from the bookstore, and you wish he could magically feel the negative energy you were exuding from the distance. “so did he really think i’m that kind of-”

you instinctively pulled back your boyfriend by tightly grabbing the sleeve of his jacket. “hey! where are you going?”

his jaw clenched, tongue prodding the inside of his cheek — telltale signs that he was unquestionably pissed off. “baby, i won’t let that one slide.”

alright, this is not good. not good at all. perhaps you should start learning how to stop saying your thoughts out loud.

“but he’s not worth the time.” you pouted sadly, wrapping your arms around his waist so he wouldn’t be able to walk away. “i just want to go home and cuddle with you and our child while watching the new chainsaw man e-p.”

he breathed out a sigh to compose himself. the proposition you laid out was undeniably irresistible, albeit a bait of distraction. but he knew you were just keeping him in check before he impulsively acts again. he gave your forehead a chaste kiss, honeyed lips a little sticky from the sugar syrup of the hotteok filling.

“okay then. let’s do that.”

—

“are you still annoyed about yesterday?” you poke his soft cheek with your index finger. “hey, look at this. i got six red roses for a reason . . . you are my one and only.”

you point at each flower as you slowly speak the sentence word by word, and his heart overflows with fondness as he watches. when you innocently look up to meet his gaze with a hopeful smile, saying the words- “i would’ve gotten you a fancier arrangement but i don’t want your allergies acting up.”

that is his final straw.

“shit, baby. why are you so damn cute? what am i going to do with you?” he accepts the bouquet with a lighthearted chuckle, setting it down on the table before attacking you with his affection.

you end up falling on your back as he climbs over you. you giggle uncontrollably when he holds your wrists and traps your thighs in between his knees anchored on the cushion, tirelessly peppering your face and neck with love-fueled kisses.

the noisy disturbance distracts bam from his squeaky yellow fish. he jumps off the couch to stand beside you and jungkook, licking at whatever his tongue reaches. for you, it’s your arm held folded by your boyfriend.

“it tickles! you know it tickles there!” you squeal, squirming beneath him. you feel his frisky lips curve into a smile against the left side of your neck, stubbornly planting more kisses on the expanse of your skin.

“mhmm, i love you. i love you.” he hazily chants, drunk in love, tracing his way back to your lips. “i love you so much.”

that’s when he decides he’s finished with innocent pecks, delicate hands releasing your wrists to properly balance himself on top of you. you tenderly caress his face as he deepens the kiss, coaxing you to part your lips so he can dip his playful tongue in your mouth. when he tilts his head to the side so his nose won’t bump against yours, your hand slides to the back to support it, fingers tangling with his long and fluffy hair. a desperate, filthy moan escapes from his throat as you unconsciously tug, prompted by his soft nibbling at your bottom lip. it sends tingles running through your spine like live wire, and the air engulfing the two of you becomes hotter and heavier.

he parts away from you breathless, resting his forehead on yours before pulling himself up again. “fuck. is this how you feel when i buy you flowers?”

you gingerly brush his undereye with the pad of your thumb, finding yourself deeply fascinated with his dilated pupils staring right back at you.

you lick your swollen lips, front teeth digging on your bottom lip. “i should’ve done it sooner, right? i’m sorry.”

“don’t be. you already give me so much, silly.” he softly pecks your lips again. “besides, your presence is my favorite gift. you’re a blessing to me, you know that?”

you smile shyly, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. his random confessions of overwhelmingly sincere adoration never fails to elicit a giddy reaction from you. “i love you.”

“ah- ouch.” a wince shortly replaces your smile when bam jumps on the couch again, accidentally stepping on your hair.

“bam, sit, sit. sit down.” jungkook rises to kneel on his knees, moving forward until they reach your waist. bam obeys his command, and your hands find purchase on the flesh of his thighs as he releases your hair from under the dog’s paws.

“i’ll go put the flowers in the vase.” he cheerfully announces as he cautiously removes himself on top of you, planting his feet on the ground.

“okaaay.” you drag out the word as you sit up on the couch. while he takes the bouquet of roses with him to the kitchen, bam finally finds the chance to leave the toy on your lap, but not before he gives it a good bite to make it squeak.

you pet his long floppy ears as he licks your cheek and then your hands, urging you to play with him using the gift you bought him. you press quick kisses on the top of his head before squeezing the yellow fish, waving it infront of his face.

“do you want to play, bamie? should we? will you bring it back to me?”

he starts panting as if to answer ‘yes’ to all of your questions.

you throw the toy at the kitchen, and you cover your mouth out of reflex to suppress your laughter when it landed on the dining table, only a few inches away from jungkook. he pauses from plucking off the leaves from the stem of each rose, jokingly raising an eyebrow at bam, who is balancing himself standing up by using his body as a support.

he picks up the toy and dangles it above bam, speaking to him in a baby voice. “is this what you’re looking for? aw, really? you want it? go take it then . . . that’s it, good boy!”

bam easily catches it with his mouth, running back to you so he can complete the mission you gave him. he drops it on your lap again, bumping his nose against yours, and you dramatically collapse on the couch. he starts sniffing at you curiously, front paw poking your shoulder once to gauge your reaction.

your eyes only open half-way, and you spread out your arms to show him the space you created for him. “bam, i’m sleepy- sleep. i need to recharge. can we play again later?”

he lies down on his back and uses your arm as a pillow, rolling around for a bit until he chooses to curl up beside you in the end, his upper body resting on your stomach.

“ugh, you’re so heavy. can’t. breathe.” you mutter under your breath, but nevertheless, you stroke his side lovingly until you both completely doze off for an afternoon nap.

jungkook squints at the living room when the apartment got suspiciously quiet, lips forming a pout.

“are you two cuddling? i still need to trim the stems- save me some space!”

—

taglist! @alanniys @jjkeverlast @queenofdragonsandcats @yvesismywife @jeonqkooks-main @witchfqllen @virgogentlejk @rkie @jeonwiixard @monilyv @bermudaisy @takochelle @the1921-monsters @investedreader @seagulljk @yeow6n @yoonqkiss @hopeworldjimin @lllucere @unnatae @zqynmlk @bxbyyyjocelyn @zkdlllin @koostarcandy @tswisal1 @fragmentof-indifference @laylasbunbunny @jjk-jeongirl @cherishoshi @taexidriver @luaspersona @yn-lifeu @loveejkk @bloopkook @babyboo22 + send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

[bokutosmochi]

kinktober day five: somnophilia!

ADRENALINE RUSH ♡ NANAMI KENTO

fem!reader x nanami kento

ingredients: nanami has some adrenaline he has to get rid off

what's it: smut

allergen warning/s: spit, unprotected sex, somnophilia

sugar level: 1.5k

regulars: @ventdavi154 @deobiforever @sugusshi @angelshub @eussstasss

parlor's note: can't do a kinktober without including nyanyamin!!

bon appetit!

fuck gojo, fuck that patchface curse, fuck the higher ups

those were the only thoughts that bounced around nanami's head.

it was no secret that the man hated going any minute overtime, now here he was going home at fucking ten in the evening. on top of that, because of the late hour, the things he was able to pick up from his favorite bakery were what ever was left over from the day -- though one would argue that he's lucky because said bakery was still open at the late hour. regardless, the fact remained: the pastries were no longer fresh, no longer fluffy and warm.

if it was any other day, he wouldn't have ate it on the subway ride home from work and instead saved it so he could reheat it once he's safely in the confines of his own home, but not today. he was too hungry, and quite frankly, running out of patience.

he sets down his dull blade in its rightful place by the door and tugs off the yellow patterned tie in an uncharacteristically pissed off manner. not only was he filled with negative emotions, but adrenaline from the fight he had against an unnamed, unregistered cursed spirit was still pumping in his veins. with a huff, he hangs it over his shoulder, before moving on to unbutton his blue button down shirt as he walks over to the bedroom.

this was the part of his day that he looked forward to the most. sure, it was the end of the day, but it was the part where he'd see you, hold you for more than two hours.

laid down in the large california king bed was you. thick, soft blankets tucked up to under your chin, hair he loved running his hands through fanned out around your face, and your face. you looked so angelic when you slept, so peaceful even during nights like this when he knew you weren't sleeping well because he wasn't there in the bed with you -- you confessed to him one time, you always get the best dreams, the most restful nights of sleep whenever he's there holding you.

you shifted in your sleep, turning to your other side making the blanket move further down your body. it exposed the thin shirt you were wearing; an old shirt of nanami's. the fabric was so worn down that the man could spot your nipples, hardened from the chilly autumn air, from under the shirt.

you mewled softly and it made nanami wonder what you were dreaming of; whether you were dreaming at all. aside from that, the sound also made his beige slacks tighten and he found a way to release all that pent up frustration and adrenaline from his system.

he pushes the dress pants down along with his boxers, then damn near trips trying to take his socks off and walk to you at the same time. he's just had such a rough day and needs some help from you.

a thought pushes itself into his mind the moment he crawls on top of you, one that's about morality and ethics. he's never done this before and it feels wrong to do it. second thoughts fill his mind, but he remembers the fact that you've had this discussion before. he's already asked for your permission prior. in return, you only asked one thing from him: if i had a long day, try not to wake me if you don't have or want to. and aside from that, you've always been such a nice and thoughtful girlfriend. there has never been a moment in the many years you've been together where you've lacked understanding with him. you're always so selfless, giving him whatever he wanted, so long as it's reasonable, and this is reasonable, right?

with those thoughts as a green light, he pushes the blanket away from your body, nudges you so you'd be lying on your back, and moves the crotch of your panties to the side so he can have his way with you.

always the caring boyfriend, he makes sure you're properly lubricated before he does pushes himself in. after all, he doesn't want anything bad to happen to his sweet, caring girlfriend.

getting you wet the way he usually does takes too long, and besides, he'd probably end up waking you up too, which is something you asked him not to do if he didn't have to. not to mention the fact that he always gets so into turning you on; it's what gets him aroused too. he'll get too handsy, too noisy.

it's not an option so he opts to spit on your pussy instead.

he enjoys the sight of his glob of drool dripping around your vulva for a moment before spreading it around. when he decides that you're not wet enough, he spits again and does the same thing.

the man may think that exerting minimal effort is all that's required for most of his day-to-day tasks, but that rule does not include you and it never will. he always makes sure to take care of you the way you take care of him.

when your lips are shiny with his spit, he backs away for a moment, lines the head of his cock with your slit then pushes in as softly and slowly as he could, trying his best not to jostle you.

he moans lowly as he sinks in your warm pussy. it's a sensation he can never get enough of, even if he makes love to you a million times. he adores it, the way you welcome him so easily. he only stops his motions when he was buried to the hilt, his pelvis flush against yours.

he looked down to where your bodies connected and involuntarily muttered a low shit under his breath. to him, the sight was a masterpiece that could easily top an expensive painting any day; it certainly made him feel more emotions than those.

with a deep breath sucked in through the mouth, he started moving, steadily thrusting in and out of your wet cunt. the movement was calculated, executed with maximum precision to ensure that you won't wake from your slumber.

how could you expect him to keep his composure completely under these circumstances? you're so tight, he's always said that your pussy was made for him, and he doesn't just say that to get you off; he truly means it, and then you combine your perfect pussy with your perfect face. he's a goner.

he tries to stifle his moans, tries to swallow them under his breaths, but a few still manage to escape. despite those, he continues to yearn to make this nice and quick. it's just to blow off some steam, after all.

the moment his attempts become futile comes when you stir, letting out noises that shoots blood steaming down to his already painfully hard dick, and flutter your eyes open.

when his eyes meets yours, his elbows buckle, though he's quick to straighten himself back up again; his motion was so fluid you didn't even notice it, only the slight twitch of his cock.

you yawn before acknowledging the situation. "kento?" your words are slurred due to the sleepiness that remains in your system. "what's goin' on?"

"sorry hun," he grunts, continuing to fuck you. "adrenaline rush. you can go back to sleep if you want."

you give him a hum though you didn't actually succumb to sleep. the feeling of kento's cock inside you wasn't something you could simply nap through, no matter how hard you try nor matter how hard he tries to not rouse you.

he might have thought you were asleep - you were so quiet, not making a noise other than the natural moans - if you didn't mutter an "i'm close" at the exact same moment he felt his orgasm nearing.

"i am too, hun." his movements become sloppier. he loses his rhythm to the pleasure and due to the lapse in concentration since he began to play with your clit to help you reach your high as well.

"ken," he recognizes what you need with the call of his name. one of your hands found their way to his back, currently running the nails down the hard muscle. the pain only added to nanami's delight.

"i'm right there, hun. you can let go."

the both of you come at the same time and the feeling was euphoric. despite wanting rest, you're glad you woke up.

"that was nice." you commented lamely. the word didn't sum up the experience, it was so much better than nice, but your tired brain couldn't think of anything else. apparently, nanami had the same sentiment.

"i think that's a bit of an understatement, darling. now come on and get some rest, you deserve it."

i get: reblog

you get: a california king bed with a nanami body pillow

[devildomsoup]

Silly little headcanons #1

Lucifer

Definitely has a favourite pen and everyone dreads the day he will have to change it.

He once shrunk Cerberus and carried him around in a handbag because he had to go to the vet.

Joint pains (no, I will not elaborate)

Has a picture in his wallet of his brothers and MC. Luke is also there for some reason.

Mammon

Will turn off the lights and walk out of his room. Walks back a few moments later to check if he remembered to turn the lights off.

Boops his younger brothers on the nose when he says goodnight.

Considered dying his hair piss yellow at some point.

He swears that Luke is just an annoying little chihuahua that he doesn't care about. But the pictures of him accompanying Luke to the cinema suggest otherwise.

Leviathan

He forgets to throw out socks with holes in them. So sometimes he will just walk around with socks that are barely holding on.

Has a controller that only MC is allowed to use. He will not even use it himself.

Can touch his nose with his tongue

Accidentally called his brothers "Ruri" on multiple occasions.

Satan

Has an album on his phone with pictures of him and Lucifer. Will deny it if you ask him.

Once cursed the entirety of Lucifer's record collection. The curse in question made it so the only song on any of the records was Baby Shark.

When he wants MC's attention he will go "pspspsps."

Satan has put on his blue jacket normally a grand total of 6 times.

Asmodeus

Will wear heels with just about anything. Yes, that includes sweatpants.

A lesser demon once found out about MC's deepest insecurity and started using it to insult them. Asmodeus found out and sent the demon flying through a wall.

He either sneezes like a cat or like an old man. There is no in-between.

He reminds everyone in HoL to drink water and will make sure they do so one way or another.

Beelzebub

Not allowed to be alone in RAD's art supply room. He will eat the paint if left unattended.

He only had 4 shirts until Asmodeus forced him to get more.

Takes Luke with him around RAD when Simeon can't. Also scared of any demon that looks at Luke the wrong way.

He has carried every single one of his brothers to bed more than once. Lucifer is no exception.

Belphegor

Follows the cat rule. If it fits I sits.

Don't tell anyone but his favourite blanket is the jackets of his older brothers.

Will sometimes force people to take a nap with him. Does someone look tired boom it's nap time.

Pops his back really loudly whenever he wakes up

Simeon

Will show anyone and I mean anyone pictures of Luke like a proud father.

Got scammed once and now he's afraid of opening links.

He once accompanied Beel to a workout and ended up destroying a punching bag.

Do not under any circumstances let him be alone in the candle section of a store. Purgatory Hall already has a closet full of them.

Raphael

Tried to kill a fly with one of his spears.

When asked if he wanted anything special for his birthday he requested a cake made by Solomon.

Enjoys watching butterflies flutter around. He will stand absolutely still if one lands on him and stay like that until the butterfly leaves again.

Wins every staring contest.

Luke

Has gotten lost in stores, parks and RAD so many times that he now has a bracelet with the contact info of Simeon and Barbatos. Even though he has his own D.D.D.

Mimics Simeon and Raphael to appear like a mature angel.

He will never admit it but he makes drawings for the brothers.

Luke and MC have a secret handshake.

Solomon

Immune to the pain of stepping on a lego.

Once accidentally turned himself into a rat and nearly got murdered by Barbatos.

Enjoys watching romcoms with MC.

Can and will randomly appear in MC's room tell them a horrible joke and then vanish into thin air.

Thirteen

She has the most random things in her pocket. Watch her pull out a porcelain frog from one of her pockets.

She had a buzz cut at some point.

Will drag you out of bed in the middle of the night so you can test her new inventions.

Loves playing with people's hair. It doesn't matter what texture or length it is. Just let her play with it.

Diavolo

Has a rubber duck collection.

Was introduced to vocaloid and now he won't stop singing World is Mine.

Gives the best hugs. 10/10 would hug again.

Buys Barbatos flowers every week to show his appreciation.

Barbatos

Knows how to tap dance.

Let's MC call him Barbie.

He receives small trinkets from the Little Ds.

Will cradle MC like a little baby when he is stressed or just missed them.

Mephistopheles

He enjoys soup.

He says he hates hugs. But in reality, he might even shed a few tears if you hug him.

A master of building card houses.

Once took care of a bat until it was healthy enough to live on its own.

[octuscle]

Changed taste

Callum had left after the second act. The production at the alternative opera had been a cheek. The singers had been a disaster. And the announcement of the underground strike had been a good excuse not to have to listen to this debacle to the end. Unfortunately, the underground drivers had shown no consideration for Callum. The strike had already begun. The underground shafts were deserted. So it was a taxi. This contradicted Callum's attitude to sustainability. He always excused his flat in Kensignton by saying that it was so centrally located that he didn't need a car. Only a few of his friends knew that there was an old Jaguar E-Type and a brand new Porsche 911 in the underground car park. Callum's family had made a fortune from property speculation over 100 years ago. He owned the exclusive block of flats in which he lived. This and a few more.

When he came up from the underground, it had started to rain. And he had left his umbrella in the cloakroom at the opera. Underground strike and rain. Not a good combination for getting a taxi. In the shelter of the entrance to the underground, Callum searched on his mobile phone. A bus station was only 200 metres away. And it wasn't raining that hard. So he set off. And after a few metres, the heavens opened their floodgates. A downpour of torrential proportions drenched Callum in a matter of seconds. His dinner jacket was ruined. And his mobile phone only flashed once more before it died in the pouring rain.

The rain intensified. The few passers-by who hadn't yet found shelter quickly ran through the puddles to find somewhere to hide. Callum's best chance was a launderette where the owner or employee was about to lower the blinds. Callum asked if he could seek shelter until the rain had stopped. The young man looked at Callum and waved him in. He introduced himself as Kieron and said that he had to wash and dry a washing machine for himself while he cleaned the launderette. Callum would be happy to stay here for that long. Callum thanked him and asked if he could return the favour somehow. Kieron shook his head and showed Callum where he could find hangers to hang up his wet clothes. And pointed to a basket of washing. A customer had left it here. Callum could take some of it if he wanted to.

The clothes were obviously still unwashed. They smelled of sweat and cold cigarette smoke. There were dried precum stains in the pants. Callum was disgusted. But also soaking wet. And somehow he was… Turned on? Him? By those disgusting clothes. Kieron had switched on some music. Very loud. Gangster rap and hip hop. Definitely not Callum's style. But that didn't matter. He took the laundry basket and asked where he could change. Kieron pointed to the door with the "Private" sign. There were towels there too. Callum thanked him.

After pulling the door shut behind him, Callum took off his shoes, jacket, trousers and shirt and hung everything on hangers. A little hesitantly, he also removed his stockings, pants and vest. He was able to wring everything out, everything was so wet. He took a pair of boxer shorts out of the laundry basket. Yellowed white cotton. Precum and piss stains. Callum smelled it carefully. And then he pressed them to his nose and inhaled deeply. So good! He had no idea why, but it smelled so good! Slimy drops formed on his own cock. The pants were a size 32, not his size. But they fit like a glove. His bulge was frighteningly large. And the wet patch was growing fast. Callum rummaged through the dirty laundry. The polyester tracksuit bottoms did it to him. He pulled them on, just high enough so that the waistband of his pants could still be seen. Now a pair of dirty white socks… Call took his trainers. Yes, they were still a little wet… But they would be fine. The T-shirt that went best with the trousers stank of sweat. Sure, Call had worn it for several days in a row. For sport, in the pub in the evening. During the day, he wore the Hiviz street-cleaning gear. He took his necklace, which he was so proud of, out of his T-shirt. Then he took his tracksuit jacket off the hanger, put on his gloves, put on his cap and posed in front of the mirror. If he played with his balls a little longer, he would cum here and now. Then Kieron would be fucking pissed. After all, making Call cum was his job.

"I hope the damn rain stops soon!" That was the caption under his latest post. Kieron shouted about how much longer he needed. Call opened the door and shouted back that it was up to Kieron when he could finally cum. A few seconds later, Kieron was standing in the doorway, grinning. He put the mop to one side. And got down on his knees.

Inspiration by @barty123

[realmennnnn]

That night, you lay on the closet floor. Surprisingly, you sleep pretty well with Connor’s dirty sneakers and socks as your pillow and sweat stained t-shirts and shorts as your blanket. The mix of his musk, cologne, and deodorant create the ultimate relaxation scent… for a faggot at least. However, every couple of hours, you’re awaken from your sleep. Throughout the night, you listen to two more rounds of sex within just a few hours! You can’t help but take big whiffs of Connor’s clothing and sneakers as you listen to the loud sounds of creaking, thrusting, and moaning. You know Connor is beat when you hear his new friend giving the blowjob performance of his life around 8am. Connor must’ve been seriously attracted to this boy since he never asked you for a late night quickie or early morning blowie. Maybe it was just that you weren’t attractive enough.

Shortly after Connor audibly orgasms and cums in the boy’s mouth, you hear your name called loudly. You feel an immediate wave of excitement since you hadn’t been allowed out of the closet at all last night. You were given no opportunity to clean up any lube and cum nor swallow any piss after both cum dumps! You imagine this is by design given the amount of pure elation you feel this morning. You push open the closet doors and crawl to the side of the bed. You kneel there as the boy’s head pops over the side. You hear Connor tell you to open your mouth. As you do, you see his new friend begin to spit out all of Connor’s cum. You open as wide as possible, accepting Connor’s massive load into your mouth. You have no idea how he is capable of producing so much cum after four rounds of sex and a blowjob, especially in less than an eight hour span! You’ll absolutely never object though. The boy lets out a boastful laugh as you lick your lips.

Immediately after, Connor kicks his legs off the side of the bed, and you know to crawl in between them. You wrap your lips around his cock and accept yet another glorious piss as he continues to sit. It is the longest piss you’ve ever taken, and you can taste how yellow it would look in a toilet bowl. After all, he hasn’t drank water or pissed since last night, and he has certainly let out a fair number of loads since you last accepted your fag beverage. The typical smirk covers his face, and you’re so happy to be out of the closet. You can’t wait to serve Connor in whatever capacity he sees fit for that entire Sunday.

After finalizing his piss, Connor signals for you to stay kneeled in front of him as you listen to him work up his morning loogie. You open your mouth wide and look up at him with baited breath. You can tell he’s making you wait on purpose - another tactic to make you more diligent in your unofficial servitude. Finally, he spits the loogie into your mouth, and you savor the flavor. He notices your level of pleasure and commands you to swallow immediately.

“Grab me some gym clothes, fag. Time to work off this hangover with a nice, long hike,” Connor says. The boy gives Connor a sad look and asks if he’s really leaving. Connor replies back “Hell yeah I am, and so are you. You’ve fulfilled your purpose, unless you’d like to become my second loser fag.” The boy goes into a fury, grabbing all of his clothes and storming out of the apartment. “Gay guys, am I right? Thank god I have a real fag, like you. You understand what a man like me needs,” Connor scoffs. He remains in bed and starts scrolling on his phone.

You crawl to Connor’s closet and pick out the perfect workout outfit. His college-branded athletic t-shirt, Nike shorts, a pair of UA mid calf socks, and his beat up Nike Pegasus sneakers. You sneak a quick whiff of his godly size 13 sneakers before laying out all of his clothing on the side of the bed. Since you don’t dare stand in the presence of your self-described master, you neglect grabbing a hat, knowing he’ll do so instead. You pray you made the right decision. You don’t want to give up an opportunity to lick those post-hike feet.

As Connor continues relaxing in bed, you wait patiently on your knees with your head bowed. He finally gets up and makes his way to the bathroom. “Fill my water bottle and grab me a snack. I’ll need something for the road,” he says. You crawl to the kitchen and fill his backpack with the necessities. Once completed, you wait patiently at the front door with his socks, sneakers, and backpack in hand. He makes his way towards you and sits on the bench in the entryway, grabbing his backpack. You notice that he’s adorned a Patagonia ball cap on his head - backwards of course! Your heart skips a beat. He looks so perfect.

You slip his socks on to his feet, taking pleasure in how beautiful they look. You then tie his perfectly worn-in sneakers, noticing that amazing hole near his right big toe. You can’t wait to see how dirty it will become on his hike. Connor stands once the shoes are on, and you gaze at his feet and legs. Your eyes slowly rise up his perfect outfit and body. He couldn’t have looked any sexier.

“Do some cleaning while I’m gone. I’ll be back in a few hours. I gotta make a couple purchases after the hike to officiate your new status. Tonight, you become my true foot faggot, so prove your worth while I’m away. I know how amazing you are at being a domestic,” Connor says. You hand him your credit card, and he gives your hair a pet, like the good dog that you are. You quickly drop your head downwards and give each sneaker a kiss. Well, a make out if we’re being totally honest. You look up to see the usual smirk, and you smile back. He exits the door, and you know it’s time to jump to work.

So much has happened in your new fag life, and it hasn’t even been 12 hours! Hopefully, if all goes well, this will become your official role, and you can live this life everyday! Can you imagine having an actual master to admire and support day-in and day-out? You’d be the luckiest sub-human alive!

[promptthebear]

Kissmas Day 9

Prompt: Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x Reader

CW: Female reader, lots and lots of swearing (It's Sandor c'mon now), reader is pregnant, some mentions of canon typical violence. If i forget anything please let me know!

A/N: Hello! This is a little different from the last few fics I wrote. I was going for like something cozy? So the pacing is a little slower and it's sort of a "not much happens but there's vibes" kind of fic. Hopefully you all enjoy it. I just really wanted to give my boy a story where he's safe, well fed, well rested, and doesn't have shit trying to kill him for like five minutes.

It was still dark when Sandor awoke, and colder than a wight’s arse. He could see the earliest light of dawn, though, through a nearby window. Pale yellow rays were starting to kiss the tops of the large, gloomy pines that encircled your cottage, and he knew it would be several hours yet before the sun would provide any proper warmth.

Grumbling and cursing under his breath, Sandor pushed back the furred hide that served as a blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He hissed when his feet touched the floor, the chill so fierce it bit at his soles, even through the two layers of woolen socks he wore. Everyone, from great Kings to common fools, knew that Winters in the North were bitterly cold. But it was one thing to hear the tavern stories and another thing all together when you were trying to live through it.

He wondered, as he tugged on his boots, why he didn’t make for the Free Cities and Dorne like the few remaining knights did when the whole world finally fell apart in flame and ruin. Yes, the stories of the fine wines and glimmering cities where even beggars could be Kings might have been exaggerated, but it couldn’t be any worse than here. At the very least, it might be nice to live somewhere your piss didn’t freeze midstream and your cock didn’t stick to your hand each time you used the privy.

Sandor turned the idea over in his mind, finding that its appeal grew with each passing moment. However, any thoughts of leaving vanished the instant he glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of your face peeking out from under the edge of the blankets. Your expression was peaceful, almost serene.

He leaned over you, his hair falling around his cheeks like a curtain, and placed a quick kiss against your temple. You stirred slightly in response, your eyelashes fluttering as a soft moan escaped your lips.

“Whassamatter?”

Sandor chuckled and reached out to deliver a gentle pat to your side before answering.

“Nothing. Gonna go cut some firewood. I’ll be back before you’re up.”

You mumbled something in reply, too faint for him to make out, before sleep’s embrace claimed you once more. He chuckled again and fondly shook his head.

At one point, nobody wanted to spend a night in his bed, not even when he'd gone to a brothel. Those girls had been too frightened of his face to give him more than a few hours at most, leaving him to wake to a cold bed and empty purse the next morning.

You, on the other hand, were comforted enough by his presence to stay through the night. You even claimed you slept more soundly when he was with you. It had taken a while before Sandor believed you, but after over a year of waking with you warm and content beside him, he was starting to see that you’d been telling the truth.

The bedroom door squeaked as it opened, which made the large, shaggy dog the two of you kept leap to its feet and growl deep in its throat. Sandor shushed the animal, which immediately bounded over from its spot by the fireplace, tongue out and tail wagging at the sight of its master.

“Stupid mutt.” Sandor said, as he began to rumple and massage the dog’s ears. “Good thing you’re loyal, or else what use would you be?”

The dog, which you’d so cleverly called Nameless because Sandor had refused to give it one, eagerly leaned into his touch and gazed up at him in squinty eyed delight. You’d found the poor beast roughly around the same time Sandor had been able to walk again, where he’d been left to die in some abandoned crofter’s hut.

At first, Sandor had wanted nothing to do with the animal. As far as he was concerned, you didn’t need another mouth to feed, what with him still half crippled and you were only able to set the most basic of rabbit snares. There had barely been enough food for the two of you, let alone a walking gut disguised as a dog.

He’s a big, black dog you’d insisted on just like your crest. If that’s not a sign from the gods, I don’t know what is.

Bugger the gods had been Sandor’s reply, but in the end, he’d yielded, if only to have some peace from your griping. Since then, Nameless had followed Sandor around like a second shadow. He’d cursed the beast and the bitch that whelped him each time he got underfoot, but eventually this gave way to begrudging acceptance and finally a quiet sort of affection.

Whoever left Nameless behind had, whether they knew it or not, forfeited a skilled hunting dog. Despite his sweet nature with people, he could catch rabbits and squirrels as skillfully as any wolf, which kept you and Sandor well stocked with meat despite the North’s unforgiving climate.

Once again, Sandor found himself questioning why he’d chosen to live in the frozen arse end of the world as he tried to open the front door. A thick layer of ice had settled over the tiny cottage you called home, a parting gift from last night’s storm.

Despite ample shoving and force, the door was refusing to cooperate. With each attempt, the aged wood groaned and creaked as though in protest, but wouldn’t budge. Though he couldn’t see it, Sandor had a feeling the damn thing had frozen shut in its frame, which was a much more common occurrence than he would’ve liked it to be. With a muttered oath, he threw his shoulder against the wood, swearing louder at the shock of pain that came after.

A thin sweat had broken out on Sandor’s brow when he finally gave himself a moment to breathe, half slumped against the bastard door and wishing agonies upon whichever fool god made ice to begin with. He stole a glance over his shoulder, hoping the racket hadn’t woken you, and was greeted with the sight of Nameless. The dog was sitting a few feet behind him and watching the entire process as though it was a Mummer’s show Sandor was putting on especially for him.

“Are you just going to look? Or are you going to be helpful for once in your sorry life?”

By way of response, Nameless rose to his feet, stood for a moment, squinted at Sandor, and then let out a quick, loud sneeze that sent forth a spray of drool and dust motes into the chilled air. Satisfied, the dog sat down again with a bump, and stared at his master. He cocked his head to one side, and spread his mouth wide in a lolling, doggy grin, as if two of them were sharing some sort of secret joke.

Sandor couldn’t help but grin back, albeit a little lopsidedly, before returning to the problem of the door. Once upon a time, he could’ve split the bloody thing in two with the heel of his boot and a well-aimed kick, but he had been a different man then. The Hound, with all his strength and rage, had died with Gregor the day they both went over the falls. Now, all that remained was Sandor, who had to huff and puff and struggle with frozen doors just like anyone else.

When the door finally gave way, it did so with a mighty crack, which shattered the morning air in a flurry of loose snow that tumbled off the roof and bits of ice that shimmered like diamond shards as they fell.

Sandor stumbled outside, shoulder first since he was mid shove when the door decided to open. Instantly, he was blinded by the sheer, sterile whiteness of fresh snow and sunbeams that cut like yellow knives after the dimness of the cottage. For a moment, he had little choice but to wait and lean against the door frame while his vision cleared.

Despite the early hour, the woods were already awake and teeming with life. Around him, Sandor could hear all manner of birdsong, as well as the chattering of squirrels and the far off call of a solitary deer.

From behind the cottage came the sounds of the sheep, small, squat, shaggy creatures with more wool than brains between their ears. They bleated mournfully from inside their little shed, hoping it would get them fed all the sooner, but their cries stirred no pity in Sandor’s heart. He could hardly stand the sight of the fool things, with their empty eyes and the way they ran in panicked, useless circles every time they were frightened.

When you’d first asked Sandor why he hated the sheep so much, he told you it was because he had no patience for anything, man or beast, that was too stupid to know how stupid it actually was. You’d laughed at that, a bright, musical sound that made warmth bloom in Sandor’s chest, but you hadn’t left the matter alone like he’d hoped.

As far as you were concerned, there was no point in wasting time hating something so pathetic and harmless and so you persisted. If Sandor was stubborn, you were twice as much, pestering him with that unfaltering cheerfulness each time you went you to feed the damn things. Eventually, he relented, the name and reason tumbling from his lips like rain after a drought.

Mycha.

From the ashes of Sandor’s rage, shame had blossomed, and with it a thin, choking vine that clenched a little tighter around his heart each time he’d thought of the boy. He’d lived what felt like a thousand different lifetimes since that fateful day by the river, and no matter how much he’d drunk, fought or fucked, he couldn’t seem to shake that one particular ghost. It was as though a small part of Mycha had always been there, slowly poisoning what little shreds of goodness Sandor had managed to grasp hold of, and for a while, he supposed that was what he deserved. Until you came along.

You, who had dragged Sandor out from the water when he was little more than a half drowned corpse. You, who had set every broken bone, stitched every wound and fed him spoonfuls of broth even when he’d cursed you after each one. With your constant, stubborn, infuriating cheerfulness, you had talked Sandor into talking, smiled him into smiling, and somehow loved him into loving you back. You had become the sun that rose and set on each day of Sandor’s life. You were what got him up in the mornings and kept him working until dusk. The thought of losing you, or worse, having you cast him aside, scared him more than dragons, others, and his cunt brother ever had.

That was why, in the end, Sandor had chosen to tell you the truth. At least then you’d hear it from him, instead of whatever exaggerated horseshit the village gossips would invent. Ugly as it was, Sandor knew honesty would be his friend in this matter, and he’d had more than his fill of liars after spending so much time in service to the Lannisters.

And so you came to know the whole sordid tale, one dreary morning in the sheep shed. He spared no detail, no matter how gruesome it was or how poorly it reflected on his character. If you were going to keep loving him, it was best you knew the sort of man you’d chosen, lest the truth curdle what little affection he’d earned.

At first, Sandor wasn’t sure how you were going to take things. He half expected you to try to brain him with the bucket of sheep’s feed, then drive him off in a hail of shrieking and chunks of dung. Tears were also a likely possibility, though you didn’t really seem the type. But learning that the man who you’d let into your home and bed had the blood of an innocent child on his hands could make anyone behave strangely.

When he’d finally got up the courage to stop staring at his boots and look into your face, you, as always, surprised him. You were smiling at him, that same warm, gentle smile that Sandor remembered from the moment he’d woken up in your arms.

I know is what you’d said. I’ve always known, and I love you anyway.

You’d reached for him after, setting aside your bucket so you could bring your hand up and caress his scarred cheek. Sandor had leaned into your touch, like it was the only thing keeping him from breaking apart into a million pieces. Of course you’d known, who in all the Seven Kingdoms hadn’t heard the stories about King Joffery’s rabid dog and the things he’d done? He should’ve given you more credit.

From there, it had been easy enough to tell you why he hated those sheep. Their cries, the sheer terror in their eyes each time he approached? They reminded him too much of that boy, and regardless of how you felt about it, he was not entirely certain he’d ever be able to forget. It was one thing to have your forgiveness and another thing entirely to be able to forgive himself.

Give it time is what you’d told him And let me worry about the sheep. You’ve got enough to do around here, anyway.

The sound of Nameless’ barking is what suddenly tugged Sandor from his memories and back into the here and now. Somehow, the dog had managed to squeeze past him without Sandor noticing, and he was now diving face first through the fresh snow, on the hunt for grouse tracks and anything else that would provide a decent chase.

Sandor watched for a moment, unable to hide the smile playing about his lips. The sight of the big dog, now sporting a healthy dusting of snow across his shoulders and muzzle, was enough to brighten anyone’s mood. He supposed, after almost starving to death on his own, the idiot creature was simply happy to be alive long enough to see another day.

The two of them would go and check Sandor’s traps later. With any luck, they’d snag a rabbit or two that you could roast for supper and have plenty of bones left for Nameless to enjoy. But, in the meantime, you wouldn’t be cooking anything if there wasn’t any wood for the fire.

It hadn’t warmed up any by the time Sandor walked to the woodshed. The snows frozen crust crunched under his feet as he walked, while his breath floated away in thick, white clouds that dampened his beard. His axe, stuck blade down in the stump a few feet away from the woodshed, was a welcome sight.

It was by no means half the weapon his greatsword had been, but Sandor found comfort in the way its worn, wooden handle fit snugly into his grasp and in its blade that thirsted for pine sap instead of blood.

Before long, the sound of logs splitting filled the air, mingling with the soft creak of trees in the wind and an occasional bark from Nameless. Sandor quickly found his rhythm, letting the weight of the axe guide his arm on the downstroke and pushing aside each long with his other hand to be stacked in the shed later.

He went on like that for a while, cut, push, another log, and do it again. The repetition of the work was soothing, almost meditative. It brought a sense of peace to Sandor the way only busy hands could.

Cut, push, new log, do it again.

It was like the axe was an extension of his arm, with the beat of his heart matching each thud of the blade and his breath moving in time as the axe swung through the air. There was most likely going to be a fresh tree fall after last night’s winds, no doubt with plenty of new wood for Sandor to haul home. It probably wouldn’t hurt to bring a length of rope and the sledge when he went hunting with Nameless later. If they didn’t catch anything, at least they wouldn’t be coming home empty-handed.

The young pine he was currently working on was halfway gone by the time you’d made an appearance. Sandor hadn’t heard you at first, too absorbed in what he was doing. It was only after you’d said his name for the third time that he’d finally stopped and turned to look at you over his shoulder, squinting at you as though he wasn’t quite sure who you were or where he was.

“What are you doing out here?”

His tone, like everything about him, was gruff. You smiled at him all the same, knowing that for Sandor, gruffness and worry were often interchangeable.

“Came to check on you. You’ve been out here for hours.”

Sandor glanced upwards and was surprised to find the sun sitting squarely above his head. A sheen of sweat had also broken out over his arms and forehead, and he could feel where it was pooling in the hollows of his back. With a sigh, he set aside his axe and removed his heavy woolen cloak, before turning back towards you.

“Have you been asleep this whole time?”

The slight tilt of his chin in your direction indicated your odd choice of garments. Born to a wilding father and shepherd’s daughter, you always swore the North in your blood kept you from ever truly feeling cold. Still, a sleeping shift, boots, and knit shawl tossed hastily about your shoulders was a questionable choice in midwinter, even for a Northern girl.

You shook your head and gestured back towards the cottage where steam had fogged up the windows.

“I started the laundry, wanted to make use of the sunlight while we still have it. I figured it didn’t make much sense to change until my other clothes were dry, and then I could wash these next.”

Sandor listened to your explanation, his face unchanging save for an arched brow. When you finished, he raised his arm and pointed back at the cottage with a thick finger.

“You should be inside, you fool, woman. You’ll freeze your tits off out here.”

You laughed before wrapping your shawl a little tighter around your shoulders and closing the space between you and Sandor with a few steps.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. I’m a Northerner. I don’t get cold. We’re not as pampered as you Southern city types.”

Sandor grumbled softly and shook his head, something about “tongue lashing harpy bitch.” There was no venom behind his words, however, only affectionate resignation. Instinctively, he brought his hand to rest on the curve of your stomach, a protective gesture towards the child you’d been carrying for the last five months. You reached up for Sandor’s face, cupping the scarred side as you usually did against the palm of your hand.

Sandor’s eyes fluttered shut in response to the touch, and for a moment, years seemed to fall away from his expression. He turned his head slightly to the side and pressed a kiss against the skin of your wrist. You loved seeing him like this, vulnerable and content. It was like a glimpse into the past, when he was young and full of hope. However, his eyes opened all too quickly, and he was back to being the Sandor you knew. Older, grumpy, and entirely done with your nonsense.

“Inside. Or I’ll sling you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and bring you there myself”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he’d do no such thing, not while you were pregnant, anyway.

“Fine. But I want a kiss first.”

There was more grumbling, but Sandor did as you asked, catching your mouth against his while his hands snaked down to encircle your hips. You leaned into the kiss, pressing your body as close to his as you could get while still keeping your feet on the ground. His beard was coarse against your cheeks, and he smelled faintly of the woods and sweat. The heat of him seemed to envelope you, like a familiar blanket.

You stood like that for a while, the two of you bathed in morning sunshine and kissing as though you’d never get a chance to do it again. When Sandor tried to pull away, you chased him, closing the space between your mouths by wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him downwards. This kiss was a little messier and rougher than the first, most likely due to Sandor’s surprise, but you didn’t mind. It was only when you nibbled at his bottom lip that he broke the kiss off in earnest, catching your two hands in one of his and trapping them against his chest.

“None of that. I told you, go inside.”

You stared up at Sandor and pulled your mouth into an exaggerated pout.

“One more? Please? And then I’ll go, I promise.”

Sandor swore softly under his breath and used his free hand to adjust the front of his trousers before leaning down to claim your mouth again. For a moment, it seemed as though you were going to get your way. Sandor had brought his other hand up to twine in your hair, which only served to deepen the kiss. You welcomed it eagerly, opening your lips and running your tongue against the seam of his mouth. He let out a groan in response, the hand that still held yours squeezing tight. You squirmed against him eagerly, trying to wrap one of your legs around his and haul yourself upwards, your hips seeking the friction they so desperately craved.

This, however, didn’t have the desired effect. Sandor began to laugh, and then placed his hands on your shoulders, gently pushing you back so you could no longer reclaim his mouth.

“I’m not a tree, you little minx, so stop trying to climb me. You said one more, you’ve had one more, and now you’re going to go inside or else.”

One look at Sandor’s face, and you knew there was no use in pushing your luck. With a long, suffering sigh, you stepped away, already mourning the absence of his mouth and hands on your body.

“Fine. But I better see you again before it gets dark. I’ll need to wash those clothes you’re wearing, and I’m not warming up your dinner twice.”

Sandor grunted, the noise vaguely affirmative enough that you took it as agreement. You turned to head back towards the cottage, only to stop mid step when you felt the familiar sting of an open hand strike your ass. You spun back around, your shawl spinning about your shoulders, and stared at Sandor, who grinned wolfishly back.

“That’s not fair!” you sputtered, your already pink cheeks flushing deeper.

“Nothing ever is,” came the reply.

You shook your head, turning once again to leave. Sandor let you do so without further torment, watching the way the sunlight made your hair glisten and the subtle swing of your hips as you walked. Nothing was ever fair, but sometimes things got close, even for an old dog like himself.

[small-sinclair]

Random Head Canons of the Sinclairs.

Lester sits on the porch and plays the banjo. When things get interesting, he plays notes that match the tune of his brothers fighting/arguing.

Lester is colored blind. He can’t see blue or yellow.

Bo and Lester are Eagle Scouts

Vincent wears funny socks. His favorites are the ducks with hats.

Vincent knows magic tricks.

There’s a home video that Lester made out of random. It’s titled: one day. It’s just a video of he and his brothers messing around and living life. Yeah, there’s a shot if Bo killing a person and Vincent beheading a man, but the video ends with his brothers shooting the shit, laughing, and smiling.

All three brothers still cry while watching Bambi.

Once, Bo saw Lester in a sundress and watched his little brother twirling. Honestly, Bo wasn’t mad at his brother for wearing the dress. He was more pissed that 1: the dress didn’t have pockets and 2: Lester picked a color that didn’t match his skin tone and eyes.

The Sinclairs have a strict rule: no killing babies or children under the age of 20. So, if a family rolls into town, they don’t lill them. Bo likes showing kids how to fix a car (if the child looks interested). Vincent leaves little gifts for the kid(s) to take. Lester makes sure his knives aren’t in reach.

[beggingwolf]

Grungy frat star Sid pulls your hair and spits in your mouth but will totally get you a Gatorade after and ask if you wanna stay the night.

For an impossibly long moment, the air is still in the dark bedroom. There's not a single sound. Zhenya doesn't breathe for fear of ruining it. He's hot all over, his muscles happy and used, and just for that second, everything is perfect.

Then Sid lets out a coughing groan, rolling away from a dark, wet-looking spot on the mattress, and the illusion shatters.

Zhenya is sticky; the sweat on his skin grows colder by the second and there's a damp patch beneath his hips. He can feel something unpleasant stuck to the innermost skin of his thigh—the condom had broken, he remembers fuzzily. He has Sid's cum all over him. And in him. And there's rubber stuck to his ass now.

He should get up. He should scrounge for his clothes, sneak back down the stairs, pray Mario's family is fast asleep as he makes his escape. He thinks about it, and then he makes himself try, just for a second, before the shock of pain up his spine stops him in his tracks.

Zhenya's back fucking aches. He'd been clobbered by that ugly defenseman in last night's game, and Sid had planted a single hand in the middle of Zhenya's back to hold him down while he...

Sid mumbles something Zhenya doesn't catch, but he hauls himself up from the bed and shuffles to the bathroom. Zhenya watches over his shoulder as the light flickers on and the door mostly closes, leaving only a sliver of yellow light to slice across the floor of the room.

Zhenya needs to leave. He should go. Sid's given him the perfect opportunity to gracefully exit, because that's what Zhenya is supposed to do. He got what he wanted. It had been more than Zhenya ever expected, but he wasn't stupid about it.

He'd gotten into Sid's bed. He'd had Sid's hands on his skin, his lips, his dick. He'd had Sid inside him. Sid had laughed tipsily and hoisted Zhenya up onto his cock. He'd slid his fingers into Zhenya's mouth and coaxed it open easily. He'd leaned in and spit—rum-sweet and hot—onto Zhenya's tongue. He'd made Zhenya come, and then he'd fucked Zhenya until Zhenya was sore and whining. He'd... he'd...

Zhenya drags his face against the pillow, trying to steel himself. He shouldn't be getting weepy, he shouldn't have wetness gathering at the corners of his eyes because of a stupid teammate. The loud sound of piss hitting the toilet bowl echoes from the bathroom. It's just Sid. Stupid, loud, bossy Sid. Gross Sid, who lets himself stew in his sweaty clothes and doesn't change his socks often enough and leaves wet towels in the team bathroom. Annoying Sid, who is always looking for the loudest jokester on the plane and demanding food from anyone he passes. Flirtatious Sid, who bags someone new in every city they go to. It doesn't mean a thing. Zhenya had just wanted some dick, and he'd gotten it.

There's no reason to be upset now, he tries to tell himself. If he's honest, he doesn't really believe it.

There's a flush, and water starts to run. Zhenya curses at himself for wasting time and tries to push himself up. He's clumsy and weak, unable to do much besides pushing himself up to sit on his hip by the time the bathroom door swings back open to reveal the shadow of Sid.

"Sorry," Zhenya mumbles, but then the bathroom light unexpectedly flicks off.

"Were you asleep?" Sid doesn't quite whisper. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up."

"Fine," Zhenya says as he gets closer. Zhenya gropes around on the sheets—he knows his boxers are somewhere on the bed, they'd been trapped beneath his knee when Sid had put him facedown and fingered him to the point of tears. "Sorry, I go, I—"

Sid's palm, so warm it freezes Zhenya still, lands on his shoulderblade.

"Hey, hey," Sid hums to him like he's a horse. Zhenya is powerless to do anything but go as Sid gently presses him back down to the bed.

"Fuck," Sid giggles as his fingers brush against Zhenya's ass. "This got messy, sorry."

Zhenya is quiet as Sid rubs a damp cloth against his skin. It's sloppily done, and Sid doesn't thoroughly probe for all the mess he's left on Zhenya's thighs and balls, but Zhenya can't bring himself to make a sound.

"You want water? Gatorade? I've got blue" he says. Zhenya shakes his head. He needs to thank Sid and leave. He needs to get up, find his keys, and go. His heart thumps loudly, dangerously, in his chest. He needs to be careful, or—

Sid lobs the cloth over the edge of the bed. It lands with a wet sound. Zhenya's so lovesick he can't even be disgusted by it. And then, then, Sid drops back to the mattress with a groan, his heavy arm landing across Zhenya's hips.

"Y'got an alarm for practice?"

Zhenya stares at the top of Sid's head—all he can see—wordlessly. The curls are messy and a little matted. Zhenya had tugged at them vigorously when they'd kissed.

"G?"

"Yes," Zhenya says, though he isn't sure. He hopes he doesn't, because—

"Great," Sid yawns, his jaw working against Zhenya's shoulder. "Night."

Zhenya doesn't twitch as Sid falls asleep next to him, afraid he'll ruin the moment and wake himself up from this dream. He doesn't let his eyes close for what feels like hours, wanting to stay in the quiet twilight for forever, Sid's warm body next to his.

[emilio-the-dumb-wrestler]

hi

i was a model for suits. Now a manager over 300 people. But … i m getting burnt up. i want to make no decisions anymore, to be forced in a new life. I’ m the trendy boss now, but I look jealously to chavs, old men, invalids, … whatever who seem to have a simple life. wish I can wake up in a forced or surprise makeover scene. Permanent.

You want a forced change. Done. You wake up in the morning and your head is pounding. You groan and notice your voice sounds deeper but you can’t even stand to care about that because of your headache. You swing your legs to side of your bed and hear some cans rattling. Your head is in your hands massaging your temples. You moan loudly as you feel you underwear getting tight and feel how hard you are. Straining again the fabric sending pleasure to mind outside on the headache. “Fuckkin ‘ell”. Your eyes pop open. Why did you just say that ? Your socks… why are they crusted and yellow. Looking around you see that cans were beer cans. The room smells come to as a shock as your smell beer, cum…. And piss. “Wut is goin on!” You jump from the bed and look down seeing a different body. Trashy tattoos. You smell of Bo and your feet itch like and ungodly case of athletes foot. The worn carpet in the room looks musty and you are a small dirty bathroom in the corner. Stumbling to it with your bigger but drunk feet you manager to find the mirror. And gasp I. Your. Ew foreign voice as your see your reflection. But… trachier… dumber. There’s no way you could be a manager looking like this. Looking out the window to the left you see the run down flats of government housing. Back in the mirror you’re trying to examine what’s going on. Is your ears bigger ? Goofier ? And why do you look soo…. Dumb. You try to think but your racing mind only causing the headache to come back and you rented underwear to get tighter. You begin to pleasure yourself. Sweating more and more with each stroke and when you finally reach that release your mind goes blank. You jaw slacks and your arms go limp. Staring at yourself in the mirror you see your face contort against your will and you smirk. “Fuuuckkk ye’ mate. Is a damn chav bruv!” You’re trying to control yourself but you can’t as your body walks back to your bed. Taking of a dirty sock and wiping up your mess from just now. And putting it back on. You wanted to be stuck. Forced to change. Well I’ve decided to do this. You will slowly get back your own old mind set. But you’re never able to lose this trashy body. But every time you’re are to have free will of your mind and body again you’ll be forced to pleasure yourself. Bring forth that subconscious desire. In full control of your. While you’re are locked in the mind. Forced to watch but not have control. The only problem is, your subconscious is always horny. Let’s just say it’s going to be a long time before you have control (if ever) again. And your self conscious is completely dedicating to make your life of a living trash chav real.

[fan-goddess]

His pretty muse {3)

Pairing: Modern!Aegon Targaryen x reader

Summary: Aegon finds what he thinks is love simply by looking through his camera lens. The only issue is, you don’t know how much he truly admires your beauty and how much he comes to crave you

Warnings: Dark themes mentioned, masterbation, pervy!aegon, talk of male oral, (any I missed let me know)

Story Taglist: @jamespotterismydaddy, @chompchompluke, @flrboyd, @teazlic, @sajida-cameron, @valeskafics,

Author Note: If you wish to be added to the taglist then please comment. If you wish to be taken out of it then say that here aswell. If it’s in bold I am unable to tag you

Other Chapters: one, two, three,

Other links: My Pretty Muse Masterlist

Aegon doesn’t regret a thing when he wakes up that morning and uses you as a way to rid himself of his morning wood. His hand finds itself sliding under the thin blanket he slept in last night and grips himself tightly. Your name is muttered like a prayer under his breath as his head goes back to those images of you last night.

He knows he could easily just go get his laptop to look at the pictures more clearly, but he’s way to lazy to go and grab it even if it’s only a few steps away. Besides, he’s already moved on from thinking of those photos to thinking of scenarios of you in such scandalous positions it’d make the maiden blush. His favourite by far, and the one that makes him cum, is the thought of you on your knees in-front of him looking up at him through your lashes while you struggle to take all of him in your mouth.

He grabs a random sock on the side of his bed and wipes himself down when he’s finished, before trailing to the shower and blasting himself in some cold water. After he dries himself off he debates on what to wear to take you on a supposed tour of the town, but to be perfectly honest, he knows jack shit apart from a spot that famous for suicides. Though he honestly doubts he’ll be able to weave that fact in without making you run for your perfect fucking family…

He decides on some butt ugly polo shirt he accidentally stole of his brother years ago when he left. It’s slightly tight on him cause of how bigger he’s gotten practically living of fish and chips, but hey, anything for his girl right? He even puts some weird conditioner thing in his hair before ultimately rethinking about how freakishly like his brother he became in that moment. “Like a god damn vampire…” he giggles slightly when he looks at himself in the mirror, before sticking his head under the tap and rinsing it to start all over again.

He’s eventually done though, and walks to the direction of your house with his hands in his trouser pockets and his camera tucked away on his desk, for once by on him. He refuses to scare you away just yet, even though the thought kind of excites him. He even whistles a part of a song he heard walking past a house with an open window. He thinks it’s called pumped up kicks or something like that.

When he gets to your house, he finally gets a chance to look at it in the sunlight. It’s a decent sized bungalow, but the paintwork is fucking ghastly. It’s supposed to be a golden yellow, a colour he knew well in his former life, yet here it’s changed into some sickly jaundice piss stained yellow. If you ever ask if he wants to help with housework, he’s starting with this whether you agree with him or not.

The house he can hear has already come alive with people. Children’s screams and adults shouting echo of the house in waves. He even hears his own ‘name’ shouted. “Sissy your lover boy is here for you!”

It almost brings a sort of smile to his face when he knocks, and the chaos within seems to get ten times louder. He hears you most clearly. Demanding your parents/grandparents to keep the kids away from the town that day so you can’t run into them, with the whining of the kids following swiftly afterwards. You come out a couple minutes later. Your cheeks are red with he assumes is embarrassment yet his head can’t help but think of the possible reasons for having red cheeks.

“Sorry about them. My family’s kinda annoyed I’m not going with them on this stupid walk they planned, yet gave no one else a heads up on about until this morning-“ Usually he finds himself wanting to smack ramblers who can’t get to the point. Yet while you do so he can’t help but find it cute and endearing. He hears you talk but he doesn’t really listen, cause all he can think while you’re doing it is how cute you are. Your hands are moving in time with your voice. When it rises, your hands rise too. It’s an awfully funny thing to witness not that he’s noticed it.

He doesn’t even realise that the two of you are walking though while he pretends to listen to you. Yet your sudden direction of voice brings him out of this little bubble he made just for you. “I thought you said about giving me a tour?” You giggled as you spoke, yet when you raised your eyebrow almost daringly you somehow manage to turn something so perfectly innocent, into something so damn seductive.

“Well sorry princess. Kinda got caught up in your story. I mean, what is a guy supposed to focus on when a beautiful womans talking to him? Not give her attention? Now that’s just cruel of him.” His fuckboy charm doesn’t seem to have any problem coming back to him. Even after a couple years of not using it it seems he still has the swagger. It practically roars in remembrance when you blush at the compliment.

“Wow you’re a real charmer aren’t you PM…” That fucking nickname mixed with the fucking smile you have, it nearly makes him pop a boner there and then.

“Hell yeah I am princess.” It’s a simple response mixed with a simple lazy wink, yet that combo seemed to make you react the most. Your face turns a light pink and your mouth moulds itself into a bashful smile. It’s got to be one of his best works yet he’s got to say.

The walk he hadn’t even realised they were on continues. He halfheartedly talks about the buildings they pass, playing into that tour guide thing he said he’d do but had no intention of actually doing. He makes sure to put in his own personal spin to it though. He makes sure to say stories about the people who live their or frequent there.

“A man named Paul lives there. He’s goes absolutely fucking mental when you step on his grass. Parently he sprayed some little kids with his hose a couple years ago when they played on it. Even gave one a bloody nose cause they fell down getting sprayed or some shit.”

“No!” You gasped. It goes on like that for around an hour. Just him and you messing about discussing gossip about people like the weird women at his mothers boring as fuck book club.

Whilst he’s in the middle of the rumour on one of the fisherman shagging the fish however, you stop, and when he looks back you’ve got a massive grin on your face.

“Something wrong pretty girl?” He asks. It’s strange, as he both does and doesn’t mean the sentimental tone behind it. You don’t respond immediately, only pointing to something behind him with that grin still on your face.

When he turns around, the memory of it hits him like a freight train. It’s an ice cream shop, and he said he’d buy you an ice cream. An internal panic hits him suddenly. What if he has no money on him? Would you think he’s poor for not having any money on him? (Even though he knows he technically is no doubt) or would you pity him and try and play a sympathy card?

While you walk to the entrance, his hands frantically shake and pull at any and all of his pockets, and low and behold the faint sigh of relief when his hand clasps on a lim forgotten twenty pound note hidden away. His footsteps slap against the hard shop as he enters and finds you grinning with rosy cheeks waiting for him.

“You already know what you want princess?” He asks.

“I’m thinking vanilla. It’s basic but a classic.” You ponder. When he looks at the flavours he remembers why he never comes in here. He’s an indecisive little shit.

“Good choice!” The kid behind the counter smiles. It’s obvious the kids not entirely thrilled to be there. The smiles too forced and the eyes look way to dull. Even the way he spoke the generic saying Aegon would bet his boss told him to say, was as if the freaking Terminator voiced him. And the cherry on top, the kids name tag says his names Geoffrey. What kind of sick fuck names there kid Geoffrey in this time? Sociopaths from the fucking thirties, that’s who.

When you turn to him, the kids eyes seem to droop down to look at your tits, and it takes everything in him not to leap over that counter and beat him till he’s unconscious with that stupid ice cream scooper he’s holding.

“Hey kid” The attentions of the tits now, and the kid can no doubt see the anger in his eyes. “I’ll get a vanilla too. In a tub, not a cone though.”

He can already feel the judgment radiating off in waves. Reflecting off the once vibrant now sickly shade of yellow of the ice cream parlour walls. The two of you don’t have to wait long till the kids calling for the two of you, as unsurprisingly enough, no one wants to go in the piss coloured ice cream parlour.

When he walks outside, holding the door open for you like from some stupid romcom movie his sister always raved on, he leads you to an old bench overlooking some trees. It’s like one of those things old married couples do. Sit on an old bench no doubt dedicated to some old person and feed the ducks.

Before the two of you have even sat down, he’s already ditched the pathetic pink plastic spoon the kid gave him. So instead, he uses his preferred method of eating ice cream. Holding the tub to his lips and licking it straight from the tub. He can feel your eyes watching him. Though whether it was from the way he was eating it or the tub itself he has no idea.

“Oh princess your staring” he practically sings. From the corner of his eye he sees your head quickly turn back to your own food and lick it a couple times. It takes everything in him to not groan out loud when he eagerly watched you kitten lick the white liquid that already begun to drip down your hand from the heat.

The silence between him and yourself though he finds is strange nice. Every so rarely often with the move of his arm his elbow brushes against your own arm, and Aegon has to stop himself every time from obsessing in his mind over the small contact.

Eventually the sun gets to his ice cream, leaving the dessert to pool in his cup. So he does what any sane person would do. He tilts it back and drinks it like a shot. He can see your head turn to him while he does this, the slurping sound not silent in anyway whatsoever. When he’s done and wipes whatever remnants stayed on his face he hears a little giggle coming from his left. A little giggle coming from you.

Aegon turns to you with a lazy grin. Mainly to tease you about the giggle, yet his gaze seems to zero in on a small dollop of ice cream that hangs in the corner of your mouth. He can’t even find himself able to look away. The once lazy grin he can feel fade as his hand moves with a mind of its own to wipe away at the white stuff with his thumb. It doesn’t end there, as he next licks at that very same thumb to get rid of the ice cream while making direct eye contact with you.

“Sorry…” He awkwardly smiles. Deep inside, he knows damn well he doesn’t mean the apology. He’d probably do it again if it meant he could touch you over and over. He’s probably even lick the remnants straight of your skin if you asked him to.

“It’s okay” you still someone manage to smile so cutely with a blush that’s taken your face hostage. “Why do you do that? Eat ice cream with a tub?”

Aegons never really had to think about it. Even though no one ever asked. Maybe it was cause he always hung about with the sheep kids in school. The ones who only hung onto your every word cause you had more money than them, and by the seven did he have a lot. “I’ve never had a cone before. Plus It always seems to go soggy whenever ice creams there for too long and all I can think about when I see it is wet cardboard.”

“Okay.” That’s all you say? Okay! Where’s the judgement?! Where’s the calling him a weirdo?! Where’s the normal human response?

“You don’t think it’s weird?” He’s insecurity creeps up on him as his nail gets pushed further into his palm. It’s a bad habit yes, learnt straight from mother dearest, but it distracts him from the humiliation with a nice feeling of pain. So why stop when he’s having fun?

“We all have our preferences, and you just have yours. Who am I to judge?” You say with a shrug as you go back to eating your cone. It’s simple how you said it. It was so simple and short. Yet why does he feel like he’s having a heart attack?

Aegon doesn’t speak for the rest of the ice cream part of the, is it a date? Do you count it as a date? He probably would count it as a date but only if you-

“You okay?” It’s your voice that brings him out of whatever mind melt he just went through. Yet he could never tell you that. If there’s one thing he got beat into him, men don’t show emotion. Or at least that’s what he was taught and shown anyway.

“I’m fine princess.” Again, the fuckboy smile comes out and is rewarded with a blush. His heart goes fast at the sight of it. It beats even fast when there’s more white ice cream on the corner of your lip, slowing dripping down the side of your mouth. If there’s a god out there, he’s currently torturing him.

It’s only worse for him when this time, you feel the ice cream and lick it away with your tongue. The sight of it makes his pants stir.

“What now- oh shit!” The shocked face you make leaves his head spinning. He turns his head a couple times to see if it’s something around the two of you which made you act so… surprised, but there’s no one but him and you, as-well as some old cat that wonders around. You couldn’t be that much of a cat lady right?

“I still don’t really know your name! I’m practically on a date with a complete stranger! Good gods for all I know you’re planning on taking me back to your place and locking me in a basement!” That’s actually sort of close… only he doesn’t have a basement. Should he invest in a basement?

“No one knows my real name princess. That’s kinda the point of why people call me PM.” Aegon attempts to diffuse the sudden tension with another fuck boy smile, but if anything it seems to make it worse…

“So you’re telling me no one in this entire town knows who you really are?”

“Nope.” It’s a simple answer, for a simple question. Yet it makes him think about it all. No one in this town does actually know who he is. The hair should’ve been a dead give away for who he was, yet no one questioned him about it. No one in any conversation he’d ever had in this town ever really asked him questions about him…

“What’s it begin with?” Your voice breaks him out of the tangent, yet when he turns his to look at you he’s forced to look straight into your eyes. Your very pretty, very close to him eyes.

“What?”

“Your name. Your real name. Not some made up alias you came up with but your actual, parent given or whatever adult given name. Tell me what it begins with if your not comfortable to say it fully.”

Aegon sighs in defeat when he sees your determined eyes. Again, your very close to him eyes that make his own want to drift to your lips and see if they taste of the vanilla ice cream. “My father picked my name, mainly cause he was a traditional cunt. It begins with an A.”

“Anthony?”

“Like that Bridgerton dude?”

“You watch Bridgerton?”

“No I remember when I was on the beach and a bunch of girls in skimpy bikinis were talking about the dude. Sounds like a dick for ditching his betrothed for her sister if you asked me.”

“Gonna just ignore that for the bigger issue… Arnold?”

“GET TO THE CHOPPER!”

“Dear gods give me strength… How about Archie?”

“Nope”

“Archibald?”

“Is that what I am to you princess? A fucking duke from the m 1800’s? I’m very harshly offended!”

“Achilles?”

“Are you trying to ask insinuate something princess?”

A frustrated sort of growl rips from your throat, and Aegon can’t help himself from thinking that’s the most hottest thing he’s ever heard. It almost naws at his head the idea that you growl like that in bed. When he takes you from behind, would you growl like that just for him while he’s cumming inside and paining your insides white? He certainly hopes so. He’s not very sorry for the fact he can feel himself getting hard in front of you. As why should he? He’ll be hopefully fucking you soon enough.

“You are so annoying!” You moan with your hands clenched in what he assumes is frustration. It makes him subconsciously smile from amusement.

“That’s the goal princess.” He winks for what feels like the tenth time today. That inner fuck boy really seems to be coming back full swing, though the worst part is he can’t tell if it’s a good or a bad thing. The good part is, he’s able to flirt with you like a bird flying. Scoring a couple deep blushes he’ll store the image of later. The bad part however, now that part of him is unlocked, the thoughts of that lifestyle are hitting him full force.

The images of you with that ice cream on your lips sending his mind racing. Sounds of you groaning playing again and again as if they’re on some old record player he can’t turn off. The taste of the ice cream is what he’s thinking your lips would taste like if he was to kiss you.

To be honest, the rest of the date not date went like a blur. As if he’d somehow snorted some sort of coke and was in some hallucinagenic high or something. Yeah, he remembers showing you the rest of the shitty buildings and telling you peoples secrets like you and him were on some shitty quiz show (unlike catchphrase if you ever dissed catchphrase he’d probably have to kill you). But honestly, it was as if he was watching it from above. The only way he can think of to describe it is from that marvel movie Dr Strange with the weird ghost thing they do.

The only way he’s brought back to his own body is when he felt the sudden warmth of your body on his. The feeling like his soul was entering his body hitting him harshly and quickly as he realised what was going on. You were hugging him. Your hands were wrapped around him and your head was in his neck.

Aegon can’t deny he didn’t enjoy the feeling of your warmth, but he also can’t deny the uncomfortable feeling of the hug itself. His arms though did not move, only limply and awkwardly stiff at his sides. His chin was brushing against the shell of your ear. Worst of all, he could feel his chest beating like he ran one of those marathon things, it’s almost worst that he doesn’t know if why his heart was beating so fast whether because it was from the sudden affection, or because while you hugged him he realised he could feel the imprint of your breasts.

You look up at him with your chest still in quite close proximity to his own, and your hands placed on his forearms. You seem to ponder something with a raised brow, as your mouth already begins to move.“You’re not a big hug kinda guy are you?”

“No I guess not.” He simply shrugs. His arms still hang limply, while your face is still close. He’s almost tempted to lean forward and close that gap. See if your lips will taste like the vanilla ice cream you were licking not long ago. He can’t deny though that he likes this act even better than going for the taste. A small torture for a large reward. Maybe it’s the masochist in him? Or the sadist that revels in the cat and mouse game your not even aware your playing. Call him insane, it’s not like he’s never heard it before anyway.

[manwrre]

This is my contribution to the harringrove relay race!

Title: 💫 heaven at your fingertips 💫

Rating: explicit content

Word Count: 3,055

Tags include: trans male character billy, alternate universe - college/university, domestic boyfriends and afab language while describing genitalia.

•

Despite what anyone with working eyes and a brain might think, Steve doesn’t actually hate his job.

It’s not out of the ordinary for him to entertain the thought— everyday at a campus coffee shop is rough— but he doesn’t dislike it. His hours are pretty flexible and his coworkers are all great. There’s an endless amount of staff drinks allowed on a single shift and Steve’s allowed to bring home as many leftover doughnuts as he wants. His boss and the owner of Bean’d, Todd, isn’t really around to micromanage them but whenever he does pop in, Steve feels lucky enough to be there despite the minimum wage paycheck.

So hate it, he does not.

Not even on the worst days when he’s spread thin and exhausted. Not even on a brutal day like today. The shittiest day that he’s had in a while, he thinks, stepping out of the rundown elevator and unto his floor. The fact that he’s practically home doesn’t even seem to help. If anything, the distance between the elevator and his front door seems longer than usual as he walks. His shoulders are heavyset with eight hours of tension and his feet ache so deeply that the dusty, burgundy of the hallway’s carpets look comfortable. Perfect for a seat. Or a nap.

He doubts his neighbors would mind if he just settled there for the night. Mr Stewart might pretend to be pissed but Mrs Maulkin, who lives next door, is just about the sweetest, little lady. She pinches his cheeks and always goes on and on about him getting more sleep. Once, she’d even watered their plants when he and Billy visited the kids back in Hawkins on break so yeah, she’s pretty neat.

Ideally, she would probably prefer if he didn’t get said rest on her welcome mat but he wasn’t going to be picky. His shift had just about driven all of the pickiness out of him. Whacked it out of him with a broom sometime between the morning rush and the midday rush or maybe, it was between the evening rush and clean up? Point is, it’s been beaten out of him.

Above his head, the yellow bulbs blink almost lazily and he reaches for his keys. He swings the lanyard around his finger almost idly and eyes the peeling, black paint of the apartment numbers.

505……506…….507…….508……509…….Ah.

He unlocks the door, shuffles inside with a sigh and for a second, just stands there. The scent of home surrounds him immediately and some of the day’s weight falls at his feet as he flicks the lights on in the small walkway. He hangs his backpack unto the hook shaped like a little guitar that Billy seems to like so much. Grabs the brown, greasy bag of donuts that Billy also seems to like so much and toes his shoes off.

“Bee, I’m home!” He nudges the pair of kicks out of sight with socked toes and blindly tosses his keys into the nearby bowl. Catches a whiff of himself. Pauses. Almost keels over. All in that order.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he gags aloud.

Beneath the cloying scent of artificial syrups, powdered sugar and dozens of iced matchas with oat milk and brown sugar foam, is the usual sweat and grime of a long day. He doesn’t have to look in the mirror either, to know that his hair is all flat and ugly beneath his cap. too.

He needs a shower and a nap and some food and really, just his fucking boyfriend. Again, all in that order but it’s been a long week of barely seeing each other with finals and the usual shifts so he knows that he’s only gonna cover number five on that list before passing out.

“Billy?” he calls again, flipping the main lights on.

The action casts a soft glow across their little, one bedroom apartment.

Fully furnished and equipped with a couple of leaky faucets and chipped wallpaper but theirstheirstheirs. A year ago, she was all they could afford on their meager savings in California but now, she’s home. Steve studies his social work on the bedroom floor and Billy stocks their shelves with books about anatomy. They cook dinner together on most nights in their dingy, little kitchen, watch trashy horror in the living room and spend every night wrapped around each other.

“I brought donuts again. We were outta the pistachio ones so I got glazed and no, Sam didn’t make them this time.”

He pads across the living room, not a trace of his boyfriend in sight and dumps the paper bag on the counter. He’s convinced that Billy might be asleep— it’s been a long week of exams and Steve cracks the door to their bedroom open, fully expecting the room to be shrouded in darkness,

only to pause.

To take it all in.

Because oh.

Steve can’t help it— he’s drawn to the sight of too naked legs and too smooth thighs. Can’t focus on anything but the way that Billy’s hand disappears between them. Can’t wrap his mind around anything other than the fact that Billy is very much awake and very much touching himself in front of him. In the flesh.

There’s a lot to take in.

Billy’s naked from the waist down and facing the doorway; his legs spread to reveal the pink of his pussy as he thumbs across his clit. Steve’s gaze lifts then, up his bare, little waist and to the thinning material of Billy’s tee shirt, which is the only piece of clothing he’s wearing. He zones in on where the worn, blue material fits snugly across his boyfriends chest,

swallows,

and then meets the amused blues of Billy’s eyes.

Billy, who doesn’t dare hide the heat in them or the intent behind his smirk.

“Hi, Stevie.” he purrs, predatory. Like a shark that’s just smelled blood. “Crazy day?”

The lowness of his voice sends a jolt of heat down Steve’s abdomen; one that settles at the base of his cock all hot and heavy. And in response, Steve’s shoulders drop, his body relaxes and the day’s toll leaks out of him. Sludging. Lethargic.

God, he’s easy.

“Uh huh,” he mutters, unintelligibly, at first. Then, snaps out of it enough to flash Billy a smile.

“Funnily enough, I actually think it’s about to get crazier.” He shuts the door behind him and steps closer. His gaze only stray for a matter of seconds to catalog everything about Billy in this moment. The navy blue of their sheets beneath the blonde. The handful of books on their bedside table. Billy’s hair all tied up into a loose bun. His pebbling nipples. His wet, hot cunt and the fact that he hasn’t stopped touching himself.

“Yeah? I wonder why.” the blonde drawls, quirking a brow.

“Dunno, think I’m about to get laid or something.” He’s teasing and Steve loves it.

“Or something,” Billy mocks, rolling his eyes but Steve’s words have him biting his lip.

He’s trying to come off as unaffected but Steve knows he’s anything but. The soft curls sticking to Billy’s forehead, damp with sweat and all, let him know that this has been an ongoing endeavor. God knows how long Billy’s been pleasuring himself— dripping like this; his cheeks flushed a pretty scarlet, eyes dark and lips an almost mottled red. Bitten plump. Half-parted in pleasure for a beat too long whenever he speaks.

Steve doesn’t have to pretend. He doesn’t want to hide the urgency that he feels or the effect that Billy has on him, so he tugs his shirt up over his head before tossing it aside.

He crosses the distance between them in no time and crawls into the alcove between Billy’s thighs oh so easily. Steve thinks, yes and finally and this is exactly where he belongs when he’s got Billy under him. He thinks holy shit, you’re lovely when his boyfriend stares up at him with wide, dark eyes and pulls him closer by the loops of his belt. Simultaneously, Steve lifts one of Billy’s golden thighs upupup around his waist and lessens the oxygen between them with a kiss so hot that the air around them feels supercharged.

He loses himself in the soft give of Billy’s lips and nips at his cupid’s bow with an impatient noise. Beneath him, Billy opens up like a black hole; this consuming, taking thing and Steve licks into his mouth all too eagerly. The blonde’s answering moan is breathy and high and Steve laps at every slick crook with his tongue—to taste, to feel, to map out and to claim. Beneath him, Billy’s hips jerk to life just as Steve becomes breathless with desire and blindly, he seeks purchase in the rough material of Steve’s jeans. The soppy, wet heat of his cunt seeps through to Steve’s skin as Billy rides his thigh.

“Stevie— please, I need you to fuck me.” Billy gasps into his mouth.

Steve takes advantage of this and busies himself by stamping kisses across the curve of Billy’s jaw and throat and neck. He sucks pretty, purpling bruises into the golden skin there and ruts down against his pliant, waiting body. A taste so distinctly Billy explodes on his tongue; clean and citrusy and tangy and Steve loves it.

Steve groans deeply, “Yea, sweetheart? You missed me?”

“You try being celibate in an apartment with your hot ass– ah, boyfriend for two weeks. A perfectly timed breeze could’ve had to creaming my fucking pants at the quad today,” Billy hisses and Steve can’t help it, he laughs.

“A breeze, baby? Don’t tell me you’re losing your touch,” the amusement is palpable in his voice. He knows that Billy must sense it, even with his eyes closed because then, they aren’t. They aren’t and Steve is forced to meet those dark, dark eyes and trace the expanse of Billy’s flush from his cheeks, all the way down his chest. And without another word, he’s undoing his belt; his fly coming undone and everything. He shucks off his jeans and underwear in one swoop and wounds a hand around his chubbing cock.

It’s hot and thick in his too dry palm but the contact sends a surge of crackling heat up his spine.

He sees Billy’s attention shift. Feels his cock throb as he does that thing; the one where he tongues at his lower lip and his gaze flits between Steve’s and his cock almost thoughtfully. And his mouth is suddenly dry as he follows the subtle quivers of Billy’s stomach. Watches it dip and swell and hears his intake of breath because all the while, the blonde’s hips never exactly cease. They just slow into deep, core aching figure eights until he can’t take it and he’s reaching between their bodies for Steve’s cock.

Billy’s touch is warm but callous-rough and feels like heaven around him. In thanks, Steve winds his fingers into the blonde’s curls to steady himself, while Billy uses the precum at the head of his cock to jerk him off hard and fast. The pace has him fucking into the tight ring of fingers with a choked off moan, “Fuck– oh.”

Billy’s smug. He knows this because the demanding slide of his fist slows and well, he says as much. “Don’t act like you’re not gonna bust a nut the minute I get my mouth on you. That’s gonna make it even more embarrassing,”

“Brat.” Steve spits but he’s smiling and scooting up so that his thighs bracket Billy’s head.

“Pushover.” Billy laughs, genuinely pleased and swallows Steve’s cock into his mouth with a wet noise.

The sudden too hot, too wet of it punches an aggressive exhale out through his nose,“Holy shit, fuck” and he grabs unto the headboard while Billy makes easy work of him.

Billy sucks the head into his mouth with a practiced ease that makes Steve weak in the knees and melts all of the fight right out of him. It’s all familiar but Steve will never get used to this. Will never fail to be amazed at how well Billy takes him; unyielding as he tongues at the sensitive underside of Steve’s cock and groans around him in a way that liquifies his fucking mind. It takes everything in him not to shout when Billy hollows his cheeks and instead, his grip grows tighter in the mess of blonde curls until he’s sure it hurts.

“You’re so fucking good at this, baby. So pretty,” He cradles Billy’s cheek, only to be rewarded by a hint of teeth across the thick vein that Steve favors, near the crown.

Billy moans around the cock in his mouth and Steve’s brain collapses in on itself like a dying star. When he speaks, his voice is a low, warbled thing, “Waited all day just to suck me off, I bet. Just to put that mouth to use, huh, sweetheart?” And then, Billy pulls away to slap the leaking, ruddied head against his tongue for Steve to see. He lets it sit there. Lets the precum pool sluggishly on the pink of it and stares up at him in a way that makes Steve feel like coming home. God, he’s so close.

“C’mon, baby. I wanna cum but I’m gonna do it inside of you,” Steve grabs at his jaw affectionately before shifting sideways and falling onto his back invitingly. It takes everything in him to stay there.

He swats at the curve of Billy’s ass as he moves and swings a leg over to bracket Steve’s hips, ignoring his grumbled complaint of ‘being too lazy’. The next part comes easily, however. Billy doesn’t waste any time before he’s sinking down on his cock in a swift, decisive motion; his pussy opening up around Steve with the tiniest bit of give.

And then everything clicks into place.

Billy’s cunt is slick and he makes the prettiest sight on top of him but Steve doesn’t move. He’s trying his damndest not to and ignoring the flex of his thighs as his pelvis seems to ache with need to just do something. But he doesn’t move because Billy loves this. Billy needs this moment, so he waits. He watches as Billy holds himself tightly and he adjusts to the sheer girth of Steve— his palms lying flat against his bare chest and his hips moving in shallow bursts.

“Oh,” Billy breathes out before sitting up and slamming himself down on Steve’s cock.

“Fuck, there you go,” Steve growls and plants his heels deeper in the mattress with every thrust. He grabs at Billy’s hips and at his thighs, brushing his fingers across the curve of his ass where stretch marks color the skin liquid-gold against bronze. Rivulets like the rings of Saturn. Like Billy’s his entire world and here lies the proof of it.

The thought sends a possessive thrill through him and his grip on Billy’s ass turns bruising. Tomorrow, Steve will nip and suck more galaxies into it but for now, he tries to mold a place inside of him with his cock; deep and hard until he finds the place that makes Billy howl and stiffen.

“Steve— right there, right there, right there. Don’t stop fucking me, please,” He cries, shifting until Steve swears his cockhead nudges against the damn near opening of Billy’s womb. And he knows that Billy feels it too because he flinches, as if surprised, as if the pleasure is tinged with pain but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

“C’mon, baby. You can take it, don’t run.” he croons, forcing Billy to do some of the work; to rut back against his cock and envelope it whole and that’s exactly what he does. The blonde’s thighs flex with the strain of working himself open but he takes it so fucking well and Steve loses himself in the suctioning grip of Billy’s cunt. Closes his eyes and swears there are universes being created behind his eyelids. Star by star. Space dust by space dust.

“You were waiting for it, right? Wanted it so badly, gorgeous boy,” he chokes out, needing to let Billy know just how badly he’s got him.

The sound Billy makes in response is winded, all the same and then oh so pleased as he drops his hips into a slow, dirty downward grind. It’s miasmic and Steve feels the sloppy mess of Billy’s pussy against his abdomen and pulsating around him.

“Oh my god— Stevie, I’m gonna cum. Oh please, I’m gonna cum,” he ruts against Steve’s cock in these half aborted, little circles and Steve is equally as devastated by the constant bursts of pleasure and pressure.

The heat in his gut is building just as quickly. It’s a dangerous, tumultuous thing that expands past his groin and into his gut. He feels it in his hips, in his chest, at the back of his mouth and behind his teeth. It’s so close that he can taste it and he meets Billy halfway with the next few thrusts, plunging deeper into him, as if to say, ‘you feel it too, right?’

He’s whispering a mantra of, “Yea, baby? Right there?” and these desperate, half chewed off variations of Billy’s name.

And so many things happen within the next second that Steve can barely keep track of them. Billy muffles a moan between his teeth, whining all high at the back of his throat as he nods. He fucks himself on Steve’s cock with a restless abandon that comes from chasing his own orgasm. And Steve thinks, his womb. Billy’s fucking womb. He must be in it. He wants to knock him up so bad that it’s dizzying. So bad that it’s earth shattering and gravity defying. There’s the build up of white, blinding pleasure and then— the string snaps. Billy’s cumming around him with a shout and Steve’s fucking his cock into him without reprieve; thrusts long and drawn out as they ride the wave together.

He cums for so long and so hard, that Steve thinks he might have passed out a little. When he comes to, Billy’s cunt is still milking him dry and the blonde is plastered to his chest in his own, little world. Boneless but sated.

At that moment, the weariness in his bones hits him all at once and he winces. Shifts a little beneath Billy’s full weight but stamps a kiss to his forehead nonetheless. Billy grumbles into his sweat slick chest before pressing his lips there in return and brushing his mess of hair out of his eyes.

“So… donuts?” And Steve snorts.

“Yeah, donuts. I can’t believe we just screwed and that’s what you’re worried about.”

Billy’s answering smile is wicked and travels straight to Steve’s heart, “You knew who I was before you dated me so now you’re stuck,” and he’s smug about the fact.

His amusement is short lived as Steve’s softening cock slips out of him, alongside the mess of cum and Steve rolls them unto their sides. “Only because rent is killer in California but as soon as I make it big?”

Steve pats his cheek and yawns, “You’re outta here, hot stuff.”

Billy doesn’t fight him, though. Doesn’t argue that they can afford somewhere a little bigger now or that he’s pulling in more money than Steve is at the mechanic’s shop. He doesn’t point out that Steve’s been saying that almost everyday for a year and yet, still brings home his favorite donuts and will cuddle Billy for as long as he’d like after his shift because he misses him.

He doesn’t say it but Steve knows. He feels it in his chest the same way, too and thanks God and the universe for giving him a little bit of the sun and stars to hold; to keep with him forever.

minor technical difficulties meant that this was a little delayed!! so sorry everyone. i had so much fun working on this!! please look forward to the lovely upcoming work from our next contributor, @racketti and many thanks to @harringrove-relay-race for being such an amazing host 💗

[gudfornuthin]

Teenage Dirtbag

Eddie Munson x reader

She’s the most popular girl in school. And he’s just the freak. Maybe people shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

A/N: based off the song narrative of Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus. I really loved writing this, I enjoy creating stories based off of songs. So if anyone has other music you want me to base stories on, don’t hesitate to ask! Feedback is greatly appreciated❤️

The Hellfire Club had ended their campaign earlier than expected. They were pissed, obviously, but the dungeon master had good reason to cut it short. That reason being the cheer squad practicing out on the field at the same time. He wasn’t big on school spirit and didn’t care for any form of sport. But the one thing, or person, Eddie took an interest in was the cheer captain, Y/N.

She wasn’t Eddie’s usual type. Popular, athletic, preppy. Way out of his league, obviously. But the boy couldn’t help the attraction he had towards her. Her eyes, her smile, her laugh. God, it was infectious.

Eddie walks out of the building and makes his way to the field, beelining for the bleachers. He doesn’t want to seem like a creep, but he also has a reputation to uphold. If people found out that the freak was watching cheer practice every week for an hour, he’d never live it down. He leans on his arms, peaking through the gaps and scanning the cheerleaders. He spots her in the middle, stretching her arms and leaning from side to side. She wears white tube socks and bright yellow Keds. Most couldn’t pull that off. But to Eddie, she rocks it. He wants nothing more than to tell her that, but she has no idea who he is.

“So this is why we have to cut Hellfire short?”

Eddie jumps and turns around, the sarcastic question coming from none other than Dustin Henderson. He has a shit-eating grin on his face, pleased with the older boys scared reaction.

“Henderson. You shouldn’t creep up on a guy when he’s-“

“When he’s acting like a perve.”

Eddie rolls his eyes but doesn’t reply. He knows it’s weird for him to do this. But he’d rather admire from afar then be put in his place if he so much as smiles at her. Although, she’s the problem. It’s her dick of a boyfriend. He doesn’t know much about him, only that he plays on the basketball team and lives on his block. Somewhere else he sees her frequently. Driving down the street together in his IROC, her bare legs hanging out the window. Her boyfriend also carries a gun around school. Why, Eddie couldn’t begin to imagine. He definitely doesn’t want to find out.

“You know,” Dustin pipes up, “Y/N isn’t judgemental like her friends. Or boyfriend.” Eddie chooses not to question how he knows she’s the one he’s been looking at. “She’s always been open-minded. Might be willing to get to know Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson. Maybe if you weren’t such a pussy.”

At that, Eddie goes to push the younger boy, but misses, as Dustin runs off snorting. He wishes he could believe those words. That maybe you wouldn’t look at him the way everyone else does. That you’d see past the messy hair, leather jackets and unsavoury music. But he couldn’t. because he was just that. The freak. The weirdo. The dirtbag. He huffs and walks away from the bleachers, feeling down on himself.

---

Why Eddie had agreed to take all the kids to prom, he’ll never know. But as they all pile out of the van, chatting animatedly about decorations and people’s outfits, he sits back with a cigarette in hand. He had nowhere to go, and they’d all be ready to leave in a couple hours, so there was no point leaving to have to drive back.

He waves half-heartedly at them as they walk into the gym and lights up. Eddie closes his eyes and breaths out. He hates to sit and mope, but it’s hard not to knowing everyone else is having fun. While he sits alone, waiting for a bunch of 14-year-olds. What a loser.

No soon after the kids have left, Eddie begins to grow restless. He looks at the doors, seeing the flashing lights and hearing muffled music. It couldn’t hurt to poke his head through and scope the place. No one would see him. He’s never been to the prom before, albeit due to being banned from going every year. But it had never been his seen anyways. Having to get dressed up and listen to some shitty cover band play the same three songs over and over. Eddie preferred staying home and getting high.

Either way, he hits his hands on the steering wheel, and gets out the van, flicking the cigarette butt onto the floor. Making his way into the gym, he immediately spots Dustin, along with Mike and Lucas dancing off to the side. Red faced and laughing, he can’t help but smile, glad they’re having fun. He walks further through, trying not to be seen, but standing out completely. Eddie chooses to stand at the back of the room, alongside other rejects who hope that this will be the year they get asked to dance. He crosses one leg over the other and does the same with his arms. Constantly glancing back and forth, using the time to people watch. Couples dancing. Couples arguing. A kid most definitely spiking the punch. Y/N walking over to him.

Eddie stands up straighter, eyes wide and mouth dry. She was still coming closer, a small smile on her face. This can’t be real. Maybe she’ll take a sudden turn towards the doors, or perhaps she’s going to ask him to leave. She is part of the prom committee, and he’s not exactly welcome. Even so, she continues to walk towards him, until she’s only a few feet away.

“Surprised to see you here.”

Eddie can hardly process what she’s said. “Huh?”

“I didn’t think this was your scene. I hope you’re having a good time though.”

Why is she talking to him? why is she acting as if she knows who he is? Why does she hope he’s having a good time? Those are just a few of the several thoughts running through Eddie’s mind. His lip and hands start to shake, and he’s hyper aware that she’s waiting for him to reply.

“You look really beautiful.”

He cringes. That wasn’t what he meant to say. He truly meant it though. A stunning, purple dress hugs Y/N’s figure, the lace wrapping around her collarbone. Subtle, golden makeup shines under the light. To Eddie, she looks ethereal. He’s smitten, and he’s worried he may have just blown it. Then he hears her laugh.

“You’re too sweet,” the music changes, and ‘Like a Virgin’ begins to play. She reaches out her hand, “come on, I love this song.”

Eddie’s still in shock, as the girl takes his arm and drags him to the centre of the gym, lip syncing along to the lyrics. She takes both his hands in hers and moves them back and forth. Eddie tries to keep his focus on her, not wanting to lose a second of their time together. But he can’t help to look around, nervous and on edge. Y/N leans close so he can hear her.

“He’s not here.” Eddie looks confused. “My boyfriend? We got into a huge fight earlier and he left.”

He’s unsure how to respond. He can tell she’s trying to hide the hurt, a tight-lipped smile and eyes glossy. Her boyfriend’s a dick, sure, but Eddie knows what relationships can do to a person. Though it pains him to think of her having to go through anything like that. Instead, he changes the subject.

“So you like Madonna?”

She shrugs. “Well yeah, everyone does. But I’m more into hardcore stuff,” Eddie holds his breath. “You know, bands like Metallica and Black Sabbath.”

Of course he knew what she meant. But it was still hard to process. The head cheerleader, who wore bright colours and was the embodiment of sunshine and flowers, is a metalhead. He hardly notices the song change once more to a slow melody, as she rests her arms atop his shoulders, and his wrap instinctively around her waist.

“Actually, now that I mention it. Iron Maiden are doing a show this Friday. I’ve got two tickets and no one to go with. I was wondering if you-“

“Yes.”

Y/N is taken aback once more by Eddie’s abrupt response but smiles none the less. He shakes his head, a blush forming on his cheeks.

“I mean,” he clears his throat, “I’ll have to check my schedule because you know, I’m a busy guy,” a complete untruth, “but yeah, that’d be really cool.”

She smiles wider and looks down at Eddie’s lips. She looks into his eyes, asking for permission, to which he nods. The pair lean in, eyes closing.

“Eddie,” she whispers.

“yeah?”

“Eddie, wake up.”

He opens his eyes slightly, seeing you staring back at him.

“What?”

“Eddie, you need to wake up now.”

---

He gasps and sits up straight, finding himself in bed. He looks around and sees his uncle looking over him, dressed in work clothes. “You overslept again. Can’t keep missing school if you wanna finally graduate.” He shakes his head and walks out, leaving Eddie alone, replaying the vivid dream over and over.

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

[prettybabybaby]

Bull!Eddie pissing on you for humiliation and to mark you etc, except you like it. And boy do his tormenting words get worse when he realises you do, and how dirty you are

Eddie pushes you onto the ground, fiddling with his belt while you recover from the violent treatment. He reaches for his zipper and stares down at you, covered in mud and murky water from the puddles nearby. The dirty water runs down your thighs, disappearing between the pillowy flesh. Your socks and skirt are tinged a light brown. He thinks you're an idiot for wearing white.

You're oblivious to the noises coming from above you, looking down at your muddy knees. You gasp at your stained white socks, cinching your brows and snapping your head up to look at him.

You freeze at the sight of his pink cock held in his pale hand. You're embarrassed by the way your mouth begins to water.

His warm stream comes unexpectedly, accompanied by a sigh and slight groan. Your mouth falls open and your eyes shut in shock. Drops slide over the curves of your lips and trickle into your mouth and onto your tongue, warm and bitter. You can feel your white skirt and socks staining yellow as the liquid runs down your body, soaking through your skirt and panties and joining your building slick.

You lick your lips subconsciously, opening your mouth wide again. You hear an evil sounding laugh escape his lips, “look at you, you dirty bitch. Making use of your mouth by swallowing my piss.” You feel your body heat in more ways than one as a shameful fire builds in your belly.

You open your eyes as a deep grunt comes from the man before you and his stream moves down your face, struggling to angle itself towards your mouth. He’s biting his lips and his face is slightly contorted as he looks down your body before flickering up to your face.

Your hand falls to your pussy as he glides the golden liquid across the width of your staining skirt, “finally useful,” he groans. “It’s all you are, a human toilet.”

When his stream slows to a stop he walks closer, slapping his semi-hard cock against your cheek, laughing, “I knew you were a filthy whore. You like my piss?”