the-avengers-not-the-nazis

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Rock star eddie, you're his drummer. One of his songs requires moans in the background. He wants it live. Wear special panties during show, boom live moans or if that's too much maybe just has you in the sound booth since he doesn't want some random chick's moans, the grand finale is the sound of you coming during the climax of the song 👀

Glitter Girl

Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Reader

Based on Glitter Girl by Dixie Dragster (Eddie's song in the fic)

A/N: I was editing this and I was like ugh this is ass, but then I got to the smut and I was like okay this is good actually lmao. This is my attempt at not answering a request with an overarching storyline like I did here, but this still ended up being about 4.6k Thank you for the request it was very slutty, perfect for rockstar!eddie.

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ mdni!!! unprotected sex, PiV sex, masturbation (fem), voyeurism, ass slapping, cum eating, oral sex kinda (fem rec), cum swapping lol, kinda dirty talk, edging, talk of fingering, audio recording sex, some feelings

My asks are open, come talk to me about Eddie!!!

Masterlist

You came into the studio looking for Eddie, finding him next to the band’s producer, Jared, at the soundboard. 

Gareth had left a message on your machine saying Eddie needed some more backing vocals for the new song. The song was a little different from what the band had done before—more eccentric, more glam-rock—but Eddie said it would be a blast to perform live so you didn’t mind, always up for making the shows more electric. 

Eddie told you he wrote the song in two hours after the insane New Year’s Eve bash the band threw at a club. You remember bits and pieces of the party—glitter falling at midnight, spitting a shot of vodka into Eddie’s mouth, making Gareth give you a lap dance, watching Jeff motorboat a bottle girl. Definitely one for the books.

But as daybreak neared and guests began drunkenly shuffling home, the night became a little clearer in your memory—leaving you and Eddie covered in glitter and confetti, giggling about how he’d be finding that shit in his hair forever. Three days later, he played the song for you and the rest of the band.

You laid down the drums for the song last Friday and your vocals the following Monday. Eddie had told the band it was a wrap, but it seems he’s changed his mind—deciding something was missing, rendering the song incomplete in his eyes. 

Music is the only thing he’s ever been picky about, the one area where his usual chaos shifts into precision. It’s like he develops a Type-A personality just for that. 

When he hears the door open, Eddie looks up to see you walking in, tattered jean shorts and an old band tee hanging loose on your body. He waves you into the room, ushering you over to the soundboard with him and Jared.

“Hey! Glad you got my message, sorry about the game of telephone. Apparently there’s no landline in this fucking place.” He exclaims, throwing a pointed look at Jared—like the poor guy owns the building and has a say in its architectural decisions. 

You huff at his attitude, tilting your head, giving him a reprimanding, deadpan stare. Eddie loves to give the guy a hard time, much to your chagrin. It’s only because Jared’s genuinely the nicest person all of you know, especially in the LA music scene. 

“No problem, although I am confused because I thought we finished everything.” 

You watch as Jared starts fiddling with some buttons, getting the sound booth ready. 

“Yeah, okay. See, I thought it was good–great even!” He obfuscates, “But then I had this idea…and now I wanna see how it’ll sound, and you’re the only girl…” 

Your brows furrow as a confused smile overtakes your face. It sounded like he said a whole lot of nothing just now, and what does being the only girl in the band have to do with anything?

“What are you talking about?”

“Okay, force my hand,” he groans dramatically. “I think some moans would sound really fucking cool on the R–O–C–K part.” 

He says it so fast, you have to take a moment to replay what you heard in your head to understand. Nervous for what you’ll say, he’s shoving his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and eyeing you intently. You hesitate, gauging whether he’s serious or not, but he doesn’t back track. 

“Alright, I mean–,” you gesture to him, deferring, “you’re the musical genius.” 

It’ll be a little weird moaning in a sound booth by yourself, having poor, innocent Jared monitoring the levels and Eddie coaching you, but if it’ll make the song even cooler—you’re in.

Eddie appears shocked at your deference, he really thought he’d have to run down the list he made of why it would be sick as fuck. He’s suddenly feeling very thankful to not only have a talented female drummer, but one who appreciates his artistry as much as you. 

“Really?”

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah, if you think it’ll sound cool. I trust you.” The last part is so simple but it makes him grin, excited that you’re down for this.

“Yes! Thank you!” Rushing to hug you, he lifts you off your feet in a bone crushing embrace.

When he sets you back down, you’re laughing at the child-like giddiness written all over his face. Jared lets you know the booth is ready for you, heading in there you stand behind the microphone, placing the headphones over your ears so you can hear the backing track and cues. 

Jared counts you in over the master microphone, hearing the metronome. you nod your head to the beat, keeping time. When the part approaches, you stand up straight, breathily moaning the letters, spelling out ‘ROCK.’ 

Once you’ve done it, Jared cuts the music, turning on the soundboard mic for Eddie to give notes. You watch through the glass window as he leans down, sounding less than satisfied. “Okay…that was good, um–let’s take it from the top, okay? Gimme a little more oomf.”

Nodding your head—only slightly understanding what he means—you begin keeping time with the metronome again. You do it about three more times for him before Eddie starts running his hands through the roots of his hair, clearly frustrated at your inability to portray the tone he’s looking for. 

“Eddie, I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to do differently.” You don’t mean to be so difficult, honestly not comprehending what’s off about your performance. And he’s not being very helpful with his notes, you’re pretty sure you’re all out of ‘oomf.’ You’re certain the last two renditions are as oomf-y as he’s going to get from you.

He shakes his head, curling his lips into his mouth, “No, it’s–uh, hold on.” 

The sound from outside the booth cuts out, you watch as Eddie leans down to Jared telling him something. The guy looks at him, appearing to ask him something before Eddie nods his head, then the guy stands up and leaves. You frown at the sudden exit, Eddie sits down into the command chair, clicking the microphone back on and leaning in. 

“Okay, so I asked Jared to take five. We’re gonna try this again, but—hear me out—do you think you could–,” he hesitates, working through how to make his request. “How about this, what if you—okay, this is gonna sound insane–”

Losing your patience, you speak up, “Eddie, just spit it out!” 

“What about if you touched yourself? While you–you know, did the vocals…,” his words come out stilted, eyes squinting like he’s expecting you to blow up at him for his outrageous request. 

Instead, you just laugh. He’s got to be joking, that’d be insane! Your eyes widen when he doesn’t laugh with you—just curling his lips inward again.

“Eddie, you can’t be serious…,” you shake your head incredulously. “Just get a porn star, or something, if you want real moans.”

He clearly rejects that sentiment, shaking his head and holding his hands out in front of him like he’s presenting at a business meeting, “No, I don’t want just any girl on this track! Plus, there’s like legal shit I don’t even wanna touch with a ten foot pole.”

Scoffing, your jaw agape, “What, and I’m easier?”

Frantically shaking his head, placating hands held out in front of him, “No! Of course not!” His voice lowers to a nervous mutter, but it still comes through loud and clear in your headphones, “I just think the muse should be on the track, that’s all.” 

Your brows draw together, jerking your head back in confusion. “You wrote this song–about me?” He’s never written a song about anybody other than random hookups. Most of his songwriting is inspired by life stuff anyway. Not even his best friends got songs written for them, but he wrote this for you—about you? 

When you think about the lyrics, your face heats up—to be seen in that way, to be romanticized like that…You had no idea he felt…things…for you. But now the way he stuck to your side at the party makes sense. 

Usually, he’s all over the groupies and the women throwing themselves at him, he’s a gluttonous guy—he likes to have them all. But that party was notably different, he even took you to breakfast after the wild night, making you laugh as he shook more glitter from his hair into the pancakes he ordered. 

Eddie shrugs, very clearly trying to seem passive, “Well, yeah, you’re my glitter girl.” He voices the nickname like it’s obvious, like it’s an endearment—he did put ‘my’ in front of it. 

Huffing out a fond laugh, smile growing on your soft lips, you nod, “Fine. But you can’t watch, okay, perv?” 

You tease him, but the thought of him watching is far too overwhelming for you. You just found out he feels a certain way for you. Unsure if it’s just fondness, care, like—love, even? No, that’d be preposterous. He’s your friend! Lead singer of one of the top bands right now, and you’re his drummer! You’re just like one of the guys—at least that’s what Gareth always says. 

Now you’re not sure what you are—to him, at least. But you know you couldn’t handle him watching you do something so intimate. 

He nods his head vigorously, “Yeah, of course! How about this, I’ll turn around and you–do your thing.” 

Nodding at his earnest face, you move to unbutton your shorts. Shaking your head in disbelief that this is happening, you watch as he turns around. 

“Although, to be clear—I do still need to listen to make sure I–,” he pauses, unable to choose better wording, “like–what I hear, I guess. Sorry.” 

You huff, rolling your eyes at his poor choice of wording. “Yes, Eddie, I know. Don’t look!” 

Raising his hands in surrender as his back is turned, “Let me know when you want me to start the track.” He wants to give you enough time to work yourself up—for lack of better words. 

Taking a deep breath, shaking the nerves out of your body, you reach into your panties. It isn’t the best angle with you standing so you quickly turn around, pulling the stool up to the mic, adjusting the equipment to your new height as you sit on the edge of the wooden seat. Propping your foot on the rung of the stool, you spread your thighs, reaching back into your panties to gather the wetness at your hole. 

Thankfully, Eddie is hot enough to get you going any time you see him—his long, dark curly hair, obsidian eyes, the contrast of black tattoos on pale white skin. Today, he’s wearing an old Dio band tee he cut into a muscle shirt and a pair of ripped black jeans. 

Every time he leaned over the soundboard—reaching to fiddle with some controls—the gaping armholes of his shirt gave you a perfect view of his biceps, his body. It had you pressing your thighs together. Yeah, you’re good to go just looking at him.

Spreading the wetness across your folds as much as you can in the confines of your shorts, you bring your soaked fingers to your clit, catching the little nub just right, making your breath hitch. When your breath turns shallow and you’re biting your lip to withhold moans, you look up to see a hunched over Eddie through the glass. He looks like he’s straining, turned around with clenched fists, gnawing on the white knuckles. 

“I’m ready.” He jumps into action at your breathy comment, reaching behind him for the button, starting the metronome track. 

His strained posture doesn’t unfurl, in fact it looks like he gets even more stiff as you do the part. Circling your clit for maximum pleasure, you moan out the letters, stopping completely with shallow breaths as you wait for his notes. 

Leaving your shorts unbuttoned, you remove your fingers, resting your arm on your thighs as Eddie turns around with a hand over his eyes. 

“I’m decent,” you breathe, letting him know he doesn’t have to feel around the soundboard blindly to shut the track off. 

Letting his hand fall, blown eyes take you in as he clears his throat, pressing the ‘on’ button for the microphone. “T–That was–good, uh, yeah, good,” clearing his throat again. “I think–okay you’re gonna hate me for this—and I swear, I’m not doing it on purpose—but when I was blind, I accidentally pressed the wrong button, so I recorded none of that.” 

He bares his teeth in nervous expectation for your anger, but you just let out a shaky sigh, rolling your eyes. Par for the course with Eddie. 

“Okay, fine. Just–start recording, then close your eyes this time, okay?” 

“Yes. Yeah, I’ll do that, I’m sorry!”

Since you’re already worked up, you tell him to go ahead and start the track right off the bat. Precisely following your directions, he starts the track, quickly hits record, and swivels his chair to face the couch against the wall. 

You do exactly the same thing as last time—running your index and middle finger through your folds before bringing it to your throbbing clit. You’re working yourself close to the edge, but never surpassing it as you moan the lines.

The notes you receive from him make you want to strangle him, he looks awfully jumpy, continuously letting his hand fall into his lap below the soundboard where you can’t see it. “That was good,” he says lightly, like it’s a consolation compliment.

The frustration of touching yourself with no orgasm at the end is getting to you, you grit out an annoyed, “Eddie!” 

“I’m sorry! There’s something off about it! You know? Like it’s too–I don’t know…,” he stops to think as you huff your chest, imagining exactly how you’d run out of this booth and strangle the singer. “It’s missing that oomf,” he repeats, as if that perfectly describes why your performance is not hitting.

Oh, you’re going to kill him. You’re going to skin the fucker alive. “You said that already!” 

“Wait! I think I know what it is,” your eyes widen as he pauses, raising your eyebrows expectantly. 

“Please, feel free to share with the class,” you bite, thoroughly annoyed at this point. 

“How exactly are you touching yourself?” He asks the question so casually like he’s asking you which football team you’re supporting in this year’s Super Bowl, like he’s an engineer trying to figure out the faulty cog in the machine. 

You throw your head back, eyes on a god you know isn’t watching, praying for enough strength to spare your bandmate from your fiery fury. You laugh—sharp, incredulous. “Oh, we’re doing this?” Resigning yourself to the present situation, you answer without shame—your frustration is far too overpowering. “Okay, I’m rubbing my clit.” 

He shakes his head, unruly curls shimmying with the gesture, “No, see I want like–a thrusting oomf, you know?” He’s wagging his finger like he just cracked the case, grinning, “See, I knew something was missing!” 

“Okay, well, I’m not gonna finger myself for you, Eddie.” You’ve given him enough, plus you know from experience—your own fingers are not going to give him the ‘oomf’ he’s looking for.

Eddie pouts at your rejection, jaw on the floor like an indignant child being told ‘no.’ 

“Why not?” He’s practically whining and you tilt your head at him in disbelief that this is the ‘man’ so many women drop their panties for. 

“Because! Why don’t you do it,” you argue. 

His pout is gone as he shrugs his shoulders, nodding his head, “Okay.” 

“Wha–,” you’re thrown off by his response, but you watch him hit record and you hear the metronome start in your ears as he joins you in the booth, unbuttoning his jeans. 

“I didn’t mean–what the hell are you doing?” You look at him like he’s lost his mind—because, honestly, he has. What exactly is he doing here? Freeing one ear from the headphones, you wait for his—sure to be interesting—explanation.

“You want me to do it,” it’s half–question, half him telling you what he got from that exchange. 

Shaking your head, lips parted in awe at his absurdity, “No! I mean like–you do the moans yourself if you’re gonna be so picky about it!” 

Disappointment clear on his face, he leaves his jeans unbuttoned, “Well, nobody wants that!” 

Laughing at his absurd comment—you, you want that—you shake your head, “I don’t think me fingering myself is really gonna sound good–”

“I beg to differ,” he snorts, eyes shooting to your wet fingers.

Giving him a reprimanding look, you add, “You know what I mean.”

“Okay, but what if…I did help you,” he implores, it’s like he’s bargaining for your pussy. 

“Eddie, you can’t be serious,” smiling at him, waiting for him to crack, but all you see is wide, earnest eyes. “You really want this?”

You’re mainly asking about how badly he wants the song to reflect his vision, but you realize the question takes on a whole new meaning with what’s on the table. 

Nodding his head frantically, “Yes, it means a lot to me!” 

Sighing at his genuine desire to make the song he wants, you let out a subtle nod. “Fine,” you pause as he pumps his fist in victory, “But don’t be weird about it.” He immediately collects himself, bringing his energy from ‘kid who just won a sweepstakes to Disney’ to ‘solemn mourner.’ It makes you crack a smile. 

You can hear the metronome of the song repeating in your ear, you watch his quickly widening eyes as you shimmy your shorts down. A raised eyebrow alerts him he should be doing the same, you put the second pair of headphones onto his hair, flattening a line into his poofy hair. He starts removing his black jeans as you turn and adjust the microphone even lower, nearly at the level of the wooden stool. 

When you turn back around, you see his hard cock, standing at attention, his shirt still on—same as you, not bothering to remove the article of clothing because that’d require removing the headphones, which was too much work at the moment. His eyes are lust blown as he looks down at your half-naked body, shallow breaths moving his chest. 

“Cute,” you quip at his stiff cock, admiring the jump you get for the compliment. He’s not the first naked man you’ve seen and knowing him—his ego is already enormous. He doesn’t need to get another worshipping compliment on how pretty and big his dick is, he has the groupies for that. You always try to keep him in check, this’ll be no different. 

Clearly, you had him remove his pants for more than just fingering, but he wants to make sure. “So you don’t want me to finger you?” 

Snorting, you shake your head, “No, if you want this to sound good, it’s gotta be the real deal.” You’ve built up enough frustration that you’re giving him creative directions now, if he’s intertwining music and pleasure—he knows music, and you know your own pleasure. “And you get one take, got it, rockstar?”

Eddie sucks in a breath at the title, nodding his head, “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good. And it’s recording?” 

Another nod. 

You smirk at his uncharacteristic silence, turning around to rest your elbows on the seat of the stool, making sure the mic stand is right in front of your face. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, the view of you bent over, chest down, ass up—presenting your pretty pussy to him—has his dick jumping, twitching with need. He moves forward, caressing the junction of your hip, squeezing the fat of your ass.

You can’t help but hum at the feel of cold metal rings on his large hands, you’re so worked up you’re practically dripping for him.

He gathers himself enough to remind you the metronome is repeating, meaning you need to pay attention for the cue to the letters. 

“Just fuck me already,” you’re almost whine, rolling your hips to jut your pussy out more. 

“Holy shit,” he groans, grasping his cock and rubbing it up and down your wet folds. He nearly curses at the way your lips almost suck him into your greedy hole, the way you’re pulsing, trying to lure him into your warm, wet heat. 

He teases just a little more, gathering as much of your wetness onto his cock as he can. When you whine, wiggling your hips back, trying to catch the head and slide him in—he decides to put you out of your misery. 

With a strong grip on your hips, Eddie thrusts in harshly, fully sinking his cock into your tight cunt. The sudden intrusion has a cross between a moan and squeal erupting from your throat, you thought he’d go slow—boy, were you wrong. He has to take a minute to steady his breathing, wishing away the impending orgasm. His body is curling over you, chest moving with stuttering breaths. 

You’re so aware of his pelvis and thighs against your ass, how snug his cock is in your hole. Relishing the feeling of him balls deep inside you, you feel so full. He’s so thick, it’s driving you up the wall. Your pussy is gripping him like any moment he’ll pull out and leave you gaping.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart,” he huffs. “Holy shit–best fucking pussy I’ve ever felt.” He’s babbling, gone completely out of his mind at the way your walls squeeze his poor cock in a vice grip. You mewl and whine at the compliment, so turned on from all the edging, you just want him to start moving already. 

“Move–please, move! Fuck, Eddie,” you draw out his name, sounding pitiful and fucked out already. 

He starts thrusting at a bruising pace, you feel every ridge and vein, you’re not even trying to temper your moans. Barely hearing yourself over the metronome anyway, you let him know just how good you feel. 

Eddie reaches up, shoving one earphone off so he can hear your noises. All the moaning, mewling, and whining only spur him on. He’s breaking a sweat railing into your cunt, relishing the sound of skin slapping. 

You hear the song start over again, knowing the cue is coming up, you try to draw your brain back from your needy pussy long enough to moan the letters. Apparently, you didn’t sound desperate enough because Eddie slaps your ass, eliciting a high-pitched yelp from your throat. 

“Again,” he grits, reaching around to messily rub your clit through your shared juices. 

The song is short so when it loops back around, you’re at the very precipice of an orgasm. 

“Please–Eddie, please let me cum! Oh god, I need it, please!” 

He groans when your walls suffocate his cock, needy and pulsing, on the very edge of the most mind blowing orgasm you’ve ever had. 

“Be good, and I’ll let you,” he grunts, slapping your ass to cue you in. When you open your mouth to moan out the letters he starts vigorously yanking your body back onto his dick, meeting his already jarring thrusts. Ever the musician, he times each shove of his hips with the ticking metronome. 

His hard cock knocks the air out of you as you moan every letter, sounding fucked out and desperate by the time you spell ‘ROCK’ fully. 

Once you know you’ve done your part, you wail out in pleasure, “Oh god!”

Slapping your ass particularly hard, he urges you to cum, “Cum for me, baby. Lemme feel that fucking pussy choke my cock, give it to me, honey.”

The slap sent you over the edge and his words had you floating among the stars. You’re crying out in pleasure, absolutely beside yourself. Barely aware of the loss of rhythm, he shutters and jerks, drawing your attention with an urgent, “Where do you want me, baby?”

Feeling full and needy, you whine, “Inside! Please, Eddie, gimme your cum–I wan’ it so fuckin’ bad!” 

He stutters out a string of curses, pumping rope after rope of warm cum into your greedy cunt. Slowing to a stop, he hunches over you. You can feel his hot breath against your shoulder blades, the softs wisps of his hair tickling your back. 

Resting your chest on the stool, you let your mind come back down to earth. He moves to pull out but you reach behind to grab his hips, holding him to you. 

“Hold on–jus’…wanna feel you still.” You’re exhausted, voice sounding utterly spent. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes out in disbelief, thanking whatever is out there that he got to experience what he’s dreamed about for so long. Not to mention, the way you don’t want his cock to leave your pulsing pussy. He shudders as your walls twitch with aftershocks. 

Eventually, he has to pull out, his soft cock no longer able to stay in. His heart rams against his ribcage at the soft whine you let out as he pulls out, he’d keep you stuffed forever if he could. 

You don’t move, even though you’re free to. Staying bent over the stool, your pussy still captivating him as he looks down to see his load slowly inching out of your hole. Admiring the way the cum moves like molasses in the hot summer, he thinks about how many songs he could write just about the view of your gaping hole—still spread open from his girthy cock.

Since you don’t seem to be moving anytime soon—just resting on the stool, relishing his attention—he kneels down, spreading your ass cheeks. Leaning in to lick up the cum dribbling out of your hole, he makes sure to thrust his languid tongue in, scooping out the delicious, tangy combination of juices. A loud moan escapes your scratchy throat, not expecting such raunchy affection after everything that just transpired. 

Once he gathers the juices, letting them pool on his tongue, he stands up. Reaching around your neck to pull you up, your back to his front, feeling his now half-hard cock against your ass, he spreads his hand on your jaw, effectively pushing your head to the side. He wraps his free hand around your pelvis as he thrusts his tongues into your open, panting mouth. You moan at the feeling of him swapping spit and the mix of cum into your waiting mouth. Messily kissing you, his tongue dominates your mouth, not letting your head go as he grinds against your ass. 

When he pulls away leaving you breathless, you eagerly lick your lips, swallowing all the swapped spit and cum, humming at the taste. He lets you turn around in his hold—facing him, moving both hands to rest on your cheeks, leaning in for another firm kiss. Your eyes are lust blown, he’s panting, bobbing his head closer for another kiss. The kiss you’re wanting doesn’t come, though. Instead, he plants a sweet, chaste, smooch to the corner of your mouth. 

“Will you go on a date with me?” 

You huff out a laugh, eyes squinting with giddy humor at the backwards order of events. “Yeah.”

He grins at your hazy eyes, kissing you again. 

Pulling away, your eyebrows knit with concern, “I think we just accidentally made an audio sex tape.”

“A sex mixtape,” he quips, unworried. 

“Poor Jared, he’s gonna have to isolate my vocals over all the ass clapping,” you giggle. 

“Eh, that perv will love it.” 

A/N: Please like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed it! Especially comments because they let me know I’m doing things right!!! Because right now I’m going a little coocoo crazy, judging my writing probably too harshly. Idk, y’all tell me what you think

@physics-of-one-piece replied to the video of mingo with this:

Thus, I was inspired to make this

Morning with your captain 💙

Ted, but he’s one of The Boys…did I cook, guys?

don't entertain him

Hi Hershey!!! Firstly, I just wanted to say that your ao3 ETC fic is amazing!!! It’s in my tabs and I refresh it every few hours or so lolol

I was wondering if you could write abt how the boys from etc would deal with a hopeless romantic! reader? Like, the reader watches a ton of rom-coms, reads romance books, and laments abt how they can’t find a bf (when the boys are literally right in front of them)

Take all the time you need to write this!! <3 I hope you have a good day!! :D

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!♥️♥️♥️♥️ Awww I love this request! Thank you so much for requesting!!!💋

Where do I even begin?

The boys would be frustrated to say the least because you’re over here watching countless of rom-coms, reading romantic books, and are constantly talking about how you don’t have a boyfriend. You also spout on about how every person your age has a boyfriend while you don’t!

The issue is how you act blind. Cause there are CLEARLY four boys who’d love to fill that void in your heart and you’re taking a blind eye to it. let’s be for real, when was the last time any of these gross teens got close to a relationship without it falling and burning? If anything, they’d love to become your boyfriend!

If you open your fucking eyes, that is.

Bill is the one who’s going to be frustrated and pissed off because he has a superior complex and an ego that is up where heaven is. He’s going to be so butt hurt over it that it genuinely makes him want to pull his hair out. He’s tried everything in the book that is out of character for him; he opened doors for you, held out chairs for you, gave somewhat little care to your feelings, and just trying to be a LITTLE bit better. However, none of those efforts are working well much to his disdain.

Josh, he gets upset when his attempts at “wooing” you don’t go as planned. He rambles on about his interests and you looked and acted very interested in them. He would show off his many collections or any doubles he has to you in hopes that it’ll get you closer to him and soon be wrapped around his finger! He wasn’t pissed off like how Bill is—but he still was hurt! You two share some of the same interests so he thought that you’d be happy to know that if you two ever became a thing, you’d have a boyfriend who enjoys the same things as you! That’s always good right?

Pete is a little cornball so he’d know some of the ropes on how to win a person over or two! He would compliment you daily, makes some jokes to make you laugh, try to take you places, and he even stole some of his parents money to buy you something you like. Pete loves seeing you smile all big when he does these things and it gives him a big ego boost! But it still makes him confused and pretty frustrated when he still doesn’t have you where he needs you! Your still going on about you not having a boyfriend after he literally took you out to eat at Mcdonald’s!

Jerry is the sanest out of all of them. He doesnt want to overwhelm you with gifts, be overly sweet, or talk to much about himself in fear that he might drive you away. Jerry is hesitant but he still interacts with you, making sure not to go overboard. He thinks you’re pretty/handsome, smart, and you seem to be the person he actual sees himself having a chance with considering the circumstances. He can get kinda angsty here and there because he’s worried that maybe he’s not the one that you want and that’s why you haven’t made any moves yet…

And god help us all if they find out that they ALL have a thing for you! They will go fertile and lash out at each other, trying to one up the other, constantly arguing about who’s going to hang out with you, etc. You on the other hand are so oblivious to the chaotic mess as you let out a long dramatic sigh, saying how you’ll never find yourself with a boyfriend who loves you…💔

Bill thought about getting you glasses so that you can see that the love of your life is him and not the others

Omgg you write based on ur fic right? If so could u do the club boys x a reader in their club that does school cheer and allstar? Like going to her comps or games, seeing her uniform, and watching her become like a totally different person from her normally shy self?😭 I think it would be cute!! Love love loveee ur fic keep up the good work😽

THIS IS SO FIRE🔥🔥🔥🔥 YOU ARE AN ABSOLUTE GENIUS FOR THIS REQUEST!!!!

OH. MY. GOD????

Okay, you CANNOT be the same girl who joined their club cause what???

Now, they were wondering why you haven’t been coming to the club meets on Fridays hardly and on this particular day, they were gonna give you some shit for it. Bill specifically because he’s the “leader” so of course he’s gonna ask why you haven’t been showing up.

So, the four of them waited on your front porch for a good hour…they were VERY impatient but they wanted to catch you at the right moment to pester you about where you have been going, completely unaware that nearly every Friday their school had a football, basketball, or even a soccer game to host. This is what they get for not sticking around and not caring about what events are happening but it still doesn’t excuse you being missing!

After an hour of them sitting there on your porch, they saw car lights pulling up in your driveway and they perked up. They were going to confront you ONCE and for ALL—let’s hope you don’t possibly be kicked from the club due to your shutout attendance.

… “WHAT THE FUCK?” -Bill, who’s standing there with his mouth agape as he stared at you. The other three had the exact same expression as they watched you—who was also looking like a deer in headlights as you held your cheer bag tightly.

It was just some silent staring that the five of you were doing until your mom broke it with asking you if you told the boys that you got into Cheerleading now. You hadn’t told them.

Were they mad? Nah. Were they still upset about you not telling them? Yes. But did you look hot in that cheer uniform? Hell yeah. Sooooo what could they say?

They were confused. They didn’t understand why or how you found yourself involving in such a competitive and social sport like Cheerleading. It went out of your character gradually so it was a surprise for them.

They were cool with it—cause I mean you’re still their crush- I mean friend, right? The only thing that’s an issue is how are you supposed to tend club meetings now? Even worse, will you be able to hang out with them as much as you did before getting into Cheerleading? It was a wreck because they NEEDED to see you. They HAD to see you. It was like a drug for them that they never did wish to have a hangover from. Crazy comparison, but it’s the genuine truth, the whole truth!

“Why not just go see her games or competitions?” -Jerry.

Oh. Oh Jerry. You dumb FUCK. Why would they drop everything to go see the girl of their dreams, do some backflips and cartwheels alongside her clown ass teammates, look at sweaty jocks, and their school lose this seasons game? Are we deadass?

Yes. Yes we are deadass. Cause guess what? The next game, they sat on those bleachers and cheered you on like no other. Even if y’all’s school did lose, they cheered like batshit crazy. They received so many weird ass stares from people beside them while they stuffed theirselves full with snacks from the concessions. It was a whole THING with them.

Would yall believe me if I told you Jerry let out the girliest scream when he saw you do a backflip while one of your cheer buddies were holding you up. Luckily, you landed on the other girl’s hand, ultimately ending up okay in the end but that was scary!

Don’t invite them to your cheer comps. Dont do it.

Cause one time, your team didn’t win the competition—it was the hardest one yet and you all worked very hard on it. The judges were pretty biased and what not—it was very obvious that they were and it got under your skin. So that sensitivity inside of you boiled over as you cried because that’s so frustrating. Your teammates were trying to comfort you and all of this other stuff but it will NEVER beat how bad the boys acted.

They cussed the judges out and everything cause are we FOR REAL? How did you not AT LEAST get third place? The shit is rigged! It ended up in them getting escorted out while you followed after them. Did they get the spot you deserved? No. But was it sweetly chaotic about what they did? Yes.

They saw that you have came out of your bubble SO MUCH and it genuinely makes them proud because they never saw that side of you. It really showed that you changed—and not in a bad way either. The five of you still hang out a lot, they see you every Friday for games, they cheer you on. The list grows!

It makes them even more happy when you tell them that they were one of the main reasons why you started to open up.

They love you so fucking much, girl💔💔💔

☆彡He’s a D*ck, So She’s Tess?

Bill Dickey x Reader

Summary: A new girl transfers to Eltingville high and Bill writes her off as another bimbo who’ll hardly look at him. Until he spots her Dick Tracy comics. He’s in over his head after that.

TW: literally all kinds of misogyny. This is Bill Dickey we’re talking about. I might’ve made him a little nicer than usual, but that's just because I think if he was ever with a girl he had a real chance with he’d be too shocked to actually be an asshole. At first at least.

“Captain, are you alright?” buzzed a serene voice from Bill’s radio.

He set his phaser rifle down and sends a transmission over, “I’m alright, sweetheart. I’ve always got things under control.”

He puts a hand above his eyes as he surveys the area. He had just landed on an unknown planet with his crew of bombshell broads. The power cell on his phaser rifle was fully charged and he still had some kiss marks from the crew.

He was ready to conquer any potential threats.

The ground beneath him was hot and sand-like, but firm enough to act like gravel. There wasn’t much he knew about this strange planet. The sun was much stronger out here, and it was evident on the ridiculous amount of sweat that had begun accumulating on him. These damn Starfleet uniforms weren’t made for this kind of weather. Fighting against the glare of the sun, he squinted for some sort of sign of life.

He had been wandering for quite a while, and yet he hadn’t seen a single moving thing beyond the particles of sand he kicked as he walked. Sick of the overbearing weather, he sighs and gets ready to head back.

Until he spots it. Not too far in the distance is a figure. Immediately back on alert, he lifts his rifle and stomps toward it. The form gets clearer, but the shine of the sun prohibits him from seeing much.

It was a girl, that much he could make out. Oh.

It’s a girl.

A smirk immediately plasters itself on his face as he holsters his rifle and confidently walks forward. He would never miss an opportunity to add another fine woman to his ship.

When he feels close enough he puts his hands on his hips, “Need any help, princess?”.

The figure stays quiet. He puts a hand above his eyes in an attempt to shield the sun. He still can’t fully see her and it’s really starting to get on his nerves. Part of her ankle comes into view, which is enough to satiate his impatience, for now.

He could tell that she was wearing a loose dress. What kind, specifically? How was he to know? He didn’t care for that girly bullshit. It was short enough for him to see her beautiful legs. While his eyes hungrily raked over them, he noticed that she wasn't wearing any shoes either.

“What the hell?” he muttered, furrowing his brows. He motioned toward her feet with his hand, “how aren’t you fucking melting out here?”.

As if at the mention of it, he suddenly realized just how hot he had gotten. His sweat was leaving pools in his uniform and he felt much, much weaker. His vision wavered as he tried to keep his balance. He looked back up at her but the figure was gone. Before he could search for her, the alarm on his ship started to blare. His head shot up and turned to see the emergency lights shining. He reached for his radio but it was gone.

It was then that he realized just how close the sun had gotten. Way too close. And way too fast. And somehow it was getting even closer. Fuck. He abandoned any visions he had for the girl. She was probably ugly anyways. He had more than enough women to keep him company onboard. He realized if he wanted to keep his crew and his life, he needed to head back immediately.

He dropped his rifle and ran for his life. The sun was moving impossibly closer and his skin felt like it was burning up. As he neared the ship, his heart dropped at the sound of the engine starting. It was going to lift off without him!

Had even his beautiful crew decided to abandon him?

His despair was interrupted at the sight of the figure from earlier. The girl was alive. And on his ship.

She stood on the edge, holding her hand out. Bill could hardly breathe as the sun overtook half the sky and his skin ached. Yet, he kept running. He would be damned if he let his ship of beauties leave him to die like this.

As he neared the ship, he heard the girl scream at him to jump and it gave him one last kick of energy. As the ship lifted, it kicked up a flurry of sand that blinded him. Moving blindly, he jumped forward as she caught his hand. She held onto him as the spaceship lifted and he dangled by one hand. He looked down as the planet below him burst into a grand ball of flames. The flames seemed to get closer and closer and closer till—

He woke with a start.

Panting and sweaty, his eyes were wide open. He immediately groaned and threw his hand across his face. The sun was beating down on his face through his curtains, and he felt like he was back in his dream. Another stupid dream about imaginary women, and this time he doesn’t even get to see the damn broad. He can even still hear the stupid alarm. Wait. Alarm? Christ, it’s his alarm. He furiously rubs his eyes and sighs. If he’s tardy again, that’s his 4th absence of the month. He’ll get another call from the attendance office and his bitch mom will ground him right on time for the Star Trek marathon on Friday.

He quickly rose, staggering toward his drawer. No brushing or washing today, not like he cared for it usually. He shoved the first shit he could find on and walked to the bathroom. His clock glowing an angry red as he walked past. 7:30. Fuck, not even enough time for a morning sesh. He shoved his porn mag to the side and walked right up to the sink. Splashing cold water on his face, he ran his hand through his hair. Eh, good enough. He slipped his bag on and hurried out the door. What a shitty start to the day.

—----------------------------------

There was one thing he would never get over. He was on his 4th year of high school and there was one question he could never answer. Why was everyone so fucking loud in the morning?

A pack of stupid broads in the corner, laughing and huddled together, throwing glares at the rest of the class. The nerdy, but boring freaks at the front. The sounds of zippers and books slamming as they prepped for class unusually early. Try-hards. Deep laughs hit like nails on a chalkboard in front of him as he watched the meathead jocks shadow box each other and leave a whiff of axe body spray as they moved. At the very front sat his old hag of a teacher who was probably too close to a retirement home to hear a damn thing anymore.

He sighed, trying to look away. Sat in his usual seat, it felt like he never woke up as the bright sun hit him right in the eyes as he turned. He dropped his head into the safety of his arms. Between the usual chatter and the blinding light, he felt like his head would explode. So caught up in feeling like shit, he hardly noticed the new silence.

Shifting in his now unusually loud seat, he finally caught up to reality. Slowly lifting his head, his eyes followed the still class to the front of the room.

There was a girl.

With the glare of the sun, he could hardly see more than her outline. He shoved his hand up like a shield, and finally, he saw her clearly.

Had he died and gone to Valhalla?

Surely, he died in his valiant dedication to fandom and was finally being rewarded for his efforts. With a heavenly glow surrounding her, there stood the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. His eyes raked her top to bottom, from her shining eyes to her shifting feet. Christ, she was a wet dream reincarnated.

As his jaw hung slightly open and his eyes stayed glued to her form, he finally noticed his teacher motion her forwards. There was movement from the girl’s beautiful lips. Only it was too late. He had no idea what she said and she was walking right toward him. He forced his jaw to close and stood up in his seat slightly. Don’t wanna look like a pussy. He gulped as she got clearer and prettier. There was an empty seat next to him and he was certain she was gonna take it.

Visions overtook him of suavely talking her over as she laid her head on her hand, looking at him with the most desperate fuck-me eyes.

He’d hand her a pencil, maybe an eraser too. She’d flutter her lashes at him and laugh at his jokes. She’d put her hand on his shoulder as she laughed and she’d follow him as class ended right to the band room. He didn’t even take band, but he heard from Josh that kids got up to some freaky shit in the closets over there. He’d undress her slowly and– Nope, can’t think that far right now. Think of something else.

As his hopes soared, they were smashed into the fucking ground with the force of Mjölnir as she turned left. Oh, Fuck off. The stupid popular bitches were waving right at her, motioning her towards them. Just like that, he knew it was over. He felt like the world's biggest moron. Every bitch is the same, he knew it. He dropped his head in his hands again. It was going to be a long morning.

The bell brutally tore him from his nap and he immediately scrambled to get out. He speed walked toward the bathrooms, aching to get his one moment of peace going over Pete’s "Sci-fi’s Hottest Whores" scrapbook he made with magazines he stole from the supermarket. Obviously, hanging out by the bathrooms that had an air of shit from the broken plumbing wasn’t his favorite, but it was the club’s only safehaven from bullies. He felt his tense shoulders relax as the club came into sight. As he nodded towards the boys and set his bag down, Jerry asked him how he was doing.

Bill groaned and his eyes narrowed. Jerry immediately regretted asking, but Bill already began his (first) rant of the day as he opened his leaky lunch bag. The club all brought their own lunches to school. They knew better than to go to the lunchline, where they’d get robbed before they even got a glimpse of the food.

Bill ate and spoke at the same time, dropping crumbs everywhere. As he got to the part where he saw the new girl, he set his sandwich down and paused his messy bites. “I’m telling you, she was the most beautiful bitch I’ve ever laid eyes on. I almost bent her over my desk and took her right there,” he grumbled as Pete raised an eyebrow and smirked.

Bill sighed and looked down, “For a second, she looked just like the girl in my dreams. I really thought I had a good premonition going on there.”

Josh was scarfing down his mom’s meatloaf, not entirely interested in the conversation. “So?” he muttered through his mouth full of food.

Bill slammed his hand down as he continued, “She was walking right to me! Till the stupid cheer whores motioned her over. And of course, she took the bait. Just like that, the love of my life is gone.”

Pete rubbed his hands along his knees, ”She might not be yours, but if she’s that hot she might be mine. Send her my way, ya’?” he smirked.

Bill sent him a deep glare, “Over my dead body. She won’t want your shrimp dick, freak.”

Josh laughed, again with his mouth full, “Like she’d want yours. She’d need to be Bionic-1 to see a thing on you.”

Jerry sighed, “She won’t want any of ours if she joins cheer. She’s gonna get passed around the jocks like a football.” He fumbled through his magic cards, trying to sort his sliver deck. He was half listening to the conversation, too distracted by the task in front of him.

Bill kicked the cards right out of his hands, “Don’t say some shit like that around me. You got a cuck fetish or something?” he sneered.

Jerry scrambled to pick up his cards, now definitely too distracted to listen to the conversation. Bill hardly had an appetite after that, realizing how right Jerry might be. He shoved his sandwich down his bag and wiped his hands on his pants. He took Pete’s scrapbook from Josh’s hands, “Gimme that. Like you can see it over your fat fupa,” he grumbled. Josh protested for it back but it fell on deaf ears.

______________________________

He hadn’t thought about her again for the rest of the school day. Once he was free from hell, anything school related trickled right out of his mind. He was walking out the main gate with the club, arguing about the X-Men Age of Apocalypse comic that made a totally bullshit turn in his opinion. His day had seemed to finally even out.

With a gentle breeze flowing through the trees and his jacket tied around his waist, he felt much lighter in the moment. The clumsy steps of the group against the pavement was all he could hear as he passionately continued his rant. He had just finished slapping Jerry across the head and cackling with Pete when a movement in front of him caught his eye.

He almost bit down on his tongue as he realized who it was. He felt a sudden lump in his throat and didn’t even notice the pause in his steps till the rest of the group were a few feet ahead of him.

It was her. She was walking in the opposite direction as the group, straight toward them. He stood in the middle of the path and anyone with an ounce of awareness in the moment would notice that he was in her way. Luckily, he was the dumbest motherfucker in the world at the moment. He failed to move out of the collision course and her gaze was too busy with her bag as she fumbled to get something out.

She rammed right into him and they fell with a thud.

He took note of her heavenly scent before anything else. It was almost good enough to distract him from how much of a fool he had just made out of himself. He didn’t have much time to ponder over it though, as he sat up on his knees and noticed her bag’s contents littered along the ground. His eyes lazily raked over the pile in his daze.

Until he spotted it.

If he was dazed before, he felt on the verge of a stroke now. His blood rushed to his head and his heart thundered like it would burst out of his chest. He started breathing manually as he felt himself break out in a cold sweat. His hands fumbled at his sides in a desperate attempt to ground himself.

Comics. Not just any comics. Not the stupid, girly romance kind. Dick Tracy comics. It didn’t take a detective to realize what that meant. As if his body was moving on its own, his hands shakily picked up the comics and he turned toward her.

The angel rubbed her shoulder as she looked up at him with a small smile on her shiny lips. Her eyes were soft and glittered as she looked at him. At least he thought so.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking at all,” she said sheepishly.

Her voice felt like warm honey and the light seeping through the trees enveloped her in a beautiful glowing frame. Her head tilted and he felt as if he could see the gears turn in her mind. “We have a class together, right? I remember you,” she said with a smile.

At his newfound discovery that he had just gone mute, she continued. “I remember you because of your Magik shirt, I think you’ve got good taste.” His mind short circuited as he looked down. He had no memory of even picking it out this morning and it was slightly stained… wait, how did she know who Magik was?

He felt like he was going to pass out and struggled to find his voice. It cracked as he choked the question out, “Are these yours?” he questioned as he held out the comics. Her eyes widened and she quickly reached out for them.

“Oh fuck, yeah, those are mine. Hope I didn’t scratch them up, they were in mint condition when I got them,” she said as she squinted and flipped them around to inspect them.

And he was a goner.

He smiled at her. A real, albeit shy, smile. Maybe he had never woken from his dream after all.

Still in amazement, his thoughts stumbled out of his upturned lips, “You’re heavy.” She tilted her head at him with a blank expression. Oh. Wait, fuck. “I. I meant your bag. It looks heavy. Ya need help?” he stammered as his face burned.

She smiled softly and nodded “Yeah, thanks.” She dusted her knees as she rose, “so, you like Dick Tracy too?” she asked.

He nodded, suddenly growing uncharacteristically shy. Fuck. How the hell do you talk to girls? He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants as he rushed to pick up the rest of her things. It was the only thing he could think to do as his mind scrambled to think of a pick-up line. Should he tell her he had a 10 pack of condoms ready if she could handle it? He wiped the thought from his mind, he didn’t even know where to get condoms or how they worked. Although, obviously she liked him if she was keeping up a conversation with him for this long. Maybe it was worth looking into. He hurriedly stuffed her things back in her bag before putting it on. Was he seriously gonna carry a girl’s bag for her? He looked up, ready to protest.

His words died on his tongue when she held her hand out and smiled at him. Christ, l need to see her in some erotic cosplay. As his shaky hand touched hers, he felt like he was born again. Her soft skin made his heart throb and he felt like he just came down with a fever. I’m touching a real life girl. His knees felt weak as he attempted to rise. Any issue he had with carrying her bag was gone.

He’d kick a kid into oncoming traffic if she asked, as long as she’d keep touching him like that.

____________________________

Unbeknownst to Bill, his friends stood frozen in place a few feet away. The club was too shocked to do anything but watch. A cold, eerie feeling washed over them all. A girl being nice to Bill. And Bill being nice to a girl. They’ve got to be in hell. The world has to be ending. Someone’s gotta call the fucking police.

“What the fuck,” muttered Pete.

Jerry stood slack jawed and Josh hadn’t even noticed he dropped his brand new Superboy comic.

A cold breeze carried their silence. Yet, Bill had never felt warmer.

"Just a one time thing... Right?"

Yan!Eltingville Club x Fem!User

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Dub-con (reader isn't aware of the sexual attraction to them), masturbation, lewd art, mentions of fatphobia, groping, stealing, sexism, questionable group hierarchy, misogyny, Pete Dinunzio.

AN: I promised Eltingville and I will deliver, even if i usually only do OC stuff. I'm so hot for these dork bitches, especially Pete Dinunzio. He owns. My. Ass. (PS, Eltingville girls please let me into your club, leave some comments because I'm working on characterization and the fics in this community are so good!)🙏

It's yet another argument, the sounds of heated yells and complaints ringing through the wood panneled walls and up the sbasement stairs of the Dickey household, as another meeting of the Eltingville club kicks off. "Don't even think about it." Bill Dickey, infamous narcissistic leader of the Eltingville club for comics, games, and all things nerdy, has started the meeting already pissed off. "Fuck no, we aren't letting some c-chick into our club! A femoid! Are you serious? Just drop it, Pete." He spits, face red and glasses slipping. He adjusts them as the others glance at Pete.

Across Bill's mom's basement, horror expert Pete Dinunzio, clad in his backwards cap and questionably stained 'House of Wax' shirt, rest on a beanbag. Huffing, the black haired man rolls over, glaring. "Come ooooooon, it's not like she's gonna fuck anything up. Just- I don't know, she's showing interest. Check it," he stands up, shoes hitting the dhag carpeting and clapping his hands together like he's gonna give the best social studies presentation of his freakin' life.

"She's showing interest, you see any other girls lining up to join, shit, to even talk to us. Especially not girls with a big fucking rack-" He cackles, raising his hand for a high-five with a quiet Jerry stokes, who is simultaneously red and sheet white, sweating out of nerves.

"Gross man, get a mop!" Pete snickers, pulling his hand away quickly.

"Jerry-" The blonde immediately squeaks at the mention of his name, shifting on the creaky old tweed couch. He had been absorbed in his journal, trying to stay out of the fight. He knew who you were, shit, who in town didn't? You moved down the road a few weeks ago, and seemed genuinely nice. You immediately made friends at the school, kind and outgoing, but not discriminating. You didn't stick to one clique or group, and it didn't help you were smokin' hot. You have math together, and he's falling behind. He can't seem to think around you, his math notes full of doodles of you, slowly turning far to lewd to turn in.

It's then he clears his throat to answer Bill's call out, only noticing that his journal he's been distracting himself is also full of doodles of you. He'd been so zoned out he'd drawn you with elf ears, laid out wearing a fantastical silk robe, but no loincloth-

"Jerry!" Another screech from Bill. "Pay attention, you numbskull! You finally chew your tongue off being a pussy, answer me."

"Sorry, sorry, w-what was the question?" His voice cracks, making Pete and Josh chuckle at the scrawny boy. Bill rolls his eyes, adjusting his glasses as he slams his hand down on the table

"Obviously, you agree we don't need some skank in the club, we don't even know what she's after."

"She's not that bad, actually-" he mumbles, making Bill growls and Pete nod in agreement, snapping and pointing to Jerry. "Exactly, and again, that fuckin' rack-"

"NO GIRLS!" Slamming his fists onto the table, the cheap wood rattles, as does the nearby shelves, causing a picture frame and a few figures to clatter to the ground.

"Geordi!" Josh cries as he goes to nurse the action figure back to 'mint condition' who had lost its visors when it took the plunge onto the rough carpet below. "Bill, this was new-in-box with I got it, what the fuck!"

"Exactly! The femoid isn't here and she's already causing issues. Case closed." The acne-ridden president grins and intertwines his fingers on the table in satisfaction. "I'm glad to hear you agree, and are putting the good name of the Eltingville club over the wants of your shrimp dick, unlike some people-" He glares at Pete, who just flips him off and goes back to reading a 'Gore Four' comic.

"Onto actually important business-"

It isn't until a few days later that you run into Bill, he's looking through the window of the blockbuster in concentration way to deep for any normal person.

"Hey, Bill, right?" You chirp, causing him to jolt, his billfold falling from his yellow overcoat. "Sorry, didn't mean to spook you!" You reach for the leather, only to feel a harsh sting on your hand as he swats you away picks it up, grumbling to himself as he pockets it.

"Right. I guess we do." He looks you over. "Did you need something, or are you just here to bother me?" He sneers.

"Oh, uh, no, just going to rent a movie, wanted to see what you were looking at?"

"Ugh. Nothing you'd be interested in." He turns back, looking at two posters for films avaliable to rent. "If it'll make you fuck off, I'm deciding whether to spend my allowance money on 'Return of the King' or 'Alien'." He explains, waving his wallet in front of you before pocketing it. "Only the best for the club, Pete's been on my ass about Alien, but Jerry cries like a little bitch boy when we watch horror sci-fi."

"Sounds like a tough choice. Uh, I like return of the king though!" She says.

He looks you over, pausing before shaking his head. "Yeah, heh, right. Sure, you've seen any 'Lord of the Rings' film. Listen, you don't have to pretend you know what I'm talking about to continue whatever this is, I'm not buying it." Before you can respond, the sound of a ringtone catches your ear, and Bill reluctantly answers it.

"Hurry up, man, how long does it take to pick out a tape? Josh's lard ass is gonna starve before you get back here and we can eat-" Pete's Italian accent crackles through the speakers, followed by the sound of an open palm smacking the back of his head. "Fuck off, man, I'm messin' around-"

"Knock it off, don't get kicked outta my basement before I get there. I'm on my way." He clicks it shut. He spares you a glance as he walks into the store, anger and tension only fuels when he gets a glimpse of your cleavage. He just clears his throat and turns away.

He settles on 'Alien', because screw Jerry, he wants to end the night off with Sigourney Weaver's jugs still fresh in mind for jerk material. Smacking the tape down, he glares at the usual attendant, who just sighs and gives him a dead eyed stare. "5.72, be kind and rewind-"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't give the spiel, you corporate cronie." Bill hisses, before opening up his wallet and paling. There's nothing but a Star Trek fan club card inside, his money missing. He remembers the fight he'd gotten into with his mom a few nights ago over her throwing out his 'busty babes of Babylon' mag, and gulps. She'd taken back his allowance. "Uh- hold on, hang on-" he's frantic now. "Its gotta be in here somewhere-" the sound of coins and crinkling paper hitting the counter makes him look over.

"I got it!" You say with a smile, about six dollars in bills and loose change. "I mean, you seemed like you put a whole lot of thought into that-"

He's too stunlocked to even speak, both emasculated and embarrassed at his financial situation. The attendant looks you over, then back at Bill. "Are... are you sure?" He asks, snapping Bill out of it.

"Of course she's sure, check out the fucking tape." Bill practically shoves the money towards you. "Corporate cock-sucker can't even do his job." He shakes his head. "What are you getting at, huh? Trying to make me look like some broke scrub or something?!"

"N-no!" You exclaim. "I just wanted to help you out-"

"Yeah right." He snorts and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. "Listen up, I don't know what you're trying to do but it ends here. I don't do 'debt', so name your price. Settle it."

"Well..." You scuffing your shoe again the blue and yellow blockbuster tile, shrugging. "Maybe since I bought it, I could watch with you guys? Joining a club could be fun, and I've read a few comics and stuff. Plus, I like movies."

Bill goes pale, palms sweaty and eyes wide. "Shit..." he huffs. "No girls, no females in the club, that's our most consistent rule. I don't need you, i don't know, sissying up the place. Something else."

"Cmon, please, no, I won't be weird, just this once!"

"F-fine. But you're not a member!" He says, jabbing a finger against your chest before recoiling it like he was burned. That was about the closest he's ever gotten to a tit, his digital still tingling. It's humiliating. "Just be there, you know where I live." He rushes off, tape held suspiciously low by his crotch.

It's hell. Pure, frozen hell when you arrive. Josh is fidgeting with the deck of Magic he was sorting when you came in, not even making eye contact while he has a panicked, hushed conversation with Bill about how this even happened. He's both extremely suspicious and extremely giddy, whereas Pete is just giddy.

You were so enthralled in looking around the nerd cave, everything from 'Star-Trek Next Gen' posters to scantily clad 'Cat-Woman' figures line the walls and shelves. Good thing you were so focused on it all, it gave Jerry time to scurry over to the bean bag, unzipping it and shoving his journal into the Styrofoam beans in a state of pure panic.

"Hey, hot-stuff! Didn't expect to see you, lookin' fine tonight." Pete calls, hand to his mouth as if amplifying it. You've run into Pete a few times when you were dodging PE behind the bleachers, and he never fails to try and make a move. "Hey, couch is gonna be pretty full with Josh's fat ass, why don't you sit on my lap for the movie, huh? I'll protect you from the Alien, don't even worry bout' it." He winks.

"I'll find room, Pete, but thanks for the offer." You laugh. Plopping down, you set your bag aside and lean over the arm a bit. "Hey, Jerry." You say, before looking away after he refuses to respond, or even make eye contact. "Okay..."

"Why is she here? This has gotta be a prank?" Josh whispers, sweating as he rubs at his forehead. "Whyd you let her come, I-I thought the rule was no girls!"

"It was, i-it is! She's a normie femoid, but my bitch mom took my allowance, she covered so we could watch the movie tonight. Grin and bare it, yeah? I'm sure you can resist from popping a stiffy for at least two hours. And it's not you I'm worried about, it's these idiots." Bill nods over to the clubs resident fantasy nerd, whose taken to lying face, and crotch, down in the bean bag while Pete quizzes you on horror flicks.

It's uneventful, if not for the tension looming in the air between you and the guys. Throughout the evening, Bill tries his best to ignore you, or to shush Josh when he leans over to provide you an awkward fun fact about the films production. Jerry stays quiet, but appreciates how you seem to make him feel better about being scared by the film than dogging on him. "Huh? O-oh, yeah, no, I'm not great with movies like these, but uh-" He'd stammer. "I'm not like a pussy or anything, I've just had an offer day, I'm high stress."

Pete is relishing in it, constantly commenting on the 'alien-fighting hotties' in the film, before making sure you know he doesn't like them as much as you. "Nothing against these babes, you know, but they don't have an ass like yours-"

At the end of the night; when everyone has cleared out, you stop in the door frame, turning to smile. "Thanks a lot for letting me stay and watch, Bill." You say softly. "This was fun."

He's silent, hand gripping the door frame hard enough it might splinter. He'd done you the decency of walking you to the door, to your suprise. "Yeah. We'll, don't expect too much. You're still a normie. Get off my porch, I don't want people thinking we hang out." You just sighs and wave goodnight with a slight grin.

He's angry, he hasn't felt things like this in a long, long time. He shouldn't like you, you're nothing special, you're hot, but just some brainless poser girl from school, probably friends with jocks and cheer-whores. Still, why did his heart leap when you brushed his hand getting popcorn? Why did he want you sitting next to him and not that 'loudmouth perv whose ruining the tension of the scene'.

He finds himself laying on his bed, the squeaky, worn out mattress creaking. He'd lock up the basement and then his door, he's rock hard and is sure it's Ellen Ripley's sheer tank that was doing it for him. He pops the tape in again and puts it on mute to a shot of her running, popping the button on his jeans and sighing as he settles into bed. However, running his hand from base to tip once, then twice, he finds she's not doing it for him. 'Fine,' he thinks. 'Maybe I'm in the mood for blondes'. He grabs the nearest Tasha Yar picture he has, but that's not working either.

Working his fingers around his tip, letting the precum act as a proper lubricant, the image of you in her uniform almost makes him choke. He jolts so hard he almost rips his own dick off. 'Shit-' he thinks, first from shock, then from the implications of the though. "Shit, shit, shit!" He yells allowed, chucking the picture to the wall, erection twitching again at the thought the garnered such shame. It's not like this is anything more than a chubby from a semi-attractive girl! ...Right?

A similar scene is playing out in Josh's room, the meticuloius organizers room looks as though a hurricane has hit, digging through magazines, comics and VHS covers. He's sure he's gotta have an art piece that looks like you, maybe a 'Hottest women of sci-fi' tape, or some scantily clad magic card, shit, he'd settle for a grainy background character on one of his 'Star Trek: Original Series' tapes. Something, anything. "Cmon, cmon-" he's frantic. He's not as ashamed as Bill. Sure, he's ashamed to be jerking it to a girl he was feet away from less than an hour ago, but he isn't ashamed that the girl was you! He can admit you were hot, and pretty nice, even if he didn't fully trust you. I mean, it's not like you're joining the club! ...Right?

Jerry doesn't need to search for material. He's got enough paper with sketches of you to count as an act of deforestation. Its his reluctance to use them that's the issue. He goes home, a beacon of self control. He's only half-hard, and doing rhythmic, calming breaths. 'Gotta put your stuff away, then straight to bed Jerry, cmon.' He thinks to himself. 'No big deal, you got this.' He does get it all out away, his wallet, his new Magic cards he brought to show Josh, and his lucky dice, all accounted for. It's when he sees his journal, which he remembered to retrieve from the beanbag, sitting there. Calling to him like the one ring. Just a peek... He slams it shut and puts in onto his dresser, laying flat on his back and dullg clothed, to afraid to even undress for fear of brushing his cock by accident and blowing the whole facade of control he has. 'Just ignore it's siren song-' the image of you, perched on a rock with a tail and breasts out, calling to him. 'Shit, no sirens, not a siren-' He whimpers. He can't help it, you wouldn't ever find out, and it's just a one time thing! It's probably just a nervous boner anyways. Looking at half-nude art he made of you is just a one time thing. "Ah~ whoo, okay, gonna be quick, mmph, whatnwould you think of this?" He whines, rubbing against the mattress for a bit of hands-off reliefm somehow that made it less bad, right? He's not technically touching himself. Practicing gently kissing his pillow while he strokes it is just him, getting some sensory stimulation! It's normal. And it's not like he's gonna see you much after this! ...Right?

Pete isn't lacking for any material, and isn't held back by shame either. He made sure you were parked on the couch right by him allll night, and every time you got up to use the bathroom, his sticky, popcorn covered hand founds it's way into your purse. That's how he ended up with his yellowed pillow covered in some shitty PINK perfume and some sticky lip gloss smeared on his cheek like you'd kissed him there. He's absolutely wrecking the pillow, in his mind there is no seperation from the fleshlight he constructed out of fabric and stuffing and your smoking body. "You like that, baby?" He mutters lowly, bucking his hips into the pillow like a dog. "Shrimp dick my ass, you can feel that in there, huh? Yeah, I'll make sure hit all the right spots, shit. Get your fuckin' legs round my waist-" he groans.

Coincidentally, after the four have finished their separate sessions, they each receive a short, to the point call from Bill on their landlines, something about the 'financial benefit' of having more member in the club, even if he'd never, ever let a girl in under normal circumstances. But, there's a lot of good stuff coming out lately, and they need as much savings as they can get. He assures them all, "Its purely business, nimrods, I'm not exactly thrilled about it." All three are too worn out to even think about how odd it is to receive a call like that at 1 am...

I've been thinking abt a poly!tf141 with a fem!reader who like is from the country side AND I'M CRACKING, OH LAWD!!!

Task Force 141 had seen you kill a man from 700 meters away. They had seen you tear through enemy lines with the precision of a seasoned warrior, your movements deadly and efficient. But what they hadn't seen—what they couldn’t wrap their heads around—was the life you returned to after every mission.

Because while Ghost, Soap, Price, and Gaz spent their leave in safe houses, military bases, or the occasional urban apartment, you?

You went home.

To the countryside.

To your massive, luxurious farmhouse nestled in the hills of a quiet village, where the air smelled of fresh hay, wildflowers, and the occasional whiff of cow.

And when TF141 finally visited, they were not prepared.

The First Time They Saw the Farm : "What the fuck—" Ghost had been the first to say it when you pulled up to your estate in an old pickup truck, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as you parked in front of a sprawling wooden house with a red-tiled roof.

There were animals everywhere.

A massive black and white cow lazily chewed its cud near the wooden fence. Chickens and roosters strutted about like they owned the place. A gray donkey stared at them with judgmental eyes. Two ducks waddled past as if they were on a mission. Dogs barked excitedly at the sight of you, tails wagging. A cat lounged on the porch, stretching in the warm sun.

And then—a fucking horse trotted up to you, nuzzling into your palm like a puppy.

"Price," Gaz whispered. "She has a fucking farm."

"A fancy one at that," Soap muttered, still stunned.

"You lot gonna stand there all day?" You grinned, tossing your duffel bag over your shoulder. "Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready."

They were bewildered. They had spent years with you, fighting side by side, seeing you covered in blood, sweat, and gunpowder—and now you were leading them up the front porch of your cozy countryside mansion like a perfect little housewife.

And the worst part? They liked it.

You, The Deadly Soldier and The Perfect Housewife

Soap had expected you to relax on your leave. Maybe sleep in, drink some tea, read a book.

But no.

You were up at the crack of dawn, slipping out of bed before any of them could pull you back in, dressed in overalls and a white tank top, heading out to feed the animals like it was just another mission.

"Morning, sweetheart," Price murmured, leaning against the doorway as he watched you toss hay to the horses.

"Morning, Captain," you teased, kissing his scruffy cheek before moving on to collect eggs from the hens.

Ghost watched in silence, arms crossed, as you scolded a particularly feisty rooster. "You peck me one more time, and I swear to God, I’m making soup outta you."

Gaz almost choked on his coffee when you turned around and gave them the sweetest, most innocent smile.

"You boys want breakfast?"

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting at a massive wooden table in your warm, sunlit kitchen, eating fresh farm eggs, homemade bread, and smoked bacon.

And Soap was ready to propose.

Domesticity With a Side of Chaos

Price: Loves sitting on the porch with a cigar, watching you work. He helps with repairs, fixes fences, and absolutely adores the peacefulness of your home.

Ghost: The animals are terrified of him at first (except the donkey—the donkey hates him). But the barn cats adopt him, curling up in his lap whenever he sits down.

Soap: Thinks farm life is the best thing ever. He learns how to milk a cow, names every single chicken, and gets way too attached to a piglet.

Gaz: "Babe, I love you, but this rooster is evil." (He got chased one too many times.)

And at night?

After a long day of farm work, you slip into something soft and lacy, curl up in their arms, and remind them that you’re not just a soldier, not just a farmer—you’re theirs.

They Never Want to Leave

By the end of their stay, not a single one of them wants to go back.

"You sure we have to leave?" Soap pouts, feeding the ducks.

"Darlin’," Price murmurs against your neck one night, arms wrapped around you in bed, "Ever thought about retirin’ here? With us?"

Ghost doesn’t say it out loud, but when he watches you laugh, your hands covered in flour as you bake bread, he knows he never wants to be anywhere else.

And Gaz?

He just sighs, watching the sunset over the hills. "I never thought I’d say this, but…I think I’m in love with farm life."

They were all in love. With you. With this. With the life they could have, if only they stayed.

Maybe one day.

For now, they’d enjoy every stolen moment in their countsyde paradise. But what if we make thing spicy ? A little bit, at least.

Ghost Was The First To Break

Ghost had held strong. Longer than the others.

While Soap got weak-kneed watching you bend over to pick up hay, and while Gaz couldn’t stop staring at your thighs in those tiny denim shorts, Ghost had kept his cool.

Until that damn sundress.

White. Light. Flowy. Just enough fabric to tempt, but never satisfy—clinging to your curves, slipping off your shoulders as you carried a bucket of water to the horses.

He had been cleaning his rifle on the porch, but his grip tightened the moment he saw the fabric sway with your every step.

And then?

You had the audacity to look over your shoulder and wink at him.

He dropped the rifle.

Soap Lost It In The Barn

Soap had always been shameless about his attraction to you.

But you?

You were even worse.

It was an accident—(was it?)—when you walked into the barn one night, looking for something. The others were inside, drinking whiskey in the house, but Soap had been alone, brushing down one of your horses.

And then he saw you.

Wet.

Covered in rain.

Your thin white blouse clung to you, completely see-through, nipples pebbled against the fabric.

"Lass," he had rasped, watching as you closed the barn door behind you, stepping forward, voice all honeyed and sweet.

"Johnny," you had purred, voice dripping with something that wasn’t innocence, "I’m cold."

He snapped.

The horse had seen things that night.

Price Was The Most Dangerous

Price was a man of control.

A man of restraint.

A man who knew how to bide his time.

But you?

You tested him.

You liked to push. You liked to see how far you could go before he gave in.

And God help you—you found his limit.

It was late. The others were asleep. You were making tea in the kitchen, standing on your tiptoes to reach a mug from the top shelf.

Price had walked in just as your nightgown slipped up your thighs.

It wasn’t fair.

The soft, white cotton. The little lace trim. The way your bare legs looked so smooth, so inviting—and the sleepy way you turned, so unaware of what you were doing to him.

You looked up at him, mug in hand, and smiled. "You want some tea, Cap?"

And then—his hands were on your hips.

Voice rough.

"You know damn well what I want, sweetheart."

Gaz Had It The Worst

Gaz?

Gaz was a goner the first time he saw you in nothing but boots and his shirt.

You had come in from the field soaked in sweat, hair messy, thighs speckled with dirt. You had tossed your muddy clothes into the laundry room, grabbed his green tactical shirt, and walked around the house like it wasn’t driving him insane.

"Babe," he groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, watching you stretch, the hem of his shirt riding up to dangerous levels.

You blinked. All innocent. "What’s wrong?"

Gaz was a patient man. A respectful man. A man who was about to lose his goddamn mind.

"Come here."

You smirked, walking over slowly, pressing your hands to his chest.

"You’re so easy to rile up," you giggled.

His hand wrapped around your throat.

"And you’re about to learn what happens when you push too far."

All Y/N ever wanted to do was sing her songs and be free. Yet somehow, after offering to pay for the meal of a certain boy in a straw hat she finds herself causing havoc through the East Blue.

Pinterest

Masterlist

1. F$ck The Mar*nes.

2. What does a songbird do?

3. At least a balloon or two.

4. Standards, darlings. Standards.

5. One pansy on the plate.

Disclaimer: The songs I will be using in this fic aren't mine bc I have 0 creativity. I'm sorry.

80s AU quotes

(All my 80s AU things like this where there’s not a specific pairing will be posting in my misc masterlist)

David: “We’re vampires, aren’t you freaked out?”

Y/N, points to Bill and Ted: “Took me time traveling”

Y/N, points to Hawkins Crew: “Made me fight demons in another dimension”

Y/N: “Honestly my standard for ‘normal’ is pretty low”

******

Eddie: “You didn’t tell me you were dating these guys”

*Y/N, Bill and Ted, cuddled up all over each other*

Y/N: “What do you mean? We’re not dating”

*****

Paul: “So wait, are any of you sleeping with her?”

Eddie: “You’re gonna need to choose your next words very carefully”

****

David: “You’re eating maggots, Eddie”

Eddie, trying to assert dominance: “I’ve had worse” *continues eating*

*****

*David and Y/N looking at Marko, Paul, Bill and Ted*

Y/N: “Oh god, there’s four of them”

*****

Ted: “You dudes should come with us to the beach tomorrow”

Y/N: “Ted, the sun kills them, and they sleep during the day”

Ted: “Bogus”

*****

David: “I want to turn her but she’s too sweet”

Eddie: “Y/N is not sweet, she is an awful gremlin person!”

Marko: “That sounds a little harsh”

Bill: “No it’s true. While y/n is our friend and we love her, she is also a gremlin”

Ted: “One time she bit someone who was laughing at Bill”

Dwayne: “That just sounds like a sweet kid”

Bill: “It was last year”

Eddie: “Chaotic good kinda gremlin but still a gremlin”

Steve: “Also if you try to turn her we’ll slit your throats”

//slight suggestiveness// dwayne and paul ur fav facebook couple 😊 ft other online shenanigans

Knight!Jason Todd who’s head over heels for his princess, though it is forbidden for a lowly knight like him to yearn for something as sweet and gentle as you.

Knight!Jason Todd who can’t keep his hands off you when you ask him to accompany you in the village. It can be a hand on the small of your back, or waist. It doesn’t matter. He’s just constantly touching you.

Knight!Jason Todd who gets angry when you tell him your father is arranging a marriage for you and another prince. Who isn’t worthy of you at all.

Knight!Jason Todd who sneaks into your chambers that night, confessing in the most nastiest way to you.

You knew if your father ever found out your knight was balls deep inside of you he’d have his head on a stick outside of your window.

His breath is muffled from the way his teeth sunk into your shoulder, peppering kisses to soothe the burn. “He doesn’t deserve you, he doesn’t burn for you. Not like I do.”

You cling onto him, careful to keep your moans in. The last thing you want is someone walking in on you getting your guts rearranged.

“I do not have a c-choice—hah Jason!” Your gummy walls flutter around him, gripping him like a vice, Jason feels like he’s going mad.

“Run away with me. Dunno’ where we might end up, but I’ll keep you..fuck..safe. Promise.” His thumb rubs tight circles against your clit, lips meeting yours in an attempt to silence himself as he dumps a load into you.

I don’t think Jason will be too thrilled to know Dick Grayson is set to marry you.

Yandere Yakuza

When your brother gets himself deep into debt, one yakuza is surprisingly willing to help you get him out. Word Count: 4.3k

When your brother asks you to visit him in Tokyo, something about his voice makes your big sister instincts buzz.

He's great at putting on a show, but there's a twinge of nervousness to him that you've seldom heard before.

You spend your first week in the city with your hackles raised, trying and failing to figure out what he's hiding from you. And you might never have figured it out.

But then he showed up.

Yandere! Yakuza who kicks open your brother's door at three in the morning, a cigarette in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.

You scramble out of bed, convinced you're about to be murdered. And it's only your brother's hand hastily slapped over your mouth that keeps you from screaming bloody murder.

"Relax, I know these guys."

Despite his words, your brother doesn't look relaxed at all. His eyes dart around the room and he balls his fists into his jeans. It's a habit he hasn't broken since childhood and before you know it, you're stepping between him and a dangerously scarred yakuza.

Your Japanese is beyond rudimentary and your course didn't exactly cover how to have conversations with members of an organised crime family, but you tilt your chin back and try to keep your voice steady.

"Naze anata ga koko ni iru no ka? [why are you here?]"

Yandere! Yakuza who shamelessly leers at your tiny summer pyjamas. He pulls at his cigarette and when he speaks, his English is heavy with an accent.

"Came to collect what he owes us."

Of all the possible answers he could have given you, that was one you don't expect in the slightest. You turn to your brother and the way he avoids your eyes is answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? Didn't you teach him better?

Yandere! Yakuza who came prepared to smash furniture and rough up a stubborn debtor suddenly finds himself at the mercy of your glare. You're at least a foot or two shorter than him and somehow it feels like he's the one being overpowered.

"How much does he owe?"

"Sis really I can-"

Yandere! Yakuza who scoffs and names a number much, much larger than you expected. It takes every ounce of will power not to scream at your brother right then and there. How could he get himself into such a mess? He's barely been here more than six months!

Yandere! Yakuza who watches the emotions flicker across your face and has to admire the way you fight them back. The only sign of your fear is a slight tremble in your hand.

"How much do you need tonight?"

The amount he names is just about everything you have in savings. You bite your lip. One look at him tells you everything you need to know. This isn't some small time crook. The pin on his suit jacket is clear as day, even to a foreigner like you.

You pull your coat over your pyjamas and grab your handbag.

"Let's go then."

When you step out into the hall, you're met with two other Yakuza. How didn't you notice them?

You meet their eyes, trying your absolute hardest to seem unruffled. Predators get violent when they sense fear, right? So don't like them catch that smell on you, no matter how fast your heart is racing.

The night air nips at your skin as you head to the nearest ATM.

"Sis it isn't that bad, I swear -"

"We'll talk about it later, ok?"

Yandere! Yakuza who walks close behind you. You can catch the smell of his cologne - something woody and pleasantly sharp.

When you slip your card into the ATM, he leans against the wall next to you and pulls out another cigarette. He watches you while he lights it, the flame throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief.

"You got a boyfriend?"

You're genuinely surprised. Your relationship status isn't exactly on your list of things dangerous criminals should be concerned about.

"No. I don't."

He let's the smoke curl up between his teeth.

"Good. Pretty girl like you shouldn't bother with relationships."

"Why not?"

The ATM spits out your cash before he can answer.

He doesn't take the money immediately. Instead, he let's his eyes roam down your body, like he can still see what's underneath your bulky coat.

"You're never gonna pay it off at this rate."

"You're offering me advice? Didn't think that was part of your job."

"Sōde wa arimasen [it isn't]. But what kind of man would I be if I didn't help you out?"

He digs in his inner pocket and you catch a glimpse of the gun holstered under his jacket.

He pulls out a business card and scribbles something at the back of it.

"He hasn't told you, but we've got his passport. He can't leave until he's settled what he owes."

You suck in a sharp breath at that. How much worse could this situation get?

He holds out the card. "Come work for us and maybe we can work out a better deal, yeah?"

You scoff. "Does that deal involve selling my organs?"

He smiles a little at that. "Īe - no. It's easy work. Come by tomorrow and see for yourself."

You look down at the card and the hand offering it. His tattoos peak out of his sleeve, blue-black and twisting in patterns you can't recognise. Better to not offend a gangster, right?

You take the card.

"Iiko [good girl]."

He turns to go, his baseball bat slung over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow hanī [honey]."

He's barely out of sight before you're grabbing your brother's ear and dragging him back to the apartment.

You spend the rest of the night talking to - or more accurately, interrogating - your brother.

"Gambling? What the hell where you thinking?"

"I was drunk, okay?"

You hiss and rub at your temples. And the worst part? The yakuza was right. You can't pay it off. Not without a very well paying job.

His card glares at you from the kitchen table. An easy job, huh?

The address on the card leads you to a hostess club in the middle of the Red Light District.

He isn't going to kidnap you in the middle of the day in the middle of the city, right? Slightly comforted, you make your way into the club.

It's cool and dark, lit by colorful lamps more than anything. You show the card to the bartender and a few minutes later your yakuza is sitting across from you and ordering you both drinks.

Yandere! Yakuza who wears a suit in the slouched, lazy way of a school delinquent. Shirt unbuttoned so you can see the edge his tattoos and the gold chain gleaming at his neck.

He gestures at the bar and the room around you, his cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers. "The Family owns this place. And my kyodai manages it."

He studies you while he smokes, eyes dipping to your chest and lingering. "You can work as a hostess here. Make good money and we'll take a cut of it to pay off what your brother owes."

You take a sip of your drink to avoid answering him. The sake leaves a tingle on your lips.

"But I'm not exactly fluent in Japanese. How am I supposed to entertain customers?"

He grins wolfishly at you. "Just wear something tight and you won't have to talk at all."

"Perv," you mutter into your drink.

On the surface, you can't see anything wrong with his offer. It makes perfect sense - the club gets a new girl they barely have to pay and your brother's creditors don't need to keep tracking him down.

But he's a yakuza and you'd be a fool to trust him.

"Fine. I'll work here, try my hardest to learn Japanese and sell drinks."

You hold his gaze. "But I'm gone the second I think you're being shady. Got it?"

Yandere! Yakuza who smiles like he's won the lottery. "Wakatta [got it]."

When you show up later that evening, he's your first customer. He orders you a bottle of champagne and keeps topping up your glass without ever touching his own.

A few drinks in you manage to finally loosen up enough to hold a conversation. He asks you endless questions - about your childhood, your hobbies, the movies you've been watching.

But in return, he dodges any question you throw at him. "Don't ask about my family." "My childhood was boring. You don't want to hear about it." "Hobbies? Does puss-"

"No."

"Then no."

He's surprisingly fun to talk to. And when he gets a call and has to leave you, there's a pang of disappointment that you can't quite mask.

He grins and flicks your forehead. "Don't miss me too much."

When you pick up the bill, you realise he left you a hefty tip. You stare at it and then at his retreating back. Just what is his angle?

Yandere! Yakuza who's back the next day and the one after that. He sprawls in the booth like a spoiled prince, his arms thrown across the headrest and his legs spread.

"Let me teach you Japanese."

You perk up. A native teacher would be so much easier to learn from compared to the dense textbooks you've tried using.

"Repeat after me. Onegaishimasu. It means 'please'."

You try and imitate his intonation. He walks you through a few more common phrases with moderate success.

"Need to work on your accent, but that was decent. Ready to try something longer? Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne [I think you're very handsome]."

"Anato wa...wa totemo hansam... hansamudesu ne."

He smirks at you over the rim of his glass. He seems immensely pleased.

"What does it mean?"

"Just another way to... greet someone. Kinda tricky though, so you should just use it on me."

He spends the rest of the day explaining kanji and grammar. You take notes on the back of a receipt and promise to rewrite them when you get home.

Your shift is practically over when he finally stands to leave.

"Say goodbye like I taught you."

"Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne."

He grins at you again, his voice a bit sweeter when he replies. "Anata mo totemo kireidesu ne [you're pretty too]."

You tilt your head, struggling to understand. You don't recognise the phrase, but he's gone before you can ask what it means.

Yandere! Yakuza who requests you almost everyday. Until the house mother snaps at him to give it a rest, there are other clients who want to talk to you.

He scoffs and throws back his drink, Adam's apple bobbing like he's swallowing down his anger too.

"If they want to talk to her so bad, they should get here earlier. Watashitachiha kono basho o shoyū shite imasu [we own this place]. So go and get me my girl."

When you finally make it to his table, he's back to being all smiles. The only person who notices his jealousy is the house mother and she's far too busy to mention it.

"My head is killing me. Give me a massage please?"

He flops down into your lap before you can say no.

You sigh and run your fingers through his hair, trying to remember where the pressure points are.

Yandere! Yakuza who practically purrs at your touch. When you lift a hand away to take a sip of your water, he barely waits for you to swallow before he's dragging it back.

There's something very strange about having a deadly gangster in your lap. With his eyes closed, you can almost forget just how much he scared you when you first met. Can forget how he still scares you.

He opens his eyes and catches you studying him. He reaches up and catches your hand as you draw away from him. His touch is gentle, softer than you would expect from looking at him.

"Go on a date with me."

You aren't sure if it's an offer or a command. There's something so intimate about the way he looks at you, the club lights carving hollows into his cheeks, eyes dark and sweet.

And God help you, he's so close. Only the thin fabric of your stockings between his skin and yours.

"Okay."

His lips quirk into a half smile, boyishly handsome.

"Good. You'll like it."

By the next evening, you're already regretting your decision. What kind of idiot goes on a date with a yakuza? You blame the alcohol and the closeness of his body and your stupid, stupid hormones for getting you into this.

But when he picks you up, you find yourself smiling. He actually knocks on the apartment door this time and you open it with the full intention of teasing him.

"My brother's landlord-"

Your words die in your throat. You always knew he was handsome but the man waiting for you takes your breath away.

His hair is slicked away from his face and a sparkling cross dangles from one ear. His lazy suits are gone, replaced with a suit that's pressed and tailored. Hell, even his shirt is buttoned up properly.

He looks good. Dangerously good.

He takes you in, eyes lingering at your curves. You swallow and try not to blush. You do your hair and makeup everyday for the club and he's seen you in this dress before, but he looks at you like it's all new to him, like he wants to drink in every inch of you.

You somehow manage to find your voice and it has none of its usual bite. "You look good. Really good."

He smoothes a hand over his hair self consciously. "Arigatō. Shall we go?"

He offers you his arm and you take it, your heart thundering. He opens the car door for you and helps you in like a proper gentleman. You catch a whiff of his cologne - the same woodsy scent from the night you met.

He takes you to a skyscraper restaurant and sits down right next to the window. The city is a sparkling sprawl at your feet.

"I didn't think you'd be into a place like this," you say.

"What? You think I don't got class?" He grins and points his fork at you, "I've got the best damn taste in this whole city."

"Explains why you asked me out then."

"Obviously." He leans forward. "Only the best for my girl, yeah?"

"I'm your girl? Since when?"

"Since..." He makes a show of checking his watch. "Since the night I met you. You just didn't know it yet."

Ah, now that's one way to make a girl fall for you. And despite your better sense, you feel yourself falling.

You can still taste the lingering sweetness of dessert when he walks you back to his car. His leans against the car door and loops his arms around your waist.

"You had fun tonight?"

"Yes. More than I expected honestly."

He pulls you closer to him, softly enough that you can step back at any point. You don't.

"Gonna give me a kiss to say thank you? It's a very important part of our culture."

You clasp your hands together behind his neck.

"You liar."

He grins that boyish half smile of his. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

He doesn't feel like a gangster or a creditor or a customer. In that moment he feels like just a man - someone strong and handsome that you desperately want to kiss.

Your gaze flickers down to his lips and then back to his eyes. You pull gently at his neck and his head dips lower. You stay like that for a moment, lips almost touching. Too nervous to make the final move.

His hands move to cradle your waist and he closes the gap between you.

You pull him closer, your hands slipping from his neck to his jaw. His stubble scrapes your palm and makes your whole body tingle. He tastes of wine and sugar.

When you finally pull away, you draw your thumb across his lower lip. His eyes are half lidded and when he moves, it's with a sluggish reluctance. Like he doesn't want to let go of you.

He keeps one hand on your waist and draws out a stack of cash with the other. When he speaks, his voice is husky.

"How much for tonight?"

"What?"

His draws his hand up your waist to rest against your sternum. Like he wants to dig his hand into your heart.

"How much to take you home?"

A bucket of cold water would have been less shocking. You pull away from him, your mind racing.

God, why are you such an idiot? Of course he only wants to fuck you. He's just a thug, what did you expect?

And worse, you feel like a small part of your heart is breaking. Why be so sweet to you, why go out of his way to spend time with you, if all he wants is a one night stand?

"Are you serious?"

"Obviously. How much do you charge?"

You act without thinking and slap him right across his face.

The sound of it is terribly sharp in the open quite of the parking lot. It leaves your palm stinging. You freeze, terrified of what you've just done.

He doesn't move, his head turned to the side from the force of your slap. Slowly, he touches his fingers to his cheek. His expression is unreadable.

Oh, you're so dead. You just hit a yakuza. A guy who probably breaks faces everyday, who has who knows how many felonies to his name.

Your first instinct is to apologise, say you weren't thinking and that you're so so sorry. You lift your chin and squash down that part of you.

"I'm not for sale."

The quiet stretches out, tense and dangerous. He turns away and opens the car door for you. He doesn't meet your eyes.

"I understand now. Gomen'nasai [I'm sorry]."

The drive home is terribly quiet. You keep expecting him to lash out - hit you or humiliate you for daring to slap him like that.

He doesn't. He just keeps eyes on the road.

When you reach your building, he follows you to the door and rests his hand on the frame above your head. You can feel him behind you, close enough for his breath to tickle the back of your neck.

"I can't buy you."

"No."

"But I want you."

You pull in a shuddering breath. "Earn it."

You shut the door without turning back.

He doesn't show up at the club for the next week. At first you're on edge - what if he gets you fired? Or worse, does something to your brother?

But your boss doesn't mention anything and your brother keeps coming home in one piece. Slowly, you relax. Tell yourself that he's done with you now that you won't give him what he wants. You try and ignore the way it hurts.

When he does finally show up, he's dangerously tipsy. He yanks you out of your booth in the middle of a date and leaves the house mother to bow and apologise to the customer.

You try not to make a scene as he pulls you along behind him. But you look about desperately for any of the other yakuza. Where the hell are they when you need them?

Finally, he drops you in a booth in the corner of the club and collapses across from you. His hair is messier than you've ever seen it and there's a feverish wildness in the way he looks at you.

"Fine. I'm here. Let me earn your love."

You rub your arm and scowl at him. "Your idea of winning me over is to leave a huge bruise on my arm?"

He runs his hands through his hair. "Hell, I don't know. I've never had to win a girl over before."

"Yeah right. I've seen the girls you go out with. There's no shortage of women in your life."

He looks you in the eye. "Bought and paid for." He gestures at the table and at you. "Not like this. Not like you."

That gives you pause. It makes sense. Gangsters don't exactly have the time to go on Sunday morning brunch dates or meet the family.

"So why not just pay someone else?"

You don't say it out loud but the rest of your question is clear. Why me?

"I...I don't want to. Setsumei suru no wa totemo muzukashīdesu [It's so hard to explain]. But I don't want anyone else."

A confession from a yakuza was not at all on your list on fun and lighthearted tourist activities. You're not entirely sure how to deal with it.

Your sense is screaming at you to be smart. And when is dating a criminal ever smart? You're supposed to get yourself and your brother away from the underworld, not get roped deeper in. And what happens if you want to break up? When has a man with a gun and too many scars ever taken a heartbreak well?

And yet...

You want him. Stupidly, against all sense, you want to be with him. He's dangerous. He probably only wants to fuck you. He has too much power over your life. He might never let you leave him.

And still you want him.

You take a deep breath. "Come over tonight and I'll cook you something. And if my cooking doesn't change your mind then... then we can talk about it."

He smiles at you and the wild look in his eye seems to finally dim.

"Anata ga watashi o oidasou to shite mo dekinakatta [Baby, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried]."

You weren't lying when you said you were a terrible cook. When he finally arrives, the rice is somehow both burnt and slightly undercooked and your curry is severely under-salted.

You scrunch your nose when you take a bite. "This is awful."

"You cooked it." He takes another bite. "And I hate to say it, but I've had worse."

You push your bowl away and mutter, "I didn't think rice could be so complicated. I followed the instructions and everything."

He takes another bite. "I can make decent rice. And udon."

"So between the two of us, there's only one good cook? Shameful."

He adds some salt to his bowl. "Neither of us ever has the time to cook anyway, so I don't know why you're surprised."

You shake your head and watch him. He's halfway through your abysmal culinary concoction and somehow not green in the face.

"You never talk about yourself," you tell him.

He avoids your eyes. "I'm not that interesting."

"But I am?"

"Yes." There's a quiet fierceness to his answer that makes your heart stutter.

"Tell me a secret about yourself."

It's his turn to study you. "A secret."

"That's what I said."

He considers you for a long moment before reaching up and undoing his shirt buttons. He turns his back to you and let's his shirt fall away.

You gasp. His tattoo covers his entire back. It's every bit as intricate as you suspected - there's lotus flowers between his shoulder blades and a spider inked below his ribcage.

But it's the snake that takes up most of the space. It curls and unwinds across his back, every scale painstakingly inked. It's hissing mouth rests on his shoulder blade, opposite his heart.

He flinches when you touch him, but doesn't ask you to stop. You run your fingertips up his back, tracing the snakes coiling body.

"It's incredible."

He doesn't answer you. Eventually your fingers come to rest on his neck.

He reaches back and takes hold of your wrist. He draws it forward and tilts his head to press a kiss against your pulse. You wonder if he can feel the way your heart jumps when he touches you.

"Do you want to know the real secret? I go home at night and lie awake thinking about you."

You lean forward and rest your forehead against his bare back. "What do you think about?"

He inhales sharply. "Your voice... your lips... your body."

You laugh a little and your warm breath on his skin makes him shiver. "You're shameless."

"Mattaku hajishirazuna [totally shameless]."

You tilt his head towards you and kiss his cheek.

You can feel him smile against your lips. When you pull away, he turns to you and cups your jaw.

Your Japanese has gotten better, but you don't understand what he whispers before he kisses you.

"Watashi Kazu anata ni koiwoshiteiru, soshite watashi wa tomaranai [I'm falling in love with you and I can't stop]."

He presses his lips against yours, so much hungrier this time. His hand slips from your cheek to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.

"My girl, my pretty girl. Hanaretakute mo hanare rarenakatta [I couldn't let you go even if I wanted to]."

He presses hot kisses against your throat. His grip on your neck almost painfully tight.

"Hitsuyōniōjite, anata no kyōdai ni wa nan-nen mo shakkin o showa seru koto ni narudeshou [gonna keep your brother in debt for years if I have to]."

The rest of his sentence is little more than a growl. "Nanrakano hōhō de anata ni watashi o aishite morau tsumoridesu [gonna make you love me back one way or another]."

The one downside of courting a yakuza is not understanding everything he says. But maybe it's safer that way.

Yandere Serial Killer(s)

Your mother always warned you to never give rides to strangers, but the hitchhiker you run into seems harmless. What's the worst that can happen? Tags: implied noncon

Things originally start well. You and your buddies piled into your roommate's Jeep, roof down, pop music blasting. You're the driver - always the responsible one - hair tied back and sunglasses on the edge of your nose. You're all dressed for summer. Bikini tops and board shorts, smeared with sunscreen - the picture of college fun.

It starts well and keeps going even better. You're all in high spirits. Flushed and happy and young. Picking up the hitchhiker seems like a good idea. You see that he's handsome and around your age, that he's got an easy smile and a guitar on his back. You see that and nothing else. Not the too quick eyes, not the surprisingly light backback. Nothing.

He ends up riding shotgun, talking to you about classes and shitty professors. Smiling just a little every time you shift gears and your hand brushes his thigh.

You like him. You're the only single in the car so it's natural that he spends the most time talking to you. Lord knows it's hard to keep a conversation going with a couple when they look like they'd rather be tonsil deep in each other's throats.

You like him and you get the feeling he likes you too. When you stop at a sleazy motel for the night, he invites you to eat dinner with him outside his room. All your friends are off doing what couples do best - getting cosy in the hot tub, testing the speeds on the vibrating bed, finding new and interesting ways to use the ice machine. So you're glad for the company.

Mostly.

You're almost done eating when he pops the question.

"Why don't you have a boyfriend?"

You look away from him. Take in the greasy boxes of takeout on the concrete, the neon red wash of the vacancy sign spelling across the parking lot. It's not an easy question. It brings up ugly memories.

"I used to have one. Things ended...badly. He's in Cook County Corrections now. Serving fifty to life."

He gives a low whistle.

"That bad huh? You ever go to see him?"

"No. Never."

He stretches out, folds his hands behind his head and looks up at the dull scattering of stars.

"You should. It gets lonely in there. A guy could use the pick me up, especially if the visitor is a pretty thing like you."

You shiver despite the balmy summer air.

"I'd rather not. I'll be happy to never see his face again."

Thankfully, he drops the subject. You go back to talking about awful first dates and the best dishes to order at a Chinese restaurant. He's a complete gentleman but you can't help the slight relief you feel when he stands to leave.

" 'Night gorgeous."

"Good night, stranger."

In the morning you walk out to see him reading the early paper. He crumples and tosses it before you can catch the headline.

" 'Morning. How did you sleep?"

You shrug. "Not the best. I swear these kinds of places all get their beds from the same supplier. Lumpy Mattresses Inc."

He grins. "Don't forget their trusty partner Damp and Musty Carpets LTD."

Your friends are slow to wake up and groggy when they do. Most of them nursing nasty hangovers. You and the hitchhiker have most of the morning to eat breakfast and shoot the breeze together. When it's time to leave, he takes his place in the passenger seat like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"I couldn't find any newspapers," one of your friends complains when you're back on the road.  

"I wanted to see the football results."

"Eagles beats the Rams in the final playoff," the hitchhiker says.

"Aww man. Where'd you get a paper from?"

"I must have gotten lucky. Staff is 'sposed to leave the local paper at reception. Guess they must not have the budget anymore."

You stay quiet but something doesn't feel quite right about that statement.

The day passes fast. Your playlist is a lot more mellow, on account of the many lingering headaches. Still, you think there's nothing quite as fine as the open road. It's only near evening when the trouble starts.

"Shit. I can't find our reservations."

You look at your friends in the rear view mirror. They've already pulled apart two backpacks trying to find the papers. You can't help feeling irritated. The one thing you asked them to take care of...

You pull over and search the Jeep from top to bottom. Unpack almost everything. Check and then recheck your pockets. Nothing.

"I'm really sorry y/n. On the phone they said we needed the copies to check in. Maybe we can still stop by and get it sorted with the front desk but..."

You can here the unspoken thought in their words. You're all thinking the same thing - that hotels can get so uptight when their potential guests are rowdy students with still bloodshot eyes. You worry at your nail, thinking. You paid the fees in advance so maybe if you showed them your credit card...

"My friend has a cabin not far from here," the hitchhiker says. "Pretty big place. He'd be happy to let us crash there for the night."

You bite your lip. It's a two hour drive to the hotel. And if they turn you away you'll be off the beaten path with almost no cash, on a near empty petrol tank.

"You think he'd mind letting us sleep on his couch?" you ask. "We'll be well-behaved and I can pay."

He smiles at you, totally easy going about the whole thing.

"Sure we'll just have to call ahead."

You manage to track down a payphone and you wait with the rest of your crew while he calls. You can't make out what he's saying but every once in a while his eyes drift to you. No one else. Just you.

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he was talking about you.

When he puts the receiver down, he's all smiles.

"Got it all sorted. It's out of the way though, so I reckon we grab some chow first."

Your friends are quick to agree. What self respecting kid on spring break is going to say no to fast food and cold beer? It's only you that lingers, brow furrowed. It all feels too convenient. Your reservations go missing and the stranger you picked up just happens to have a place nearby? No way. The more you think about, it the stranger it seems.

You're still lost in thought when the hitchhiker swings an arm around your shoulders and half drags you along behind your friends.

"What's you got you so worried gorgeous?"

It's hard to be suspicious of him when he smile so easy, his shaggy brown hair dancing across his forehead.

"Nothing. I just hate to intrude on your friend."

He laughs, squeezing your shoulders before letting go.

"Trust me he'll be very glad for the company. He doesn't get out much."

He pulls the diner door open for you. Your friends have already claimed a booth and a single harried waitress is struggling to jot down their long list of requests. The hitchhiker grabs your hand before you can join them.

"My friend is a great guy. I think you'll like him."

He smiles, crooked and amused, like he's laughing at a joke only he understands.

"Hell, I know for a fact that he'll like you. You're just his type."

Your smile is tight. The last guy who said you were just his type... well, you and the district attorney both know how that ended.

You take a seat and smile at the waitress. She looks beyond overwhelmed and you silently promise to tip her as well as your half drained credit card can manage.

"I'll take a steak. Rare. Bloody as you can make it," the hitchhiker says.

You raise your brows. Not exactly the typical order for an out of the way little diner. He sees your look and grins.

"Been a while without good meat. You have no idea the craving I've had this past few days."

The booth is packed tight and his thigh is flush against yours. Warm, even though his jeans.

"We all get cravings now and again. I get it."

He tilts his head at you and it must be a trick of the light, because his pupils are blown out wide. It looks like you're staring into oil. Just... emptier somehow. You wouldn't go so far as to say he feels soulless, but if it's not in the same street it sure as hell is in the same neighbourhood. Like oil, it leaves you feeling dirty in a way that doesn't easily scrub off.

"Do you?" he asks quietly.

You open your mouth to say something along the lines of I'm only human and of course I do but his eyes stop you. He isn't talking about food or meat. No. It feels like he's asking about flesh.

One of your friends cracks a joke and you turn away from him in a hurry, pretending to laugh at something you only half heard. You don't talk to him for the rest of the meal. Try to avoid looking him even. But you can't avoid the feel of his leg against yours. Warm and solid. Can't ignore the way your heart jumps when he reaches for his wallet and his fingers accidentally scrape you inner thigh.

You're the last one out of the diner. You throw away the dirty napkins and, true to your word, tip the waitress as well as you can manage. You're half afraid that he might wait for you, but when the door clicks shut behind you, you see him with the rest of your friends. Joking around with some of the boys.

The second you start towards them, his eyes fix on yours. You aren't sure how he does it - always narrowing in on you like you have your own gravitational pull. Like he's aware of your every move.

"Ready to go?"

Are you? You aren't sure. Some dull instinct is making you want to turn tail and run. You try and talk yourself out of it. What concrete evidence do you have? What has he done wrong, besides be a little intense? Folk do that all the time and it doesn't bother you. And it's not like you'll be alone. Your whole pack of friends will be right next to you.

"Yeah, let's go. Time doesn't wait for anyone."

It's a long drive. The highway splitting off into a main road and then splintering into a half-dozen country tracks. By the time you arrive, you're beyond grateful for choosing the Jeep. Heaven alone knows how much more jostling and bouncing your teeth could take.

It's a nice place. A big cabin out in a clearing, the trees thick for miles around. Much nicer than the crummy hotel you'd otherwise have to settle for. You can't even hear the traffic.

Your friends grab their bags and the hitchhiker holds the front door open as you all file in. The entryway is clean and bright, and besides the lingering tang of bleach, there's nothing to set your suspicions racing. Honestly, you feel a little silly for being so paranoid. Must be the bad memories. They make you jumpy regardless of actual circumstances.

"Where's your friend?"

You turn just in time to see the hitchhiker slipping something small and metallic into his pocket.

"Is that the key for the -"

"My friend will be here soon," he talks over you, loud enough to get everyone's attention. "I'll show you guys your rooms and once you get settled, we can grab some beers and hit the hot tub."

He brushes past you and ignores your half-hearted grab for his arm. Your friends are already pounding up the stairs, too hyped to notice your expression. He pauses on the landing and looks back at you - the only one still standing by the door. His eyes are bright and almost hard.

"You coming?"

Nothing to be scared of, right? It's a common habit to lock the front door, especially out in the woods.

"Yep. Right behind you."

But no matter what you tell yourself, your feet still drag along when you follow him deeper into the cabin. Further and further from escape.

You're the only one who gets a room of their own. Everyone else is piled two and three deep in the guest rooms, half your buddies on couches more than beds.

You're also the last to get a room, so by the time he shows you your bed, it's only you and him. You wonder if he planned it on purpose.

"Quiet out here."

He hums in agreement, standing at your window and watching the woods. He stays silent while you unpack. Whatever he's watching for takes all his attention.

It's only when you hear your friends start splashing around in the hot tub that he speaks.

"You should probably take a shower before anyone else. The water is unreliable out here."

You silently agree. It's s been a long day, and while a quick dip in the jacuzzi sounds good, a hot shower and a cool bed sound even better. He pauses at your bedroom door to say good night. You're already heading to the bathroom and you only half hear the rest of his sentence.

"Sleep tight. And don't worry too much about any noises you hear. There's mountain lions around and the sound carries funny sometimes."

He closes your door softly behind him. Your en-suite is echoey, and when you turn on the water, you don't hear the quiet click of him locking you in.

After your shower, you're totally exhausted. You don't even bother leaving your room to check on your friends. You just curl up under your borrowed duvet and drift off. When you half wake at three in the morning to the dying echo of a scream, you mutter something about mountain lions and fall right back to sleep.

You don't see it but the figure in the corner of your room smiles. Moonlight catching for a split second on the butcher's knife in his hand.

"You always were a deep sleeper, baby. Can never remember your dreams."

Morning comes fast after that. When you wake, the only evidence of your midnight visitor is a slightly misplaced pair of sneakers that you're too drowsy to notice.

Your room door opens easily and you're half way down the stairs before you even start to wonder where your friends are.

Still sleeping probably. Had a late night.

The only sign that someone else is awake is a half empty pot of coffee and a dirty mug in the sink. You don't really feel comfortable rooting around in someone else's kitchen, but the hitchhiker did say to help yourself... You end up snatching a small Greek yogurt from the fridge and taking it out to the porch.

The forest is alive with bird song, dew still melting in the grass. It's peaceful. Tranquil. For the first time, you're entirely happy that you accepted the hitchhiker's offer.

The only thing that disrupts the picture perfect scene is a single discarded sneaker, thick with mud and left right in the middle of the yard.

You sigh. Did one of your friends really lose a whole shoe and not notice? You pick it up and knock the worst of the mud off.

So much for being well-behaved. You'll have to check over the whole place before you leave, make sure they haven't somehow tanked to the property value. The edges of the laces are stained a rusty red but you chalk it up to spilled wine or something.

You drop the shoe at the door and make your way back into the kitchen. It takes some searching but you finally find the dustbin, half hidden in a cupboard. Ugh, why do rich people always have to hide the trash away in the most obscure places?

Yesterday's paper is shoved under some tea bags, the edges of the front page barely visible.

CONVICTS ESCAPE COOK COUNTY

You frown, you gut suddenly nauseous and rolling. You dig the newspaper out of the trash. Slowly. Hesitantly. Amost afraid that the reality will be twice as bad as your suspicions. There's a massive stain on the front but you can still read the print clearly.

CONVICTS ESCAPE COOK COUNTY CORRECTIONS. MANHUNT UNDERWAY.

You don't bother to read the article. The pictures alone tell you everything. You feel sick enough to faint.

You didn't think you'd ever see his face again, but here it is. Mugshot slightly blurry and the ink starting to run. Scowling at the camera like he's more pissed at being caught than anything else.

Your ex boyfriend.

You might have been fine if it was just him. Might have called the DA and the lead homicide detective, begged for witness protection. But trouble never visits without company. There's another mugshot under his, this one captioned Serial Arsonist & Convicted Killer.

The hitchhiker wasn't smiling when the cops lined him up for his red carpet shoot. His eyes are as black and empty in his mugshot as they were last night. When he looked at you and said he was craving meat. Meat.

You might have laughed if you didn't think you were about to vomit. Yeah, he was probably craving meat alright. The roasted and still screaming kind.

You drop the newspaper, hands shaking so bad you can't hold onto it even if you wanted to.

"I told him to take out the trash. But does he listen?"

You whirl around. The hitchhiker is blocking the back door and holding your friend's lost sneaker, rolling the stained laces between his fingers.

"Thanks for grabbing this, gorgeous. If we missed it, the pigs would be back on our asses in no time."

You run.

You don't bother hearing him out or rationalising. You turn away from him and bolt straight for the front door.

You almost make it.

Your fingers just brush the metal of the doorknob before someone grabs a handful of your hair and yanks you towards them, hard enough that you end up on your back. Winded. Your scalp burning.

"Gonna leave without even saying hello? C'mon baby, is that how you greet your man?"

Your boyfriend is standing above you, smirking like this is all a game. He's still in his prison jumpsuit, the sleeves knotted around his waist. He's wearing a white tank and one glance is enough to tell you that prison has been great for his gym journey. His muscles - always toned to begin with - are positively huge.

He's always been strong, but the sight of him like this has your heart racing. How much harder can he hit, with all that extra bulk to back him up?

He slams you back onto the floor when you move to get up, his boot pressing into your sternum so hard you can almost hear your bones creaking.

"Aww, don't get up baby. Let's just talk. We've got so much to catch up on."

He presses his heel into you. Hard enough that you can't breathe out it hurting.

"Where to start... Oh, I know! Have you fucked anyone else while I've been gone? Gotten yourself a new man? Who's been between your legs while I've. Been. Rotting. Away?"

He punctuates his sentence with sharp jabs of his boot.

"No one," you managed to choke out. "Didn't have anybody."

He takes his boot off your chest and you suck in a painful breath, your lungs and ribs on fire. You roll onto you hands and knees, coughing.

Shit. Fuck.

He squats down so he's level with you, voice a sickly sweet drawl.

"You promise?"

"I-" Another painful coughing fit. "I swear. No one else."

"I don't know if I can believe you, baby. You said you loved me, and then you ratted on me to the cops. Not the best record."

He grabs your hair and hauls you to your feet, totally unbothered that you still can't breathe right.

You shriek and try to pull away, only for him to wrap a hand around your throat and pin you against his chest.

He squeezes hard enough that your larynx feels like it's going to collapse.

"What do you think I should do?"

You think he's asking you, but it's the hitchhiker that answers. He's leaning against the kitchen door, arms crossed like he's watching two kittens at play rather than seeing your boyfriend almost choke the life out of you.

"I reckon we should check. Her cunt should be all tight and wet after months without cock. And if it isn't...well, there's your answer."

"You hear that baby? We're gonna make sure you've been well behaved."

We?

You start fighting all the harder. One murderer is enough. You don't want both their hands on you. You'll never be able to scrub yourself clean again.

The hitchhiker smirks and pushes himself away from the wall. His pupils are all wide again, twin blackholes hungry enough to swallow you, your friends, the whole damn world.

Adrenaline is a hell of a thing but you're up against two convicted killers who've had nothing but time to get stronger. Who've had the world's hardest lessons in cruelty.

Your boyfriend lets go of your hair and grabs one flailing wrist. He bends your arm up your back until you heads tucked under his chin and you're standing on your tiptoes to alleviate the pressure.

The hitchhiker twists one ankle behind yours so you can't kick out of him. It feels like a move cops and wardens might use. He must have had it done to him plenty, if he can so easily put you in the same position.

"I'll scream."

That makes them laugh.

"Go on then gorgeous. Scream. No one heard your friends last night. What makes you think they'll hear you?"

Your friends... You were panicking so bad you hadn't even considered them. The hitchhiker sees your eyes go wide and grins that easy, friendly grin of his. The one that made you trust him enough to give him a ride.

"Oh, we took good care of them. I'll spare you the grisly details but there's no one left out here but us."

It's too awful to consider. Too visceral. Too unreal. Your mind blocks it out and changes your whole train of thought to focus on escaping.

You focus on your boyfriend. He isn't acting like himself. The same man who put his hand on the bible and swore before the court that he killed all those people because of you - that man - was suddenly willing to share? Was inviting someone else to enjoy your body?

"You're going to let him touch me? You killed my lab partner because you said he would jerk off to pictures of me. What the hell changed?"

Your boyfriend hums.

"A whole lot. He's my cellmate."

Like that explains anything!

The hitchhiker slips his fingers under the hem of your top, nails running along your waistband.

"He wouldn't shut up about you. Had your pictures pinned up above his bed and everything. It was so fucking annoying at first. My girl this, my baby that. But after a few months..."

He pops open the button of your jeans with a flick of his thumb. You jerk away but your boyfriend twists your arm even harder and you're forced to hold still.

"After a few months, I started to understand the appeal. Could see why he was so into you. And hell, I wanted a taste myself. Wanted to see if you lived up to the hype."

Your boyfriend is smiling. You can tell from his voice.

"And is she worth all the hard work we put in?"

The hitchhiker's hands are cold. You flinch when he slips his fingers past your panties. He rubs his thumb against your slit, savouring every inch.

"For her? I'd kill twice as many as we did last night."

He sighs as he feels your slick starting to collect around his knuckles. Without warning, he slides two fingers inside you. Cold, uncomfortably cold.

He has a guitarist's hands and you can feel the callouses on his fingertips scraping against your walls. Too rough. Too much.

"Just like I thought. Tight and wet. Your girls loyal to a fault."

Your boyfriend practically purrs.

"Been so good while I was gone, baby. You deserve a reward, dontcha?"

He leans down and nips your cheek. You feel sick. His teeth so close...

"Don't worry. We'll fill you up so good that you'll never try running again."

Your spring break road trip starts well and gets better. But the end? Well, it ends with a cock down your throat in and another in your cunt. It ends with a hand around your neck and teeth marks on your thighs. It ends with a reminder to always trust your instincts and to never, ever give rides to strangers.

Yandere Wild West Gang - Noncon

Your life is all planned out for you. Marriage. Children. Settling down in your little town and growing old. But a gang of outlaws and their wicked desires change everything.

Tags: (6) yandere males x fem reader, noncon, loss of virginity, choking, spitroast (hell yeah), oral fixation, 12.3k words

I blame the ridiculously talented @fangdokja and The Red Ledger for inspiring this btw.

They came for you in the middle of the day.

Shameless. Better men would at least wait for nightfall, would at least try and hide their intentions behind the cloak of darkness. Not them though.

They kicked the door in when your family was just about ready to eat lunch, the food still steaming and your ma still in her apron.

You didn't even have time to scream.

One outlaw smashed his rifle butt into your pa's temple and the old man was out like a light, still clutching the knife he'd grabbed to defend you. Two others grabbed your mother and shoved her into the pantry, blocked the door with a tipped over cupboard.

You ran. Or tried to at least. They were crowded into your kitchen, laughing as you turned from one to the other.

"No way out, beauty."

"Too late to run now, darlin'. Shoulda started before we even got here if you wanted to get away."

"Look at her all scared. Ain't it just adorable?"

With near identical duster coats and bandanas tied across their faces, you couldn't tell them apart.

They were closing in on you, a little at a time. You tried to fight, to pull away when one of them grabbed you. But they were dust bitten outlaws and you were just a rancher's daughter. It wasn't even a struggle.

The tallest one slammed you down on the kitchen table, his fingers digging into your shoulders and his belt buckle grinding against your ass.

Your mama's good milk jug tumbled off and shattered on the floor. That was what you focused on as they tied your hands behind your back and gagged you. The shards of blue and white ceramic in the puddle of milk.

Not their hands running over your hips, not their laughter. Just the milk and your ma's favourite jug all in pieces.

You could still hear your mother screaming for you when they pulled you outside. That was what hurt the most about that entire awful day. Your mama, pleading and begging and panicking and unable to save you.

Their horses were waiting, another outlaw standing guard with his rifle out.

"Boss, let her ride with me."

"With you? Ain't no way in hell my girl is riding with you."

"Your girl? She ain't yours. Boss, tell 'em she ain't his."

"Runnin' to the boss again? Yellow belly."

It was the tall one who settled the argument. His voice wasn't as rough as the others, but that didn't put you at ease in the slightest.

"She's riding with me."

He still had one hand curled around your upper arm and he pulled you towards his mustang. You dug your heels in as hard as you could, pulled back with all your weight. It just made him sigh.

"Ain't even started yet, and she's already being difficult?"

The outlaw that spoke was already on his stallion. All you could see of his face above the bandana was a pair of blue eyes, lined at the corners. The boss maybe?

"Just some...growing pains. She'll settle down soon enough."

The tall one leaned down and hoisted you over his shoulder. You squirmed and tried to kick your way free, but he kept one arm tight around your knees.

You thought all your panicking would frighten the horses, but no such luck. He tossed you across his saddle and climbed up behind you. The saddle horn dug into your belly until he pulled you into a proper seat, one arm curling around your waist. You could feel his chest against your back, every inch of it firm, hard earned muscle.

He dropped his head and spoke directly into your ear.

"No trying to jump off the horse. No trying to run away. I'm in charge of you until we get back and I won't have you hurt on my watch."

Your only response was to try and smash your head back into his nose. He straightened up just in time and all you managed to do was hurt your own neck.

He sighed again, and spurred his horse forward.

"Well, I suppose it this was easy, it wouldn't be nearly as fun."

The outlaws formed a loose ring around you as you rode. You tried to twist and look back, but your captor was holding you too tight. You didn't even get to see your home shrink into the horizon. Didn't even get that one small goodbye.

They rode for at least two hours, the sun climbing down from its zenith as they took you across rivers and down secret little paths. You knew your ranch and the area around it like the back of your hand, but even you were well and truly lost when you finally arrived.

It was a ranch, but there weren't any cows in the fields or corn growing in neat rows. The house was a big, whitewashed thing. Pretty once, but fallen into disrepair. Just a hideout. Not a place they stayed at for more than a few months.

The blue eyed one pulled you off the horse without breaking a sweat.

You could feel their eyes on you again. God, how many were there? Five? Six?

"You goin' first boss?"

The man looked down at you. He had a hand around your upper arm, but his grip was more firm than rough.

"I reckon I should. Can't trust you lot to be gentle or slow enough."

That made some of them jeer and complain.

"I'll be real sweet, boss. I promise!"

"We can be nice too. Really."

The man snorted. "Nice? I ain't never seen you dogs be nice 'bout nothing. I'll break our filly in. You lot just be patient and don't bother us none."

What were they talking about? You didn't have time to puzzle it out before the boss started pulling you toward the house. Seeing that building looming closer made you start fighting all over again, biting down on your gag and pulling back as much as you could. Like a mustang digging it's feet in.

It didn't last long. The boss leveled a look at you, met your eyes straight on.

"You really gonna be difficult with me, girl?"

Oh, what frightening eyes he had. Bright and clever, a blue so striking you could feel it right through your soul. A mountain lion would have eyes softer than his.

You stopped resisting him. Let him pull you along besides him. What else could you do? He had a gun on his back and a knife in his boot and years of experience wrangling stubborn animals. And you were just a girl out of her depth and far from home.

You didn't see it, but the outlaws looked at each other, impressed. Only the boss could tame a filly with a single look.

The house was much cooler than outside, but the boss didn't give you any time to examine it. Just guided you up the stairs and into a large bedroom. White curtains stirred in the breeze, the bedding neat and clean.

He locked the door behind you. A quiet click that made your heart race.

You jumped when his hands came to rest on your shoulders. You could hear the other outlaws outside, the clink of harnesses and buckles as they let the horses out to pasture.

His hands moved from your shoulders to your upper arms, squeezed.

"Do you know why we took you?"

You shook your head. Ransom, maybe? But your pa was just a run of the mill rancher. Surely there were better targets for quick cash than you.

The outlaw laughed quietly, just a soft breath of amusement.

"Not the faintest clue, huh?"

He let go of you and you heard the soft rustle of material as he shrugged out of his duster.

He turned you around and you finally got to see his face. He'd taken off his Stetson and bandana too, and the man looking back at you was a hardened outlaw in every way. He was a lot older than you, with thick blonde hair going to grey at the edges. Handsome, with a strong jaw covered in light stubble. Grizzled, but muscular and lean for his age.

There was a small, amused smile on his lips.

He kept his hands on your arms and guided you backwards, until your back hit the wall.

"You wanna take a guess? Why'd we ride all the way out to town to steal you?"

Whatever you said was muffled by your gag. He clicked his tongue.

"You're gonna have to use your worlds, darlin'."

He ran his thumb across your cheek, across the gag. "Or maybe not. I like you just like this too."

He was close. Closer than any man had ever been. It was terrifying. Tears spilled down your cheeks, running across your gag and soaking in.

He sighed, caught one on his thumb.

"None of that now girl. I ain't gonna be rough with you. And in time, I reckon you'll come to like it."

Your dress was buttoned at the front, all the way to your neck. He grabbed both sides of your collar and ripped.

You tried to jerk away from him, but he was too close and the only way out was blocked by the wall. Buttons scattered across the room with little plinks.

The only thing keeping your dress on was the fact that your hands were tied behind your back. But the outlaw didn't let that stop him for long.

He leaned down and pulled a knife from his boot.

"Don't squirm 'round and I won't cut you, alright?"

Sound advice, but not something you were about to listen to. You thrashed in his grip, twisting as much as you could. You didn't want that thing anywhere near you.

He grabbed your hair, and yanked your head backwards. You screamed into your gag, your whole scalp aching.

You might have continued fighting, but that's when you felt the cool metal of his knife at your throat. Not the sharp edge, but still enough of a reminder to keep you still.

"Good. Not so hard, is it?"

The knife moved away from your neck and to your sleeve. He slipped the blade between your skin and the fabric and yanked upwards.

Your sleeve tore with an ugly ripping sound, all the way down to the wrist. You whined into your gag, but he ignored you and repeated it on the other side.

He was breathing heavier now, even though the work of keeping you still couldn't have been much of a challenge for a man as strong as him. He put the handle of his knife in his mouth and used both hands to pull your dress off you. It pooled at your ankles, ruined.

You still had your chemise, but the thin white fabric was almost as bad as being naked. Your nipples poked through and he narrowed in on them, one hand coming up to cup your breast. His teeth were biting into the handle of his knife, hard enough to leave indents in the wood. Like a man struggling to control himself. He breathed out slowly, just feeling the weight of your tits in his palms.

You were crying so hard you almost couldn't see his face. A mixture of pity and want.

He kneeled down to put his knife away and stayed on his knees, hands coming to your hips. He looked up at you, blue eyes bright with something you didn't yet know how to recognise. Lust. Want.

His thumbs stroked circles into your skin, your chemise the only barrier between you and him.

"If I was a better man, I'd almost be sorry about this."

He grabbed your leg and hooked your thigh over his shoulder. You almost stumbled, forced to keep your back against the wall if you didn't want to loose your balance.

His fingers gathered your chemise from the hem up, pinning it at your waist with his palms. You were wearing stockings, simple white ones that reached your mid thigh, and plain lace garters.

All in all, it was a damn nice framing for your bare cunt.

God, he could practically feel his mouth watering.

He didn't give you any warning. Just slipped his tongue between your lips. Hot, wet, like nothing you'd ever felt. You tried to squirm away, practically tried to climb up the wall to get away from him. But he had you trapped, one massive palm on your hip and the other on your thigh.

He found your hole real easy. Slipped his tongue all the way in, the bridge of his nose grinding into your clit. You whined at him to stop it, to please just let you go, but with the gag, all he heard was a pretty little sound that made him keep going.

He sucked on your clit, his jawline standing out in sharp relief. His stubble scraped your thighs. So masculine, so unbearably, overwhelmingly manly.

With the way he held you still, you couldn't do anything except take it. Feel even inch of his tongue, feel his hot breath on your skin, feel his nails scraping your thigh. You wanted to hate it. You wanted to be disgusted by it.

But oh, it felt good.

Sometimes, when the neighbour's handsome son came over, you'd feel a little throbbing ache between your legs. This was exactly like that, cranked up to a thousand.

You whined again, and he must have been the Devil's own son, because he just doubled down. Swirled the flat of his tongue across your whole clit and then ran it down all the way to you ass.

You thighs were shaking, and the pit of your stomach felt tight with something your couldn't explain.

"That's my girl." He sounded pleased, smug. Practically cooing at you in his rough baritone. "Feels real good, don't it?"

If he didn't break soon, you felt like your whole body would. Something inside you was building, getting closer to the edge. And you were terrified of it. You breath was coming hard and fast.

Mercifully, he pulled away. Kissed the triangle of your pussy and then your inner thigh. You could feel his teeth against your skin when he smiled.

"Not yet. I ain't nearly close to done with you."

He stood and you weren't sure whether to be thankful or upset. You felt woozy, hot. Like heat stroke, or like getting drunk.

His mouth and chin glistened. He rubbed it dry on his palm, smirking all the while.

"I bet you feel real empty inside, huh sweetheart?"

You nodded your head, not sure where he was going with this. You did feel empty. There was a hot, throbbing itch in your stomach that you had no idea how to scratch.

"Aww, poor thing. I can take care of that for you."

His hands moved to his belt, blue eyes pinning you to the wall. When he smiled, there were lines around his eyes. They should have been comforting, a mark of someone who laughed often and laughed easy. They weren't.

You shook your head, pleading with your eyes. The tears were starting to come again, thick and fast. For a second or two, with his tongue deep in your core, you'd forgotten that he'd want something in exchange.

His eyes hardened, his smile not moving an inch.

"I will take care of it, girl. You can cry if you want, but we've come too far to stop now."

He grabbed your thigh and pulled your leg up, forced you back against the wall. Your whole cunt was wet and glistening with his spit.

Something hot and hard rubbed between your pussy lips. You shuddered, tried to move away. His other arm came around your waist and he pulled you against his chest. The smell of him was overwhelming - gunpowder and leather and whiskey. He smelled like a man. He smelled like your ruin.

Your forehead fell against his collarbone, and his chin came to rest on the crown of your head. The same way a father might hold his daughter after a nightmare.

But there was nothing fatherly about the cock nudging at your entrance.

"Shhh, you're okay. It ain't gonna hurt."

Liar. Terrible, heartless liar.

He pushed in and it felt like your whole body was splitting apart. It burned.

You sobbed into his chest, not entirely sure what was happening to you. This was the sort of thing that was only whispered about. The sort of thing that was kept vague for good, obedient girls until their wedding nights. The only thing you knew for a fact was that it hurt and you wanted it to stop.

He groaned, pressed a kiss against your hair.

"Sweet little thing, ain't ya? Gonna be good 'fer me? Gonna take it nice and deep?"

You couldn't answer. There was only the stretch of his cock inside you and the oppressive tightness of his arms.

He set a slow, drawn out pace. Cock pulling all the way out to the tip and then sliding right back in. You could feel every inch.

Not gentle, but not needlessly mean either. You were shivering in his arms, pussy fluttering like a heartbeat around him.

No one but him knew how fucking difficult it was to keep so slow. Tight, tiny little thing bleeding and crying all over him. Any red blooded man would want to rut into you like a stallion. See just how many tears he could wring out of you.

It was only experience and determination that held him back. If he was a younger man...

It was the right decision to have you first. Not even his second in command - that tall bastard with all the self control in the world - could have managed this.

He huffed out a laugh.

"You're little too young for me, doll. Reckon I could be your father."

He slid back inside you, grinding against your clit in a way that made you whimper.

"Shitty fucking father though. To be doing this to my little girl."

He let go of waist and cupped your jaw in his palm. Tilted your head back, his nose and lips skimming up your neck. You smelled so fucking good. Nothing in this world was as sweet as a needy, crying girl.

"You gonna call me daddy, little girl? Gonna beg me to be nice and let you go?"

You whimpered, a pathetic little sound through the gag. It only made him smile against your neck.

"Thaaat's it. Just take it. Let me break you in. Gonna be all stretched out and sweet when I'm done with you, yeah?"

He sucked at your neck, at the delicate spot where your shoulder started to slope away. A little immature maybe, to want to mark you up like an animal, but wasn't he being plenty mature already? Wasn't he being just saintly in his patience?

"Fuck, you're getting close, ain'tcha? Can feel you gettin' all tight."

He pulled back to look into your eyes, overflowing with tears and just so damn scared.

"You ain't got no idea what's 'bout to happen, do ya?"

He pulled almost all the way out, and then slammed back in, hard. Your tits jumped and your eyes fluttered shut.

"Just relax and let it happen. It's gonna feel reeaal good."

You tilted your head back and he followed you, lips right back at your throat.

He picked up the pace, trying not to be too rough and slowly failing. The closer he got to his own end, the less important kindness seemed. It wasn't long 'fore he was slamming into you so hard he could feel your tits bouncing. His breath was coming fast, each exhale almost a growl.

"Take it, just like that. C'mon doll, just let me fuck you. Just let me make you mine."

You bit down on your gag and came. Your whole body shook, your nails digging into your palms. You didn't now what he'd done to you, but you couldn't stop it. Your pussy was a clenching, sensitive mess. You felt light headed enough to faint. And the only sound and thought in your head was his voice, right in your ear and rough with barely held back want.

"That's my girl. My good fucking girl."

A good man might have slowed down then. Might have realised just how sensitive you were. He didn't. He kept pistoning his cock into you, fucked you through your orgasm.

You writhed on his dick, in pain and overwhelmed and more scared than you'd ever been. And all of it just served to make him harder, to bring him closer. Even he had to admit he was a bastard for enjoying it so much. He didn't deserve something so sweet. All he deserved in life was a short dance with a noose. But who gave a fuck about that? He'd taken you, he'd stolen you, and like any good thief, he was going to enjoy you.

You felt it when he came. His cock pulsed and twitched inside you, and something hot dripped down your thigh.

He pressed his forehead against yours, hands so tight on you that you felt bruised.

He came down slowly. Kept you plugged up with his cock while he softened. The only sound in the room was his harsh breathing. You couldn't even cry anymore. All you wanted was to close your eyes and sleep and make the pain disappear.

He pulled back and tilted your chin up.

"Look at me."

You opened your eyes, tears still caught in your lashes.

"There she is. Ain't so bad, is it?"

All you could do was sniffle and hope he was bored of you.

He let you down carefully. You weren't steady on your feet at all.

"I've had a lot of blood on my cock over the years, darlin', but I reckon yours is the finest."

He kissed you. You were still gagged, so it was less a kiss and more so his lips pressing against yours.

When he finally stepped away from you, you almost wanted him back. You sank down to your knees, too dizzy to stand.

"Poor thing. Too much to handle, doll?"

He ran his fingers through your hair.

"You did so good, princess. Now just stay so sweet, and the rest of this day will go a hell of a lot easier for you."

You were too out of it to figure out what he meant. You closed your eyes and heard his spurs jingling as he walked away. The door creaked open and then he was gone.

You might have tried to run for it, but you ached so bad that even the thought of it was painful. Your hands were still tied as tight as they were before.

You didn't notice the footsteps or the voices until they were right outside the door.

"So much for bein' nice. Boss left her a right mess."

"Better than you woulda done. Least she's still in one piece."

They came to stand in front of you, two men with their bandanas pulled down around their throats.

You recognised their voices. These two were the most quarrelsome of the bunch. They still had their gun belts on, both of them carrying revolvers. Gunslingers then. Every gang had them.

"Look at her already on her knees 'fer us."

"Why you cryin' pretty girl? Was the boss too mean with ya?"

You looked up slowly. Boots first - silver spurs, well worn leather. Then their belts. And finally, their faces.

One was dark skinned, a crescent scar on his cheek and his hair cropped short. He rubbed his jaw as he looked at you, a half smile showing pearly white teeth.

"Oh, would ya look at those eyes? A man could drown in 'em."

The other was tanned golden with the sun, his eyes a pale green. He was still wearing his Stetson, and his dark hair was long enough to brush his shoulders.

"Boss must be getting old. He left some of her clothes on."

That made the dark one laugh. "Nah, I reckon it's meant to be a treat just 'fer us. Like unwrapping a present on Christmas mornin'."

The green eyed one squated down in front on you and grabbed your jaw. His hands were rough from labour, and his callouses scraped your skin. Whatever he saw in your eyes made him smile, but it didn't have a lick of kindness in it.

"Look at that...Boss really did break you in, didn't he filly?"

He stood and pulled you up with him, hand still clutching your jaw.

"I reckon she's gonna be real sweet to us. Gonna be all nice and obedient."

The other one came to stand behind you, his fingertips brushing the nape of your neck as he moved your hair out of the way.

"That right, filly? You gonna be all sweet?"

The green eyed one nodded your head for you. His eyes had a certain cruelty to them that made you want to step away. He seemed the type to use spurs and whips both, and to use them often.

He let go of your jaw and focused on the rest of you. And oh, what a lovely sight you were. All tied up and crying, your tits just visible through your chemise. A little virgin about to loose the rest of your innocence to his teeth. A fucking vision, a fucking dream.

He pinched one of your nipples and rolled it between his fingers. Your thin chemise wasn't any protection at all.

"Sensitive, ain'tcha?"

You whined. Not sure whether to pull away or step closer.

The gunslinger behind you wasn't in the mood to be left out. As his partner tugged and played with your nipples, his hands came to rest on your waist. And what huge hands they were. You could feel the heat of him even through your clothes.

He dropped his head to the nape of your neck and inhaled, his nose buried in your hair.

When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble.

"What do you want?"

The green eyed one looked you up and down, weighing his options. Finally, he smiled.

"I'll take her mouth."

Your whole body went cold. He couldn't mean...

"Hmm. That's fine with me." His hands dropped from your waist to your ass, squeezing. "I want to have her from the back anyway."

They must have been in perfect sync with each other. The one in front of you stood aside and the one behind you pushed you towards the bed. You stumbled, landed on the duvet chin first, your teeth slamming together despite the gag.

You didn't have time to push yourself up before they were tearing your chemise off. The thin straps ripped and your last bit of modesty floated to the floor in a tattered white heap. You were left in just your stockings.

The dark one pulled you up by your hips, one hand grabbing the rope around your wrists to keep you steady.

Smack.

Your whole body jerked forward, your ass cheek stinging.

One of them laughed, mocking. "Bet that'll leave a mark."

The dark one ran his palm over the welt, smiling though you couldn't see it.

"We promised the boss we would be nice, remember?"

The green eyed one circled the bed. You could feel his eyes on you, drinking in your naked skin, your stockings, the tears soaking your gag.

His hands were on his belt. Not undoing it yet, just watching you.

"Y'know, I give that tall bastard a lot of shit, but even I gotta say he was right this time. She's a real cute thing."

The man behind you was still stroking your ass, squeezing and watching your flesh give under his fingers. So soft, so fucking pliable.

He hummed quietly, more concerned with you than with his partner. He slipped his thumb down between your cheeks, catching on your asshole for a second. That sent a jolt of panic through you. They wouldn't...

He must have felt you moving, because he sighed and let his fingers continue downwards. Smearing cum and blood across your pussy lips.

"Not today," he said, soft enough for just you to hear. "Boss wouldn't like that."

That wasn't reassuring to hear. It meant that he still wanted it. Wanted to fuck your virgin ass without any care for the pain, for the hurt. The thing stopping him wasn't empathy, but obedience.

He rubbed tight, harsh circles into your clit. You were still sensitive and you pleaded into your gag, asking him to be just a bit more gentle. Either he couldn't understand you or didn't bother to even hear you, because he carried on, fingerpads rough as sandpaper.

The green eyed one noticed though. He seemed to notice just about everything.

"Want me to take that gag off sweetheart?"

You nodded your head frantically. The sides of your lips felt raw and you couldn't stand the taste of it.

He kneeled with one leg on the bed and undid the material. When he pulled it away, thin lines of spit followed.

You sucked in a lungful of air, coughing. He gathered your hair out of your face, held it all in a loose fist at the back of your head.

"All better?"

Maybe you were wrong about him. Maybe he wasn't so bad.

"...yes." You swallowed, your voice still hoarse. "Thank you."

He tilted his head, smirking.

"So polite. Boss really did a number on ya, huh? Or are ya just a well bred little lady?"

You didn't get a chance to answer, because the other gunslinger ground his palm against your cunt. You yelped and jerked forward on instinct.

The green eyed one tightened his hold on your hair.

"None of that. You can take it."

"I can't! It hurts."

His free hand tugged at his belt, pulling it free of the belt loops. You blanched. What the hell did he need that for?

"Ain't even been a minute and you're already whining? C'mon pretty, there's better things to do with your mouth than that."

He let go of your hair long enough to loop the belt around your neck, the leather wrapped around his fist. He tugged and it tightened, metal buckle pressing icy cold against your skin.

He pulled upwards, forced you to look at him. His cat eyes were mean, amused at seeing you leashed.

"You even think 'bout usin' your teeth and I'll pull this so tight you won't even be able to think 'bout breathing. Got it?"

What was he talking about? Your teeth?

Your answer came soon enough. With his belt off, it was real easy for him to take his cock out. He sighed, relieved to have it free.

The only thing keeping you in place was the belt around your neck. Even still, you pulled backwards until you couldn't go any further.

It was huge.

Thick, with veins running all the way to the tip. That was supposed to fit inside of you? You'd never seen a man's cock before. Even when the boss fucked you, you'd only felt it. No fucking wonder it hurt so bad, if they were all this size.

It was horrifying, and still you couldn't look away.

"Ain't it a sight?"

He grabbed it with his free hand and yanked your head down with the belt, until the tip brushed your lips.

"Come have a closer look."

Maybe if your hands were free, you'd be able to pull away. But as it was, you were staying balanced only because of his grip on the belt and his partner's grip on your arms.

He rubbed the tip across your lips, leaving behind a sticky coating of precum.

"Don't be shy," he purred, "Give it a little kiss."

The belt tightened until you listened. You pecked the side of it, where it wasn't so gross and sticky.

"Atta girl. Now open wide."

You desperately didn't want to. He tasted of salt, and his cock was so hard that you couldn't even imagine how it would fit.

You didn't want to, but what choice did you have?

You opened your mouth and he pushed himself past your lips with a groan. The tip scraped against your tongue, soft as velvet and tasting like the sea.

He let go of his dick and tangled his hand in your hair, pushing your head lower. Until the tip brushed the back of your throat. You gagged, shivering all around him.

"God, your mouth is fucking heaven sent."

He pulled out slowly, until it was just the tip sitting in your mouth.

"Are you gonna join me or what?"

The other gunslinger snorted.

"Fucking impatient. You gotta treat a lady gentle on her first time."

You heard the rustle of clothing behind you, and the hand that was playing with your cunt came to rest on your hip, fingers digging into the flesh for a good grip.

Your cunt felt cold without his touch, but his fingers were quickly replaced with his cock. The head nudged at your entrance, hot enough that you could practically feel it radiating. The leaking pre mixed with the sticky come already on your lips, thin strands of white pulling and breaking as he settled himself against you.

You wanted to say something, anything, to make them stop, but the gunslinger still had his dick in your mouth.

"Hmmm. Nice and warm and I ain't even pushed inside yet."

"Ain't she? Like she was made for us."

His hand slid from your hair to you jaw, thumb tracing your cheek. He could see the bulge of his cock against your cheek - it made you look a little chipmunk getting all cozy and ready for winter. Your tears were caught on your lashes, silver dew drops like you just took a swim.

"You heard me, baby? You're made for us. Made to fuck us and keep us happy. Our little lady."

They both pushed into you at the same time.

Thick cock bullying into you, trapping you between them with nowhere to go. You wanted to scream, but you couldn't. You couldn't even think. Couldn't even breathe.

The green eyed cowboy pulled on your leash and forced you to tilt your head back, bare your throat to him. He pushed deeper into you, until his dick was down your throat and your nose was brushing the hard muscles of his stomach.

He held you there, cock down your throat and tears collecting in your eyes, while his partner started thrusting.

You couldn't breathe.

You couldn't pull away, couldn't fight him. You could just look up at him, eyes all wide and scared. Your panic was thick in your blood and he drank it in.

Smirking, keeping you at his mercy. He knew you couldn't breathe, and he still held you on his cock.

Your heart was racing and you felt light headed before he finally pulled out. You gasped, thick strings of spit connecting you. He only gave you enough time to catch a few deep breaths before he was back in your mouth, thrusting. Going just as deep but thankfully pulling out.

You gagged and choked and felt like you were drowning on his cock. And all the while, his partner yanked you back and slammed balls deep into you.

It was too much. You couldn't focus on anything. You were limp in their hands, letting them fuck you and just trying to survive it.

You weren't sure how long it took. Your whole world was narrowed down to just them - their hands on you, getting tighter and meaner the closer they got to coming.

The one fucking you from the back let go of your hip and curled his whole arm around your waist, leaning over you until his lips were on your neck. Fucking you hunched over like a dog in heat.

He bit your shoulder, sunk his teeth in with a snarl.

They didn't talk much anymore. There weren't any words left. Just the need to fuck and claim and come.

The sounds were the worst. The slick squelching of a cock in your cunt, the slap of skin on skin, the heavy snarls for you to take it like a good girl. And their raspy breathing, like stallions after a gallop.

The gunslinger pulled harder on your leash, keeping you still while he fucked your face. He's teeth were gritted tight, his eyes narrowed and focused entirely on you.

The dark one must have hit something deep inside you, because you made a whining, moaning sort of noise that vibrated all through his cock.

That was what did it. He forced his cock all the way down your throat, held you in place while he came.

When he pulled out, you were coughing so hard your whole chest ached.

That's when you felt it - hot spunk splattering all over your asshole. Your whole body shuddered at the feeling.

The man behind you kissed your back between your shoulder blades and slowly moved down. When he came to your ass cheeks, he sunk his teeth in with a playful growl.

He flipped you onto your back, and you sunk bonelessly down onto the covers. Your nipples were tender and your neck was a patchwork of marks.

The dark skinned one flopped down next to you and threw a possessive arm around your waist. He hummed, pleased as a bear before winter.

"Best fuck I've had in ages."

His partner was silent, his fingers toying with the belt still around your neck. You tilted your head back to look at him.

He was smiling, not soft exactly but about as close as a cruel bastard like him could get. He was so handsome, when he wasn't trying to choke you.

He sighed and let his fingers drift up your cheeks.

"I wish we could stay, pretty. But the day ain't done just yet."

The other one grumbled. "Can't we just lay here for a bit? I've got my girl all nice and snug. Why should I let her go?"

"Boss's orders, that's why. We gotta play nice and share."

"Why? Those bastards don't deserve her."

"And we do?"

He didn't bother to answer, just pushed himself to his elbows and looked down at you. His eyes were a deep brown. Sweet, almost.

"No," he said quietly, "We don't."

He leaned down and kissed your cheek. Soft, like a husband would. He stood and only looked back at you when he was at the door. Hard man, killer and gunslinger that he was, you thought you saw just a little guilt in his eyes.

When he was gone, the green eyed gunslinger ran his hands through your hair.

"He's right, y'know. We don't deserve a girl like you."

There wasn't any guilt in his voice, just a deep sense of satisfaction.

"But we've got you anyway. If the world gave folk what they deserved, you'd never have been so unlucky to catch our eye in the first place."

He leaned down and pressed a kiss against your other cheek, and then nipped at your jaw. A coyote savouring a bone.

"You'll learn to take it, sweetheart. And when I'm done, you'll learn to like it."

He left his belt around your neck and let the door slam shut behind him.

You could hear when they joined the others out in the yard. Their laughter drifted up to you, sharp as a wild dog's bark.

You closed your eyes. On your back in nothing but your stockings and a leash. It wasn't the sort of thing you'd ever imagined as a possibility. Hell, a lot of today was filled with things you'd never even thought about.

You hurt in just about every place. But parts of you throbbed with a pain that wasn't entirely unwanted.

Traitorous body, traitorous mind.

You couldn't possibly like this. You were being used by criminals, killers. Your virginity was just another prize for them to steal. You were a good girl, raised in a good home with upright, moral parents. You weren't some lady of the night, some harlot, to enjoy their roughness.

Right?

When the door sighed open, you didn't even bother to open your eyes.

"These young ones don't know any gentleness, eh beauty?"

His voice was calm. The sort of soft tone you'd use with a filly still nervous 'bout the bit.

You could hear his footsteps. Heavy boots but no spurs.

You flinched when he touched the belt around your neck, but he didn't do much more than run his fingers across the leather.

"Let's get this off you. Idiots. You don't harness a creature so fine."

He pulled it off your neck carefully and then touched the bruises it left behind.

"Open your eyes for me, beauty. Let me see you."

You almost didn't. What more was there to see? Another man with too tight hands and a hunger that wouldn't end?

It was his voice that did it. So kind. No growl behind the words, no clenched teeth snarl.

The first thing you saw were his eyes. A dark hazel, like an eagle's.

"Ah, just as pretty as I thought. Do you want to sit up for me? Those ropes must be hurting something awful by now."

He was older than you, but not by too much. Older than the gunslingers, but not nearly as old as the boss. His hair was tied in braid that fell almost all the way down his back. Lakota, if you had to guess, or maybe Crow.

There was a pair of workman's gloves shoved in the pocket of his jeans, but he didn't carry a pistol. The wrangler most likely.

You sat up slowly, wary. He didn't seem awfully worked up about a naked woman sprawled on the bed in front of him. Maybe he wasn't so bad...

He untied your hands without letting his own wander.

You flexed your fingers and carefully brought your hands to your lap. Your shoulders ached from being stuck in one position for so long.

"Will you let me go?"

"Oh, beauty." He touched his knuckles to your cheek. "That's what you want, isn't it? To go back home?"

"Yes." Your throat felt tight with tears. "More than anything."

He closed his eyes.

"It hurts to see you cry, beauty. It hurts to see these marks on you. But even if I was the only one holding you back, even if it was entirely up to me... I wouldn't."

"Are you going to do the same thing as the rest of them?"

He held your face in his palms, thumbs tracing your cheekbones. He smiled, but it was awfully sad.

"It's been real long time since I've had a woman, beauty. And never one so fine. I'm still just a man."

You were crying again, though you didn't realise it. Tears washing hot over his fingers.

"Shhh." He leaned down and kissed your forehead. "I'll be gentle. I won't hurt you."

He undid his belt slowly, eyes on you the entire time. You were on your knees again, your stockings making you look oh so innocent and oh so filthy all at once.

He grabbed your hand before he took his cock out. You pulled away, but his grip was too strong. Not rough, not hurting you. Just too firm to escape.

He brought you hand to his crotch, pressed your palm against his cock. Even through the thick denim of his jeans, you could feel how hard it was.

"All your doing, beauty. That's all your fault."

He undid the last button and his dick pushed it's way free. Big and no less intimidating for being the second one today. His fingers were knotted between yours and he dragged your hand up his shaft. He sighed, a man finally getting release.

"Here, this will go faster if you use your mouth."

His other hand came to rest on the nape of your neck. Not forcing you down exactly, but heavy, inexorable. Trying to refuse him was like fighting the pull of the moon.

He didn't force himself into you like the gunslinger did. Just kept using your hand - still dry - to stroke himself.

"Come now beauty. Just a little lick and it will all be over. You want that, don't you?"

You did. You wanted this day to end.

You cautiously licked the head of his cock, your tongue almost blistering hot. He groaned and for just a second, the hand on your nape tightened. Like he really did just want to pull you onto him and have his own way.

"There you go. Not so terrible, is it?"

It wasn't. He tasted salty, but not in an unpleasant way. And hearing him groan like that made some part of your gut flutter.

You felt just a little braver. When he pulled you closer, you let him. He rubbed the tip against your lips, smearing pre-cum all over them.

You didn't want his cock down your throat. Didn't want to feel like you were choking. But everything he'd done to you so far had been miles different to the gunslingers. Maybe he'd be different in this too.

Slowly, you opened your mouth. You expected him to shove himself inside you, betray the tiny bit of trust he'd built.

He didn't. Instead, he stood perfectly still. He even stopped using your hand, though he kept it wrapped around the base. Just letting you get comfortable. Letting you explore.

It was what your daddy did when he was working to tame a colt. He'd let them get used to him a little at a time, until they didn't mind his touch at all.

You were too nervous to take him in much deeper than the tip. But he didn't complain at all, just watched you with those golden eyes.

You sucked on him. Just the tip, but you wrapped your lips around him and treated it like it was candy. You flicked your tongue across the underside of his head, eyes locked on his to see if he liked it.

And from the way his breathing was picking up, you reckoned he liked it plenty.

Hadn't the gunslinger wanted you to kiss his? Maybe that's what men wanted. You pulled off his cock with a wet little pop and turned your attention to his shaft. You kissed him - small, shy little pecks all the way down to his hand and then back up again.

He was smiling, head tilted. He almost seemed amused.

"So that's how you like it, huh?"

You hummed, not sure how to respond. Both the gunslingers and the boss kept getting faster the closer they were to finishing. Maybe if you used your hand...

He seemed surprised when you moved your palm, but it didn't last long. When he was sure of what you were doing, he let go of your hand and let you do it all by yourself.

There was a lot of friction and you couldn't go as fast as you wanted without yanking on him. You needed some kind of lube, something to make him all slick...

Oh.

Of course.

You licked him, all the way from balls to tip, trying to drool on his cock as much as possible. He shivered, voice getting just a bit tighter.

"Careful girl. You're playing with fire."

You didn't know what he meant. All you wanted was to finish this. Be able to rest and dream sweet dreams, dreams without men's hands on your body.

His cock was wet with your spit and when you started using your hand, it squelched lewdly.

He groaned, his hand coming to your jaw and his thumb tracing your lips.

"Open your mouth for me, beauty."

You did. You couldn't look away from his eyes. That burnished gold like dead man's treasure.

He pressed his thumb against your tongue, ran it over your teeth. He seemed just as captivated by you as you were by him. The men outside were laughing again, voices raised and vulgar. But he didn't for a second look away from you.

He smiled and said something to you in a language you didn't understand.

Your hand was moving a lot faster now that you'd found your stride, your thumb brushing over his slit on every third stroke. The only sign that he was getting closer was his breathing.

At the last second, he pulled his thumb out of your mouth and rested his tip against your lips.

Hot spunk shot at you, some of it dribbling down your chin and some of it coating your tongue. He groaned, jaw clenched tight. He was panting like a dog on a hot day, still looking at you like you were the finest thing he'd ever seen.

He pulled his cock away and replaced it with his thumb, smearing his load between your lips and across your teeth. He spoke in his language again, words just a little more forceful than before.

You thought he was done with you. Thought he'd be satisfied with leaving.

Instead, he leaned down and kissed you. One hand was still on your nape and you had no room to pull away.

It was your first proper kiss. He was hungry, his tongue scraping across your teeth. One hand came to rest behind you on the bed, and he slowly forced you down, still caught between his lips and his hand.

He ended up between your legs, still not letting you go even though you were both almost out of breath.

"Beauty," he muttered, lips pressing against on yours.

When he finally broke away, he didn't go far. He rested his forehead to yours, breathing hard. You were sharing the same air, in that tight little space. And somehow that felt more intimate than anything else the outlaws had done to you.

He was practically lying on top of you, the hand that held your neck now tangled in your hair, and his other at your waist. He held you like a lover would.

A lover. Would you ever have one, if they let you go? Who would want you after your virgin's blood was spilled?

He kissed your cheek, slow and lingering.

"Oh beauty, how can I be so lucky?"

He didn't let you go. Just held you underneath him and laid his head on the side of your neck.

You were tense, muscles all coiled and ready to be hurt. But in his arms, you relaxed a little at a time without even realising it. This man wouldn't hurt you, whatever his reasons were.

His dark hair had come loose from it's braid and you absentmindedly brushed it off his brow. That made him smile just a little.

It had grown quiet outside and the only sound was of the breeze rustling the curtains and his soft breathing.

"How did such a kind man become an outlaw?"

You didn't really mean to ask that. And kind couldn't be applied to him without qualifiers. But in the face of everything that had happened to you, his softness was saintly.

He hummed against your neck.

"Bad luck. Bad people. Having nowhere to go back to. It changes you."

You swallowed, sad though you weren't sure why.

"I'm sorry."

He pushed himself up and looked into your eyes.

"Don't be. You're my reward, my reparation."

He brushed his knuckles across your cheek again. "I've waited my whole life for you."

You wanted to ask why. What made you so special? Why did he want to keep you?

The door opened with a bang.

"Are ya really still busy? That ain't fuckin' fair."

The gunslingers were standing in the door, both of them looking irritated. Your whole body tensed. They couldn't be back so soon, could they?

The wrangler pushed himself to his knees. The way he was sitting, your hips ended up on his lap with your legs on either side of him. He put a hand on your thigh absent-mindedly.

When he looked back at them, any softness in him drained away. He was just another outlaw with hard eyes.

"Is it the boy? Boss is really letting you go through with it?"

"It's 'bout time he became a man. And you're the one who was goin' on 'bout playing nice."

The wrangler sighed and looked back at you. When he spoke, it was just for you to hear. 

"I don't want to leave you, beauty. But boss's orders."

He leaned down and kissed you, ignoring the gunslingers' cat calls.

When he stood up, you had half a mind to ask him to stay. You almost reached for him. But the gunslingers were watching you and something in you whispered that showing him favour was a terrible idea. You kept your hands knotted in the sheets. For both your sakes.

When he was gone, you sat up and pushed yourself all the way back to the headboard. Hugged your knees to your chest. You hadn't noticed him earlier, but the gunslingers had a boy with them.

They were half dragging him into the room, one with his hand on the boy's nape and the other with a fist in his shirt.

He was young, barely past eighteen. Slightly built, with pale eyes and bronze curls. He wasn't looking at you. Or more accurately, he was doing everything possible to avoid looking at you.

The gunslingers gave him a rough shove and he landed on the bed, bouncing a little before he pushed himself up.

"Gonna get your first taste of a woman boy, and she's a real fine one."

The green eyed gunslinger leaned over and grabbed your ankle. With one brutal yank, he dragged you away from the headboard and all the way to the foot of the bed.

"Missed me, sweetheart? 'Cause I sure missed you."

He caught one of your wrists and tutted.

"Just like him to let you loose. Fuckin' hell, don't he realise how much easier you are when you're all tied up?"

He knelt with one boot on the mattress and pulled you up, twisting your arm behind your back so you ended up with your head tucked under his chin.

"We was feelin' real bad 'bout hurting you, pretty. So we thought we'd make it up to you. Brought you somethin' you'll really enjoy."

You were skeptical of anything he did. He wasn't the charitable kind.

The boy finally looked at you. His eyes were round, nervous.

"Do... do you want this?"

The gunslinger slapped a palm over your mouth before you could answer him, dragging you closer to him at the same time.

" 'Course she wants it. She'd be fighting a whole lot harder if she didn't. Ain't that right?"

"Would be clawing our eyes out if she really didn't want it," the other gunslinger agreed.

The boy looked rightly skeptical. You were crying an awful lot for someone who "wanted it."

"But..."

The dark skinned gunslinger sighed and grabbed the boy's neck.

"Look at her. You're tellin' me you ain't getting just a little hard seeing her like that?"

"Yes but -"

"But what? You want her. And she's right there for the taking. It ain't complicated."

The man holding you was obviously getting impatient.

"You wanna be a man? Wanna come on jobs with us? Than fucking earn it."

That seemed to decide him. He crawled towards you, just as scared to touch you as you were to be touched.

"What do I do?"

"Open her legs and start eating."

He touched your knee. He gulped, focused entirely on the feel of you. He slowly let his hands drift up your thighs.

When he reached your mid thighs, he tried to pull them apart just a little. You kept your legs as tightly closed as you could. Whatever you tried to say was muffled by the gunslinger's hand, but it was enough to make the boy look up at your face.

You could see it in his eyes. The desire to have you and the horror at knowing this was all forced. In the end, guilt won.

"I can't."

He pulled away from you, his fingers shaking.

"She doesn't want this. How can you hold her down and make her take it?"

The dark skinned gunslinger clicked his teeth in annoyance.

"God, could you be any more pathetic? It don't matter what she wants. All that matters is that you're strong enough to take what you want."

The boy was almost off the bed when the gunslinger grabbed his hair and yanked him back.

"It's a lesson you gotta learn boy. Or you ain't gonna live long in this business."

The boy yelped, hands coming up to try and pull himself loose. You could have told him it was useless - you couldn't escape their hold no matter how hard you fought.

He dragged the boy across the bed and back to you.

The gunslinger holding you could see where this was going and he laughed, mean and mocking.

"Gonna be the hard way, eh?"

His hand dropped from your mouth and curled around your throat. He squeezed, just hard enough to remind you of his strength.

"Be a good little pet and open your legs."

You didn't. Hadn't they done enough already? They'd ruined you. Why not just leave the boy alone?

The gunslinger growled. "Ain't listening so well without my belt around your throat, is that it?"

He twisted your arm further up your back, until your whole shoulder was throbbing. You squirmed, arching against him to get the pressure off. 

"Do I gotta teach you a whole new lesson in obedience? I promise I'm a much harder master than the boss."

He let go of you throat and grabbed your thigh, his fingers digging into the meat. His partner was quick to do the same on your other leg. It wasn't any good fighting them. They weren't scared of hurting you and they didn't care if they left bruises.

They wrenched your thighs apart and the gunslinger shoved the boys head between your legs.

"You ain't scared of a lil' blood, are ya? Clean her up nice and good."

The boy looked up at you with tears brimming in his waterline.

"I'm sorry."

He didn't have the boss's skill. His tongue was soft, hesitant. Probing, but totally unsure what to do.

You shivered at the feeling of his lips on your clit, his warm breath tickling your thighs.

The gunslinger growled and pushed him further down, until his nose was grinding into your folds.

"She ain't gonna get away. Use your whole tongue, suck on her, bite. Fuck's sake, do we gotta do everything for you?"

The one at your back laughed and nipped your cheek.

"She wants it though. Just look at those pretty tears."

The boy whimpered but did as he was told, dragging his tongue all the way up. His hands came to rest on your thighs, skin so much softer than the other men's.

His teeth brushed your clit and you gasped. The boy froze.

And then, he did it again.

You shuddered, thighs shaking just a little. He didn't seem to notice it, but his grip on your legs was getting tighter. He focused on the sensitive spot he'd found, raking his tongue across it.

You made another small, involuntary sound.

The man at your back purred. "There. Ain't that sweet to hear?"

The boy started to suck on your clit, tongue hot and wet. He pushed himself deeper, his nose and chin both buried in your cunt. He didn't even notice when the gunslinger let go of his hair.

He curled his arm around your lower back and pulled you closer to him, almost lifting you off the bed. The wet sounds of his sucking filled the room.

The gunslinger let go of you thigh, satisfied that the boy had a good grip on you. He kissed the corner of your lips, his hand coming up to play with your tits.

"Y'know, we never did get to make you come. Can't help wonderin' what you sound like."

You kept your jaw clenched tight. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction.

He must have read your mind, because he chuckled. Pinched your nipple hard enough that you bucked in his grip.

"Oh, you're going to come for us. Ain't that right boy?"

The boy muttered something and went right back to eating you out. You could feel the same heat in your belly as when the boss had you. Like a band about to snap. Every little move was too much, every flick of his tongue on your clit was somehow more intense.

You squirmed, trying everything you could to get him off. The boy ignored you. Just held on a little tighter and pinned you thigh to the bed.

"Please," you whined. "It's too much."

The gunslingers snickered at that.

"Poor darlin'. Does it hurt real good?"

"Don't fight it. Just let it happen. No one will know except us."

"And we're real good at keeping secrets."

The extra mean gunslinger pressed his cheek against yours and looked down at the boy between your legs.

"Don't tell me you're shy. We're real well acquainted by now, ain't we?"

You hated when he spoke to you like that. All sweetly condescending.

The boy wasn't letting up. Just kept sucking your clit and dipping his flexed tongue into your hole, switching from one to the other like he couldn't get enough. Like you were water in the desert and he'd drop dead without you in his mouth.

You fisted the duvet in your free hand, trying to distract yourself. No good. Your body had wants and needs of its own.

You could feel it building and there wasn't anything you could do to stop it.

You threw your head back and bit your lip, but it still wasn't enough. Small whines and gasps slipped through.

Your cunt was clenching, your whole belly a warm knot finally coming undone. It felt better than good.

It felt fucking incredible.

The boy didn't seem to notice. He just kept at it, even though your clit was swollen and aching and bright with blood.

The gunslinger noticed though. You could feel him smiling against your neck.

He tugged at your earlobe with his teeth and then kissed all the way down to your shoulder.

"Maybe we ought to be nicer, if that's what you sound like."

"Like a fox in a trap. Whinin' so nice 'fer us."

Your whole body felt like you touched lightening. And the boy's tongue was the worst if it.

"Please, enough. I...can't..."

The dark skinned gunslinger leaned closer to you, smiling in a way that wasn't nice at all.

"You're so sweet when you beg, filly. Ask politely and I'll get him off you."

You swallowed your pride. What was left of it after today anyway? They'd seen far too much of you for you to hold onto false modesty.

"Please. It's too much. Just make it stop."

Maybe it was your voice or maybe it was your tears or maybe he was just feeling merciful after emptying his balls inside you. He grabbed the boy's hair and hauled him up.

The kid's lips were red and swollen, his whole jaw slick with spit and spunk. He looked dazed, eyes still on the spot between your thighs.

"I'm not done yet. Can't I just..."

"Ain't complaining now, are ya? You see why we went through all that trouble for her?"

He was still holding onto you and he made a half hearted tug to get you closer to him.

"Five more minutes. Please."

The gunslinger scoffed. "You think just 'cause you had a taste you can make demands?"

He pulled the boy's hair and dragged him off the bed. His jeans were bulging at the crotch and his eyes never left you.

"But you said -"

"We said that you'd get a taste. Nothin' more."

The gunslinger holding you spoke up, his lips still pressed against your shoulder.

"You gotta earn it boy. Our girl ain't gonna be wasted on some greenhorn."

"Gonna have to make do with your fist, like the rest of us had to."

When the boy was off the bed, the gunslinger let go of your arm and shoved you forward. You landed on your forearms, your body sprawled in front of him.

He planted a hard smack on your ass and leaned over you, lips brushing your hair.

"You'd better dream about me sweetheart. Better feel me in your mouth when you close your eyes."

His fingers swiped across your cunt, rough and probing. You winced at the feel of him.

"Or else I'll just have to fuck you so hard the memory is burned into your mind."

You looked over your shoulder, eyes catching his for just a second. Long enough to realise he meant every word of his threat. He smirked, satisfied.

He stood and grabbed the boy by his upper arm. Together with his partner, they bundled him out the door. Business all finished, eh?

You sagged into the bed and watched them leave, your cunt still pulsing when you moved. You were exhausted and you looked it, too tired to push yourself up.

A hand caught the door before it closed.

Another one? How much more were you supposed to take?

The newcomer nudged the door back open and stood there for a minute, watching you. He had a bowl of water in his hand, a wash rag thrown over the side.

You hadn't seen his face before, but you recognised him. The tall, well spoken one who made you ride on his horse.

He was dressed better than most of the others. A black, silk waist coat and a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. A silver cross dangled on a chain around his neck.

It made you want to laugh. What God could he worship, when he was a sinner so black?

"Hello dove."

You didn't answer. Just watched him with your cunt fluttering and your lips bruised. 

He was the palest out of them all, skin more like a scholar's than a cowboy's. He had black hair, as long as the gunslinger's, but tied back. He was probably Chinese, but born on this side of the Pacific. His accent was almost the same as yours.

He walked towards you slowly. Not nervous, but more like he was worried about spooking you.

He put the bowl of water down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed, half facing you.

"It must hurt."

You stayed quiet. What did he know of hurt? He wasn't the one being held down and fucked.

He nodded at the bowl. You hadn't noticed it, but the water was a milky white.

"That's to clean you up. I reckon they left a few more cuts and scrapes than they intended."

You found your voice. Smaller, meeker than you remembered.

"Why do you care?"

"You think we don't care?"

You blinked. Of course you thought that. What else was there to think? They were outlaws who took you to satisfy themselves for an afternoon or two. What more could there be?

He laughed, but it was a bitter thing.

"Oh, qīn’ài de. If we didn't care, you'd still be a free woman."

You didn't understand what he was getting at. He sighed and reached for your ankle.

You jerked away. You didn't want to be touched ever again. Not by a man, not by anyone.

He sighed again.

"Don't be difficult. I want to help you."

"Why?"

He was quiet. Just watching you with his dark eyes. There was something familiar about him, though you couldn't tell what.

Finally, "You don't remember me."

You were in no frame of mind to care about his feelings.

"No."

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his forehead resting on his knuckles. Like a man at prayer. He turned his head a little to speak to you.

"It's been a long time, but you saved my life once."

You frowned, totally blank.

"You were still just a girl. Thirteen or fourteen maybe. I'd just turned twenty, part of a gang for the first time and too damn cocky."

He rubbed the skin just above his thumb. There was an ugly scar there, the skin still raised and puckered after all these years.

"Our heist went wrong. Sherrif and his deputies were waiting for us. I got shot. Not so bad that it would kill me, but bad enough that I couldn't make it home."

You couldn't see where this was going.

"Ended up in a barn, bleeding everywhere. I heard footsteps and I thought for sure I was done for. That the rancher was going to blow my brains all over the wall. But it wasn't him that found me."

You sat up slowly and ended up on your knees, your back to him. You thought you understood now, but you let him keep speaking.

"Wasn't him, but his daughter. Dropped the milk when she saw me but she didn't scream. Just came over and asked how she could help me. Me. A wanted man who'd just killed six deputies."

You didn't know that part of the story. All you remembered was the hot summer sun slanting through the cracks in the barn, and the young man bleeding out in the hay. You remembered him digging the bullet out and asking you to stitch him up, his face going all pale.

You closed you eyes and it was like you were right back there, hiding him in the hayloft and telling your pa the blood on your dress was from killing a chicken.

"Why did you do it?" he asked.

"Because you looked scared. And because I was a little in love with you."

That probably wasn't the answer he was expecting. You pulled in a shuddering breath.

"You were older than me, but still so young. The most handsome man I'd ever met. You told me you got shot by mistake, and not to tell anyone because it would get your little brother in trouble."

You could hear a smile in his voice.

"And you believed me?"

"Yes. Why would you lie to me? Outlaws were just a thing from stories. And I suppose I wanted to believe you. You told me I was going to be really pretty someday, that you'd have to come back and marry me. No one had ever said anything like that to me."

He hummed. "You really thought I was handsome?"

"Yes."

He still was, but he had none of the sweet, boyish softness you remembered. He was handsome in a hard, dangerous way. Diamond rough. You could cut your skin on the sharpness of him.

"But what does that have to do with anything? Why...why do this to me, if you owe me your life?"

He sighed and reached for you. He hooked his arm around your waist and dragged you onto his lap.

"I kept checking in on you over the years, do you know that? Every time I was near your ranch I'd ride out and look for you. Always watching."

"Why?"

"I felt like I owed you. I wanted to make sure you were fine. And when you got older...well, I just liked looking at you."

You shivered. There was something in his voice, a longing far deeper than anyone of the other cowboys'.

"Will you let me go when you're done?"

He sighed and tucked your hair behind your ear.

"Maybe that would be the merciful option. But we aren't merciful men."

He pulled your head onto his shoulder when you started crying.

"You're going to stay with us, qīn’ài de. For a very, very long time."

"Why now? Why..."

His hand was soft in your hair, his voice even softer.

"You're young, lovely, a rancher's only child. How much longer 'til your pa started to consider marriage? And who would come knocking on his door? No, I couldn't loose you to them."

"You're the one..." you tried pulling away but he kept you still, head against his shoulder.

"Me," he agreed, "I'm the one to blame for this. And even knowing that, I wouldn't take it back."

"The others..."

"Brutes, aren't they? But they're my brothers. And once they saw you, they wanted you too."

He said he couldn't loose you to another man, but that didn't make any sense.

"If that's true, why did you let the others..." You swallowed, not sure how to go on.

"Why did I let the others have you first?"

You nodded. He played with the cross on his necklace. Finally, he spoke.

"Because I want the most time with you."

He pulled away to look at you and you realised how wrong you were. It wasn't that he didn't feel any lust for you, it was just that he hid it far better than the rest of them.

But now... oh, his was the worst you'd seen. Boiling hot, on the end of its tether. This was a man who wanted you. Who'd spent years wanting you.

He laid a palm on your thigh.

"They got you for an hour each maybe. But I'm going to have you all night."

Comfort Streamer

Yandere! Adult! Kenma x reader

The ChaGold member, thank you, @alexex8sts as always :-)

Amazing Idea by @alexex8sts ! :3

Just imagine yandere Kenma being a famous live streamer, playing whatever game he likes and chatting with his viewers, you decide to reach out of your comfort zone, sending a small donation with the message ' Thank you for being my comfort streamer ' (or something along those lines). Kenma catches the message and smiles, glancing toward his camera " I'm glad I'm your comfort streamer, [username] ", you feel flushed and embarrassed letting out a small squeal and dropping your phone and hugging one of your plushies close, not seeing Kenma's reaction as he laughs softly. You were never the smartest, taking in the plushies you found on your doorsteps, unaware they were bugged with speakers and cameras. Who gifted you them, well none other than your comfort streamer. Glancing down at his desk and smiling at the footage of you holding a plush. One day he'd finally bring you home and keep you close away from everyone else.

3 Times Luffy Thought You and Sanji were Acting Weird

Description: Luffy might not be an expert at emotions, but you and Sanji have been acting weird as of late and he’s taken notice.

Pt 2

Luffy likes to think he’s pretty in tune with the emotions of his crew, they’re his friends, his brothers and sisters-in-arms, his treasure hunting companions, and he knows them pretty well. But what he can’t figure out is why you and Sanji are being so incredibly weird.

One: It’s the pet names, the terms of endearment, as Sanji calls them. He has a million, from Mosshead for Zoro to madam for Nami though he only did that once and she hated it, but for you it’s never ending. Sweetheart, Princess, Love, Gorgeous, Darling, Goddess, and Dearest but that one only really comes out when he’s messing with you. And he flirts, nonstop, which seems to annoy other girls, but you don’t seem to mind it? In fact, you encourage it!

“Well, hello there, gorgeous, feel like walking my way?” Sanji smiles, putting out his cigarette as you enter the kitchen.

“Hm, try a better pick-up line and I might.” You say, tossing a smile Sanji’s way as you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest.

“Of course, love, allow me to try again.”

You raise a brow in anticipation.

“Y/N, sweetheart, grace this poor overworked cook with your healing presence, won’t you? Take pity on me oh merciful goddess.”

You roll your eyes but walk over to the kitchen island leaning on it, putting you parallel to Sanji, and tap your nails against the countertop with faux impatience. “You’re gonna have to do better than that to get me all the way over there.”

Sanji smiles and leans on the island as well. “How about this, princess? I make your favorites for lunch, and you sit pretty on the counter, keeping me company?”

You’re flustered, Luffy never sees you flustered! And it’s like you two have forgotten he’s even there as you round then hop up on the island, Sanji coming to stand at your knees, his hands planted on either side of you, caging you in, asking you a million questions about your favorite foods he knows Sanji already knows the answers to.

“What about lemon? A little zest to brighten your day?”

You smile, resting your head on your shoulder. “I do like citrus.”

“That is because you have excellent taste.”

“You flatter me. I’m sure I’ll like anything you make.” You tell him, playing with his tie, twirling it around your finger. “You’re an amazing chef.”

“Now who’s flattering who?” Sanji smiles, a slight pink tint crawling up his pale throat.

“I only speak the truth.” You shrug.

“Like the benevolent goddess you are.”

You release his tie, and lean back on your hands. “It’s a good thing you cook as well as you talk.”

“I do a lot things well, if you’re interested.”

You bite your lip. “Oh yeah?”

Sanji smirks, rolling up his sleeves as he starts pulling out bowls and various cooking utensils. “All you gotta do is ask darling.”

“When is lunch going to be ready?” Luffy asks, making his presence known once more.

“Be patient Luffy, good food takes time.” Sanji says, giving you and him a wink.

Two: You’re a star shooter, the fastest draw in the East Blue, and you dodge quick too, but Sanji always acts like the most minor scrapes and bruises are life threatening wounds. Even when you try to brush him off, like you’re doing now, rolling your eyes affectionately at Sanji as he fusses over you.

“Sanji, seriously I’m fine, it barely grazed me.” You tell him, lifting the gaze to see if your arm was still bleeding. You’re standing in the kitchen by the sink, Luffy leaning against the island, the rest of the crew scattered about, Nami and Ussop counting out the treasure you guy got on the table, Zoro cleaning the blood from his swords in the corner.

“You got shot y/n, you have to treat all bullet wounds seriously, they could get infected.” He says, grabbing a bottle from one of the cabinets and a clean rag.

You laugh softly, letting your head fall to the side and flashing Luffy a smile. “I’ve been shot like eleven times and never gotten an infection.”

Luffy laughs too, he never would’ve imagined you’d been shot at so many times, you always try to avoid trouble sticking to the back to get a clear line of sight. “Eleven times?”

You use your uninjured arm to make a so-so gesture with your hand. “Give or take. You don’t gain ownership of the golden guns without making a few people jealous enough to take a shot at you.”

“Just because you’ve never gotten an infection before doesn’t mean you won’t get one now.” Sanji chides, already pouring alcohol onto a clean rag preparing to disinfect the minor scrape on your bicep.

You hiss when he presses the rag to your arm and Sanji mutters soft apologies as he bandages you up, not even noticing the way you look at him, but Luffy does. You look at Sanji the way some sailors look at the ocean, like you can never quite pin it down, inexplicably drawn deeper, entranced and in awe of the sight before you, a smile playing on your lips.

“There we go gorgeous, all fixed up.” Sanji says, finishing tying the new gaze around your arm, his touch lingering, his lips pressing tightly together before they stretch out into a charming smile. “Next time let me get shot. I can still fight with an injured arm, you oh Lady of the Golden Guns, can’t.”

You crinkle your nose in response, the handles of said golden guns gleaming from within the holsters at your hips. “I shoot with both hands, what are you talking about? I can definitely still fight with one good arm.”

“That’s not the point sweet girl.” Sanji sighs, booping your nose with his index finger.

You rear back as if he’s offended you, but you’re still smiling. “What if you slip doing all that fancy footwork? You’ll need your arms to catch yourself.”

He shrugs. “I’ll just try to aim my fall so Zoro can catch me.”

“I’m not catching you.” Zoro says, not even glancing up from his swords.

You try to bite back a laugh, but Sanji catches you. “I’m hurt y/n, truly, you’re really betraying me like this? Such untold cruelty you put me through.”

You take a step forward and straighten the collar of Sanji’s striped button up. “No betrayal here, handsome, no cruelty either.” You let your hands linger and Luffy wonders if there’s something more to the action or if you just like how Sanji’s shirt feels.

Sanji’s face tints red, and your hands are flat on his chest now, sliding up towards his shoulders. Okay he’s gotta feel Sanji’s shirt, it can't be that soft. Luffy reaches out and feels the sleeve of Sanji’s shirt making you both turn to look at him. It feels like a normal shirt? Is he missing something?

“Y/N, why are you touching Sanji’s shirt so much? It just feels like a normal shirt.”

Zoro snorts, and you swiftly kick him, aiming for his ankle, ignoring him when he swears under his breath. “I’m just helping him straighten it out, it got wrinkled in the fight.”

Three: Sanji hates seeing you sad, maybe even more than Luffy does, and he hates to see any of his friends cry, and would do anything to cheer them up.

He’s watching the two of you, he knows you’re upset, it’s late, he’s up at the wheel and you’re sitting beneath one of Nami’s tangerine trees, your knees pulled up to your chest, your chin resting atop them, your shoulders shaking with subdued jerky motions like you’re trying really hard not to cry but can’t keep everything inside. He was going to go over and sit with you, make sure you weren’t alone but then he saw Sanji approaching from below deck.

He places a hand on your shoulder, and you look up at him, wiping at your eyes, clearly embarrassed. Sanji shakes his head and sits next to you, his hand still on your shoulder now moving to wipe away any stray tears.

You say something, but he can’t hear, and he sees Sanji’s face fall before he pulls you into his embrace, your face buried in the crook of his neck, your body wracked with sobs as he holds you tightly, his chin resting on the crown of your head.

You two sit like that for a while, until finally you pull back and wipe your face again. Sanji cups your cheeks looking at you in that weird gooey way he often does, saying something that again he annoyingly can’t hear. He should’ve tried to get closer, but he doesn’t want to make you feel more embarrassed than you already are.

Finally, once your tears have subsided, Sanji pulls you to your feet, and it looks like you’re thanking him. He presses a kiss to your hand with a flourish and you smile, it was a small watery smile but still a smile which Luffy is happy to see. You part ways with Sanji, leaving him beneath the trees, arms still wrapped around yourself but looser, eyes on the sunset.

Sanji watches you go, taking out a cigarette and waiting until you’re below deck to light it, taking a long slow drag before running a hand through his hair and leaning against one of the trees, still staring at the door you disappeared through.

He watches Sanji smoke for a while, the orange glow of his cigarette a single point of light, until the door to the lower decks opens back up, casting a sliver of light across the deck. It’s you, dressed for bed, your hair loose and face scrubbed clean.

Sanji snuffs out his cigarette meeting you halfway, bringing you both close enough for Luffy to catch a few words. “Y/N? I thought you were going to bed?”

“I tried but I just couldn’t fall asleep.” You say, stopping a hairsbreadth away from Sanji.

“Doesn’t seem like you gave it much of a try, love. You only went below deck ten minutes ago.” He chuckles softly, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear, fingertips lingering for a moment.

“It felt like longer.” You say almost breathlessly, looking up at Sanji with stars in your eyes.

“Yeah, it did.” Sanji hums in response, lifting a hand to caress the curve of your cheek.

You throw your arms around his neck, and Sanji’s hands settle on your waist and lower back, his head dipping down to meet yours and oh, oh, you’re…kissing Sanji? Sanji’s kissing you? He can’t really tell, you both moved so fast.

It’s intense, he watches through his fingers, trying to decide if he should let you both know he’s there or just close his eyes and ears. There’s a lot of wandering hands and noises, Sanji pushes you against the bulwark, you grab at his shirt, and yeah okay he’s going to say something.

Luffy coughs loudly, waving his arms. “Um guys I’m up here.”

You and Sanji jerk apart, Sanji’s face burning red while you bury yours in your hands. “Luffy! Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Your voice three octaves too high to be normal.

“Well, I didn’t know you guys were going to start kissing!”

Sanji clears his throat and straightens his clothing. “Why don’t we all calm down and I’ll take y/n to bed, Luffy you just keep your watch, I’ll go get—”

“I don’t want to know about you two having sex!” Luffy says, slapping his hands over his ears.

“That’s not what I meant, I’ll just escort her back to her room.” Sanji says, waving his hands frantically as if that would make everything go away.

You’re dying laughing nearly bent in half, leaning on the bulwark for support. “Sanji, Sanji it’s okay. Luffy nothing is going to happen between us tonight, I promise you, so you can uncover your ears.”

Luffy removes his hands and looks at you both warily. “Okay but I want extra bacon at breakfast tomorrow.”

“Deal.” Sanji says, offering his arm to you. “Shall we go then sweetheart?”

You take his arm, smiling up at him and Luffy’s glad to see it, maybe you two will stop being so weird now. “We shall.”

Obvious to All but Two

Description: You and Sanji are the only ones who can't tell that you're into each other, and it's driving the others a little crazy.

Connected to this one, which is just Luffy's POV, since I saw in the reblogs someone thought it would be cute to see everyone else's POVs and I just loved that idea!!!!!

Nami notices it first, the way Sanji’s affections and compliments shift to you. Of course, he still flatters her endlessly, but it’s more lighthearted and friendly, all romantic overtures focused solely on you.

It’s a nice change of pace, though she does find it a bit ridiculous, but you don’t seem to mind, or even notice, so she doesn’t say anything. Not until she finds you in the storage room, hunched over in the dark, a lantern on the table the singular light source, Sanji’s suit jacket halfway in your lap, halfway in the table. Your pin cushion is on the table as well, and you nearly jump out of your skin when she raps her knuckles on the round wooden tabletop to catch your attention.

“Nami! You scared me.” You tell her, one hand on your hip reaching for your pistols that you left in your shared bedroom, the other frantically trying to hide Sanji’s jacket.

“What are you doing up so late? I thought you went to bed hours ago?”

You laugh nervously, glancing around to make sure no one else was around. “Would you believe me if I told you I was sleepwalking?”

“Absolutely not.” Your shoulders slump, and she takes a seat, picking up the limp sleeve of Sanji’s jacket. “So, is there a reason you have this or..?”

“It got torn, during our last fight, and he keeps saying he’ll buy a new one at the next island, but I know this is his favorite one, and I hate to see him looking so unkempt.”

She hums in response, taking in your lantern lit form. You’re so clearly enamored with Sanji. You’re treating his jacket like it’s the One Piece itself.

You duck your head, embarrassment creeping across your face. “It’s dumb, isn’t it? I don’t even know how I’ll explain why I did it; it’s not like he asked me to sew it back up for him.”

“I’m pretty sure if you tore it more and gave it back to him, he’d thank you.” She snorts softly.

You look at her confusion knitting your brows. “Why would he do that?”

She leans her head into her hand, giving you a look. “Because he’s into you?”

“No, no way, he’s just a flirt, he’s flirts with everyone, he doesn’t like me like that…” You fidget with the cuffs of his jacket. “Does he?”

Nami’s heart twists in her chest, you’re a little bit younger than her, and she can’t help but feel protective. “I mean I think it’s pretty obvious but if he doesn’t then he’s an idiot.”

You smile bashfully, smoothing out his jacket. “Thank you.”

“But it is a little creepy, you sitting here in the dark hunched over his jacket like a bellringer. Why don’t you come finish that in our room?”

“Really? I don’t want to disturb your sleep.”

“It’s fine, I’ve got a few new things I want to add to the map anyways, just be quick about it.” She says, standing and taking the lantern.

“I’ll be super quick; I’m basically almost done anyways.” You tell her, bundling up your sewing supplies and following her through the hatch back to your shared room.

She watches you hover in the doorway to the kitchen, foot propped up on the bar stool next to her, resting her folded arms on her knee, her back to Sanji who’s finishing up plating breakfast. She raises a brow at you, and you give her a nervous smile. She rolls her eyes fondly in response. You’re not usually this shy, she’s seen you reduce Sanji to a blushing mess at least twice in the last week, but she gets it. Crushes are hard, gift giving can be a vulnerable act, and while she doubts it highly, there’s a chance Sanji doesn’t like the fact that you stole and repaired his jacket in the dead of night. Men are weird sometimes; they get sensitive about certain things. Swords, ships, gold chains, a portrait of some girl they swore they were in love with ten years ago, the list goes on and on.

“Breakfast should be ready in a few minutes.” Sanji announces, his back still to the door.

You take a step in then step back out with a silent squeak when it looks like Sanji is about to turn, nearly crashing into Zoro.

Zoro glances over at her, a do I even want to know expression on his face.

She tilts her head towards Sanji and his deadpan expression of disgust is so quick that she can’t stop herself from laughing.

“What’s so funny? Did Zoro tell a joke?” Luffy asks, his silverware already in hand waiting for Sanji to set his plate down.

“Mosshead? Tell a joke? Now that’s funny Cap.” Sanji says.

“Alright Waiter, why don’t you hurry up, the eggs are gonna be cold by the time you’re done garnishing.”

Sanji clicks his tongue. “True artistry cannot be rushed.”

You’ve finally made your way into the kitchen, coming to stand next to Nami who slides her foot off the stool so you can sit. Sanji’s jacket is folded neatly in your lap, hidden by the countertop overhang.

“So?” Nami asks quietly, bumping her shoulder into yours.

“So?”

“Are you going to give it to him now or?”

“He’s cooking, I don’t want to get in his way.” You explain, looking as if you’re going to bolt.

Okay, tough love time. “Hey Sanji?”

“Yes, madam?” He calls, looking over his shoulder with a grin that only grows when he sees you sitting beside her.

“Y/N has something for you when you’re done.”

“Nami!” You whisper-scream, putting on a smile when Sanji turns, wiping his hands on his apron.

“A present? Now, what did I do to deserve that?” He asks, picking up the plates and dishing them out.

“I’m wondering that too.” Zoro says, coming to sit beside Luffy, Usopp still in the corner writing his latest letter to Kaya.

Sanji glares at him, then turns back to you, setting you and Nami’s plates down with a gentleness she’s come to attribute with Sanji.

“Oh, it’s not really a present, it’s just…” You hand him his jacket, grabbing your napkin to give your hands something to do. “I noticed it had a tear in it from that pirate’s cutlass, and I sewed it up, I’m not a professional seamstress by any means, but I’m not horrible with a needle, I just hope it looks alright.”

It looks perfect, Nami’s already seen it a million times over since she found you in the storage room. It looks like it was never damaged in the first place.

“You can’t even tell it was ever torn, this stitching y/n, it’s masterful.” Sanji says, beaming at you with the full radiance of the sun. “Thank you, sweetheart, really, your kindness knows no bounds, we truly are in the presence of a goddess.”

You giggle and wave his praise off. “It was nothing, I just didn’t want you to look unkempt, I know order and appearance means a lot to you.”

Nothing my ass, Nami snorts, stealing a piece of bacon from your plate, and popping it in her mouth, before Luffy can.

Usopp is second or at least he thinks he's second, you're the gunslinging duo he likes to think he knows you pretty well.

“So, how’s Kaya’s doctor stuff going? I saw you got a new letter from her.” You say, voice a little strained from the way you both hang upside down from the rigging, preferred weapons in hand.

It’s a normal sailing day, a lot of downtime, so you and Usopp pulled down the netting he and Nami rigged up, securing it to the mast and rigging, creating a pseudo-obstacle course to help you both keep your skills sharp while at sea. Plus, Luffy likes swinging from it and seeing how far out over the ocean he can stretch.

“She’s been studying like crazy, but she said she’s been making really good progress.” Usopp says, loading a ball bearing into his slingshot.

“It’s Kaya, of course she’s making good progress. I know I only met her like once, but I’m pretty sure she’ll be an amazing doctor.” You aim for one of the targets and shoot, hitting dead on. “Hey, maybe when she’s done studying, she can be our ship doctor, that would be cool.”

Usopp goes next, hitting slightly to the left of the bullseye when the wind pushes the target back suddenly. “That would be awesome, but I don’t know.”

“What’s there not to know?” You ask, aiming with your left hand, swearing under your breath when the ship rocks and your shot hits too high. “She’s smart, kind, strong, you’re like childhood best friends, you guys like each other, and she’s a blonde which is always a plus.”

Usopp's ears perk up, he’s had a slight sense that there was something between you and Sanji, but he wasn’t sure if either of you were aware of it. “Let’s take a break.”

You holster your pistols. “Okay.”

He pushes himself off the mast, swinging back and forth watching as you do the same, laughing as you spin in the air. He waits until you’ve stopped spinning, swinging past you as he asks, “blond is a plus?”

“Yeah, of course, I’m a sucker for a blond.” You tell him, pushing off the mast one more time before grabbing at the net above you to slow your swinging.

He does the same, pulling himself up to look at you. “You know Sanji is blond.”

Your brows furrow. “Yeah so?”

He wriggles his eyebrows. “Soooo.”

“Soooo?” You echo, searching his face for any hints as to where he’s going with this.

He loops his arms through the netting, resting his chin on them to stare at you expectantly. “Y/N, come on.”

“Come on what?”

He sighs dramatically, tilting his head to emphasize his words. “You’re a sucker for blonds, and Sanji is blond.”

“That’s just a coincidence.” You protest, untangling yourself from the netting and hanging from your knees once more, taking your pistols back out.

He flips down as well. “So, you don’t like Sanji then?”

You huff and refuse to face him, tripping over your words unlike he’s ever seen before. Except for that one time you accidentally walked in on Sanji getting out of the shower, towel around his hips, and Usopp had to convince you not to hide in the crow’s nest for the rest of the week. “I like Sanji, just—ugh not like—I don’t know, and he doesn’t even—shut up is this because I got a bounty before you? Are just messing with me?”

“Actually, I got a bounty before you, but I know it’s nice to dream.”

You whip your head around, wincing slightly as the blood rushes in your head. “That was Luffy’s bounty, that doesn’t count!”

“You sound just like Sanji, that doesn’t count, this is stupid, blah blah blah. I get it you guys are jealous of me, just date already and be jealous together.”

“I’m going to shoot you.” You deadpan, reaching for him, the force of your movement swinging you past him.

Usopp scrambles up the rigging, unhooking his feet and dropping to the deck below, a shit eating grin on his face as he turns to run. Yeah, you totally like Sanji. “You can deny all you want, y/n, but I know the truth.”

“I’m not jealous of you. Get back here!” You call, hurrying to unhook your feet so you can give chase. You hit the deck, one gun drawn, a bolt of energy whizzing past his ear, scattering like the sun shimmering on the waves when it hits the fireproof brick wall that the main deck shares with the kitchen.

He turns and thumbs his nose at you. If you wanted to hit him, you would’ve, he’s not worried. Another bolt flies past, and he grabs his slingshot, sending a harmless smoke and color powder pellet back in response. Bright pink smoke envelops you as he ducks below deck, your laughter, and fading curses following him down.

Sanji’s at the bottom of the short set of stairs clearly listening in, and he startles when he notices Usopp, quickly recovering, a carefree smile on his face. “You two having fun?”

“Yeah, but y/n might need some help getting all that color powder out of her hair.” Usopp says, folding his arms behind his head, giving Sanji a knowing smile as he saunters past. You two can thank him later. He has to tell Kaya about this. Another success for Captain Ussop, the matchmaking of y/n and Sanji, the Lady of the Golden Guns, and the Best Chef on the High Seas.

Zoro is actually second, but he acts like he's third simply because he was trying to ignore you and Saji's antics.

He's not stupid, he may be more of a strong silent type as you might call him, waiting and observing before acting, speaking little unless needed, but he’s not stupid. Zoro can see clear as day that Sanji is almost annoyingly head over heels for you. Which in itself is really not any of his business, though it does give him plenty of material to goad Sanji with. What he finds surprising though is that for a man who flirts with everything that moves, Sanji gets pretty jealous when someone flirts with you.

It starts off subtle. Sanji’s smile stiffening slightly when a bartender gives you a free drink with a wink. His body shifting closer to you as a fruit seller compliments your outfit. Then he turns it up a notch, refusing to let you get your own drinks from the bar, telling you some crap like a fair lady such as yourself should not be forced to order her own drink, allow me to fetch it for you. And when someone compliments you, Zoro has to fight back the urge to gag at how flowery and long-winded Sanji becomes. If someone says they like your dress Sanji is spending the next ten minutes telling you everything he likes about it. Praising the way the color compliments your skin, your hair, your eyes, marveling over the way the fabric either clings to or flows about your form, the way the cut of the neckline looks, the detailing, the fact that it has pockets or doesn’t have pockets, it’s never-ending.

He will admit, though, he does enjoy watching Sanji get all worked up when he can’t swoop in and distract you. Like today, you’re scanning through the racks of clothing in some shop he thinks is way too expensive, Nami at your side, the salesman hovering, dousing you both in compliments. Sanji just shoves his hands deeper and deeper in his pockets. His jaw set, his eyes never leaving you.

You head towards the curtained off section designated as a dressing room, a pile of clothes in your arms, and disappear behind one of the curtains.

Zoro meanders over, sinking into one of the weirdly shaped chairs set up outside the curtains, Sanji doing the same. “Tell me again why we had to come with you guys?” Zoro asks, tapping his fingers on the hilt of his swords.

“Because it’s the polite thing to do, we’re both ladies on a new island, and we need protection.” Nami says from behind her own curtain.

He rolls his eyes, he should’ve known this was part of her matchmaking scheme. “Didn’t I see you two beat the shit out of a guy just last week?”

Nami sticks her head out, her eyes narrowed. “Shut up, Zoro.”

He holds his hands up in surrender and lets it be. “Fine, fine, we’ll be here, waiting to protect you guys.”

He’ll admit it, the clothing all blurred together at some point, and he’s far more interested in the champagne offered by the salesman than the various shirts, skirts, and dresses you and Nami are trying on. But when you finally, finally reach the end of the pile, and are hesitant to come out, he pays attention.

“Come on, y/n, I’m sure you look great.” Nami says, her own last item, a sparkling dark blue gown that wraps around her form, a slit up the leg, catching the light as she moves to peek past your curtain.

“Okay, okay, just, give me a second.”

“You’ve had plenty of seconds.” Nami reminds you, tapping her foot.

You shyly pull open the curtain and step out towards the full length mirrors set against the wall, turning and twisting, keeping your eyes on the gown and off anyone else so you don’t see their reactions. It’s similar to Nami’s, but a deep red almost crimson, and where hers is cut straight across at the neckline, yours is more halter style.

Zoro let’s out a low whistle. “Damn y/n.”

“I knew you’d look great.” Nami says, smiling as she motions for you to give her a twirl.

You do so, face flushing, your eyes pointedly looking anywhere but Sanji. “I like it, but where would I wear it? It’s too nice for just being on the ship.”

“B-Baratie.” Sanji says, a blush crawling up his neck. “You could wear it at Baratie love, Luffy wants to go back and visit soon, it’s perfectly in dress code.”

You smooth your hands down the skirt of your dress. “That could work, but I don’t know. What do you think, Zoro?”

He glances at Sanji who looks torn between staring unabashedly at you and glaring at him, then glances back at you, shrugging. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because I trust you to be straight with me.” You shrug, and he doesn’t let the way that simple sentence taps at the ice around his heart show on his face.

He takes a long look, dragging his eyes up and down your figure, biting back a smirk when Sanji mutters something about indecent looks, and stands crossing the space between you and him. Might as well mess with him a little bit, maybe it’ll spur him to action. “I mean, it’s pretty.”

“Well, yeah, but is it worth getting?”

He runs a finger down the halter strap, starting at the back of your neck and ending at your clavicle, hooking one finger beneath it to feel the inside. The material isn’t scratchy like he thought it might be given the sparkling, so that’s good. He doesn’t want you or Nami to spend money on something uncomfortable that wouldn’t make any sense.

“I think it’s worth get—”

“She didn’t ask you, Waiter.” He deadpans, removing his hand and resting it on your hip, spreading his fingers to see if the slit goes as high as it looks.

You don’t react, just look at him curiously, but Sanji can’t see that.

“This slit is pretty high, I don’t know how comfortable you’d be with that once you’re walking around.”

Your lips crook to the side in thought and you step back, fiddling with it. “I guess I could sew it closed a bit here at the top.”

“Yeah, that could work, but let me just test something.” He says, grabbing your waist and throwing you over his shoulder, turning so the side of your dress with the slit is facing Sanji.

You yelp and grab onto his shirt for balance. “Zoro, what the hell?”

“Need to make sure it’s not showing too much, what if you get injured, and we have to carry you?”

Sanji’s gritting his teeth, his hands balled in his pockets. “There are other ways to carry a lady.”

“Yeah, yeah, how much of her skin is showing, think it’s too much?”

Sanji swallows hard, eyes tracing up your leg. “I have no right to decide what’s too much skin, it’s y/n’s body, whatever she’s comfortable with is all that matters.”

Zoro can feel you stifling a dreamy sigh and readjusts his arm to better secure you.

You tuck your hair behind your ear to get it out of your face. “I’d actually like your opinion, Sanji, if you don’t mind? I wouldn’t want to be too exposed.”

Sanji’s on his feet in an instant, arms held out. “I think it’s too high for this position, but if our dear Mosshead will indulge me?”

Zoro hands you over and takes a step back. Sanji’s carrying you princess style, which is just as well since he calls you that constantly.

“See here, when you’re being carried properly, we can see that while the slit is still high, it’s less revealing. Though I think for comfort it’s best to sew it up some, which shouldn’t be a problem for you seeing as you so masterfully repaired my suit jacket.”

Your arms are around Sanji’s neck, and you’re looking at him like he hung the moon and stars. “You’re so sweet.”

“And you are absolutely stunning in this gown. You’ll be the envy of every man, woman, fishman, fishwoman, in Baratie.”

“As long as I make you look good on your triumph return, then I’m happy.” You say, smiling prettily, looking up at Sanji through your lashes.

Zoro watches as Sanji’s ears turn red, and he breaks eye contact, clearing his throat. “You’d do that anyways, gown or no gown. Haven’t I told you there’s nothing prettier than you?”

“I think you said beautiful, actually.”

“My apologies, princess, there’s nothing and no one more beautiful than you.”

You giggle in response, girlish and flustered, trying and failing to hide your smile. So, this is what Luffy was talking about when he said he saw you get all embarrassed around Sanji.

Zoro feels Nami’s elbow knock against his arm. “Nice work.”

“Just tired of them mooning over each other all the time.”

Zeff is understandable among the last to know, but still caught on before you and Sanji.

He’s glad to have Sanji visiting Baratie, though he wishes the brat hadn’t brought that bottomless stomach of a captain with him. No matter, it’s nice to have Sanji in the kitchen with him once more, barking orders and receiving that familiar defiance from his little eggplant all grown up. And grown up he definitely is, seeing as he brought a little cabbage with him. You’re a sweet girl; with weaponry he hasn’t seen since the high tide of his pirate days strapped to your hips that you stubbornly refused to be parted with until Sanji assured you that they’d be kept safe. It had taken a lot of wheedling and promises of making sure dessert had strawberries somewhere on it to get you to reluctantly hand over the gleaming golden pistols, to the host who looked just as reluctant to take them.

Now he’s here, dicing tomatoes alongside Sanji waiting to see if he’ll bring you up. When he doesn’t after a few minutes, Zeff speaks. “So, the lass you’re with?”

“Y/N, Lady of the Golden Guns, a beauty ain’t she?” Sanji says, finely dicing the tomatoes with perfect precision. “And that gown, stunning, you know she asked for my opinion about it?”

“Smart girl. You know, I always knew you’d go for more than just a pretty face. You need someone with fire to keep your head outta the clouds all the time. Seems like she’s up to the task.”

Sanji’s knife stilled. “We’re not—she doesn’t see me like that.”

Zeff scoffs. “And a mermaid stole my leg.”

Sanji shoots him a scathing look.

He chuckles. “It’s plain as day, she likes you. Even her captain couldn’t get her to give those guns up, but you offered her strawberries on a dessert and a reassuring word, and she’s handing them over.”

“It took far more than that, and she was still reluctant to hand them over, she’s very…protective of them, she’s had a hard go of it getting and keeping those guns.” Sanji says, his tone prickly.

Defensive of you and your shared captain, Zeff’s glad to see it. “Still, wasn’t her captain that convinced her, but you.”

“We’re friends.” Sanji says curtly, calling for another set of tomatoes to be brought to him.

“Again mermaid, leg.”

A muscle in Sanji’s jaw twitches. “Yeah, yeah, old man I get it, you don’t believe me.”

Zeff shrugs. “Can’t an old man hope for the best?”

“You can, doesn’t mean you’ll get it.” Sanji says his shoulders slumping.

Zeff pauses in his prepping, wipes his hand on his apron and squeezes Sanji’s shoulder. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. If she rejects you, and you’re too embarrassed to face her you can always come back home, I’ll put you right back on the line.”

Sanji shoulders his hand off but smiles gratefully. “As if I’d ever work for you again.”

Zeff jerks his head towards Sanji’s prepping. “What do you call what you’re doing right now?”

“Making a meal for my crew.” He says pointedly, that old defiance slipping right back in.

“Which includes your girlfriend.” Zeff adds, unable to resist ribbing him.

Sanji’s lips curl up into a half smile. “We’ll see, old man, we’ll see.”

Zeff notes the way Sanji grabs the oregano, and dashes some of it on a particular plate, even though his nose crinkles at what he knows the little eggplant considers sacrilege. “Who likes oregano in your crew?”

“Y/N. I’m trying to wean her off it, but she says it was one of the few spices her mom knew how to cook with… It reminds her of home.”

He nods, feeling his old stone heart crack a little and resists the urge to tease Sanji, instead letting him be, and helping him carry the plates out once they’re ready.

Zeff retreats to the kitchen and watches the way you lean into Sanji’s space, listening intently as he explains each dish, fawning over them and his knowledge, while the others or your crew share looks. It seems that everybody but you two knows about your shared affections. He chuckles quietly and shakes his head before going back into the kitchen, young love.

Just friends, that’s what Sanji said, but Zeff doesn’t know any friends he’d have pressed against a wall the way Sanji has you. His hands cupping your face, yours gripping his jacket, lips melding together, whispered words exchanged between fervent kisses, foreheads resting against each other when you both come up for air. He doesn’t say anything, just backs away slowly and tells everybody to avoid going out back. He’ll give you and Sanji some privacy, he just hopes he won’t see you two back in nine months, he’s not ready to be a grandfather quite yet.

Sanji TL: @elrondswifey

Can we please get a smutty poly lost boys fic where they also interact with each other and not just the reader? Every fic I can find they only interact with the reader and I need them to help each other

a/n: (I'm sorry if this sucks-) this is 100% relatable… need more asks like this one! Thank you anon!❤️

𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐬 // Valentines Post 𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝙋𝙤𝙡𝙮!𝙏𝙇𝘽/𝙁𝙚𝙢!𝙍ea𝙙𝙚𝙧 Warning: SMUT/MDNI/18+, Vampirism/blood/biting, scenting, The boys want you to smell like them and only them(possessive much???) Mutual masturbation, p in v, blowjob, Eating-Out/Fingering, doggy, FxMMMM, LOTS OF FLUFF throughout all of this (❤)

Tags: @lunarwhitewolf7 (Ask to be added to TLB poly taglist) You and the boys were out at the boardwalk all night, playing games, teasing each other, scaring walk byers, riding rides.. all that fun stuff. It was a Valentines night at the boardwalk, everyone had their significant other with them. Leaning on one another, kissing one another. Everyone you saw had their singular significant. But you?? You had four hypersexual vampire boyfriends that would give anything to eat you right up. Right here, right now. In more ways than one, in more than one positions. Paul was teasing all the four of you along with Marko. All David and Dwayne had to do was look at one of you and that alone would make you feel weak in the knees. Today was a day all about love, Paul was the touchiest out of the four, Marko hung closer than normal, Dwayne kept a hand on either one of you at all times and David? ohh David would put filthy thoughts in each of your minds as he smirked smugly. Images of you pinned down by Dwayne while he made out with David while he had his cock down your throat as Paul and Marko ate you out at the same time. GOD

You could feel the wetness in your panties gather. "David-" you gasp out, snapping your head over your shoulder to look at him. David was walking behind you and Marko, while he walked alongside Dwayne. Paul was on your other side, making you squished between him and Marko with the two brooding men walking behind y'all. "What?" David asked innocently with an innocent look in his eyes.

It made your stomach flutter and your heart skip, seeing how nonchalant he's acting as if he didn't just give you a free brain-porno or you and your boyfriends. Paul looked at you, he must have read your mind as David gave you the image cause he was smirking flirtatiously. That or he was just being.. well- Paul

Something caught Paul and Marko's eyes, grabbing your hands as they dragged you into a store. "W-woah!" David just laughed quietly, watching you get pulled off by the two chaotic boys. Marko and Paul dragged you to the arcade. Marko stole a small cup full of coins to use at the games, this earned him a surprised stare from you with your mouth agape. "Close your mouth angel, or something'll get inside” He snickered, making you blush at his teasing.

"Look at this one! It's a huge bat plush, y/n come here!" Paul ran back to you and Marko, grabbing both of your hands as he pulled you in front of him while he let's go of Marko's hand and pulled you in between him and the claw machine. "Look, it's so cute. Just like you!" Paul giggles as he kissed the side of your neck, purring softly as he smells your scent. "Cmon, Paul. Let her be." David's voice rung through your ears, making you jump slightly. Paul hums against your neck towards David. You moan softly as Paul pulls away from your neck, leaving behind a slobbery hickey. Marko laughs from behind his glove while he's leaning on the side of the claw machine with Dwayne on the other side and David to the right of you, leaning on his hand that's propped up on the corner of it.

Paul rubbed his nose along the mark he made on your neck, chuckling when you turn your neck away from him. "Paul! I'm trying to get you this damn pink bat!" You laugh as his thick fingers dig into your sides. Dwayne walks over, laughing softly as he pries Paul off of you. "Noooo!" Paul whines, gripping your hips. The boys laugh at his reaction as you lay your forehead against the glass of the machine, laughter pouring from all of you besides Paul. Whenever it's Valentines, Paul makes it his absolute MISSION to smother you in love. The others do too, but Paul is the master at it. "Paul! You want the damn bat or not?!" You cackle out, turning your head to look at Paul. He nods swiftly, furrowing his eyebrows as he looks down into your eyes. "Then let me go." He shakes his head "Nuh uh." "If i give you a kiss, will you let me go?" You ask and he pretends to think. He answers you by stealing your lips in a sloppy tongue kiss, making you laugh against his mouth. Paul then lets you go with a satisfied grin because now, you smell like him.

Paul moves over so you can play the claw machine, your focused expression zeroed in on the pink bat that Paul wanted. David moved a little closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he watched. The four vamps were fascinated at how quickly you grabbed the Pink Bat, Marko and Paul jumping up and down and hollering. "see that?! OUR girlfriend did that!" Marko announced out loud, shouting loudly into the arcade room. people looked over at the five of you annoyingly, but none of you cared. David gently gripped your chin, kissing you on the lips softly. "Good job, baby." Dwayne said as he kissed the side of your head.

After Marko and Paul are done celebrating, they walk over and give you a kiss too. David and Dwayne move out of the way a little bit to give the two room. "Good work, babe!" Paul beams and Marko places his chin on your shoulder. "Can we go to the cave now?" Marko asks in a low tone into your ear, making a shiver go up your spine.

Dwayne and David give each other exchanged glances, knowing that when Marko gets like this it's only a matter of time before someone's clothes are being ripped off. As if on cue, Marko starts pulling at your shirt. Not caring if you're in public. Looking down into your eyes with a look of pure lust. Making Paul giggle, walking closer to the two of you. "Ookay- Time to go." Dwayne says as he picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder.

Dwayne caries you out of the arcade, the others following close behind. "Ohh fuuck- I can't wait to get to cave." Paul giggles, jumping up and down as the five of you make your way to the bikes. "Easy, Paulie." Marko giggles, leaning closer to his boyfriend as he kisses him.

Dwayne sets you down on the back of David's bike since it was his turn to have you ride with him. The five of you all exchange kisses before mounting the bikes. Revving engines roar, making people look over, almost excited to see the five of you go. "I love you guys!" You yell over the engines. They all smile as they take off. You know they said it too. You just couldn't hear them. You wrap your arms around David's torso, hugging him tightly. The five of you zoom to the cave, you can hear hollering and howling as ya'll make your way to the cave, your home. The four of them park, and the second the engines are turned off, your picked up and thrown over a shoulder. "AHH-" You squeal out, being caried into the cave. You look up and see Dwayne, David, and Paul. Meaning Marko is who picked you up. "Marko!" Marko laughs as he lifts into the air, flying into the nest with the others close behind. The second you're on the bed, Marko is all over you. Kissing your neck, grinding into your thigh, gripping your shirt covered tits. Your moans fill Marko's mouth. "Don't start without us, Marko!" Paul shouted out as he appeared beside the two of you. "Mmph- Can't help it. Need her so bad!" Marko mumbles against your lips as Paul settles down on the bed behind you, picking you up slightly to lay your head against his chest and onto his lap. Paul kisses and sucks at your neck, groaning as your taste fills his senses. David and Dwayne walk in, seeing the sight before them making them groan out. Seeing their mates get handsy with each other. You smushed between the two chaos blonds. "M-marko!" You gasp out, breaking the kiss with him as you whine out, feeling his rub your pussy through your jeans. ""O-oh cavolo. Questa figa è così bagnata, piccola!" ("O-oh fuuck. This pussy's so wet baby!) "feel it- feel it!" Marko grabs Paul's hand, pulling him to the seam of your jeans where you had made damp with your juices. Paul moans out, whining as he moves his hands to grip at your jeans. "I wanna eat her out. Move Marko!" Paul snarls lightly, catching everyone's attention. David appeared beside the bed, gripping Paul's throat. "watch it!" David growls, making Paul look up at him. Dwayne had moved over behind Marko, rubbing his through his jeans as he whispers something in Marko's ear. Whatever Dwayne had said made Marko moan, gripping onto your hips roughly. Paul kept his eyes fixated on David as he rubbed you through your jeans, Paul's other hand working on your jean buttons. David leans down and roughly kisses Paul's mouth, making him moan into the kiss. Paul's hands fly up and grip David's jacket, earning him a growl. Dwayne leans over Marko, causing his hips to grind into your clothed cunt making him groan. Dwayne kisses you as David lets go of a now breathless Paul. Marko leans up and Kisses David, the room getting hotter by the second despite how cold the cave is. David and Marko break the kiss as he leans over Paul, kissing you upside down. Marko had succeeded getting your clothes off, exposing you to the cold air completely. "Fuuuck-" Marko groans, leaning down. Kissing and sucking at your tits while he pulls his clothing off as well. In just a few minutes the five of you are naked. Groping and pulling at each other in a heap of lust. Your nerves feel like they are fire, your senses taken over by your boyfriends while they kiss and suck all over you. Digging their fangs into your skin. Somewhere along the way you ended up halfway on the bed. Your head hanging off the edge, looking up at Dwayne while Paul sucks at your clit messily. Marko and David, gripping at each other while Marko rides him, feeling his thick cock nudge his insides deliciously. Dwayne leans down, kissing your lips before pulling away. He runs one hand over your tits, gently tugging at your nipple as Paul goes to town on your dripping pussy. Tasting your juices as it pours out of you. "Open up Princessa." Dwayne mutters, looking down at you with a gaze full of love as you open your mouth, tongue lolling out as he pushes his tip onto your tongue.

Everything was happening so fast, the feeling of Paul eating the love juices out of your pussy, the feeling of Dwayne deep down your throat and his hands gripping at your boobs. Goosebumps raised on your skin as you arch your back, moaning louder as you cum. Paul drinks it up like a man starved, loud slurping and moaning coming from him as he eats his fill. Marko still riding David as they watch their loving girl get eaten out my Paul had Marko cumming. His cum splattering across David's chest. "Fanculo cazzo.. bisogno di assaggiarla. ora. bisogno di assaggiare!"(Fuck fuck.. needa taste her. now. need to taste!) Marko blabbers out, making David laugh darkly. The moaning you let out around Dwayne has him groaning out, throwing his head back at the feeling. David had reached over and ran his fingers through Paul's messy main before digging his finger into his hair and pulling him off your overstimulated pussy, your thighs shook and your stomach flex and unflex from overstimulation. "Noo!-" Paul groaned, being pulled back from his meal was not on his bucket list. "Let Marko have a taste, Paulie." David cooed out as he grinded up into Marko as he ran his hand up and down Marko's cock.

Paul leaned up and kissed Marko, allowing the curly haired boy to taste you on his tongue. Dwayne had pulled out of your mouth, helping you sit up while he moves to sit behind you. He grippes your hips, making you hover over his cock from behind before pushing you onto all fours. The sight in front of you has you moaning; Marko riding David while David jackes off his cock. and Paul Kissing Marko while his hand slips up an down his own cock. "Look at that baby.. Like that?" Dwayne whispers against your ear, aligning himself with your wet pussy. "All of this is cause of you, baby." David groans out lowly. Paul and Marko breath the kiss, looking over at you. Paul winks at you, as both he, David, and Marko admire the mess they have all made of you. Bite marks all over you, hickies already forming on your skin. God they love it. It's like they've died and came back to like as they watch your face contort to pleasure as Dwayne pushes his thick cock into your cunt. Watching as your eyes roll back and mouth opens in a silent scream. "Oh fuuck! Pleasepleaseplease. Move faster Dwayne!" You whine out at his slow pace. "Nuh uh.. M'gonna enjoy this. Feeling your sweet, sweet pussy clench around me as your get stuffed full with my cock." He hums against our shoulder as he kisses it. Moving his hips back and forth slowly, pulling back fast then pushing back in at an antagonizing slow space. Making your eyes almost cross completely. "mmmph- " you bite your lip as Dwayne slowly speeds up. You lips are met with another pair, teh feeling of a short beard against your cheek tells you that David is now kissing you. Paul and Marko had moved onto each other, letting the older male have whats his. David kissed you deeply as Dwayne grinds into you. His hips flush with your as his tip nudges that good spot, making you clench around him.

Marko and Paul were off to the side, kissing and gripping at each other as Paul rides Marko. The two of them watch as you get smushed between their older mates. Oh how they love Valentines day.

NOOO MY SHAYLA

Michael and sam Emerson watching Dwayne get electrocuted at the end of the movie:

The train track scene lmao

I need Marko on me rn.

ꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ᴘʟᴀʏɢɪʀʟ

Summary: Paul might just have developed an obsession with the camera that you let him have.

Warnings: 18+ MDI

(just a quick little blurb. this is just filth honestly)

You hadn't thought much of it when you had lifted the camera - one of those instant ones that spits out a laminated card of film that you have to shake.

It had caught your attention, because, in a certain way, it seemed important. The man who you had stolen it from, slipping the dark strap from around his limp, bloodied neck and over his head, had come all the way out in the middle of the night to take pictures. Trekking up the high hills that crest high along the ocean just to be able to stand on the edge.

All so he'd be able to take picture after picture of the town glittering in the close distance; the shimmer of the amusement park rides glimmering on the reflection of the water. Not that you could blame him, the view from up there is stunning.

You took the camera fully with the intention of using it, but somewhere along the span of a few weeks, it had wound up forgotten on the old dresser beside your bed. Hidden away amongst all the other tchotchkes and random trinkets that you've stolen throughout the last couple of years.

You didn't think much of it when Paul had asked if he could have it one night, nosily browsing through your stuff like he usually does. Always sticking his fingers where they don't belong.

You had hardly bothered looking up at him from your hand, carefully focusing as you glided a brush, damp with cherry red polish over your nails.

You remember giving a light hum of affirmation, nodding your chin stiffly from where you had it pressed against your knee.

You had hardly heard the delighted, "Hell, yeah," that he had whispered. But even while you idlily flipped through a dated issue of Vogue in between the application of the polish, you could hear the way his voice had gone all somewhere between husky but also light. Pitched with something downright sleazy. You could practically hear all the perverted thoughts rolling around in his head as he plucked up the camera from the dresser.

In hindsight, you should have expected the monster that you had unintentionally created. He's always been a pervert and giving him access to this type of thing was bound to unless a completely new side.

He has a whole stash of photos now. They're all of you, naturally. Sweet candid's that catch you in all the ways he'd like to remember. Immortalizations of your smile; sincere moments that he can tuck inside the inner pocket of his coat and keep held to his chest.

One in particular is always kept there. Hidden and safe like a cherished icon tucked away from unworthy, prying eyes. It's somewhat blurred. Distorted from when the lens had caught you in motion. It smeared around the edges of your hair; the lights of the carousel behind you create a sort of halo effect.

But he likes the carefree expression on your face the most. Bright and free, eyes glittering from when he had caught you in the middle of a fit of laughter. Courtesy of some joke he said - one that he can't really remember now, vague and miles away.

As much as he loves that little candid in his pocket - how casual and content it is, with you clutching onto a half-eaten funnel cake and laughing - he'd be a liar if he didn't love all his other pictures just as much.

He's become a bit of a photographer in the past month, and his portfolio is already packed. Filled to the brim with images that all focus around you in all the best ways possible.

He'd probably be able to make an entire magazine at this point. One that would put Playgirl to shame. All with you on each and every page, centerfold and cover.

God, he'd actually pay money to see that.

The pictures he has are all crammed into rusted toolbox that he keeps hidden away in a narrow crevice split inside one of the cave walls. It's close enough to the floor that he's able to block it from sight with a wooden pallet.

Maybe it's sort of overkill, but the last thing he needs is for someone to go snooping and find something that they don't need to see.

Yeah, he'd either die on the spot or kill someone if that happened, but he's pretty sure that you'd be more than happy to do the killing. You'd probably just end up wringing his neck though, and he'd be more than willing to let you.

The collection that he's got going on is easily one of his most prized possessions, and he's not guilty to admit it. Even if it is a little shameful how many times he's found himself looking back over them.

Shuffling back through the stack of pictures as though they're a deck of cards. But he swears that he notices something new about them each time. They somehow manage to look better and better when that probably shouldn't be possible.

He's jacked off more times that he should admit to the one that he has of you bent over his bike but fuck it's hot.

Between the dark cover of the night and flash of the camera, the background is a void of black. It makes you look as though you've been encased in satin.

There's a glimpse of the bike's handlebars peeking into the shot, a peek of chrome reflecting bright in the image. And yeah, he's not really paying attention to all of that, but he can't pretend that the sight of you bent over his bike doesn't do something for him.

Your skirt is all rucked up in the image, the tight slip of dark fabric bunched over the shape of your hips to shamelessly brandish the flash of your panties. The noticeable wet spot between your thighs, dark against the white material gets him hard every time, and his hand always manages to slip inside of his pants whenever he comes across it in the pile.

Just a small glance at the photo is able to take him back to that night, immersing him in that specific moment, with the warm air brushing over his skin and the sound of your cries melodic and mindless in his ears. You sounded like a pornstar.

His hand is pathetic in comparison to how you had gripped him. It's too rough, too cool. Nowhere close to the way your cunt had clenched around his cock like it was trying to keep him locked inside, stretched and wet and tight on him.

It makes it difficult to narrow down a possible favorite from the pile. There's somehow too many and not enough, and each specific photo has something that he loves, no matter how simple the subject matter might be.

Like the picture he has of your tits. Your bra isn't even completely off in the photo, just slipped down around your ribs just enough to free your breasts. The red lace cupped beneath them, nearly brushing over your nipples. They're perky in the photo, hard from the chill of the cave, glittering softly from the spit he had left behind with his mouth.

He can't count how many times he's fucked his fist to that one. Tracing over the marks he had left behind, the blotches of cherry and plum he'd made with his teeth and tongue; sucked into your skin.

He's held that very picture in his left hand, satiating himself as best as he could while you went off with Star to have a night out on the town - 'girl's night.'

They happen every week and he looks forward to them with all the enthusiasm of someone who's scheduled to get teeth pulled. The pictures almost make it tolerable. Like chasing tequila with a swig of Coke.

But the image of you all splayed out on your bed is a close contender for the number one spot. It was one of those lucky nights where everyone else was out in town, giving the both of you the freedom to actually indulge in each other on an actual bed for the few hours you were afforded.

There's a dreamy quality that had been caught in your eyes while you watched the camera. That dazed, fucked out look that makes him feel just as ruined.

You were completely naked, flat on your back with the sheets and blankets all messy around you; rumpled in a way that seems like a current shifting over water. Your spine was a little arched, pushing your breasts out, making them more pronounced.

You were all kiss swollen lips and ruined hair. He can practically hear the soft little moans that you had been letting out, bouncing off of the stone and back over onto his skin.

But the best thing about it might be how your legs were held wide open, fingers between your thighs to spread yourself open for the camera. For him.

He remembers kneeling down at the foot of the bed and aiming the camera directly at you. It had taken everything to speak, mumbling out a husky, "Smile for the camera, baby." But just that had taken a effort to say, his throat tight, words snagging like he'd been punched in the chest.

Despite it being more of a joke, a mindless ramble really - because he can't think straight whenever he's got you like that - you did as he asked. Your lips had perked up in a smile, just as dazed as the clouded glint in your eyes. Looking all gentle and angelic while you showed him your pussy, so wet and soaked that it caught the fucking reflection of the fires burning around inside the cave.

It was filthy. Depraved. He's never seen anything more beautiful. It almost feels religious sometimes, as crude as it is, to touch himself to all the pictures he has - photos that you trusted him enough to take.

He doesn't think that he's ever going to be able to stop. He has twenty-one of them already (but who's counting), and it's lead him to become a regular at one of the shops downtown. Visiting as soon as the sun will allow. Just narrowly making it through the door just as it's light safely settles past the horizon around 8:30, always giving him about half an hour to punch it before the store can close.

The owner recognizes him by now. Some innocent looking old man, with a gentle, wrinkled smile who always offers him a Tootsie Roll from the tiny candy dish on the front counter while he rings up the total.

The old man - Ron? Robert? - would probably have a stroke if he knew just why Paul is constantly coming in to purchase film. But then again, there's a lot of things about Paul that would give him a stroke if he knew.

The fact that he's become a regular should be a little telling. Some might call it an obsession, but that's pretty much what a hobby is anyway, right?

He thinks that shitty little camera might be one of the best gifts he's ever received. It's nearly painful how stunning you are in each picture. How hot you always are.

So honestly, he can't pick a favorite at all. Because somehow, it's not the photo of you sucking his cock. Lips glossy with spit and precum, stretched wide in a mouthful with your nose nuzzled all the way down to his pelvis, the point of it pressed into the thatch of hair at the base. Not even with the wide-eyed way you gaze up at the camera, watching him like you were greedy; unshed tears threatening to spill.

He can still practically feel that way your throat had flexed around him then. The soft warmth of your palms massaging his balls while you sucked and licked up the length of his cock until he had cum in your mouth with a ragged groan.

But it's not that one.

And it's not the picture of your riding him, bare chested with your face slightly scrunched, jaw dropped in pleasure from the thumb that he had on your clit. His hand was in frame, just barely visible, but the clumsy grip he had on the camera was just secure enough for him to snap the shot, and it caught the curl of his knuckle on your stuffed cunt.

That still wasn't his favorite either.

It's a shame that he doesn't have one yet. But he guesses that you'll both just have to keep trying until he does. Until he gets that perfect shot. He'd maybe feel bad, but you don't seem to mind in the slightest.

There's something knowing and hungry in your gaze when notice him from where he's sitting off on the couch. He's already holding the old Kodiak in his hands, tracing his fingertips over the corners of the cold plastic while he watches from your place across the cave.

The fire catches in your eyes. It makes you wild looking, like you could eat him alive. Fire lights up in his veins because damn, he really wants you to until he's only bones. He knows that he doesn't even need to ask, but he does it anyway:

"In the mood for a photoshoot?"

Your smile is answer enough.

NSFW Alphabet: Poly!Lost Boys + Michael Edition

A/N: Version including Star

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

• David is an inherently selfish person. He's used to sharing with the boys, but he still wants your attention. He won't admit this though, he'll just stare daggers at you until you cuddle up to him of your own free will. He'll rub his hand up and down your arm with a smug little smirk while he lights up a cigarette because he got his way.

• Dwayne is a very tactile person so he's the most likely to clean you up afterward (with what little they have in the cave) and cuddle up to your thighs and rest his head down there while you comb your fingers through his hair. He just really loves touching you. He's also the most emotionally intelligent one in the group, so he knows it's nice to be taken care of after.

• Michael is not as likely as Dwayne to clean you up. Occasionally, though, he will feel inclined to lick wipe cum off of you, especially if it's his or Dwayne's. Other than that, he'll cuddle up to the side of you that David isn't occupying and shoot the shit with Marko. Most likely to fall asleep out of all the boys.

• As much as Paul loves you and loves being close to you, he's lighting up a joint after. He's just filled with so much energy after sex, he'll probably blast some music on the speakers they stole bought and jump around the room. Will probably go hunting.

• When Marko isn't flirting with chatting up Michael, he's being a general nuisance. Poking and prodding at places he knows you're ticklish at, pressing on hickies and bruises he left behind to see you jump, and nipping at any of your exposed skin. It's his way of subtly checking on you, making sure they weren't too rough with you. He figures if you can yell at him, then you can't be too hurt. Undoubtedly will be roped into going hunting with Paul.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

• David likes his brain. Cliche? Maybe, but it's true. His intellect, mixed with his intimidating, yet, seductive, blue eyes, got him whatever he wanted when he was human, and it goes double for his undead life.

Loves your neck. He loves how your pulse jumps under his hand when he squeezes it, he loves how soft it feels under his lips when he marks you up, and he particularly loves to feed from there.

• Dwayne likes his chest and stomach, but mostly because of how much you like them. Believe it or not, he does in fact own shirts, but with abs like his, why would he bother wearing one?

He wants to say he loves all of you equally, but he knows that a glimpse of your thighs at any time will give him a semi. Favorite spot to feed from you.

• Michael is partial to his arms and back. He'd die if anyone said this about him, but Michael is a total gym rat. He likes knowing even without the vampire strength, he'd be able to carry you around with no problem. He'll try to subtly flex in front of you in his little cropped muscle shirts, so please tell him how strong you think he is.

He's definitely the most sentimental of the boys, since he's still half-human, and he's always wanted that teenage relationship you see in movies. As such, he loves your hands. They're smaller than his and they feel like they fit perfectly together. He loves to hold them in public, he loves to play with them when you're sitting next to him/on his lap, and he loves how they look wrapped around his dick.

• Paul loves his hair. Though it technically isn't a body part, he puts so much effort into taking care of it that it's practically an extension of himself. He really loves when you pull on it.

Boob man, boob man! We got ourselves a boob man, people! Big or small. He's looking at them, he's grabbing them, and he's most definitely sucking on them. If and when his clingy ass cuddles up to you, his head is homing in on them like a missile.

• Marko likes his hands. They're long and dexterous. He actually sewed each of those patches onto his jacket and if you just so happen to find a random patch sewed into your clothing, you know who to blame. His hands are also skilled at other things that involve far less clothing.

He loves your ass! He keeps his hands in your back pocket when you're out in public and loves to see you jump when he squeezes your ass through your jeans. In fact, whenever you wear a skirt, he does everything in his power to get you to bend over and whenever he gets a peek, he thinks maybe there is a God.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

• David is cumming in your mouth or on you. If he's in a good mood, he might ask you where you want it. It's more than likely going on your face though.

• Dwayne always prefers cumming deep inside you because it feels intimate, he's real soft like that. And even though he knows he can't get you pregnant, it doesn't mean he can't try. Also, it's less of a clean-up.

• Michael can't cum inside you since you're both technically human. He doesn't really have a preference, so it's really up to you.

• Paul is gross. He loves making a mess, so cumming on you is his second favorite part of having sex with you. 9 times out of 10 will be aiming for your tits.

• Marko likes to cum on your ass or back because he's a feral animal. He'll wipe it off, at least. Probably with your clothes.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

• David plans on turning you eventually. He's allowing you to enjoy your humanity for now and giving you the illusion of choice. But just know, somewhere over the horizon, the change is coming. You somehow got him to care about you, and he's not letting you get away anytime soon. The other guys know (other than Michael) and maybe they'll feel a little guilty for deceiving you, but they're still just as selfishly sadistic as David. You might hate them for it, but they'll have the rest of eternity to make it up to you.

• Dwayne is into seeing you choke on him, more so than David even. It's not even an ego thing, he just loves your reaction and how hard you're trying to please him. No joke, the freakiest one in the group.

• Michael so desperately wants you to ride his face, but he doesn't know how to broach the topic and he doesn't want to just ask you. His pride won't let him. Needless to say, he's very jealous of how confident the other guys are.

• Paul really, really, really wants to drink your blood when your high to see if he'll get high from it. Not a dirty secret, but an odd one nonetheless.

• Marko has stolen multiple pairs of your panties. How he managed to get them is a secret to everyone but him.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

• Hmm...it depends on what you count as experience. Though he's a total pretty boy, Michael, at most, has experience kissing and heavy petting. He's made out with people before, but he was always too awkward to seal the deal.

• The other boys came from time periods where casual sex was frowned upon. Less so for men, but still frowned upon. I can see Paul and Marko sleeping with their prey before eating them, but David and Dwayne don't like to play with their food. So the two of them don't have much experience, but David has enough confidence in what he's doing that he seems like a natural and Dwayne is very intuitive and can read your body.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

• David likes when you ride him. He'll sit back, maybe smoke a cigarette, while you work for him. But don't be mistaken, he's still in control. He also likes making you grind on his thigh while he sits back and watches. Something about seeing you so needy for him that you'll hump his leg like a dog, makes him feel powerful.

• Dwayne loves any position where he's close to you and can kiss you, missionary in particular. He can leave marks all over you and you him, he can see all the expressions he brings out of you, and he especially loves how your thighs feel wrapped around his waist.

• Michael likes when you ride him for the complete opposite reason as David. He acts all nonchalant when he asks you, but it's really because he likes being under you. He's in the perfect position to grab your hips and help you ride him, but if you just so happen to slap him around, well, who is he to stop you?

• Paul, like most teenage boys, wants to impress his girlfriend (who just so happens to be you). What better way to impress you than to take you flying! Knowing Paul and his libido, this leads to sky sex baby! Something about the adrenaline of doing something dangerous and possibly being spotted is addicting for you both. Let's just hope he doesn't get too distracted. Falling from that height is definitely gonna ruin the mood.

• Marko's favorite is doggy, surprise surprise. He'll absolutely try to talk you into anal. Whether you do or not is a different story. He's also partial to you sitting on his lap, your back to his chest.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

• David will only laugh during sex if he's laughing at you. If somebody embarrassed themselves in some way, it is guaranteed to get a condescending chuckle out of him.

• Dwayne isn't really a goofy person in general and he takes your pleasure very seriously. At most, you'll get a smirk or a smile out of him.

• Michael definitely isn't going out of his way to make you laugh while he's 7 and a half inches deep in you, but he's not opposed to laughing if something funny happens.

• Paul is the one everyone is laughing at. Very likely to say something while he's dirty talking that'll make you pause before bursting into laughter. Especially if he's high.

• Marko is very giggly in any given situation, and he makes a habit of never taking himself or others too seriously.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

• David has never touched a razor in his life. It's the 80s baby, the bush is in fashion! Not that he cares; he just doesn't care enough to shave. He is, as we all know, a bottle blond, but he isn't manic enough to dye his pubic hair. Vampire or not, there are just some lines he will not cross. He will, however, have you help dye his happy trail from brown to bleach blond. It's your favorite day of the month because he walks around shirtless after with his jeans slung very, very low to let the dye set.

• Speaking of happy trails, Dwayne's is on full display considering his total lack of a shirt and it. Is. Perfect. It's a perfect smattering of dark hair leading from his navel to his crotch that makes you want to follow it with your tongue. Could be convinced to trim his pubic hair if you complain enough, but he isn't gonna like it.

• Michael has a bush because he does care that it's in fashion. He's still susceptible to the latest fads and the world is still riding that "all-natural" wave from the 70s. His pubic hair is a little darker than the hair on the rest of his body and it's just as curled as the hair on his head. Can be peer pressured into shaving it.

• Paul doesn't grow much hair to begin with, which is surprising considering how long and thick the hair on his head is. Unlike David, Paul is a natural blond and what little pubic hair he has lays flat. He'll shave it into shapes occasionally, but it itches every time it grows back.

• Marko's hair is thick and coily. Not curly, coily. It's dark blond, not that you ever see it since he prefers to have it shaved. One time, Paul convinced him to let him wax him; never again.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)

• David is not romantic in the traditional sense, but you'll never doubt how he feels about you. He's not gonna worship you and kiss the ground you walk on, he's not Michael for God's sake, but there's a certain possessive quality to the sex you have.

• Intimacy is Dwayne's forte. But don't assume that means he's a prude, far from it. Sure, he'll take his time to kiss you from head to toe before he even takes his pants off, but he'll also finger you on the Ferris wheel. The duality of man.

• Michael...hmm. Michael has an odd balance with intimacy. On one hand, he really does want to make your time together romantic and affectionate, on the other, he just gets so caught up and drunk in you that he can never wait long before he dives in.

• Paul wouldn't know intimacy if it grabbed him by the dick. He still loves you, of course, and the sex is great, but that's not his MO. He's kind of blind to romance.

• Marko is surprisingly intimate. Sometimes, he'll stay behind in the cave while the others go hunting so you and him can have some alone time.

J = Jack off (Masturbation Headcanon)

• Of course, Michael has done it before. He's a boy teeming with hormones. But once you started dating, it sort of became obsolete. Sure, if the mood strikes and you're nowhere in sight, he'll do what must be done, but he definitely doesn't prefer it.

• I can't imagine the other boys masturbating. Like, legitimately. If they get horny, they'll just have sex. Easy.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

• They're all voyeurs. They'd have to be in a relationship with this many people. But David likes watching the most. He likes to sit back in his chair with a cigarette and watch you all together before he joins in. He's technically the leader so it's like you're all putting on a show for him. Choking? Definitely choking and he does it in public too. He'll grab your neck and use his forefinger to turn your chin towards him to kiss you. Feeling your walls clench around him as he tightens his grip is heaven-sent.

• Dwayne has a thing for your smell. Not like your perfume or anything, but your natural musk. He buries his nose in your hair when he hugs you. He even prefers it if you don't shave your pubic hair. Of course, he's not gonna tell you that. But the way he ruts his hips into the bed when his nose is buried in your pussy, definitely hints at it. Somnophilia on a lesser level. There's something about how much you trust him that gets him going.

• Michael has a mommy kink? More likely than you think. He'll probably only call you that during the daytime when the other guys are asleep. It happened for the first time while you were riding him and you wrapped your hand around his throat. Maybe you were trying to stop him from moaning so loud in your house full of people or maybe it was just unconscious on your part, either way, he couldn't stop it from slipping out. Please don't tell the guys.

• Paul likes roleplay to an extent. Think less doctor and patient and more rockstar and his groupie. It'll be very giggly and very unserious, but you'll both have fun. Surprisingly, paul thinks it's hot when you cry. Unsurprisingly, he also thinks it's hot when you're angry.

• Marko is an exhibitionist. Keeping it within the group is one thing, but Marco likes to push it to another level. I'm talking about places where you two will definitely get caught. You'd be surprised how often someone might walk upon you two and get off on peeping on you. Rest assured they're Marko's next meal. And when all of you are on the boardwalk, he'll take your hand in his and drag you off with a pep in his step to desecrate another fair ride. You two have done horrible things in the Tunnel of Love.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

• Oh, anywhere and everywhere, baby! If there's a will, there's a way and there's definitely a will. In the cave, on the beach, in a booth at a diner they're definitely getting banned from, etc. The list goes on! Hell, they'd do it on the boardwalk if it didn't mean a permanent ban.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

• It would be easier just to name what doesn't turn them on. Like, clowns. Clowns don't turn them on.

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

• As a general rule of thumb for all of them, no to anything that'll leave you in more pain than pleasure. No ageplay either.

• David is against any degrading that insults his intelligence. Calling him a slut or a whore is one thing, calling him stupid is another. He won't drink from you during sex because he knows how easy it is to get carried away when pleasure is involved. It'll be a pain if he killed you too soon.

• Dwayne is not a big fan of any of the nasty bodily fluids. He may be a sex fiend, but he's not an animal. He's also wholeheartedly against degrading. He's more of a soft dom/service top, and he called you a slut once or something equally as demeaning, but his heart wasn't in it. He doesn't want to unintentionally make you insecure about anything.

• Michael isn't into angry sex. It's very rare when you're mad at him, even rarer for him to be mad at you. If you're both mad at each other, it's over something serious and sex would be the last thing on his mind. He's all for makeup sex though.

• Paul's not super into power roles during sex. Nobody in charge, nobody calling the shots, just vibes.

• Marko wouldn't call you mommy or any title. He doesn't want you calling him anything along those lines either. He just can't take it seriously. Calling him Daddy is a quick ticket to getting laughed at.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

• David prefers receiving. The asshole he is sees blowjobs as a treat for you. It's not something you're doing for him, but something he's allowing you to do. He'll sit back in his weird little wheelchair thrown as you kneel in front of him and he expects a 'please' and 'thank you'. Not opposed to giving as long as you beg for it.

• If Dwayne had to pick a place to die for the second time, it would be between your thighs. If you offer it, he won't turn it down. He loves seeing you between his thighs after all, but there's something about feeling your soft thighs twitching and squeezing the sides of his head. He's obsessed with the way you sound when he has his mouth on you, the way you smell, and the way you shake. It's almost enough to make him cum in his pants.

• Michael gives as much as he gets. Whenever you go down on him, he has to return the favor. He's literally singing your praises when you go down on him, but he really, really wishes you would sit on his face. The idea of you grinding on his tongue and using him for your pleasure makes his hands sweat and his knees weak.

• Paul will give you the sloppiest head. He'd have smoked something beforehand, where he gets the weed is one of the 8th wonders of the world. Pushing your legs over his shoulders, gripping handfuls of your thighs, moaning into you. Literally just pussy drunk. Dear God, pull his hair and lead him where you want him. Legitimately could cum in his pants. Moans like a whore when you give him head.

• Marko much prefers skipping to the main course. He's not opposed to giving or receiving, but those are just appetizers. If he wanted to get his dick wet, he'd much rather do it inside of your pussy. He also has the overwhelming urge to talk, which kind of takes away from him going down on you.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

• None of them have a set pace. It depends on the mood you caught them in and where you are.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

• With this many insatiable partners, quickies are a staple of your relationship and they happen often. They're typically initiated by Paul and Marko, but the others aren't above pulling you into a semi-secluded alleyway either.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

• Do the guys who hung from the bottom of a train track as a train rode by above them while they hooted and hollered (sans Michael, who was scared shitless) take risks?

• In all seriousness, they're all down to experiment. You don't become a vampire by sticking to the same old shit. They'll try anything you want as long as it doesn't put you in immediate danger (it's best not to tell them about Paul's favorite past time in the sky). Remember: safe, sane, and consensual. While safety and sanity are relative among them, consent is not. Consent is a 6 way street for you guys. So if you're game, they are too.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

• They can go for however many rounds you're up for. Individually, I'd say keep going until your legs go numb. But with all of them at the same time, keep it at a 2 round maximum. You're only human after all. For now.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

• Nope. Maybe there's a sex shop somewhere in California, but with this many partners, none of you need any.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

• We don't even need to talk about David.  You know and I know that he's a total tease. In fact, the only reason his photo isn't in the dictionary next to the word tease is because vampires don't show up in pictures. His teasing is mostly private.

• Dwayne is an intentional tease and an accidental tease. He'll take his time with the foreplay, nipping at your bare skin before kissing the rest of your body, but he won't touch you where you want him to unless you ask him. He'll say, "Speak up. I can't hear you if you're mumbling." Knowing damn well he heard you with his advanced hearing. But sometimes he'll hold your hips still against his while you sit on his lap in public, or trail his hands over your bare thighs without any sexual thoughts behind his actions.

• Michael is under no illusions that he's a tease. He won't even attempt it because he knows it'll be turned on him. In fact, YOU tease him. All you have to do is grab his chin and pull him into a kiss and he's following you around the boardwalk like a puppy. Hugging you from behind and pressing his hard-on into your back.

• Paul likes to think he's a tease, and it's really adorable that he tries. He'll start off real strong but he's easily swayed by your pleas and his own overwhelming need, and soon enough he'll end up begging you.

• Marko, like David, is a big tease, but, like, in the most literal sense. Poking and prodding at you, pulling you into a hug from behind before biting at your neck, pinching your ass to make you jump, etc etc. Just real gremlin shit. He's the schoolboy and you're his crush, get ready to have your pigtails tugged. Doesn't matter if you're in private or in public, he's an equal opportunity tease, baby!

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

• David is mostly quiet. Mostly because he's so focused on the sounds you make and the best way to get more out of you. But partially because he thinks being silent during sex fits his image. He'll occasionally let out a grunt or a curse.

• Dwayne is louder than expected. He isn't screaming, sadly, but his moans are deep and unrestrained. He knows how much you like to hear him, so he won't hold himself back.

• At the beginning of your giant relationship, Michael still holds onto that toxic idea that moaning makes him less masculine. But Dwayne isn't afraid to moan and he's the most manliest man Michael knows. So he drops that trait pretty fast. Is very loud and will get you caught in public.

• When Paul moans, they're very soft, pretty things—just like the rest of him. A lot of "Fuck, babe." And "Just like that."

• Marko is more of a huffer. He'll show his pleasure through panting with a few scattered moans thrown in. Don't be surprised if he giggles every now and then.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

• Contrary to popular belief, David is willing to let you take control; if you think you can handle him, that is. The biggest brat. You'll really have to tighten the metaphorical leash on him. He expects you to slap him around, choke him a little,  scratch him up. If you aren't rough with him, you're getting absolutely no respect and he will make fun of you. What's the point of letting you be in charge if you're too afraid to. Take. Charge.

• Dwayne wishes he could marry you. He's not exactly a traditionalist, but seeing how much love you give him and the boys every day, and how much they love you in turn, can make a man sentimental. And you know what they say: every girl dreams of her wedding day, and every boy dreams of his wedding night. In this case, Dwayne dreams of both.

• Michael is very grateful that he can bring you home to meet his mom. She's been nagging him about not having a girlfriend for years (little does she know there are also 4 boyfriends). And you guys get along, which is a huge plus!

• When his scruff starts leaning towards a beard, Paul lets you shave it for him. Since he can't exactly see himself in the mirror, you're a pretty good solution. And it's not like any cuts you leave behind will last long.

• Marko is convinced you have a favorite among them, no matter how much you insist you don't. He'll do little competitions and ask you who kisses the best and who's the funniest and who makes you cum the hardest. He's honestly fine with not being the favorite. As long as he isn't your least favorite.

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

• Dwayne is the biggest (a surprise to no one) at a whopping 8 and a half inches. He's thick too; all in all, pretty proportional. Definitely something to write home about.

• David is close behind with a nice 8 inches. The tip flushes a soft red, becoming darker the longer he's hard.

• Michael is just about 7 and a half inches. A little left-leaning, with a thin vein along the bottom.

• Paul and Marko are both between 6.5 and 7 inches, but Marko is a little thicker. The only word that comes to mind for Paul is pretty, just like the rest of him.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

• They're all eighteen and nineteen-year-old vampires (and half vampires), you do the math. Your own libido skyrockets to keep up with theirs.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

• If it's at night, then Michael could be persuaded to take a nap with you afterward. But the rest, not at all. Remember: they're vampires. If it's closer to sunrise, then they're all likely just to sleep with you.

This is so stupid

guilty feet have got no rhythm or whatever