writer notes: i have nothin to say besides im trapped at this one bit he was going to fuck them raw but my brains not putting the pieces together. an update might happen when i'm struck by inspo because I need him vry badly..... like come on he has to come inside them how can he NOT I know he's planing on it an wants to fill them up an then clean them out with his own tongue an *is dragged off the stage kicking and screaming*
They had to be projecting their own disgusting fantasies onto their therapist. It didn’t start out like this, they didn’t feel like this when they first met. They didn’t even find him attractive or, or really thought of him in a romantic light. Yet over the next few months, unwillingly, they found that their mind would wander back to him. In the quiet spaces it was always him standing there seemingly taking over their waking thoughts and desire. Everything he said now sounded suggestive as if he was saying them for their own benefit, to give them something to think about later in the darkness of their bedroom. They have to be projecting. He didn’t feel that way about them and any heavy lidded eye glance with what they swore was hunger- lust that would consume them a trick of the light.Â
“I’ve noticed that you’ve been pulling away more lately. Is there something going on?”Â
His voice makes goosebumps raise on their arms and it’s with a frantic, fraying will they manage to keep themselves from rubbing their thighs together to alleviate the sudden heat that spiked between their legs.Â
“Ah, yeah I- sorry it’s just I’ve been so busy with work. It’s hard to- um, you know, be introspective when all I'm focused on is getting through the day.” They nervously rung their hands together, to keep their hands busy. To keep them from wandering somewhere… Inappropriate. “I haven’t had much to- to say.”Â
The familiar all consuming throb, slow at first, yet with every steady word he spoke nowadays the spikes of pleasure would grow to a point they believed that they would lose their mind. Yet, every session they somehow manage to leave without incident. The burning heat would be gone and their body would feel… loose. Relaxed. This is why they kept coming back, he was the only therapist who made them feel so calm. Before this conundrum they had felt so comfortable with him. Now they had to keep a tight leash in fear of doing something shameful, like falling to their knees and begging him to fuck their throat raw. In their imagination his lips would start to curl at the edges, parting to show a flash of teeth-
A click of the tongue suddenly made them go limp, anxious energy easily rushing out of them. Any thoughts they were having seemed to fade as easily as water color paint. Only the emotions connected left seeping out onto the page.
“You know it’s not good to lie about these things.” His voice is soft, warm, comforting- hot so hot. There's the sound of fabric running across skin as he loosened his tie. They were left memorized by the way his thick fingers sunk into the fold of the fabric spreading it apart easily. Then he pulled, showcasing the column of his neck, stretching himself out akin to a languishing cat. "Tell me what's been bothering you doll.”
Their lips move, against their will, voice low, throaty as if just awoken from sleep. “I keep getting horny at work.” The words are spoken dully with no sense of shame feeling divorced from the anxiety and worry of before. “I get stressed, then I think of you like you told me too last time. I can’t stop thinking about you sir. Then I hide in the family bathroom so I can touch myself. When I come it's so relieving- I cry, then I feel so much better.”Â
A sly smile curls upon his lips, as he slowly stands from his chair clearly liking what he heard. “Good, good you remembered what I told you. By the sound of it you've been masturbating daily. And what is it that you’ve been thinking about during these sessions?” Between slow blinks they find him standing right in front of the couch they’re sitting on leaning over them. His body heat makes them shiver subconsciously.
Their lips smacked together, another slow breath being taken in as a hand is put gently onto the crown of their head. “Mhm, every day morning at work an at nigh-” A moan is dragged from their lips as his fingers cascade down, fingernails lightly scratching their scalp causing a full body shiver. “I think about you bending me over my office desk,” they manage to get out in a breathy rasp, feeling wet- empty. They're clenching around nothing, it feels wrong. “You grind against me, I can feel how haard you are.” Their voice starts to slur slightly as if the image in their mind is pulling them deeper into this trance. Their head would have already lulled to the side, if not for his hands cupping their cheeks forcing them to tilt their head back, encouraging them to look at him.
“Do I fuck you my little doll?”His voice is like honey, sticky, sweet, causing warmth to wash over their body. Another shake, another moan this time louder as they lull their head into the palm of his hand uselessly, sinking deeper, and deeper into the couch. “You didn’t leave me… unsatisfied did you?” Something in their stomach is twisting at the tone, feeling a bite to it that sends another hot flash through them.Â
A warning.
“Yes!” they replied quickly, a hint of frantic energy spilling out of their laxed lips. “You did! You- Deep, so deep an hot, dripping out of me. Teasing me, making me- making….” They trail off, at the sound of his lo hum, his hands having moved down their body washing away whatever worry tried to build up. They’re slowly sliding down the couch, as his hands move their body to lay across the cushions. How long have their eyes been closed?Â
“M’ dirty,” they mumble, fighting against their heavy lidded eyes. Drool slowly seeps out the corner of their lip; their breathing slowed. “Empty…” they could feel their cunt throb, pulsating around nothing, silently begging to be filled.
“Oh you aren’t dirty,” He laughed, low and deep. They can feel the way it rumbles through them, his tongue dragging across the line of drool from their chin to their lips. He licks his lips, the slick wet sound making them whine. “Not yet at least.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
âś“ Live Streamingâś“ Interactive Chatâś“ Private Showsâś“ HD Qualityâś“ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I just have to compliment all the people who write scenes of Emmrich absolutely losing it sometimes.
There is something inherently beautiful to have the most put together person fall apart so messily. Even better if you write the hints to it EARLY in the story. Seeing the cracks in the demeanor, in the psyche, that maybe other characters don’t notice. Not even Rook, at least not to a full degree of accuracy.
I like to think of Emmrich like a well spun spool of thread, right? And every once in a while the thread goes at an angle and he has to HURRY to try and hide it with the fastest, most even wrappings he can. The impression is there, underneath the neat lines there’s a slight bump in texture that maybe on first glance is unnoticeable. But when held in the hands? It can be felt.
Anyways, there’s my nightly musing lol I’ve been writing all day again and have made almost no progress-
32. A kiss while someone watches - Edissy (Eddie x Chrissy x Steve)
okay c'mon this is too perfect i don't know if it's against the rules (there are no rules) but I'm continuing this !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Part 1 & Part 2
Eddie's kind of regretting telling Steve and Chrissy to go to the movie, because now he can't go to see it again tonight, knowing that they're there on a date and not wanting to totally cramp their style.
He gets called a freak enough, the last thing he needs to do is start acting like one, watching his friends necking at The Hawk.
Still, a guy's gotta work, which is why Eddie finds himself downtown, lurking around the back streets, swapping bags of weed for wads of cash.
He’s on his way back to his van, cutting through the alley beside The Hawk when he hears the telltale smacking of people making out.
Eddie shoves his hands in his pockets, suddenly grumpy that everyone is getting more action than him.
Preparing himself to walk by quickly with nary a glance at the happy couple he’s halted by a breathy moan.
“Steve.”
Oh great, now he knows what Chrissy sounds like when she’s having a good time. Steve’s responding groan isn’t doing anything to help the rapidly developing situation in Eddie’s jeans.
All previous decisions to eschew his Head Freak of Hawkins status have flown out the window. Along with any semblance of rational thought.
Acting like a moth to a flame, he steps lightly down the alley, suddenly desperate for just one glimpse of Steve and Chrissy going at it.
Light on his feet as to not disturb the happy couple, Eddie rounds the corner, feining nonchalance, just in case they spot him. That way it won't look like he's looking.
He needn't have bothered though, Steve and Chrissy are so wrapped up in one another. Steve's hands are surrounding Chrissy, his fingers pulling down her sweater and revealing the tops of her breasts.
Eddie's frozen, staring at his friends as they move together, kissing and touching. The hard line of Steve's cock visible in his jeans as he moves to press it against Chrissy's thigh. Eddie's own dick is pressing up against his zipper, desperate to join the party in front of him.
So much for not acting like a voyueristic pervert.
A breathy "Oh!" falls from Chrissy's lips and Eddie watches curiously, wondering what Steve did to elicit that sound. A second too late, Eddie realizes that she's eyeing him over Steve's shoulder.
Steve steps back, shielding Chrissy with his own body as he turns around. "Eddie? What are you doing here, man?" He goes from defensive to relaxed in a moment, voice curling around in amusement.
"Uh-just...doing some business. Selling...stuff. You know how it goes," Eddie babbles out awkwardly, arms flapping and feet shifting. "Well, I-uh, I'll leave you too it! Have a good night."
He waves jovially, tipping an imaginary cap and high tailing it out of there.
"See ya?" Steve calls after him, chuckling. Chrissy joins him with a breathless giggle.
➡️ Kiss Roulette
Annnnd @beccabluebonnet sent me another request so I'll be continuing this in Part 4
~Hello, all! Now, you may have noticed that this chapter is quite different in the sense that I will actually not be cross posting this one! This chapter I think is best suited to the format AO3 provides, and it is frankly too long to go through and edit more than once. So for the sake of quality, just this once will a chapter be exclusive to AO3. I’m sorry about that! But I hope any of you who have been following the story through here will understand. For a deeper explanation, please peruse the A/N on AO3! Thank you so much for your patience with this chapter!~
Tags: @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen
Word count: Basically 24k (I wasn’t joking)
Content warnings: Mild voyeurism, discussions on death, potentially poor power dynamics and references to humiliation.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
âś“ Live Streamingâś“ Interactive Chatâś“ Private Showsâś“ HD Qualityâś“ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
22. A French Kiss / kiss with tongue - Steve x demodog
Behold the unHINGED stuff in my inbox, well jokes on you Vio because I got an idea immediately for this...
If Steve stops to think about how absolutely bonkers his life has gotten, he'd probably cease to exist.
So, he doesn't think about it, he just keeps going with the flow, rolling with the punches, taking things as they—
"Dustin, if your disgusting pet slobbers all over my leather seats, we're gonna have a problem!"
"You promised you'd be nice to Dart now that he's house trained!"
"Nice? You don't think giving you two a ride is nice? Should I pull over and let you walk? Take your demodog down the street so it can eat Mrs. Hurley's cat too?"
"Steve!" Dustin whines, "You said you'd stop bringing that up!"
"I made no promises."
The dog in question is currently bounding around Steve's backseat, it's claws probably making pinpricks in said upholstery.
Dustin's supposed to file them down, since Dart has a habit of jumping into people's laps now that he's disconnected from the hivemind and acts like a demented puppy, but Steve doubts that Dustin is keeping up with it. Especially since he has fresh scratches currently burning on his thighs.
"Dart, no!"
Dustin uselessly tries to stop his slimey pal from crawling into the front seat with Steve, it's too late. The demodog has wriggled itself next to Steve, petaled head partially open as if he's panting like a real dog. Rancid breath puffing on the side of Steve's face.
"C'mon now, I'm trying to drive," Steve says, pushing on Dart's head to try to face him forward.
Dart unfortunately takes his as a sign of affection and pushes his head into Steve's hand, demanding pets. Steve bites his lip to hold in a chuckle and begrudingly gives him a few strokes. He would never admit it unless tortured, but the little guy's sort of grown on him. especially now that him and his pals aren't trying to tear them all limb from limb.
"Aw Steve, look!" Steve doesn't look, because, y'know, driving. "He's wagging his tail!"
"That's nice."
"Good boy, Dart. Who's such a good boy? Do you love Steve, yes you do!" Dustin coos.
Steve takes his hand back to pull into the Wheeler's driveway, barely has the car in park before he has a lap full of demodog.
"Dart, get off m—"
The rest of Steve's sentence is muffled inside the goddamn thing's mouth. If he was a real dog, Steve would equate it to getting his face licked—like when his Nana's dog tries to slip her tongue into your mouth.
Unfortunately for Steve, Dart's all drool and teeth, with breath that could kill a small child. He wraps his fingers around the petals of Dart's mouth and tries to free himself from the wiggling mass in his lap.
Dustin's yelling something but Steve can't really hear it over Dart's panting breaths.
The driver's door opens, making Steve fall back from where he was pressed against it, and Dart finally gets disloged.
Wiping the slimey slober from his face, Steve looks up to see Nancy pointing her handgun at Dart from where he's still perched on Steve's chest. A growl rumbles through him and Dart's claws press into his skin. Steve wraps his arms around Dart in attempts to prevent him from leaping at Nancy.
"Nancy, no! Dart was just being friendly!" Dustin yells, arms up as he jumps between them.
It takes some convincing, and confirmation from Steve that he is in fact okay and somehow not half eaten by a creature from the Upside Down.
At the very least, Steve assumed that he'd have some teeth marks on his face, but apparently Dart has learned how to retract them. A fact that Dustin proudly shares with the group once they're assembled in the Wheeler's basement.
"Wow, Steve he must really like you! He only does that for me!"
"Gosh, I sure feel lucky," Steve grumbles, running his hands through his hair and finding it wet with drool. Yuck.
How does one discern the point where a drop of blood in a water glass becomes no longer that singular drop?
The water is no longer just water once the red drips inside. It does not take much. And from the outside, one may watch it swirl. Sinking, curling, spreading, and dissipating- Though not quite right as it doesn’t cease existing. The blood still remains in the glass so long as the water itself does.
In a way, things like infatuation, companionship, love are quite a bit like that in Emmrich’s mind. There comes a point where the boundary of the bleed may be indiscernible by its very nature. Once it settles, it is not so easily noticed.
A drop of blood is just that, a droplet and nothing more. The hue may slightly discolor but may not be noticed upon a first glance. But by taste, perhaps? Would the flavor of iron off the tip of the tongue be perceptible? There was the chance.
But by this point, how many drops had made their way into the water? In his youth, he spilt more freely. There was no worry of infection. A prick of the finger when the warmth became too much to simply contain it all to himself.
He often sees himself that way now. A crimson cup, where sunlight passes through like stained glass. Like the leftover washings of a battle wound. It sits still and waits for someone, anyone to pick it up off the table. But he knows better. There is too much blood now. Rusty, still transparent. Not even possible to mistake him for a fine vintage on a passing glance.
And so, he is content. The old blood sits in the glass, mixed in the water. Long since taken on a permanent shade… Until something else finds its way in. It happened so suddenly that it took him aback. Someone else had pricked their finger.
Silent. Coming without a promise or expectation of anything. As if blood wasn’t something valuable, precious. As though it had a right to be freely spilled. Rook saw the glass just as it was. Where the dressings of his pains went to soak and be washed away. Better to have the blood inside the glass than make messy finger prints, he always figured.
But Rook… Rook inspected it with care. Tenderness, even. The blood is only his, yes? Indeed it was. So how is that love? How…?
Love is not something so solitary. Care does not walk a solitary path, no matter how much we all often dilute ourselves into believing. So why is the blood only his? Why had no one else, who may have claimed to love him at some point or another, added their own life to the glass?
It was all very much his and his alone. He was certain of that. And Rook, having looked at it with such scrutiny and assuredness, brought everything into question with them. The glass was just a glass, him. The water was just water, life. And the blood was-
Red swirled anew inside the cup. This blood, their blood, darkened the coloring. Perhaps not discernibly so either. But he knew. He knew. Something that was not his, but theirs. Having done so without hesitation.
It invaded him. His life, his own self, changed and made more vibrant by their addition. Yet, what they had proposed was poignant. Why had it only ever been his blood before now? Why had no one else thought to do the same? Why must he be the only one who bleeds?
And so, the question comes again. How does one discern the point where a drop of blood in a water glass becomes no longer that singular drop? Horrifyingly, the answer he was beginning to find was not one that brought him much certainty, but did provide an abundant clarity.
10. A kiss along the jawline - Stissy (Steve x Chrissy)
They've hung out a few times now, outings that could be dates, or could just be notdates. And Chrissy's really struggling with how to tell if Steve is into her or just... sees her as a friend?
All she knows is that Steve is infuriatingly cute, and very sweet, and she'd very much like to kiss him but he hasn't tried at all so she's not really sure what to do.
She can barely focus on the movie they're watching, some horror flick that Eddie said they had to check out. A bucket of buttery popcorn in Steve's lap that she keeps eating even though she really should stop.
Steve jumps next to her, eyes glued to the screen, but she's been too busy glancing at him out of the corner of her eye to even notice what made him jump in the first place.
His hand reaches out blindly, grabbing at her arm, his thick fingers twining around hers.
That's new.
Chrissy smiles to herself, looking down at their joined hands, flicks her eyes back to Steve's profile and catches him looking at her.
"Whatcha lookin' at, Cunningham?" Steve teases.
"You," Chrissy's grin grows. "Scaredy cat."
Steve frowns before whispering loudly to defend himself. "I was protecting you!"
"Shhh!"
"Sorry," Steve replies sheepishly, ducking down a bit.
Chrissy doesn't know what comes over her, but she leans over the armrest, getting into Steve's space.
"Thanks, Tiger," she whispers, pressing her lips to the corner of his jaw in a quick kiss.
Once the movie's over Chrissy finds herself pressed up against the back of The Hawk, Steve's hands slipping under her sweater.
