#ASS. STUPID FUCKING BRIGHT ASS HEADLIGHTS.

[deinonychian]

I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS I HATE LED HEADLIGHTS

#IM GOING TO DRIFE DIRECTLY BEHIND YOU AND USE ALL OF YOUR MIRRORS TO BLIND YOU. ULTIMATE LIGHT BEAM ATTACK. EAT MY ENTIRE COCK AND BALL AND #ASS. STUPID FUCKING BRIGHT ASS HEADLIGHTS. #ANYWYAS. I’m home now. #Mal.txt

[soupkiddo]

my favorite part of smoke breaks is almost getting hit by some dip shit in a big stupid truck

#YEA SURE JUST DRIVE UR STUPID TODDLER SMUSHER WITHIN 5 INCHES OF ME GOING 45 IN A 30 THAT IS ALSO A SCHOOL ZONE #ITS NOT LIKE IM WEARING A FUCKING BRIGHTLY COLORED EASILY VISIBLE HOODIE OR ANYTHING #GUESS YOU COULDNT SEE IT UNDER YOUR MASSIVE TRUCK HOOD AND THAT BIG DICK UR SO PROUD OF #COULDNT EVEN SEE ME WITH YOUR BRIGHT ASS LED HEADLIGHTS HUH??? #WHATS THE FUCKING POINT THEN??? #FUCK OFF

[spidervee]

a little blurb in which tangerine nearly kills you…on accident! tangerine x fem!reader; cursing, tan being a bit of an ass, but also liking when reader is mean to him; some lewd dialogue and dark humour, almost car accident

When you’d left your flat to go for a jog that morning, the last thing you expected was to nearly be flattened by a sleek black Ferrari driven by a man who clearly spent too much time caring for the pornographic moustache over perpetually smirking lips.

Expected or not, however, it’s exactly where you find yourself as you turn a sharp corner and move into the intersection.

It’s early, and the streets are near-empty, so perhaps you’d let your guard down a bit. Or perhaps that barmy fucker behind the wheel was on some six a.m. joyride. Either way, the car skids to a halt, all screeching brakes and blaring horn and you’re frozen for a moment in the fluorescent glow of headlights before you realize just how close you were to being a fucking statistic.

And then, from through the windshield, you meet the driver’s eye and he has the gall to look annoyed rather than apologetic.

“You fuckin’ wanker! Watch where you’re going!”

Inside the car, Tangerine is gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white. But the shock of the moment passes and he’s pleased as pudding he was able to stop on time. Civilian casualties are one thing while he and Lemon are working, but there’s no clean-up crew, no protections, no payoff should he accidentally off a cute jogger.

Your fists coming down on the hood of the car jolt Tangerine from his stupor and though he wants to rage at you, he can hardly find it in himself to be angry—a shocking realization that he’ll have to keep quiet from Lemon, lest his brother try to psychoanalyze him with some Thomas the Tank Engine bullshit.

Tangerine doesn’t think as he swings open the car door and slips out to indirect the hood. Your fists are comparatively small and he doubts someone of your stature could do any real damage. And, of course, the Monza is stolen so who the fuck actually cares what happens to it?

He registers that the jogger is cussing him out and he can’t help the patronizing look that etches itself onto his face, the arched eyebrow and smirking curve of his lip. With an air of impatience he tuts at you, interrupting the flow of curses you’re levelling in his direction, a stream of consciousness enough to rival James fucking Joyce, rat paddy bastard and his fucking make-no-sense shitehead Leopold Bloom.

“Best be careful, love,” Tangerine chastises, “Didn’t mummy and daddy teach you to look both fuckin’ ways? And don’t fuckin’ touch my fuckin’ car. Y’know how many pricks you’d have to suck off to pay for what those little hands might fuckin’ do?”

You blink at him, shocked into silence, and for a moment Tangerine savours the sweet sensation of victory. But then, he watches as you pull a wad of bright pink bubblegum from between your clenched teeth and stick it right on the hood ornament of the Monza. Tangerine is certain his eyes bug out of his fucking skull because where the fuck do you get off?

“You little bitch,” he hisses, forgetting the few manners he has for a moment. He takes a lurching step forward, anger finally surging through him at the sheer gall of your action because you’re either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid or incredibly reckless and it doesn’t matter which one because, whatever character flaw it is, it’s going to get you into deep shite one day and Tangerine decides in that moment he wants to be there to get you out of said shit.

And, when he sees the self-satisfied smirk on your face, the perverse glee you’re getting from witnessing his reaction, the deal is sealed. He laughs, a genuine laugh from deep in his belly. He almost slaps his fucking knee like some nob but the sound of your laughter now mixing with his distracts him enough from that embarrassing almost-action.

“You’re a fuckin’ psycho.” Tangerine catches his breath and fixes you with an amused glare. You cross your arms over your chest and he knows, instantly, that you’re trying to distract him with your fabulous chest. It’s almost working, so he quirks an eyebrow and refocuses on your face which is somehow even more distracting.

Well, fuck him sideways, right?

#tangerine fic #bullet train tangerine #tangerine imagine #tangerine x you #tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x fem!reader

[binsito]

subaru

pairing: han jisung x fem reader

genre: enemies to lovers

word count: 5.4k

rating: mature, includes: swearing, jisung is kind of an asshole to reader at first, mentions of smoking and alcohol consumption, mentions of death but in an exaggerated way due to being upset over a situation (no one actually dies, just used as a hyperbole here and there), an altercation where someone gets slapped on the face, slight mentions of reckless driving (they like to street race n shit!), words such as "stupid", "idiot", "dumbass", "bitch" etc are used, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), mentions of cum play, pet names such as "baby" are used. i think thats it??

disclaimer: i am not too involved in the car community although i do love cars ashsh so if i got anything inaccurate i apologize but it's just a silly lil fic okie!!!!!! also not entirely proof read lmfao

subaru wrx with a clean build.

it was baby pink, low to the ground with bright blue led headlights. the color combination was absolutely sick.

it was fucking gorgeous and jisung couldn't help but be jealous.

it was two in the morning and he had decided that he wanted to grab some mcdonalds, his sleep schedule was shit and all he ever did was watch movies, smoke, eat-

typical boy shit.

but aside from all of that, han jisung had an extreme infatuation with cars, more specifically street racing cars.

none of that corny fast and the furious shit, he was seriously into car modifications and speeding whenever he was sure there wasn't a cop around to catch him (even if there was one, he'd probably floor it to get out of the mess like an idiot, catch-me-if-you-can mentality). he had built his old honda civic up from scratch and it had been pretty loyal to him thus far. that was his baby, his girl, he loved his car more than anything and it was his pride and joy.

however that subaru was definitely one of his dream cars. something he hoped to get his hands on one day when his civic decided it was time to bite the dust.

he was sure he had seen all the street racing cars in his city, he had gone to plenty of car meets to know.. but this subaru was new and he had never seen it before. he definitely would've known if someone in his car community got a new vehicle..

you two were the only cars on the highway right now, the city was mostly dead - perfect time to get some action in.

he drove closely to the car, right next to it, lowering his passenger window to look over at the driver.

he couldn't see shit through the tint, trying to get their attention by revving his engine at them but they seemed to pay no mind

who was this guy? why was he going to have such a badass car and not use it to its fullest potential? why even bother getting a racing car if you weren't going to put your foot to the pedal?

was this guy just being an asshole? jisung clearly was trying to race, trying to get their attention..

the least they could do was tell him no?

whatever.. jisung thought, pulling up his window before speeding off, smoke obnoxiously coming out of his exhaust as he drove.

--

that weekend, jisung had gone to a car meet, it was something he participated in once a month, it gave him something exciting to look forward to.

looking at all the cool modifications his friends have invested in for their cars - whether they got a fresh wrap, new lights, whatever it was, he was excited to see it.

he pulled up in his car, parking in reverse next to the other vehicles in the lot.

once he stepped out, everyone greeted him and they caught up, talking about whatever came to mind

"i saw this fucking baby pink subaru wrx.. none of you got a new car and didn't tell me right? you know how fucking much i love those damn cars!" he whines

"uh no actually.. did you race it?" "no the guy must've had a stick up his ass because he didn't even acknowledge me.." "well i'm sure you'll see them around again, it'll be hard to miss a baby pink wrx, trust me" his friend giggles.

jisung knew he was right, how many pink subarus could there possibly be in this town? (lucky for him, just one)

"hey jisung! there's your car!" his friends giggle when they catch sight of the pink subaru pulling up to the meet. the last thing he expected was to see them again so soon, here of all places.

"holy shit" he groans, he was dying to see who the asshole behind the wheel was, but they never seemed to get down, and those blasted tints might as well have been illegal because he could barely make out the shape of a person in there.

instead they rev their engine, jisung's friend urging him to get into his car and race them. so now this asshole wants to race, huh? he thought as he got into his car, pulling up next to the subaru as they drove out into the street. both getting their cars ready and as soon as the lights turned green, they were off. the area they were racing in didn't have many stoplights and was normally empty at this time of night. jisung knew this road like the back of his palm, so he felt like he had the advantage.

he was not about to lose to this person, no way in hell. he had so much faith in his old civic, it had never failed him before, so it better not fail him now.

(but the subaru was sooo kicking his ass and it was making his blood boil.)

they raced in a loop back to the lot where the other cars were at, his friends waiting with anticipation, watching as the subaru arrived first, jisung was furious.

how could he lose to this guy? his ego took a huge hit.

to make matters worse, the driver finally rolled down their window

"i hate racing guys that have those dumb anime stickers on their car.." you smirked.

jisung gritted his teeth.

a girl? a car girl?

(those were his dream girls, but how dare she insult his anime stickers..)

"better luck next time buddy.."

oh he could not stand you.. (but that was just his fragility speaking.)

his friends held back their giggles as they rushed over to the cars, they crowded over you, checking out the wheels on your car and complimenting them.

jisung wanted to explode, who even were you anyways? your car wasn't even that cool or that fast (he was lying to himself).

(he was soo fucking jealous)

--

unfortunately for jisung, that wasn't the last time he saw you.

you also began attending the car meets once a month and were quickly becoming acquainted with his friends.

great.

they had learned that you had moved to this city for a job and were excited to find another group of car enthusiasts. you were scared that maybe you wouldn't find a group but you were proven wrong.

everyone got along well with you except.. han jisung of course!

his friends had told him to grow up and get over it but he just couldn't seem to let it go, once he had a bad first impression of someone, there was no changing his mind.

it was childish, but that was han jisung for you.

he hated how you were becoming a part of his friend group, how his friends were inviting you over to their garage on saturdays to maintenance your cars together.

and he couldn't be more obvious with his hate. he made it his job to make it very clear to you that you were not welcome here.

"hey jisung can you pass me that-"

his foot coming to kick the wrench in your general direction while you worked underneath your car.

"dude piss off. seriously." his friend chan spoke up. he was the one trying the hardest to keep things neutral between everyone.

you tried not to let it bother you, although you were not stupid and knew jisung didn't like you one bit.

it made you a little upset the way he treated you.

you felt like you had to apologize. maybe the whole anime sticker thing really hurt his feeling? you didn't mean to hurt him but maybe you took it too far before you even got to know him?

you didn't want things to be like this if you were going to keep hanging around him. you'd find the time to apologize one of these days for sure.

--

see, han jisung was charming when you weren't around or when he thought you weren't looking.

he was actually a pretty funny guy.

(you loved funny guys, had a thing for them even..)

so you tried to incorporate humor when you tried talking to him but he always just looked at you blankly or let the joke go over his head purposely.

you were starting to feel like you'd never be able to apologize to him. and if you did, you were sure he wouldn't even accept it. this was so much harder than you anticipated, why couldn't he just let you make things right?

the only time han jisung ever talked about you without a front was when he was drinking with chan in the garage. they kept a fridge in there stocked with water and snacks and jisung was thrilled to see his favorite kind of beer in there one day. it seemed that drinking made jisung so much more open, like it made him just spill whatever was on his mind easily. it could sometimes put him in sticky situations but it also ratted his true feelings out. chan figured he could get some info out of him.

"your civic is getting old, dude.." chan teased him, taking a sip out of his beer can.

jisung just hiccuped and laughed.

"don't call my baby that.. she's all i got.." he smiled stupidly

"i think she's keeping the ladies away from you"

jisung waved him off and shook his head "nuh uh.. she's a babe magnet trust me.."

"what babe is she exactly pulling? cops handing you speeding tickets don't count" chan laughs

"that subaru bitch.. fuck if she wasn't so annoying.. i think i'd fucking kiss her.."

"she's got a name you know? she's only annoying to you 'cause you want to hate her." "no, she's annoying.. hot but annoying. like cool.. you like cars too, whateverrr.." he slurs

"what if you guys talked it out?"

"would rather die, channie my boy.. besides what if it get out of hand? what if she's angry hot or somethin'?.. no thanks.." he was holding on to one of the rolling carts in the garage only to almost fall over.

"you are the most stubborn person i know, han jisung." he shook his head

chan knew jisung had a tiny crush on you, there was no doubt about it. but he knew his best friend well to know he would never admit to it. god he was so dumb sometimes.

before you were in the picture, he would always talk about wanting a girlfriend who liked cars. how they could modify their cars together, go to meets hand in hand in their obnoxiously fast and loud cars..

(han jisung loved car girls.. had a thing for them even..)

but chan just kept this information to himself, didn't out jisung's crush to you. he wasn't that kind of friend. if it was meant to happen, he'd let it unfold.

--

things remained virtually the same after that conversation with chan, most times jisung couldn't remember anything he said after he drank so he wasn't even aware he basically told chan he liked you.

on this particular saturday, chan wasn't in the garage.

normally jisung wouldn't care, he knew where everything was and he could just start working on his car on his own.

but you were there.

you were there and it was pissing jisung off.

"what are you doing here?"

"oh.. i thought channie was gonna be here and i came so we could rotate my tires-"

"ew.. don't call him that.. channie? gross."

"well you call him that so what's the problem?" "i'm his friend. i'm not trying to fuck him."

to say you were offended was an understatement. maybe you shouldn't even waste your breath apologizing to him, seemed whatever this is was irreparable.

"you're a real piece of shit you know that? i'm not trying to fuck chan, he's my friend too."

"yeah well i've known him for ages so.. and i just know when a girl is just trying to fuck him, like it's so obvious.. could you be anymore obvious? jeez. like why are you even coming in here with those slutty shorts and-"

oh god.

you knew you shouldn't have done that but he had it coming.

your hand stinging after the impact.

shit, this was bad.

you slapped han jisung straight across the face.

"f-fuck jisung- i-i-"

he was angry. face red.

you swore you could see smoke coming out of him.

"get out of here. NOW." he said angrily between gritted teeth.

you didn't want to see where this would escalate so you quickly ran out, tears stinging at your eyes.

shit. you felt like you just ruined everything.

chan would be mad right? you hit his best friend across the face.. should you call him? you didn't want to burden him. ever since you started hanging out with them, all you've ever done was cause problems to arise. it was hard not to agitate han jisung when you all were together. things must've been fine before you joined the scene..

you decided it was best to just remove yourself from them and let them be.

--

after two weeks of not seeing you or hearing from you, chan knew something was up so he decided to confront jisung. he had invited him over to play video games and jisung showed up within the hour of being asked.

chan didn't feel like beating around the bush, this was getting out of hand and he needed to figure out how to make peace.

after two rounds of call of duty, chan looked over at jisung.

"mind telling me what happened that day i wasn't in at the garage?"

"what are you talking about?"

"don't play dumb ji.. come on. we both know better than that. it's been two weeks and i haven't heard or seen of y/n. i texted her and at first she was giving me excuses to not show up at meets or come over on saturdays but now she's straight up ghosting me."

"maybe she got tired of being annoying-"

"han jisung, get a fucking grip dude. she is NOT annoying. you're being a fucking asshole. you know she's been trying to apologize to you right? are you that stupid? you think she's just trying to crack jokes and bring us beer because she wants to be annoying?"

"no she's doing that because she's trying to fuc-"

"holy shit, you are a lost cause. i didnt buy the beer and it was never for me okay? she brought it for you because i told her you liked that kind and they don't sell it in any of the shops here, only that one liquor place twenty minutes from here. and i lied to her, i told her i'd be there saturday and i wasn't just so maybe, you'd be a nice guy for once and help her rotate her tires. clearly you didn't fucking do that."

"maybe i would've if she didn't fucking slap me."

"she slapped you? well you know what, maybe you fucking deserved it? if i were her i'd do a little bit more than just a little slap. i'd rock your fucking shit for being so fucking insufferable. you're my best friend but right now, you are being the most goddamn pathetic person ever. all because she kicked your ass in a race? because you like her car? because she poked a little fun at you that day?"

jisung started to get up, dropping the controller on the couch and walking towards the door, he knew chan was right but he was too prideful to admit it. chan didn't bother stopping him, he knew he had to let him reflect on everything. the only way jisung would ever listen was if he talked hard to him, it was the only way for his thick skull to understand.

jisung was embarrassed.

his ego getting the best of him.

he knew it was too late to backtrack everything he's said and done.

he fucked up and these were the consequences.

and karma had a way with things because as he was on his way home, his car finally gave out in the middle of the highway. thankfully nothing happened and he was able to make it to the side of the road quickly but he was so upset.

he couldn't help but cry as he sat on the hood of his car. he didn't even know who to call for help. he just sat there contemplating what to do while tears blurred his vision.

he wanted to kick and scream and throw himself in the middle of traffic but before he took a leap in front of a semi, he saw that godforsaken baby pink wrx.

he figured you would drive by him and not give a shit, maybe even roll down your window to laugh and point at him but you pulled up behind his car and got out.

maybe he had died before he made it to the side of the road and he was now entering his personal hell.

"han jisung? are you okay?"

he didn't answer you, instead he looked down at his feet.

"i'm trying to help. you're lucky i was on my way home and i saw you." you said, walking towards him

"hey, i'm talking to you, idiot. want me to just leave you and your stupid car here?" you shouted, hoping to get him to snap out of it.

he shook his head and sniffled

"just..get in my car okay? i'll call a tow truck." you sighed

he didn't question you, he just walked over and got in the passenger seat. jisung wasn't surprised that the interior was sleek, black leather with pink accents and led lights. you got in contact with a towing company, thankfully they came fairly quickly and took care of jisung's car.

you got back inside your car and started your engine before looking over at him.

"nothing happened right? you're fine?" "she just gave out on me.. i'm fine.." he mumbled.

you nodded and asked him to put in his address.

after that it just went quiet.

it felt tense but not like before. like there were things you both wanted to say but decided not to.

after fifteen minutes on the road, you pulled up to his apartment.

he didn't move to get out and you didn't urge him to.

"i'm sorry about your car jisung.. a-and i-i'm also so fucking sorry that i hit you.." you spoke up, breaking the silence.

"no.. it's cool.. i deserved it. thank you for stopping for me. that's really nice of you.. even after i was such a dick."

you took a deep breath and looked down at your lap

"i've been trying to make things right between us.. i know maybe what i said about your car that first time we met might've been rude but i didn't mean it like that.. friendly competition you know? but maybe i went too far.. i'm sorry.."

"no seriously.. it's fine. i'm the one that was being an asshole.. i'm the one who's sorry okay? your car is super sick and you're actually a really cool girl.. i just guess i got intimidated by you. that sounds really fucking lame doesn't it?"

you laugh and nod at him "super lame.."

he just smiled softly and let out a chuckle.

"i guess.. truce then? you owe me anyways for the ride home.." you held out a pinky for him, he wrapped his own around yours without hesitating

"truce.

oh and.. thanks for the beer."

you blushed softly, hoping he wouldn't notice.

(he definitely did. he thought it was cute.)

"oh yeah.. it was nothing. i just had a box in my house and i thought you guys would enjoy it more than i would."

(and he knew that was a lie too. that you had gone out of your way to buy a pack and didn't just have it lying around your house.)

"right right.. well thanks..

um listen there's a meet coming up.. you haven't really been around lately so.. are you gonna come? chan's been worried about you and i know it's my fault you've been m.i.a.."

"mm.. i dunno.. i feel kinda weird just showing up after ghosting him.." you said softly.

"i'll take care of that okay?"

"how do you plan on showing up if you don't have a car?" you teased

"well i could ask chan- no no.. he'd ask me what happened.. he's so nosey, dammit.." "i'll pick you up han jisung.. don't sweat it." you laughed and in turn it made him laugh.

the next order of business was him figuring out his feelings for you now that he had apologized and formed a truce with you.

he hoped he didn't fuck things up too badly. hoped that maybe he'd finally grow a pair of balls and face the fact that he liked you.

--

jisung knew it was gonna be crazy for him to show up the car meet with you.

in your car.

he knew chan was going to question and pull him aside and bombard him with a thorough interrogation.

but he tries not to think about it, not while he's shaking with nerves as he watches you pull up to his apartment, honking at him to alert him of your arrival but your loud ass exhaust pipes gave you away the second you entered his neighborhood.

he walks up to your door, hearing you click it open for him to get in.

and god, did you always dress this pretty to go to meets or is today a special occasion? cute blouse with a pleated skirt and converse to tie it all together.

so, so pretty..

"welcome to the barbie subie" you joked which earned you a smile from him

he buckled up and you were off, jisung enjoying the way you shifted gears and drove your car so flawlessly.

part of him didn't even want to go to the meet anymore.

all of him wanted to just pull over somewhere, lean back in his chair and talk to you for hours.

"han jisung is awfully quiet.." you giggled

but he didn't find it amusing, instead he shrugged.

"oh come on.. i thought we were doing good. what's wrong now?"

"you really wanna go to this meet?" "i mean.. you're kinda the one who invited me remember?"

"well yeah but.. i don't know if i wanna go anymore y'know?" "are you embarrassed of being seen with me or something? jeez man you got some serious ego issues to deal with-" "no no! it's just i dunno.. i think i just.. fuck.. don't laugh okay? don't you dare fucking laugh.."

you shook your head and bit your lip in hopes of hiding the smile creeping up on you

"i just kinda wanna hang out? like.. just with you.. and without chan asking a million questions. just us two alone.." "so like a date is what you're saying?"

"what! fuck no!"

you frowned but only to mess with him.

"w-well shit yes okay! but like you didn't have to say that yeah? admitting it makes me feel funny.."

"it's okay jisung. it's growth and you're lucky i think you're cute so i'm taking the offer."

jisung feels like he could jump out of your car from how crazy he's feeling right now. and he's so mad at himself for being such a dumbass before because maybe he could've been going on dates with you so much sooner.

he could melt into a puddle right in your seat.

especially when you tell him you've found this huge empty lot by a construction site that you two could go make donuts.

even more so when you tell him he can drive your car.

and jisung feels like he's in some insane car wet dream of his because there's no actual way he's in your car, driving, you at his side laughing hysterically while your car spins in circles, tires screeching as it leaves dark circular skid marks.

"j-jisung! jisung holy shit!" you laugh as you hang on tightly "i'm gonna hurl!"

he stops the car and his sides hurt from laughing. cheeks sore from the huge smile he had been wearing. and when he looks at you, he feels like such an idiot because he really wants to kiss you and he regrets wasting so much time hating you for no good reason.

and you feel the same desire.

you want to kiss his stupid, stupid face.

want him to finally admit he fucking likes you.

thank god you're both finally on the same page. both leaning in at the same time and bumping into each other with a laugh.

"you first.. please.." you whisper, he cups your face and leans in to capture your lips. fluttering his eyes closed as he gets to feel your soft mouth on his. letting out a pleased sigh as he deepens the kiss.

kissing someone had never felt this good before.

when you pull away, he almost whines, almost begs you to come back. he watches as you lick your lips, almost as if collecting whatever remnants of him were left on yours.

(he'd be lying if he said he didn't think it was hot.)

and he looks at you confused when you get up and crawl into the back seat of your car, gesturing him to come join you. basically knocking over himself as he rushes to get back there.

was jisung about to fuck his dream girl in his dream car? if you told him this a few weeks ago, he'd laugh in your face.

"by the way stupid.. i was trying to fuck you not chan.." you laugh

his face is so fucking red and his cock is so unbearably hard, he almost felt humiliated.

"why didn't you say something then?"

"cause you'd never even give me a chance to.. besides i thought you said you can tell when girls want to fuck someone? was i not being obvious enough for you?" you tease him, using his own logic against him.

he physically face palms, he'd have to make a reminder to never be so fucking stupid again. he'd have to learn to not open his big mouth sometimes.

"fuck. whatever okay? we get it, i was stupid."

"i'm not letting you live it down, ever." you smiled crawling over to him to give him another kiss

he pulls you close, grips your hips tightly. he was so needy but that doesn't come as a surprise to you.

"shit.. i wish i could've fucked you stupid in my civic.. make you regret ever calling her names.." he groans

"shh.. be quiet.. you talk too much.." you teased.

he quickly pressed you down into your seats, hovering over you as he pulled off his shirt. you leaned up to touch the tattoos littered over his skin. he should work shirtless in the garage you think. why doesn't he? maybe it would distract you but that would be alright with you.

and he doesn't waste a second pulling off your top, hastily unclipping your bra to let your tits spill out for him, slapping them before taking one in his mouth and moaning.

your legs wrapped around his torso, tugging him closer, desperately to feel him against your crotch

"fuck jisung.. take it out.. i wanna see it.." you whine

he pulls back to unbuckle his jeans shimmying them off while in the process hitting his head against the roof a couple of times. you laugh at him and reach forward to help him tug them down, boxers soon following suit, letting his cock spring free.

"now i wanna see yours." he gives you a stupid little side smile and you pull your skirt up to reveal your panties. black thong that would soon be thrown out of sight. you hook your fingers on them and tug them down, throwing them at jisung once they were off your legs. he caught them and give them a nice sniff to which you slapped his arm and laughed, calling him a pervert.

he quickly manhandled you into position. he wanted to take you from behind, wanted to lap you nice and clean before he even dared sinking his cockhead inside of you.

working your pussy with his tongue, his hands spreading your asscheeks open for him to be able to embed himself within you. he could stay like this forever. he could live off eating your cunt for the rest of his life.

you were soaking.

some of it dripping on to your leather seats which made jisung fucking lose it

"your car's gonna need some detailing on the interior once we're done.." his hot breath fanning against your pussy as he lands a spank on your ass

"i think my pussy needs detailing first.." you giggle and jisung lets out a grunt. you couldn't joke with him like that, he could fucking die!

he spits on his cock and and uses it to work himself, pumping his length and letting his tip collect some of your essence so he could rub it in with his palm.

he presses an inch in, hearing your breath hitch as you scramble to hold on to the door, anticipating him to completely ruin you.

he curses as he feels your tight pussy swallow whatever he gives you, starting with an inch, then two, then three.

holding still to not overwhelm his cock and blow right then and there, he still had to work the rest in and he was already feeling his balls tighten at the sensation of your warmth.

once he collects himself, he bottoms out. taking a deep breath as he holds your hips and starts to set a steady pace.

the way your pussy was gripping on him was making him dizzy. hearing you moan his name and reaching a hand back for him made his ego and cock swell. he grabbed your hand and held it behind your back as he pressed you further up against the door.

you didn't seem to care about how uncomfortable it was at the moment, all you cared about was that han jisung was using your cunt and it felt so fucking good.

your face pressed against the window as you mumbled incoherently, he picked up the pace as a sheen of sweat started to form on his body.

"fuck.. this pussy is so greedy.. holy shit.." he groans loudly

he could barely pull out, cunt too tight and hungry for him to even let go.

"this pussy is mine now got it? m' making it mine.."

"yours now jisung..fuck yes.. gonna cum in it right?"

"you can fucking bet on that, baby.. gonna fuck you full and have you keep it in until the next car meet. then i'll just fill you up all over again, got it?"

you moaned in agreement, you wanted nothing more than to be stuffed full of jisung's cum. maybe you'd go home and play with yourself, pressing your fingers inside of you in hopes of collecting some to rub against your clit. or maybe you'd bring it up to your lips to taste him, to imagine it's actually his cock in your mouth and not your fingers.

"shit jisung.. i-i'm gonna cum.. keep going baby please.."

the pet name has him reeling, it makes him animalistic, pounding into you so hard that the car starts shaking. if anyone were to pass by, they'd know exactly what was going on inside your car.

he reaches a hand down to rub at your clit, pinching it a few times to hear you yelp.

"come on baby.. cream on my cock.. milk me yeah?" his chest pressed against your back while he whispered pure filth in your ear.

he could feel your pussy clamping down on him as you reached your orgasm, body shaking as it ripped through you, cumming with his name on your lips.

it was finally too much for him so he lets himself go, letting his cum seep into your walls as he finished inside of you, making sure not a drop is spilled.

"fuck jisung.. that was a lot.." you whined, afraid that if you moved too much you'd make a huge mess for sure.

"sorry.. just had to get my point across. i was serious about this pussy- well.. you.. being mine.." he laughs shyly

"we can discuss that topic later and see if it fits into the terms and conditions of our truce." you giggled.

he smiled and helped you up carefully to give you a soft kiss.

at least he was right about his honda civic being a babe magnet, right?

his car sacrificed herself for this moment and han jisung couldn't be too mad about it.

please refrain from reposting, modifying, translating, copying or stealing my work. - © binsito

#skz smut #stray kids smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #han jisung #han jisung smut #binsito #han smut #skz han

[buckysmith]

Alejandro and Rudy (separate) with a tall male s/o that likes to pick him up please and thank you

Alejandro:

- the first time you pick him up like a cat/doll he looks at you confused as fuck

- you know how a cat looks like when you pick them up (pic)

- he looks exactly like that

- his eyes are wide while he looks at you like a deer in the headlights

- the moment he understands what's happening he wiggles to get back in his own feet

- cursing something in Spanish while you just giggle

- how dare you to pick him up like that

- it's already worse that you're taller than him, how dare you to disrespect him like that

- he's red as a tomato

- desperately trying to hide his flushed cheeks

- watch him get angy with bright red checks when you pick him up, placing your hands on his ass while he has to wrap his arms around your neck to not fall

- he would NEVER admit that he likes it

- no no, ofc he doesn't like that, how could he like that- really how dare you to think something like that about him

A bit of a bonus

- if you pick him up while you both are kissing- well it doesn't end there

- Rudy would kill if any of the others say something stupid about the both of you

- if Alejandro is the one that's picking you up he grins at you like a little maniac

- you're might be taller than him, but he wants to remind you who's in charge

- it's his ego yk

Rodolfo

- he loves when you pick him up

- he doesn't give a fuck about what others might think of you

- he blushes (he is as red as a tomato)

- wrapping his arms around your neck smiling at you like you're the biggest treasure just to give you a kiss on the lips

- he tries to pick you up too, but cause you’re taller than him he’s only able to lift you like 4 inch up

- Alejandro teases the living shit out of you, especially out of his best friend

- if you pick him up just to give him a kiss he melts

- he’s such a sucker for you

- he would beg for you to pick him up again

Bonus

- if anyone ever try’s to say something about the both of you, watch out for Alejandro and his temper

- he’s like „only look at a certain way at my favorite boys and I’ll kill you“

- he’s takes pictures of you, like all the time

#call of duty modern warfare #los vaqueros #rudy x reader #alejandro vargas headcanons #alejandro vargas x reader #rodolfo parra #rodolfo cod #alejandro cod #rodolfo parra x reader #Rodolfo para x male reader #Alejandro Vargas x male reader #mw2 x male reader #alejandro vargas x you #Rodolfo Parra x you #male reader

[futureplayboibunnie]

‘Wandering’

Dr Strange x inexperienced! fem! reader

THIS ONE IS SOO SHORT SORRY

smut so minors fuck off x

The night was vastly daunting. The flickers of shattered starlight were doing nothing to absolve you of your thoughts as you wandered around Sanctum trying to chase peace or maybe just even waiting for someone to find you- but it was almost nearing 2am. No one was around.

Padding away barefoot aimlessly, you couldn't find it in yourself to be bothered by the fact you were wearing an oversized suit shirt that hugged all the right places. If someone were to find you like this your embarrassment would reach deplorable levels. Your interest and curiosity piqued when your eyes were fixated on the room in which no one was allowed to enter except for God's true mystical disciple- Strange. You were bordering on delirious and it was all because of this stupid sleepless night. It was a winless fight.

But you were a good girl. You never broke the rules. Stephen's rules.

Though your curiosity remained fixed, maybe tonight was the night where you broke the rules, and in the process, your moral compass. Carrying yourself through the arches of the doorless room, your fingers grazed over the timeless relics and impossibly ancient spellbooks. You cocked your head however when you saw the clear glass casing.

It was holding leather handcuffs held on a red velvet cushion, it was padlocked. You wondered why this was kept here. Was it for Stephen specifically? How was this forbidden in any way? Did Stephen hold the key?

Your mind was pacing.

‘’What are you doing?'’A voice behind you startled you wide awake from your dream like trance. It took you a moment to register what was happening and who was even talking to you. You were wincing at the ass whooping you were about to recieve for being in such a forbidden and sacred area. Your heart was thrumming in anticipation. You spun yourself around and you stunned at the sight of Stephen with a bare chest and crossed arms. Grey sweatpants outlining a slight bulge softly.

‘’Uh...I'm not meant to be in here.’’ You stumbled on your words like a jittering fool, eyes wide in sheer terror.

You attempted to dash right past him and out of the room but he halted you in your tracks by grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you in front of before ultimately letting you go. You let out slight gasp that Stephen wasn't expecting as you felt yourself shiver under his brief and fleeting touch.

‘’Hey hey where do you think you're going?’’He questioned in a sweet and soft manner, you felt your eyebrow raise at such a confusingly kind tone. Stephen's powder blue eyes searched yours for an answer but all he found was a shellshocked deer in blinding white headlights.

‘’I was just wandering. I couldn't sleep.’’You rasped as you hung your head up to look him in his picturesque face. In this light he looked so effortlessly attractive, all rugged features and tight creased eyes. Hair messy as his grey streaks shone in the dim atmospheric ambience. You stole a moment to just remark at him; to be crude, he was fucking hot as shit. All authoritarian and an attitude worth drooling over; the way he was looking at you made you feel weak and you'd do anything to feel his skin and weight on top of yours but there was an...issue.

You were...inexperienced to say the least.

The only kiss you've ever experienced was a drunken peck that you couldn't really remember. Sex was off the table and not even worth talking about.

Your nerves were becoming heavily apparent now.

‘’Why are you all… nervous?’’ Stephen smirked slightly, trying to keep his thoughts at bay.

‘’Sorcerer Supreme finding an apprentice in the forbidden section? Do I really need to explain it to you?’’ You chuckled dryly in an attempt to win him over.

Seeing you in just a dress shirt made him think thoughts that best be left unsaid. You were as cute as a dud, so pretty. So fucking pretty. Full lips, bright gleaming challenging eyes, blushed apples- his stare couldn't help but linger on you while you were practicing your spell casting. A relationship was never on the cards for a guy like him and he assumed that you of all people wouldn't be interested in him. Always off in your own little world. Stephen's stare lingered on your bare legs and he noticed that the sheerness of your shirt didn't hide the view of your thin panties. His tolerance was declining. Maybe it was because it was nightfall, maybe it was because you were alone, maybe it was because you were barely wearing anything. Either way, he wanted you.

‘’How'd you know I was here?’’ You snapped him out of his mindless daydreaming.

‘’Maybe I was wandering too.’’

Your fingers found hospice on the padlock of the clear casing. You were intruiged by the reason in which the handcuffs were here.

‘’What's this?’’ You smirked playfully, pondering upon grounds that you didn't know how to deal with. Playing with fire.

You twisted your hand on the padlock and broke it while staring at him-biting at your lip.

Stephen could have came right there, you were so nervous yet such a flirt. He didn't understand it. You opened the glass and grabbed at the cuffs to inspect them.

‘’Come on put them back.’’He exhaled as he sauntered towards you.

‘’What's this?’’You smiled at him sweetly. He raised his hands and grabbed the cuffs off of you and only then did you notice how close he was to you.He put them back in its case.

‘’I'll tell you a secret only if you go to bed and stop wandering.’’ He offered and you nodded slightly, giddy at the fact he trusted you enough with a secret. Stephen leaned on the frame as you gawked up at him.

‘’They're supposed to surpress magic. But the women I fuck want me to use it on them.’’ He voice was just an octave above a whisper, you felt the true cadence of his voice make a wash of wetness gush to your panties- the fact that he was staring at your lips made it so much worse and better at the same time. You mouth popped open slightly and you were starting to shake under his sex dripped gaze.

Does he want you? Holy fuck, he does want you.

‘’Would you want to use them on me?’’ You blurted absent mindedly and it made Stephen beam up in surprise.

‘’Would you like that?’’ He asked politely and it made you want him right then and there in the fucking forbidden section. The dialogue alone felt so vulgar to you due to never fully experiencing anything like this before. Your breathing was becoming more and more erratic with every passing moment Stephen was staring at you.

You paused.

‘’I think I would...but I-.’’ You cut yourself off due to the heated blush coating the apples of your cheeks, diverting eye contact due to the imminent embarrassment you were experiencing.

‘’What? What is it baby?’’His thumb lifted up your chin and you quite literally shivered into his touch. The fact he had his hand on you was so intense to you. And baby? Fuck.

‘’I've never-‘’

‘’Mhm?’’

‘’I've never fucked before.’’ You finally spat out as you blinked up at him with those beguiling eyes of yours, all nervous under his gaze.

‘’What?’’

He quite frankly couldn't believe it. No one has ever had you? There's no way that could ever be true. Stephen's mind was racing and he thought he wouldn't ever be able to stop.

‘’I haven't even had my first real kiss before, it's embarrassing.’’ You sighed out, finally melting into him so he'd get the hint to kiss at your lips. He exhaled as he adjusted his hands to cradle your face.

‘’Men must kill each other just to get remotely close to you.’’ He whispered as he brushed his thumb on top of your full lips.

‘’Can you show me how to make love Stephen?’’ You asked softly, staring into the eyes that were already undressing you.

‘’Can I kiss you?’’ He requested as he leaned in, tips of noses touching each other.

‘’Please.’’ You moaned back, you reeked of desperation at this point and he was just revelling in it all- it was all for him to savour and have.

It was feather light, soft, tender. Lips touching lips. You angled your head so you could taste him deeper and he reciprocated your actions almost instantly. He ripped his lips away from yours and intertwined your hands with his and whisked you away to his room. He locked his door and never in thousand years would he have thought you'd be in his room. Your scent filled the space completely.

Stephen gently pushed you onto the bed and in this light you looked even more stunning than ever. Your face was already contorting in pleasure and he'd barely done anything. He smirked at the sentiment.

‘’Been wanting to take this off since I saw you in it. Can I?’’He groaned between kisses and you nodded your head furiously. He unbuttoned your shirt at a slow and torturous pace, teasing you to the point where you were shaking under him.

Stephen's hands wandered around your body, slowly coaxing you out and teasing your flesh. He got rid of the fabric of your shirt and your tits spilled out for him and he was damn near drooling. You were only left in your underwear.

"Touch me Stephen.’’ You breathed out sensually. He shimmied down your underwear and all he could see as he cast his head down was your sloppy wet pussy. You got wet sooo easily and it made him lick his lips.

His tongue delved into your mouth before ultimately licking and softly suckling down your neck and the flesh of your tits. Your moans were becoming so loud and it was becoming his own personal brand of heroin. He was becoming so painfully hard and it was all because of you.

‘’Can I go down on you?’’ Stephen breathed into your lower stomach as his darkened gaze flitted to your desperate eyes.

‘’Fuck yes.’’You gasped.

Stephen forced your legs onto his shoulder as he slowly started to kiss your drooling wet pussy. Your back arched off the bed as he started flicking his tongue at your clit- hungrily tasting at you like a kid in a candy store. You tasted divine and he was needy for more. More of everything. He lapped up your arousal a your hands tugged at his hair, he groaned into your skin and it made your insides buzz. It felt incredible and all because he was spoiling you rotten.

‘’You taste so fucking sweet. Sweet all for me.’’

—-

#dr stephen strange #dr strange angst #dr strange fluff #dr strange x fem!reader #dr strange x y/n #stephen strange smut #dr strange smut #stephen strange

[zmediaoutlet]

was listening to 'sanctify' by st paul & the broken bones and literally just started writing with zero plan in mind; ended up with a stanford-era john/dean thing. so.

(AO3)

Dean lights a match and holds it steady. The flame's a bright-white flare. Little, but enough. He watches past the tiny pool of not-dark, the heat creeping closer to his fingers. When he's about to get burned he shakes it out and drops it to the wrecked carpet. Can't be any worse than anything else that's happened to this floor. He rubs his hot fingertips together, shoulders shifting to get more comfortable against the wall. Rips another match out of the book and lights it.

He's nearly finished with the whole book before there's a brighter wash of headlights through the torn curtains and the room goes black and white—shadows of bedframe and window crossbars and his own hand flung up against his face—and he lets the last match keep going, down to his fingers to scorch his skin, and he's still holding onto the burnt skeleton of the matchstick when the door opens, across the room, and it's—

"Dad," he says.

Backlit by the headlights but Dean would know that silhouette in his sleep, when he's drunk, when he's dead. "Yeah," Dad says, slow and kind of sighing, and he stands in the open door with his hand heavy on the knob and his face hidden in black. Dean wishes he had one more match. "You good?" Dad says, after what feels like a long time, and Dean nods immediately because—but his head feels strange and his jaw feels kind of loose and the nod spools out into something that's maybe not so loyal.

"Yeah," Dad says again, slower, lower, and his silhouette shifts, ducks, when he runs his other hand over the back of his head, and there's another sigh before he says, "Hold on, dude," and turns around and disappears, leaving just the headlight blare in the room and Dean's heart in his throat and his singed fingers grinding the matchstick down to charcoal dust.

Lights off and the night flows back into the room, thick and cold. Dean's shoulderblades grind against the wallpaper. Then—Dad, back, and the lines of the door barely picked out in the dark show him closing it, and then—the camping lantern jolting to life, whiter than the headlights, making this little sun that sears across the Coleman cooler Dad's set it on and the sad iron bedframe with its stained old boxspring and the ratty green curtains and—Dad, five days of stubble grown into what's basically a beard, his face tired, his arm bandaged from Dean's fuck-up. Where Dean can practically see radiating lines, like a cartoon panel, going hey idiot, hey moron, you see? you see what you did?

It's possible Dean's a little loopy.

"Got food, water, Gatorade," Dad says. He looks along his shoulder at Dean. "Booze. But maybe you had enough of that, huh?"

"No such thing," Dean says. Dad laughs, in that nearly-silent Dad-way that's just his shoulders moving and a little air coming out of his nose. Makes warmth crack painfully in Dean's chest, anyway. Hot water hitting ice. He licks his lips. "You okay?"

"Know how to give myself stitches," Dad says. Dismissing. Dean nods and tips his head back against the wall, his eyes hot and his fingers hurting and his ankle, god, his ankle really really hurts but that's—his own fault, and he knows it, and it makes perfect sense that Dad left him here to wait, in the dark, in some abandoned motel on the ass end of nowhere while he took care of what Dean couldn't.

The lantern-light leaves weird crazed patterns on the ceiling. Splintery cracks that blur and move. Dean keeps his eyes on that and focuses on breathing in some way that might sound normal and he listens as Dad's steps thump around the interior of the room. Then—

"What's with the matches?" Dad says. Dean blinks. Dad's right in front of him, crouching, frowning down at the pile of charcoal.

"It was dark," Dean says. His lips feel fat, stupid. "Zippo ran outta juice."

"They do that." Line between Dad's brows. Glint in his eye, but then he's backlit again and it's hard to see detail in the dark. His lips press together and he shakes his head and Dean doesn't want to say he's sorry because he doesn't want to hear what comes after it, whether the correction he deserves or shrugging he doesn't, but he wants to say—he wants—but Dad's on his own schedule and he says, "All right, man, let's go," and he grabs Dean's forearm and there's an arm around Dean's waist and he's upright, lickety-split like a magic trick, and the change in elevation does something weird to his head and his ankle screams inside the loose frame of his unlaced boot but Dean just bites down on any feeling or sound and turns his face, his nose and mouth and eyes closed against Dad's shoulder—canvas, smoke. Safe. God, that they're safe.

The arm stays around his waist. A hand, rough and warm, at the back of his neck. Thumb up behind his ear. "Hurts, huh," Dean hears, somewhere, and he nods dumb against the canvas. He's walked a step backward—oh, his leg—but his weight somehow isn't quite right, and he falls—is carried—bounce of the boxspring and a cloud of dust and that huffing breath, and Dad says, "Gotta let go, buddy," and Dean finds he's got a double-handful of canvas jacket and he's carried Dad right along with him so he's bent over Dean where he's half-sprawled back on the bed, his mouth curved up at one corner, and he's not—mad. He should be mad and he's not.

"I have to?" Dean says.

"You really are out of it." He should be. He should be mad, but he's just breaking Dean's grip on his jacket with easy twists of his thumb—and grabbing his bag, and crouching down on the floorboards like before to find Dean's boot, to roll his jeans up his shin, to hiss at the damage.

"Dad," Dean says, and Dad says, "Bite something, would you?" and Dean doesn't have to do that, when has he ever had to do that?—so that when Dad pulls his ankle Dean just sucks air and lets the tears smart and feels his foot weirdly small in the double-warm grip, the way that hand drags up the back of his calf, squeezes mean and then gentle and he relaxes from the iron he turned into and becomes—whatever the opposite of metal is. He drags up onto his elbows and watches down the stupid stained length of himself and sees Dad shrug. So, no break. That's something.

The opposite of metal. Melting, pooling. He's braced on his elbows but it feels like the only solid point in his whole body. Dad has a clean roll of Ace and he settles down, wraps Dean up tight, where it hurts but in that good way, where it'll have to heal. One of the few things that do. "How's that," Dad says, when he's stuck a butterfly in place, and Dean says, lightheaded, "Like buttah," and Dad smiles at him, for real, looking him right in the eye.

"Dad," Dean says, a third try, and Dad shakes his head. Dean bites his lip.

"Didn't go so hot, huh," Dad says, instead. Understatement of the century. He's not smiling anymore but he's not frowning, either. The puddle that is Dean remains soft. "We can talk about it when your brains aren't leaking out your ears. You have that whole bottle?" No answer to that, either. Especially since Dad's hand strokes back up the wrecked line of his tendon, soft. Firmer on the calf, and then blunt fingers up in the hollow of his knee, under his jeans, tucking there. "You awake, Dean?"

Too soft to speak. He nods, loose still and stupid still but knowing why he's nodding. That's enough. Dad's hand turns, slides up that last inch and cups the bare back of Dean's thigh, squeezes. Then—up—sitting by Dean on the boxspring, big hand sliding over and covering his crotch. Hot. Dean spreads his legs. His bandaged heel bumps his discarded boot. He stays up on his elbows and Dad sinks down next to him, leaning half over, his breath on Dean's shoulder—unbuckling, unbuttoning, unzipping with easy one-handed practice—and then in past the fly, sliding over the top of Dean's boxers, hotter through the thin cotton. Dean blinks. Dad's hand's so tan, the hair on his wrist black, blacker in the lantern light. Strange against Dean's white belly when Dad rucks his shirt up out of the way so they can see. When it's been years and that should be the most normal thing, but—usually it's not bright like this, and Dean's not woozy like this, and Dad's not just getting on with it, like this, but—

Dean's getting there. Dad rubs him, pushes his boxers down and out of the way, fists his dick. Rough thumb under the head, too rough, and Dean's hips lift, squirm, but that hurts his ankle—he makes a sound—and Dad shushes him, squeezes, his mouth going down to Dean's shoulder through his jacket. Sweat erupts at the back of his neck, his pits. That squeezing massaging rub—just the way Dad handles it—it's swelling in Dean's balls, his throat. Dad's breath heavy, puffing against his collarbone. Dad lets go—no—but just to put his fingers in Dean's open mouth, and Dean sucks on instinct, licking, and then it's wet, rubbing, playing with the head and going down to handle his nuts and jerking finally, working, and Dean tips his head back on his shoulders and dissolves, flows away.

His elbows go out from under him. He lays flat, legs hanging off the end of the bed, body a strange static-blur of over-warm relief, pain off at the end of some long unworrying road. The bedspring's shaking and Dean turns his head and Dad's beside him, laying back just like him, eyes closed and brow tight. Getting off. His cheeks turning red under the cover of the beard. His shoulder, working. Dean watches like it's a sunrise. Normally Dad's on top of him, inside him, behind his back, overhead with his hands gripped around Dean's ears. This side view feels new.

His ear, his jaw. Sweat at his temple. His lips part and there's a shadow inside that Dean wants to taste but he still wants to see. Compromise: he turns and slides his hand down and holds Dad's balls—huge, hotter and hairier, loose often when Dean sees them but cupping up tighter now, drawing in—and Dad's eyes scrunch closed and his free hand goes over Dean's side, grabs his ass, drags him in so Dean has to hitch his hurt leg over Dad's legs and curl in close—on top, practically—and there's a grunt, and wet, but mostly there's Dad's eyes opening wide, startled. His thick eyelashes. Dean puts his head down on Dad's shoulder and feels the heaving shock of his breath. Dad's hand finds his and drags them both up to lay on Dad's belly, and Dean watches that instead. How it goes up and down, in this steady wave. Dad's heart beating, under his ear. Dad's blood, and that means it's Dean's blood, too, coursing back and forth, regular as tides.

He wakes up in the dark. His ankle throbs, his burnt fingers sting. He swallows, dry-mouthed, aching, and finds out that he's the right way around on the box-spring, something thrown over his chest like a blanket. He curls his hands into it. Canvas, smoke.

He licks his lips but doesn't get the chance to talk. "Right here," Dad says, from somewhere—to the left, on the far side of the room, across from the door. "It can wait 'til morning."

Dean shifts, tugs the jacket further up over his shoulders. Dad, in the dark. He puts his nose into the collar of the jacket and whatever he might want seems impossible, here, now. Not even enough moonlight to show the edges of things.

"Sleep it off, soldier," Dad says.

#no idea #i'm gonna have to see if it's worth cleaning up in the morning #but for now -- hey i wrote something #literally better than nothing #my writing #john/dean #the full house of wincest #(it's technically not) #(but i feel like the absence of sam undergirds dean all the time)

[springday-aus]

Stray Kids' Minho: [Drabble] → moodboard link

—

Awkward First Meeting!AU with Minho

→ Based on the AU Prompt: "I get really competitive during mini golf and I accidentally hit your head during an intense match.” 

A/N: hello hello, I am so sorry for the very long wait. I was very busy last year with my internship and then I was graduating and then I had a shitty job that was working on my last nerves, but things are okay now! I wanna try to get back into writing when I can, so you can anticipate some writing updates soon! thank you for understanding and giving the support we need!

“Your ass is grass and I’m about to fucking mow it.”

Ryujin rolls her eyes. “Just hit it.”

When she invited you out to mini golf, she had forgotten how ridiculously competitive you got. You’d almost forgotten too—until you remember how many bragging rights she had gotten when she beat your ass in bowling. In hindsight, you shouldn’t have allowed the bluffs up.

The joke is on her though because you’re going to win against her in mini golf. You angle your club to hit the ball just right and swing.

…. Except you forgot how much strength you managed to put into the hit.

…. Which is how you managed to hit your bright neon purple ball towards a group of 8 men a couple of holes away and watched in horror as it knocked one of them down.

Ryujin lets out a cackle, tossing her head back, while you freeze like a deer in headlights.

The guys have already mobilized, checking on the guy that you knocked down. Well, some of them—because a couple have settled on laughing as hard as Ryujin is.

“Oh God, Oh God,” you mutter to yourself as you run across towards the group.

They part like the Red Sea as you bulldoze your way through.

And, of course, he just had to be a cute guy.

You take a sharp breath in before asking him, “Are you okay?”

The beautiful man simply blinks at you.

“Oh my God, I killed him.”

“Don’t worry too much,” one says. “He’s always been that stupid.”

“Hey!”

They’re all startled and instinctively flinch away. You’re the one that helps him up, as he massages his head to inspect his head for a bump not-so-discreetly.

“I’m so sorry,” you say. “Are you okay?”

He gives a smile that feels too polite. “It’s okay. I think I’ll live.”

“Oh, well,” you say with your own polite smile. “I’m glad.”

Before you attempt to self-sabotage and embarrass yourself further, you fast walk back over to where Ryujin stands.

Her eyebrow lifts a bit and you can feel the heat creep up your neck.

“Shut up!”

“I didn’t say anything.”

#admin grandma #grandma drabbles #drabbles #kpop #kpop drabbles #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #stray kids #stray kids drabbles #stray kids imagines #kpop scenario #stray kids lee know #stray kids minho #lee know #lee minho #minho drabbles #minho imagines #minho scenarios #group: stray kids #member: lee know #member: minho

[poppy-metal]

"The first time you hear Izuku moan your name, its with you hiding on the other side of his closet door, your hand clapped over your mouth in shock.”

A/N: im placing this before the sexual side of their relationship begins. A prelude of sorts, if you will.

Cw: voyeurism, smut, dekus secretly dirty mouth.

All things considered izuku’s room was...not as gross as you expected a staple college aged guys dorm room to be. It was cluttered but not disgusting, posters of comics and figurines and manga and some clothes strewn about, everything kind of frenzied and haphazard. It was so incredibly deku, a secret smile pulled at your lips, even though your reasons for being here were less than innocent

He’s wearing fucking pink. Because of course he is, of course izuku is humble and comfortable in his masculinity enough to pull off a bright pink t-shirt. It hugs his chest too, and you have to wonder if literally any of his clothes fit him and the tits he decided to grow in college. His image is so utterly imposing, his smile so bright, and laugh so airy, it sends butterflies flipping through your stomach at just the sight of him and that makes you want to vomit. Your lips curl in a sneer and you’re walking towards him and the group of friends he’s talking to as if on reflex. 

Stupid, lovely deku. You knock your shoulder into his as you pass, hard enough that his books clatter and fall to the floor, scattering. And then those green eyes are on you, giving you his attention and your body feels alive, your blood cells buzzing under your skin even as he frowns. The dimples on his freckled face fall as he takes you in. Yes, you think, look at me, see me, want me. 

Out loud you say. “Watch where you’re going, stupid deku” and you’re looking at him like he’s the dirt under your shoe. He’s not. He’s the center of your universe. Your world tilts around his axis. “Pink isn’t your fucking color by the way”. it is. 

Izuku huffs. He’s past the point where he used to turn as red as a tomato and duck his head whenever you stood in front of him, but he’s still deku at the end of the day. An easy target. “If looking at me bothers you so much you could just ignore me.” He crouches down to pick up his things. His words make you itch, if you could ignore him, you wouldn’t fucking be here. Its because he exists too much, that you want to push him down so much. 

You step your manicured foot onto his notebook right as he’s about to grab it. He tugs at it, you dont budge, and he looks up at you, exasperated. “Can i have my notebook, please?” 

Why is he so fucking pretty? God, you want to throw up. You dig your heel in further, covering the flutter you feel in your chest with a practiced sneer. “I like the way you say please, deku.” You lean down a little, “Say ‘your highness’ and i’ll move” 

It’s a thrill, seeing the way his jaw sets, his brow furrows, his eyes go annoyed. Sweet, sweet, friendly izuku. You’re the only one he looks at like this, like he wants to throttle you. But he won’t. You see his adams apple bob, his cheeks dust pink, even as he glares. “No” 

You pause. It’s not the first time he’s gotten snippy with you, but the conviction behind it is new. You feel something in your stomach give a jump, your blood thrumming in your ears. You jerk your foot towards you, sliding his notebook out from his hands and standing completely on top of it with both your feet now. Your sticky lips, glossy and plump, spread into a mocking grin, “No? Do i need to slam you into some lockers and take you lunch money?” You feel a thousand feet tall, towering above him still kneeling, you on the high ground, looking down at him below you, where he can’t reach you. Can’t ever see the truth. “C’mon pansy, you’re already on your knees anyway” 

But he isn’t anymore. He jerks to a stand, and now he’s taller than you, but you puff your chest out, not letting that affect you. It always affects you. Not that he knows or ever notices. Your eyes are widening when he steps forward so you’re practically nose to nose and chest to chest. “I don’t have time for you” he snaps, irritated. And then he’s stepping away as suddenly as he stepped up, the rest of his things gathered in his arms, he shakes his head at you, a tendril of that mossy mousey hair falling into his eyes. “I gotta get to class” 

And then he’s gone, brushing by you, disengaging. You stand there, your breath stuck in your chest, not moving. ‘I dont have time for you’ over and over again rings through your head like a mantra. You step off his notebook robotically and kick it across the floor. It bangs against a wall and you feel your fists clench, nail beds digging into your palms harshly. ‘I dont have time for you’ 

You turn on your heel, away from the direction of your class, fury blinding you. Anger in place of humiliation, vindication in place of being humbled. You don’t know what crawled up his ass and made him think he was above you all the sudden, but you weren’t having it, not the fuck at all. 

And that’s how you found yourself snooping through izukus dorm, with the intention of finding some kind of dirt, or something to hold over his stupid head. He didn’t have time for you? How dare he act like he was better than you, like he had things more important to do than to indulge you. You were still so mad you wanted to throw a tantrum, kick and scream and claw his eyes out. Straddle his stupid broad waist and shake him until all he saw was you, you, you. 

You really hated him. Hated that because of him you were basically a bully because any attention from him was attention you thrived and lived under. Maybe if you weren’t so prideful, so disgusted by the weakness of your own gooey emotions for him, you would have tried to be the center of his attention in a nicer way, but as it was you were in too deep. This was the sick game you played, and losing wasn’t an option. 

You hated how much that made you similar to bakugou in a way. You didn’t like that guy, and even weirdly so, you wanted to gouge his fucking eyes out for the way he treated and talked to izuku. Was it jealousy or possesivness that drove you to want to be the only one who could rile izuku? You wondered, sometimes, if bakugou felt the same way about you. 

It was the loss of control, for you. Better yet, it was the way you liked the loss of that control. You had always prided yourself on being strong willed and a perfectionist. But whenever your eyes so much as grazed izukus, all your emotions went rattling around your stomach in sick twisted ways, giving you goosebumps, making you...nervous. It was a crush that had turned into an obsession, wasn’t it? And you wanted to make izuku suffer not only for invoking those messy feelings, but for not seeming to return them as well. If he couldn’t love you or want you romantically or sexually, you’d force yourself onto his radar and into his head until thinking about anyone else was impossible. Until you squirmed under his skin as much as he squirmed under yours. 

Acting like you didnt exist was unacceptable. Obviously you’d slacked off on your taunts and actions, if he could just brush past you so easily, not taking your bait. You needed to even the playing field again, and by even you meant you needed to be towering above him again. 

Towering over him so you dont have the time to think about how much you want to be under him, your mind whispers at you as you pick through his room, trying to find anything incripting. Someone like izuku would probably have something utterly embarrassing like a diary or some weird porn magazines, shameless, helpless guy that he was. 

You huff as you open his drawer next to his bedside, nearly slamming it back shut in shock at what you see there. 

You’re not stupid. You’re a healthy, young woman with an active sexual imagination and access to the world wide web, to porn. 

Izuku has a fleshlight in his drawer. Izuku has a sexytoy. Izuku. And its green. 

Izuku has a sex toy that he probably uses. That he probably sticks his cock into and moves- 

An absurd laugh barks out of you, shocked and helpless. Because while in your head you knew izuku had to be some kind pervert, what other explanation was there for the way he blushed and darted his gaze around like a ping pong ball whenever you leaned forward and get caught a glimpse under your blouse, this is...unexpected. Imagining izuku in explicit scenarios, doing lewd things, it was something you didn’t allow your mind to wonder to often over. You didn’t like the way you got all squirmy and meek whenever you thought too long about izuku without clothes. 

You feel kind of squirmy now, hot and uncomfortable as you shift around and try to gather your wits back about you. Revenge, that’s what you’re here for. 

With a shaky exhale you turn away from his dresser, your thoughts flitting around your head like annoying gnats. What, who, does he think about when he…? What does he look like? What does his...c- You shake your head, slap your cheeks, trying to center yourself from the images floating around, flustering you and distracting you. 

You’re in the middle of lifting the covers on his bed to peek under it, see if there’s anything there, when you hear the handle on his door jiggle. You freeze, every muscle in your body locked frozen like a deer in headlights as the knob twists, and then catches. Right. You’d picked the lock with one of your hair clips and then made sure to lock it again behind you just in case something like this happened. And by the, “Ugh” on the other side of the door, yep that’s definitely izuku. You’re shoved out of your shocked state, and bolting for his closet door as you hear the jingle of his keys twist in the lock, trying your best to close the door as quietly as possible behind you, it swishing shut barely a second before the door to his dorm opens and you hear him step in. 

Class must have let out early or something, you think huffily, gently rearranging yourself into a comfortable position on a pile of his clothes as he shuffles around his room. You hear the thumb of him dropping his books, the shuffle of his feet, the clutter of him taking off his shoes and the squeak of his mattress as he plops down on it. 

You tuck your knees to your chest and roll your eyes, picking at your leggings as you wonder how long you’ll have to hide before he goes to the bathroom or something so you can leave. It’s fucking stuffy in his closet already, the air hot. Your hand touches the soft fabric beneath you, realizing you’re sitting on one of his hoodies. Its too dark to see which one it is, but you imagine it as your favorite red one. Maybe you’d steal it as compensation for him making you sit and wait in his dumb closet while he probably stared at the ceiling with no thoughts in his dumb brain.

You hear him sigh, loud and dramatic, and then a muffled scream/groan into his pillow. Your lips twitch, he’s such a fucking drama queen. 

Your little smile drops off your face when you hear the sound of his drawer opening.  

Oh god. Oh no. 

Your face feels like there are embers burning under it as you hear the unmistakable sound of clothes being shucked, a zipper and and then flop, and then….a slick wet sound and a sigh of relief. 

Your eyes feel like they are bugging out of your head. Izuku is really about to fuck his fleshlight with you hiding in his closet with him none the wiser. You feel suddenly embarrassed and hot all over, hiding your face in your knees as you hear him let out a moan. A loud one. 

You’re on fire, every part of you. You don’t think you can take this, don’t think you can sit through this and listen to this, think you should just burst out of his closet and use your bravado to somehow flip the situation and make him feel humiliated for getting off in the privacy of his own room, like he’s in the wrong even though you had violated so many boundaries for even being here right now. 

You could do it too, you know. You’re good at twisting things, at powering through the complicated mess of flustered feelings izuku makes you feel and making it his fault, making him back down and cower. You could do it...you’re uncurling your legs and pushing your hands under you in the middle of getting up to do so when- 

“Fuck. ___” Your name. You freeze, for an unholy, goldy second you think you’ve been caught, that he has acquired x-ray vision and has spotted you but no. His voice isn’t surprised or upset its...breathless, airy. He moaned it. 

The first time you hear Izuku moan your name, its with you hiding on the other side of his closet door, your hand clapped over your mouth in shock.

Heat immediately shoots between your legs, your core throbbing unbidden in reflex to the sound, helpless to stop it, to have any other reaction. Your ass plops right back down. You turn slightly towards the door, pressing your side against it, your ear smooshed against the cool wood as you listen, as if drawn under a spell. 

“You’re such…” You hear izuku pant, his voice deeper and more rough then you’ve ever heard it before. “A fucking brat” 

Wet between your legs, seeping through your panties at his words, seemingly ripped out of him. God, he sounds pissed, wrecked. He cursed. You’ve never heard izuku curse before, never, even when you’d pushed him too far. Something really was different about today. 

The slick sounds are more frequent now, steady and...and sounding like real sex you’d heard from porn before. Wet, sloppy, and slapping. Your knees knock together as you lean forward even more. There’s an invisible string pulling, tugging you forward, you want to see…

“Fucking slut” He grunts, and there’s a heavy slap, your breath catching in your fucking throat as you realize that...that must be the clap of his balls hitting the back of his fleshlight everytime he thrusts into it. “Always running your fucking mouth, looking down at me, so mean, you’re so fucking mean to me…uh..” 

The sounds of sex fill the room and you can’t take it anymore, you’re burning, burning, burning, fuck the consequnces. You hesitantly and slowly turn the handle of the closet door, letting it slide open just a crack, enough for you to peek through, to get a glimpse.

His lean muscular back is the first thing you see, he’s facing directly away from his closet, thank god but oh god, that means you see..so much. The flex of his shoulder blades under his tan skin, the smattering of freckles over his shoulder, the long slender slope of his spine as it curves down his broad back, the dimbles at the bottom of his spine, flexing as he fucks his toy. His ass, because of course izuku would have a perfect round bubble butt. There are freckles there too. 

Your eyes skate down, hungry to his large and heavy balls, low hanging and full, currently smacked right up against the base of the little pocket pussy he’s practically straddling on his bed. 

It hits you again than, that deku is imagining that toy is you, he’s imagining fucking you in this position on his bed right now, imagining its your cunt hes pounding into, and your face he’s spitting those filthy words at. 

Your hand is really moving without your permission when it slips under the band of your leggings into your panties, fingers immediately dipping between the slick folds of your pussy, silky and wet. 

“-Wet” Izuku grunts, as you dip a finger just barely inside. “Fuck, i knew you’d be so fucking soft and good inside. Such a bratty girl would have a sweet cunt attached to her, huh?” 

Fuck, where and when did izuku start speaking like this? His soft voice curling around such crude words is making you gush all over your fingers. You wish you could see the kind of face he was making when he said them. 

“Yeah, you like taking my cock don’t you, baby?” He croons and if you close your eyes you can almost imagine he’s speaking directly into your ear, behind you. His thrusts get heavier, rougher, he lifts his leg up on the bed and you see a flash of the little green toy being fucked on his cock, big and angry looking. He’s being so brutal, hammering the thing down on his dick as he hips rut to meet every downward tug. “Milk it. Milk my fucking cock you whore. Wanna- fuck, wanna hear you say my name when you cum, want you to know who’s pouding that little pussy. The loser you fucking hate, yeah? Gonna cum for me?”

Yes, you whimper in your head in answer to him, your fingers curling deep, deep, inside, fucking yourself on them in earnest. He’s so big and you only caught a glimpse, but it was enough. Enough to know he’d fucking cleave you apart if he tried to fit that monster between his legs inside your tight little pussy. But you want it, god you fucking want it. You wanna feel him splitting you open, making you cream around him, making you beg for it. Making you bleed. 

“One of these day” he says, his voice breathless but steady, even as it cracks. You know he’s close. “I’m gonna fucking snap. Im going to make you look me in the fucking eye and apologize for making me want you, and then im going to split that pussy open- fuck, im coming, fuck, fuck, fuck. Do you understand, b-bitch? Gonna fucking make you mine, yeah, take it, take your senpais cock you dirty fucking girl, ah!” 

He slumps forward, hips humping into the toy and balls spasming as he pumps it full of his cum, shuddering deeply with little aborted whimpers. “Good girl, good girl” he pants, trailing off, giving one last little jerk of his hips before stilling. 

You bite your lip so hard you draw blood to stop yourself from whimpering out loud. You pull your sticky fingers out of your cunt and shuffle back into the dark of the closet, curling in on yourself as izuku lays there, panting heavily for a few moments before moving. 

You stay stock still as you hear him get up and shuffle around, his footsteps padding into the bathroom where you hear the door click softly shut. You spring up to your feet and don’t care if you make noise as you dart out of his room and into the hallway, sprinting like a bat out of hell as you make you way to the girls dorms.

You’ll think about how to reevaluate and recoup later. Right now you just really need to get to your bed so you can rut pathetically onto your own fingers and imagine izukus fat dick breaking you open. Never in a million years did you think he had those kinds of feelings for you, and you know it changes the whole game, is a whole other level of playing field where you now know he wants you on a physical level. 

You feel powerless and lie you’re slipping again, don’t know how you’re going to point your finger at him and laugh when you know for every insult you throw his way, is another way hes fucking his toy at night, adding it as another thing to get you back for. If he ever snaps. 

If. you want it to be a when, so bad, not an if. 

You’ll make it a when. You’ll push him off the metaphorical cliff he’s teetering on to make it so. 

. 

#poppy speaks #my writing #deku smut #midoriya izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya smut #bully!reader #izuku smut #midoriya izuku smut

[yikesharringrove]

Egg the Cat

Chapter 1

Read on Ao3

-

“Egg! Dinner!” 

Steve shook the container of dry food. The sound usually had Egg sprinting into him, yelling loudly through the house for her food. 

But she wasn’t coming. 

“Eggy!” He shook it again, heading out of the kitchen to see if maybe she couldn’t quite hear it. 

But still, no screeching, no pattering of little paws. 

“ Egg! ” He was beginning to feel, not good. 

She always came. Usually didn’t even let Steve out of her sight. 

He put down the container, racing up the stairs. 

He tore apart his bed, hoping to find big eyes staring at him, hoping to hear disgruntled mewing. 

“Egg, where are you girl?”

-

Billy kicked at a rock on the side of the road. 

The sun was beginning to set as he meandered down the main street, looking at the pitiful downtown. 

They had arrived a few days ago, spending all that time unpacking the moving truck, setting up their little house. 

Fuck Hawkins. 

He hated being landlocked. 

Hated being stuck in a shitty town. 

Hated that three days in, three days, and his dad has already taken his keys, has already slammed him against several of the walls in that house, has already kicked him out for the evening. 

He kicked the rock as hard as he could down an alleyway. 

He was met with a fucking scream. 

“Uh, hello?” It sounded like, like a kid was down there.

He was cautious, squinting into the shadowed alley. 

There was another shriek, and then yellow eyes peering at him. 

“ Oh .” 

It was a cat, a tiny little black cat. 

It yelled again.

“Loud baby, aren’t ya.” He crouched down, let the cat sniff around him. It had a collar on, and Billy got a look at the name. Egg Harrington. 

“Okay, who names a fucking cat Egg .” The cat looked at him. Meowing softly. 

He scooped it up, setting back down main street. 

-

“Egg!” 

Steve didn’t give a fuck anymore. 

He had his head sticking out his driver’s side window, driving slowly through town with his headlights as bright as possible, yelling her name. 

He was far beyond panicked, he had settled nicely in losing his shit. 

He needed to find her, needed to find her before someone else-some thing else- found her. 

He pulled over abruptly, parking his car. His baseball bat was tucked in his backpack as he set off on foot, armed with two flashlights and lots of batteries. 

The sun had set, and Steve was out here, looking for a black cat in the dark. 

“Egg! Please just come here. Come home with me, Honey, come on!”

He looked down each alleyway, shouting his head off like a fucking lunatic. 

But he had to find her. 

He had called Nancy to help him look, nearly in tears over the phone, begging for her to come out with him, only to be met with a flimsy excuse of watching her sister after dinner. 

He couldn’t really fault her, as he had to get out and search for his girl. 

He slumped against the diner wall, itching for a cigarette. But he had promised Nancy he’d quit, hadn’t had one in months. He settled for coffee, pushing his way into the diner. 

The waitress smiled brightly at him. Her name was Sylvia. She’d worked here since Steve was a kid. 

“Just you, Hun?”

“Yeah, Sylvia. Thanks.” She led him to a booth, tucked back in the corner. 

“Weird to see you here before midnight. You gonna actually get some food tonight?” The all-night diner had been Steve’s go to sanctuary for coffee after a particularly shitty nightmare. 

Which meant he was in there a few times a week. 

“Probably not. I’m just out looking for-”

His heart fucking stopped. 

He heard her. 

He heard his Egg.

Her yells were unmistakable, and he whipped around, saw her wriggling and writhing in some guy’s arms. She was looking right at Steve with those big yellow eyes, pupils wide and round.

Steve didn’t even register himself moving, just slid his arms around Egg, and held her close to his chest, burying his face in her fur. 

She purred loudly, relaxing immediately against him. 

“I take it you’re the fucker that named him Egg .”

Steve blinked slowly, finally registering who he had stolen his cat back from. 

“Named her Egg.” The guy just raised one sharp eyebrow. 

Yeah, Steve has never seen this guy in his life. 

He’d remember if he had. 

“Still a dumb name.”

“I was a kid, okay?” The guy just studied him for a bit, before his face cracked, smirk settling on his lips. 

“She’s cute.” Steve smiled back, settled himself in the booth opposite. “Loud as all fuck.”

“Yeah, she’s always been a yeller.” Steve leaned over the table, holding out his hand. “I’m Steve Harrington.”

“Billy Hargrove.”

Billy shook his hand. 

Steve Harrington. 

Billy liked his name. 

Well, honestly, he’d probably like any name as long as it was attached to this guy. Billy shook his head. 

None of that here. 

“Thanks for taking care of her.” Steve was looking down at Egg, scratching between her ears. 

She was perched on his lap, looking up at him like he was the whole world. 

It was the softest shit Billy had ever seen. 

“She’s sweet. Lost her damn mind when she saw you, though.” And then warm brown eyes were back on Billy, and it was genuinely difficult not to cow under them. 

“We’re very best friends.” Steve’s smile was sunshine. Just as warm and bright as his stupid fucking eyes. His stupid cheeks had a smattering of moles on them. Billy could see them dotting his neck too. 

He wrenched his eyes away from them. 

“That’s a little bit lame there, Harrington.” Billy couldn’t bring himself to call him Steve. 

He’s not allowed to be on first name basis with this guy. 

Steve raised one eyebrow, pursing his perfect pink lips-

Fucking come on, Billy. Don’t look at the fucker’s lips.

“How very rude of you. I’ll inform you, I used to be hot shit at the old high school.”

“You graduated?”

“No, I’m a senior. Just, you know, not hot shit anymore. Cold shit.” Billy barked a laugh, the cat looking wildly at him. 

“Fuckin’ cold shit .” He shook his head, fiddling with the laminated menu in front of him. “I’m gonna be a junior. Just like, by the way.”

“You new in town?” Steve smiled brightly at the waitress as she poured him a cup of coffee. Billy wrinkled his nose as he proceeded to dump sugar into it, rounding it off with four creams. 

Billy just kept his plain. 

“Moved here a few days ago. From California.”

“Jesus, why ?” Egg was currently staring back at Steve, pawing at his stomach. 

Billy’s heart nearly fell outta his asshole as Steve lifted up the hem of his sweatshirt, Egg tucking herself close to his body as he pulled it back down. 

He had smooth pale skin. Had even more fuckin’ moles, and sweet God, the fucking hair. His happy trail was dark, sinking down into the waistband of his jeans. 

Billy’s mouth was dry. 

Egg meowed softly from under his sweater. 

“My, uh, my dad remarried. He wanted to have a fresh start, or whatever.”

“No, I just mean, why here? This town is a shithole.”

“Yeah, I could see that.” Steve kicked him under the table. Billy ignored the way his stomach flopped. 

“Don’t be rude .”

“You just said it was a shithole.”

“I’ve lived here my whole life. I’m allowed to say that.” Steve broke off a small piece of one of Billy’s strips of bacon, holding it down the collar of his sweater. 

Egg meowed at him, no doubt taking the bacon. 

“Besides, you didn’t answer my question. Why here ?” Billy shrugged. 

He doesn’t really think telling Steve the truth would completely fly. 

After all, his dad’s a lot smarter than Billy has ever wanted to give him credit for. 

“Something about small towns having nice communities.” Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, they’re nice until everyone talks shit behind your back.” He picked off another piece of bacon, dropping it down his sweatshirt as well. His tone had shifted, his body slumping forward a little bit. The cat in his sweatshirt squirmed a little. 

“You say that like you know from experience.” Steve shot him a glare. 

“Remember how I said I’ve lived here my whole life?” He rolled his coffee mug between his hands. 

“That bad, huh?” Steve shrugged. 

“Might be better for you.”

“Doubt it.”

Steve’s sweater gave a sharp mreow. He put one hand against her, jostling her like one would a baby.

“I should get her home. She needs dinner.” He pulled out the neck of his sweater, smiling at the cat in there. “Thank you for taking care of her. Scared the shit outta me when I realized she was gone.” Billy’s breath caught in his chest when Steve looked back at him. “Let me pay for your dinner.”

Billy had the no ready on his lips, but Steve was already digging into his wallet, pulling out a crisp twenty, placing it under his mug. 

He stood up, holding beneath the lump still in his sweatshirt, cradling Egg close to him as she curled tighter. 

“Thanks again. I really woulda lost my shit if anything bad had happened to her.” And he gave Billy another smile, one so sweet and full of fucking sunshine it only made him fucking ache for California. 

Billy just nodded at him, pointedly didn’t look at his ass as he walked away. 

Because his dad uprooted the whole family to deposit them here. Where Billy would probably be hunted like Frankenstein’s fuckin’ monster by an angry mob of villagers if he let himself look at other boys’ asses as they walked away. 

He just finished his food. 

Left the bacon Steve had picked pieces off of for last. 

#i did it! #egg the cat #here she is #this whole ass fic about a fictional cat of a fictional character thanks #yikes writes #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #nice

[painsandconfusion]

Whumptober 23rd: "You Break It, You Buy It"

[Prompts: Auction | Ransom | Pursuit]

(tw: human trafficking, chase, broken leg, drugging, kidnapping)

.

Caretaker tapped their thumbs against the steering wheel. A little harder than usual. They could feel the vibrations in their bones, snaking up to their elbows. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of their neck as they stared at the empty, dark parking lot. 

It wasn’t a bad place to meet. Sufficiently creepy, that’s for sure. No cameras. An abandoned strip mall outside of town. The city’s expectations were for it to draw economic flow, then more businesses would build around it, and more housing around that, expanding city limits and increasing the socioeconomic status of the area.

That obviously didn’t work. The plan was too brash. Too risky. Of course the building was crumbling. 

The cement had been neglected so long that potholes filled with icy black water littered the flat surface. Edges of broken cement jutted up randomly. Curls of black tar peeled away from the cracks, having completely given up on trying to hold it together in favor of shriveling up in the cold autumn air.

Caretaker forced themselves to take in a long, shaky breath, then exhale it completely. It pulled at their lungs and made them twitch, but they had to keep their heart rate down if this was going to work.

Caretaker clutched the duffle-bag, pulling it from the passenger’s seat into their lap. They were just holding it so they wouldn’t lose it. Definitely not hugging it like an emotional support pillow. They clutched it tight, but loosened their grip when they felt the stacks of cash inside rumple. It’s not like the money would be worth any less wrinkled, but they wanted to seem legit. They wanted it to seem like the money had been neatly distributed to them via legitimate bank tellers. Not like they had paid someone online 1/10 the price to print fakes.

Fake money. Fake confidence. Fake persona.

They could do this. They could make it real. They had to. 

They were going to get Whumpee back. They’d searched for almost a full year before finding them pinned on a fucking ‘for sale’ post on a jenkity-ass dark-web site. No price. Just an auction time. 

Caretaker attended the auction, live-streaming it. Watching as Whumpee screamed and thrashed. As Whumper made them bleed. As the bid went up.

Caretaker bid every time, moving neck and neck with the others until they finally prevailed. The screen went black. They got a message. They set up a time to meet. They got the money. 

Now was the time to not fuck it up by freaking out. They had to stay calm. For Whumpee.

Bright LED headlights blinded them as a car entered from the other side of the lot. Caretaker scrambled with shaking fingers to pull their new ski mask from the glove box. They pulled it over their head, stretching it this way and that until their eyes and mouth were lined up with the holes. It never fit quite right. 

Do people actually do crime in these things? Don’t they need to see or something?

Caretaker opened the door, putting one shaky foot onto the cracked cement as the car in front of them parked. Headlights stared each other down from both sides.

Should they turn their car off? Would that be the polite thing to do? 

Whumper wasn’t turning their car off. The headlights shone on as Caretaker heard their drivers door snap shut. 

Okay, car stays on, then. Caretaker had no clue what the social decorum was for this kind of thing. They stepped out, letting their car door shut as well.

They hoisted the long strap of the duffle bag over their shoulder. No, that looks stupid. They let it fall bak down, holding it by the handle at their thigh. 

Better.

Whumper stepped into the light, between the beams of their headlights.

Caretaker did the same. They hoped Whumper couldn’t see their hands shaking.

“Nice to meet you in person. Did you bring the money?”

Whumper wasn’t wearing a mask. Caretaker faltered. Weren’t we supposed to wear masks? They aren’t they wearing a mask? Are they going to think I’m weird for wearing a mask? I thought I was supposed to...Are they going to- 

No. Shit. Calm. Stay calm.

Caretaker gripped the handles of the bag, then tossed it onto the concrete in front of Whumper. That was good, right? That looked tough? 

Fuck, maybe they will think that was rude.

Caretaker squinted against the headlights, trying to make out Whumper’s face. They could hardly make out the outlines. 

Whumper didn’t move for the money.

“So, been in the business long?” Caretaker didn’t even see their lips move.

They did their best not to fidget. They cleared their throat and prayed their voice would be steady. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather skip the chit chat. Where are they?” Good. That sounded confident.

Whumper chuckled. Not a great response. “Why the rush?”

The mask pressed hot and sticky against their face. Sweat must already be soaking in. “Just in a hurry today.”

“Mmm, I see.” Whumper peeled themselves off the bumper, taking a step forward.

Caretaker took an unconscious step back. The backs of their knees hit their fender. They could feel the humming vibrations of the engine burning through their jeans.

Whumper chuckled again. “So jumpy. Now why would that be?”

Caretaker forced air into their lungs. “I’m not j-jumpy.”

Fuck! Nice. Nice fucking job, can’t even talk like a normal person.

They cleared their throat as Whumper took another step forward, grabbing the bag off the ground.

Oh, they were just picking that up. Not making a move. Right.

Caretaker forced the words from their throat. “Like I said, I’m in a hurry today. Where are they?”

Whumper tilted their head to the side, silhouetted by blue light. “Where’s who?”

Caretaker blinked up at them. No. Don’t do that. Act tough

“Don’t play games with me, where’s Whumpee?”

Whumper tossed the duffle bag far to the side, out of the beams of light. “Oh, I wasn’t aware you knew their name. It wasn’t on the ad.”

F.U.C.K.

Caretaker pressed further against their car as Whumper took another step forward. 

“W-wasn’t it?”

“Mmm...nope. Sure wasn’t.”

Every cell in their body screamed for them to run. The muscles in their legs spasmed with the need to move. Now. They forced it down. Whumpee was here. So close. They had to save this. They had to save them.

Caretaker cleared their throat again. “Well whatever their name is, they’re bought and paid for, so hand them over.”

Whumper was close enough that Caretaker could see their smile. “Why don’t you take that mask off first?”

Caretaker’s mind froze up completely. They didn’t even twitch as Whumper’s fingers brushed against their throat, hooking under the fabric. They slid the mask up.

Caretaker gasped as icy air blasted against their warm sweat.

“Ah, hello Caretaker.”

Shit. MOVE.

Caretaker’s mind raced again. They lashed out, knuckles cracking against Whumper’s sternum. The impact ricocheted up through their shoulder as Whumper stumbled back, gasping and choking on air that wouldn’t come.

Good.

Caretaker sprinted forward to Whumper’s car, ripping open the drivers door and peering inside.

It was empty. No one. Not even on the floor of the backseat.

Whumpee must be in the trunk.

They smashed the trunk button on the dash and skittered behind the car, checking to make sure Whumper was still down as they moved.

Icy air shot down their lungs in short, sharp bursts as their shaking fingers curled under the trunk lid and yanked it up.

Darkness.

They reached inside, swiping blindly in the darkness. Half-scared something would bite them. “Whumpee? Whumpee, are you there?” They patted around frantically, but...there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

Caretaker skittered back, staring at the dark void. Whumpee wasn’t...

Realization dripped down their spine, freezing them on spot. 

Whumper had stood up and was staring at them over the vehicle. “Aw, what’s wrong? Thought I’d actually bring them?”

Caretaker took a shaky step back. “How...how did you know? How did-”

“You’re exactly not great with technology.” Whumper took a step forward.

Caretaker took one springing step towards their car, but Whumper slid to the side, blocking their path.

Fuck the car.

Caretaker spun, almost toppling forward with how quickly they gained speed. They flew through the darkness, dodging cracks and crumbling concrete as Whumper’s footsteps snapped in time behind them.

They’re close. Too fucking close.

Caretaker sprinted faster. They had no idea where they were going, they just ran. They didn’t dare look over their shoulder in case-

Caretaker screamed as they fell, plummeting down. Their leg yanked them back. A crackling snap reverberated up their shin.

They felt the icy water creeping up their jeans before they felt the pain. 

But the pain did come.

Caretaker's screams rang like sirens in their ears before they knew they had opened their mouth. They pulled their leg to their chest. They were only vaguely aware of blood dripping down their face as fire consumed them.

Whumper’s hands were on them, forcing them flat. They screamed again and Whumper’s hand push down on their shin. They felt the bones move under the pressure.

Whumper’s hand clamped down over their mouth as Whumper straddled them, laughing. “Better calm down there, love. I know this is remote, but it isn’t that remote.”

Caretaker writhed against the hand. They couldn’t run even if they did fight Whumper off, but still they struggled and pushed as Whumper pulled a bag from their pocket. They shook a rag out from inside.

Caretaker screamed again the moment their hand pulled away, but it was quickly snuffed out by the cloth.

Caretaker pushed uselessly against Whumper’s arms and chest, holding their breath.

“Oh come on, hold still. Think of it this way: the pain will stop once you’re unconscious.” They were still chuckling.

Bastard.

Caretaker’s lungs burned as they struggled.

The pain took away any sense of time. They pushed and writhed and screamed, but nothing stuck.

Slowly...

Ever so slowly...

They faded into the darkness.

.

Caretaker woke, pain ringing in their head more demanding than any alarm. Everything hurt. 

Caretaker forced their eyes open. Thick leather straps pinned their wrists to the arms of a wooden chair. Something about those straps seemed familiar...

Caretaker raised their head, eyes bleary and groggy.

The room was pristine. 

White. Bright. 

They had seen this room before.

Oh fuck. Oh no. No no no no no no.....

A camera was pointed at their face.

Whumper’s voice rang out from behind them. “Alright. Everyone ready? Let’s start with lot 843.”

.

[My Whumptober Masterlist]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @heathenwhump @jadeocean46910 @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams)

#whumptober #whumptober 2021 #whumptober 23rd #my writing #whump #ransom #persuit #chase #kidnapping #broken leg #human trafficking #drugged #human auction

[eideticmemory]

TWO GHOSTS III | MATTHEW G. GUBLER

It’s been 15 years. 15 years has to be long enough . . . right? Read PART 2.

Set 15 years after the end of Ever Since New York, so give that a read first!

Word Count: 3.9k.

Warning: Usual angst, porn, and poor communication amongst characters.

SOUNDTRACK:

Closure - Taylor Swift

Demolition Lovers - My Chemical Romance

Bang the Doldrums - Fall Out Boy

It’s a cliché.

Your life, certainly.

And the saying, as it goes, that the show must go on.

You’re blindsided. You’re a little nauseated, and irritated. You’re looking at Matthew, you’re thinking no one’s told him what’s going on, either.

But the two of you make eye contact, for just a few seconds, then his eyes rake down your body, pausing to take you in. Your dress, black against your skin, tight against your body. You hold his gaze as it returns to your face — your lips, your cheekbones, your eyes.

And a mutual understanding is formed. Silently, through nothing but an exchange of looks.

“After you,” Matthew smiles, politely, holding his arm out in front of his torso.

“Wow,” you smile, your voice kind, formal, as you pass him by. “How professional of you.”

He can’t help but chuckle to himself. He looks down, shakes his head, and he puts his hands in his pockets. You can feel his eyes running over your skin like a laser, tracing the shape of your spine, and you nearly tip over in your heels.

Ramona goes to follow you, and Matthew’s aligns beside her, working up the urge to speak.

“[y/n] didn’t . . .” he whispers, pausing to lick his lips, point up ahead at you you trailing down the hall. “She didn’t agree to this, did she?” he asks Ramona.

“Look,” Ramona stops, turns to Matthew, holds her palm up to silence him. It works. He stops, his words, his footsteps, come to halt. “I don’t know the story, but . . . I don’t think I’m supposed to talk to you. So . . . anything you want to . . . ask about or say to [y/n], then — then, you can say it to her yourself.”

And she quickly scurries away to catch up with you. She pauses, turns around, tells him, “I love Criminal Minds, by the way.” And she continues on her way.

Matthew laughs.

You’re already standing, set and center, ready to walk on stage on command. You look out at the crowd, each individual face. The bright lights. And you hate to be dramatic, but you’d give anything to not be here right now. Seriously, anything.

“Hey,” Ramona murmurs, walking up behind you. “You alright?”

“It’s too late for me to get out of this, isn’t it?” You ask.

“. . . a little bit,” she nods.

Matthew joins, taking his place behind the curtain, waiting to go on stage. You look over at him, let out a deep sigh.

“Okay,” you shrug, look forward. “Let’s do this, then.”

There’s an art to every interview. To being a polite, and attentive, and humble guest. For 30 minutes, for an hour, forever. It seems to be muscle memory for both you and Matthew. You flash your smiles, and they’re wide, they’re bright, they’re pretty, and completely, utterly inauthentic.

You put on a show for the crowd. You’re not an actress, but anyone who thinks you’re enjoying yourself has been fooled. And that’s enough for you.

You laugh along as questions bounce back and forth, the interviewer leaned over his desk as he speaks to the both you. There’s a gravitational pull that fights and fights to make you look at Matthew. It catches you once, and the two of you awkwardly avoid eye contact by averting your heads from one another.

Your eyes flicker over to the timer offstage, counting down the minutes until the interview was officially off air. It wasn’t until twenty minutes were left on the clock, that the questions became, a bit . . . pushy, to say the least.

“So, you and Matthew went to college together, is that right?”

“Yes,” you nodded, only looking to Matthew for a second of acknowledgement, before returning your glimmering smile to the host. “Yes, we did.”

“Were you two friends?” he asks. “Now, I don’t know why, but I see you both being in very different cliques,” he laughs, the audience joining.

You giggle, nodding, “Um, yeah, yes, I would say we were friends.”

“And what would you say, Matthew?”

“Eh, I’d say we were acquaintances,” he jokes, giving a shrug in response.

Everyone but you finds it funny. You cross your legs, passive aggressively, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Oh, so she was in with the cool crowd, is that what it was?”

“Hm . . .” Matthew hums. “Define cool?”

Your laugh is dry, quiet, drowned out by the laughter of the crowd. Your eyes are glued to your shoes, your feet swaying back and forth on your heel.

“But in all honesty . . .” Matthew adds. He leans over, puts his arm around you. It was the one thing to make you lose all sense of clairty, lose your solid ground. You shuffled in your seat, awkwardly, straining your face just to keep your smile in place. “If I could describe knowing [y/n] in college, in one, single word, it’d probably be . . .” he turns his head to you, slowly, “. . . exhausting.”

His voice comes out in a joking manner, and it prompts another uproar of laughter, which drowns in your ears as you gaze at Matthew. Your face is laced with a numb, distant kind of hurt.

Fifteen more minutes on the clock.

And you spend every one of them with a fire burning in your belly. Burning, and burning, until it filled your entire body.

Ramona runs up to you the second you step off stage, happy, beaming, “That went well! You were composed, funny, you handled his nosey ass questions with, like, no visible reaction.”

Continuing down the hallway, you focus on the steps ahead of you, counting down to the moment you return to the sanctuary of your dressing room.

“And the way you subtly promoted the show without being too pretentious, I mean, very well done. I — oh —“

She’s cut off by the door slamming in her face, as you disappear into the private room, leaving yourself to find peace. Stability.

“. . . I’m still proud of you!” Ramona shouts through the barrier. You sigh, close your eyes, rest your back against the cold wood. “I’m going to call you a car, I’ll be back!”

It’s not until you hear her retreating footsteps, that you take a seat at the vanity set to the side of the room. You put your head in your hands, unable to look at yourself in the mirror. Unable to do anything but sit, and feel.

Ramona weighs on your mind, and you can’t seem to shake the guilt of sending her away, so cold, so unfair. You huff, and rise to your feet. They’re swollen, and achey, from the pair of heels encapsulating them, but you push through. You march up to the door, and as soon as you swing it open, you walk down the hallway.

“Ro?” you call. “Ramona!”

And as if an invisible force knocked you back, jilted you in your steps, you stop. You turn your body, looking to the door at your left. It’s a magnetic attraction. You know he’s in there. Hell, you know he could walk out at any moment. But you stay, stuck in front of the barrier like a deer in headlights.

“No,” you whisper to yourself, shaking your head. “No . . . “

You walk away. You make the decision to walk away. But you only manage to make it a few feet . . . before you’re turning back around.

Your knuckles rasp on the wooden door, and you cross your arms as you await an answer. When Matthew comes to the door, the first thing you notice is that his tie has been removed, the top buttons of his shirt undone. Your breath catches in your throat, but only for a moment.

He exhales, “Haven’t we used all of our time for today?” he quips, tilting his head as he looks at you.

“I just want you to know that this is not . . . fair,” you tell him. “I have been polite and understanding, and you have been . . . a dick.”

He stands up straight, physically taken aback by your words, and the venom with which you speak them. “Have I?”

“Yes. You are being petty, and mean, and dragging this out for no, damn, reason, Matthew Gubler.”

“I didn’t know there was anything to drag out,” he shrugs. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he goes to close the door, right in your face. But you catch it with your elbow, force your way in.

You slam the door behind you, standing firm on your feet, firm in your anger. “No, no. You don’t get to treat me like this. Whatever is bothering you, whatever issue you have with me, that doesn’t give you the right to slam the door in my face, and disregard the fact that you have been an utter asshole!”

“Oh,” he backs away, snidely clicking his tongue at you. “We’re getting into a screaming match now?”

“What the fuck is your deal, Matthew?” you seeth. “You’re mad, you’re hurt, I get it —“

“I’m not mad, I’m not hurt. I’m . . . annoyed, more than anything.”

“Oh, please,” you scoff, crossing your arms. “The way I see it, there’s two options, here. Either, you’re still mad, and you want to hurt me. Or, you want to fuck me so badly, you’re just making yourself look stupid!”

A lot has changed. Too many things to count on one hand.

But the way Matthew’s eyes darken . . .

The way the wire snaps.

It hasn’t changed, at all. His irises are still as dark and intense, as they always were when they were focused on you. Dreamy, and powerful. Almost, hypnotic.

It’s hard to tell exactly who kisses who, first.

So, we’ll call it a mutual decision.

Your bodies collide, fall in sync with one another almost automatically, as you hold his face in your hands. His skin feels different, covered by a layer of scruff. But his mouth tastes the same.

Addicting.

You drop your jaw, let his tongue slide between your lips. He moans into the kiss, and his hands grip onto your waist, pulling you closer. Closer. Until you can feel his heartbeat against your chest. You offer no resistance as he sweeps you off your feet, instead wrapping your legs around his waist.

Your back slams into the wall, and you gasp, tangle your hands in Matthew’s hair. It curls around your fingers, and he hums at the sensation of your fingertips grazing his scalp. His hands make their way underneath the hem of your dress, maneuvering up your thighs, onto your ass.

He pauses to put his forehead against yours, watch the drool drip down your lips. “You want it as badly as I do . . .” he whispers, heaving as his breath reels from the kiss.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t you?”

“You’re ruining it, jackass,” you spit.

“Mm, that’s what I thought,” he grins into another kiss, catching your bottom lip between his teeth. His hand wraps around the elastic band of your panties, tightly, and he uses minimal strength to rip the fabric apart. It pops against your leg, and you squeak out loud, causing Matthew to chuckle against your lips.

Your dress rides up your thighs, bunching up around your waist, while your hands work quickly to undo Matthew’s belt. His stomach is flushed, and warm under the thin material of his shirt.

He grunts into his mouth as you free him from his boxers, stroke him in your palm with a familiar and steady rhythm. He could’ve fallen to his knees right then, right there. But he didn’t. Because, God, he’s going to fuck you if it was the last thing he ever does. He’s going to do it well, and he’s going to make it quick.

Pinning you to the wall, he spits on her fingers, covering them in his saliva and reaching down to touch you between your legs. You whimper into his mouth, pleading, begging for it.

Matthew pulls away from the kiss only to watch your face, to see your eyes roll back as he pushes into you. Again. For the first time in so long. Your entire body, just, relaxes, and you melt into each other, weak already.

His hips push forward, forcefully, until he’s buried inside of you, and you can’t help but let out a loud whine. He puts a hand over your mouth, his forehead against yours, and begins to move your bodies in this slow, steady rhythm. Your back is moving up and down against the wall, and your moans are aligning with every one that comes from Matthew’s mouth.

The two of you can’t keep your eyes off each other, as though neither of you can believe this is happening. That you’re here. With each other. Bonded. Chained. Like there was no amount of fate, or time, or distance that could keep you apart.

Matthew buries his face in your neck, trying to contain his high pitched groans. He absentmindedly starts to increase his pace, encouraged by the way your nails rake down his back. You rest your head back against the wall, you eyes screwed shut and your mouth wide open. His fingers slide between your lips, and muffle the loud squeaks that won’t seem to stop.

And you’re not sure if it’s him, the way he’s only gotten better, and manages to hit a golden spot inside of you with every thrust. Or, if it’s the fact that you haven’t gotten laid in a while. But when Matthew takes his hand away from his mouth, starts to rub your clit, you yelp.

“Shhh,” he cooes, but follows his soft order with a roll of his hips.

Your body is completely rested, dependent, on his. He cradles you in his arms as his hips contain to move, his fingers work tirelessly on your clit, and he moans in your ear.

You don’t have to tell him. He already knows. He remembers. How your thighs tighten around his waist when you’re close. How you mumble incoherently, and try to catch your breath but it only comes out at jumbled gasps. He feels you tighten around his cock, your nails digging into his back and your fingers pulling at his hair.

He supports you as your body crumbles from the pressure, releases it all in one big, intense rush of energy that leaves your body tense and on edge. You hold him close as you tremble, muffle your whimpers against his shoulder. Sliding out of you, he uses your inner thighs to bring himself there with you. You have to lay against the wall, as you watch him in a daze. Your vision blurry, blurry, until you focused on him.

Sweat beads on his forehead, soaking the hair on his face, and the collar of his shirt. He bites down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. And when he comes, his jaw drops, but no noise comes out. He’s silent, and beautiful, and his face scrunches up in the exact same way it always did. He makes a mess on your thighs, your stomach, and stares you in the eye while he does it.

Matthew lowers you to the ground, holding your hips as you plant your feet on the floor. You stare at each other for a moment, out of breath, and strangely calm, both of you fixing your clothes.

You advert your eyes, distracting yourself by correcting the wrinkles in your dress. You reach over, grab some tissues to wipe yourself off with. Silence fills the room, and it’s deafening.

Nothing’s changed. Nothing’s different. The past is still the past, you’re still you, Matthew’s still him. And the remnants of who you two used to be still hang in the air, haunting. Dangerous.

You push your hair out of your face, clear your throat as you toss the tissues into the trash, look Matthew in the face, “We done here?”

You move around him, heading to the door without looking back.

“[y/n],” he calls. You turn around, your hand on the door knob. Matthew steps towards you, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You don’t have to treat me like, some situation that needs to be handled . . .” he purses his lips, “I’ll be alright.”

You sigh at him, at a loss for words. And you leave.

Ramona nearly collides into you as she rushes down the hall, exclaiming as she stops in her tracks. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you!” She catches a glimpse of Matthew’s door, her jaw dropping as she connects the dots. “I —“ she stutters. “Did you —?”

“Let’s go,” you command.

“But, I —“

“Let’s go.”

So you went. It felt cowardly, and . . . wrong. Wrong, simply because of Matthew. His broken voice. The memory of his eyes, and the sadness that glossed over them as you left.

After situating yourself in the backseat, you lock the car door. Out of some irrational fear . . . that, if given the chance, you’ll hop out. Rush back to Matthew, take him in your arms, and never let him go. Never is a long time, but not enough to make up for the years that have gone by.

You sigh to yourself, rub your tired eyes as the car begins to move, begins on its journey to take you home. “Actually . . .” you say to the driver., leaning forward. “Can you take me somewhere else, instead?”

You knock, forcefully, on the door in front of you, after trekking up the stairs to the luxury apartment. Out of breath, you huff, and add another tireless knock upon the door.

“It’s open!”

You furrow your eyebrows, walk in to see Claire and Roni sitting on the couch. They give you welcoming smiles, popping snacks into their mouth.

“Are you trying to wake the kid, dude?” Claire asks you, causing Roni to chuckle under her breath.

“Sorry, I . . .” you apologize. “I thought you guys were asleep.”

“We’re up,”Claire shrugs. “Want a snack? We’ve got those tropical gummies that you really like.”

You stare for a moment, inhale, exhale, look to Claire, “You knew I was coming . . .”

“Oh, yeah,” she nods. “We saw the interview. You were expected.”

“Ugh,” you groan, putting your face in your hands, out of nothing but pure exhaustion.

Claire sighs, sadly, knowing you so well, that it’s evident to her just how much your struggling. How, once again, your body is being weighed down by a heavy heart.

“You said you’re alright here, babe?” Roni whispers to her, and Claire responds with a gentle nod.

“We’re fine, mama,” she tells her, following her words with a soft kiss on the lips. “I’ll be down soon.”

“Okay,” and with that, Roni leaves the two best friends to themselves, occupying herself by going to check on Dorthy.

Claire pats the newly available spot beside her, and you shuffle your feet over the couch, plopping down with a hum of relief.

“Here,” Claire says, picking up a pack of gummies, handing them to you, “Have a snack.”

You take the packet, and tear it open, not hesitating to pop the candy in your mouth. You chew anxiously, obnoxiously.

Claire is patient. Of all things, Claire is kind. And she waits for you to process. Your feelings, your thoughts, your words, and when you finally, finally open your mouth to speak, she just smiles. It’s as though everything comes out in one breathe. A film made in one take. You use all your energy to rant and mumble and whine tonight’s events.

Even the dirty details. They’re important to the story.

“And I just left . . .” you trail off. “What else was I supposed to do?”

Claire looks at you for a long time. She goes to speak. She stops herself. She puts her finger to her lips, contemplating. Goes to speak again. Stops herself, again.

You furrow your eyebrows at her, “Is this like, charades or something?” you ask.

“No . . . I . . .” she stutters. “I . . . you fucked him?”

“It was, more mutual,” you shrug.

“So, now what?”

“I, I don’t know? I have no clue.”

“But you want to be with Matthew?”

“No . . . I . . . I don’t know.”

“Well, does he want to be with you?”

“I don’t know.”

“[y/n] . . .” she sighs. “Don’t you think . . . maybe, you and Matthew are a little too . . . big . . . for this?”

You tilt your head, “Big?”

“Old!” Claire shouts. “Old! You’re old! You’re too old for this!”

“Wha —“ you stutter. “I —“

“Look,” she pauses, turns her body to you, and takes your hands in her grasp. “I was here before Matthew, I was here after Matthew. So . . . I’m, I’m telling you, as the person who watched it happen once . . . don’t drag yourself through hell again. If Matthew’s the one, if he’s who you’ve been waiting for, if it’s always been him, then go. Run to him. He’s here.”

And for no reason at all, you could’ve cried. Tears brim your eyes, and you have to blink them away. “Um . . .” you reply. “Can I crash here tonight.”

Claire sighs, rests her chin on her hand. “Of course.”

“Cool . . . can I borrow some pajamas?”

“Yes.”

You nod, rise from the couch, prepared to walk yourself to the guest room. You turn, nervously, back to Claire and she looks up at you. “Do you, um, do you have any underwear I can borrow, too?”

She purses her lips at you.

“Okay, yeah, nevermind, I’ll go commando.”

So you slept without any underwear. And you forced yourself not to dream of him. Not to allow yourself to be haunted by memories, by pain.

But when you closed your eyes, he was all you could see. The way he looked, and talked, and smelled fifteen years ago. The way you slept beside him for the very last time, and had convinced yourself it would not be the last time.

It would not be the last time.

He made you laugh so hard in your dream that you woke up, and your heart broke as you awake in a dark and empty room. You reach over, turn on the bedside lamp, and rub your tired eyes. You only managed to sleep until three in the morning. And Matthew, and Claire’s words, were the first thing on your mind.

He wasn’t hard to find.

You have your strings. And you, sneakily, tiredly, in a haze of exhaustion, pull all of them. It’s insane, and as you drag yourself out of bed, you ask yourself what you’re doing. Why you’re doing it. What is the point?

But it’s him. And he’s here. And he won’t be for much longer, and he’s only ten minutes away.

The car is able to pick you up and get you to the hotel in under twenty minutes. You’re dressed in a pair of sweats and a cozy sweatshirt, well aware of how crazy you look, well aware of how crazy you’re behaving. And unable to stop yourself.

You march into the building, your feet moving on autopilot to guide you to the elevator, up to the ninth floor. You catch your breath as you move up each level, and lose it again the moment the doors open. You push yourself forward, follow the arrows to his room.

You round the corner, and he calls out, “Hey!”

You smile. Matthew happy to see you.

No.

Not you.

You step back, stopped in your tracks as the girl giggles in his face, holds onto his waist.

“Surprise!” she exclaims, the two of them standing outside his hotel door.

“What are you doing here? I was going to pick you up,” he says.

“Call me impatient, but I couldn’t wait to see you,” she places a soft kiss to his lips, smiles at Matthew. He smiles back.

But that smiles quickly fades when he turns his head, sees you standing there. Matthew is not happy to see you.

“[y/n] . . .”

TAGLIST:

@muffin-cup

@pinkdiamond1016

@spencersbed

@safertokiss

@calm-and-doctor

@spencerreid-mgg

@reidsconverse

@reidemandweep

#mine #tg #mgg #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler fic #matthew gray gubler smut

[acapelladitty]

Mouth: Part Ten (nsfw)

Pairing: Heisenberg/Female Reader

Warnings: punishment, spanking, rough sex, dirty talk, cockwarming, come marking.

A bored mind makes stupid decisions and your decision to wind up the Lord of the factory as he worked on a fresh project within his main invention room fell into that category. Idle hands were most definitely the devil’s plaything and your devil of choice was pointedly ignoring you.

“Can I help with anything?” You ask, standing behind the metal chair which he preferred to work from as you whisper the question into his ear, ensuring that you are as close as possible without physically touching him. He’d been locked in this room for hours and it was about time for some distraction.

“No.”

“Would you like me to hold something for you?”

“No,” he repeated, twisting his head away from your lips as he focused on his task, “now fuck off, please.”

Unwilling to budge, you ignore his pointed tone.

“How about I make us something to eat?” You purr, moving forward so that you are kneeling to his side, keeping out of the direct path of his gaze, which was focused on the metal floating above his workbench, “A late night snack. Something,” you pause, “delicious.”

“Not right now.”

His voice was firm as his attention refused to leave the pieces of metal before his eyes as they bent into unnatural shapes at his whim. The metal looked red-hot in some areas as it was folded into various positions, slotting together before coming apart in rapid succession.

“Come on, my Lord,” the words are little more than a whine as you stand again and run a hand along the firm muscle of his thigh, “your subject requires your attention for a little while. It’s been so long since you’ve serviced her.”

As your finger moves to brush lightly against his crotch, a high-pitched squeal from the intricately woven floating cogs were the only indication that something had went wrong, even as a loud “Ah, fuck!” escaped his throat.

At his exclamation, the metal gears before him seemed to contract for a moment before exploding in place and, as you ducked away from the grating noise and bright light, a sharp pain registered against your hip as you recognised his open palm shoving at your body to remove you from the danger zone.

His impressive strength matched with his momentary panic proved too much for your body and you found yourself being thrown to the floor, your ass colliding against the hard stone making you release a loud grunt of pain as he stood up from his work seat.

Surveying the residual mess of his work, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth as he stomped his foot in open frustration. His coat flared behind him with the movement and you watch the fabric settle as his hands slam into his hips.

“A whole day of work, up in fucking smoke!”

Oops.

“All because of you and your goddamn hole!”

Ah, shit.

There was a genuine anger in his expression as he turned and approached your fallen body, the harshness of his gaze causing your heart to stutter for a moment as you froze like a rabbit caught in headlights. The smart thing would be to give him some space and scarper away but as his presence loomed over you, you knew that escaping was out of the question.

“Would it help if I said sorr-”

Your words were cut off in a sharp gasp as he moved quickly to scoop you up from the floor and hold you to his side with one arm as he moved back towards his work seat.

Dropping into his makeshift throne, he pins you to the floor between his thighs and your knees crash off the hard flooring uncomfortably as you gaze up at him. His eyes are covered by his glasses but you can sense the anger behind them and you attempt to look as apologetic as possible, hoping to avoid his wrath.

“I said I was sor-”

“No, shut the fuck up.” He cut you off once again, his hand coming to cover your mouth to prevent any further speech, “You’ve done it now, kitten. A whole day of wasted time and resources all because you wanted to play.” His tone was curt, irritation barely restrained, and it causes a fresh spark of anxiety within you, “Well, you have my attention now and I hope you’re happy with what you’ve earned.”

His fingers are warm against your mouth, and you slip your tongue out as much as possible to flick at them playfully. The damage was done but you knew how to appease him, and you shuffle your head forward and tilt your head towards his groin in a show of penance. He was not a man to deny himself a free blowjob and you were certain that would take the heat out of him for the moment.

“Nice try,” he growled, pulling at your hair to force your head back away from his crotch, “but that’s not going to work, buttercup. You have ruined my plans and no amount of head is going to get you out of this punishment.”

“Let’s see,” he hummed, one hand wrapped around your hair while the other traced soft lines across your exposed throat, “I’ve been in here since 6pm and it’s now midnight. That’s six hours. I will also need to source three new gears for this manipulation so let’s make that the multiplier.” His expression is thoughtful as he considers the math, “Brings us to eighteen so let’s round it to a solid twenty. Twenty strikes as a fair punishment”

Unable to speak, you allow your eyes to widen in recognition at his words.

“Think you can handle twenty strikes? Shall we find out?”

It has been a while since he’d reddened your skin in such a way and there were alternative punishments which you enjoyed much less so you nod your consent, the small movement making the burn in your scalp worse.

“Would the little slut like the switch or the palm?” He asked, releasing your mouth to allow you to answer. The switch, a thin metal bar he could fashion at a moment’s notice was much more painful than his hand and the fact that he was even giving you the option was a good sign, “Or should I choose for her?” He continued.

“The palm, my Lord.” You answer, eyes downcast in a show of penance as you throw in his title to sweeten the deal and play your role, “Your hand should be my punishment.”

“Good choice.” He grunted and you inhale in surprise as his hands grip your upper arms in a tight grasp so that he can lift you from your knees and place you over his knees.

Your stomach lay against his firm thighs as your feet plant themselves on the ground, giving yourself some purchase as he runs his hands up your bare legs. A shudder trails down your spine at the softness of his touch, knowing what it was a prelude to, and you press your thighs together as his commanding voice booms out from above you.

“Place your hands on the legs of the chair and if you let go I’ll double your punishment.”

You follow his command, wrapping your palms around the thick metal of the chair legs and you can feel the blood rushing to your ears as your head remains upside down. Your breasts hung free just past the edge of his thighs but they remain covered by the shirt which still clung to your upper half as you settled yourself as comfortably as you could against him.

The warm air of the room hit your exposed lower half as your skirt was pulled up over your ass. His hand felt huge against your skin as he immediately palmed your ass roughly through your panties, calloused fingers running along the globe of your ass to admire it before the real fun began. A soft whoosh of movement caught your attention and you tilt you head in time to see his hand grasp around the hilt of his knife and a thrill of nervous anticipation rockets through you.

Before you can question its use, you feel the dull edge of the blade against your hip as the sharp edge sliced through the thin fabric of your panties before moving to the other side to repeat the process. With a flourish, he drops the knife to the floor and rips your underwear from you, the aggressive pull leaving a warmth in its wake as it dragged across your trapped skin.

Now fully exposed, you can do little but keep your hands clasped around the legs of his metal throne as you await his next move.

“Count for me.” He demands, his voice rough with undeniable lust as he adjusts his knees to bear your weight comfortably, “And if you fuck up the count then I start over. Understand?”

“Yes, my lord.”

The slight whisper of air as his hand draws through the air is the only indication you have that he’s started as he targets the exposed curve of your ass.

SMACK.

A grunt escapes you at the impact; it was painful but not unbearable as he was obviously trying to gauge holding back his impressive strength since a full-power hit would probably do some irreparable damage. Regardless, you hold your position steadily as your fingers remain clasped around the metal chair.

“One.”

SMACK.

Stronger than the first, the blow takes the breath from you as you jerk in place. Positioned in the same spot as the first, you can already feel the growing heat from your ass as the second smack only adds a fresh sting to the underlying discomfort.

“Two.”

“Good girl.” He grunts, pausing in his blows to run the tips of his fingers along your slit and you’re ashamed at the slickness there after only two smacks but your soft sigh turns into a quick inhalation as he swats at your cunt roughly, encouraging you to spread your thighs, “Are you ready to scream for me, sweetheart?”

He doesn’t give you time to respond before his hand once again connects harshly with your ass, the heat there barely dulling before it was inflamed again and, even as the blow pulls a pained gasp from your lips, you push your ass out to meet him, encouraging him.

“Three.”

Building into a steady rhythm, he continues to decorate your ass with patches of red as his hand abuses the flesh there. Groans and sharp squeals are all you can manage between counted numbers as the pain grew more apparent with every hit; the flesh growing more irritated as it continued to be assaulted without pause.

Continuing your count as each new smack sent fresh waves of heat across your ass, you let out a high squeal of surprise as he angles his hand downwards for one hit, the tips of his fingers catching the edge of your cunt as you stiffen in place.

“Thirteen!”

The pain in your flesh, the sting and heat which only grew with every hit, was intense but with it came an undeniable pleasure which coated your thighs with your own juices and made your core ache for stimulation. Every harsh-sounding slap was intercut with your own sharp yelps and needy whines as he alternated random strikes by pausing to grope roughly at your stinging flesh, kneading it between savage fingers to test the sensitivity.

You can feel his hardness pressing against your side as you remain in your prone position. Soft grunts escaped his own throat with every blow and were occasionally punctuated by soft mutterings which were too low to be picked up.

One particularly harsh blow catches you across the globes of your ass and fresh tears spring into your eyes as you give a pained yelp. The pain overshadowed the pleasure as the unyielding sting of your flesh and infernal heat seemed to spread across your body, making your limbs tight and your fingers claw against the metal of the chair leg.

“Nineteen.”

“One more, kitten.” He informed you, his hand coming to rest atop the back of your head as he pulled your head back, surveying the pained look in your expression.

SMACK.

Squeezing your eyes closed as his hand once again struck the searing skin of your ass, which you could guess was a stunning shade of red given the heat you could feel, you cry out the final number.

“Twenty!”

Having served your punishment, his hands are quick to wrap around your waist and pluck you from his lap as he deposited you in your earlier position between his thighs. Your heels dug in painfully to the heated flesh of your ass and you whine at the rough contact as he takes your face within his hands; the heat from his left hand, the hand used to punish you, clear against your cheek.

“Well done,” he drawled, and you can see that most of his anger has dissipated, replaced with a strange mixture of pride and obvious lust, “but we’re not over just yet.”

His hands are quick to unzip his fly as he pulls free his cock, the length looking painfully hard as it juts free of his opened slacks, and he pauses to give it a leisurely stroke.

Releasing himself, he secures his hands around your upper arms and pulls you up into his lap so that the length of his cock is resting against the cleft of your core as he wraps an arm around your waist. The pressure of his groin against your abused ass is uncomfortable but bearable as you lean forward slightly to take the pressure off.

“I’m going to fuck you, kitten,” his voice is rough and low, “and I’m going to do it right here in my work chair. This is the second part of your punishment.”

Not quite seeing the negative here, you nod demurely just to play into his game.

“Of course, my Lord.”

His hand slips into the space between you as he cups your mound.

“Tell me what hole you want me to use,” he growls in your ear as two of his fingers glide across your slit before sinking knuckle-deep within you, “and I’m not going easy so make sure you choose wisely and tell me why. You need to earn your forgiveness and I want to make sure you feel it.”

“My cunt,” you gasp out your choice, pressing down on his fingers as they probe you roughly, your body delighted at finally receiving some stimulation, “your thick cock forces me to stretch around it and it hurts.”

Only partially true but you know it’s what he wants to hear.

He removes his fingers and uses his hand to brush his cock against your slit, wetting his tip with your juices as he prepares to enter you and a shiver runs down your spine with anticipation.

You don’t have long to wait as he impales himself within you with an animalistic grunt; the unexpected fullness and force of his insertion as he buries himself fully drawing a low scream of pained pleasure from your lips.

Making no effort to move just yet, his free hand comes to clutch at the fabric of your shirt, tearing the buttons there with one swift movement and exposing your chest to his leering gaze as he pushes the torn fabric to the side.

Capturing your nipple between his teeth, the worries the sensitive nub there for a moment and the sensation is so intense that your fingers snake through his grey hair and pull at it almost desperately. A move which earns you a low growl as he repeats the move with your other nipple, clearing enjoying the sensation of being sheathed within you as he torments your chest.

He begins to move within you, using his strength to pull you free of him until only the tip of his cock remains inside before plunging within you once again. It’s pleasure and pain rolled into one as the stretch mixes with the wonderful sensations of his cock brushing your most sensitive spots and you whine out your anguish.

Writhing against him, the pressure of his thrusts is almost too much as it feels like he is trying to split you in half with his cock. Every nerve within you is firing off and your legs hang limply to the sides of the chair, toes curling with every powerful stroke, as you allow yourself to be used. His hands on your hips prevent you from moving too much but you push back against him as much as possible, movements frantic as the burn in your ass only adds to the growing pleasure alighting across your body.

Rough growls are the only noises coming from him and they mingle with the whines and moans which you can’t prevent from escaping your own throat. Particularly when he resumes his assault on your chest, his stubble rubbing against your breasts as he nips savagely at the sensitive flesh there with sharp teeth, his cock never slowing in its brutal pace.

Your orgasm almost catches you off-guard as one of his fingers come to rest against your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves there with an almost cruel pressure. Combined with the delightful stretch of your core plus the torment of your chest, it was too much and your vision seemed to white out for a moment as the band of arousal snapped; your hips snapping against his groin as your fingers clawed desperately at the leather of his coat which covered his back.

“I love it when you buck against me, kitten.” He snarled against your neck as he continued to thrust within you, chasing his own pleasure with little regard for how overstimulated it left you, “So wet and warm, and so fucking tight just for me.”

A garbled sequence of agreements is all you can manage as your body spasmed against his, his cock continuing to draw out your pleasure far beyond what it had to as the waves of ecstasy seemed unending. But even through your euphoria, you can feel the tell-tale jerking of his cock as it seemed to twitch within your walls and you knew he was close.

Just at the point of no return, he pulled his cock free of your core and the sudden emptiness drew a mournful wail from your lips as he instead drew his hand across his cock frantically. It took less than a moment before his orgasm hit, his release arcing high between you as it splattered across your exposed stomach and chest; one drop catching you just above your right nipple as he released a low, guttural groan at the sight.

Your legs were still twitching from the aftershocks and the burn in your ass seemed more intense than before, obviously disturbed by your writhing against his groin, as you fought to catch your breath.

A gasp stole your breath as you felt his fingers against your core once again but before you could question him, you felt him slip within you once again, his cock still hard but having wilted slightly due to his release.

At your questioning glance, he spoke.

“You’re going to wear those trophies until I say otherwise,” he growled as he indicated the mess of his release, spattered across your chest, “and if you touch them I’ll bind your hands to this chair until I am finished.”

“Finished?” You ask, not quite understanding his intent. His cock was welcome within you and you couldn’t help but clench around it as you once again enjoyed the fullness.

“I need to work,” his grunt was low and, with a flick of his hand, a handful of scrap rose from behind his chair and moved towards his workbench, “and since you can’t be trusted to not interrupt then you can stay here. Exactly where I can see and feel you.”

Thinking of your earlier boredom, you can see the appeal in his command and you nod your consent.

“Think of it as serving your Lord by keeping his cock nice and warm while he works.”

Leaning forward, you lay your head against the wide expanse of his shoulder as you settle against his body. Your body feels wonderfully used and abused and this position allows you to take the pressure off you ass while also providing a very comfortable resting place. His cock within you doesn’t move and you don’t imagine it’ll be too long before he gives in to the temptation of another round.

“Sounds good to me.”

He chuckles at the enthusiasm and settles into his task.

His attention is focused beyond you, on the metal which he manipulates with unmatched skill, but with every slight jostle of your bodies you can feel the fullness of his cock as it remains sheathed within you. His punishment had been fair and you knew that the sight of your reddened flesh would inspire him to lust for days until it healed up.

He loved leaving his little marks on you, be it with his hands, teeth, or even his cum. It was a sign of ownership that you allowed; just as he allowed you to claw your ownership into his back or bite it into the flesh of his chest and thighs. It was important that you gave as good as you got as neither of you could stand weakness.

Your thoughts were broken as a soft humming emitted from his chest, some unknown tune which you couldn’t place, and you sighed against him, settling in to the rare moment of pure intimacy.

Full fic available on AO3 @ DittyWrites

#karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg #lord heisenberg #karl heisenberg/reader #heisenberg x reader #capcom #re village #resident evil

[ryushiho]

toy - sukuna x fem!reader

pairing: sukuna x fem!reader

w.c: 3.2k

contains: noncon, angst, depictions of violence

a.n: i am so so sorry for the late post ;-;-; also repost bc stupid tags wont work

“Stop!” You flail your arms in a desperate attempt to catch Itadori’s attention.

He doesn’t hear you. Itadori’s too busy pummeling his fists into Mahito’s face, splitting bone and flesh under his knuckles. Bloody arms arc smoothly into the air, carving jagged black streaks into the placidity of the pale sky.

When each hit connects, blood fountains into the air, then scatters back down around the concrete.

Again and again and again, until the sky’s pouring viscous, crimson rain onto the abandoned parking lot.

“Stop!”

Your hoarse yell bounces off the crumbling buildings and echoes across the open space. It’s obvious Itadori can hear you; each time you scream, an almost imperceptible flinch thrums through his skin. But he doesn’t respond, nor does he stop; if anything, his punches only grow stronger.

“I’m gonna kill him!” Itadori shrieks back.

You don’t know if he’s talking to you or himself.

“I’m gonna kill him! I’m going to do it!” More punches hurtle into Mahito’s limp body.

“No!” That idiot! “Don’t kill him, you twerp!”

Mahito was important information—you needed him alive, not ground into pulpy meat. At this rate, your student was going to turn the damn cursed spirit into nothing but broken bones and torn flesh.

If you couldn’t talk him out of it, then you’d have to knock him out.

You skid to a stop, crouching deeply into the balls of your feet.

Inhale.

Exhale. Tendrils of your breath seep from your pursed lips, puffing into thin clouds. You close your eyes. Another deep inhale.

Exhale.

Bursts of your power flood over the area, spilling over onto the parking lot like tides lapping at a sandy coast. The waves are refreshingly cold as it rushes over your feet, flowing past your body to drench Itadori in its salty embrace.

The white tides foam around his skin and drain away his cursed power. The inky darkness of his vengeance-fueled energy stains the pure waters, and its not long before the once-white waves turn black and oily. When your domain finally cleanses him of his power, Itadori blinks sleepily and slowly slackens.

His eyes never leave you even as his body crumples on the ground. And when you close your eyes to look away, the betrayal in Itadori’s gaze haunts the darkness behind your eyelids.

The last of your power sputters out of you, weak, foamy sprays that fall pathetically at your feet, feet that stumble and stagger wildly as you struggle to regain your balance. He may have been your student, but you couldn’t deny that he was stronger than you—it had taken all of your power to subdue him.

At any other moment, you would’ve puffed with pride at how much your student had grown since graduation.

But now was not the time.

The edge of your vision flickers in blue-black static, and your domain vaporizes into salty steam. You sway in place, head pulsing from one of the worst migraines you’ve had in a while.

It feels like you’re a freshman in college again, drunk on one too many shots of cheap whiskey. The flickering energy in the air —a cocktail of Itadori’s, yours and Mahito’s—reminds you of the cheap probe lights and cellophane decorations, swirling disjointedly in all of their plastic glory.

You laugh dryly. Reminiscing about college? Really?

The floor lurches abruptly and pulls you into a painful embrace.

“Ow!”

You hiss, curling a finger around your throbbing scalp  Well, that’s going to leave a lump. Itadori’s unconscious body lay only a few feet away from you, and chunks of Mahito’s flesh still clung to the bottom of your shoes. Ugh.

You drop your head back on the floor, exhaling audibly. Against the canopy of the foggy sky, the white sun pierces through pale clouds and stings your squinted eyes. It was bright. Too bright. After what had happened, you’d almost expected the sky to be stained permanently crimson. Somewhere in the distance, a murder of crows scatter into the air, trailing gritty caws behind them.

You close your eyes and sigh.

God, you were absolutely spent—you didn’t know if you could manage even a single spell. Where was all the other sorcerers?

Cracks pop from your spine as you roll onto your side and push yourself onto your knees. “Ow, fuck, my back.”

Slow bastards. What were they doing, crawling on all fours? What was taking them so goddamn long?

If you got out of this alive, you were going to—

Someone laughs.

Too deep to be Itadori’s, too gritty to be Megumi’s.

No.

Realization seeps through you, and it pools cold dread inside your bones.

“Well, this is an interesting turn of events,” Sukuna rumbles behind you.

Before you can react, his hands grip your shoulders and flip you on your back. There’s a sharp twinge in your skin as he pinches your chin and jerks your face up towards him, forcing you to meet the spirit’s gleeful grin.

“Hm,” Sukuna cocks his head, leaning towards you. “Are you the one that knocked out the brat?”

His signature markings crawl over Itadori’s skin, but you barely notice the strange black lines; like a stupid fawn caught in the headlights of her impending doom, you’re too entranced by the cruelty flickering in Sukuna’s crimson eyes.

What went wrong?

You can’t look away, not even when he releases your chin to stroke your cheek. You can do nothing but shiver in fear as he skims his fingers over your jaws, down your neck, and back up towards your mouth.

The slender digits suddenly slip past your lips. They’re warm—hot, even—as Sukuna explores the inside of your mouth with his fingers.

Huh?

A lewd leer dances over Sukuna’s features as he swirls the bloody finger over your tongue, grinning even widely when he hears your heartbeat drum faster.

In the hazy aftershocks of your domain expansion, you can’t formulate proper thoughts.

But you can still formulate primitive desires.

Sukuna could sense both your rising arousal and your panicked attempts to snuff out the throbbing sensation, and it turned him on to no end. Your dewy, tear-rimmed eyes, your quivering lips, your trembling body… fuck, he couldn’t wait to shove his cock into your warm cunt.

Would you scream in pain, or moan from pleasure? He swipes away the drool trickling down his chin and smiles excitedly.

“You’ll do.”

You’ll do? Fear shrieks through your veins, clouding your attempts to clear your head. What was he doing? Why was he coming nearer? You didn’t, couldn’t understand what his words meant, nor could you understand why Sukuna was sucking the fingers he’d pushed into your lips.

Abruptly, his palms crack across your cheek, rocking you back on your ass.

Your hands fly up to your cheek, cradling the flaring skin, and the fear melts away from the heat of your irritation and anger. Pain brings forth adrenaline from the depths of your terror-infested heart, giving you enough courage to meet Sukuna’s eyes. Monster. Murderous asshole, you silently accuse.

Sukuna snorts at your defiant glare. You look so beautifully pathetic—crumpled on the floor, body still shaking from fear, power drained out completely, your pitiful glower being the only semblance of resistance you can manage out.

He licks his lips, one hand reaching down to palm himself through his trousers.

Your gaze flickers towards the strain in his pants, eyes widening as you finally realize what was about to happen, what he wanted.

Shit.

Sukuna grins at the scent of fresh fear, feeling his cock grow harder against his hands. That little burst of adrenaline-fueled courage had already evaporated from your veins, your feeble attempts at saving your dignity already discarded.

No, you were too busy trying to crawl away from him, limbs scrabbling weakly against the floor.

“Don’t run away now,” Sukuna laughs.

Lurching forward, he grips your shirt and plucks you up from the ground. He drags your struggling body along the parking lot, marching past corpses of cursed spirits to stop near the entrance of the lot.

As if you were nothing but a ragdoll, he flings you across the ground.

Gravel stings your knees as your body hits the concrete. You roll onto your knees, head swinging wildly to assess your new surroundings, and it’s then you finally notice the sorcerers crowded at parking lot’s entrance.

They’re here!

“Help me!” you cry out, stretching out your arms towards them.

They don’t move. They don’t respond.

“Please, help!” you scream again, desperation scratching your voice hoarse.

Did they not hear you? Why weren’t they moving?

“Please!”

Silence blows across the concrete, only to be disturbed by Sukuna’s cruel laugh.

“They’re a bunch of cowards.” Sukuna grips the back of your neck and hauls you up, pulling your body flush against his chest. “Aren’t they?”

He sighs contently, nuzzling his lips into the crook of your shoulders. Gently, he twists his head to bite your ear, lathering the crescent marks with his tongue as he pulls away.

You shudder, tears dripping down your cheeks. “Help,” you whimper out, but your broken cries don’t reach the sorcerers.

They’re too busy devising up empty justifications for their indifference, for their inability to help. It’s too dangerous. You’re a hostage. Too many would die if they tried to save you. You’re not worth it.

Sacrifice one for the good of many. You’d always agreed with the sentiment—it was just one life, after all.

But now that you were the sacrificial sheep in question, you found that no, you didn’t agree.

No, you didn’t want to die. You didn’t want his kiss, you didn’t want his tongue against the bite marks littering your neck. You didn’t want this.

Right?

With his arms still wrapped around your body, Sukuna lifts his head and grins at your audience. “I’m going to take her. I’m going to ruin this bitch’s tight cunt, and you’re going to watch,” his grin snaps into a fearsome snarl, one that thrums terror through the crowd of the jujutsu sorcerers.

“All of you. If you look away or close your eyes, I’ll fucking know,” he growls.

When he turns back to you, the twisted snarl dissipates into a sweet leer. “Would you like that, baby?” Sukuna croons, his hands groping your chest. With an easy jerk of his hands, he tears away your clothes.

The tattered fabric pools at your feet, your bra joining them only a second later. Hot hands twist and squeeze your breasts, his lips trailing down your skin and teeth digging into the meat of your shoulders.

A sick grin stretches his lips.

“I can smell your arousal.”

You burst out in a sob.

“I hate you,” you weep, desperately denying your own body.

No, you didn’t like this. You didn’t like the way his fingers twisted your nipples, the way he ground the palm of his hands into your clothed clit. You hated him. You hated his lips that sucked teasingly at your earlobes, hated the way his cock ground so pleasurably into your ass.

You hated him. You hated yourself for liking his touch.

Sukuna moans deeply, leaning around to lick the salty tears off your cheek. “Mm, that’s right, cry for me,” he ground his hips, the bulge of his cock pressing into your back, “I fucking love it when pretty girls cry.”

You can’t stop your shaking sobs as Sukuna kicks out your legs from underneath you, pushing you onto your hands and knees. Before you can react, his power secures you in place; you can’t move, not even a muscle. Even worse, you’re forced to stare at the sorcerers as you feel him kneel behind you.

Faces filled with horror, fear, apprehension, revulsion stare back at you, their disgusting gazes phasing around you in hazy circles.

Don’t look at me!

The pity in their eyes strip your dignity away, and you know you’re done. They’ll ostracize you forever. Everytime they look at you, they’ll only see the image of his cock piercing your body. They’ll only see Sukuna’s fucktoy.

“Don’t pity me! Don’t you dare pity me!” you shriek. “You don’t deserve to pity me! You let this happen!”

Tears dribble down your chin as you watch them all look away. “You hypocrites!”

“Shit,” Sukuna moans as he peels away your jeans, “look at how wet you are. You’re just a little slut, aren’t you?”

“No!” you cry, shaking your head vigorously. “I’m not! I’m not, I’m not…”

His fingers graze your sex through the soaked cotton of your panties. Heat twitches through your body; you can’t deny it. No matter how much you shake your head, you can’t deny the way your flesh craves more of his touch, they way your cunt clenches with each stroke of his fingers.

Sukuna grins, pressing his fingers further into your sopping folds. “I felt that, woman. You like when I touch that little cunny? Hm?” He pulls his fingers away, curling anticipation and apprehension inside you.

You can almost hear the seconds tick by.

Tick,

tick,

tick,

tick—

He rips your panties away and buries his face between your legs.

“Sukuna!”

His tongue delves straight into your cunt, the wet muscle fucking your twitching hole. The lewd noises coming from his slurping lips has your cheeks flaming red, but embarrassment is at the least of your concerns, not when you’re nearly retching in pleasure.

Sobs turn into moans, one intense emotion shifting into another. All your shame, hate, and pain tunnels into single-minded ecstasy that has you squirming and shaking on the ground.

Hot lips latch around your clit and suckle hard, drawing out gushes of milky slick. You’re crying again, sobbing because he feels too good. It hurts, even; he’s overstimming you, pushing your body past its limits. You feel him grin against your flesh, but you’re too distracted by the silky tongue pushing in and out of your cunt.

Shit, shit, shit!

“S-Sukuna! Don’t–I don’t… d-don’t stop,” you sob, his power the only thing stopping you from collapsing onto the concrete.

The slick skin of his tongue rubs against the insides of your cunt, teasing you with a glimpse of penetration. It’s not long before you’re craving more, more than just his tongue. You want it. You can’t deny him. You can’t deny your own pleasure.

And of course, Sukuna feels your desire before you can even articulate it with words.

His mouth leaves your sex, the cool air chilling the wet flesh. Choking sobs dribble from your lips. You were so close, so fucking close! Why did he stop?

What were you thinking?

Metal scritches against metal—the sound of unzipping jeans.

Were you really a slut?

Belt buckles clack against each other; jeans rustle and hit the floor.

Did you want him?

Something cotton tears; flesh slaps against flesh.

You inhale; you hear him exhale.

I want him.

Then everything fills you up at once.

You stretch and stretch and stretch but its not enough, and he pushes past your choking cunt and pulls back, pushes back in and oh god, he’s so fucking big and you feel like you’re about to split open—

but in a good way.

In a way that has you keening and crying for more, in a way that has you wishing you could buck up against his hips. Every thrust grinds against that sweet spot inside your walls, waves of electric ecstasy zipping up your chest and curling at your heart.

“Tightest cunt I’ve ever fucked,” he grunts, one hand splaying against the small of your back. His balls pap against your cunt, the lewd slaps joining the symphony of your high-pitched whimpers and his guttural groans. Sukuna pushes your chest down, positioning you so every snap of his hips could stuff his drooling head against that bundle of nerves.

“Mm, mm!” you moan against the concrete, cheeks smushed into the blood-stained surface.

It feels so good that you forget you have a horrified audience watching.

Your eyes roll back and your tongue hangs past your lips, dribbling saliva all over your chin. Sukuna laughs as you roll your hips back to meet his thrusts, your gummy walls clamping around his thick shaft. Strings of your milky arousal slick his hips and your thighs, coaxing out an animalistic groan from his lips.

With your mind already lost to the heady pleasure, you can’t see the way their expressions twist from disbelief into disgust.

Perhaps it’s better that you can’t.

All you can focus on is the way he groans in your ears as he plunges his cock inside you, Precum and slick bubbles inside your cunt and coats your cervix each time his head kisses the puckered muscle. It hurts; a deep ache blooms within your womb that has you howling both in pain and pleasure.

Before you can voice your agony, Sukuna’s fingers reach into your clit and circles the neglected bud.

He smiles savagely when your howls sharpen into bliss-filled cries. Human women were so easy to manipulate, and you were no exception.

“Sensitive little cunt, huh?” he strains out, bucking into your hips.

Sukuna can smell the tears still lingering on your cheeks and the fear-stained pleasure that wafts from your body. His cock throbs violently, his abs clenching against the strain of his impending climax.

Leaning forward, he grinds his fangs into the back of your neck, thrusting deeper inside you. “Fuck, you’re going to milk me dry, woman. Gonna mark you with my seed,” he grins. “You’d like that, won’t you? My little bitch wants me to fuck a baby into that slutty womb, doesn’t she? Shit,” Sukuna moans, hovering over the cliff of ecstasy.

“Please,” you whimper out, and your breathy plea’s enough to send him over that edge.

You scream as hot semen pumps from his cock, spurts of the viscous liquid squirting straight against your cervix. The sensation of having your cunt filled to the brim by his thick seed snaps the tension within your core, and you join Sukuna in ecstasy.

The pleasure is as hot as his load, almost painful in the way your cunt clenches his girth over and over again. Each pulsation boils rapture through your veins and dribbles broken moans past clenched teeth. It hurts so good…

“Fuck, that’s a good girl,” Sukuna hisses, sheathing himself all the way inside your spasming cunt. “Milk that cock, every last drop.”

The final few ropes of cum drains into your cunt as you drift down from your high, mind lost to the rapture. You’re gone, too gone to even notice Sukuna pulling away.

You lay on the ground, crumpled on the cum-stained concrete, unresponsive even as Sukuna disappears back inside Itadori’s mind with a final, cruel laugh.

When Itadori finally comprehends the scene before him—his semen coating from your thighs, his still-hard cock, your torn clothing, the crowd of sorcerers watching—he can do nothing but scream.

“No, no, no!” he roars, glaring wildly at the sorcerers. “Why didn’t you save her?”

“We couldn’t—”

“Why?”

He collapses next to your half-conscious body, sobbing desperately. “I’m so sorry, sensei, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.”

Itadori strokes your hair, rage and guilt tearing his heart to shreds.

“It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault…”

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen oneshot #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk sukuna #jjk smut #sukuna jjk #sukuna jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #yuuji itadori #yuji itadori x reader #∞fic

[heli0s-writes]

It Is Knowing*

HI THANKS FOR EVERYTHING. It’s been a wonderful ride. Here’s the last part of Bag of Tricks. It’s tender and smutty and stupid. All mistakes are my own.

Please stop reading if you are not over 18!

Bag of Tricks Masterlist

He’s terrified.

Suddenly he’s looking at you one way, and then in a flash, the same dumb grin you always give him— the crooked one on the cusp of an ill joke— turns bright white.

It goes brilliant like star fire and during a storm inside a standard-issued cabin hideout, Bucky thinks he must be losing his mind.

And maybe he’s been losing it for a few weeks now, but he’s done a great job dodging the reality of your confession so far. Doesn’t matter what you mumbled—cracked out on exhaustion and sleep-talking—because in the end, you’re his friend and you love him the same way you love everyone else: annoyingly. Nothing’s changed about that.

He hazards another glimpse.

“Help?” You ask from the table, angrily scratching out blocks of an attempted crossword puzzle.

Do it in pencil, he tried to warn earlier, but you only called him chickenshit because you’re—yep—annoying.  

“Foudre,” Bucky says carefully and you perk up at the sound of his voice. “It’s a… six-letter French word for thunder.” He clears his throat, gesturing toward the window splattered with rain.

“Oh-ho-ho,” you snort, “Smart boy, aren’t ya? FOO-DRUH.” An incredible bastardization of the term, and you sing around a chewed-up pen cap between your teeth. “My name’s Smart-Boy-Bucky and I know French, Russian, and Updog.”

“What the hell is Updog?”

Your face steels.

“Nothing much, how ‘bout you?”

And instead of going over there to kick your ass, all he can do is stare wordlessly as you break into a laugh—his entire body electric like a live wire.

-

He keeps telling himself there are only a few days before someone drops in to collect. He just needs a little bit of distance, some time alone to clear his head and get over this—thing.

But his brain feels like it’s melting while he waits, his stomach is probably developing an ulcer, and his heart is so fast and fierce that he can almost see the pulse in his sternum throbbing errantly.

Too many things are wrong. You’re his friend— and Bucky wants to throttle himself a little bit for ever letting you be his friend. You’re an unfiltered, oblivious dumbass and he doesn’t like that at all. You cry over animals and when he gets hurt because you’re an insufferable drama queen, too. He hates that. He does.

The sound of something enormous slamming on the ground makes him dash into the shared bedroom and—oh god, Bucky thinks he’s going to throw up.

First, the mattresses are on the floor.

Second, you’re. wearing. that. stupid. shirt.

The blue one. The one he used to love, hated for a bit, came back around to wearing, and now—yep, he officially hates it again.

“I think you’re too tall for the bunk.” You’re pushing the beds together, unaware of his clenched fists. “So if we sleep diagonally your feet won’t hang off—and can you believe it—” you point to the hem of cerulean brushing against your skin, “I packed three raincoats and no pajamas.”

At the sight of your creeping smile, Bucky loses it.

“Why are you going through my stuff?!” He shouts, gripping the doorframe with enough force to take the molding clear off. “Why are you touching my shit!?” And he probably sounds insane, flying off the handle like this, but he’s got a million grievances against you and this is just the tip of the iceberg.

“Mind your own fucking business!” He’s still unloading, unreasonably frantic at the sight of that terrible color hanging from your shoulders.

Bewildered, you plop down clumsily on your knees, gawking like a deer in the headlights.

Your bare legs, your fingertips on your thighs, the thin sleeves oversized and loose on your forearms, that smear of toothpaste on the collar, the hollow of your throat taut from holding your breath—it makes him want to grab you by the shoulders and shake you dizzy.

It makes him want to touch you. It makes him want you.

He’s sick. He’s dying. He’s so, so fucked.

“What…” Bucky quietly trails off, gasping helplessly as realization sinks in, “…what the hell is wrong with you...”

“Me?!” You shriek back, “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m over here worried about your crusty feet hanging off at night and you just swing in and take a dump on me?”

Bucky groans, miserable and guilty. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, “Shit. I’m—I don’t know.”

“Eat my ass, dude!” you sneer, already tucked under the blankets. “I’m going to sleep. Turn off the fucking light you’re going to stand there looking like a dumbass.”

A feeble sigh as Bucky pushes his hands into his face, gripping his hair, pulling his own head back until he’s glaring at the ceiling, listening to the patter on the roof.

“You’re the dumbass,” he whispers.

You’re the dumbass with the emotional regulation problem. The idiot with the temper. The head full of sawdust. But, if it only took three careless words from your blundering mouth to make Bucky fall entirely apart, you must be right after all. He is the dumbass.

He feels split open like the sky—torn up completely, unable to make out anything in his own turbulence.

Fuck.

The sheets shift until he hears them slide off. Then, a pattern of bare feet across hardwood. He must look disastrous in the doorway, bent out of shape in uncharacteristic disarray.

“What is going on with you?” You find his arm, fingers wrapping around his wrists, tugging until they peel off his wretched face. “Why are you so upset? I wear your clothes all the time; I’m always in your stuff.”

He chuckles defeatedly because you really are always in his space. Throwing yourself into in his room. Eating chips in his bed. Squirreling away in his brain. Everywhere. Always.

Bucky presses his lips into a thin line, grimacing as he looks at you. Wordless and vulnerable, he can feel his brow sinking lower, throat narrowing around a swallow as he attempts to fix himself. A stutter falls out, then another, crackling syllables like surfacing thunder but never quite forming a sentence.

The earth groans, shaking the cabin and his precarious soul.

“What is it? Why are you looking at me like—”

And then, under a streak of lightning, recognition splits across your face.

“Don’t,” he pleads to the silence, “Don’t say it.”

The seconds stretch into horrible eons of slow passing time. You tilt your head this way and that, eyes going from his face to his hands, limp at his side with your own fingers still grasping on.

“Jesus, Bucky,” you say gently, “You’re—my best friend.”

Bucky shuts his eyes. “I know. I’m not trying—"

“Bucky,” you interrupt, faster now. “Bucky,” suddenly elated and laughing. “Bucky—shut up.”

And then the entire room bursts into flames. Your lips are searing hot against his— plump and eager, leaving scorching trails everywhere they touch, and Bucky burns up like a solar flare trying to catch his breath.

“You’re an idiot,” you laugh, kissing him again. His cheeks, his jaw, his chin. “A real idiot.”

He’s terrified and dizzy, fumbling with a million possible outcomes and failing painfully each time. Relationships never quite work out for him; he’s dated a few girls and liked them a lot, too, but they’ve never turned out how he wanted them to. And this one—this one, he really can’t fuck up.

He’s got a bad track record, and with you, never knowing is much better than losing.

“Hey, you’re going crazy in there. I can hear it.” A sweet smile as your lips hover over his. The sweetest your face as ever looked. “Stop thinking, Bucky. Kiss me.”

Your lashes are so long and pretty. The dip of your cupid’s bow, a shape he adores. Even the tiny scar on your neck and the way your hair moves— wispy strands framing your face. Sounds of happiness tumbling out, hand firmly inside of his.

“It’s just me.” Joyful. Comfortable. “You know me.”

Your eyes glimmer—a familiar color calling him home.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, “Yeah, I do.”

Steve was the more competent linguist in their old days. Rolling French r’s, dropping ending consonants, silky smooth in pronunciation. Bucky’s tongue had always been more supplant to the Eastern European languages but, he knows enough of French—remembers enough from the war to recognize this:

Coup de foudre.

It’s the thing romantics exalt, the thing that half-strikes him now. The thunderbolt.

Love at first sight, even though it’s not quite first sight at all.

It’s not infatuated or starry-eyed. Not blind. Not feeling.

It is knowing.

And yeah, Bucky watches the way you pull him to the floor, euphoric and aglow, Jesus H. Christ, he knows.

This is it for him: your chaos, your entropy, your impulse. Your lack of personal space and foresight and good fucking sense. But—your kindness, too. Your care. Your heart.

Calm and patient as you settle down into his lap, the warm weight of you seems to be the only thing keeping him on earth.

“Can I touch you?” You ask shyly.

His voice is barely audible, hands unsure of where to rest, heart swollen in his throat.

Bucky flushes, and in the split second of your tongue sweeping over your bottom lip, he tells himself do it, you coward, just fucking do it—and god help him, he does.

He presses his face into your neck, kissing hungrily, anywhere he can, down to your collar and chest and then he’s lifting you up by the thighs and instinctively pulling everything off.

You’re both surprised and excited, blinking at his urgency, and then you start scrambling, too.

His shirt gets flung behind your back. Both pants disappear somewhere else. One hand goes into his hair, other guiding him between your legs where you smear all over his fingers.

Bucky stutters breathlessly like he might go into shock. “You’re all fucking— oh fuckin’ hell.”

You only arch into it, holding his chin between your thumb and forefinger, kissing the bristles of his jaw. You’re soft and warm and he’s utterly overcome. Little noises fall from one mouth to another. An awkward shift and your thighs slip off his, head knocking into him, but neither of you are bothered.

He feels perfect in your hands. A silly grin blooms on your lips before you tip forward and glide yourself over his length, rubbing back and forth, hips moving easily.

His abs clench in time with his fists, wet fingers digging into his palms, bit-back groans barely contained. You keep going, marveling at the way he’s sensitive, kissing his neck, letting him feel good. Bucky begins to protest, embarrassed at the way you’re moving, at how he’s unquestionably powerless.

“S-slow—hold on—“

“Let me do it, Buck.” He’s so hard it hurts. “I wanna learn everything you like.”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Bucky holds himself to calm down, other hand steadying your teasing. Nothing’s happened yet and he might already blow his whole fucking load.

“Okay—just—will you give me a second--"

Using the position you’re already in, he lifts you up and brings you back down, a bit at a time until you’re landing on his hand with a gasp. He uses his fist as a stopper, letting you have it slow, feeling you shudder from inside your goddamn bones with every further inch until he takes it away and you shimmy down to the hilt.

Your eyes roll back. And you look perfect.

“Was it good?” He blurts, “With Thor?”

He doesn’t know why it slips out; he never thinks about it, honest. It was a hook up. One time—and he’s not jealous like that because you’re all adults, and it’s not like he’s a virgin or an ascetic, either. You freeze, but he really is an idiot because instead of apologizing or rectifying that outburst, he cuts you off.

“I can give it to you better.”

Because Bucky wants to. He really does.

He presses onward before you can respond, taking hold of what little courage he has, making you whimper, feeling prouder as he goes. Another one and you’re meeting him with a roll of your own hips. Another one, harder now, and you’re shaking on top, tipping him backward into the cushions, grinding recklessly with that exhilaration he adores.

“Bucky, you feel amazing.” Tongue-tied like a schoolboy, he’s keening after your words. “Can I have you all the time?” And Jesus wept who knew you could talk so sweet and filthy.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky promises, his jaw hanging open in awe, “I’m yours. You can have me as much as you want— anytime.”

You bite your lip, skin of it pulled taut and snapping back bruised, light-headed and reeling. Glistening across your collarbones with his spit, body trembling like a high note. He feels it— just a little more— god, you look incredible— he’s gotta hold out for this— and then—fuck. 

It’s wet and divine when you come. Slick and tight, dragging him under as you ride out your orgasm, pulling him in like he belongs in you forever.

And he knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

Bucky could die happy seeing your face like this every day.

-

It’s rougher in the morning. In the shower, soaking together. Faster.

On the couch, next. With him asking you to put your hand here, move your leg there.

He wants to learn everything you like, too.

You eagerly change positions, giggling when your knee slips and you pitch forward onto his chest. The two of you take a moment to compose yourselves, pinching each other, kissing in-between. He commits to memory the way your lids flutter when he touches you. The way everything moves easy and wonderful, sometimes lazy, sometimes harried, but always fun.

Yelping when you bite too hard. Biting you back even harder. Positions neither of you have surprisingly tried before, but why not start?

Cursing. So much cursing. A lot of it good—fuck me, yes, more, don’t stop—but truthfully, most of it stays about the same.

Barnes, you got a juicy ass.

Will you shut up!

And he never thought a person was supposed to laugh so hard during sex, or if maybe that’s just your own brand of love, but he doesn’t want to find out with anyone else.

It’s the fifth time, and Bucky’s dick is about to fall off—how are you still doing this—just a few thrusts in when the banging on the front door frightens the both of you into your clothes.

Sam swings it open and Bucky is desperately tucking himself into his pants before—please, no.

“It smells like ass in here!” Sam hollers, “The hell have you two been—oh my god.”

“Shut up, Sam!” You respond from the corner of the room, head ripping through the neck hole of a sweater, legs wiggling into a pair shorts. Bucky is still shirtless, hoping he might spontaneously combust.

“Oh my god,” Sam whispers again, “Oh… my god.” He sputters on the verge of either eruption or death.

“You freaky little—” he hisses, before screaming, “Oh hell no! I’m here picking y’all asses up. Landed the damn jet like two miles away, walked my happy ass through the rain— you butt-ass-naked in here—” He stands ram-rod straight, hands on his hips angrily. “I’m tellin’ on y’all.”

“Telling on?! What are you, five!? You’re so annoying, Sam!”

“Annoying? What’s annoying is—I’m wet! And well— you wet too, huh?”

“I hate you.”

Sam snickers, high-fiving himself before crossing his arms, “Really though, believe me when I say this for everybody who’s ever met you two: finally. Now get y’all freaky asses outside so I can go home and drink myself into forgetting I ever saw Barnes’ dick.”

You pat him on the shoulder, “It’s nice, huh?”

Sam dry-heaves, “Uh-uh. That’s enough. Go wash your damn hands.”

A few minutes later, Bucky locks the door to a now silent cabin, damp with sweat and the smell of earth. It’s torrential still, two days bucketing and the ground is so wet mud goes up to his ankles. Luckily, and he wants to laugh at that, you packed two extra raincoats.

Thunderclaps shake the very ground he stands on. Bucky turns to look at you, marveling when electricity bounces off your eyes, lighting up your face. He reaches over.

A squeeze to your hand that says I’m yours.

One more, tighter. I love you.

You slot your fingers between his. I know.

You smile at the next streak in the sky. Me too.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel #reader insert #fanfiction #mcu

[alloftheimaginesblog]

Secret’s Out (Indiana Jones x Plus Size Reader)

Plot:  Okay, but like Indiana Jones x Plus Size Reader where you're a fellow lecturer at the university and it's just peak handsome archaeologist and soft nerdy other academic (of any subject of your choice). Watch as I send you about 50 million requests for different things now, Ang xD

Requested by @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​ (thank u for the requests Charlotte!)

Character: Indiana Jones x Plus Size Reader

Part of my Plus Size History Professor x Indiana Jones series and part of my Plus Size Reader x Character series!

The clock ticking on the wall and the scratching of pencil on paper was the only sound to be heard in your classroom. You were grading papers with your free afternoon. It was either do them now or do them over the weekend and to be honest, you had plans to chill out and lay on the couch with a certain someone this weekend so... you were doing them now.

Your students had done well this semester, actually, you thought with a smile. You’d been teaching for years yet you did always worry that you weren’t doing enough for them but judging by their papers, you’d been doing pretty well. Grading their papers helped you to reflect and evaluate yourself as a teacher as well. There were mistakes made, like the wrong dates or misspellings here and there, but overall they were good; which meant you were doing good!

Someone cleared their throat in front of you which stopped you in your tracks, “Jesus!” You yelped, looking up to see Indy with a stupid grin on his face, “You scared me half to death!”

“I did knock, twice,” he smirked, “you were too busy with your papers.”

Your cheeks began to heat up, “Oh,” you looked at your papers, “They’re doing so well!” You gushed, “Every paper I’ve marked this afternoon has been at least a B- or above!”

Indiana - Professor Jones - smiled and sat on the edge of your desk, “And you were worried you weren’t doing enough. How many more have you got to grade?”

“Just this one,” you smiled, “then I’m all yours.”

You and Indiana had been together for just shy a year at this point. You’d met through working together, he was the archaeology professor and you were a history professor, so naturally you both kind of gravitated towards each other. Indiana liked turning up at your class with insanely cool finds, you quickly found out that being an archaeology professor wasn’t his only job - he was also quite an adventurer - and he would ask you about what he found. You sussed out quickly that he would already know about the things he was showing you but he just wanted to come and talk to you. It was sweet. He asked you out for dinner one night after work and how could you turn him down? He was incredibly handsome, charming, smart, funny and my god, he treated you like royalty. 

He waited in silence, giving you time to concentrate, as he played with one of the nik naks on your desk. It wasn’t long before you were finished, “Finished with a bang,” you grinned, “A+!”

Indiana smiled, he admired how much you cared about your students and wanted to improve your teaching for them if it was lacking (though it never was), “And as a treat, I’m going to take you out tonight.”

You stood up and walked to the filing cabinet to file away the papers. You could feel his eyes watching your backside as you did so. He loved your wide hips, your plump backside and your thick thighs; that’s why you’d worn your new pencil skirt. Usually, you’d be self conscious about the tightness of it and the way it clung your lumps and bumps but that’s exactly what Indy loved. He’d spent many a night praising you, touching you and kissing you everywhere making you believe that you were truly beautiful.

You felt him walk up behind you before his hands were on your waist, “Maybe we’ll skip dinner,” he mumbled, hand grazing over your ass, “You look incredible.”

“Oh, I know,” you smirked as you turned around to stare up at him.

He pushed you softly against the filing cabinet, eyes watching your lips with a hungry look in his eyes. The man knew exactly what he was doing, he was too sexy and it killed you. You pulled him by the shirt collar to kiss you, falling straight into his trap. He liked when you took what you wanted from him, it only turned him on further. He tasted like coffee and chocolate.

The two of you got a little carried away as you continued to make out, pressed against the filing cabinet. Well, that was until someone cleared their throat from the doorway, “Um, Professor Jones?”

The two of you broke away, staring like a deer caught in headlights at the door. Your lipstick was smeared all over your face and Indy’s. It was one of his students, oh fuck, it was a group of about six students all grinning as they peered into the scene before them.

“Secret’s out now,” you whispered, quickly turning away wiping the lipstick off your face and flattening your hair.

“Yes?” Indiana asked, lips pursed, clearly annoyed that his students interrupted.

“We just had a question about the coursework,” one student - Ben - smirked, “but uh, we’ll go if you’re too busy.” The students snickered and you covered your mouth with your hand, trying your hardest not to laugh. Sure, it was embarrassing as hell and you knew that within an hour the whole campus would know, but you had to laugh.

“Sure,” Indiana said with a sigh, “better be quick.” He turned to you, “Wait for me?”

You nodded with a secret smile, “Sure thing. I’ll swing by your class in fifteen.” With his back to the students, he smiled back at you - obviously finding this situation humorous also but when he turned around to them, his face was stony.

“Oh, Ind- Professor Jones,” you said quickly, he turned to you and you handed him a tissue, “Lipstick.”

As he walked out with the laughing students, you were sure his ears were bright red and it wasn’t just lipstick. Indiana Jones was embarrassed.

#plus size reader #plus size #plus size series #indiana jones x plus size reader #indiana jones x reader #indiana jones one shot #indiana jones #ij #one shot #os #reader insert #secrets out saga #secret's out saga