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texas-writes · 6 months ago

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Calander Girl

Johnny Cage x Model! Reader

I did NOT mean to lake this shit so long. I literally got possessed by a cock demon

Cw: piv sex, adult modeling, oral (m and f recieving) a lot of cum, cum eating, overstimulation

When Johnny Cage had first met you it was a total accident. He’d been way too caught up in a phone call with his agent, bitching about not wanting to work on another rom-com when he walked his happy ass onto the wrong soundstage.

It had taken him a solid minute to register that he was in the wrong place, staring at you laying bare on your stomach, propped up on your elbows with nothing but a cheap American Flag covering your ass. He watched intently as you kicked your foot up in the air with your toes pointed and popped your gum, vintage curls bouncing as you finally looked his way.

Your big doe eyes catch his as he admires you and you bring your thumb up to your red lips to stifle a giggle. Johnny starts as the camera clicks and the flash box goes off, apologizing profusely and ducking off the set. He wouldn’t know it for a while, but he was your lucky break.

The smile you had given him had secured your place as Miss June, that summer’s All American Girl, giving a strong-armed salute in a sailor style swimsuit with a Dixie cap balanced precariously over your victory rolls on the cover of that month’s issue. Your tight body and inviting face was going to “give the American Dream a breath of fresh air” as your photographer had claimed.

Your photos inside the magazine were significantly less wholesome, but still endearing nonetheless, licking whipped cream off of a beater in a white halter and high waisted sailor shorts, you leaning on that god-awful plaster anchor in nothing but stockings, heels and a white bullet bra with your legs strategically positioned to leave something to the imagination, the innocent smile you had given Johnny, and then in the middle, there you were, fully nude in those same heels and stockings, waving a handkerchief above your head with one foot kicked up behind you. “Hello, Sailor,” read the caption above you in a cheesy Americana font.

Nobody was looking at that stupid shit anyways.

When Johnny had walked into the gas station on his birthday, his first birthday alone in who knows how long, he’d decided to get himself a present. Walking to the back and picking up a twelve pack of Modelo and a single Red Bull, he’d found himself at the magazine rack beside the bathroom, leafing through the latest issues of Hustler and Penthouse before landing on his go-to. Playboy. Without looking he plucked it off the rack and made his way to the register, paid for his things, and left eager to get home and enjoy himself.

After he got home and stripped down to his boxers, he crawled into his plush California King and cracked open a beer, tossing his girly mag to the side to enjoy a couple of drinks before getting to business.

Three beers later he’s feeling loose and a little less bad about the whole ‘single’ thing he had going on, he pulls his half erect dick from his boxers, stroking it lazily, and returns his attention to the magazine.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters when he looks down and sees you of all people. He couldn’t jerk off to you, he’d met you for God’s sake. Well, kind of, but it was the principle, really. He tucks himself back into his underwear and sighs, tossing his head back in defeat.

“Well,” he reasons with himself. “It wouldn’t hurt if I just looked.” That’s what you had been there for, to be looked at, no different than him really. Besides, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before on any woman, or you for that matter, and you just looked so damn cute on the cover with your bright eyes and big smile. How could he resist?

He flips through the pages, chuckling to himself at how corny the theme they had given you was. He was however taken aback when he saw what he’d seen just a month prior in front of him once again. That smile, his smile, if he dared, was just as endearing as it had been the first time, making his heart skip a beat. He sighs dreamily and turns the page, unfolding the pages and taking in all of you.

“Hello Sailor, indeed,” he breathes, not quite enjoying the way his cock twitches, making him hastily fold you back up and toss you on the nightstand, grabbing the remote instead. There had to be something good on pay per view.

“Do I have to do this,” you protest, pulling up your jeans and making sure your g-string is tastefully exposed before pulling the French-cropped trans am shirt over your head.

“No, but it’ll be fun, and they’ll be super famous people there too,” Lainey promises, pulling the hem of her dress down to an acceptable just-below-the-asscheek length.

“Yeah. They’ll probably be too famous to recognize me.”

“If you hate the attention so much, why'd you do this? Genuine question, I promise I’m not being mean.”

“I wanted to be an actress, and thought this would get my foot in the door. I just don’t like being recognized only from the neck down.”

“Hey you covered your tattoo on film, so maybe you’ll be alright.”

You look down at the pink nautical star on the inside of your wrist, right on your pulse point and nod. “Yeah. Cause that’s what they’ll be looking at.”

“Ugh, well, I tried. We gotta go before we’re late.”

You weren’t exactly sure what this party was for, or if it was just a happening, but Lainey was the one that found it and she had been in the game longer than you had, so you took her professional opinion. So there you were, leaning against the bar, idly stirring your drink, enjoying the clinking sound the ice makes when you look up and see him.

“Holy shit. Holy shit, Lainey, it’s that guy,” you hiss, wrapping your arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. “The one I told you about.” She looks over her other shoulder, her bottle-blonde hair whacking you in the face in the process. It smelled like strawberries.

“Are you fucking stupid,” she hisses back, giving you the most dumbfounded look you’ve ever seen. “That’s Johnny fuckin’ Cage!”

You peer around her. “Huh? I guess it is. Didn’t notice then. Was too nervous,” you explain, unwrapping a stick of gum and inspecting it.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go talk to him!”

Before you can protest she’s untangled herself from your grasp and shoved you towards him.

You take a deep breath, shove the stick of gum into your mouth and push yourself the rest of the way, coming up beside him.

“Excuse me,” you call, your voice barely audible over the clamor of the party, but he still turns around, his face lighting up when he notices who you are.

“Hey! You’re that girl, sorry about that, by the way. I’m sure that was embarrassing. My fault really. I was on the phone with my agent. He never listens.”

“Well, Mr. Cage-“

“Johnny, please,” he insists, running his hand through his hair.

“Johnny. If you hadn’t walked onto my set I would’ve never smiled like that and gotten myself here.”

“Oh?”

“You know I didn’t realize it was you until just a few minutes ago. I just saw a handsome guy and got all embarrassed.”

He chuckles. “Same here. The embarrassed part, not the hot guy part. I don’t-” He lets out a defeated sigh and then rolls his shoulders back. “You’re the beautiful one though. You totally deserved to be Miss June. Say, if I bring you a copy would you sign it for me?”

“You want my autograph?”

“Sure, why not. You looked real cute on the cover. I can frame it, say I met you before you hit the big time.”

You laugh and look up at him. “You know, I thought famous people were supposed to be dicks.”

“Me? No way. I can’t vouch for most of these people though. Do you want to act, or do you just do stills,” He asks, taking a step back, seeming to size you up.

“I’m here to act. The stills are just a… temporary detour,” you admit, worrying the hem of your shirt between your fingers nervously.

“You know, my agent? The one I was on the phone with when I had my location mishap? Keeps calling me about this rom-com they want me for and I told him ‘No way, José’ unless they stop trying to pick women that look like my ex-wife to play the girl, you know everyone loves a blonde lead.”

He looks at you and sighs again. He sure sighed a lot for a grown man. Maybe it was nerves? Nah, couldn’t be. He was Johnny fucking Cage, after all.

“Listen if I can convince them to pick you up instead, you’ll be doing me a huge solid if you take it. You in?”

“What’s the catch,” you question, popping your gum at him.

“The catch?”

“Yeah. What’ll you want in return?”

“There is no catch. Studio gets their movie, you get to act and I don’t have to be constantly reminded that my wife left me. Everyone goes home happy. Well, almost everyone. Look, I don’t wa-expect you to fuck me if that’s what you mean.”

“Want?”

His cheeks flush and he gives you a confused look that’s a little too polished to be real.

“You almost said want but then stopped yourself.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure Johnny. Well, either you can keep lying to both of us, or you can get me out of here and get what you want.”

“You fucking serious?”

“Why not? Been trying to leave since I got here.”

He just chuckles and snakes an arm around your waist, tugging you close to him, leaning down next to your ear. “Your place or mine?”

“Your bed’s probably bigger,” you tease, sliding your hand into his back pocket and giving his muscular ass a squeeze as he leads you towards the door.

You glance over at the bar to find Lainey staring at you with a slack-jawed look of disbelief. You give her a shiny white smile and an exaggerated finger wave as you pass.

When you get to Johnny’s car he unlocks it from across the parking garage with the fob and jogs ahead to open your door for you, flashing you a grin as he closes it back behind you. The interior is all brown leather, making you scared to touch anything, so you just fold your hands politely into your lap.

The man of the hour ducks into the car a moment later, hitting the push-button ignition and gives it a rev. “What do you think? Nice huh? It’s an Aston Martin.

“I like the leather. Scared to touch it though.”

“Don’t be. Get comfortable Sweetheart,” he grins, looking over his shoulder as he backs out of the parking spot.

You cautiously unfold your hands and stretch your legs out, leaning back in the seat a bit.

Johnny’s hand slowly crosses the center console of the car and comes to rest on your thigh, rubbing his thumb in wide circles along the rough denim of your jeans. You ease your trembling hand towards his, lacing your pinkie with his.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You’re shaking.”

“Never been with someone famous. Little nerve-wracking is all,” you reply, giving his pinkie a squeeze.

“I can drop you home if you’d prefer, Sweetheart,” he offers, looking over at you and giving you a softer, more genuine smile.

“I’m okay, really.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, promise.”

When you pull into his driveway you force yourself to not look surprised. You’d known his place would be big, but honestly, that was an understatement. You were so far out of your element that there wasn’t any going back. Sure, you’d been in a mansion before, hell you lived in one, granted it was almost a sorority situation in nature, but still.

Johnny parks in the underground garage and comes around to let you out, snaking his arm around your waist as soon as you’re standing. You give him a soft smile and let your hand find its way into his back pocket again, earning a single laugh from him.

He leads you through the garage and up a small flight of stairs into the living room, gesturing for you to sit on the couch.

“Sooooo, can I get you a drink or something?”

“Such a gracious host. We can drink if you want.”

“Awesome. You like ‘em fruity or straight.”

“Whichever you want.”

“I’m gonna go make daiquiris then. Make yourself at home baby,” he calls, slipping away towards the kitchen. He sounded excited at the prospect of having a fruity little drink. It was endearing.

You kick your shoes off and take them over to the door, lining them up carefully just barely not touching the wall before returning to the couch and folding your feet up underneath you. God, you’re really here sitting on some A-listers couch while he fixes drinks for the two of you. Did this count as a date? No, this was just a hook-up. But why was he doing more than he had to? Maybe? Nah. Well-

Your thoughts were ground to a halt by the sound of a blender full of ice running at full speed. Whatever. You were getting a mixed drink and some (hopefully) good dick, so nothing else really mattered.

Johnny comes back a couple minutes later with two glasses full of vibrant red slushie with bendy straws. He hands you one and flops down beside you, patting his thigh. You debate with yourself for a moment before throwing your legs over his lap, smiling around your straw when he rests his free hand on your knee.

“How long have you been in L.A.,” he questions, taking a moment to bend his straw into a little loop before returning his hand to your leg, higher this time.

“About six months or so. Got the gig with Playboy and moved out here. Thanks for the drink by the way.”

“No problem. Are you staying at the Mansion or do you have your own place?”

“I’m at the Mansion. It’s kind of lame honestly. I have to share a room with another of the bunnies, but apparently things are different now that Coop’s in charge. I think I’ve seen him like, twice ever.” You take a long slurp of your drink and have to fend off a fast-approaching brain freeze.

“Yeah. I heard Hef used to be a real menace. Glad you don’t have to put up with him.”

“It’s nice. Free place to live out here is awesome. We just have to take turns making breakfast for everyone and look good at parties.”

“Not hard for you to do,” he replies, rubbing his thumb along your leg again.

You chuckle at his complement, but can’t manage to fight off the pink that tinges your cheeks.

“Johnny?”

“Yeah baby?”

“You don’t think I’m easy do you?”

“No way. If you were easy we’d be halfway done by now, besides anyone’d jump at the opportunity to come home with me.”

“Conceited much,” you joke, tugging his shirt sleeve with your toes.

“Me? No way,” he teases, giving you a wink

“Sure…”

“How’s your drink?”

“‘S good.��

“Glad to hear it. C’mere,” he urges, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you into his lap and you let him. “You seem like a sweet girl and I wanna treat you right, see where this goes, ya know.”

“Seriously,” you ask, returning your attention to your drink trying to stave off the fresh anxiety bubbling up in your tummy.

“Sure, or it can just be a one time thing if you want. I just don’t want you feeling tossed aside.”

“We’ll see what happens,” you murmur, leaning away, relying entirely on his arm around your waist to put your empty cup on the coffee table before wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him. His shoulders relax and he kisses you back, not bothering to pull away as he leans to put his cup with yours so his hands can focus on holding onto you.

The two of you kiss until you’re lightheaded and have no choice but to pull away panting. “Fuck, Johnny, you’re so fuckin’ hot.”

“Mh, that’s you baby. You want to take the party upstairs?”

“Let’s go,” you whisper, grabbing his face and smashing your lips to his again. He smiles against you and gathers you up in his toned arms, carrying you up the stairs.

His room was just as extravagant as the rest of his house, as you had expected. He sets you down and steps back, kicking off his own shoes and disappearing into what you assume to be the closet. You walk over and sit on the edge of his king-size bed, running your hands along the plush black comforter and taking in the painting above the headboard. It was a Warhol.

Johnny comes back out of the closet in just his slacks and sits beside you. “Nice painting, right?”

“Yeah,” you respond almost blankly, before returning your attention to him, noticing his tattoo. He really was conceited, but looking at the rest of him, he had good reason to be.” I’d forgotten about this one. Figure most people have though, everything except for his pop art.”

“What’s your favorite painting?” What an unusually thoughtful question to ask given the situation. It deserved a thoughtful answer.

“Christina’s World. Reminds me of myself in a way, getting to where I want to be by sheer force of will, despite it all.”

“Well, you got there.”

“I still want more.”

“And you’ll have it. One day you’ll look back and it’ll be hard to remember when you didn’t.”

“Can’t imagine forgetting.”

“Didn’t say you’d forget how you got there. You forget how miserable it was because it's paid off. Nothing’s better than that.”

“Sappy.”

“I try.”

“Do you want me to suck your dick?”

His back stiffens and he turns to face you. “Huh?”

“I asked if you want me to suck your dick.”

“Oh, you mean like- actually. I thought you were being facetious. Be my guest- if you want.”

You laugh and slide off the bed, kneeling between his toned legs, bringing your hands to rest on his belt buckle.

“You sound nervous,” you tease, undoing his belt and unzipping his fly.

“It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, me too. I’m probably no good anymore.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine sweetheart.”

Your fingers make quick work of the button on his slacks, finally reaching into his boxers and pulling his cock out. Oh. He was big. It was your turn to be nervous again, gulping and taking a deep breath before pressing a kiss to his flushed tip. You decide to take it slow, peppering him with kisses and kitten licks before finally taking him into your mouth, taking your time to get used to each inch before forcing yourself lower. His fingers work their way into your hair, not forcing your head down, but following along as you take him in. The pants falling from his lips slowly morph into soft whimpers, whining whenever you run your tongue along the vein running down his length.

You make it about three quarters down before you gag and pull away abruptly, making him whine in protest. Hot tears slide down your cheeks and you swallow thickly, holding the back of your wrist to your mouth, fighting the urge to puke all over his spotless white carpet.

“You okay sweetheart,” he murmurs, untangling his hand from your hair and cupping your cheek with it, urging you to look up at him. Your eyes meet his and you find an unexpected softness there.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine. Overestimated myself, I think,” you reply, leaning forwards to take him again, but his hand returns to your hair and tugs you away,

“You don’t have to try again if you don’t want. You did good.”

“Wanna make you cum,” you whine, leaning forward again, not caring about the sore tug at your scalp. His hand just follows your head again, letting you do as you please. You’re more mindful of yourself this time, taking him deeper into your throat at your own pace, not the one you thought he wanted, digging your fingers into his hips to balance yourself.

“Fuck, baby. Just like that, feels s’good,” he groans, pulling his hand from your hair and fisting the comforter to stop himself from just shoving you the rest of the way down. Despite his lack of trying his hips raise up to meet you and he groans deeply when you look up and lock eyes with him. “You’re doin’ so good, so proud of you.”

His praise goes straight to your pussy and you finish taking him in, pressing your nose into the light brown hair trailing down his tummy, scrunching your face up whenever it tickles. It really had been a long time since you’d sucked dick, especially one this big, and you’d forgotten how much you enjoyed it, rutting your hips against nothing looking for any kind of friction, but coming up empty.

“I’m so fuckin’ close, where do you want me to-”

You pull back, hollowing your cheeks and giving his head some attention before taking all of him back in, moaning as his fingertips dig into your scalp as you let him fuck your face as he cums down your throat with a pathetic moan. After a couple more shallow thrusts he holds your cheeks as you pull away from him and swallow thickly.

“Fuck baby, that was amazing. Thought you said it’d been a while.”

You take a ragged breath and look up at him. “It has.”

“You’re a fuckin’ pro. Shit, look at you, so hot, all ruined like that. Come here,” he coaxes, sliding his arms under yours and pulling you up towards him. You let him sit you in his lap and baby you, wiping at your tears and kissing you on the forehead before he stands up and pulls the sheets back, laying you in his bed. You look over and notice the teddy bear sitting against one of the pillows.

“Cute,” you comment, grinning at him when he leans over and knocks it into the floor.

“You didn’t see that.”

“Sure.” He shuts you up with a kiss, slipping his hand under your shirt and tracing his way up your ribs to squeeze your breast.

“Your turn,” he smirks, making quick work of pulling your shirt over your head and dropping it into the floor. “You’re so fucking pretty,” he growls, leaning down to nip at your collarbone.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” you tease, pushing your chest into his greedy hand

“Much better in person though. I’m a hands-on learner.”

You just sigh and let him peel you out of your clothes. He stops when he tosses your jeans off, taking a moment to stare at your g-string.

“What’s this even supposed to cover,” he questions, pulling it off as well, spinning it around on his finger.

“It’s just for decoration.”

“Clearly.”

You laugh and snatch it off his finger, tossing it back at him

“For me?”

“If you want it. Don’t know if you can pull it off though.”

“Baby I can pull off anything.”

He quickly loses interest in the tiny garment and returns his attention to you, bringing a hand between your thighs and leaning down to kiss you, his chest pressing against yours deliciously.

“Johnny,” you whine, rutting your hips against his hand, which has been tracing along everywhere except where you need it. “Don’t tease.”

“Let me have my fun.”

He slides one finger through your folds, ghosting up and down along your clit, taking you in as you squirm underneath him before plunging it into you. You sigh and grind your hips down against his palm, keening when his thumb brushes your clit. His free hand takes its place kneading at your breast, tracing his fingers over your clothed nipple.

“You should take this off too baby,” he murmurs, popping the strap of your powder blue bra. You just arch your back so he can reach behind you to unclasp it, sighing in relief as he pulls it off your body and tosses it aside. “That’s better. You’re so hot baby,”

He eases his finger out of you and returns with another, expertly curling his finger into your sweet spot. When his thumb leaves your clit you groan in protest, accepting his decision when he replaces it with his mouth. His tongue was warm and wet as presses it to you. He groans and quickens his fingers, curling his fingers harshly into your warm sex, his lips locking around your clit making your head spin.

Johnny makes you cum with expert precision, not letting up despite you tugging harshly at his sandy blond hair. He just looks up at you with those big brown eyes of his, smirking against you while he eats you out like a starved man. His fingers have slowed to a steady rhythm and he’s mostly focusing on you with his mouth now. You can feel your body starting to tense again, and you throw your head back into the pillow and let him keep abusing your cunt.

Your second orgasm crashes over you harder than the first, making you dig your heels into the mattress, your trembling thighs squeezing his head, but still, he persists.

“Johnny,” you whimper, digging your nails into his shoulders, but there’s really no deterring him. You felt like you were on fire, your head swimming and every move he made sending shocks through your muscles. Finally he pulls away, moving his thumb back to your clit, rubbing gentle circles over it as he looks up at you. His chin’s coated in your juices and he really doesn’t seem to care. He just watches as you squirm under his touch, flashing you a well-practiced smile when your eyes meet.

The third orgasm makes your vision go white and you reach down, weakly grabbing at his wrist, silently begging for mercy. “‘S too much,” you whine, trying to free yourself from his touch but he just grabs your hip, pulling you back to him, making you fuck his fingers.

“Come on baby, you can give me one more.”

“Can’t.”

“Yes you can. You’re doing so good.”

“J-Johnny…”

“What if I do this,” he taunts, letting go of your hip and pressing the heel of his hand into the soft flesh just above your mons. You cry out and gush around his fingers, going completely limp as he slows his pace to a stop, easing his fingers out of you and moving to lay beside you.

You just lay there, entirely fucked out, your breathing ragged and your cunt squeezing around nothing. Fat tears roll down your cheeks, clumping your lashes and taking what's left of your mascara with them. Johnny runs his hands along your body, making you shiver, but successfully drawing you back to this plane of existence.

He just lets you lay there, feeling your warm skin, smiling at how helpless he’s made you. His cock strains painfully against his slacks so he decides to do away with them, discarding them and his boxers with the rest of your clothes. Finally you’re cohesive enough to have control over your own body and you turn to look at him. He just looks so fucking good, his normally kempt hair a spiky mess from your desprate fingers. His lips are swollen and a deep shade of pink, parted slightly as he breathes. He flashes you another smile and tosses his leg over yours, shamelessly grinding his dick against your thigh.

“Shit,” you sigh. “That was just foreplay.”

“Told you I’d make it worth your time.”

“You weren’t lying. Never cum like that in my life.”

He gives you a cocky smile, giving your cunt a light slap, making you yelp.

“You think you’re ready for the real deal,” He questions, climbing on top of you and kissing you deeply, forcing his tongue into your mouth and licking at the backs of your teeth. He pulls away, his tongue darting out to break the string of spit connecting you as he awaits your answer.

“I’ll take whatever you give me,” you respond, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him down for another kiss, rolling your hips against his.

He just reaches between you and lines himself up, pressing in slowly, giving you plenty of time to adjust. The stretch is amazing and you lock your ankles around his lower back, urging him to bottom out. When he finally does, he just stops, pressing himself impossibly deeper and holding you there.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet. Gonna make me embarrass myself.” he purrs. “Don’t care though. Too fuckin’ good.”

Johnny takes a moment to take in how you look under him and realizes he could get used to the view. Living room sunset be damned, this was his new favorite thing to watch. He looks down to where your bodies are joined, taking note of the bulge in your tummy and the way it pulses when his cock twitches. You were going to be the death of him.

Finally he pulls back, almost all the way out before slamming back into you, setting a punishing pace, digging his fingertips into your hips, eyes fixed on your stomach as he fucked you. Your view wasn’t too bad either, watching his abs ripple as he pounded into you, the way his hair fell down into his face covering his focused expression. Every thrust brushed against your cervix, unbridled moans falling from your lips.

Johnny’s pants slowly morph into grunts that quickly become needy sounds as his pace falters, bringing his hand to your clit once again, urging you to cum before he does. That was your final straw, every muscle in your body contracting as your fifth orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks.

“Fuck,” he growls as he pulls out of you harshly, fisting his cock a couple of times before spilling across your tummy. He looks up at you with an animalistic expression, chest heaving as his fingers dig deeper into the flesh of your hips. He looks around for a second before sitting back on his heels, his eyebrows furrowing. “Fuck it why not,” he mutters, assumedly to himself as his grip releases and he moves to rest on the bed between your legs, tossing your legs over his shoulders.

Your eyes flash with an instinctive fear, and you grab a fistful of his hair to keep him from going back for sloppy seconds. Instead of burying his face between your thighs again his tongue lathes against your torso. You watch him in awe as he laps his own mess off your burning skin, and it's almost enough to make you beg him for a second round just so you can see it again.

When he’s done he crawls up beside you and pulls you into his arms, squeezing you to him and peppering sloppy kisses along your shoulder.

“That was hot.”

“Never done that before. Don’t know why I did. Don’t know how chicks do that all the time. It was uh, not great.”

“It wasn’t bad, probably just ‘cause it was your own. I could tell you eat well.”

He laughs and brings a hand up to brush your sweaty hair out of your face.

“That’s insane,” he replies, grabbing at you as you try to slide out of his arms.

“Let me up, I gotta pee.”

“Oh I’m sure you do.”

You whack him in the chest with a half-hearted backhand and he finally lets go.

“You coming back?”

“Yeah, where’s the bathroom.”

“Straight across from here.” he gestures to the door at the end of the short hallway in his room.

When you come back out he’s already asleep, so you just climb into the bed beside him, smiling to yourself when he throws his arm over you.

You wake up the next morning still in his arms facing him and you stretch, trying to untangle yourself from him. He groans and pulls you closer, his eyes fluttering open.

“Morning sweetheart,” he murmurs. His morning voice is deep and gravely instead of its usual smooth tone. You smile and kiss the end of his nose. “How’d you sleep?”

“Great. What about you?”

“Like a baby. What time is it?”

“I’d know if you had a clock in here.”

“Hey, my bed’s like Vegas baby. Don’t need a clock.”

“Uh, huh. Let me check my phone.”

He lets go of you and you roll over, grabbing your phone out of the floor.

“It’s seven, and I have like, a million texts.” You open your phone and scroll through your notifications. Most of them were from Lainey, becoming increasingly more concerned before the most recent that just read ‘CALL ME’. You just send her a simple ‘I’m still alive’ text before turning your phone back off and dropping it into the pile of clothes on the floor, returning to Johnny’s embrace.

“I have three hours before I gotta be somewhere. You down for round two and a shower,” He questions, cocking his eyebrow at you.

“Don’t see why not.”

“Glad we’re still on the same page.”

He rolls on top of you and lines himself up with your still-sloppy cunt, easing himself in, same as the night before. Instead of drilling you he sets a slow pace, kissing you passionately as you pull him impossibly closer. It’s slow and restrained, and if you didn’t know any better you'd say he was making love to you. He brings his hand down to toy with your clit, easing you into cumming on his dick this time instead of demanding it. After you finish he pulls out and finishes himself off into the shirt he was wearing yesterday, wordlessly getting up and tossing it into the closet. He comes back to the side of the bed and reaches his hand out.

“Let's go get cleaned up.”

You sit on the cold porcelain of the toilet lid, watching him intently as he starts the shower, taking your hand and leading you in with him.

“Hey, I only have like, dude smells. Hope that’s okay.”

“At least it's not Axe,” you laugh, wetting your hair and turning around to let him shampoo it, which he gladly does. The two of you spend about an hour in the shower enjoying the hot water, washing each other, and kissing. Finally you manage to separate long enough to get out and dry off. Johnny goes and gets dressed in the closet and you just put on your clothes from the night before. He comes back out and you admire how well-tailored his shirt is.

“Come on, I’ll make us breakfast before I gotta go. I’ll call you a ride home, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

He makes omelets for the two of you and you take seats next to each other at the dining room table to eat. After you’re done he takes the dishes into the kitchen and calls your ride for you.

“Where’s your phone?”

“ In my pocket, why?”

“Wanna give you my number so you can call me up whenever.”

You open your phone up to the new contact screen and he enters his number, saving it under ‘Johnny 😎’ and handing it back to you.

His phone dings and he checks it, looking up at you. “Your ride’s here. Text me when you get home safe, okay,” he insists, leading you to the door and giving you one more quick kiss before sending you to the car waiting in the driveway, waving as you duck in.

When you get home you let yourself in and lock the door behind you, trying your damnedest to not look like you were doing the walk of shame. Lainey’s standing at the top of the stairs in her fluffy pink robe staring down at you.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit. You actually did it, didn’t you? You gotta tell me everything.”

You shush her violently and run up the stairs, grabbing her wrist and dragging her into your shared room and slamming the door.

“Dude. Holy shit. He fucked me like he hated my guts.”

“And let you spend the night, and apparently let you use his shower too.”

“We showered together.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. Dude he made me cum like a million times, and then this morning. It felt like I’ve lived with him for years or something. It was just so… natural.”

“That’s… unexpected. Honestly I thought you’d call me to come get you in the middle of the night.”

You sigh and fall backwards onto the bed, pulling your phone out and shooting Johnny a quick text. He responds with a simple ‘👍’.

“He gave me his number. And offered to be my boyfriend”

“Un-fucking-believable,” Lainey breathes grabbing your shoulders and pulls you back into a sitting position, shaking you around. “Do not fuck this up.”

@cael-salad

#fanfic #smut #fluff #johnny cage x reader #mortal kombat #mortal kombat fanfiction #johnny cage #Johnny turns into a little bitch when he’s close

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 1 year ago

Note

Rick Grimes with prompt no. 9 & 25!

.⋆｡The Cowboy Hat Rule｡⋆.

Rick Grimes x plus size reader

If you wear a cowboy’s hat, you have to ride the cowboy.

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, teasing

WC: 505

Minors DNI

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

3000 Follower Celebration

It was supposed to be a joke. You had found the pristine Stetson in the back of the outlet mall an hour from Alexandra and thought it would be the absolutely funniest thing in the world if your husband donned the cap. He already had the accent, the look and the attitude of a cowboy, so all he needed was the hat!

Rick didn’t think it was as funny as you though. As soon as the hat was placed in his weathered hands, his dark eyebrows were half-way up his forehead in disbelief. “Really?” He had said simply, his tone laced with disappointment.

“I think I could convince you.” You purred, your hands running down his strong chest to his belt buckle. “Have you ever heard of the cowboy hat rule?”

The bed frame squeaked in time with your bounces, the sounds of your mewls and Rick’s grunts fill the sex-soaked air. Your nails dug into his hairy chest as his huge palms clamped down on your thick hips, keeping your momentum going.

Your legs trembled with the effort of riding your husband but the pleasure was too great for you to stop. “Slow down there darlin’, ya don’t want to know what happens if my hat falls off.” In a slight panic, your left hand shot up and held the brim of the Stetson, keeping it from slipping off your head. The slight change in the angle of your hips sent his thick cock even deeper inside you.

Your cunt clenched down on him so tightly that Rick hissed with pain, throwing his head back against the pillows with the overwhelming sensation. “Jesus, loosen up, you’re squeezing me so tight.” He snarled through gritted teeth yet never stopped bouncing you up and down on his cock.

“Rick!” You cried, desperately close to your end. Immediately, his calloused thumb met your overworked clit, thrumming you to a glorious orgasm that quickly consumed your already frayed nerves. As you went boneless above him, Rick began to snap his hips up at a violent pace, knocking the Stetson from your head.

“Fuck!” Quickly, he pulled out and spilled his seed on his stomach with a deep moan. You huffed out a laugh and rolled off of him, collapsing onto the hard mattress. Rick’s hand found its way to your thigh, holding you gently but not bothering to yank you any closer.

“I’ll keep the hat if we can do that again.” He said breathlessly.

“Damn right we’re keeping that hat, it’s not like you had a say in it anyway.” You yelped as suddenly, your husband was on top of you, his lean body forcing itself between your thighs, his cock hardening once more.

He kissed you, sinking his teeth into your already swollen bottom lip before pulling back. “You’re gonna regret that darlin, you were the one that let it fall.” Your eyes darted to the end of the bed, where the Stetson now lay, upside down. “Your cowboy has some work to do.” He smirked.

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maxbegone · 8 months ago

Text

happy wednesday! thank you for the tag @iboatedhere ♥️

u ever think about how pineapple is eating u when u eat it the enzymes they like eat away at ur skin or w/e it’s why ur mouth will feel weird Alex is frustrated and honestly pretty bored, hence the spam texting. He’s been chipping away at this fucking paper for a week, it’s nearly fifteen pages long and he knows he’s going to have to cap it soon. But there’s a point he’s still trying to make here that he cannot figure out how to articulate, and he’s quite literally about to pull his goddamn hair out. It’s going to be a bitch to edit and he honestly might set his laptop on fire and move to the mountains if it means he can just be done. But Alex knows himself well enough, which means he’s going to keep staring at his computer screen in attempt to make something happen until the words form a weird Rorschach-like image and he blacks out. Maybe that’s why he texted Henry. Actually, he texted June and Nora, both separately and in their group chat, but Nora hasn’t responded and June told him to touch grass before putting her phone on Do Not Disturb. He sighs heavily and falls back into his chair, slumped in a way that absolutely cannot be good for his back, not that he cares. His mug has run dry when he brings it to his lips, and he silently thanks his caffeine-addicted self for the needed refill and a break to stretch his legs. Who knows, maybe if he drinks enough coffee, he’ll somehow transcend into a different dimension. Then he won’t have to hand in this paper. He’s really just asking for impossible solutions here, isn’t he? It takes approximately two and a half strong cups and a few bites cold leftover sesame chicken for Alex to even feel remotely capable of returning to his laptop. Jesus, his eyes are already starting to sting at the thought of staring at the screen again. He presses his fingers into his eyes beneath his glasses just as his phone buzzes on the counter next to him. He lowers the brightness and squints at the screen. Bromelian. What? Another text comes through: That’s the name of the enzyme. Alex outwardly laughs. He didn’t expect a legitimate response, let alone from Henry. “Is that so?” Alex asks when the call connects, equally as surprised that Henry answered. “Why are you calling me at half one in the morning?” “Why are you answering at half one in the morning?” He mocks. “Just say one-thirty, man, it’s not that complicated.” Henry ignores him. “Have I not told you that I’m the prince of insomniacs?” “I’m pretty sure it got lost in translation. See, from my perspective, you’re the prince of blowjobs.”

tagging @kiwiana-writes @rmd-writes @cha-melodius @orchidscript @indestructibleheart

#wip wednesday #rwrb fic #firstprince #firstprince fic

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dadsbongos · 14 hours ago

Text

sockpuppet

act 1 - the day your life changed / act 2 - the day your life began / act 3 (coming soon!)

6.1 k words / warnings - your mom is named but not physically described, childbirth

summary - before meeting his wife, toji had a firstborn; and if you thought he was a messy parent with megumi you’re gonna hate being that first kid with all the responsibility. ~~~

Scene 1 - birthday

Ten hours.

Ten grueling hours and new life was shone in the delivery room, mind the screams and searing cracks torn into Toji’s hand from his girlfriend’s cobra grip.

“I’m never letting you in me again!” Saisho shrieked, shortly before tossing her flushed head back to wail wordlessly.

Toji merely clenches his eyes, teeth gritted as he slams his spare fist into his knee to prevent shouting something he regrets. Something along the lines of “let go” or “fine jesus christ” or “goddamn woman just push”, something that would get him snark for weeks into the future. Gentler words coo from a woman with thick hair tied up beneath a turquoise paper cap at Saisho’s other side.

Two more lissom bodies in turquoise scrubs are crammed between his girlfriend’s sweaty legs, urging her to breathe and push and breathe, breathe, breathe -- she’s got it, just like that, good job mama! Toji garners no praise, he’s certain that isn’t going to bruise his ego more than it’s already been battered. With nothing nice to say, Toji says nothing at all and lets Saisho continue crushing his hand.

For all the praise and ease that was sworn to them, how easy this birth would be given Saisho arrived dilated ten centimeters, it seems to have all gone wayside. Toji only hears his girlfriend screaming, can only feel her red nails dragging pink lines into his hand -- he feels nauseous. The once sterile scent now dredged by iron and he knows it to be her blood. He wants to plug his nose, but he’s petrified to make her feel alone. Barely does it occur to him that he should probably be speaking if he wants her to realize he’s still there. The realization is no help, though, as he doesn’t begin praising her or encouraging her. Just silent squeezing.

Saisho swears his name, the bed creaks as her back bends even as one of the nurses calls for her to “lay back, mama! keep pushing!” and another brand new foul stench enters the room: one he’s sure will humiliate the poor woman, so he won’t say anything (yet). Curses and huffs and blood and shit make him gurgle spittem and stress burrow between his brows, he’s jostled as Saisho rips him into the side of the mattress.

“Toji, fuck- do something!”

His eyes snap open, and hers are full of salty water: bright red. Sweat slicks her gown flat against her chest just as hair is drenched against her forehead. She stares into the bowl of her gown between her raised thighs with wide, petrified eyes. She screams his name again. He hates how her voice sounds. She is in terrible pain, it’s all his fault.

Quietly, the only thing he can mutter is, “I’m sorry.”

”Fuck!”

Something is crying, suddenly. Something ghoulish and wimpy and altogether ear-piercing, something that makes the doctor cheer and snap her head up to the two late teens. He notices her ears are exceptionally small and that’s about all he notices over the sound of warbly, gutless crying.

In the doctor’s arms is something tiny and wrinkly and covered in goopy crimson. Toji watches the doctor pass it off to the nurse next to her at Saisho’s feet as she speaks, “We’ll get the baby all cleaned up and then do some skin-to-skin, does that sound okay?”

Saisho wordlessly groans, slack-jawed. Toji nods, attention snapping to the exhausted woman. He stands and stretches over the side of her bed, brushing hairs from her face with warm fingertips and soft whispers.

“You did great,” he doesn’t know what to say, so he just tells her all the things he likes hearing her say, “You were amazing. I’m so proud of you, you’re great. You’re so strong. I love you.”

“Love you…” she bumbles just barely through the words, Toji can hardly tell she even meant to say them.

“I love you,” he kisses her swamped forehead.

“Would dad like to hold baby first?” the doctor asks, and now he can hear her perfectly. Cacophonous cries reduced to whines and croaks. The woman’s voice is raspier than he thought it’d be.

“Uh,” he looks to Saisho for permission and no longer feels like the big adult man he masqueraded as in the lobby: demanding attention for his laboring girlfriend. Now Saisho is barely conscious and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Toji nods stiffly and holds his arms out as if to take a sack of flour.

The nurses laugh to themselves and orchestrate his posture before letting the doctor slip the newborn to her father.

Warm. It's warm in his arms and it’s stationary despite not being swaddled. Was he this small once?

Toji blinks down at the thing. It’s eyes open and they’re misty gray which makes him frown. It looks nothing like him. It looks like nothing at all. Nurses assure him the eyes’ color will darken and their features will sharpen with time, but he’s not so sure. Pounds of shapeless flesh, and despite not being overcome with emotion he cannot imagine hating something so tiny and helpless.

Then his girlfriend asks, “What should we name her?”

Voice raw and throat torn from anguished howling. Saisho watches as Toji secures you against his bare chest. She finds the humor in how his eyes are thinned and brows furrowed in concentration. When he doesn’t respond, she continues,

“I want something pretty.”

Toji blinks again. You’re warm. You squirm, trying to turn into the swell of his chest. He cradles you closer and wonders how his parents ever hated something so helpless and tiny.

And he wonders something else aloud, “Thought we were going with Kiko?”

“I don’t like it anymore.”

Toji hums, rumbling deep in his chest, it rouses you and the room seems to still when you twist again in his arms. Your eyes are squinted and agitated in the bright, cold room. It strikes him, how you don’t look like nothing but instead look like your mother. And he’s grateful. Only proves less of a claim the Zen’ins could take over this sudden new family. He thinks your life should be a normal one, and with neither him or Saisho being sorcerers, he believes he can manage that.

He sees endless possibilities in your wrinkled little ugly little eyes (that he’s not entirely unconvinced mean you’re unwell). No, newborns are not as cute as movies say they are, but his daughter is. His daughter holds boundless new avenues and cities and suburban homes and jobs (and maybe even an entire new country) in her little ugly eyes. And it’s just so…

“Mabushii,” he answers, holding up a hand and baiting you to grab his finger, “I like Mabushii.”

Yawning, Saisho shakes her head, “No.”

Toji glares up at her for just a moment, “The hell’s wrong with Mabushii?”

“She’s not a ‘Mabushii’, she needs something…” she yawns again, loosely swatting at the hand Toji holds above your face, “Talk ‘bout it later, ‘m tired… ‘n’ she won’t have,” seconds away from passing out, she makes a grabbing gesture, “for like… a while…”

“Brat,” he mutters, just to make Saisho scoff. Toji leans to kiss her cheek, “Alright, sleep already. We’ll name her later.”

Your eyes close as if heeding the command, face turning into Toji’s chest while your mother succumbs to her exhaustion.

When he’s sure Saisho is asleep, Toji stares down at you and whispers, “Mabushii can be a nickname, then.”

You don’t respond, but a suddenly alert Saisho does,

“No way!”

“C’mon! She’s mine, too, you can’t just control all the bullshit!” Toji rolls his eyes, “What about Mabayu? Shorter, cuter, right?”

“Toji…”

“Damn, go to sleep already then.”

Once she’s finally collapsed, Toji shakes his head with a fond smile stretching the pink scar on his lip. He hopes you’re just as spiteful as your mother, too. No Zen’in woman would be as abrasive as her.

Proven again once she wakes from rest. You’re in a crib while Toji fiddles over name ideas to pitch -- pen and paper settled in his lap. Saisho’s last name is already scratched across the line.

“Why my clan?” she grumbles.

“They’re less obsessive,” Toji reasons, “Besides, your dad actually likes you.”

“Highly questionable,” she grunts while trying to sit up, making Toji rush to aid her. One large hand on her back while the other soothes up her arm, “And you’re not nicknaming our kid Mabuya!”

“Why the hell not?”

And no Zen’in woman would carry the same petty bickering for almost a year later.

Saisho sighs, drumming her red nails against the spotted and muggy stove top, “It makes her sound like a granny. She needs a cute nickname! Cute nickname for a cute baby!” she ignores his incessant groaning and chides while making curry, “You need to settle on something anyway. Mabushii then Mabayu and now Maba? Make up your mind or she’ll never know which one to respond to.”

“Mabu? Is that better?” any input Saisho had is shut out when you squeal, clapping against the jar of little red pickles (very irresponsibly) placed in front of your chair. Toji grins over at you, silvering scar twisting up and your eyes follow the movement instinctually, “You like Mabu?”

“Ah,” your heavy head nods and Saisho whines.

“You never get her enough tummy time, now she doesn’t know how to hold her head up!”

“Oh, that’s what that was?” Toji teases, shaking his head and looking back over to you, “Sounds like Mom’s in denial, huh, Mabu?”

“Ah!” you nod again, more excitedly.

Saisho finds herself struggling to smother down a grin at the sight, pretending to think it over, “Fine, if she really likes it… but no shorter! I don’t wanna be arguing with you again in a week when you think ‘Ma’ is an acceptable nickname.”

“Well…”

“No! Just say the whole thing, lazy ass.”

Toji leans close to you, pretending to whisper as if Saisho can’t still hear him, “Mom can be so mean to Dad, huh, Mabu?” you blabber useless consonants of agreement(?), “But isn’t she so pretty when she does it?”

You blabber again, clapping this time, and Saisho can’t hide her swooning smile any longer -- huffing a mumbly, weak, “Oh, enough.” between pretty rouge lips.

Scene 2 - special talent

“I’ll pick you up myself today, alright?”

“That’s what Dad said…” you hug your ruby backpack with the kitty charm zipper tight against your chest. Uncertainty lingering in your gut from yesterday’s disaster.

“Well, I promise, did he make it a promise?”

“No…”

“So, I swear to you, sweet girl, I will be there after school today to pick you up,” Saisho smiles despite her evident frustration with your father, holding up a red-tipped pinky, “And we can even go get a treat, if you want.”

That makes you nod excitedly, a warm sensation like the wash of sunshine through an open window bathing you. It doesn’t feel like when Dad tells you things, Mom’s face is round with sincerity. Following your eager agreement, Saisho secures you into your seat and presses a kiss to your forehead. Then she smudges the staining candy apple gloss away with the pad of her thumb.

Pulling into school returns swirling dread to your gut, now entirely unrelated to your father’s lousy attitude. Saisho holds your hand and practically drags you up the pavement to school as your feet skid the concrete. Politely, she opens the door for you and you wish you were brave enough to take the entrance -- but you’re not.

“C’mon, honey, not today,” she whispers, sugary tone marred with frustration expertly layered beneath drowsiness. Lulling you through the hall as you crush your backpack strap between clammy fingers. Her sunken face rises again when another adult comes into view, “Good morning!”

Her earnest greeting is shot down with a huff, “How will she be getting home today?”

Saisho clears her throat, “I’m picking her up.”

When skepticism passes over your teacher’s face -- you have half a mind to punch his knee.

“Mom will be here!” you reassure, clenching her hand. When she said she’d be there, somewhere in your chest you could feel it: she’ll be there. You know it. Not like when your father said he’d be there.

“She will,” your teacher nods passively, a slight smile gracing his slender face. His tone is cool, voice free of any distinct emotion.

“I’ll be taking over her pick ups from now on,” Saisho mutters, nervously reaching up to skin her fingers against the cold steel of her necklace, “I’m sorry about my boyfriend…”

“New parents,” your teacher shrugs, shoulders drooping after, “Things happen,” he smiles higher and this time your mother sighs with relief at his expression, “We don’t usually see dads so engaged anyway.”

Saisho scoots you toward your teacher, who calmly says, “Now we have to wash our hands before breakfast, friend.”

You freeze completely outside the door with polka dot trim stapled around its border. Shaking your head frantically, tiny “uh-uh”s fall from your lips with brows knotting in distress. Wet sniffles preorder the tears about to shine your eyeballs. Teacher and Saisho share concerned looks before your mom bends at the knee and pets over your hair.

“Honey, you have to wash your hands.”

“I don’t like that bathroom.”

“Why not, friend?” your teacher follows onto a single knee.

Visibly offended they both apparently forgot your mortal enemy, you fling an arm out to point in the bathroom’s general direction, “The man in the bathroom! He’s green and big and I hate him!”

“I’ve never seen a man in the bathroom,” your teacher soothes, “Are you sure it’s a man and not a shadow? Nobody’s ever seen a man in there.”

“Maybe I could go with her again,” Saisho suggests.

“She can’t keep having you go with her just to wash her hands for school…” your teacher sighs, “But today, fine. Just today, after today we can’t keep doing this.”

“I’m sorry, again,” Saisho hefts you onto her hip as you begin sputtering various panicked ‘no, no, no’s. She sets you back down, angled specifically to block out the front right corner closest to the mirror. Her eyes are low, solely watching herself turn the faucet on and pump soap into your hand.

Similarly, you keep your eyes on your hands.

“Do you see the man, baby?”

“No…”

“Exactly,” Saisho doesn’t move an inch, lips tightening and knees going rigid, “There’s nothing in the bathroom.”

Suddenly you’re cold: whole body rippling with goose flesh and your heart leaps into your jaw. An uncanny spark in your chest urges you to tell her that’s not true. You’re not sure how you know, you just do.

So you say it, unaware of every implication that comes with it, “That’s not true, Mom… You’re lying…”

Saisho frowns, eyes flicking over her shoulder momentarily.

A round, moss green creature with bug eyes stares back at her.

She sighs, “We’ll find you a better school. Maybe grandpa can find a good place, hm?”

“I don’t like Grandpa.”

“Then don’t talk to him,” she smiles at your adorable pout, “You don’t have to see him, honey.”

“Good. He’s not fun.”

Saisho knows her dad isn’t fun. Toji’s is even worse.

“That’s why he knows good schools, though, because he isn’t fun,” Saisho beams, lifting you out of the bathroom once your hands are dried and kissing the crown of your head, “Dad says he misses you.”

You pout again, “When’s he coming home?”

“Soon,” Saisho shrugs. Not ready to tell you that she has no idea when Toji gets home from jobs either.

“Promise?”

She pretends to not hear you before dashing out from the classroom with a, “Keep a good head on your shoulders for me!”

Two days later, Dad comes home. It’s Friday afternoon. He groans, shirt stained with blackening blood and dirt -- bruises blooming down his arms and chest like roses.

“Why are you gross?”

Toji jumps at the sound of your voice, only then realizing that the small television he spent weeks saving for was blaring with flashy colors and round cartoons. You were sitting in a baby pink shirt and purple shorts with no shoes and hair undone. A plastic cup with apples printed around the rim sat between your legs, water half empty.

“Why aren’t you in school?” he shoots back.

“Mom says I don’t have to go anymore!”

“‘Scuse me?” he raises a brow, toeing off his boots and groaning all the way to the couch. A split second of clarity washes over him: he should shower before laying down or he’ll ruin the leather. He doesn’t care for too long before falling face first into the cushions with a moan. A tiny hand slaps his sore cheek.

“Grandpa says Mom shouldn’t take me to school, so that I can learn with him but Mom says I shouldn’t learn with him.”

Toji splits an eye open to look at you, content to lay in his filth while you smear sticky, crumby fingers on his face, “Fuck you mean Grandpa wants to learn with you? Where’s your Mom?” he doesn’t let you answer before shouting into the cramped apartment, “Sai! Why’s the baby not at school?!”

A yelp, then a bang, then a swear, then your mother’s voice, “We’ll talk later!”

“She’s in the potty,” you explain.

“Thanks.” you nod honestly to his sarcasm.

“Mom says I’m special like she is,” you bounce on your tip-toes, a small giggle floating through your lips.

Toji’s shoulders stiffen painfully, he looks at you weirdly. You don’t like it. You thought he’d smile for once, but instead he just grimaces and says, “You’re kidding.”

“Nah-uh, Mom really says I’m special!”

“Special pain in the ass,” he hauls himself up and grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes, “Did you go see Grandpa yet?”

“No… Mom doesn’t want to…”

“Good,” Toji stresses, “Stay the fuck away from Grandpa.”

You tilt your head, “Why?”

“Just do it.”

You shrug, “Okay.” . . .

Few days later, you’re strapped into your mother’s car and told you’re going to her clan’s compound.

“I thought I was supposed to stay away from Grandpa.”

“Grandpa did us a favor,” Saisho glances back at you, a rocky silence fills the car as you stare at your parents through the rear view mirror. She coughs, “Toji?”

“Huh?”

“Can you… just- ugh- can you do something? Can you explain it?”

“Grandpa,” Toji huffs, “Grandpa gave Mom and I a lot of money, so now we have to let him teach you stupid bullshit.”

“Toji!”

“That’s what it fucking is. Cursed energy is made up bullshit.”

“Well, she needs to learn it.”

“I never said she didn’t.”

They glare at each other. It doesn’t look as fun as their usual glares do. It looks like they mean those glares.

Grandpa is not very excited to see your dad.

“A Zen’in does not belong with the Shakko family.” he says, eyes narrowing horribly at your father despite their great height difference. Toji rolls his eyes and says there’s a ‘shit-brown’ tea stain in his red robes.

You watch quietly, hand in hand with your mother. She gnaws her lip until it's blistering.

Scene 3 - midnight

Hours ago you were laid to rest. Sung to with Mama’s crackly, raspy lullabies. Read to by Papa’s gruff and inexpressive baritone, his hands barely clutching the tiny purple goodnight, moon cover. Given milk and forehead kisses and bids of the sugariest dreams. And Mama seemed happy before closing your door. Your heavy eyes couldn’t help but droop immediately after, chest rising in even draws with soothed breaths.

Grasshoppers are the ones singing now: outside bathed in pale moonlight, and you are too young to know what they are crooning for. Similarly, you are too young to understand why you can’t be included in the rather heated debate spiraling between your mother and father. Mama’s voice is warbly and thick, like she’s choking. While Papa sounds so quiet and measured he might as well be thousands of cities away. Few minutes have passed since you awoke to their discussion, so you’re also clueless as to what they’re even talking about.

All you know is now Mama is very, extremely, terribly upset.

“You’re a fucking liar! You bastard! I hate you, you take me from my family and you make me carry your baby and now you’re pulling this?! I hate you!” a hack and sniffle, your mother sobs and screams again, “I hate you!”

A soft rumble, muffled by your bedroom door, is what follows. Suddenly, stunning silence fills the small apartment. It makes you itch. You rise from bed without much thought and prattle towards your closed door, pressing an ear against the cold wood. Faintly you can feel a biting in your cheek, so you snuggle closer trying to make out what’s beyond your door.

“I hate you,” your mother coughs. A long pause tilts the room before she sighs, “Are you going to say anything to your daughter?”

That makes you scootch impossibly closer to the door, straining to hear how you’re now involved with mom and dad’s latest spat.

“I don’t know what to say,” you can barely pick out your father’s voice. He speaks so cool and smoothly, not nearly as distressed as your mother.

“So don’t go!”

“I can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“Is it her?”

“No. Kind of. Not really. Not like that.”

“Then how? Talk to me, tell me, explain yourself just a little! You owe me that much, Toji.”

“My job. It isn’t for kids to be around. It’s better if she doesn’t know what I’m doing, or wondering if her dad’s still alive when he isn’t home,” mom sobs again, you wonder if dad wipes her tears or if he lets them dribble down her face, “I’ll send money.”

“Don’t send money, just find another fucking job!”

“I’m good at this.”

“You could be good at anything if you tried.”

“Not like I’m good at this.”

“You’d rather leave?”

Toji doesn’t respond. So you open the door. Two heads whip to where you stand in a red shirt five sizes too big and covered in bleach stains -- it used to be your mother’s when she dyed her hair. Your hand lodged on the door and eyes wide, you ask in a trembly voice,

“Dad’s leaving?”

Toji watches you glance from him to Saisho and feels his throat cinch. Suddenly his knees are wiggly and stomach twisting. Steely resolve and iron will crackling as you totter into the living room with bleary eyes. Saisho moves before him, kneeling in front of you with both hands on your shoulders. She nods slowly and whispers soft resolutions into your ear.

“I’ll be back,” he says, and he isn’t sure he means it. He just wants you to believe it. His voice is softer, face sullen.

Saisho throws a disapproving glare over her shoulder. Toji pays it no mind. He’s sure whatever he said would have earned that scorning stare.

“When?” you ask, “Tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow…”

“The next day?”

“Someday,” he solemnly swears.

Saisho hates him more than ever when he looks at you and says things she knows he doesn’t mean.

Your eyes find a pair of bags stuffed full; lumps protruding through the fabric and zippers nearly bursting open. Toji’s hands stretch with the urge to grab them. You nod slowly.

“Someday.”

Somewhere inside you, that feels like a lie.

Scene [a] - juvenile sleepovers

Suguru and Shoko were sharing Suguru’s bed. Soft snores are your only listening experience aside from Satoru's rushed, gaspy and ecstatic whispers of various Digimon evolutions. The room is far too dark for you to reasonably pull out one of Suguru’s many books -besides, you fear his taste in literature may be too boring for you. Shoko reads textbooks for knowledge and you’re starting to think Suguru does it for fun.

Yaga, in the future, will claim he had no idea you four set up a sleepover this very night. And every one of you is absolute that he’s lying. After all, tomorrow will be the first time you four are to be isolated from one another on a mission. Sometimes one will stay back while three go, or two and two, or even all four of you would be driven out.

You’re sure everyone will return, just as lively and hot-blooded as they’ve been all night, but the other possibility still frightened you enough to murmur to Shoko about it. She then turned to Suguru and declared you should all have a last hoorah. Certainly, if you four can each handle a mission by yourselves then you’ll be sent on more.

Neither scenario is really a win for your group of friends.

“Do you ever worry we won’t be friends?” you interrupt his speech, only feeling a little bad that you couldn’t tell which character or plot he was even scrambling over.

Satoru pauses, not even a hum of thought escapes him, just silence. Just then, you catch the faintest shimmer of his stark white hair glinting in the slatted beams of outside light. A mixture of dying stars and greenish lamps overrun by moths.

He’s shaking his head against his pillow on the floor, “Not really.”

“No?” you pull at Suguru’s carpet, watching your fingers in the dark, “Why not?”

“I just don’t think about it like that. About our friendship ending. It’s a shitty thought so why would I waste time having it?”

“I guess…”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. Especially right now.”

“Nobody’s dying tomorrow.”

“I know, but then we’ll all get sent out individually more, right? That’s why they’re doing this, to test us.”

Satoru rolls onto his side and grabs your hand, pulling it away from the carpet and tucking it into his warm palm. Skin soft and unweathered by the harsh training you’ve had to endure.

“Probably, but as long as we’re alive then what does it matter?”

“I don’t want us to drift apart… start hating each other.”

“We’d never.”

“How can you know?”

“How can you?”

Extra weight lands on that final word, you know it's meant to be reassuring and poetic and eye-opening but all it does is frustrate you more. As horrible as it sounds, you know Satoru’s experience with relationships of all kinds is extremely limited. He could never understand someone abandoning him because he’s Satoru Gojo and the only way people have left his life is in death.

“I just like you, Satoru,” your heart hammers at the finality in such a statement, you curl your knees up to your chest to stop the deadly pounding before continuing, “And Suguru and Shoko. You’re a good friend. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You like me?” he gasps, all shitty and teasing.

“Ugh.”

“Aww, c’mon! Tell me more! Tell me more!”

You glare at him. Though don’t tear your hand away, a foreign want to feel his peachy skin on yours invades your undeveloped frontal lobe. Weirdly, you want to see his smile stretch tighter and you want to be familiar with the way it shines. Even more weirdly, you almost -kind of -really want him to know you think he’s kind.

Instead, you say, “Nah. If your head gets any bigger, you won’t fit through doors.”

“Like you’re one to talk, edgelord,” he clumsily pokes you in the forehead. His palm sweats over yours suddenly, and he uncharacteristically stutters before calling your name, “I have an idea.”

“Huh?”

“To seal our friendship. You know? So you’re sure I’ll never leave you.”

You sit up and he follows, you scrunch your brows at him, “How do you plan to do that?”

“You take something important from me, and I’ll do the same to you…”

Naturally, your first instinct is to assume him the average teenage pervert, “Ew, ‘Toru! You’re gross!”

“Not like that!” he flicks your nose.

“Then what?!” you hiss.

“Have you had your first kiss yet?”

And your turn to be shy comes around. Coyly shaking your head instead of answering verbally. Weaving your fingers between Satoru’s and cringing at how your sweat mingles and slides.

“Me neither, so…” he drifts off.

His lips taste like the strawberry chapstick you watched him apply hours ago and the faint dew clings to your own lips when you part.

Satoru smiles down at you.

“That was probably a mistake, right?” you ask quietly.

“Oh,” he doesn’t bother whispering, “definitely.”

But he leans in again, and you don’t stop him.

You spend the night cuddling. Neither of you brings it up the next morning.

Scene 4 - a very special dinner

Honorary, maybe. You think. Few people are available to vouch on your behalf -- honestly your career as a sorcerer may be stunted now. Which you mind a lot less than Satoru seems to. He arranged this dinner. He arranged the car for you both here. He bought you the nice dress you’d been eyeing all week. He wrangled the blonde woman beside you back home for this one night.

She sips her drink. Tequila and apple juice. She says it’s dangerous and she saw it online and you should totally have some. You keep telling her later. She keeps ordering more from the bar and poking that she’s drinking much more than you, despite this being your promotion dinner.

“It’s not even a technical promotion, right? I haven’t heard anything…” you mutter.

“Hey!” she abruptly speeds into a new topic, swerving all concerns of getting you drunk off her brain-train, “What’s your type?” Yuki leans way too close, tongue poking through her lips.

“Why?” you tease, “Getting a little curious?”

“Hm,” she doesn’t answer your question, instead pushing her own, “I think you can tell a lot about someone by how they answer that question.”

You roll your eyes, but are already taking the time to think through her inquiry. Probably someone excitable, to balance out your subdued nature -that would sell in a shoujo manga, right? But no, someone too loud all the time would get annoying. Fast. But someone who’s introverted like you might get boring.

You shake your head when you realize you’ve been thinking about this for too long. You shrug, “I dunno… probably someone who knows how to shut up when I tell them to.”

Yuki throws her head back, squeezing your arm as she laughs, “That’s a good one!” she pats your shoulder, “I like that, hm.”

“Is it befitting of a special grade?” you’re mostly just trying to mess with her.

But she takes you in earnest, “I’d say so,” she wags two fingers in your face, “Special grades like us usually have two answers. Someone who can put up with our shit…”

“Or?”

“Or nobody at all,” she boops your nose and you tell yourself you let her, “I think you’ll fit in.”

That makes sense. Yuki liked guys who were hard-working and rough. Suguru didn’t really have a type at all. Yuuta preferred girls (well, one girl you know) that were headstrong and confident. And Satoru…

You glance at him.

He isn’t drinking because he hates the burn of alcohol in his throat. When he goes to bars, he likes virgin cocktails with sweet added syrups. And he keeps his phone tucked deep into his pocket so he can ignore the higher-ups for as long as possible. His teashade glasses are pressed tightly against his face because looking at the world through his own eyes becomes overstimulating. He’s so giddy tonight because you promised to watch that new Ryûichi Hiroki drama with him after your dinner. He laughed out an apology to you just outside because he accidentally spoiled the whole movie trying to give a brief synopsis.

You glance away.

You don’t know Satoru’s type. It never really came up.

You don’t think you want to know. And you definitely don’t want to think about why you avoid that question.

Maybe he doesn’t have one. Maybe it’s just someone to listen to him ramble.

You don’t know.

But your feet hurt, and you’re forced to lean against his side while you and Satoru wait for his personal driver. Raucous drunken yelling grows unsteadily from back inside the bar.

Satoru is rambling.

“I feel like people are too nostalgic for his old work, he’s only gotten better over the years. Not very surprising, just weird to me that everyone focuses on his old stuff like Vibrator because it was so successful- !”

“Satoru, I’m worried.”

He’s startlingly quick with, “You look like it.”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

You wish he hadn’t done that. It makes you wonder why you ever told Yuki something so childish. It makes you wonder what came first -- Satoru shutting up when you told him to, or liking people who shut up when you told them to. Either way, you think the result is the same.

“I think,” you frown, you wonder if he feels that involuntary need to fix it, “I’m in love with someone.”

Not just someone. Gojo, Satoru. It carries so many different things. Your old friend, your closest confidant, your partner in raising two kids, your fellow teacher, your fellow sorcerer, the strongest sorcerer, the heir to the Gojo clan, the untouchable Gojo, Satoru.

He frowns now, and you feel an involuntary need to fix it, “Aw. Mabu-chan doesn’t want lil’ ole me anymore?”

On reflex, you almost cry out for him to shut his mouth. But he would, and then you’d be even more helpless. You fear that maybe his obedience has bred a softness in your heart, but more than that - you fear that he’s bred a liking to obedience simply by being himself. You’re terrified that obedience isn’t your type at all.

“I’m being serious.”

“Who is it?”

So much could go wrong by telling him. He could reject you and you’d be embarrassed and maybe lose him as a friend before the both of you moved on. Or, even worse, he could feel the same -- until one day he doesn’t, and one day he leaves.

He can read you so easily, he shakes his head, “Nevermind, you don’t gotta tell me. I’ll just be absolutely heartbroken for the next rest of my life,” he sighs wistfully, “You’re killing me, Mabu-chan.”

You want to tell him to be quiet.

But maybe that’ll make your fondness grow.

Or it won’t, and you’ll be forced to realize that you were delusional -- it was always Satoru.

Oh, God, it was always Satoru, wasn’t it?

Scene 5 - just a small thing

Your most distinct memory of your father is from the age of five, being sat in front of a bright TV.

You have pink and white pajama pants snug against your little legs and a teal shirt with a purple bear and green frog on the front slung over your shoulders. You stumble out of your room, with a door that’s always open because the hinges squeak too loud for Ms. Mitoko, rubbing your heavy eyes. The television burns your retinas, but the man on the couch is unaffected by its brightness.

He sits with folded legs, an ankle resting atop his knee, one arm thrown over the back of the couch and the other on the armrest. The remote is practically slipping out of his palm, but he doesn’t seem to be dozing off. It irritates you even then, how he seems to not care if something slips and breaks - maybe Ms. Mikoto has a point with those stupid cups.

“What’re you doin’ up?” his voice makes you jump, all sleepiness gone from your body.

He still doesn’t look down at you, though. Eyes focused on that blinding TV.

You shrug, shoulders heavy, and yawn, “Not sleepy…”

He snorts, that scar twisting up faintly, “Oh, no?”

You yawn again, shaking your head fitfully, “No.”

“Okay,” he finally looks down at you, head falling back against his shoulders, “What d’you want then?”

“Hmm,” you squint your eyes at the TV. The sudden light makes your eyes water, “Can I sit with you?”

But you don’t remember why you asked.

“Hmm.” he copies your thoughtful hum, “Yeah.”

And you don’t remember if he helped you onto the couch.

Your most distinct memory is slouching against your father’s side on Ms. Mikoto’s lumpy, sunken couch. This memory doesn’t tell you what you were watching, just that it burned to stare at in the otherwise pitch black apartment. And just that your father’s shirt was soft against your cheek. And he was very warm. And you didn’t take long to fall back asleep.

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #toji x reader

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roadkillxd · 2 months ago

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M!Deputy (Isaac) x Nick Rye x Kim Rye ↪ 900 words — 18+ / SMUT.

Content tags — cis male dominant Deputy, cis male submissive Nick, cis female dominant Kim, first time, oral sex, rimming, implied cuckolding, coming untouched, and anal fingering.

"Can I eat you out?" Isaac purrs. He's kneeling between Nick's legs, Nick's knees trying to press together despite the brunt of Isaac's body in the way, subconsciously trying to cover his exposed body.

"I like that idea," Kim coos from where she's propped up against the headboard, Nick's back pressed to her plush chest.

"I-I dunno if I'm... quite comfortable yet, getting on m'hands and knees like that, Dep. Y’know… feels kind of, uh, exposing."

"Don't gotta," Isaac hums, rubbing calloused hands up and down Nick's thighs, like soothing a startled horse, inching his legs further apart to make room for himself as the soft muscles twitch beneath his palms, "can do you just like this. Prop ya up, legs on my shoulders."

“Balls on your forehead,” Kim mutters teasingly, making the deputy snort and Nick pull a face.

"Seems kinda... uncomfortable. For you. Havin’ to hold me up like that."

"You're not that heavy, Nick."

"Hey!"

"He's not wrong, honey," Kim laughs.

"You should be on my side about this!"

“Do you want me to call you fat?”

“Well, no, but—!”

"There's no sides," Isaac interrupts with a smile, "I'm just a lot bigger than you are."

Nick glances down to Isaac's half hard cock with squinted interest, a pout on his lips, Isaac's length already a good two inches longer than Nick’s own, fully hard and leaking against his stomach.

"I'm well aware," he mutters, earning a chuckle from the others, "but still… I dunno."

"You don't gotta do anything you don't wanna," Isaac reminds, watching Nick let out a shaky breath when Kim presses kisses to the expanse of his long neck, “we can always do something else.”

"Alright, alright, fine,” Nick huffs, shifting to get more comfortable, “can't be that bad, right?"

"Won’t be bad at all,” Isaac smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of the other man’s knee cap.

"He'll make it good for you, Nick," Kim murmurs, turning her husband's head to press a slow kiss to his lips, momentarily distracting him as his eyes flutter shut, losing himself to the sensation of her tongue slipping into his mouth.

Nick squawks indignantly when Isaac hauls his legs up over his shoulders. He flails, bracing his hands on Kim's legs either side of him.

"I'd tell you to relax," Isaac rumbles, thumbs rubbing circles against where Nick's hip bones jut out, where he’s a line of tension propped up beneath him, "but you're just gonna startle anyway."

"Am not!"

"You absolutely will," Kim smiles.

"I'm not some—oh, JeSUS!" Nick yelps, voice cracking and hips jumping as Isaac licks a wet stripe over his hole, the muffled 'told you so' from between his legs making Kim laugh as Nick jolts again from the vibrations.

Nick tries to cover his mouth with his hand, reedy moans and borderline whines he's never heard himself make before slipping out, but Kim catches his hands and pins them back down to her legs, urging him to squeeze the supple fat of her thighs.

"Let us hear you, sweetie," she purrs, nuzzling against his neck, Nick unable to break the smoldering eye contact Isaac holds with him.

Isaac circles the spit-slick ring of muscle, spearing his tongue into the virgin heat with a rumbling groan. Nick’s hips lurch upward but Isaac slams him back down, grip bruising tight on Nick’s thighs.

“Ohmygodyou’resostrong” Nick breathes out in a rush, voice high and tight and reedy, his own cock weeping like a leaky faucet as Isaac rumbles a laugh, uses his thumbs to pull at the taut skin of Nick’s hole, giving him more room to shove in and lick him out.

“Does it feel good, Nicky?” Kim whispers, her own cunt clenching around nothing at the beautiful sight of her husband lost in pleasure—the strong, handsome deputy between his thighs. She’ll have to get him to fuck her after this, have Nick watch ‘till he gets hard again, “think you could come like this?”

“I don’t��I’ve, I’ve never,” Nick stutters, turning his face to press against Kim’s throat, trying to ground himself as Isaac gently slips a finger into him. A low, rumbling groan comes from Nick’s chest, cock kicking up before slapping back onto the wet mess of his tummy as he breathes out an emphatic “yes,” against Kim’s sweaty skin, hissed and drawn out.

Isaac focuses on rubbing the pads of now two fingers over Nick’s prostate, like he’s rolling the swollen gland atop them. His tongue still circles around his fingers, shoving in where he can and licking or sucking where he can’t, Nick’s moans steadily rising in volume and pitch once again as his cock strains a purplish-red.

Nick’s gasping out a string of pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, the muscles of his thighs twitching and spasming as he tries to arch in Isaac’s strong hold, rocking his hips down onto the deputy’s questing fingers before he suddenly shouts a hoarse, cracking “oh FUCK!”

Kim wraps her arms around Nick’s own, holding him flush to her chest to keep him from reaching out and accidentally hitting the Deputy in the face, while Isaac likewise does his level best to keep Nick from kicking him in the head while simultaneously digging his fingers into Nick’s prostate as the man comes, spurts of cum painting his quivering stomach as he shakes through his first hands (and hole) free orgasm.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #nick rye #kim rye #male deputy #nick rye x deputy #kim rye x deputy #smut #mine

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delilahcalicocat · 8 months ago

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☆| We're night owls.. |☆

{Warnings: Swearing, Break-up Mentions, Crying, very thin hotel walls, Fear, Smut & Fluff, Roderick Regretting Sharing a room across from his little sister, Charlie being a shy girl, Past Relationship problems, swearing}

{WC: I think like 700 or 900 and or 1k+}

{Pairing: Hook and Charlotte "Char-Char" Strong}

Summary: Roderick sets up his younger sister with Hook, since their about the same age, and he regrets those choices. (Roddy Met Hook via The Best Friends, that's why he knows Hook)

[Charlie's POV:]

I was meeting with some friend of my Older Brother, Roddy was taking me to a Locker Room with some friend he's known for about two years, I was a little shy.. as I had just gotten out of a relationship of 1 year, I don't really wanna go into detail about it, but it was a little bad, so I'm now quite uncomfortable with an age gap of over 3 years..

Anyways, My brother opens the locker room door. Matt & Mike are there and Roddy tells them to watch me, he's going to get the "Friend". I sat in awkward silence with Matt and Mike for around 30 minutes, Only sound in the cramped up room was Mike's TikTok from his phone.

[Hook's POV:]

Roderick was yapping my ear off about how great this experience was going to be, How his little sister would be the perfect match for me. Little did he know, I put my airpod in like 20 minutes ago, and I've been listening to my music more than his yapping and shit.

"Roddy, listen. I'm sure your little sister is a sweetheart, but if you keep fucking yapping, she'll hear us like a mile away." I sighed

"Ok I'm sorry- I get carried away" He replied

I didn't really care about anything else, but the parts about his sister's past relationship, I swore under my breath if I saw that fucker I'd destroy his life.

But we kept walking closer and closer to the locker room.

I suddenly had a small bit of nervousness in my gut, but I tried to ignore it as best as possible.

♡|♡|♡|♡|♡|♡|♡|♡|♡|♡|♡|♡|♡|♡|♡|♡|♡|♡|♡|

[Charlie's POV:]

Its been awhile since we talked back at the arena, and Hook kinda set up a night for us in my Hotel Room, I was a little nervous. But I just got out of the Shower when I heard a knock at the door, I opened it curiously and saw Hook. I panicked and closed the door, but Hook stopped the door with his foot. I was in a thin ass towel, on the verge of tears. Trapped like a Mouse in a corner by a cat..

"Please... don't..." I said quietly

"Baby, I'm not that asshole.." He said lightly tracing shapes into my back

"I-I'm sorry.. It's just.. my life hasn't been the same since the whole situation, I couldn't even leave my brothers house at a point." I admitted with a sob

"It'll be okay.. You can take as much time as you need baby." He reassured, Holding me close..

{Smallest Time skip}

"Ah..." I gasped out

"See I'm not him.." He said

"I trust you~ and only you.." I said

"I'm glad.." he said

[Roderick's POV:]

"Gahh~ harder.." I heard through the wall

I am currently regretting picking the room right across from my little sister's, I also regret setting up the two lovebirds. Like Jesus. They just met and are alread-

"Yesss!~" Again through the wall

"Get a Room you two!" I shouted towards the wall

"We do have a room Roddy! Somebody wasn't using their thinking cap" I heard from my own sister

"You've got a point." I replied

Anyways, I'm going back to dreading my life

{The Next Morning}

[Charlie's POV:]

I stirred awake groggily, Thanks to my new boyfriend getting up to order us breakfast, and also help me get dressed, I might be taking some time off after last night, my legs are really sore. But, hey. I got a good man, he got up before me to get breakfast and help me get dressed, wonder how my brother feels right now.

"How the actual fuck did you two stay up all night to do that?" Roderick Growled

"We're night owls ya dumbass." I chuckled

"You two better not do that tonight. I have a match tomorrow on rampage!" He said

"There's no promises here Rodds" I said

"Don't you fucking dare tonight, I will bust through the walls and stop you two." He said, his usual choice of words when I do this shit, haha.

Sadly the end :( y'all want part 2?

#{♡}delilah's fics{♧}#aew #aew smut #aew fanfiction #aew hook fic #ocs

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hecatombi · 1 year ago

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001. MISC. PHYSICAL HEADCANONS

(( here is a bunch of miscellaneous physical headcanons i have about the guys, going from the ones with the least changes to the most! Vash and Chai .. are going to have a lot more due to the nature of my insane fixation on them. ))

👇THIS IS A LONG ASS POST! YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.👇

ASH WILLIAMS

Ash has five different prosthetic hands, and several chainsaw stumps to attach to his hand.

He prefers to keep his hair as swoopy and voluminous as he had it in army of darkness ( even old ash. sorry ihate his slick combed back look )

GARY GOODSPEED

Gary naturally has heterochromia and blue + brown eyes, but after his possession by invictus, they are a striking bright pink. and it's permanent! Here's a ref i drew of him with them.

Post invictus, he grows his hair out and wears a far more complicated outfit. Like the concept art for the FS graphic novel.

JOSEPH JOESTAR

On top of having a prosthetic right arm, Joseph ALSO has a prosthetic left leg. This is because of the fact that LAVA HIT HIS KNEE CAP IN THAT FINAL BATTLE WITH KARS THERE IS NO WAY THAT DIDN'T DESTROY IT BEYOND REPAIR!!!!! So, double amputee.

When he is upset or mad, Joseph's hand clicks and wriggles around every joint independantly, and it is typically the only tell that he's angry or upset in any way if he's trying to hide the fact.

Joseph's arm was made by the SPW. not. who they're from in canon. <:) On top of that, it has several different functions, and a different appearance from canon. There are 5 star shaped buttons on it with varying uses. I.. still need to decide them, though.

He is NEVER ever seen without the remaining burnt headband of Caesar's. Ever. A common stim he has is twirling the ends of it.

CHAI

Now, i have a big ol' about page coming for Chai soon, but let's start here.

To get things out of the way; Chai has HORRIFICALLY poor vision. He refuses to get glasses though, because he is certain it makes him look like a nerd. He really, REALLY NEEDS THEM though. He's more farsighted.

Chai always had arrhythmia and other heart defects before his surgery at Vandelay. On top of that, he did not have mobility in his left arm at all, which is why he went in for the arm surgery. They told him they'd help with his heart too, but ...

.. the MP3 player + core replaced his heart entirely. And also gave him top surgery for free, even though he'd been too poor to afford it, as his breasts got in the way of the core. However, his top scars are more than just that; there are thick scars, branding him with the vandelay logo down his entire torso, becauuuuse...

His insides and organs had to be reworked to physically accept such a drastic change to his body. I'm talking moved around, and more than just his heart and arm replaced with robotics.

He straight up is an eldritch, terrifying mess of organs and wires in there. He doesn't know how much of him is robotic and how much is organic anymore. I draw this from the factt hat when electrocuted, Chai's skeleton shows up -- but his skeleton also includes the magnetic waste management tool in his arm, as well as the fact that the things he survives physically NOBODY ELSE CAN. AT ALL. like jesus christ he is somehow so resilient to things literally nobody else in game is under the same circumstances. Also, his body and brain can be hacked directly from his arm. You can't do that with organics, only tech.

So... that's why I think he's more robot than person now. Or cybernetic, if you want to get technical. W/e

His life span has been extended by an unknown amount, and he will age significantly slower if at all due to this change in his body. Oh, and the outer shell of the arm is made of a compound that is not metal. Dont know what it is, but it's still just as strong and durable.

It is possible for Chai to sync with other robotic beings in the same way he synced with 808( his cat ); you have a 50/50 chance of hearing the music that always plays in his head forever, like 808 now does, OR hearing the world moving to a musical beat for the rest of your life. Until he dies, anyways -- if / when he does.

His music core is shown to thump and beat like a heart, and if it pounds hard enough, it's enough to jerk his chest and cause him to get a little dazed-- it's definitely uncomfortable when it thumps so hard. I think he watches it cause he's nervous if his heart is fucking up or something, given that was a BIG health anxiety his entire life. Only 808 managed to snap him out of it, as you can see here.

Speaking of that, post surgery? He LITERALLY can not process anything beyond music and beat he can not hear. For the rest of his life, he will always move to a beat nobody can hear; the environment makes music around him; you can see in this example here how everything in the environment and even his own movements fall largely to the beat of the song. See the video below for an example of this.

youtube

He will never be able to hear or see the world regularly again. Not that Chai minds; he LOVES music. Adores it, even. He'd be happy to live with this the rest of his life. Which is good, cause he really has to.

He picked up cat tendencies from 808 when they synchronized, just as 808 picked up chai mannerisms ( like the way he fights & love of rock and roll ). They often mirror each other because Chai is influencing 808's expression more than you'd think! They pretty much share a single braincell now.

And, to close it all off; the surgery also gave him insane durability, as already discussed.. but it ALSO gave him nuts dashing techniques, and an ability to jump to a ridiculous degree. He's a very sturdy man now!

VASH SAVEREM

Vash only LOOKS human, but as we know, he certainly ISNT. He's a Plant; an independant variety, which is exceedingly rare. Plants are strange fusions of literal plants, angels, and mechanical blueprints that all meld together to make a more techno-organic being.

Because he only LOOKS human, I have PLENTY of hc's about his body and form and how they actually differentiate from your typical human.

First and foremost; he's trans. ALL plants are born female, no exceptions, as said by canon; which makes vash canonically trans. Pretty cool, right? but, in canon, where he doesn't have this -- he has plant private parts ( flower based ) and one of his breasts left. He has no desire to bind or for top surgery, as his chest is small anyways -- but he lost one of them a long time ago. More about the state of his body later, but this is important to still note.

Now, his teeth. He has fangs that he has filed down to look smaller, but they are still pretty sharp. His teeth are NOT defined like a humans; it's like .. kind of a solid plate of metal for bone? Teeth? With only vague outlines of where they should separate.

His eyes are an unnatural piercing blue, which we already know; however, the reason he wears those big orange glasses may surprise you! They're actually marksman glasses, which are known to be orange; however, they also serve as a neutralizer to his eyes. If you look at his glasses head on, through them, his eyes look like a neutral blue-gray. However, if you take off his glasses, they're still a BRIGHTLY inhuman blue.

And yes, they glow in the dark.

In BLUE and UV LIGHT specifically, his plant marks will show no matter what. Though, in blue light, they're much fainter / mostly in the eyes ( and they make them glow as you see in the example below ), while in UV all light patterns are exposed. When he heals plants, these also become pretty visible -- but if he has too use TOO much of his angelic power, one of two things could happen.

He goes comatose and unresponsive for a short while; blank stare, unable to react or process anything around them. Sometimes he can snap out of it, sometimes he can't. It really depends.

His hair will brown or blacken. If you know what this means, have a gold star! If you don't, this means he is ACTIVELY shortening his life span and using too much of his power at once. When a plant's hair browns or blackens, it means they no longer have limitless energy.

Side note; since we see that since birth, Vash has had BROWN EYEBROWS ( whereas all plants are born with blonde hair and blonde eyebrows, and blue eyes, NO MATTER WHAT ); i have a headcanon that because Nai is based on a toxic albino plant that was never meant to live in the reboot, he subconciously saved Nai at birth. He was always the stronger twin in terms of health, where Nai was sicker.

Also .. despite his glasses being pretty normal marksman glasses, he can do this thing where he reflects everything in the environment BUT his eyes subconciously; it's a big tell that he's trying to stay distant and not let people read his next expressions. He often does this to distance himself or when he's being vague. It happens a bunch in moments specifically where he does that in show, so im adopting that as a little weird plant quirk he can do. Call it manipulation of light and reflection, I suppose, since he IS a plant...

He's way taller than he looks. He will keep continuously growing for the rest of his life til a certain point, to which his true height would be around 9 ft to 10 ft tall at the least when in humanoid form. However, as of right now, he is 7'5 in his natural body. Here's the fun part though; he actually SHIFTS HIS BONES and condenses his weight and appearance to look more humanlike, but that still leaves him at a hefty 6'5. Even despite this effort to appear smaller and more unassuming, due to the poor nutrition on Gunsmoke, nearly every human is much, much smaller than him. Unless they've been genetically and unethically modified, of course. Then they can get fucking giant . But, nobody matches his height on an average basis there.

when he's in his full 7'5 ( and growing!! ) form, his limbs are gangly, and too long. His eyes look Bigger, and his skin a little bluer; his fingertips get elongated with a black gradient like all his plant sisters. Example here.

His angel arm is something he does not bring out due to a great deal of trauma with that and knives; he does not have access to a full plant angel form. What he DOES have access to is a gigantic angel arm, and three pairs of wings; parts of his body transform into an eldritch mechanical angel kind of being, but not all of his body can. This is because of his twin, Nai / Knives having the other half. Had Nai never existed, Vash would have full access to his plant angel form. He is one of the most powerful plants of his kind with said angel arm, but ... he'd sooner kill himself than ever use it. There'sa a whole rant i have about how he feels having been forced to have it out, but .. that's for later.

Now, for this paragraph, heads up for y'all for mentions of starvation and body dysmorphia, over all bad condition of a body. The next red text you'll see is where discussion of this stops. as is pretty heavily established, Vash has a great deal of body dysmoprhia. He is absolutely letting his body fall apart at the seams, and frequently punishes himself for "failing" to protect people by starving himself, despite needing it to survive / have energy and heavily enjoying food. That is why he's so damn scrawny! Which is unfortunate, but he has so so many complexes ( shout i make a separate infodump about this too? ) tht this is just par for the course. Now, he could heal the scars and shit on his body faster if he wanted to, but he's pretty self conscious about it. He will let any humans hurt him if he deems it justified, and unforch, he usually does. He lets them beat him senseless, cut him up, shoot him -- nothing he couldn't survive, anything goes. his body is straight up canonically barely held together by thick staples and grates of metal over exposed muscle.

This is part of why he never takes off his coat, ever. Or those long sleeved shirts of his. I mean, he might to shower or clean up wounds, but...... very rarely does he do this. He just takes whatever beating humans give him cause he feels he deserves it, and deals with it.

Warning over!

With all the heavy stuff said, here's a few final short hcs.

He photosynthesizes some, and really enjoys basking in the sun.

He's a very light sleeper and rarely ever gets decent sleep. He's pretty much always exhausted, but never lets it show.

CAN'T EVER LISTEN TO CLASSICAL MUSIC. it puts him into SERIOUS triggered mode and gets him too panicked to think straight, even after Nai / Knives died.

His hair looks like normal hair, but it absolutely DOES NOT feel like it. It feels like really soft velvety flower petals, and will always keep this consistency.

He's got inhumanly amazing marksmanship, yet somehow, being drunk ( should he ever GET drunk ) improves it more. Yes, I stole this bit from 98 vash but i think it's funny and it's my interpretation so this is what i keep. ok? :)

And lastly ...

He stims by reloading and loading guns :3

Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed! Should I make a part 2 sometime? :p

#oops. i accidentally spent all day on this ... ahahaha #* fuckboy lip bites *#╰┈➤ 🎸 [ STUDY ] chai #╰┈➤ 🚀 [ STUDY ] gary #╰┈➤ 🪓 [ STUDY ] ash #╰┈➤ 🌿 [ STUDY ] vash #╰┈➤ 🌟 [ STUDY ] joseph

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eldritch-flower · 1 year ago

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alt: The Waking — see here for trigger warnings

Chapter 3 of 9 | [prev / next]

Orville allowed himself a quiet breath of relief. It was Ashleigh, it was Nathan, it was – well, all of them. Even Sue was there, determined as she was to make it known that she thought he was useless (she stuck around anyway, though, and Orville knew she’d seen through his facade just like he’d seen through hers). They were facing away from him, all lined up in a neat row. As if they’d been expecting him to exit from a room on the other end of the corridor. Like they’d been placed in the perfect position, if only they’d turn around.

But Orville didn’t need to see faces to recognise them. The back of their heads was more familiar to him than his own family. It pooled warm and sickly in his gut, the thought that his family – his real family, not the shithole he’d been born into – had come looking for him. They’d found him, they’d come to save him, they’d –

He let out a shaky sound, caught halfway between a sob and a sigh, and it scraped over his tongue as Orville crept forward. His foot dragged behind him, a low scraping over the carpet, and he winced with each step. The stretch of hallway separating them seemed cyclopean. Orville lifted an arm, bicep screaming as the puncture there flared with the slow movement. His fingernails ghosted the wall, reaching for something to support him as he neared them.

“Guys.” He tested the boundaries of his vocal chords, felt them twang from disuse as he brushed away the proverbial dust. Orville cleared his throat: “Hey, guys, I’m over here! Nathan, kid, I’m right… here.”

They didn’t move. None of them moved.

Orville hesitated where his hand was extended above a shoulder of familiar fabric, eyes locked on the back of the familiar baseball cap. The others still hadn’t turned around. He lowered it gently, feeling himself lean away from the point of contact on impulse. Like he was scared, like he feared Nathan, the best thing in his life.

A hand came up to clasp his own. The movement, jagged and backward, was awkward, and Nathan gripped his wrist like a lifeline. Orville winced and he laughed frightfully, flexing beneath the kid’s hand. Shit, that kid was like a fucking limpet. “Jesus, Nate, when’d you get so strong?”

The cold warmth of the palm wrapped around him stained his flesh, sending the skin there crawling. A creak of bone echoed down the otherwise empty hall; Nathan turned his head.

He tapered on unmoving legs, body remaining stationary. His neck snapped into place as it twisted, like an action man or some shitty doll. An angry pop escaped the joint as it spun, jaw tilted vengefully. The rest of his friends followed Nathan’s lead, a chorus of reverberating, deadly movements.

Except, Orville thought with surmounting horror, it wasn’t Nathan.

The kid’s face – all of their faces – were blank. Pale and marbled, at the edge of decay. And like an empty canvas, void of eyes, nose, mouth, there was simply nothing: As though a stretch of putrid skin had been plastered atop their real faces and moulded to fit every crook and curve, sewn into place like leather; a corpse-like, membranous deformity.

Orville’s heart sank from the pit of his chest, dropping to the floor. He let out a short, sharp noise of horrified confusion, yanking his hand from the preternatural grip of the… the thing, and he retched as Other-Nathan’s wrist came with it. It escaped its socket with a gratuitous burst of wet sound, and thick, black sludge oozed from the separation, and the parasitic form let out a mortifying, baneful lowing. Yellowed bone shone beneath the cheap halogen lights, encircled by greying flesh. Orville screamed.

He stumbled away, tripping backward over his own useless limb as he raced for the door. He only prayed it hadn’t closed and locked him out here, with them.

Because it was them, all of them. His faceless friends, walking towards him in a way that shouldn’t have been possible – they were going backwards, walking forwards – with silent aggression on their passive faces. They leered, eyeless, as they gained on his crippled being. If they’d had teeth, Orville was certain they would’ve been sharp and bared, desperate to take a bite from him.

What they would do to him without a mouth, though, Orville didn’t know – didn’t want to know. They stumbled too close, lurching movements erratic, and Orville fumbled with the handle.

Lithe fingers dragged against the gouges on his side, reaching within the wound to dig at the slowly rotting flesh there, and Orville couldn’t utter a sound through the agony as they clawed at his insides. Slithering claws writhed within his flesh, pushing their way through the skin, stuck there with blood like syrup. He was so close, almost back to safety –

Because it was safety, the room. His box, his purgatory. He threw himself to the ground as the door swung gently open, rolling to his back to see the Others creeping steadily closer, closer, closer, closer, closer, closer, closer, closer, close-

The door slammed shut of its own accord, putting itself between Orville and his esoteric aggressors.

He didn’t have a chance to react to the nullified pain sending shocks through his body, paralyzing his shoulder where he’d hit the ground. Because those things - those fucking thing, imitating the likeness of his memories, of his friends, sullying those precious people that meant so much to him in a different life - began to knock at the door. A rough pounding on the wood from the other side, not letting up, only proving to get harder and more desperate.

Orville grit his teeth and – no. No, no, fuck - his mouth was dry, throat choked, and he watched as a pasty, aberrant shadow crawled itself across the walls, ducking behind the taxidermied horrors. What the fuck was happening?

He worked the muscles in his jaw, crawling away from the door, cradling his shoulder with his other arm, elbows dragging him towards the bed. That was when the voices started.

Voices; muffled, but there. Familiar. Orville felt sick to his core, brain feeling like an over stirred cup of coffee. He wasn’t going near the door again. He’d stay in here until the butcher who’d locked him away came to cull him once and for all.

He felt the vixen’s eyes on him, felt the spooked deer taunting him with his own terror. ‘We warned you,’ they seemed to say, laughing. But they hadn’t, not really. And if they weren’t already dead, Orville would’ve fucking strangled them.

He leant against the wooden leg of his bed (His. When had he begun to think of it as his?), neck craned to get a look in the mirror. His own haggard reflection leered down at him, distorted by angles and refraction: A sallow face, bony and pale, met his gaze. Naked skin blistered and flayed raw greeted him. Welts of blood bubbled from rose-bush slices in weeping muscle. Orville looked away, nauseated.

The attack on the door grew louder, more rampant, more desperate, and Orville curled away from it as the jingling rang out again. He ignored it, letting it pull him wherever it wished, felt his heart flee far, far away. At least some part of him was free. On the next barrage, the hinges on the door gave a sharp whine, and through the same self-preservation that Orville lacked – the one that should’ve kept him in the room, away from the Others – it slid open. Just a little.

And something fell into the room.

tag list: @anonymousfoz @digital-chance @milatooo

(ask to be added)

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stevethehairington · 2 years ago

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i just think eddie deserves to lose his mind over swimmer steve 🤷‍♀️

like he deserves to watch steve shuck the loose sweatpants down as he's gearing up for his race, expecting jammers, only to see that, no no that is steve harrington's ass in a speedo. small and tight, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination, jesus, and in a nice green color that compliments his skin tone, and good god, there's so much leg to look at, all thick thighs and strong calves and, god, even his knees are pretty?? what the fuck?? and his shoulders, fuck, his shoulders are so broad, and his chest is so smooth, and that dumb cap makes him look so funny but also, shit, he still looks so good with it on anyways, and oh, oh no, now he's getting up on that block and he's bending over and that ass is in the air and, jesus, eddie wants to bite, and then steve's in the water, and eddie thinks he's going to get a reprieve, but the race is over so fast, so fast, and now, oh god, now steve is exiting the water and why the fuck does he look like a god damn bond girl, all dripping and glistening, and he's ripping the cap off and shaking out his hair and, jesus, eddie might pass out and it has nothing to do with the hot summer sun.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #mack writes #macks ficlets

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ohbuckie · 4 years ago

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ALPHA SIGMA WHATEVER-THE-FUCK | B.B.

Summary: Bucky’s a douchebag frat brother, but Christ, is he delicious.

Warnings: smut, bathroom sex, drinking (both parties are sober and able to give consent), mention of drugs

Word Count: 1.7k

Bucky Barnes. Conceited, loud, irritating. Built like a Greek God—with that perfect jaw, and those thick forearms, and that firm chest. All of his t-shirts are a size too small, and he’s never been caught wearing a baseball cap forwards, or without a protein shake in his hand.

“Hey, Y/N,” he jogs to catch up with you, “what’s up?”

“Walking.” You answer dryly. It’s unsurprising, really, that he just randomly bumped into you. He always seems to.

“Where?”

“To class.”

“I won’t keep you long, then.”

“Please don’t ‘keep me’ at all, Bucky. What do you want?”

“I’m having a party tonight. Thought you could come. Wear something cute.”

“Don’t be gross.”

“I’m not-”

“Yes, you are.” You step up to the building that your class is in, and turn to him to speak. “I’ll come if I don’t have to bring anything.”

“Perfect. Beach theme.”

Of course it is. Any excuse for every girl there to be wearing the smallest outfit possible.

“Okay, whatever.” You step through the door, and hear him again before it closes behind you.

“Wear that blue bikini top you have!”

“You’re a freak, Barnes!”

—

You show up in the bikini top he mentioned, but only because your roommate, Natasha, told you it looked better than the other ones. You’re wearing an unbuttoned tropical shirt over it, and shorts on the bottom, which is a lot tamer than some of the other girls in the house, dressed in only bikinis, or a t-shirt with just bottoms. You won’t allow Bucky to see you like that without working for it first.

He greets you at the door, dressed in only swim trunks and sunglasses and holding a can of cheap beer. His best friend, Steve Rogers, steps up behind him to greet Natasha, who he so obviously wants to fuck. He takes the bowl of veggie dip that she insisted on bringing from her hands and gestures for her to come inside. You roll your eyes.

“What, you got a crush on Stevie?”

“He makes it so obvious how badly he wants to bang her.” You explain, thinking maybe he’ll take the hint. He doesn’t. “Where are the drinks?”

“I’ll show you.” He waves you inside and leads you to the counter through the sea of people already in the house, pointing to where all of the containers of mixed drinks are, telling you about what’s in them. You’re really only paying attention to the way the muscles of his back interact, how they tense and move as he moves his arms to point and turns around to look at you while he speaks. “You listening?” He grins.

“Wha- uh, yeah, of course.” You feel your cheeks heat up, and you hate that he caught you staring. If he wasn’t so insufferable, you’d have slept with him by now, but he insists on being the biggest douchebag anybody’s ever met.

“You want me to get you a drink?”

“No, thanks. I’m perfectly capable.”

“Yeah, okay. Alright, I’m gonna go find Sam. Maybe he doesn’t have a stick up his ass.”

You scoff and find a cup, filling it with whatever the last thing Bucky showed you was; sangria, probably. It’s much too strong, but you don’t mind so much—it’s not like you came here to be sober.

It doesn’t take long for Natasha and Steve to loosen up enough to be grinding on each other—Steve’s chest pressed against her back, his hands on her waist, his lips on the side of her neck. Bucky and Sam are playing beer pong with a few other brothers, yelling everything they say and spilling drinks on each other.

You’re only a couple in—far from drunk—but the way that Bucky’s personality takes up the entire room is far more intoxicating than any alcohol in this house. He has streams of beer dribbling down his chin and chest, and perhaps it’s a little unhinged. but you want nothing more than to lick it off.

You step over to him and he instinctively puts his arm around your waist. “You wanna do this one?”

“Oh, no, I’m not-”

“No, no, come on, I’ll show you.” He stands behind you and takes your wrist in his hand, pulling it back to where it needs to be. “Be gentle with it. Use your wrist more than your elbow.” He places the ball in your hand, and trusts you to do the rest, standing back with his arms crossed over his chest. You flick the plastic towards the gathering of Solo cups across the table and, miraculously, falls into one. Bucky throws his arms up and cheers for you, watching Sam drink across the table.

He looks down at you with a smile on his face, and it goes straight to your stomach. You stick to him for the rest of the game, taking his turns and letting him keep his hands on you. You realize his hands have never been on you before, but you very much like it; he knows where to keep them.

When you win, you take the opportunity to kiss him, feeling overly confident from the adrenaline that comes with an entire room of people cheering for you. His lips are soft, and he holds you close, with one hand on your back and the other on your waist. He’s a decent kisser—not too slobbery, like most other frat guys—and can keep his tongue to himself, for the most part. One of his friends shoves him playfully, and you pull away from him, giggling.

“You’re not drunk, right?” He asks, pushing some of your hair behind your ear.

You shake your head. “Are you?”

“Nope.” He takes your hand and brings you to the hallway near the bathroom, pushing you against the wall and pressing his lips to yours again. His hands cup your cheeks, and this time, his tongue makes an appearance. It moves along your bottom lip, making its way into your mouth. He tastes like beer and smells like Irish Spring, but it acts as a pheromone of sorts, and makes you want him even more.

His knee slides between your legs and presses against your core, and you wrap your arms around his neck to try to get closer, if that’s even possible. His breath fans over your cheek and his thumb rubs your cheekbone, but before anything allows this moment to be sweet, somebody pats Bucky on the back and informs him that the bathroom is now free.

He wastes no time in pulling you through the door, nearly slamming it behind him. Your lower back hits the counter and sends a pain up your spine, but you quickly forget it when his hands move down your torso and stop at your ass. He kisses down your neck sloppily, holding your head back by your hair. He pushes your shirt down your shoulders, urging you to shimmy it off of your arms, which you do.

“Turn around.” He breathes, running his fingers through his thick hair.

You stare at him, distracted, before processing his words and doing as he asked. You bend over the counter and feel him reach around you to unbutton your shorts, letting them fall to the floor.

“You wore the matching bottoms?” He chuckles, hotly kissing the nape of your neck.

You shrug. “They’re cute.”

He responds only by saying “Uh-huh,” and tugging them down past your thighs.

“How many girls have you fucked in here, Barnes?”

“That’s not relevant.” He mumbles, and you hear his belt hit the floor. “Drawer next to you is condoms.” You open it and find what you’re looking for, holding your hand behind your back with the packet between your fingertips.

He unwraps it quickly and takes a moment to roll it down his cock before he rubs the tip against your pussy, earning a surprised gasp from you. Slowly, he breaches your entrance, and he’s a lot bigger than you expected, with how big of a douchebag he is.

“Fuck, Bucky.”

“I’ve been telling you we should fuck.”

“Shut up.” You moan. “You’re ruining it.”

He grabs onto your hips and pulls you backwards, bottoming out completely. He starts thrusting shallowly, and you can feel him staring at where your bodies meet, watching himself disappear inside of you like he’s wanted to for so long.

“Jesus Christ, you’re so hot.” He moans, deepening his thrusts and picking up the pace.

You look down at your hands—pressed against the porcelain, slipping back and forth every time Bucky fucks himself into you. There’s powder beneath your fingers, but you decide you won’t try to guess if it’s cocaine or something else.

You hear his skin slapping against yours, echoing off of the walls, surely loud enough for anybody outside to hear. “God, Buck, it feels-”

“So fucking good.”

You nod. “Uh-huh.”

He continues fucking you, so that your pelvic bones dig into the counter in front of you, and your toes just barely reach the floor. He takes a fistful of your hair and yanks your head backwards so that you’re staring at the mirror.

“Look at me while I fuck you.”

It makes you swallow hard and clench around him, and it’s probably the first time you’ve ever done something he’s told you to do without any hesitation. You look at his concentrated face, the sweat gleaming on his forehead and chest, his teeth digging into his lower lip to keep himself quiet. He’s never been so dedicated to something in his entire life.

You feel him hit a spot inside of you that’s never been touched before, and it makes you cry out. “Goddamnit, Barnes! Fuck, I’m close, don’t stop!”

“Was not planning on it.” He says, snapping his hips until your knees buckle and shake, and you tell him you’re cumming. He fucks you through it, and finishes in the middle of your orgasm, pushing himself all the way into you until he spills everything he has into the condom. “Fuck.” He mutters, and pulls out of you, tying the condom and tossing it in the trash can next to the toilet.

You stand straight and gather your things from the floor—your button-up, your swimsuit bottoms, your shorts—before putting them back on and turning to face him. “I didn’t think you knew how to do that.”

“How to do what?”

“Make a girl cum.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan smut #bucky barnes fluff #sebastian stan fluff

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fruitcoops · 3 years ago

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Hello Eve! Hope you are doing well!

I've just been rereading your master list, as one does, and Roots and Veins got me thinking and I had a thought that perchance you may like to write? No pressure of course! But in that fic Remus was missing his cap cuddles since, ya know, rib injury, and I thought... Does anyone try and replace cap cuddles? Or even some Remus and James bonding and falling asleep in the couch leaning against each other?

Just supportive James / Lions and platonic support cuddles, ya know? I think we could all use some support cuddles once in a while lol and we all *know* the Lions are all just cuddly teddy bears under that tough hockey man facade.

Oh, yes, all the platonic cuddles! I think James was helping Lily with newborn Harry at that point, but this was combined with an ask for some Loops/ Logan friendship. Hope you enjoy! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove

Remus didn’t even have time to fully look up before a lump of muscle and backwards baseball caps settled down in his lap with a sigh. “By all means, keep going,” Logan said after a moment of dead silence, gesturing at his open book.

“Can I help you?” Remus half-laughed. He could hear some of the others snickering around them—if Logan was going for some sort of prank…

“No, I’m just here for company.” He tossed a peanut in the air and caught it in his mouth, shifting so his legs were slung casually over the armrest. “Comfy?”

Remus snorted at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “Yeah, I guess. Is this a joke, Tremz?”

“Why would you think that?”

“My lap isn’t usually your preferred seat, if memory serves.”

Logan tilted his head back for the next nut and pouted slightly when it bounced off his nose. “Cap cuddles.”

Remus waited for a moment; when Logan continued snacking rather than offering any explanation whatsoever for his cryptic and unhelpful comments (not that it was a new phenomenon), he sighed through his nose. I’ll bite. “What about Cap cuddles?”

“You’re not getting them. Fuckin’ sucks, eh?”

“I—yes?” Remus glanced at the other side of the room, where his friends were going about their business as usual. No cameras, no recordings. Logan was being dead serious. “Sirius isn’t supposed to have any kind of pressure on his bandages right now, but I’d say the whole ‘broken bones’ thing is worse than missing some cuddles.”

“Hmm.” Logan surveyed his face before he nodded decisively and shifted to lean against Remus’ chest. “I can fix one of those things.”

“…what are you doing?”

“Cuddle me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Jesus, Loops, I’d think from the general dopey look on your boyfriend’s face that you’d be better at this,” Logan snorted with a sideways smile, dragging Remus’ arm over his shoulder and cozying right up to him. “You smell nice.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Remus laughed, though he rubbed a vague oval on Logan’s shoulder more out of instinct than anything else. “You’re tapping in for my fractured boyfriend by sitting on my lap and demanding to be snuggled?”

“You get used to it,” Finn called across the common area without looking up from his book. “Let me know if he starts to bite.”

Logan flipped him off, but didn’t move from his spot. “Loops, you’ve been melancholy without the big, strong arms of our captain to keep you warm—"

“Sweet Jesus,” Remus muttered.

“—so I’m here to make everything better.”

“You know he usually cuddles me, right?”

Logan closed his eyes. “Variety is the spice of life.”

Remus watched him for a moment just to make sure it wasn’t a joke before returning to his book, then grudgingly wrapped his other arm around Logan’s torso and moved the book around for a better angle. He couldn’t deny that it felt nice to have someone curled up with him after nearly two full weeks of being all by himself even while he and Sirius shared a bed—Logan was about the same density, too, so his lap didn’t feel too light. He didn’t even realize he was dozing off until his forehead hit Logan’s shoulder, and by that point he was too drowsy to do anything about it.

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

“Mon loup.” Something touched his shoulder, shaking him lightly. Remus grumbled and kept his eyes shut. “Mon loup, it’s time to wake up.”

Whoever it was, they were laughing at him. He pressed his face closer to the soft thing in front of him and heard several more voices join the first in their amusement. “Go ‘way,” the teddy bear in his arms mumbled.

“Uh-uh, Tremblay, you’re not stealing him that fast.” The hand disappeared from his shoulder; the thing in Remus’ arms began to shake and made a cranky noise before it shifted its weight. He cracked an eye open to glare, only to be met with a face he would know anywhere.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said sleepily.

“Bonjour,” Sirius answered, still laughing a little. “Comfy, much?”

“Don’t bend over, ‘s bad for your ribs,” Remus reminded him before settling back in. Reality struck a moment later and he bolted upright, nearly launching Logan off him in the process. “What the—Logan!”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

“I fell asleep!” Logan defended, obviously still disoriented. “You’re soft and warm!”

“Watch it,” Sirius warned with playfully narrowed eyes.

Logan glared right back. “I am doing you a favor, asshole, be grateful.”

“Off,” Remus reminded him with a nudge to his lower back. His whole left leg from the hip down was numb—his spine ached from being twisted around for God knew how long. He shook his head to clear the naptime fog and blinked hard at the sudden brightness of the hotel lights, counting six different people that were still grinning like idiots at them. “Or else you’re gonna break my ribs.”

Sirius offered him a hand up, but retracted it after Remus leveled a pointed look at his ribcage and hefted himself out of the chair. “Good nap?” Sirius teased. “You two looked far too cozy.”

“Please don’t tell me anyone took pictures,” Remis sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with an absent kiss to Sirius’ shoulder.

An arm, much longer than Logan’s, settled easily around his waist and pulled him in for an almost-hug. Sirius’ lips brushed his temple; he let out a slow exhale at the familiar feeling and nuzzled into the side of his neck. “Just a few.”

#remus lupin #logan tremblay #sirius black #finn ohara #coops #oknutzy #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #cuddles #friendship #naps

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years ago

Text

Batsis & Green Lantern, Sittin’ In A Tree. K-I-S-S-I-N–Wait, Is That Our Sister? PT. 2

Kyle Rayner x Batsis One-Shot

Word Count: 3.3K Warnings: NSFW (Slightly), Explicit Language Tags: @starflyer-104

Author's Note: Hi I finished this! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Oddly enough, she didn’t make Kyle do anything other than design the first month he was at Wayne Manor. And she was true to her word. He had an entire room to himself, and the room was as big as his whole apartment, bigger if he was honest; and that wasn’t all—he had every instrument an artist could ever want, even some of the newest drawing tablets and pens that hadn’t even come out yet. Limited edition first pick that only someone like her could get her hands on by merely flashing that pretty smile and her last name of “Wayne”. It was a graphic artists dream come alive, and Kyle was afraid that he was going to wake up from it that he never once tried to pinch himself to see if it was a dream or not.

Surprisingly enough though, (Y/N) was being awfully nice to him too. She’d taken him shopping a bunch of times, a whole new wardrobe and even thrown in a new phone and laptop. Of course, Kyle wasn’t a fool and immediately confronted her about using her purchases to hold it over him. That was the one instance in which she wasn’t awfully nice because she sucker-punched him and told him to never call her a manipulator ever again. That she had never once used a purchase to force someone into something—she was a bitch but she wasn’t that kind of bitch.

He even questioned Jason about it once they got back to the manor and his friend cackled at the nice shiner he’d received. (Y/N) doesn’t buy things for people to make them do what she wants. She buys things for people because that’s how she shows she’s fond of them. Honestly, if she buys you what you want, especially if you ask for it, that’s how you know she thinks you’re a friend of hers. Just let her spoil you for a while, Rayner. You’ll miss it when you have to go back to NYC.

Kyle relented then, instead of fighting her on paying for everything, he watched her. Watched her when he asked for something. Just for a split second she’d get a look of honest surprise in her eyes before that smirk crossed her lips and she’d toss it in the basket before picking up her own needs. He found it almost endearing, the way she acted, like she wasn’t expecting him to ask for anything. And Kyle especially liked that look in her eyes. It made his heart beat a little faster when she gazed at him with those big eyes.

And while he did love that look, it only lasted for one month. Hell had come to the manor, and Kyle was smack in the middle of it.

***

“Good morning family!” she greeted cheerfully, placing her hands on Kyle’s shoulders. She received various replies, some happy, some tired, and Kyle gave his own.

“Morning, (Y/N). You seem happy.” He cut into the buttery waffle and started bringing the fork to his mouth when she grabbed his hand and gently but firmly, took the utensil into her mouth. Kyle couldn’t help but go slack jawed as she chewed and swallowed, offering him a smirk.

“I’m sorry,” she purred. “Did you want that?” His mouth opened and closed, and she pushed the plate forward, replacing it with a tall smoothie shaker that was a bright, sickly green.

“Uh…” he started, looking between the shaker and her. “What’s that?”

(Y/N) nodded at it. “That’s your breakfast for this morning.” She flipped the cap open. “It’s got spinach, kale, bananas, vanilla flavored protein powder, pineapple, mint leaves and spirulina.” She grinned. “It’s got all the protein and greens you need for the start of this wonderful day.”

“I don’t even know what spirulina is.” Kyle remarked.

“Blue-green algae super-food.” (Y/N) nodded at it. “From now on you’re going to drink smoothies every morning and then we’re going to weight train and run every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”

Her family started snickering around the table and Kyle swallowed thickly daring to ask, “And Tuesdays and Thursdays?”

She grinned wickedly at him. “Combat, Rayner.” Handing him the shake, she quipped, “Drink up me hearties.”

“Yo ho.” Kyle whimpered when he sniffed it and gagged.

***

“C’mon weakling,” she nagged. “You’ve barely gotten through the second set. Don’t tell me you’re already tired.”

Kyle groaned as he pushed the weighted bar up, holding it for a second before letting it fall. “I told you I can bench press one-hundred. You put one-twenty on this bar,” he griped through gritted teeth.

(Y/N) smirked. “Feel that pain though? It’s weakness leaving your body.” She grabbed the bar with one hand, pulling it up and onto the hold; she grinned as Kyle panted, chest heaving up and down with every sharp intake of breath.

“I—don’t know—how you do this—everyday.” He gasped and she snorted.

“No pain, no gain, Rayner.” She walked around him, and Kyle was too weak to keep his eyes off her as she did. “Oh, I can’t wait for tomorrow,” she cooed, throwing a leg over his hips, lowering onto his thighs.

Kyle’s throat tightened and he gazed at her as she leaned forward, propping her elbows on his chest, staring into his eyes. “Pretty close there,” he panted and (Y/N) smiled.

“Closer the better in my opinion.” Her eyes narrowed bemusedly. “From here I can get a good view of your form.” She pulled away. “You’re using your lower back to push strength into your arms. This time, use your chest and shoulders. Deep breath when you push up, breathe out when you lower, okay?”

He nodded, grabbing the bar again. “What set now?”

“Three. Five reps.” (Y/N) pressed a hand to his abdomen. “Core muscles tight. Glutes tight. Keep the stability and use your upper body muscles alright?”

“Got it.” He said, pulling the bar off and she felt his pelvis start to push upwards and she splayed her fingers.

“Chest, Kyle. Not your hips.” He grunted, trying harder, and she put all her weight onto his hips, keeping them pressed down to the bench. It showed in his form as he improved almost instantaneously. “Nice job,” she murmured. “Keep going.”

He got to the fifth rep, starting to go up, when she purred, “Your arms are very strong, Kyle. I wonder just how strong.”

Something in her voice made his heart stutter and he forgot momentarily what he was doing. The bar shifted downwards, and he gasped as it came down at him; (Y/N) reached out, quick as lightning and grabbed it with both hands, standing from his legs to put the bar back.

She looked down at him, concern in her eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Sorry…lost my grip.” (Y/N) nodded and shimmied away, holding out a hand to him. “Thanks,” he said, letting her pull him up.

“Take five and go get some water, alright?”

He wanted to shake his head, tell her no, that he could keep going, but he thought against it and started for the water fountain in the corner. As he bent over, he happened to look back at her, seeing her bent over, stretching her legs. Heat pooled low in his gut, and he groaned, turning his eyes away.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed. “Get a grip.”

“Let’s go, Rayner!” she called out behind him. “We’ve got two miles to run!”

Kyle let his head hand and he groaned again.

***

Compared to the day before, getting his ass kicked wasn’t as bad as it had seemed. That being said, (Y/N) wasn’t pulling her punches with him and he hadn’t managed to lay a single hit on her an hour in.

He gasped as she dropped him onto his back and he laid flat, gazing at the ceiling before him; she leaned over him, a cocky smirk on her face. “Need a break?”

“I’m not a novice in hand to hand. I trained with J’onn J’onnz for a while.” He countered with a glare and surprisingly, she nodded, rather impressed.

“I can tell in your form. You counter like he does.” (Y/N) bent down and gently swept away the sweaty hair from his forehead. “You’re learning pretty quick though, if I do say so myself.”

Kyle’s face lit up. “Really? You think—”

“But I can see that it takes you getting your ass handed to you over and over again before the lesson sinks in.”

His face pinched and he griped, “I should’ve seen that coming.”

(Y/N) snorted and patted his head, mocking, “You’re learning.” She smiled. “Now get up. You’ve rested long enough.”

“UGHHH!” he groaned, climbing to his feet.

***

On the third month and final month of the project, Kyle noticed a major improvement in himself. Not only had he lost a few of those extra pounds from snacking, toning all over his body, he’d also managed to expand his stamina a great deal. (Y/N) had congratulated him when he managed to run the various miles without even breaking a sweat.

The designs had come in well too, and Kyle honestly had more money than he knew what to do with. Well, rent and utilities were his most prominent factor, but even then, the money he’d have left over would last him a long time. He almost felt sad when they got to the final week of the project, no longer needing drawings, he was mostly there to make sure the designs were made correctly and with good materials.

(Y/N)’d even given him one of the first sets they produced and even if he was used to seeing his drawings published, it was another thing to see his name on the tag with it. It made him giddy, and he didn’t know how to rope that in with the continued nagging in the back of his brain. That it was all ending in a week. No more breakfast being made, no more laundry done, no more seeing his friends all the time and patrolling with them…and no more (Y/N) constantly.

When he thought about that, Kyle’s chest started to tighten, heart starting to hurt a lot more than he wanted to admit. And he knew why—somewhere along the lines of (Y/N)’s continual ass-kicking and training, he’d fallen in love with her. With her crude attitude and cocky smirks, her proud demeanor and skill, her beauty and the occasional kindness she showed to people, but most importantly, the love she showed for her family.

Most people saw an arrogant bitch who could school people six ways from Sunday both verbally and physically, but what they didn’t see, was the care she paid to those she loved most. To Dick’s anger issues, to Jason’s frequent regrets, to Tim’s consistent depression, to Cassandra’s ever-evolving education, to Damian’s rapid growth, to her father’s hurting soul—she cared so deeply for them, would give anything for them, even her life if it meant. And that made Kyle want to fall at her feet and worship her.

That this beautiful woman who allowed people to talk about her and never cared to correct, was the greatest woman alive, the most loving, the most caring. And she was hard, she was, but her love was tough and those that received it, her siblings and her closest friends, they knew she loved them completely. Kyle knew she cared for him. He only hoped that she wanted more.

***

The production party had been held in France and Kyle had never seen so many elites in one spot that he wasn’t sure how to even drink from his champagne chute correctly. Luckily, (Y/N) had stayed with him all night, tucking herself in his side and covering when he faltered in front of someone who didn’t speak English. And God, there was something very sexy about the way her lips moved when she spoke fluent French.

The party lasted well into the night and by the time they got back to the penthouse, he was dead on his feet. The siblings had dispersed to their rooms and (Y/N) stayed up a bit to speak with Alfred and Bruce over the phone. Kyle lingered around the kitchen with her and when she hung up, she sighed heavily, pulling out the dangling golden earrings and removing the chunky diamond necklace that probably costed more than Kyle did.

Her eyes met his and she smiled tiredly. “Did you have fun tonight?”

“I did,” he said happily. “It was…interesting to see what your life is like.” He chuckled. “Well, your day life that is.”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh and he wandered around the island, daring enough to reach up and grab her shoulders, digging his thumbs into her muscles. She groaned and hung her head a bit.

“Feel good?” he questioned, and she nodded.

“I don’t typically wear heels unless it’s for a party and I remember why.” Sighing, she pulled away from his arms and he just barely managed to keep the sadness from crossing his face as she turned. “What about you? Are you okay?”

Kyle shrugged. “Feel like I could sleep for a few days straight, but isn’t that how we all work?”

(Y/N) snorted, then sighed wistfully. “I almost don’t want this night to end.”

“How come?” he asked, and she met his gaze.

“I like seeing you flounder like a fish in front of socialites.” He rolled his eyes and she laughed, shoving him lightly. “I’m joking.” She rested her hand on his shoulder. “It’s been fun having around the manor. I know Dick and Jason have enjoyed hanging out with you.” She smiled and pulled away. “You should come back around after tomorrow.”

(Y/N) bypassed him and started towards her room when he spun and called her. “(Y/N).” she stopped and looked at him, waiting, expecting, and Kyle decided to lay his cards to her, letting her decide. “Spend the night with me.”

For a moment, she was surprised, honest to God surprised, then she smiled sweetly, something he wasn’t really used to, and she murmured, “Come with me.”

And Kyle barely managed to keep himself from tripping over his own feet as he hurried after her.

***

“Shut the door behind you,” she said, and he knew that just from the tone of her voice that she was the one who held the power—not that he cared, all he wanted was her. He felt his heart lurch as the door closed and she motioned him to come behind her. “Mind unzipping me?”

Kyle swallowed thickly as he reached up and grasped the gold zipper, gently tugging it down to where it stopped just above her rear. He also happened to notice that she wasn’t wearing any undergarments and he cursed under his breath. “Fuck, (Y/N).”

She grinned and with one hand undid the buttons behind her neck, then reached back, pulling his hands until his palms were pressed to her bare skin. “Be a dear and slip my dress off for me, hmm?” she leaned back into his hands. “Shouldn’t be too hard now.”

Before Kyle knew what he was doing, his hands were moving underneath the fabric of her dress, around her waist and up her chest, gently grabbing at the flesh of her breasts. (Y/N) gasped, a sound so saccharine in his ears, and leaned her head back on his shoulder.

“Kyle,” she whispered and with his pointer fingers, circled her nipples. Another gasp escaped her as she arched into his touch and she turned her head to the underside of his jaw, sucking the skin at his neck.

“(Y/N),” he groaned, rubbing up against her rear. “Baby...”

She was pushing away from him then, much to his dismay and she spun around, grasping at his suit. “Take your clothes off. All of them. Now.”

All that commanding she was doing was shooting straight to his cock and he obeyed immediately, not even caring about the dress shirt as he ripped it open, the buttons scattering across the carpet. He’d just gotten to his belt when he saw (Y/N) pull down her dress and he almost collapsed on his weak knees when her body came into full view.

For three whole months he’d been slowly driven insane by her tight clothes, guiltily imagining what she looked like underneath during the night, more often than not, relieving the urge.

She smirked and walked up to him, digging her fingers into the top of his pants and turned, pulling him along. They reached the beg and she yanked, sending him backwards onto the bed with a grunt, and then she was climbing atop him.

“I thought you wanted—” he gasped when she grabbed him through his pants. “I thought you wanted me to be naked.”

(Y/N) winked and squeezed him. “I changed my mind.” Leaning close, she let her lips hover above his. “I wanna see how needy I can get you.”

Kyle glared at her and surged forward, sealing her lips in a kiss before he wrapped an arm around her waist, tipping them over. She groaned into their kiss and wrapped her legs around waist. He let his free hand roam her body, caressing her side, squeezing her hip, slipping beneath her leg to grab at the flesh of her thigh. Each grasp, each pinch, each touch had her gasping and Kyle rocked against her, moaning under his breath.

Her fingers busied themselves with his belt and when she got it open, she unbuttoned his pants, and pushed them down a bit. Kyle pulled back to help but the second his hands left her body, he knew he made a mistake because she locked her ankles and placed her hands on his shoulders, shoving back. His back hit the bed and she was on top of him again, this time pinning his hands beside his head.

“Bad boy,” she admonished. “You weren’t supposed to move.”

“Sorry,” he retorted, but he wasn’t. Not in the slightest. “Couldn’t help myself.” He accentuated his point with a deep roll of his hips, and she grip briefly weakened as she ground herself down on him.

“You’re going to help yourself.” She warned, eyes devouring him where he lay. “Every movement is fifteen minutes added to how long I’m going to tease you.”

Kyle grinned. “Yes ma’am.”

(Y/N) matched his grin and before he could even see her move, she had a pillow from the top of the bed placed on his chest, long side up, enough to cover her from sight.

“What are you—” The door opened, and he tipped his head back on the mattress, seeing Dick and Jason gaping at them from the doorway.

For a solid moment, they all stared at one another, too shocked to say a word, then Dick and Jason were letting out the girliest screams Kyle had ever heard them make and they slammed the door shut.

(Y/N) sighed heavily and pressed her face into the pillow. “Lovely. Now we’re going to be all over the group chats.”

Kyle blinked, looking up at her. “You think so?”

“I know so.” She looked at him. “I knew I should’ve booked a penthouse across from this one.” (Y/N) started crawling off him when he reached out and grabbed her hips, keeping her in place; she cocked a brow. “Really? Your mood’s not killed?”

A flash of green appeared in her vision, then the door locked, and he smirked at her. “Nothing can kill my mood for you.” He squeezed her tightly. “Is yours?”

“Not in the slightest.” She reached down and traced the smirk on his lips. “Do me a favor though.”

“Anything,” Kyle agreed, and she grinned wickedly.

“Call me ma’am again.”

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nightswithkookmin · 2 years ago

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OH MY G-G-G-GAAAD!!!!

DADYY!!!! I MEAN JIMINNNNN !!!!!!!

WHAT THE FUXK IS YOUR EMERGENCY

Slow down sir!

HAS MY HANDS ARE ON MY CHEST like damnnnnnnnn

jesos kriissssssssst!!!!!!

Is his thumb in his pants????👀😲

Oh god it is

I'm shaking

HOlld on, someone sent me a colored version.

Wow.... its everything I find hot about him in one frame. That hair line Jesus take the wheel

Its good they didn't show his whole sexy skinny ass legs cos thats when I quit blogging and became a saesang overnight 😭😭😭😭

The You temptations is strong with this one help me baby Jesus

If this is the attitude he is carrying into his solo career we are all fucked😭😭😭

Never sucked on man titties all my life but won't lie I licked his chest through the screens☹

Guess i broke my man titties virginity huh

But just look at it

Stares you right in the face

If I had a dick I'd want to finish off on his chest and lick him dry😕

Poking him in the chest will feel nice too😕

For no reason just poke it🤧

Resting your head on his chest will feel nice

Has my pastor saying damn boi you making the girlies wet and the men beating meat😕

Jimin I did a WAP spank me😌🔥

I'm a pillow princess but I will sit on top that D and ride that tiny waist like I'm demonically possessed no cap🤧

PARK JIMIN 2.O IS SO RECKLESS 🔥🔥🔥

Playing on for no reason

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spideyspeaches · 4 years ago

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Take me to Church ↬ a.r

requested by @merceret: Arvin and cheerleader!Reader sneak off during the night and have smut in his car in the woods? 👀🙃

A/N: this is a repost from my old account!

Warnings: unprotected semi-public sex ( *whispers* they do it in a caaaar 👀 also don’t be a loner, cover your boner ✌🏽✌🏽 ) LOT OF SPOILERS IN THIS!! Bad attempt at writing like a 64 year old man from Ohio.

MINORS DNI

WC: 1.5k

Pairing: Arvin Russell x Cheerleader!Reader

Masterlist || taglist

Arvin was a smart boy. He had been told that countless times by his mother before the godforsaken disease took her away, and his daddy too, before he started beating the shit out of him.

He didn’t doubt that a minute in his life, but then he grew up, wondering what went wrong. He was not the same doe eyed boy anymore. He liked to think that he was strong, not like his daddy used to tell him before a good spanking.And he definitely wasn’t a sinner, no, he was just a victim of God’s wrath. It wasn’t his fault that the boys made fun of his sister, they all deserve the beating they got.

Breathing in the cigarette, he blew out the smoke before it could burn his lungs, or kill him from the same disease that killed his ma. He was sitting on the front porch of his school, watching as people went by. The jocks wandering around the field, some of the artistic ones sketching while eating their lunches, and then there was the cheerleading squad.

He watched. It’s what he did a lot. He watched as cancer took his mother, he watched the way the fake Preacher looked at Lenora.

“You know, one of those sticks take six minutes of your life.” A voice spoke behind him. You sat besides him, your cheerleader costume showing your smooth legs and your pretty smile, hair done in an updo.

“And how would you know that?” He smirked, looking you up as you blush. God you looked so pretty, blushing like that. He watched you too. How you would roam the halls with your pom poms and those pompous sons of bitches that teased his sister. But it was never You. You were a sweet little girl, always got As in all your tests and all.

“I always tell that to my daddy to get him to quit. Tell him that it’s six minutes less he gets to spend with me.” You said, taking the stick from his hand and smashing the butt on the ground. You fiddled with your skirt, accidentally hiking it up your thigh.

“Did he listen?” He asked, looking at You as You smiled.

“No.”

He looked at you again. You were looking at him with your shiny eyes, all innocent and bright. He wondered what you would say when he fucked you hard against his old car, scoring through the woods and scream his name until you were sore. Shaking himself from his head, he saw you biting your lips. He wasn’t even sure You liked him like that.

Craving for another smoke, he fiddled with his hands, taking your hands instead, looking for a reaction. You didn’t snatch it back, but instead, straddled his lap to pull him into a heated kiss. Your nails scraped at his hair, the smooth strands getting ruffled up as you push your lips on his, uncaring of the others around them.

You moaned against his mouth, the sound going straight South. Taking your waist, he squeezed them lightly, crazy happy that he was making out with You, Y/N L/N, under the bleachers like some cheesy films like those in the Carnivals.

“You wanna ditch class?” He asked after sometime, heaving for a breath as you licked your swollen lips. Your makeup was a little smeared, but You still looked beautiful. His heart sped up, uncharacteristically, a strange rush of excitement flooding his veins.

“Yeah. How bout the woods?” You said, getting off from his lap. He was glad the ground was almost empty, wouldn’t want to get caught by some old janitor or a nosy freshman.

“Sounds good to me.” He said and crashed his lips into hers to steal another kiss.

_______________________

“Oh! this is good” You whimpered as he slammed your back to the hood of his car, gripping you in his strong hold as the cicadas and crickets chirped, the bright sun hitting your naked chest through the windows, making it slick with sweat. You were in a forest, and were sure that no one would come now, and with the noises you were making? No one would dare come near the shaking car.

Kissing him with your swollen lips, you gripped his muscular back as he nipped you, eliciting another moan from you. He grabbed your legs, hiking up the skirt that you were still wearing. God the damned skirt, you wanted it out of your way. Slipping your hands to unlatch it, you were stopped by his hands as he slid his own on your clothed pussy. Stripping you, your breath hitched as he inserted two fingers, your clit slicked with pleasure.

“Ohh Arvin, hmm.” You breathed into his ears, enjoying the way he shuddered when you said his name. Pulling for a moment, he looked you up and down before removing his boxers awkwardly, head slanting because of the roof, his thick cock springing out like nobody’s business, making you clench your thighs.

Shoving your thighs, you hooked your legs around him, pulling him down as he slid in your entrance. “Are you sure?” He breathed as you nodded in response, stroking his chest that made him clench, his abs more visible under the sunlight.

“Come on baby, I’m waiting.” You teased, scratching your nails along the V of his stomach. Arching your back, you grunted as he thrusted into you, your walls closing in as your hips clashed against each other.

“You like that baby girl? Like it when I’m inside you?” He cooed, making your stomach coil in pleasure. Momentarily, you gave up the sweet girl facade, your heart racing as if you had run a marathon. How could it be tame? when he was inside you, making you feel all kinds of things?

“Yes, I do Arvin, oh Jesus you’re amazing!” You jerked. You weren’t sure when you had had such a good fuck before, and sure enough never this fast had you reached your high. And Arvin? Jesus, he was a sight for sore eyes, his eyes clenched as he pushed inside your walls, hitting your g-spot, making you gasp in pleasure. His muscled chest vibrating as you felt your stomach tighten.

“Saying God’s name like that while we’re fucking? You wanna be a bad girl now?” He smirked later, not really meaning what he said. If it meant that you would be saying his name with that pretty mouth of yours, he wouldn’t mind it.

“This is not sin, baby, this is pleasure. Call it what you want but I said what I said.” You drawled, pulling yourself up, his hard dick still inside you as you sat up, taking his face in your hands and hovering your lips over his. “You’re so sweet Arvin, you wanna fuck again?”

“I would love to.” He said shakily, leaning forward to capture your lips again. You dance along like that, him kissing your mouth, and your neck, then your breasts, leaving marks all over you, The Backstreet Boys playing on the junk radio of his car. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“And you have the prettiest little lips.” You said, holding his chin and delicately caressing his soft lips and leaning in for another kiss.

____________________________

The next day you saw him again, acid washed jacket and backwards cap, striped T-shirt that fit him quite snugly. He was walking with the girl again, the girl who the boys teased relentlessly. You didn’t understand why they did so, make a poor girl question herself when those whores out there were just as bad. Lenora was a sweet girl, you liked her.

Running towards him, you quickly fixed your sweater and skirt, taming the strands near your shoulder.

“Hey Arvin!” You said nervously. He had been a gentleman to you. He looked up smiling, telling Lenora to make her way as you, lighting a smoke on his way. Scowling, you took the stick out of his mouth.

Looking down, he smiled, “Hey Y/N.”

He was fiddling with his fingers again. You took his hands in yours, tracing the veins on his arms. You saw his pupils inflate like a balloon.

“So um, do you have practice today?” He asked, biting his bottom lip and giving you a tentative smile.

“Nah, coach called in sick today. Do you wanna go to Mickey-D’s?” You ask. The school lane was almost empty now, buses leaving to drop off the kids.

“Sure, I don’t have no work today anyways.” He stuffed his hands in his pocket. He was a handsome boy, and you felt extremely lucky that someone like him had asked you to do him in the backseat of a car. Not only that but he was sweet but not enough to not stand up for himself or the others. With a start, you realised that he wasn’t like the other boys in your school.

Handing him his smoke back, you let your hands linger on his shoulder for a moment, cupping his cheek. You leaned in, feeling his hands twitch, and kissed him. It felt nice.

#arvin russel x reader #arvin russell smut #arvin russell x reader #arvin russell x you #arvin russell x reader smut #arvin russel x y/n #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker smut #spideygirl writes

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