#And shitty cloth tape

[dragoncarrion]

YEWAAAAAUCH

[arbitrarykiwi]

Captured in Low Resolution

Thanos/Choi Su-Bong (Player 230) x fem reader one-shot

Summary: while in your boyfriend’s music studio you finally remember to ask him about that teeny, tiny, low resolution photo that’s taped to the corner of his main computer screen. It’s been there for a while, edged curled up and ink faded to the point where you can’t even see what it is! (4k words)

Warnings: prolly ooc thanos…I just felt this in my soul and had to write it, Sfw, Just wanted to write somethin cute for this silly lil crazed man, proof read but am dyslexic so expect errors LMAO

You didn’t know it but one of Choi Su-bong’s favorite pictures of you was the one he has hung up on the corner of his computer at his studio.

It’s so small, grainy and faded due to the shitty printer he used to print it on. It’s also folded at the edge, rolling up into itself the smallest bit and blocking damn near most of the image.

As you sit on the edge of the computer desk, legs kicking aimlessly as he sits in the desk chair right next to you. He’s leaned back, one of his hands on the mouse as he clicks along the computer screen, eyes trained on the file of music he was working on. His other hand was resting on your thigh, right above the knee, fingers tapping against your flesh in concentration.

You look back over to the small image taped to the corner of his computer, fingers reaching out to try and un-curl the edge to see it better. It’s still such poor quality.

“What even is this picture?” You call out, fingers running over the paper. “Hm?” He says, very obviously not paying attention, his eyes moving from the computer screen over to you.

You pout playfully at him, “Can’t believe you’re ignoring me” you say, crossing your arms. He rolls his eyes and moves the chair he’s in over a couple inches. The wheels drag on the floor until he makes it to his destination, situated between your legs.

His arms reach up, crossing the desk and going behind you so his hands grip at your ass, pulling you to the very edge of his desk, your feet resting against his thighs. He looks up at you, hands massaging up your ass and around to your hips. “I’m payin’ attention now! Ask me again.” He whines turning to place a short kiss on the inside of your knee as an apology before pulling away.

You giggle, looking down and grabbing his face. You hunch over and tilt his face up, placing a slow kiss on his lips. When you pull away, you reach back over to the small image and pull at the corner. “I said what even is this picture. It’s so blurry. I can’t make it out.” You mumble, eyebrows furrowed as you squint to try and see what it was.

He looks to the little picture you’re fumbling with and then back to you, a confused look on his face. “You don’t know what it is!?” He says almost as if he’s offended. He removes one hand from your hip, pulling it back to quickly fish his phone out of pants pocket.

You watch as he unlocks it, blown out pupils darting across his phones home screen until he finds the app he’s looking for- photos.

He’s opening the app and begins to scroll through his camera roll. You can see glimpses of pictures- shoes he bought, pictures of weed, pictures of his shows, pictures of you and him, random memes he’s saved.

And then suddenly he stops, clicking on a certain photo in his camera roll then flipping his phone to you.

You immediately see the high definition colors match the pixels of the poor quality photo. It’s of you, in the drivers seat of his car. With the direction the photos taken, he’s in the passenger seat. The purple floor board lights that are in his car are the only lights that illuminate the photo- you can see it’s night outside the window behind you.

Your hair is in a messy style, you’re wearing a pair of his pajama pants and one of his shirts. Both articles of clothing practically swallowing you. One of your legs is hiked up on the car seat, shin pressed against the steering wheel. You have a takeout box of your favorite food in your lap, one hand holding up the food that your were most likely in the middle of eating, the other picking at the side dish that’s still in the box. You’re laughing in the picture, presumably at something he said.

You look at him, not really thinking this exact picture was worthy to be on the corner of his main computer as a permanent relic over the year. There’s plenty of better ones. But he cuts off your thoughts, “s’my favorite picture of you, baby.” He says with a wide grin pointing at the phone. “You look so cute and it reminds of that night and you always look so fuckin good when you’re driving my car.” He rambles passionately.

“Anytime I’m stressed out because these stupid fucks here don’t listen to me- I look at that picture, remember that night, and suddenly I’m not wanting to kill them.” He says pointing over to the small picture taped to his computer.

He was referring to the many people he had working with him on his music on a daily basis- his manager, his drug addict friends, different collabs he has- they all enrage him frequently, but with that picture of you there as his saving grace, he’s saved himself from losing deals and getting into fights. All he had to do is look at that little picture and he was taken back to that night- the anger he had towards whoever pissed him off in the studio would subside and he’d be able to finish whatever needed to be done in the studio without further problem.

You giggle, hands reaching out to grab his phone from his hand. Wanting a closer look at the picture, still not entirely sure when or even where it was taken. When your eyes scan the image, your smile widens- finally remembering the picture.

————/————/————

You guys had been dating around 6 months at the time, you think. You remember you had begged him to take you out late at night to get your favorite food to go. You were starving and you were set on the one thing that just had to have no delivery option. He had made you drive his car, saying that if he were to go with you and get you the food you wanted- you would have to drive.

You agreed excitedly, slipping on your shoes, grabbing his car keys that hung next to his front door and nearly bolting out of his apartment and skipping all the way to the parking space his car was in.

You didn’t know it but Choi Su-Bong thinks he realized that he was head over heels in love with you that night.

Yes he knew he adored you, loved you- hell he was never one for settling down until he met you a couple years ago- you changed him. But that night he swears he fell for you all over again in ways he didn’t think was possible.

You don’t hear it, you’re halfway to his nice sports car, but he chuckles to himself, just watching you. You’re simply adorable. Your excitement for your favorite food even this late at night made his tired smile grow wider. He was really smitten.

He’s entranced by the way you expertly throw the car into reverse, peeling out of the parking lot of his complex. You’re humming to yourself happily, doing the little dance you always do when you’re about to get food you like.

You’re so excited about the food you don’t even take the extra couple seconds to set up the Bluetooth like you normally do- you always wanted to have music in the care. It’s adorable, he thinks, just how determined you are to get your late night eats.

What’s even more adorable though is the way your eyes light up, a gasp coming out when he takes over aux, putting on that one song you play constantly. The one he swears you can listen to 16 times back to back and love it just as much as you did the first time it came on.

He just can’t stop staring at you, a small smile on his lips as he just watches how you drive, one arm outstretched so your hand is on the wheel the other arm is rested against the window on your side, your thumb playing with the nails of your other fingers- feeling the glitter and gems of the fresh set, tracing the raised chrome “T”- the extravagant set courtesy of your boyfriends money.

He watches as you hum along to the song, as it continues you begin to sing along, your voice blending with the stereo. He can’t but help chuckle to himself when he notices your hand drumming against the steering wheel, your head bobbing along to the music. It was 2am and here you were, as energetic as ever, singing your heart out.

He admires how you seem to recite the lyrics like they’re mixed into the blood that’s in your veins. It’s like you don’t even have to think about what word follows the previous, it just comes to you like you’re the person who wrote the song.

You can feel his gaze on you and your singing is halted by a laugh bubbling up your chest when you can see him out of the corner of your eyes just watching you- your eyes darting over to him in the passenger seat, eyebrows scrunched in a questioning look before looking back at the road. “Why ya staring at me?” You say with a giggle, eyes going back to the road.

“Hm..” he hums in response, reaching over the center console to interlock his hand with yours, your arm that was once on the window moves to replace the other so you can hold his hand, your other hand takes the wheel. “I can’t just admire my girlfriend?” He finishes, giving your hand a squeeze. He even adores the way your eyes roll at his words, letting out a sarcastic “I ‘spose you can.”

He lets out a low hum in response, his thumb rubbing small circles on the back of your hand. He doesn’t stop looking at you for the whole ride, taking in every detail of you.

You expertly maneuver his car along the expressway as you head to your destination with a determination, and throughout the whole drive he just finds more and more things that he finds endearing about you. He was going to have to make you drive him places more often if it meant he got to observe you like this.

You make it to the drive-thru, pulling around the curve and waiting patiently at the large light up menu. He begins to type on his phone, writing out his order so you could easily read it out when you got done ordering what you wanted.

You list off your order and he begins to hand you his phone, open to his order he just wrote out, but you don’t even turn to him- instead you list off his exact order perfectly without even having to grab his phone.

He sits back with a surprised laugh, you really did know him. It was charming how much you knew about him- even the little things like his order at this fast food place that you two have only gone to maybe 3 times.

You had to be a fucking witch, He thought, you had some sort of spell over him that made him fall for you effortlessly at any little thing you did.

You let out a sweet “Thank you!” To the worker as they tell you to pull up, turning to begin to pull up. You turn to him, doing a small excited dance and extending your hand out to him.

He grabs your outstretched hand, taking it in his and turning it to place a kiss on your knuckles as he grabs his wallet out of his pocket. When he pulls back, he rotates your hand back and places his card in your hand.

You give the card to the worker, paying. You get the card and receipt back, the worker closing the window and headed back to the kitchen. When you hand him back his card you lean over the center console and place a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, my love.” You say in a sweet tone that has him thinking he’s tripping- and he knows he didn’t take any pills today.

My love.

He’s replaying it in his head, trying to get the words and the way you said it permanently etched into his head. He’s not sure he’s ever been able to experience something so wholesome and exciting than when he met you. And every day he was continually surprised that you could still have such an effect on him with the little things you did.

“Of course, my beautiful flower.” He coos, hand reaching across the center console to stroke his thumb across your cheek a couple times. Your attention is pulled away from him by the bags of food being held out to you.

You take them happily handing them over to him for safe keeping as you pull around to the empty parking lot.

As you guys sit in the empty parking lot, eating the food- you told him you wanted to eat it then and there, not wait for the drive home- and who was he to say no to his sweet girl!?!- one of his own songs comes on the play list, his own voice coming through the speakers and filling the car.

“Oooohh!” You say excitedly, “that’s my mannn~!!” You call out in a sing song voice. He laughs, leaning over to place a quick kiss on your neck. When he does he can smell your perfume, it’s a scent he’s become addicted to. He lets out a low hum against your neck as he stays connected to you, sucking a small purple bruise into your skin. You bite your lip and giggle, reaching one hand up to run through his hair.

He pulls back from you, settling back into the passenger seat. He continues to eat, humming along to his own song. He swears his heart beats out of his chest when he’s about to take a bite out of his food and you begin rapping along.

It’s soft mumbles, just to yourself as you nod your head along to his music. You recite the lyrics perfectly. Sure, he knew you were subjected to listen to his music when you sat in his studio as he worked- but to know the lyrics like the back of your hand like this…he’s head over heels.

He watches on for a moment, just letting you be in your own world, not faltering once as you rap along to the recording of his voice. “How’d you learn this?” He questions with a laugh of disbelief, fuck, you’re so precious.

You look over to him, shocked he was even paying attention- you thought he was invested in the food that sits in the take out box on his lip like you were. “I listen to it all the time, duh! It’s on my liked playlist for when I drive.” You say confused, like you were surprised he was surprised.

His head is spinning to say the least. Maybe it was because he used to run around the worst type of people possible, always using him and not actually supporting his music. Or maybe it was because the ditzy flings he had before meeting you never cared to really listen to his music, only wanting drugs or sex. He wasn’t sure but he thought he was dreaming.

Choi Su-bong fell head over heels in love with you that night. He realized you were truly a precious little gift all for him. A pretty thing to show off and to keep him in line. Someone who loved him, and his music enough to learn all the lyrics and add it to your personal playlist. The way you were in the drivers seat of his car, wearing his clothes, singing his song has him launching over the seat to kiss you.

You nearly drop your food- clutching it to your lap as you kiss him back. It’s sweet, slow, and methodical. You can’t help but to melt into it. His lips move against you in practiced movements, his teeth gently bitting at your bottom lip- pulling it just a bit as he pulls away.

He moves back into the passenger seat and begins to go back to eating like nothing happened. You try and mirror him, trying to be stoic as you pick through your take out box.

He hears you giggling to yourself, and when he looks over and sees the sight- you trying your best to focus on your food, smile spread on your lips that were still wet from the kiss- he takes his phone out and takes a picture.

————/————/————

Back in the studio, you look back up to him, a wide smile on your face as you finally remember the night the picture was taken. “Awh!!! You’re such a softie…” you coo out reaching out to pull his face towards you, placing kiss after kiss along his face. When you pull back he scoffing, shaking his head dismissively, trying to act like you don’t affect him the way you do.

But you do.

“Not a softie..” he mumbles as he pouts. You look to the photo again, then back to him raising an accusatory eyebrow. He rolls his eyes at your persistence, “Fine…maybe you have me a bit soft…but you can’t blame me baby! You’re so fuckin perfect…” he says his hands running up the sides of your waist as he focuses on you. You jump off the desk, moving to climb into his lap on his desk chair.

He hums in approval when you sit down on his lap. He studies you, observing you like you’re an ancient marble carving on display in a museum. “My pretty baby.” He mutters, reaching up his hands to run them up the sides of your neck and to hold your face. “Mhm, your pretty baby.” You respond leaning in to kiss him. “All yours.” You mumble against his lips. He nods, biting at your lip. As he keeps the kiss going, he takes the small photo that you still held and tapes it back to the corner of the computer- where it belongs.

————/————/————

When he decides he’s done working in the studio for the day You stay the night at his place. Your mind buzzing with a perfect idea to surprise. You anxiously await to get started with your little project for when he goes to bed- you wouldn’t want to spoil it!

Hours later, he’s asleep on your bare chest, purple hair ticking your neck. One of his arms is thrown across you, pulling you tightly in his grasp. For someone who’s so intimidating and outgoing, when he’s asleep with you-he’s so soft, vulnerable. It’s a drastic change that only happens around you- and it’s one that you cherish every moment of.

Anytime you adjust yourself in bed, his arm around your torso holds you tighter like you’re going to run away. You never do though, you always stay with him. You try your best, and eventually manage to pull your phone off the bedside table, clicking it on to begin your plan.

The bright light of your phone floods the dark bedroom. He murmurs in his sleep, beginning to stir, his painted nails raking lightly at your rib cage when he moves. You quickly dim the brightness of your phone- a tricky task with one hand but you get it done. Your other hand runs along his arm and back in feather-light touches. It seems to settle him back into deeper sleep, his face rubbing against your chest, like he’s trying to get closer to you in any way possible and his hand relaxing once again.

With him back asleep, you continue your plan. You’re ordering the biggest print you can of the photo he loves so much, in the best quality, with the nicest wood frame you can find.

It takes a couple weeks to get everything and put it together. But soon you finish it and strategize on how you’re going to present it to him.

One day you found yourself in his studio. He’s at his desk, the small picture of you still taped to his computer. He’s working on some new music, his face focused as he sits at his desk, his mouth moving as he whispers lyrics to himself, trying to come up with something for this new song.

He eventually turns to you, offering to go out and get you food. And how could you say no? It gave you the perfect opportunity to see your plan into its final stages.

When he leaves the studio to go pick up food for the two of you, you get to work. You hang the picture up right above his monitor. It’s a tough job for one person, the large frame almost too big for you to hang up. But you struggle through- needing to see the end goal- his reaction.

You take a step back, looking on at the new addition with a proud smile.

Oh! Last thing!

You walk back over to his desk, leaning over it and removing the taped picture that was on the corner of his monitor, keeping it tucked into your palm. You smile to yourself, returning back over to your spot on the couch.

When he returns a while later, plastic bags of food for you. His eyes don’t even notice the new addition to his studio, he just looks straight to you on the couch He walks over to you, placing a kiss on your forehead then handing you the food.

“You go ahead and eat, baby. I really gotta finish this up.” He says, his eyes going back to his phone, an annoyed expression on his face. His phone rings out notification after notification, blowing up with messages that are surely rushing him to get the first draft of his lyrics submitted. His words are terse, almost harsh, but you know it’s not directed at you- it’s directed at the individuals hounding him on his phone.

He walks back over to his desk, he throws his phone down on the wood, eyes immediately diverting to his computer, ready to get back to work. Not even looking up to the wall.

He’s annoyed, he just wanted a nice calm day with his girlfriend but all these people bothering him about his music and raps just make him so fucking annoyed. When he feels himself getting more and more aggravated, his eyes immediately look to the corner of his computer monitor, trying to find solace in looking at the little paper picture he had taped to the screen, only to realize the small crumpled picture of you that he had taped there is gone.

He looks over his shoulder back to you, his eyebrows furrowed and a pout on his face. “You take my picture of you down?” He asks, you can hear the upset in his voice, it almost makes you break and spoil the whole surprise you set up.

You nod in response, biting your lip to try and keep your excited smile at bay. You open your palm, showing him that you had the small image. “What?!” He exclaims, turning fully back to you, his back now facing the wall you desperately needed him to look at. “Why would you do that?!” He says, looking at you worried, the frown on his face deepening.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, walking over to him and spinning him around to face the wall. Your finger pointed up at the once empty space above his computer monitor.

When he finally looks at the wall, his mouth drops open. When he looks up he expects to see the same old bare white bricks, but he doesn’t, he’s completely wrong. How could he have completely missed that?!

There’s a large framed copy of his supposed favorite picture of you, right above his main computer monitor. Much better than the small, grainy paper image he had taped to the computer.

You’re about to ask if he likes it when he cuts you off, scooping you up into his arms and spinning you around. “You’re literally the fucking best!” He cheers excitedly. He puts you down and you’re smiling like an idiot. “You like it?” You ask, looking up at him, your arms interlocked behind his neck. “Baby…” he says, leaning down and holding your face to place a long, overly exaggerated kiss you your lips, pulling back with a ‘muah!’, “this is the best gift ever.”

His thumbs stroke your cheek gently, he’s staring at you with an adoring gaze that makes you melt. “You needed somethin’ a little better than this small lil thing. It was gonna fade…even more than it has.” You say holding your palm face up in between the two of you. “So I wanted to get you something that wouldn’t fade and have it to where you can actually see what it is.” You say poking at his chest with a joking, scolding tone.

He nods, laughing, placing a kiss on your forehead before removing his hands from your face and grabbing the old image. His thumb runs across the image, a soft smile on his face. He then looks up to the wall where the new picture hangs, taking a couple steps towards the desk.

“Fuck you’re stunning, sweetheart.” He breathes out, studying the framed photo of you, it’s a constant reminder of how lucky he is. “This is just what I needed, thank you..” He says, just studying the picture with a love-struck look. He truly has won the jackpot with you.

[sanshinesante]

𝐖𝐇𝐘?| 𝐉𝐉𝐊

Why do you still love me

The playlist series

Paring- romantic!jungkook x fuckgirl!reader

Warings- pwp (just a little) smut, unprotected sex, throat fucking, boob play, mentioned masturbating, rough sex, overstimulation, hickeys, biting, manhandling, and crying after sex

WC; 1.7k

A/N; chill, this is a mess

Not edited

Now Playing WHY? by Bazzi

☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆

Jungkook knows he's pathetic. He's delusional and idiotic in everything along those lines.

He just loves you so damn much. He knows he's not perfect, but he's committed to doing whatever it takes to make you happy.

He can't help it.

He is a romantic who fell for Anti.

Jungkook spends days crying about you; his parents hate you. His friends hate you. He doesn't care, though, and you don't either. Everything reminds Jungkook of you. The Netflix account that you two share. When he goes to watch funny videos on Instagram, remember that you blocked him for no reason.

When he's driving his car and sees the remnants of stuff you've left behind, the Polaroid picture is in his wallet. You and Jungkook had a simple agreement. Friends that have sex.

But Jungkook trapped himself; he started doing more than you asked. Buying you gifts, taking you to concerts, meeting his mom, and hanging around with his friends. You also did the same; Jungkook saw it as more. He thought you two were building something. But then, when he scrolls through his feed and your story doesn't pop up, or when he searches for your recent Instagram pictures, your account says it is unavailable.

It reminds him that, to you, he is only your friend. A friend that you block when you've found someone else more entertaining. You block Jungkook because he does too much and he ruins your other flings. Like when you actually tried to be in a relationship and Jungkook ended up in your ex-attempted boyfriend's car. Drunk because you blocked him two weeks prior and pictures of you and him fell out of his wallet.

Your attempted relationship called you an asshole for leaving Jungkook so quickly and moving into him. He could only ever imagine what you would do to him when you were bored.

You didn't talk to Jungkook for 3 months until you were bored and unblocked him. He came back like a stray dog on the street. Then you sent him packing again three weeks later.

Jungkook tried to play you back; he slept with some girls and sent you a very shitty sex tape. You answered two weeks later, saying you guys could make a better one. Pathetic, you know damn well Jungkook is head over heels in love with you. But you don't care. You're just happy that you can keep him around.

His friends call you weird and shady but still want to fuck you, and very few have succeeded.

But like today, you were scrolling on Tinder, waiting for someone to pop up. But it was dry, so you rolled over to your mirror, took off your clothes, unblocked Jungkook, and sent him a well-awaited nude.

He opened it 54 seconds later. And he was on his way to your place. Jungkook almost ran outside naked when he saw your DM. He threw on some clothes and ran. He actually running to your place, 7 blocks from his.

You stand in your window, and you hear Frantic steps. You look down the street and see Jungkook running for his life. He spots you on your balcony. With a sinister smile plastered on your face. You can hear his breathing from seven floors of the ground. "Hey, Kookie," you say, going inside and waiting for him. A few minutes later, you hear the elevator at the end of the hallway

Jungkook is out of breath, but when he sees you standing at your door with nothing but your little pink satin robe,. He almost crashed out. Out of breath, he kissed you, and while you slipped off your robe, he immediately touched your breasts. One of his favorite parts of you. Even though he loves all of you, he does have his favorite parts.

Your boobs, your hair, your lips he can go on and on. You two make it to the couch as he takes off his shirt, his chest still damp from his shower. You kiss his neck as he sucks on your breast. "Are you wet?" you say, and he nods, mumbling something. "What?" you ask, and he picks up his head. "I was walking out of the shower when you sent me that." You giggle as he leaves hickeys on your tits, pinching and teasing your nipples.

You moan in his ear. Sitting up, you shove his pants down. Take him into your mouth. Jungkook grunts. As your wet and hot tongue pleases, his very deprived cock. Getting hard immediately in your mouth. You take his length down you throat. Jungkook thrusts his hips into your mouth, and you moan, batting your eyelashes once. Signifying him to fuck your throat.

He does, and he moves faster than the lewd sound of you gagging on cock. Jungkook feels his orgasm. He takes your hair pounding it into your mouth. He look at your eyes, which are watering. He stops, and you take a deep breath and moan. Jungkok lifts you up from the floor, throwing you on the gray couch. He positions himself between your legs, entering you with a deep thrust. You arch your back in pleasure, feeling him fill you completely. Jungkook's hands grip your hips as he sets a rhythm that has you both gasping for air.

"You know I'm getting tired of your shit, Y/N. You blocked me for weeks, then you sent that fuck ass shit." Jungkook fucks harder. You feel it in your chest. You moan, digging your nails into your shoulders. As he continues to pound into you. He stops and flips you over. He smacks your ass. You pick it up for him and he grabs the meaty flesh. He thrust back at you, and you moan, gasping as you hit you with another thrust hitting your spot.

His eyes bore into your body, filled with a mix of happiness and frustration. "I'm not going to make this easy for you," he growls, his grip tightening on your hips. You can feel the intensity of his emotions fueling every movement, pushing you both closer to the edge.

"I'm going to fuck you for how you make me feel." His words thrust into you at an ungodly fast pace. "You like it rough, yeah, do you, baby? You love it when I pound into you like this." He's grabbing your ass so hard that it's probably bruised from the force. "Jungkook," you say in a hushed whisper. He smack your ass. Hard

"Shut up, this is how I feel when you block me for them other slow fucks," Jugkook continues with the fast pace. After about a minute or two, he feels your pussy throbbing repeatedly against his lenth, and then he slows down. Giving you long, painful, slow thrusts. You whimper, punching the couch cushin.

'This is how slowly the days move after, just waiting for you to call me back to you." He keeps up the slow pace. Your body aches from your orgasm, but you feel it lingering. Jungkook kisses you back. “You want to go faster, baby? Like how ast I came running to you," you nob your head.

"Beg," you let out a disappointed sigh. You shake your head, no. " I'm going to fuck you nice and slow till I come. I don't care about you right now," he says, flipping you over on your back again, and Jungkook lifts up your legs. When you press up against your chest, your calvles rest on his shoulder. He pets your hair, his finger running down your face as he fucks you slowly

Your body hurts from the ache, so you compile. "Please go faster; it hurts," you says, placing his lips on your neck. "Does it hurt, baby? That's what I feel like too sometimes," he said, nodding and agreeing.

Jungkook kisses you, sucking on your tongue. He pulls away. "But you want to know something, babe; I don't care how you are right now. Just like how you never care about me. Your such a bad friend," Jungkook plays with your clitoral. His still inside of you with his slow thrust. You feel at his fingers, playing in your wetness.

"Please, Jungkook, I'm sorry. Just please fuck me faster." Jungkook smirks and increases his pace, his thrusts becoming more intense. You moan in pleasure, but he's not moving fast enough. “Jungkook faster?" He shakes his head, continuing.

"Your so mean," you say, gripping on the cushin of your coach. Your head is spinning at Jungkook thrust, and your body is agching but also satisfied, even though you haven't come yet.

Jungkook, speed up. Knocking into you at the faster speed from earlier. He's almost cumming. He is going to make you feel good. He rub your sopping cunt. Kissing your neck. You start to moan louder as your orgsams appearing once again after a long time. You grip onto Jungkok's thigh. Gripping his flesh, your head is spinning as your body heat builds up inside you.

Jungkook's movements become more harrowing by the second, his grip on you tightening as he reaches his own orgasm. The room is filled with the sound of your moans and his heavy breathing.

And finally, after what feels like hours, you cum, you cum so hard that your body starts to shake at the sight of your eyes bugging out as you moan so loud. Jungkook also comes, you feel it shoot into you. The sticky white mixture is counting your simulated walls. Your head hurts, and your body is tired. You look at the alarm clock on your coffee table, eyeing the time. 1:39am. You feel yourself dozing off.

You usually fall asleep after sex. But this time was different. "I love you, so fucking much baby” Jungkook whisped into your ear. You feel tiny wet tears fall on your shoulder. Getting off of you Jungkook sits on the edge of the coach breathing heavily. You turn over, you can’t bear to look at him. He just fucked your brains and now he crying like a kids who got his candy stolen.

"Why do you love me?' This isn't the first time Jungkook has told you this. So you changed your question.

'Why do you still love me?"

A/N; so y/n hate fan club?😭

[ushiwakatrash]

The Bakusquad as Roommates

A/N: Hey babes, it's been a while! I've been so busy will college so I really couldn't write. But, yeah, I'm (kinda) back <3333

!Warning!: smoking (weed too)

According to the new rules, UA has decided to place two people per room.

(This deviates from the original plot line)

See the Dekusquad version here.

Bakugou Katsuki 爆豪 勝己

Did not like the thought of sharing his space with someone random but as per UA's orders, what choice did he have?

Very clean and very strict about house rules

Will constantly nag about how you can't do chores right

Your first weeks were a disaster. He was so scary and so intimidating, you thought he was the concentrated essence of evil

He's blunt and mean, but you figure out he just has a hard time expressing himself

One morning, he cooked breakfast for you but went with lame excuses like "I accidentally cooked too much." or "You look dead so fuckin' eat!"

Since then you went along with his shitty excuses and used them when giving him dinner

"Bakugou, you can have this 'cause I don't feel like eating anymore." or "They looked good so I bought twice as much for, uh, no reason at all."

Seeing your efforts in trying to be a good roomie, he warmed up to you eventually

Now y'all just argue like an old couple

Kirishima Eijirou 切島 鋭児郎

Looks tough, but he’s the sweetest guy you’ve ever met.

A literal angel

Day 1: friends

Day 2: besties

Day 3: you would take a bullet for him

He’s kinda messy and his punching bag takes a lot of space but hey, no one’s perfect

He always waits for you before he eats, and always saves you a plate when you’re running late because of extra training

You seek each other for comfort. Especially when Kiri feels insecure about how his quirk isn’t flashy or how he thinks it won’t make him a top hero one day

You, of course, would never want or let him think that way. It will never be a chore to remind him how he’s so strong and sturdy and how his muscles are hot

You know how much potential he has so if you have to repeat it a thousand times again and again, so be it

MUST PROTECT THIS CINNAMON ROLL

Kaminari Denki 上鳴電気

Had the idea of the old ‘bucket of water on top of the door’ prank as a big welcome to his roomie

What he didn’t calculate is that you have very sharp and fast reflexes.

Before the bucket falls on you, you hit it and the water splashes on Denki

Both of you were stunned at first but you recovered quickly and said “feeling cold, sparky?” with such a smug smirk

His face instantly got red and he stormed out of the room with comical tears shouting ‘MEANIE!!’

An hour later he returns, 2 popsicles in his hands. He hands you one as an apology and both of you reconcile, even if it’s his entire fault

You both get in trouble for blasting heavy metal at 3 in the morning MULTIPLE TIMES

The two of you made an agreement to do this ritual with headphones on because Mr. Aizawa had threatened to make you switch rooms

Sero Hanta 瀬呂範太

Ah, the potheads unite

It was a secret that you tried to keep under wraps but your roomie figured you out instantly

At first you both just shared vapes, trying out different flavors the both of you would buy

until you saw a bag in the bathroom that had an oh so familiar scent

You confronted Sero about it but he just gave you a 'what's the big deal' look so you shrugged it off

a few nights later he invited you for a session and you obliged, only if he kept it hush

this has been a routine since you could remember and Aizawa has never suspected you. I don't know about Mr. tape man though.

Ashido Mina 芦戸 三奈

There was no adjustment period for the both of you whatsoever

You both became instant besties and shared EVERYTHING

from skincare to clothes to maybe thongs at times but hey, girls do that shit

As if being roommates wasn't enough, you still hung out after class hours

Mina has been your greatest support system especially with boy trouble

Break a man's heart and she's as proud as any mother could be

Your heart is broken? A tub of ice cream and shitty movies are ready for you

She loves you like her own sister and constantly worries for you

Honestly the best roomie in town

𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

[soapyjackets]

nat showing different love languages <3

nat x gn!reader

fluff

physical touch—

nat who doesn’t like to be touched first. she needs control, and when people initiate contact, it feels like losing it. but with you, and only with you, she allows it. she still tenses whenever you hug her out of nowhere or press a soft kiss into her cheek, but she never pulls away or tells you to fuck off.

nat who will take your hand without thinking, tracing absent-minded patterns on your palm. once time, when you had first started dating, she spelled out ‘i love you’— you felt every letter but pretended not to notice.

nat who has a secret code. she will poke, squeeze, or nudge you three times in a row and it means ‘i love you’.

words of affirmation—

nat who struggles with words, struggles with expressing her feelings. things she wants to say get stuck in her throat, heavy with the weight of things she isn’t sure she’s allowed to feel. she hates vulnerability, it terrifies her.

nat who leaves little notes instead of saying things out loud. her notebook is all torn up, pages ripped out just to scribble ‘you look good today’ or ‘i like your stupid face’. you find them everywhere— in your bag, on your desk, tucked into your jacket pockets. it’s her own way of expressing her feelings for you.

nat who is always more honest when she’s drunk. she drinks alone a lot— trying to drown out her own emotions— but it never works. if anything they only get louder. when that happens she calls you. her voice is slurred and her words tumble out before she can stop them, “you know you’re like— the best thing in my life.. right?” she never remembers what she said in the morning, but you never forget.

quality time—

nat who will skip her own class just to sit on yours. the teachers are confused and tell her to leave. she ignore them, unless they blame you.

nat who’s car is a shitbox, but she always insists on driving you everywhere. the backseat has a box of tapes and she always lets you pick the music. your house is way out of her way, but she never complains. the drive is just an excuse to be with you longer.

nat who doesn’t do ‘dates’. she tells you she’s not romantic, she won’t take you out, she won’t do all that cliché couple bullshit. despite her harsh words— every sunday, without fail, you two end up together. either watching a movie, eating at some shitty diner, cooking or baking something. it’s not a date. it’s just… what you do.

acts of service—

nat who never comments on the mess in your room. she knows you struggle to clean up sometimes. she just picks up the scattered clothes, clears off your desk, throws out the trash. no judgement or questions.

nat who rolls her eyes every time you ask for a back scratch or rub— but she does it anyway with no complaints. After her soccer practices, you return the favor. Massaging her legs and pressing soft kisses onto bruises that she swears don’t hurt.

nat who will randomly appear at lunch, with your favorite drink from the gas station in hand. every day.

gift giving—

nat who says she’s terrible at gifts. she won’t admit it but she’s also broke. instead she’ll make you mixtapes. full of songs that remind her of you.

nat who makes you handmade cards for anniversaries and special occasions. who refuses to buy them from the store. she likes to make her own, she’s more creative then she lets on.

nat who always has a disposable camera on her, always snapping pictures of you. she gives you most of them once they’ve developed, but sometimes— just sometimes— she’ll keep one for herself. her favorite is framed in her room. eventually, you have to start asking her to take pictures with you. you don’t need a hundred photos of just you. but she does.

[gojodickbig]

patching up neighbor!toji after he went on a shitty mission

conts: fluff.

wc: 1,9k.

divider from @uzmacchiato !!

the room was quiet, except for the faint hiss of toji’s breathing and the rustle of bandages as you worked. the smell of antiseptic filled the dimly lit room as you knelt in front of toji, his shirt somewhere on the floor, and his bare torso revealing a nasty gash along his side. his sharp eyes followed your every move, a flicker of amusement dancing in them despite the grim situation. he had been complaining ever since you started patching him up—about the bandages being too tight, the antiseptic being too cold, and how “unnecessary” this whole thing was. but you had long since learned that his grumbling didn’t mean much. he was always like this when you had to deal with him— always too proud, always too stubborn.

"if you don’t want my help patching you up, then why did you come here?” you asked, your patience wearing thin. his attitude was getting on your nerves.

“i just needed a place to crash for a moment. i couldn’t go into my apartment like this—my kid’s there,” he replied, his voice low and lazy. “i can patch myself up, y’know.”

“yeah, sure, like you wouldn’t have just slapped some duct tape on it and called it a day,” you shot back, glaring at him. “stay still,” you snapped, pressing a soaked cloth to his wound. He winced but didn’t flinch. “you’re lucky this didn’t hit anything vital. what were you even thinking?!” you paused. “this is why you keep getting hurt, toji. you’re reckless.”

“luck’s my middle name.” he chuckled at his own joke, a deep, gravelly sound that made your stomach twist in a way you tried to ignore. “and besides, reckless gets the job done, sweetheart, and i’m literally still breathing, aren’t i?”

“yeah, barely.” you ignored his pathetic attempt at humor and grabbed another strip of bandage, your hands moving quickly but carefully.

“thought i’d be fine, like always,” he replied with a shrug that made the bandages in your hand tremble. “told you, sweetheart, i don’t die that easy.”

you glared at him. “you can’t keep living like this. one of these days, you’re not going to walk away.” you huffed, rolling your eyes. “you’d be in a morgue if i wasn’t here. now stop acting invincible and stop moving.”

“is that what this is about?” he smirked, his head tilting. “you worried about me?”

you sighed, pressing the gauze against his side a little harder than necessary. “you make it impossible not to, showing up at my door in the middle of the night like this.” his cocky tone pricked your nerves, but the anger fizzled quickly under the weight of your own concern. “and someone has to worry about you. you clearly don’t.”

that wiped the smirk off his face, replaced by something quieter. your hands brushed his skin, and his muscles tensed under your touch.

“you’re too soft, you know,” he said after a moment, his voice dropping. “patching up someone like me when you should just ignore me.”

“you’re like a stray cat. you keep showing up whenever you’re in trouble. it’s not that easy to ignore you.”

he laughed at that, though the sound was rough and dry. “a cat, huh? thought you’d pick something tougher.”

“tough things don’t need saving,” you said simply, standing to grab another roll of bandages.

his grin faded, and for a moment, the room felt heavier. “and you think i do?” he raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes.

you paused, glancing at him. “if you didn’t, you wouldn’t keep coming back.”

his eyes lingered on you, unreadable as always, before he leaned back in his chair.

“you’re a strange one,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. “most people know better than to get involved with me.”

“most people don’t live next door, and they don’t show up at my apartment in the middle of the night like this,” you replied, starting to wrap the bandage around his torso again.

he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “bad luck for you, then.”

your eyes shot up to his face, ready to argue, but the teasing edge in his voice was gone.

there was a slight silence between the two of you before he decided to speak again. “you’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

“you’ve got a funny way of showing gratitude,” you muttered, looking up at him.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he paused, running a hand through his messy black hair. “i meant,” he continued, his voice quieter, “you’re the only one who bothers. everyone else knows better.”

“knows better?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“they know i’m not worth it,” he replied, his tone quiet but still laced with that same cocky edge.

you froze, startled by the admission. toji fushiguro, the unshakable rogue, didn’t flinch at death, but here he was, baring something close to vulnerability.

“maybe you are worth it,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself.

he barked out a laugh, though it lacked its usual bite. “that’s cute. you think you can fix me?”

“who said i’m trying to fix you?” you shot back, your tone firm. “maybe i just care, toji. ever think of that?”

his smirk deepened, though his eyes softened slightly. “care, huh? that’s a dangerous thing, sweetheart.”

“why?” you asked, your voice quieter. “you can move now.”

he leaned forward, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “because when people care, they don’t think straight. they do stupid things.” his gaze dropped to the bandage, then back to you. “you’re already doing one by sticking around me.”

“then why do you let me?” you countered, your heart hammering. “why do you keep knocking at my door when you’re like this? why do you keep showing up when you’re hurt? if you don’t want me near you, then why is it always you who comes near me first?”

for the first time, toji didn’t have a quick answer. he let out a dry laugh. “i don’t know. i really don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “maybe i’m just selfish,” he muttered. “guess i like knowing someone’s dumb enough to stick around.”

you raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “that’s the closest thing to a thank you i’ll get, isn’t it?”

“don’t push your luck,” he said, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “i’m not the guy you want looking out for you.”

"maybe not,” you replied, standing and crossing your arms. “but i’m not going anywhere. deal with it.”

his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, something unspoken passing between you. “you’re for real a pain in the ass.”

“you keep saying that,” you looked at him with a teasing smile, “and yet, you keep coming here.”

he paused for a moment, looking at you with that familiar, unreadable expression. “yeah, yeah,” he said, his voice soft. then, he stood, grabbing his discarded shirt from the floor. “have a good night, sweetheart.”

with that, he gave you one last glance and walked out the door.

© gojodickbig on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc.

[angels-read-fanfiction-too]

Say i'm the only bee in your bonnet <3!

Another jerry fic cuz... um... mlem :P sorry if it's kinda sucky, wrote this while sick

Warnings: swearing

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Make a little birdhouse in your soul!" The radio sung out as your mother copied, excited to hear a song she likes. You were being driven to your new boyfriends house! Yes you were 17 but driving was kinda scary so your mom was always an easier choice. You fidgeted nervously, drawing simple shapes on your leg as you waited for the drive to end. You always noticed Jerry doing it to his desk during class so you eventually picked it up from being around him so much. No matter how many times you met up, the idea of seeing him still worked you up to an anxiety more similar to the feeling of waiting to ride a rollercoaster than a visit the doctors. As you were worrying in the car, Jerry was rushing to clean up his room due to having procrastinated all day. The heaps of trash were disposed of and his dirty clothes were dumped into his closet by now but he was still worried of your opinion on his room, even more now that his mother surprised him with changing his sheets to the Yugioh ones he got teased ruthlessly for by the club. He has now decided he would just accept the fate of a slightly messy and very embarrassingly geeky room and decided to try and check his hair in the mirror. Shit, did he always have this many pimples? and how was his hair already kinda greasy?! He washed it last night in preparation! He started trying to pop the spots on his face which made his eyes slightly water but he was determined to make a good impression! Ding Dong! He rushed downstairs, slightly too quickly which made him trip down a couple steps. He clung his spindly arms to the banister to keep him up but ended up hitting his knee against it in the panic. Okay, maybe he should take a second to walk super carefully down the rest of the stairs- Ding Dong! Never mind. He rushed down the rest of the stairs, not tripping this time, and opened the door. There you were, smiling back at him. It made him a little less nervous. Despite the developing bruise on his knee, acne scarred face and messy hair, he looked into your eyes and saw your joy to see all of him, not just the 'good' parts.

"Hi!- Jerry, you're bleeding."

"Huh?" Jerry put his hand up to his face and felt multiple of the zits he just tried to get rid of bleeding lightly down his face. A slight panic overtakes him as he looks around, his neck moving erratically like a nervous squirrel as he tries to find something quick to wipe the blood off his now glowing pink face. He would've used his sleeve but he didn't want to take the chance of you to see him as slobbish or gross.

"It's no big deal, here." You lifted your sleeve to his face and quickly wiped off the small drops of blood, giving him a comforting smile. Your mother goes back to her car and lets you two be.

"I've got a lot of thunder cats on tape if you wanna watch that, i also have the whole vhs set of buck rogers!" He suggested, walking with you to the living room. His head turned to you as he walked but suddenly got more bashful as he realised that girls usually didn't like that stuff. "Or we could watch something else... I've got popcorn if you want that but my parents only buy the shitty low calorie stuff so, uh, sorry about that."

You two sit down together on the sofa, a bowl of popcorn between you and start watching lord of the rings. during the movie Jerry starts some awkward chatter, not wanting to show how truly awkward he was around girls.

"So uh... did you know that David Bowie auditioned for Elrond?" He looked over to you, trying to remember the shitty advice his friends gave him.... Okay he can't do any of that without a sexual assault case, but he remembers movies! Letting out a fake yawn, he attempted to wrap his arm over your shoulders. "It's uh... real late... maybe you can come to bed for a nap?" You smirked a little in both amusement and shock at his very embarrassing attempt of flirting and he seems to immediately regret it. He cleared his throat awkwardly and didn't take his arm off you but you could feel it stiffen with anxiety.

"I'm okay, thank you." He just looked even more embarrassed when you said no. He turned his head away from you with his blush spreading to his ears and neck. You were both in an awkward silence now as he internally tried now to freak out over how he was messing this up. The light was a little too bright to see the tv as well as you should, his parents were talking in the kitchen, his hands were getting really clammy! he probably should've listened to his friends, this was a mistake. it's better to pine over something rather than mess everything up with them after a week or two of dating! He suddenly felt something that snapped him out of his mini panic. Your head rested on his shoulder, the heat from not just your blood but your gentle care warming him up to a comforting temperature. He looked down to your slightly sleepy face, the way your hair scrunched against his signature green sweater. He suddenly couldn't hear his friends insults anymore or any of his worries. He just knew that he really liked you, and you felt the same to him. You soon felt the pressure of his head against yours, his overgrown shaggy bowl cut brushing against your scalp.

"Is this what started your thing for fantasy or was it before this?" taking his hands in yours, you were happy to ask about his interests. Jerry always loved that about you. Sure you teased but you always listened and valued his opinions and passions. He didn't really get that from anyone else.

"Uh... no, i heard about a dnd club in school a couple years ago and that started it." Jerry confessed, focusing more of the feeling of you two together rather than the questions you asked him.

"I've always been interested in dnd. You should help me make a character, i've always been interested in the subclasses-"

MWAH!

Jerry quickly leaned in, his face scrunched nervously and lips pouted borderline cartoonishly for his first kiss before he smashed his lips into yours. You were surprised but not upset! The kiss was rushed, clunky and inexperienced but it made you both so happy. He put one of his hands on your waist and the other holding your cheek, gentle and cautious like he was handling priceless china. Your arms wrapped over his neck to pull him closer to you, your chests pressed together which reminded Jerry to brag about this to his friends later as he could hear your heart beat against his. When you both finally pull away, you could hear his panting breath.

"Thanks, buck..." He muttered which you just responded to with a giggle.

"Buck? that's what you call your girlfriend?" His face somehow flushed an even deeper red with his blood pressing against his pale skin. Before he could respond, you give him one more little kiss.

"You're so cute, Jerry."

[wetpussyju1ce]

i read on the sons of anarchy fandom wiki page that wendy and jax only married because gemma pushed them to it because she wanted grandkids and it got me thinking that gemma would totally push jax with some younger girl (like early 20s) who is associated with the club to maximize her chance at multiple grandkids. gemma doesn't care if she's ripping this poor girl away from her family or if she has other obligations like post-secondary education or a job, she sees her successor when jax becomes club president. she'll teach her to be the perfect housewife for jax and let's be so fr. jax is not gonna complain about a young(er) cute girl in his house cooking and cleaning and popping out his kids

thanks for the ask! see end of the text for notes :)

jax teller x poc!fem reader

notes: ik charming isn't real so imagine legal age to buy scissors is 18.

warning: reader is 21. but doesn't look like it. she's skinny too. also Gemma is a freak and lowkey behaving like a predator. some language used may be triggering cuz Gemma is purposely treating reader like a child. like grooming a whole adult. but yeah. Just be careful if that's triggering to you but no smut or anything.

Gemma first sees her at a shitty burger joint. the one where they make the workers wear bright coloured aprons and hats. Gemma never gets the burgers. Just the milkshakes. always the milkshakes. she used to get them all the time when she used to get her periods. always had a weird craving for them. but now that shes hit menopause. she still gets the urge. the itch for a sweet diabetes inducing milkshake once in a while.

she's served by reader, young, looks maybe about 16, tired, small wrists and skinny arms. Gemma pays, gets her milkshake and leaves. drinks the whole thing in her car in the parking lot then leaves.

the next time she sees her is at the supermarket, she's in front of her in line, abt to pay at the till, got some scissors, medical tape and paracetamol w random food items and socks. Gemma doesn't say anything, just watches the same girl that served her the other day keep looking at the tiny black monitor, surveying the price going up and up. then the cashiers asks for I.D, to buy the scissors and medicine. the cashier says she needs to be 18 and reader pulls out her ID. it gets checked. she's old enough. she pays for her stuff then leaves.

Gemma looks at her long and hard. looks at how small she is. just a girl, really. her hair is not that long barely touches her shoulders as it curls up in every direction, bounces w each step and move she makes. her face was always bare and she dressed in oversized t-shirt and jeans everytime Gemma sees her. Gemma knows she's tiny her clothes too. knows she has a flat stomach and small tits. but that's okay because that won't stay the same for too long.

it's honestly stalkerish how much Gemma keeps following the girl around, observing her go on about her day until she realises the girl is actually sleeping in her car.

that's when she finally decides to step in, introduces herself and gains the girls trust, because see, Gemma had a plan, and she will get what she wants no matter what it takes.

Gemma starts talking abt helping the girl, abt how shitty it must be sleeping in her car, abt how she lived through tough times and knows how it feels. Gemma convinces her to come w her to the bar, that she can get her a job that pays a little better than the minimum wage burger place. that there's even a room to spare for her if she's willing to put in the work.

and the girl does. oh she does. she's grateful. works hard and takes every opportunity given to her to improve her living situation. she tries very hard to earn her keep. Just to not go back to sleeping in her car because it's uncomfortable and cramped and it makes her hurt and ache all over.

Gemma leaves her be for a couple of days. so the girl gets used to her new surroundings. doing any task she's given at the bar, wipe counters, cleaning the toilets, bringing in the mail, taking out the trash, she'll do anything, and she gets paid of course, every week, in a little envelope w her name on it. the room she gets given isn't that big, it's tiny really, with a mattress, a single window, a wardrobe and a tiny desk. and it was more than enough for her.

Gemma quickly notices that the girl doesn't drink. never smokes either. no matter how much she's offered. she eats as much healthy food as possible. drinks lots of water and tries to take care of her health as much possible. which is puzzling to Gemma because where did this girl even come from?? how did she end up sleeping in her car?

it doesn't matter. because Gemma had a plan. and the first step was already complete.

it turns out that the girl was actually 21. which was great. good even. because Gemma genuinely thought she was 16 or 17. and she doesn't think Jax would get it on with a teenager. her boy was better than that.

and even at 21 the girl looked smaller than others her age, it's like puberty skipped her. she was skinny to begin with. a given considering she was homeless a couple of weeks ago. she was short, but not that short. her face still held on to baby fat and she has the cutest curls on her head. she was perfect. a fresh canvas for Gemma to paint on.

so then Gemma managed to convince her to go with her to the doctors for some check ups. she'll pay for everything, Gemma said, she just has to come. Gemma talked about feeling a sense of responsibility towards her, said she felt like someone who found a kitten by the side of the road. she had to get her checked just to make sure everything's okay.

and she accepted, under the guise that Gemma just cared abt her wellbeing. in a sense it was true. but in reality all Gemma cared about was any medical issues that could potentially affect the chances of her getting grandchildren from this girl, because of course that was the case, Gemma has never done anything for free.

everything went well at the doctors, the girl is perfectly healthy, has no history of medical issues, doesn't even have family history of anything, heck, even her period cycles were absolutely normal and all her teeth were hers, straight and perfect.

it was unfair really, how Gemma lucked out with this one, how perfectly healthy she was, ripe and ready for the taking.

then next step was getting the girl to trust Gemma even more. she started stringing the girl along for random trips to the most random places, grocery shopping, to the bank, to the garage, whatever it was. then Gemma would bring her with when she goes shopping, says she needs some girls time, about how her son jax was useless and that this feels like having a daughter of her own.

Gemma didn't really come out to shop for herself, even tho she likes to, it was more for the girl than anything, she coaxed her into trying clothes Gemma picked out, managed to convince her that she should let Gemma get them for her. and that's how it started, slowly building up the perfect little doll for jax. Gemma would dress her up in pretty girly colours, the colours she doesn't wear herself, like light pinks and oranges and baby blues. Light and soft fabrics. then perfumes. then lipglosses and mascara.

Gemma wasn't surprised when she found out the girl doesn't even know how to wear makeup. she just smiled and said she didn't need it anyway, with a face like that. and just told her lipgloss was enough. oh she was perfect, and Gemma was so happy. so thrilled.

and then Gemma asked her once if she was a virgin. all the girl did was bite her lip and look away and that's all Gemma needed to know.

then the girl started catching the attention of club members, especially when she walked somewhere and her sweet perfume would waft behind her, leaving a trail of sweetness behind. Gemma knew to put her in pretty colours in an environment where it looked like everything was grey and black, it made her stand out, like a flower growing in the cracks of concrete.

and even with all the attention the girl didn't care, she kept on working, doing whatever Gemma asked her to, perfectly obedient. and Gemma knew to stop giving her dirty and difficult jobs now, she needed her to stay put, do easy things and be pretty while doing it, so it maximises the chance of jax seeing her.

and Gemma knew not to tell jax a thing. she knew he'd be suspicious of her true intentions. so she didn't tell him, or anyone, anything and just waited, bid her time until the boys were all together having drinks, she called over the prettiest girl in the room and asked her to give jax a folder.

the girl nodded and made her way to the table, she didn't have to say anything, standing behind him like that, because her sweet scent already alerted him that she was there. Jax turned around in his chair, confused, and the moment she parted her strawberry pink lips to tell him about the folder, Gemma saw the moment her son was done for. she saw the moment something in his eyes shifted and knew she won.

phew. I hope you liked it anon :)

I really liked this idea and the dark themes of it. so I def want to maybe write something more of the same theme and ideas. but yh. this took me a while because part of me wanted to flesh out a whole fic but then realised I do not have the energy for that atm so that's all I can offer for now.

Also nobody cares but I'm on like ep3 of s1 of soa 🧍This blog was fuelled purely by me watching soa while ovulating and now here we are 😔

[jamiepaige]

Constant Companions Closeup #5: CADMIUM COLORS

(also on bandcamp and spotify!)

Once again, welcome back to the Constant Companions Closeups - a series of in-depth dives into the songs off of my latest album, Constant Companions! Last time, I wrote a whole diatribe about my OCs while talking about I Wish That I Could Fall, and today, we're eating paint! Cadmium Colors featuring Soneji of Project Mikan!

Consider this a content warning: this post will discuss the pandemic, struggles with mental health, and suicidal ideation/attempts. I'm hoping it'll ultimately be uplifting, but the discussions at hand are incredibly heavy, and it wouldn't do this song right to be vague. Please be warned.

---

Let's talk about COVID.

At the beginning of 2020, I was in the midst of a long-term break from making music. It wasn't completely cold turkey, and I might not have even called it a break if you'd asked me at the time, but things were dire. I was still dealing with the burnout I'd sustained from the making of Autumn Every Day; I'd had my ego bruised by a live performance at a house party that went so hilariously bad it'd hurt even the most stoic performers (imagine watching an entire packed room of people clear out in 5 minutes flat from the already hyper-exposed vantage point of being on stage in front of them and knowing you single-handedly caused that lol); I had just moved across the country, and was preoccupied with trying to make ends meet as a 22 year old dealing with pure adulthood for the first time.

I was working a shitty minimum wage job at a discount clothing store I will not be naming, slogging through late-night shifts that wouldn't get me home until 3 am some nights. I had friends and roommates, but they were all just as overworked and exhausted and dealing with their own shit as me. I was mentally ill and unmedicated. Suicidal ideation was rearing its ugly head at my lowest moments.

Then, as I turned 23, a global pandemic shut the world down, my grandpa died with me being unable to attend his funeral, and I had a catastrophic mental breakdown that suddenly turned the voices in my head into a deafening cacophony of self-inflicted malice.

In hindsight, I think being 23 kinda just does that to you

---

Fast forward to 2021. I was back at my retail job with the pandemic raging in full force, my sense of self was held together with duct tape, positive self-talk essentially didn't exist for me, and I was the loneliest and lowest I had ever been. I was working the fewest hours I could get away with, and still, almost all spare time I had was taken up either by work or by my recovery from it.

This was around the time I got an email from Crypton, of all places - the people that make Hatsune Miku, for anyone uninformed. They wanted a remix of the song Happy Synthesizer for a Digital Stars compilation. I could not for the life of me tell you how I lucked into this or why they reached out to me of all people, but they did, and I was deathly determined to prove myself worthy of it.

This was August of 2021. I was staring down the barrel, languishing in what felt like only half of a life, fantasizing about death and trying to twist my thoughts into something that could at least keep me blearily shuffling forward another couple days. It was untenable.

(I'd also recently been diagnosed with OSDD 1b - this is a whole can of worms I can't really open until we talk about Breeze Blows, but it's important to at least mention that coping with this was a significant part of this turnaround.)

It's melodramatic, but I had only two options - make things again, or die.

I finished that remix within 24 hours of getting the stems, and I will gladly toot my own horn about it - it's really fucking good, in my opinion. Bittersweet ended up coming together in a mad dash over the next couple months as well. I was making music again.

Even though I was exponentially busier, things paradoxically got easier. I made the creative process a priority in my life, and not only did it give me an outlet for everything that had otherwise been eating away at my soul, but it struck a chord with other people who had been struggling as well. Things just... started getting brighter.

So I kept making music and living and yadda yadda blah blah here I am. This is all a lot of words and very personal stories of mental health struggles to say this:

One: The line between being an artist and being one of countless people forced to work jobs that go nowhere, that put their life at risk, that force them to strip parts of themselves away - it is a faint and transparent line built on circumstances of class and privilege and luck. Making Art and being an Artist aren't magical elevated states of existence, but something anyone is capable of if given the space to nurture their creativity. I believe the world should be a place where any person can do this.

Two: It's easy to convince yourself that art is meaningless in the face of the world at large. And yes, revolutions aren't fought by poetry and paintings, and people aren't fed through songs. But art is a source and a medium for connection; Art is how we find beauty in a disorganized and entropic world; Art is what we come home to and what words we write and pictures we paint and songs we sing to remind us that people matter to us and love is real and life is worth fucking living. Maybe that's corny and stupid, but it's true.

Three: So help me God, I will never work retail again in my entire life.

---

This is another song that is heavily inspired by artists like Prefab Sprout, Peter Gabriel, Kate Bush, and other artists of that ilk - very 80s, very flowery and sentimental lyricism, focused on telling a story. I greatly admire songs that aren't afraid to paint otherwise banal or ordinary scenes in abstract reverence!! I wanted the verses to contrast heavily with each other in that way, with verse one's relentless poeticisms (prosaic practice of depravity) and idioms turned on their head (suspending innocents above their disbelief) against verse two's incredibly straightforward depiction of a factory worker's circumstances.

The flowery language might have worked against me somewhat, though! I've seen a lot of folks that thought the ending was darker or much more defeatist than I intended, and while some of that is just inevitable with a work of art, I want to be clear.

Translator's note: this means "don't kill yourself, you idiot"!!

As you may have picked up from the previous post in this series, this song does heavily feature a leitmotif or two predominantly performed under pudgy pretenses. I'm not going to go on that whole novella-length spiel again, but rest assured knowing that this song, too, is one that makes me think about my OCs. Since it's something many people missed, however, I will take a moment to point out that this song quotes none other than Autumn Every Day off of my album of the same name!

Painting and visual art have been something of a reoccurring obsession of mine in my own art. I grew up around visual artists, have always been friends with many visual artists, and generally have a really intense love of it as a medium and a mode of expression. However, there's also always been a sense of... well, I don't want to call it jealousy, but it's jealousy. I've tried many times to start making visual art of my own, and I have made some things, but it's been a struggle, and I worry sometimes that my eye has permanently outstripped my ability.

However, in my quest to toss out grand expectations and simply have fun making art, I did recently pick up a cheap little drawing tablet! I'm excited to be a beginner at something artistic again...

Finally, I want to thank a couple people: Soneji of Project Mikan for the gorgeous, soaring saxophone solo; friend_xp for the mindboggling MV editing; and especially my good friend Que for the GORGEOUS painterly art that goes along with this song! Que's style was just perfect for this, and really tied the whole thing together immaculately!! There's no joke or deeper lore or anything I just fucking love Que's art go follow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And with that, I think this post is complete!! If you have anything else you wanna know about, ask away in the replies! Tomorrow will be Breeze Blows with Marcy Nabors and Marlow Jacobs!!!

MAKE ART AND BE GAY

[juletheghoul]

father figure III

a/n: So I've watched the movie like 6 times at this point and I just really love Clint lol. I have some things planned out and I cannot wait to write them, hopefully you all love what I come up with. Shout-out to @just-here-for-the-moment for encouraging me and for putting up with my endless questions and voice notes! 💕xoxo

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, POV sex (wrap it up) Clint not pulling out, oral sex (male receiving)*swallowing*, dirty talk, nipple play, shitty dad (neglect), absent mother (abandonment issues), allusions to illegal activity, domestic violence, daddy kink, secret relationship, **DRAMA** Hurt/comfort, period piece - takes place in 1987, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Clint Flood x F!Reader

Ko-fi link 🥲💕

word count: 5.4k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series Masterlist

---

Thursday morning finds you in a very different mood than the previous week.

You huff about it on your way to the bathroom, pout through the daily rituals with unwanted thoughts of Jen’s words. You mentally shove them away for the hundredth time, lock and bar the doors but they slither in regardless, like smoke. 

You take a deep breath and sigh a deep sigh, drying your face off before continuing with your routine. His smile is there too, along with the blood and the violence, the soft slide of his fingertips across your neck, the plush press of his lips against your mouth, the toe-curling stroke of his tongue, his cock. Surely a man who pleasures you like that would never hurt you?

Your fathers voice is raised, argumentative over the phone hanging on the kitchen wall, enough so that he doesn’t register your presence until he slams the handset onto the receiver. 

“Everything okay?” You ask him despite yourself, it’s not as though he tells you anything. He grunts in response. 

“You working today?” He shoves different papers into his pockets, grabbing his keys from the counter. 

“No, it’s Thursday–”

“Okay, I’ll be back later, probably late.” He huffs, shaking his head in annoyance, at what—you don’t know, don’t entirely care. He leaves, thankfully taking that annoyance with him. 

Clint shows up a couple of hours later with a tape in his hand, and a mischievous look on his face. For a split second, Jens words echo, they project blood onto his clothes and splatter it onto his face. He smiles bigger though, leans in and kisses you soft and sweet, the vision dies and it seems almost absurd to even dwell on what may or may not have happened so long ago. 

“Hi baby.” Cigarette smoke and his cologne mingle and flood your nose as well as your panties when he pulls you in close, when his mouth captures yours. You don’t respond, only pull him closer, wrap your arms around him tighter; enjoy the comforting strength. 

“I’m not dressed–” Your eyes fall to your ratty old sweatpants, the holey t-shirt. 

“I think you look very cute, very comfortable.” He steps inside and shuts the door. “I thought it might be fun to watch a movie, stay in, order a pizza. How does that sound?” The idea is perfect, after standing on your feet for hours on end at the store, a quiet night in is just what you need. The tape clutched at his side draws your eye but he slips it behind his back. He smiles, one eyebrow raised. 

“What did you rent?” You try to peek again but he tsks, angling himself to keep it hidden. 

“You’ll know when you know.” You huff, pouting and it only makes his smile grow. 

“You’re such a little brat huh? I said you’ll know, when you know.” He taps the tip of your nose, laughing at the way you narrow your eyes, at the way you scrunch up your nose. 

“Fine, so bossy��wait, are we watching here?” 

“I think it’s best we go back to my place, and why don’t you go ahead and pack a bag.” Your heart skips a beat, your stomach drops down to your socked feet. He must see the shock on your face.

“Or, I could bring you back if you don’t feel comfortable staying over—“

“No! No I’d love to, give me a few minutes!” You surge forward, pulling a smiley oomph out of him before running up to get yourself together.

Your hands shake. 

The soft, comfy pyjamas you usually wear don’t seem right. They sit in one hand, while a silkier, newer pair sits in the other. You toss the silky set into the open duffel bag. Clean, cute underwear join the bag, along with your basic toiletries, a clean pair of jeans–and your video store t-shirt, just in case he ends up driving you directly to your shift tomorrow. 

He’s leaning against the counter when you jog back down the stairs, tapping the mystery tape against his leg. Wordlessly, he grabs the duffel from your hand and leads you out of the house.

-

A fluffy, grey thing winds through your legs, almost tripping you. 

“Louis, manners.” Louis meows back, and you laugh. 

“Hi buddy.” He butts his head into your hands when you crouch down. He’s so soft, so sweet, purring and chirping at you. “You’re just a little softie aren’t you?” 

“Just shamelessly flirting with my girl huh? You little monster.” The casual way he claims you makes your face hot. It's not overt, or aggressive and when he smiles and makes his way inside you’re sure he’s unaware of what it’s done to you. The feeling is so foreign. No one has ever called you theirs before, not in this way, not with such a quiet certainty.

The smile lingers, aches in your cheeks when you pick up the big cat and carry him with you towards his cozy living room. 

“So, can I know what we’re watching now?” He grunts on one knee, says nothing as he slips the tape into the VCR. There’s a gleam in his eye when he turns towards you. 

“I think it’s best if we put Louis into my room, I don’t want him interrupting us.” It’s hard to work out what he means by that, but you make yourself comfortable on his couch regardless. My girl, you think, snuggling into the well-worn leather of his couch. Dustmotes dance in the shafts of light coming in through his window, a vision of slow afternoons with him float through your mind–what would it be like to live here? To have a life with him?

“Okay—“ there’s an energy about him, something electric, excited, eager, “I can guarantee it’s not a movie you’re expecting, but it’s something I really wanna watch with you.” He settles into the sofa, pulling you from your corner, and from your thoughts. 

The smell of his cologne pulls your face into his neck, the warmth of it melds with the cigarettes he smokes, makes him completely irresistible. He hums to himself when you kiss just below his ear.

“I think you’re gonna like it.” There’s that undercurrent again, a knowing, a plan—

The tv screen flashes blue before the movie starts. Music you don’t recognize plays, FBI warnings flash across the screen and you watch, confused as to what it might be until you see her. 

“Clint… is this…?”

“It’s porn.” His nose skims up your neck, his hands tighten around your thighs, your eyes remain glued to the screen though. It’s a little jarring how much she looks like you. Your heart races, your stomach drops and despite how confused you are over what you actually think about this whole thing, arousal pools in your belly; a deep pull, like something tugging behind your bellybutton.

The image of her, bubbly and laughing, flirting shamelessly with the single dad, the much older man holds almost all of your attention.

“She’s pretty…” he whispers in your ear, his smile is sharp when your head whips around to face him. “Nowhere near as pretty as you baby, but it could be you. You see it right?” His eyes turn to the girl on the screen, the scene has shifted dramatically, from flirting, to kissing and groping, you cannot help but watch.

“Same eye shape, same cute little smile, and look at him—could be my brother.” And it could, the man on the screen is nowhere near as hot as Clint, but he’s the same type, greying, handsome and broad as hell.

“And doesn’t she just love it when he touches her…look how wet she is…” the scene has shifted again, both of them are naked now and she really does seem to like the way the older man touches her, you can’t really blame her—

“Just like you huh? Your pussy gets so fucking wet when I touch you doesn’t it baby, I bet it’s wet right now.” A moan slips out and he laughs low. His voice, the images on his tv, his hand slipping between your legs to cup your cunt, it all drives you mad. Jealousy burns hot within at the thought that he’d want to watch this at all, but it’s tempered by the resemblance, it’s spiced with the possessive way he holds you to him. It’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced.

“Talk to me, pretty baby, what are you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” he pauses the movie, “I—it’s a lot, my heart is racing right now.” You let out a nervous laugh, his fingers press softly to your chin and turn your face to look him in the eye.

“Do you want me to turn it off? I won’t make you watch it if it’s not turning you on. We can stop this whole thing and do something else.” The smile curls your lips up. 

He would turn it off if you told him to, he’d probably take you right back to the video store and let you pick out another movie if you expressed any discomfort at his plan. Embers burn in your chest at the thought, a sticky heat that feels like genuine care, genuine feelings for this man fill you to the brim. 

The paused image of this alternate version of you shines on the screen, frozen in absolute pleasure, a hand on her breast, a tongue on her clit. 

“I wanna keep watching, but I want us wearing less.” It’s hard to get the words out without trembling, or feeling awkward but you do it anyway. 

He smiles, presses play, and pulls you closer.

Clothes come off, your shirt and your jeans pile up alongside his shirt and slacks around you. The older man is feeding his cock into her mouth by the time you’re both naked. He was right about the state you’d be in, your panties shine with the clear, slippery evidence, his cock stands at attention. 

“No, I want you facing the tv. We’re gonna watch.” You’re halfway to straddling him when he stops you and turns you around. A sharp bite to the meat of your ass makes you squeal, and then he sits you in his lap, and not on his cock.

“Look at that. She’s good at sucking dick… I bet you are too, aren't you baby?” His chin rests over your shoulder, “I bet you would look so fucking pretty with daddy’s cock in your mouth.” 

The thought makes you squirm, makes you rub your thighs together in his lap. His hands slide across your belly, slide up to hold the weight of your breasts and then focus on your nipples. It’s a torture the way he touches you, soft flicks at the sensitive peaks, slow circles that end with them pinched gently, and then not so gently between his big fingers.

“Does that feel good?” His lips press against your shoulder while his fingers continue to pluck at your nipples.

“Yes.” It really fucking does, he knows it does. Your arms rise to thread through his slicked back waves, gripping while he continues to tease your breasts.

“He’s going to give it to her, you want me to give it to you? You want me to fuck this pretty little cunt?” One hand slips down, he lets out a laugh when your legs fall open. “Oh honey, just as eager as her huh? Answer me.”

“Yes daddy, I want it so bad—“ your voice shakes with anticipation, the words barely coming out as his hand hovers at your mound, those deft fingers slipping through the soft curls there. 

“What do you want baby, tell daddy what you want—keep watching the movie. I want you to watch her get fucked while I have my way with you.” You let out a shaky breath, swallow thickly. She’s on her back now, legs spread while he plows into her. You moan at the sight. Clint’s cock is so fucking hard under you. 

“Is that how you want daddy to fuck you? Hard like that—?” His fingers slip inside you, two, thick and long. A moan escapes, your head tilts back with the pleasure of it but he tuts.

“Eyes on the movie sweetheart.” With a whine you focus, or try to. His fingers start to thrust in sync with the man on the screen, your brain blanks. The girl moans on the tv, just as you do, both of you being filled. For a moment, that flash of violence fills your mind's eye again, that the solid, gorgeous man underneath you could inflict such pain on someone makes your heart race. 

Shamefully, it makes you wetter. 

“Oh baby, listen to that.” Heat floods the whole of you, your pussy sounds soaked–every thrust of his fingers rings out louder, messier. A breathy daddy comes out of your mouth, and he laughs, an earthy, low tone that only adds to your considerable arousal. 

“You want my cock don’t you baby, just like her huh? You want me to fuck you just like that?” God you do, you want him to hold you down, you want him to bruise you, claim you roughly, make you take his dick until he says you’ve had enough. “I need words, sweetheart, those pretty moans won’t get you what you want.” He pulls his fingers out and you whine, desperate, feral. 

“Open.” His word is law, and your mouth falls open while you writhe in his lap. His fingers rub your own arousal onto your tongue, a vulgar blessing, an anointing. Sweat beads on your skin and in your hairline, on your lower back. 

“How do you want it?” He pinches your nipple again, already so sensitive from his earlier teasing. 

“Hard.” You mumble around his fingers. 

“Put your hands on the coffee table.” He taps your leg and for a moment you don’t really understand what he means, your brain is too full of the girl getting fucked on the tv, on how you aren’t getting fucked, too full and not full enough of his dick pressing into your back. 

“Don’t make daddy tell you again. Bend over, and put your hands on the coffee table. Now.” He’s such a good man, the best man who ever fucking lived and there’s no way you aren’t going to obey the best man who ever lived. 

Smooth, solid wood under your hands holds most of your weight, it’s a little awkward for a moment to stand bent over, until you finally feel the blunt head of his cock slipping through the mess between your legs. Those deft fingers ghosting over your skin.

“Watch her.” It’s the only warning he gives you before he bottoms out in one, deep thrust. That bruising grip you were fantasizing about finally rears its head, that firm feel of his fingers gripping your hips while he gives it to you exactly how you want it. 

Your head drops with the force of his thrusts—

“Eyes up baby, don’t make me tell you again.” He pants, voice clipped with authority, exertion and passion. 

“Yes daddy, yes, god yes.” Your whole body is on fire, the pleasure is so sharp, laser focused in that spot he’s hitting with every push in, but spreading like a wildfire through your veins, inching you closer and closer to that peak. Your head drops again.

“What did I say?” Your hands come off the table, one hand holds your throat and for a moment your heart races with something close to fear. 

“Daddy told you to keep—“ he thrusts harder, shoving the air out of your lungs and making your pussy weep rivers of arousal, “watching, the screen—“ two fingers hook into your mouth, pulling at your cheek. He holds you to him, caught, subdued. Dominated.

You come all over him, hard and sudden.

Your body tenses with the force of it, arching sharply, ass pressed against his groin, breasts jutting out, half standing, half bent over. Half moaning, half sobbing. 

“Oh I know, I know baby, so good huh? You gonna be my good girl and take this fucking cock until I come? You gonna take all of daddy’s come in that ruined little cunt?” He sounds frantic, animalistic. His fingers slip out of your mouth, dragging your spit across your chin, across your breast when he holds it. The girl on the screen laughs as she bounces on the man’s dick, flirting and teasing while your brain melts out through your ears, leaks out around Clint’s dick.

“Fuck, here it comes—“ you wince, feeling the way he grinds deeper, the warmth of his come, the humid pants against your neck. 

You try to catch your breath for a minute, he does too. Your whole body aches when he pulls out and lets you straighten your spine. There’s a dark thrill that lights you up from the inside at the feel of his load dripping out. 

“Give me a second and I’ll grab something to clean you up with.” Tender, soft, relaxed. He tilts your head back to press a soft kiss to your forehead before shutting off the tape, and walking over to his bathroom. There are scars on his back too, you can’t help but notice.

He's wearing a soft t shirt, and an old pair of sweats when he comes back. Gently, he wipes away the mess he made between your legs before slipping another one of his shirts over your head. It smells like his skin, like that tender spot behind his ear that smells like him and soap. Emotions swell within, an intensity, a vulnerability you can’t quite explain. You almost want to cry. 

Methodically, he opens your duffel and roots around for a clean pair of panties, slips them over your trembling legs as you silently fall apart. 

“Get cozy, I’m going to let Louis out, and then grab you some water.” He places another tender kiss on your forehead before walking away and again, the threat of tears lingers. 

By the time he comes back, by the time he presses the glass to your mouth they fall silently. He frowns, but you shake your head. 

“I’m sorry It’s not you, I don’t even know why I’m crying, it’s so stupid–” He tsks, puts the glass down and then settles back, pulling you half into his lap in the process. 

“It’s not stupid, and you have nothing to be sorry about. Happens sometimes.” He pulls you in, reassuring you with his tone, with his hands and his warmth.

You snuggle closer, bury your face into his neck. He’s so fucking solid, so warm. His big hand does a soothing sweep on your back, it melds the line between boyfriend and daddy, your face shoots up. 

“What’s wrong?” His other hand cups your cheek, “Oh god, you must be hungry, let me order a pizza–” he groans, his whole body tensing up to rise but your fingers grip onto him. “What is it baby?”

“Um. I just had a thought, maybe it’s dumb, or the wrong time to ask but, are you my boyfriend?” His eyebrows rise up into his hairline and immediately you want to backtrack. Leave it up to you to have the most amazing, mind-blowing sex of your life and top it off with crying and interrogating him. 

“Well–” He starts, but you don’t let him finish.

“Oh my god no, I’m sorry, forget I asked.” You bury your face into his shoulder again, clench your eyes together and let the embarrassment overflow like a broken levee.

“Enough with that, hey–no more saying sorry for asking questions or telling me how you feel. I’m not trying to dodge the question, or avoid the topic. You just caught me off guard is all.” He tilts your head up, presses a kiss to your lips. “I want to be with you, I want you in my life, preferably not secretly but I understand you not wanting to deal with your dad. I am happy to be your boyfriend, or partner, whatever you want to label it.” 

Your face heats, the whole of your body floods with warmth at the sound of those words. 

“I’ll tell him, I don’t want you to be a secret.” Your nose connects with the warm skin of his neck again, he smells so good you sigh. 

“We can do it together.” The sweep of his hand continues to work its magic as your heartbeat slows, comfortable, safe. Is this what it feels like to be loved? Is that too strong a word? Too fast?

“I think I should do it on my own, but thank you for wanting to be there with me.” He says nothing, only nods, presses his lips to your forehead.

-

The rest of the night was just as perfect as you’d hoped it’d be. He ordered pizza. You cuddled on the couch and watched other movies he’d rented, not that you’d actually paid attention to anything. Laughs and cuddles morphed into a soft makeout session, which then morphed again into a heavy makeout session. Soft sex on the couch. Longer, more intense sex in his bed. He laughed about needing to hydrate, teased you for being insatiable, made self-deprecating jokes about his age and keeping up with you. Your birth control was going to have to put in work. 

The morning finds you awake before he is. Louis meows softly at the door, no doubt hungry for breakfast. You knew where he kept the food, and so quietly and quickly, you crept out and fed him. 

Clint is still asleep when you slip back inside the room. He’s always the most relaxed right after he comes, but even that doesn’t hold a candle to how he looks while asleep. He looks a little younger, the lines in his face are a little less defined, that constant furrow in his brow is gone.

He shifts onto his back with a deep breath, settles, eyes still closed. Completely at ease. You study the freckles littered across his neck and shoulders. Your finger absentmindedly follows each little silvery scar you come across. Theories, or more accurate still–your own imagination fills in a little story for each one. A scratch from Louis, a cut from the sharp chef's knife in his kitchen, a fight. The scar on his nose is the hardest to rationalize, so you don’t even try. 

His chest rises and falls with each even breath, a sparse little patch of hair, soft under your fingers when you trace them down from between his pecs. The sheet covers his belly, you move it out of the way to continue your soft exploration. A darker happy trail leads down from his bellybutton, towards his groin, ending in the darkest patch at the base of his cock. 

You let out a sigh at the sight of it. It’s half hard, resting against the junction between his torso and his thigh. There’s an intimidation that grips your chest in regards to this part of him. He easily has the biggest dick amongst all of the guys you’ve been with. Thick and slightly curved, a prominent vein that makes your head buzz. In the short time you’ve been together you’ve slept with him a handful of times, he’s gone down on you, seen every inch of you but this is the first time you’ve come face to face with it, so to speak. 

Despite being naked, despite having wiped the trickle of his come away every time you’ve used the bathroom, you somehow feel almost shy. His eyes are still closed when you shimmy closer. Your stomach jumps when you get really close. Slowly, tentatively, you run your tongue across the head. The nervous flutter in your belly is still there, but it’s tempered with how his cock twitches, you take a hold of it loosely and continue. 

He lets out a soft sigh, half asleep, half dreaming while you let your saliva pool and drip onto the head. It’s an unhurried exploration, a slippery kiss of the shaft, a tentative lick from root to tip until it’s swollen and hard within the soft grip of your palm. The intimidation swells along with his cock in your hand, your heart races at the size of it, your cunt leaks.

He wakes up while you’re licking at his balls. 

“What are you doing down there, Princess?” He smiles, his voice deep and morning-raspy. 

You smile, responding with another kiss at the tip. It’s slick with your saliva, slipping through your grip with ease. His hand finds your throat, long, thick fingers curling around your neck when you take him deeper. There’s no pressure in his grip, only a gentle encouragement, a reminder of his strength. You moan onto him, take him deep until he hits the back of your throat, until your nose presses against his groin. He smells like himself only deeper, earthier. Clean. Masculine.

“Good Christ, baby–” The fucked out tone of his voice only motivates you to swallow around the tip, pull out all the stops, make him moan just how he makes you do. His thumb presses only slightly into the base of your throat–how can those hands ever hurt anyone? How can the thought of that strength turn you on so much?

“Fuck, that’s it Princess, swallow daddy’s cock.” He breathes, his other hand caresses your cheek. Up and down you bob, stroking his shaft while you suck, twisting your wrist on the down stroke. 

“You’re gonna make daddy come, you want that pretty baby? You want daddy to come in that pretty mouth?” You pull away to let more saliva drip out onto your fist, moan a yes daddy, smile at the way he looks at you before dipping down to lick at his balls again. 

“That’s my good girl, go on then.” He guides himself back into your mouth, the hand at your neck tightens a fraction, enough to make your cunt clench although deep down you know it really shouldn’t. 

You focus, suck the head and stroke, twist your wrist and let him touch your throat with every bob. Steady rhythm, firm, wet grip, an aching jaw and determination pay off, and within a few minutes he’s panting; hips moving, balls tightening. 

“Fuck, yes baby, yes baby, oh fuck, I’m coming–” He floods your mouth with a deep groan, hissing when you squeeze his balls softly and swallow every salty drop. 

He drops onto his back, pulling you up with him. Your jaw aches, and another sort of shyness creeps in while he takes deep breaths. There’s a need for approval that threads like a network of veins that connects with your nervous system. The longer he stays quiet, the longer he lays there, the more the need grows. A wholly independent hunger that claws at you, separate from the overwhelming desire for him to love you with his body. 

“Was I good?” Your head settles onto his shoulder lightly, muscles tightly wound, barely letting yourself fully rest onto him.

“Pretty baby, you were more than good.” He pulls you closer, sighing into the kiss he presses to your mouth. Your neck relaxes, all of you does, his reassurance is the relaxant, the special sauce that lets you loosen up.

“That’s one hell of a way to wake up.” He laughs, hugging you tighter, he’s just as loose as you feel. His heavy arms are comforting, his mouth at your neck feels like a light somewhere deep inside has been turned back on. When had it been shut off? Was it even there at all before him?

“My turn.” His voice carries the smile, fills your heart to bursting with it.

-

Anxiety creeps in, just as his car creeps down your street. It’s a heavy weight that keeps your mouth shut, clenches your jaw tightly at the thought of just how differently the light shines through your windows, as opposed to his. 

“You okay?” He presses the back of your hand to his mouth. 

“Yes.” You give him a tight smile, he raises his eyebrows. 

“You sure?” His big hand squeezes yours hard enough to warm you up from the inside. 

“No.” You huff out a breath, sinking further into your seat. 

“I don’t want to go home, I don’t want to see my dad, I don’t want to go to work, I just want to hang out with you and Louis all day.” Heat floods your face at the confession. It's unrealistic, obviously. You know he…well, you know he’s out making money. 

“I would love that. Can you take a few days off in a couple weeks? I’ll rework some stuff, give you my undivided attention, or at least as much as Louis will let me.” He laughs, and suddenly you feel lighter. The thought of being sequestered up in his apartment, a Princess in her tower, only she’s already been rescued.

“That sounds amazing, I’ll talk to my boss.” You scoot over, burying your face into his neck before pulling his face towards you. He lets you kiss him for a few seconds before facing the road again. 

Your house dims some of the light he’s lit inside, but the thought of a tiny vacation with him keeps it on. 

He carries your bag in one hand, holds onto your shoulder with the other as you step through the doors of your house. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Your dad speaks, his tone cuts through the quiet–your stomach drops to see his expression change, his eyes flit between Clint and you, realization dawns. Clint takes a deep breath. 

“Dad–”

“So this is where you’ve been? This is why you’ve been distracted, not taking extra shifts at the store, head in the fucking clouds. You acting out like a teenager? Trying to get my attention by fucking around with my business?” 

You scoff at him, this was not how you wanted him to find out. 

“Acting out? I’m an adult. I haven’t been taking extra shifts because I don’t want to, it has nothing to do with your business.” You shake your head, part of you always knew it would be difficult for him to accept this. 

“Don’t give me that, I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing? Living my life? Dating someone who treats me well?” It’s not fair how he can strip you of your good mood so easily, how quickly he can corrupt your happiness without even trying. The cruel judgement in his eyes shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does. It almost makes you want to laugh, how unsupportive, how selfish he’s always been.

“Just like your fucking mother–” It’s a smack across the face without ever having to lift a finger.

“Hey!” Clint’s voice shocks him for a moment, the warning tone of it, “Cool it. Don’t speak to her that way.” His shoulders are square, part of you preens, revels in his protection. 

“Do me a favour and stay the fuck out of it, she’s my daughter and I’ll speak to her however I want. If she wants to go around acting like a fucking slut then I’ll call her a–” He doesn’t finish his sentence. The sting of his words, of his insults don’t feel like anything compared to the shock of seeing Clint’s fist connect with your fathers face. 

Time slows down, a slow motion shot of your dad falling back, of Clint rushing him. Wordlessly, calmly, animalistically, Clint’s fist pummels. Blood splatters, bones crunch, watery gurgles shake you from your frozen state. Your heart races, your stomach drops to the floor, time moves at its normal speed and your feet bring you to them.

“Stop! Please!” You pull at his shoulder, yank him away from where he beats your father into the ground. With shaking hands, you shove him towards the door. “Go! You need to leave!” 

He seems almost drunk while he stumbles back, confused and disoriented. You cannot help the tears, you cannot help the fear of what might happen and so you push him, get him away from your father before he kills him. He cannot be here, he needs to go, he needs to get away before the police are called, before he’s taken away from you. That image of him in his bed with you this morning flashes, something in his eyes, something you have to shut away for now.

“Go!” You sob at him again, closing the door in his face to deal with the damage.

---

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[ihavenointerestinreallife]

filming a sex tape w/ homie… :3 not beta read. enjoy anyways 18+ mdni

—

It was 12:23 AM, most of America was sleeping, or at the very least settling down. But not you, you were wide awake, and definitely not your Supe boyfriend.

Your nimble fingers worked urgently to get the shitty, grainy laptop webcam to be at the perfect angle. You grasped the laptop monitor with a sense of haste, undertones of anxiousness not going unnoticed by your partner standing a few inches away. Homelander watched you perform your intended execution; find the best angle to record a sex tape.

His arms were folded over his chest, as if he were a child being denied. “Is this really necessary babe? I mean, cmon, it’s not like anyone is gonna watch it.” He stated matter-of-factly, his eyes devoid of any emotion. But you knew he wanted this from how he acted the day leading up to the act; more touchy, more possessive– as if the knowledge of what was to come heightened a sense of ownership over you.

Any disinterest he showed in this moment you knew was fabricated. Being a Supe yourself you had heightened senses, and the sweat dripping down his forehead coupled with his rapid heartbeat made you blatantly aware of his want, his need to be so intimately claimed by you.

You plopped yourself on Homelander’s black leather couch to see the view of yourself in the webcam. “God, with how rich this company is, you'd think they could afford technology with better quality than this shit.” You rolled your eyes while checking yourself out, flipping your hair to the back to get a good view of your clothed breasts.

Once again Homelander scoffed at your actions, this time at you caressing your own breasts– especially now that your peaked nipples were so painfully obvious to him. “I thought this was supposed to be our sex tape, not yours.” He grabbed your body with ease, not setting you down until he was seated in your previously occupied position, and you in his lap.

“You’re right babe, this camera angle does suck,” he paused, moving your hair from one side to the other to begin peppering kisses down your neck. “Barely fits us both, which is crazy considering how fucking small you are.” Homelander shuffled forward, unintentionally teasing himself in the process when his semi-hard on rubbed against your clothed crotch. He reached in front of you to angle the monitor up to a point where it caught a glimpse of both of you– your lightly flushed face and his eyes dark with need.

His fingers danced up and down your arm, slowly creating goosebumps in their wake. “When you asked me to do this the other day, I thought you were fucking crazy,” he said, huffing out a small laugh against your shoulder blade. “But now I know I was the crazy one for not thinking of it sooner.”

His earnest tone made you release a small whimper of need, forged from the desire to be wanted even more by him. Homelander let out yet another chuckle against your back, this time adjusting to where he was sitting up straight and you sliding further down his lap.

“You know,” you began, pausing to bite your lip to suppress another whimper when he began rubbing your thigh, “Ashley is gonna kill us if this gets out..”

He pulled back, scoffing with what you couldn’t tell was actual annoyance or not. His blue eyes, now tinted with a shade of black from his blown pupils, bore deep into yours on the screen– you thought your heart was going to explode out of your chest. Homelander’s eyes trailed down after a moment, beginning to rub your thigh again. “Fuck Ashley,” his eyes snapping back up to meet yours in the computer screen, “and fuck everyone else that isn’t you and I.”

Truthfully you were ready to start recording ten minutes ago, but now your hands inadvertently rushed to hit the record button, earning a small smothered laugh from your partner. “Oh baby, you really are desperate aren’t you.” Homelander said with a newfound deep, husky tone– he was a natural.

As if he could sense your rapid heartbeat, he took control to save you the trouble. His gloved hands maneuvered your body to twist in a somewhat uncomfortable way, but it became worth it when your lips locked. The two of you collided like animals, teeth almost clanging together from how bad you wanted the other; but truthfully, you both needed each other– in more ways than one.

Whimpers and muffled moans spawned from your throats, you sang together as if you were doing a duet you’d done a hundred times. Sex with Homelander was passionate; rough when needed, but always creating a sense of bliss whenever you both came together. The two of you had an unspoken dynamic, something you shared about who controlled the power during these moments; it was a matter of whoever grasped that power first, and it seemed he had this time.

Homelander forced himself to take his lips off of yours by pulling your hair, forcing you off as if he couldn’t bring himself to do it alone. “Face the camera honey, don’t be greedy. Show ‘em how sweet you are to me.” He doted, rubbing your cheek as he faced you back towards the camera.

When you hadn’t moved after a moment, he let out a low grumble that resembled a growl. His fingers pulled on the hem of your shirt, beginning to tear it in half before you grabbed it from his grasp and pulled what remained of it off. “That’s a good girl,” he praised you, fingers teasing your pebbled nipples through the lace material of your bra.

He leaned back against the couch– slightly out of the camera's view– to admire the set you wore for this occasion. You felt his cock grow under the confinement of his suit as he realized the colors resembled that of his own personal brand: red white and blue. Fuck, he thought, hand rubbing up and down the exposed skin of your sides, drinking in the view in front of him like he couldn’t get enough.

“Ladies and gentleman, America’s favorite whore.” He bestowed that title on you as if it were a royal position, then sitting up and wasting no time unclasping your bra as if it were a lock hiding buried treasure.

He continued addressing the nonexistent crowd– one that would hopefully never exist– as he kept his eyes on you. “I don’t know why she insists on wearing this unnecessary thing all the time, a slut like her should always be ready for me. Isn’t that right sweetheart?”

You were in a daze, staring at Homelander’s face on the screen– it seemed as if the only thing keeping you from zoning out was the flashing red button that signified the ongoing recording. Homelander got tired of waiting though, despite how stupidly cute he thought you looked, and he grabbed your jaw with his glove; an act he knew you loved.

“I asked you a question,” he flashed his canines to the camera, “and I intend on getting an answer.” He especially knew you loved when he was mean.

You spoke for the first time since the camera began recording, finally setting it in stone that it truly was America’s most beloved Supe couple about to have raw, unedited sex right on camera. “Mhm, fuck,” Homelander hooked his thumb in your mouth, a taste of rubber flooding your tastebuds as you desperately tried to suck it, “‘m such a slut for Homelander..”

Homelander’s free hand palmed your left breast in response, the other still held in your mouth because he just knew it was causing a pool down in your panties. And he’d be right, like always; you’d be a fool to think he didn’t know your body better than you did.

You began to grind slowly on his lap, careful not to set too fast of a pace, lest he deem you too greedy and halt your movements altogether. Homelander wasn’t an idiot; he could feel your slow movements whether you tried to hide it or not– and your erratic heartbeat was a dead giveaway, anyways. But he didn’t mind– instead, his hand occupying your breast came down to roughly grip your thigh, urging your movements to gain speed.

And you did just that, gasping whenever your clit rubbed against his equally needy cock. You knew that your boyfriend’s superhuman strength would be the cause of the bruises that would appear on your legs soon, but you didn’t care– in fact you loved when he would mark you up and make you his, you craved ownership just as much as he did.

“Look at you,” Homelander vocalized as if he were singing a song to you like a bird. His right arm came down, taking his thumb with it, and pulled you flush against his chest. His eyes met yours for a brief moment as your bodies collided before turning back to the camera, “getting my suit all wet, humping like a bitch in heat– some might say she wants to be watched.”

You let out a loud moan at his words, choosing an even faster pace than the one you went at before. Homelander stopped speaking, instead choosing to sit in silence and drink in the sounds you gave him. He could tell you were getting close from how desperately you began to grind in his lap, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn’t getting close to that point himself.

Both your eyes and his met again, longer than just a brief moment this time. He held you there without a word– you knew that he was forcing eye contact with you and breaking it would result in a punishment. “I know how bad you wanna cum on my lap,” Homelander took pride in the fact that he could get you off practically without touching you, all he had to do was maneuver his hips into a perfect angle that could grind against you until couldn’t take it anymore. “I know baby, I know- but we’ve got an audience to impress.”

He gave you no time to react to the fact he was unbuckling the golden belt that hung around his waist, having to arch your back in order to act with one hand; his other was busy forcing you in place by a rough grip to the shoulder. Despite your attempts to look back over your shoulder and watch the way he prepped himself to fuck you, it was to no avail. “Keep your eyes forward, honey.”

You threw your head back in a fit as if you were a child being told no. A small whine of impatience slipped out, earning you another breathy chuckle from Homelander. He gave your attitude no attention, instead rubbing small circles on the flesh of your ass, creeping closer to the lingerie seemingly vomited on by American patriotism. Fuck, he thought– this time expressing it aloud. It was in these moments you felt your relationship with your Supe boyfriend become the most aflame; his possession, need and want to claim you whole. You wouldn’t be surprised if he devoured you one day.

Homelander’s fingers, still gloved, slowly moved the lacey material of your panties to the side. One hand rubbed teasingly up and down your soaked slit, the other jerked his cock slowly– not only was teasing you, but he was teasing himself. “Look at the camera, sweetheart, I want you to tell them why you think Homelander should give you his cock.”

It was an interesting request, the man spoke as if he really was convinced this would get out. “H-homelander should– fuck,” you were cut off by the tip of his finger shoving its way inside you– not all the way, but just enough to make you ride it as if it were the best thing you’ve ever felt. Clearing your throat, you continued, “Homelander should give me his cock cause I’m his good girl, his good slut.”

Your response must’ve satisfied him based on how he picked you up as if you weighed nothing and turned you to face him. He wasted no time maneuvering your body to an angle in which the camera could watch his cock slip inside achingly slow, his head falling back against the couch in pleasure. You both let out loud moans in responses as if you were teenagers again, lost in the feeling of the first time.

Once sheathed fully inside your cunt, he waited til the first pulse of your walls to begin moving. Homelander’s hands gripped the fat of your hips and moved you himself, not giving you a chance to contribute to move on your own. He was groaning– growling even at that point, you knew his possession of you peaked during these moments; it was a high.

“Look at the way your pussy grips my cock, like she was fucking made for it.” His eyes met yours, now ignoring the audience that never existed in the first place. “Maybe you were made for it baby, what do you think? Not made to receive Compound V, no– not even to save the world.” His pace began to increase, the sound of skin on skin echoing through his large penthouse. “Just made to sit pretty and take it.”

Homelander licked his lips, thumbs rubbing circles to make up for the rough grip he had. The movements of his arms had you bouncing up and down on his lap, and his eyes were fixated on where your cunt swallowed his cock– it was like where the ocean met the sky, a renowned beauty. You knew he was obsessed with how he’d trained your body to act under his command, something he didn’t even have to try to do. It came easily, being Homelander’s.

His hand gripped the base of his cock and pulled it out achingly slow, earning a whine from you in response. He clicked his tongue at your obvious need. “Turn around, angel,” he commanded. You were quick to oblige him, flipping to have your back flush against his chest in a flash– you loved being a Supe. His hands rubbed on your sides, and you could feel the heat from his body radiating through his suit on your back.

Homelander flashed a smile at you on the screen, to which you smiled back. He kept your eyes there, fixated on the sight of his messy appearance as he slid back inside you. He watched on the monitor as your mouth went agape, but all he did was laugh; he mocked you– eyes wide, lips open and an overly exaggerated moan. To anyone it might have spawned embarrassment– but it only stirred you on, made you moan again.

That must’ve ignited some nasty, primal urge in him; the fact you got off on him lowering you to stare of inferiority, the way your half lidded eyes locked on to the sight portrayed on the screen. He made sure to show the camera each and every time your cunt swallowed his cock full. Homelander felt so full of himself here, he basked in the knowledge you were addicted to the feeling only he could give you.

His gloved hand wrapped around your throat, sparking you to grind your hips faster on his lap in an attempt to reach your peak. Nothing but a gentleman, Homelander was set on always making you cum before himself. Of course, there were times he failed– he blamed it on the fact your pussy was just too made for him– but he paid it back tenfold, giving you as many orgasms as you could take.

But at the end of the day he was human, too, and you could both tell you were getting close. “Cmon baby, fuck, I know you’re getting close, I need you to show ‘em how you cum on my cock.” He panted out, expression now seemingly dazed too at the way you tighten when he squeezes your throat. You loved watching black spots dance in your vision, a stark contrast between the abundance of pleasure you were receiving.

You nodded. “Yes, let me show them,” you choked out with all the air still left in your lungs. Your ears began to ring, blood trying its hardest to keep you conscious but alerting you to its incoming failure.

Sensing your impending asphyxiation, he let go– but Homelander had no intention of giving his girlfriend time to bask in the new air now swarming in your lungs, instead bringing that same hand down to rub harsh figure eights on your puffy, swollen clit. It was almost as if he was in a rush to get you to cum, knowing the new sensation would bring you to that place.

And he was right, your head fell back on his shoulder as your body shook upon your orgasm. He fucked you roughly through it, hips still snapping at the same pace as your evident release began to coat the fabric of his suit. Your shaking hands found their way onto his cheek, moving your head slightly to the side in order to pull his lips to your own. It felt like grabbing a table to avoid falling, he was your hold.

The kiss kept going while he finished inside you. His hips slowly began to stammer, only stopping completely when both of you whined in oversensitivity. Instead of slipping out, Homelander kept you locked in a kiss, only breaking it to touch foreheads with you– a silent way of asking if you were okay. You’d nod, smiling.

He’d pull away after a few moments, turning his attention back to the screen as if he’d just remembered it was going. “Well folks, I hate to cut it short but I’ve got to go fuck Miss America– again,” he spoke as if he were a goddamn talk show host. “But this time all for myself.”

You giggled, burying your face into his neck as he stopped the recording. Of course, you knew Homelander wasn’t bluffing, he never lied about when and where he’d fuck you. After taking you once again on the couch, he’d take you in his bed– once, twice, until you both fall asleep.

A nice slumber, your naked, sore body wrapped in the sheets with his. The room smelled of sweat and sex, but you loved it. You’d even argue the sleep afterwards was the best part of it all…

…until a frazzled redhead practically beats the door of Homelander’s penthouse down, screaming about how your naked bodies are now plastered online. Oops.

—

i need God

[prosypepper]

“matte black” with toji fushiguro

word count: 1.4k

warnings: nsfw, ghostface! toji, roleplay, dubcon (it's planned out beforehand), gunplay, like lots of gunplay, knifeplay + cutting off clothes, unprotected p in v, backshots, a little crying, toji tries to scare you but it doesn't work out how he thinks. (18+ mdni!)

notes: hi guyssss tysm for 500 hunnid followers :3 i appriciate u all!!!!

kinktober masterlist | masterlist

“i mean, really, who makes you work late on halloween?”

your complaints to your friend are barely heard, as she’s busy on the other line doing something with her boyfriend. but really, who makes you work late on halloween? okay, yeah, you’re an adult, but everyone with kids at your job got to go home at a reasonable time, so why were you just now getting home at nearly midnight?

and as you still ramble on about your shitty job, something lurks around your apartment. maybe it was all the halloween decorations you saw, or the feeling of the night itself, but you can’t seem to shake the feeling of something being around you.

that’s why you called your friend in the first place, though you were too scared to admit it..

“hang up the phone.”

the voice that speaks to you is right in your ear, yet you feel no one around you. it’s dark, raspy, scary. probably anyone’s worst nightmare on the night of halloween.

“hang up.”

you freeze in terror, even more so when you come to the realization of the cold barrel pressed against your temple. the friend that had been forgotten on the other end of the line hangs up when you don’t reply to her statement. and you think, just for a second, you are absolutely fucked.

“please don’t—,” you try to plead, and a hand comes over your mouth. cool leather presses against your face, whoever’s hand this is has to be absolutely huge.

“no talking, i’ll tape your mouth shut.” he threatens, his tone dangerous and intimidating.

but also, weirdly hot. there’s a fever coming over your body and a mix of feelings, and you aren’t sure if you’re more scared or turned on. you close your eyes and nod your head, a single tear rolling down your cheek to meet his glove. keeping your mouth covered, the man wraps his free arm around you, dragging you away to your couch. he throws you down, allowing himself to come into your view.

your suspicions are correct, he is big, a huge frame of nothing but muscles. your eyes trail up, seeing his baggy black pants, and the black short sleeve shirt encasing his broad shoulders. and, like any of those scary movies you watched, a ghostface mask sits atop his build, matte black eyes and mouth staring into the depths of your very being.

but even as frightened as you may be, you know exactly who’s below that scary costume, especially with that infamous gun tucked sloppily into the front pocket of his pants. but you decide to play along for now. your wet eyelashes flutter as you look into the empty eyes of the mask, coyly egging toji on to continue his terrifying persona.

“strip.” toji commands, grabbing the pistol out of his pocket and showing off the shiny metal. (it’s the same one you gifted him for your one year anniversary, with his initials engraved on the side and a cool design, but you ignore it.)

“but—,”

“i said, strip.” and once again, the cool steel makes contact with you, right in the middle of your forehead. he’s all too quick with his movements.

your somewhat trembling fingers make way to the top button of your blouse, hastily and frantically trying to unbutton your shirt. unfortunately, you take too long for toji’s liking, and unfortunately, he just has to pull out the shiny knife he had kept in his boot, adorned with a matte black handle. toji urges you back with the tip of the gun, and your back lands against the soft cushions of your couch, the knife is already ripping through the thin fabric of your shirt, cutting through the thin piece that held the cups of your bra together. your arms flail up in an attempt to cover yourself.

“aht, don’t move.”

the muzzle presses up against your chin, facing you away from him and from your body. thickly swallowing, you stare up at the ceiling and allow toji to do what he wanted to. when you look down, the mask is cut off by the round of your cheek, but toji’s obviously focused elsewhere as he saws through the denim material of your jeans.

“toji! these are—!” you try to get him to have some decency and unbutton your pants, but the muzzle only presses harder. it shuts you up, and the remaining parts of your jeans are shredded off, piece by piece, agonizingly slow. next to come off is your panties, a sharp riiip shooting through the air as the cold blade tears the cotton. the surrounding coolness of your home hits your sopping cunt. beneath the mask, toji grins.

“nasty girl,” toji spits, “you’re really getting’ off on this, huh?” the muzzle presses against your chin harder for only a second, before toji contorts you into his liking. he rips the gun away and flips your body over, bending you over the arm of the couch. you smile to yourself in the compromised position, at toji’s mercy, just how the both of you liked.

toji unbuckles the belt threaded through the loops on his cargos, removing it in one tug and throwing it somewhere on the floor. ears perking up at the clatter, you lift your head to try and look back at toji, and the mask stares coldly at you in return. there’s no emotion in a mask. he tugs the thick fabric of his pants down and his boxers at the same time, allowing his fully hardened cock to spring free of it’s confines. thick fingers prod against your entrance, sliding around in your slickened folds to halfway prep you for toji’s cock.

toji’s soft, rounded tip kisses your awaiting opening, barely teasing the weeping hole that was so ready for him. he slides in with ease, burying himself until his pubic hairs scratched the skin of your ass. unrelenting. you lewdly moan out, filling the once silent air with the sounds of your pleasure. it’s getting too hot too quick—toji notices how into all this you seem, even through the dark eyeholes of the mask. though his vision is blocked off halfway, he sees you fucking back into his slow pace, the wet sloshing of your cunt bringing utmost satisfaction to toji. and he stills. he gets an idea.

“fuck me, baby,” toji commands, dark and rough.

“toji,” you whine, doing the bare minimum to move yourself back onto him.

“like you want it,” his voice gets meaner, and he rips the mask off his face to get a better view. toji’s hand wraps around your hair just enough to force your head up, “c’mon, now.”

you grumble to yourself in dissatisfaction, but do as he says, moving your hips back to force his length back inside you. it stretches past each gummy ring, poking at your g-spot effortlessly. you hated him for how easily he made you feel like this, horny and so pleasured, as if his ego needed any more boosting.

toji rips the mask off his face, displeased with his limited viewing area. and boy does that stupid grin get ridiculously wider when you begin to slap your ass against him faster, holding yourself up with the help of his hand holding your hair. his cock splits you open, each inch going in and out becoming increasingly overwhelming. your mind is blank, only filled with the noises of your own pleasure and the big, strong, scary man fucking you.

“yeahhh,” he drawls, grunting as you force yourself back on him harder, “c’mere, babe.”

you try to lift yourself up for him more, yet your body falls limp when toji begins hammering into you without remorse. so, of course, he takes it upon himself to wrap an arm around your shoulders and lift you up, pressing your back into his chest. your body bounces in tune with his thrusts, arms switching between flailing around and grasping for toji. his other free hand wraps around your jaw to turn your head, his rough lips sloppily meeting yours.

even through all this, toji always finds a way to show you intimacy.

but really, he’s just found a few more of your weaknesses he’s going to exploit until you can’t take it anymore. a little fucked up of him, yeah, but toji knows you can take it. especially with the way your body melts into him so naturally, putting yourself at his disposal.

“don’t get tired now, doll,” he groans against your ear,

“we’re just gettin’ started.”

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

❤ Yandere Criminal ❤

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

WARNINGS: Kidnapping.

Little gift for the New Year! Hope you guys like it :)

--

◾ Yandere!Criminal whose specialty is small robberies of convenience stores and bodegas, nothing that goes beyond that.

That also means that money is tight, it’s hard enough to cover for the insanely high rent, let alone cover for monthly groceries, water and electricity bills.

◾ Yandere!Criminal who’s fucking tired of sitting in his dark shitty apartment, smoking a blunt in hopes of deceiving the hunger that rumbles in his stomach. 

He lays back on his second-hand couch, eyes following the gray ropes of smoke that ascend from his lips, mind racing on every possible way of making money fast.

His rent is due in a week and his fridge is desolately empty, aside from a bottle of water. 

◾ Yandere!Criminal who gets restless and in the spur of the moment, decides to head out on a walk around his block. Maybe that’ll give him some ideas or distract him from the ache in his stomach. 

◾ Yandere!Criminal barely takes a few steps into the street when he sees you. 

A pretty girl walking down the street, eyes nervously darting towards every shadow that moves. 

What are you doing out in the dark street at such hours?

It’s way past midnight, as the old watch in his wrist tells him. That’s not time for a girl like you to be out, especially not his neighborhood at least.

You’re lucky that no one has approached you yet or you wouldn’t be looking so damn cute right now. 

◾ Yandere!Criminal whose interest is spiked when he notices the clothes you’re wearing under the dim moonlight.

The short dress only long enough to cover your ass, the high stiletto heels clicking on the dirty floor at each step you take. 

You’re looking like a serious sex-bomb in those clothes, despite the scaredy expression covering your dolled-up face. 

But a second look at your body has him squinting his eyes, brain engines rolling as he examines your outfit.

Is that a fucking Prada cocktail dress? And the heels that you’re wearing Louboutins? The fancy purse, a Channel limited edition? It’s got to be daddy’s money, cause that face of yours isn’t giving smart vibes.

◾ Yandere!Criminal who instantly knows this is destiny.

You were sent to him for a reason. And the reason is that you’re his new bank account. 

You have to be, otherwise it would’ve been some disgusting scumbag to find you first. 

He wastes no time in reaching out for you. He knows he’s not bad looking, high-cheekbones and lustrous dark hair. Hopefully that works in his favor. 

And it certainly does, a kind expression on his face as he offers you help. You immediately accept - so fucking naive, you poor dumb thing - immediately blabbering that your phone lost battery and that you’re sooo late to his super-chick party whose address you’re not entirely sure of. 

◾ Yandere!Criminal who nods, pretending to understand all your issues. Slapping his face as he remembers that - oh, yeah, he kinda forgot his phone in his apartment. Maybe you’d want to come with him while he grabs it?

It’s not safe for you to be out here, on your own. Dangerous neighborhood and all of that.

And you follow him right away, like a lost duckling. It’s so easy, a smirk creeping on his face when you enter his apartment.  

◾ Yandere!Criminal who instantly pounces on you, dragging you by the hair to his bedroom, a new found adrenaline running down his body.

You shriek and cry out loudly so he’s forced to push some old cloths on your mouth, using duct tape.

Honestly, he’s not even that worried about you getting away cause you’re barely able to put any fight. You’re a weak little thing, aren’t you?

◾ Yandere!Criminal who only waits a day before contacting mommy and daddy, demanding a good amount of green for them to be able to retrieve you.

He thinks a lot about how’s it gonna play out, creating a plan that sounds pretty much bullet-proof.

He gets easily distracted by you, eyes greedily running over your body. The dress doing even less to cover you in the daytime light, the make-up smudged and half-disappearing, revealing a younger – cuter – face.

You’re relatively obedient too, toning down your hysterical cries after he harshly yelled at you. He could bet that if he put on a mean face and threatened you, you’d probably suck him off. 

◾ Yandere!Criminal who finally gets his money, a large grin opening up in his face as he receives the cash. More than enough for him to move into a fancy mansion on a private neighborhood and retire for the rest of his days. 

No more stealing, no more spending his days worried about rent or food. Now he can finally sip on a freshly-made margarita and relax by the infinity-pool of his new house, the sunny rays hitting his toned skin. 

Maybe after he’s done with his drink, he’ll go pay you a visit. You’re still adapting to your new house - and him, hence why he’s keeping you in a tight leash (literally). 

Now you’re all his. His little ATM.

[tinyraptorhands]

Pro Hero, Pro Mama, No Problem pt. 7

(TW; breastfeeding, Mineta being Mineta. Special message in honor of mother's day at the end.)

"If it isn't the Bakugo clan!" Kirishima greeted you three with his famous sharp smile, patting Katsuki on the back. "And here's the tiny baby Bakugo!!" He grinned, Katsumi looking up at him curiously. "Could I hold her?" He looked to you first, then Katsuki. Katsuki looked to you.

"Oh, uh, yeah-" you said, but suddenly Katsuki cut you off.

"Wash your damn hands first!" Katsuki barked, holding Katsumi tighter. You blinked up at him, and Kirishima nodded quickly.

"Ah, yeah, 'course! My bad!" He gestured for you all to come in. As you both slipped off your shoes in the genkan, you heard more chatter coming from inside. The smells of pizza and fried foods hit your nose, and some soft rock was playing in the background.

It felt like back when you all would get together. You had to drag Katsuki to come to these kinds of things.

Now it was the other way around.

"(Y/n)! Omigod, you're here and-" Mina stopped dead in her tracks. She zeroed in on Katsumi. "Oh. My. God."

Katsumi burbled, her head leaning against Katsuki's shoulder. "Not. A word. Raccoon eyes." He huffed. Mina looked like she was holding in a scream. A scream of pure, cute aggression induced glee.

She wasn't the only one.

When the three of you moved into the living area, the girls gathered around you.

"Oh my goooosh!" Hagakure gestured wildly, Katsumi's red eyes looked at the seemingly dancing clothes in front of her. Her eyes then landed on Jiro, who looked like she was holding in a squeal of her own, her usually calm face replaced with a wobbling grin. Momo had stopped helping serve tea, bee-lining for Katsuki-or rather, Katsumi and Ochaco was waving a little stuffed Deku in front her.

"Oooh, hewwo Katsumi chaaaan~!" Ochaco cooed. Katsumi's eyes looked over at her. And of course, she immediately latched onto the Deku doll.

"Oi, don't grab it, brat!" Katsuki said, his voice not really reprimanding.

"Oh, it's fine! It's for her anyways!" Ochaco said. Katsuki huffed.

"Really?? A Deku doll??" He grumbled, and Katsumi began to gnaw on the felt fabric of the Deku doll's hair.

"Told you he'd complain, ribbit." Tsuyu came up to the group, and smiled. "Hello, little Katsumi chan."

Katsumi continued to chew on the doll. You smiled gratefully at them all. "Sorry, she's teething at the moment." You explained.

You both suddenly flinched at the sound of things being knocked into, and a curse or two. But then...

"Okay! I'm ready!!" Kirishima came back, and you and Katsuki turned...

Only to see him with elbow length rubber dish gloves, with pillows taped to his body, and a medical face mask.

"...Shitty Hair. What the hell are you wearing?" Katsuki deadpanned. You held in a laugh.

"Baby safety, dude!" Kaminari came up from behind him, in similar garb. "We figured we should be as clean and safe as possible!"

"And now my elbows hurt!" Sero called out from the kitchen. "I tried telling the four of them they were going overboard!"

"Four?" You and Katsuki echoed, and sure enough, Todoroki and Iida came walking in from the kitchen.

"We're ready." Todoroki said, a serious look not at all matching the weird get-up he donned.

"Indeed! Proper baby handling is a no-brainer! And we're being extra cautious! Don't worry you two!" Iida clapped his hands on both you and Katsuki's shoulders, "we'll be careful when holding our neice!"

Katsuki balked, then blurted, "N-neice!? Oi, who said anything about-"

You hushed him with an elbow to the ribs, making him grunt. "While we appreciate your...uhm...efforts, you only really need to wash your hands..." you stated. You could hear the girls giggling in the background, and Jiro sighing heavily.

"I tried telling them that," Sero came in, still rubbing his elbows. "But noooo, they had to be extra about it."

"So...Can we hold her now!?" Kirishima looked starry-eyed. You and Katsuki exchanged a look.

"How about you loose all that crap, and you can hold her for as long as you want, Red." Katsuki said, and looked to the other three. "That goes for you three, too."

"Are you absolutely sure-" you both cut Iida off.

"Definitely." You both said.

Kirishima looked like he was holding a live bomb, his arms extended away from him. He was sitting on the couch with you, Katsuki and Midoriya-the latter looking a little pensive since he got here. "Oh God." Kirishima stared at her. "Its like I'm being judged by a baby Bakugo."

You chuckled, taking the tea offered by Momo. "Its okay, just hold her up to your chest, like how Katsuki was holding her..."

As Kirishima maneuvered her, Katsumi's eyes blinked wondorously at his hair.

"Aah..." she cooed, the girls all in the room melting at her noise. Katsumi began to fist his hair, making grabbing motions. You inwardly winced when you heard the crunch of product in his hair, hoping Katsumi wouldn't get any in her mouth.

Kirishima looked at her. "Damn, dude..." he turned to Katsuki. "Shes beautiful." His eyes were watering. Katsuki smirked.

"Tell me somethin' I don't know." Katsuki said proudly, sipping on a beer. You chuckled.

You smiled as a few photos were taken, and soon Katsumi was being passed around, the kitchen sink getting a workout in hand washing.

Everyone had gotten their turn, and then some.

Except...

"Hey, Mineta!" Kaminari, who was bouncing Katsumi in his arms looked over at the uninterested grape hero; "don't you wanna hold your neice??"

"Hell no!" Both Mineta and Katsuki said. Then Mineta looked at Katsuki, offended. "Wait! What's your deal!? Why can't I? Not that I want to-"

"Because you're a creep. No amount of hand washing or visiting a soapland weekly is gonna wash your gross away." Katsuki stated, taking Katsumi out of Kaminari's arms abruptly. Mineta scoffed.

"Oh please. She's just a baby." He then smirked, saying a little too loudly to himself, hand on chin, "But if she gets her mom's looks, maybe in 18 year's time-"

"No!" Everyone stated bluntly, Katsuki the loudest.

"Oh, come on! You all act like I'm diseased-"

"Maybe not physically, but the mind..." Momo trailed off.

"Hey!" Mineta whined. "I bet that kid'll love me when they get old enough to see how cool I am!"

"I'll kill you before that happens." Katsuki hissed, holding a now sleepy Katsumi tighter. "Ain't no kid of mine is gonna be influenced by you, grapist."

Mineta rolled his eyes. "Whatever, babies are gross anyway."

"Die." Katsuki said bluntly.

You rolled your eyes, and looked over at an unusually quiet Midoriya who sat to your left. "Hey, Midoriya-are you alright?" You asked softly, facing him fully as Katsuki bickered with Mineta. "You've been rather quiet."

"Hm? Oh, uhm...yeah. I was...I mean, I've just been concerned." He said, rubbing the back of his head. "Don't mind me, (y/n)."

You frowned. "Well, now I'm concerned. Whats wrong?"

He looked at you, then away. "Uh, well...I just don't want you passing out again..." he looked at you, his eyes looking into yours. "It scared alot of us."

Oh.

Right.

They hadn't seen you since the gala.

You gave him a small smile. "I'm...okay. Really. Things like this," you nodded to everyone, who was now trying to get Katsumi to smile- "I'm okay with."

He smiled softly. "I know it might not be much. But you can count on us if you...need to talk. We might not get it entirely," he chuckled, so did you, "but we'll listen."

You would've hugged him, if a certain husband didn't flip shit. You patted his hand instead. "Thanks, Midoriya." You said softly, your voice catching.

"Anytime, (y/n)."

"Katsumi dono, your beauty is ephemeral. Your eyes hold a fire the likes I've never seen." Tokoyami waxed poetics as he held her again, his face still stoic.

"Thats nice of you to say, Tokoyami." You said, smiling-humoring the man. Katsuki rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, thanks EdgeLord." He huffed. "But seriously, give her to (y/n). She's gotta feed her."

Tokoyami looked...uncharacteristically torn. "Yes. Of course." He gently handed her back to you. Koda patted him on the shoulder silently, smiling softly in his usual quiet way. It seemed the 'prince of darkness' was enjoying holding her, Dark Shadow whined a bit at the loss.

"You can hold her again before we leave, I promise." You said softly. Tokoyami blushed, and nodded his head with a grunt. Dark Shadow made some happy noises.

You then looked towards Kirishima, hiking up Katsumi's diaper bag. "Which room did you say I could use?"

"Oh!" Kirishima got up, smiling. "Guest bedroom, down that hall, first right you see!" He grinned. "Got it all set up for you. Even put a water bottle in there for ya! Bakugo said you get real thirsty when feeding her!"

Katsuki looked away, blushing. You smiled at Kirishima gratefully. "Thanks, Kiri." He nodded, sharp teeth grinning. Katsuki watched you leave, and then went back to his seat by Denki.

As you followed his directions, you found yourself in a decidedly clean room. There were still some boxes that Kirishima clearly threw in to be stored, but there was a nice full sized bed, with clean black linens. You placed the diaper bag down, and noted the promised water bottle on the oak nightstand. You smiled softly, and propped yourself up on the pillows, settling in for a feeding.

You heard the voices of the others in the other room, muffled but carrying over to you. Katsumi's soft suckling sound was the only other sound in the room.

The peace was nice.

If not a bit isolating.

You started to feel a little lonely. Everyone out there was having fun.

Laughing.

Drinking.

Talking.

And once again, you felt so...

Very...

Alone.

You bit the inside of your cheek.

No, no one had forgotten you. You knew that. You knew you were the only one who could feed Katsumi right now.

But damn, if it didn't feel-

A soft knock on the door startled you slightly. "Oi, it's just me."

As if Katsuki had super senses, he came in quietly, shutting the door behind him softly.

"Everyone was getting annoying." He huffed, and looked at you. His gaze softened. "How's the runt?"

"Shes okay. Getting sleepy, I think." You said, voice barely above a whisper as you looked down. Katsumi's eyes were flickering, fighting off milk-induced sleep. "...or milk drunk." You chuckled softly, brushing a few hairs away from her face. He walked over, sitting on the other side of the bed. Without a word, he propped himself up, bringing your head to his shoulder. You sighed softly, inhaling his cologne. "...Thank you." You said softly.

"Mm." He hummed, looking down at Katsumi. "...She's getting bigger."

"I know." You smiled warmly.

So did he. "Everyone's goin' nuts. Sayin' they're gonna have her be their sidekick. Callin' dibs already. Tch," he clicked his tongue, "as if I'd let her be a sidekick. Kid's gonna be a hero, right outta the gate."

You chuckled. "Pretty sure she has to start somewhere."

"Then she'll start with me." He retorted. "Kid's gonna be amazing. And I can protect her better that way."

You raised an eyebrow, "Protect her, huh?"

He nodded. "Yeah." He ran a hand over her head, the whisps of hair catching slightly on his calloused hands. "I...want her working with me. Or you....preferably me." He said.

"And what if she doesn't wanna be a hero?" You asked. You felt him stiffen for a moment-only to regain himself.

"Then...I still wanna protect her. No matter what she chooses." He stated, resolute. You smiled.

"Well, that goes without saying. We're both pretty powerful. I'm sure she'll be fine, no matter what." You said, suddenly taking on the role of comforter to alleviate his worry. You reached up, swiping a blonde tuft of hair away from his face.

He caught your wrist, and pressed a kiss to your palm. "Mm. Yeah...." he murmured into your hand, eyes closing. "No matter what."

"No matter what, little Katsumi," you looked back down at her, eyes closed as she continued to suck, "we'll protect you."

After all, you both were heroes...

But parents, first.

((Sorry if this one is short! I've been kinda busy lately, and since I wanted this out by mother's day, I had to cut it a bit short. I'm terrible with group scenes, if I'm honest. Also, I figured out how to edit font and crap! Yay!))

Alsooo... Happy mother's day, to all the moms out there. The moms who gave birth, were chosen, have adopted kids, miscarried, lost a child, grandmoms, aunts, single parents, sisters, the ones who haven't given birth, pet moms and the ones who are still trying for a child! You all are amazing, and valid! Have an amazing day!

[studiogrimm810]

Work Out

pairings/characters: dean winchester x afab!you

summary: after a hunt proves you cant handle yourself in a fight to deans standard, he takes you the bunkers gym to get you some proper training

warnings: a joke about domestic violence, hand-to-hand combat, spicy scenarios ;)

word count: 3,625

A/N: this was a request!! @aryaharmon ilysm and i love seeing your requests tehe ^.^,, i may or may not have gone a bit too spicy w this one tho…

———————

Dean storms down the stairs in the bunker with purposeful footsteps and a slight huff. As he lands on the tile of the war room, he slings his jacket on the back of one of the chairs and heads straight to the kitchen. You roll your eyes slightly at his attitude and plant yourself in one of the free chairs, bringing a hand up to rest your forehead in.

He returns with two beers in hand and slams yours down beside you, popping his open and taking a gulp like it’s fresh air.

“Dean-,” you start but Dean unlatches his lips from the bottle and hisses back any stray drops.

“No,” it’s followed by a small gulp and a hand wiped over his lips. “You got your ass handed to you. You suck at one-on-one and you need proper training,” he scolds, looking down at you from his standing position. You meet his gaze without moving your head up much and simply glaring through your brows.

“Okay, dick,” you scoff, removing your hand from your forehead and grabbing your beer. You line it up with the edge of the table and snap off the cap. Sam would get on you about that if he were here- thank god he wasn’t.

“Call me whatever names you will, I’m right. And once your face doesn’t look like you made your husband’s dinner wrong in the 50s then it’s you and me in the gym downstairs until you learn to defend yourself right,” he declares, taking a calming swig of his beer that doesn’t show a residual effect of such. You flinch at his poor choice of comparison in the form of a really shitty joke and you stare at him knowingly until he caves. “Bad joke, sorry,” he mumbles, slumping in the chair across from you. “I just can't keep worrying about you on hunts like this. You look like shit.”

“Flattering,” you squint with your lips ticked up in a weak excuse for a display of amusement. He only stares down at his beer. There's a pitiful softness in his eyes- melting like crying emeralds but stuck behind the glass casing of his eyes. You know he blames himself for your lack of combat skill and you don't want him to. You want to fix the ache he's feeling everytime he takes a look at your blackened eye and busted lip, but the only way you can ease that pit of dread in his stomach is to agree and follow his orders.

As much as you hate shutting up and listening, this time you agree to stuff away your stubborn attitude and sarcastic remarks and nod with a simple ‘okay’.

———

The chilly air of the bunker nibbles at your exposed skin as you navigate through the halls and down to the gym that you've only glanced in once or twice. Usually, you prefer training in the form of simple eating and morning runs with Sam, so all you had to wear for your sparring session with Dean was a sports bra in a flattering color against your chilled skin and cropped leggings. Tighter clothes always helped you let loose and enjoy your morning runs but you wondered how practical they may or may not be for the next couple hours of your life.

As you round the corner and dip into the doorway to the gym, you spot Dean across the room with a simple pair of sweats and an old t-shirt of his that's form-fitting and damn flattering. He’s rustling through a locker and pulls out some fist tape and a few towels but he drops one of the towels. As he reaches down to pick it up, his shirt- as tight as it is- rides up and you spot two sweet dimples decorating his lower back. Your mouth goes instantly dry at the sight and you mindlessly take down your hair to fix it right back up again to act like you didn't just have a jaw-drop moment as you eyed Dean like a piece of meat.

A deep breath makes its way into your lungs as you set down a water bottle you snatched from the kitchen on one of the benches by the lockers. Dean looks over his shoulder as he notices your presence.

“Hey, you feelin’ okay?” He turns to face you while he wraps some tape around his flexing fist.

“As good as ever,” you shrug, watching his hands move around themselves. The tape hugs his hands like the sleeves of his shrunken shirt do his biceps. You wet your lips to cover the smile creeping across them.

“You sure you’re up for this today? We can always push it off a couple more days,” he says, eyes not meeting yours yet but instead staring down your puffy red lip that just won't seem to heal.

“C’mon, I’m sick of delaying me kicking your ass,” you cross your arms and tilt your head at him with a mix of feigned concern and mockery. He rolls his eyes and reaches for an item in the locker- a knife.

“Yeah, you keep up that confidence,” he deadpans sarcastically, sawing off an end to the tape and tucking the stray piece into a slip in his palm. “Gimme,” he murmurs, reaching out for your hand and you obey thoughtlessly.

“What does this do?” You ask, watching his hands maneuver around yours with significant differences of how he had done his own. His hands wound slower around yours and he uses his free hand to run along the slack as it lay against your palm.

He’s gentle.

“It’s like a cushion. Gives some extra ‘umph’ to absorb the punch, and it holds everything together so less chance of damage or whatever. I don’t know, Sam knows the sciency reasons,” Dean shrugs, retrieving the knife again and snipping the end a few more inches away from your hand than he had done on his own.

And so sweet.

“Okay, ya’ ready?” He asks, looking up at you from his dropped head as he rewraps the roll of tape back onto itself.

“As I’ll ever be,” you shrug, following him out to the main mat after he settles the loose items back into his locker.

“First things first- stretching,” he grumbles with an attitude so dull you could miss it if you weren’t watching his every move. “Practically, you couldn’t take a time-out to warm-up for a fist fight but we can today so we will,” he widens his stance and lifts his arms. The look of embarrassment plagued his face. “Sammy insisted we start with this,” he blames sheepishly.

Dean positions both arms as if he's pretending to ride a motorcycle and pulls them back.

“We’re trying to squeeze between our shoulder blades and pump out,” he explains as he mimics the motion a few times. You follow. “The idea is to loosen up your muscles so that when you throw a punch, you don’t pull anything,” he defends lightly, mimicking a slow motion punch as he speaks with alternating hands.

“You also wanna make sure you have a good range of motion. You’re smaller than me and a bit lankier,” he teases with a smirk. “You can really use that to your advantage.” You roll your eyes at the comment but nod at the advice.

He continues to lead you through a small set of stretching your legs back and also instructs you to roll your head to work out your neck. The warm-up is quick and just enough to feel that slight rush of blood under your skin.

“Now, I’m gonna come at you in a few different ways at first. Ya’ gotta keep up and try to learn my patterns and tells. I’ll go slow but at anytime you need a break, just shout,” he directs, waiting for a verbal response before starting.

“Shout- got it,” you nod curtly, stanced a few feet away from him. He looks hesitant but it's quickly morphed into determination as he throws his first punch before you’re even ready. His fist collides with your jaw just enough to force your head to spin and he uses your ragdoll response to twist your torso and put you in a headlock.

You grunt in frustration and slap at his arms locked around your head. He lets go and you stumble a few feet before standing up straight.

“The hell? No warning?” You huff, tossing away some flyaway baby hairs from your forehead. Dean chuckles and shakes his head like you’re being irrational.

“About as good of a warning as any,” he shrugs, “besides, you always need to expect a hit in any tense scenario. Keep your guard up or else-.” He swings again and you move both hands to block it but he ducks down and snakes around the opposite side of his punch so he’s behind you again. He hooks your arms behind you and you're stuck again.

“Asshole,” you insult, trying to jerk out of his grasp. He sighs this time, stiffening his hold.

“You’re too relaxed,” Dean points out, “you need to focus.”

“Now how am I expected to not be so relaxed in the presence of such a big, strong man?” You rest your head back into his shoulder, looking up at him with wide and curious eyes. You’re positioned so that when he meets your eyes, the next thing he can see is your exposed collarbone that trails along with the flushed skin of your breasts. You don’t mean to be so on display in that sense, but your initial plan of flustering the fucker works as he immediately turns red and stutters. You take the chance to snap out of his hold and grab his wrist in a light twist. Next, you kick your leg out to hook around the back of his knee, bringing him down with an unexpected gasp that chokes him up a bit.

A smile spreads across your lips as you look down at him, on his knees, and looking right back up at you.

“What's that about focus?” You ask, twisting his writs a little tighter which earns a lip-curling hiss from him and an annoyed glare.

“You seriously expect to use flirting as a defense?” He grumbles, flicking his wrist out of your hold and climbing up to his feet again.

“Worked on you, didn't it?” You quip with a smirk, folding your arms across your chest. His gaze darts down to your tits again and you realize your arms are placed more so under your chest and almost lift them more. Deciding that's a bit much and was initially unintentional, you drop your arms and walk over to your water bottle.

“Did not,” he scoffs.

“Right,” you draw out with squinted skepticism.

“Whatever, just-. Let’s keep going,” he sighs again.

A few more failed rounds- on your end- later and you're both breathless and flushed. A gleam of sweat sparkles his forehead and his gaped mouth as he wipes it away captures a moment or two of your attention.

“You’re getting better,” Dean nods, slinging the towel over his shoulder.

“And you’re lying,” you scoff, sitting on the edge of the bench, downing a few gulps of water.

“No, really. I can tell you’re picking up on my tells. Even if you’re still getting taken down, you’re improving,” he explains genuinely. You nod along, screwing the cap back onto your water and standing straight again.

“Okay, pick it up,” you challenge, readying your stance. He raises a brow and shakes his head like he doesn’t understand. “More, give me some more. I can take it,” you nod confidently even if you’re all but.

Dean widens his eyes to himself with a small shrug but stances back up and resumes. This time, you have a different type of approach. You wonder if you could throw him off again and prove that your dashing good looks can really come in handy in a pinch. Besides, it was damn nice to have him gawk at you like that.

So, as Dean lunges at you again, you duck down and go in the direction you know he's aiming for next. He mixes it up a bit though, as now he's pinning you against one of the mirrors with your face smooshed in the glass. You can work with this, you reckon.

You make eye contact with him in the mirror, scowling up at him but as you try to squirm out of the hold, you let your body buck flush against him. Now, Dean was being quite the gentleman, you’ll give him that much, so when he pinned you or grabbed you, he never let his body match the forcefulness of his hands. As you feel the stiffness of his body radiating heat onto your back, you feel a bubble of butterflies in your stomach. It churns your insides like sweet cream fluffing up into rich foam that entices your nerves for more.

His eyes haze over slightly as you make full contact, you can see such in detail at the grace of the mirror.

As his heaved breaths pass his lips, you can feel the vapor settle over your skin. The warm breeze tingles your already flushed skin and you start to wonder how good that breath would feel in other places rather than your slick neck.

You have to remember the main focus here, so you blink a few times and use his drunken halt to your advantage. You buck back fully into his groin- aiming to avoid the more sensitive areas that you’d rather please another time- and he stumbles back. You whip around, attacking him and leading him to stumble on the floor on his back.

It isn’t meant to land this way, but you aren’t complaining as the successful takedown by you leads to your knees on either side of his hips as you straddle him, pinning his wrists in an ‘X’ formation over his chest. You smirk as he struggles to move from the small but focused pin you have on the center of his sternum.

“What now, pretty boy?” You tilt your head with a feigned look of surprise. He just stares back up at you with a dumbfounded look plastered on his face and a mouth that seems to be out of commission word-wise. “I’m telling ya,” you lean down, causing your chest to sandwich yours and his combined mess of wrists and hands between you two. “Being this hot has its advantages. I mean, what-, you took down Lucifer, right? The Horsemen? God? But under the sweet sway of my charm you're a mess on the floor,” you tease, pushing back up with an amused chuckle as you roll off of him. “Man up, geez. You’re supposed to be teaching me self-defense,” you poke lightly, taking the towel that's fallen off his shoulder in the fall and using it to dap away beads of sweat.

Dean’s heart is racing and he's thankful for the rush of red swirling just below his skin to not give way to the fluster you’ve stirred in him. He just hopes that the blood will keep swimming as it was and not focus on a certain part of him that he’s thinking with at the moment. He sits up, trying to shake off the way you rattled him like a 2-year-old soda can with a disappointing lack of fizz, and looks over just in time to see you use his towel to run over your salty skin. God, if he could just-.

“Again,” you jump to your feet, swiping back a hand to unstick the baby hairs on your neck drowning in sweat.

“Ya’ gonna actually fight me or just keep sabotaging your training?” Dean scoffs, leveling up to his feet as well and snatching back his towel from your hands.

“You’re just upset that my advantage is your lack,” you roll your eyes with a toothy smirk and a slight shake to your head that swings your ponytail and makes him wanna reach out and grab it at its base.

“Oh is that so?” He squints at you, tossing his towel aside and starting towards you. He fakes a left hook that you’re not expecting and trips you up to try and gain access to your wrists. Your reaction is delayed, but you make up for it as the slick sweat on your arms gives you a bit of an out from his latch on your arm.

With two free arms, you skip back a few paces, eyeing his fists and lips as he often snarls slightly before a dramatic hit.

As soon as his lip lifts, you duck and tackle his waist, landing him into the padded wall with a hard grunt. He somehow manages to slither his arms under your latch and break your hold, snapping his wrists to grab your own and spinning to pin them above your head so that you take his place on the wall.

“Ugh!” You huff, writhing beneath him with determination but he stares right down at you.

“You’re saying I can’t charm my way to a win?” He leans in, mere inches from your face. Exhaled breaths mix in the shared space between you and his head covers the main source of light in the room, dampening the loudness of anything but him as you lock into his eyes. He fixes both of your wrists under one hand as he brings down his now free hand to tilt up your chin, exposing a fresh stretch of neck to him. You instinctively arch your back at the motion.

He flashes a canine in a victory smirk at the reaction from you and you know you've done it now. You bite back the smile of a devious plan with a sharp tooth locking your lip in place.

Just as he wets his lips to speak again, you whip your wrists from his hold and shove him. He stumbles back, completely caught off guard.

“I’m saying I can tell that you’re faking,” you emphasize, pushing off of the mat.

“Oh, who said I was faking?” He says, reaching for your wrist to stop you from walking past him. You meet his eyes with a raised brow. You turn to face him completely, looking up at him but knowing that you have the upper hand at the way his eyes sparkle with unknown.

“I can see it in your eyes, Dean. You like getting taken down by a woman half your size,” you sound it out as if he's a 4-year-old. “You dominate a fight because you can but I know that you prefer the unexpected moves of a woman in charge. You like not knowing what's coming next and I bet you’re just itching to see what way I take you down next,” your lips twitch into a satisfied smile at the way his face melts exactly as you expected it to.

“That!” You point, “that’s your lack and that’s proof of your fake out,” you giggle with pride as he rolls his eyes but a piece of submission remains.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he shakes his head, looking away as if trying to find a way out of the conversation.

“And you’re being ignorant,” you direct his face back to you with a single finger- so malleable.

His eyes lock with yours and this time, he lets himself sink into the warm and all-encompassing pool of your venom that he swears has been transmitted through sweat.

You look between his eyes and then down at his lips, leaning in just a bit and looking back up at him. He looks so needy and so ready for the delicate press of your soft skin on his mouth decorated with a halo of stubble. You lean in a tad bit more, eyes locking onto his lips and softening your gaze as he gulps.

Just as you’re close enough to pucker and meet his lips, you hiss in sudden disappointment and pull back completely with a shake of your head.

“Can’t. My lip still stings like a bitch,” you shrug dismissively but with a playfully knowing smirk. His jaw drops slightly with pinched brows like you just kicked ihis puppy and he reaches out to hold your hands and bring you close.

“Don’t do me like that,” he shakes his head, completely giving up on masking this side you’ve coaxed out of him. You giggle and lean back in, knowing you don't have the heart to deny him like that.

His hands move with trained motion as they snake to your waist and hold your hips, lifting you up to him. You settle your hands on his shoulders and lift up with him to plant a gentle kiss to his lips.

He soft and slow- mindful of your your healing split- and he has funneled the aching need he wants to put into the kiss through his hands that grip your hips so tightly that you expect him to pin you back against that mirror and have his way with you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he stiffens towards the end of the kiss and rests his forehead against yours, loosening his grip on your hips.

“I can’t wait for that lip to heal,” he scoffs a light chuckle. You match his breathy laugh and drape your forearms around his neck.

“You and me both,” you lick your lips, looking right into his eyes with feigned innocence. “I’ve got some ideas that go past the physical exertion worked out in this gym.” His fingertips dig into your hips as a forced breath rubs a small, nearly indecipherable, whimper from his throat.

Pathetic.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

all tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere @bejeweledinterludes @funkenniffler

[starrystevie]

it was all supposed to be a joke. they were supposed to be in steve’s backyard with all their friends and family in shitty lawn chairs, holding cans of budweiser and jamming to whatever song eddie was in the mood for that day blasting through the speakers. steve was supposed to be in front of them all in a tuxedo t-shirt and powder blue dress pants, flowers in his hair that had been teased to high heaven and dark black sunglasses to keep out the bright sun. that’s how they had planned it all those years ago when they’d been high and drunk and young and in love.

but somehow instead, the yard is full of flowers and benches that hopper and wayne put together with spare wood for everyone to sit on and there’s an archway at the end of the aisle and soft acoustic songs spilling gently out of the speakers. steve’s still at the front, that was always supposed to happen, but this time he’s wearing an actual tux, light cream with a boutonnière and everything, and his hair is pushed back just so. there’s no flowers in his hair and no sunglasses but it’s cloudy enough of a day where he doesn’t really need them anyway.

they weren't even supposed to do this. there wasn't supposed to be a grand entrance and a walk down the aisle, no flower girls or ring bearers or anything remotely traditional. but what started off as, "well, i wouldn't mind walking down the aisle," and "i think exchanging rings would be cool," and "who cares if it isn't legal, i'm going to marry you anyway damnit," turned into this beautiful day of friends and family and love.

robin’s standing beside him in a tux of her own, pinstripe grey donning a pocket boutonnière that matches nancy’s bouquet, with a few notecards in her hands. and speaking of nancy, she’s heading down the aisle in a flowing dress, and when her eyes catch robin’s, she crinkles her nose before blowing her a kiss. she stands opposite of steve as eddie's not-quite-bridesmaid and grips her bouquet tightly, her eyes never leaving robin's.

and then there's dustin. he's in a tux that matches steve's and he has his curls pushed back with probably too much gel and a tie that suzie got him for their 3rd anniversary. the best thing he's sporting, though, is the smile on his face and the ring box in his hand and the joy in his eyes as he looks out at the crowd. having him there as best man and smelling the cheap cologne he wears so he seems more grown up calms steve's ever beating heart enough to where he doesn't think he'll throw up from nerves anymore.

all of their loved ones are surrounding them in clothes steve’s never seen before but he couldn’t care at all what they’re wearing because they’re all smiling wide and bright at him. he catches himself rocking back and forth on his feet so he shakes out his hands and holds them behind his back to distract himself. his stomach is rolling with waves or butterflies and when he catches joyce's eye in the front row, she mimes taking in a deep breath which he instantly copies. the soft grin she sends in return tells him that he thinks it could actually work to settle him. mothers have that healing way about them.

he’s never been good with weddings, always fidgeting in a too tight suit his mom picked out, but he never thought he’d be this antsy at his own.

steve's just about to give up and sprint down the aisle to get eddie so they can run away together and leave nerves and or butterflies behind him, but then the music stops. he sees lucas changing out the tapes quickly, giving a thumbs up to mike who throws one to will who runs back behind the shed to where he knows eddie is waiting and when will pops his head back out to run back to his seat, it hits him.

he's getting married.

steve doesn't have time to think about it anymore than he already has been for the last 8 years because eddie's coming around the corner of the shed.

'here comes the sun' is playing out over the speakers, soft and perfect, and eddie's smiling, wide and beautiful, and steve can't help but mirror it back to him. the clouds overhead seem to hear them, hear the song and hear their hearts beating in time with each other, because as soon as eddie gets to the aisle, bright warm rays of sunlight peak out and make the rhinestones he demanded line the lapels of his own black tux shine like real diamonds.

steve stops breathing. he swears he does, and he knows his family are all feeling the same way. he can hear a few gasps, hears joyce muttering what she thinks is a silent, "oh my god," in hop's ear, and watches how wayne stands up just a bit straighter from his front row seat.

eddie glides down the aisle like the drama king he is, soaking in the looks from everyone they care about and soaking in the sun that seems to come out only for him. it's like the sun knows he's a star, too, and wants to come out to be with one of it's own. eddie's always been sunshine and starlight and a blinding thing to look at and take in. he's the light, steve's the moth, and a few clouds on their wedding day could never change it.

"well, that was insanely good timing," eddie whispers to steve once he reaches him. his grin softens and he brings up a hand to wipe gently at the tear tracks on steve's cheeks. "hi, baby."

and steve can do nothing but choke out a laugh, catching eddie's hand in his own so he press a kiss to his palm. he thinks he can feel eddie's heartbeat against his lips and, even if it's his brain playing tricks on him, he likes the sentiment that it brings. "i love you so fucking much."

it's eddie's turn to get teary-eyed and the sun glints off the tears that fall down his cheek before heading back behind the clouds, dotting quick-to-fade sparkles on his face like a wedding present.

steve kisses him. he can't help it. it's nothing but a fast press of lips, watery smile to watery smile, and everyone is cheering except for robin.

"hey! it's not time for that yet," she says with a pretend scowl, arms pressing to each of their chests to keep them apart. it's enough to leave nancy giggling where she stands behind eddie, her laugh like bells bouncing off of the trees surrounding them. "just give me like ten minutes and we'll have you married and you can kiss all you want then."

steve swears he can hear mike groan at that which cause him to grin which cause eddie to grin back and then they're holding hands like it's the only way to get through the next ten minutes. and it might just be the only way to get through it. knowing them, if they didn't hold on tight, one of them would make a move first and there'd be hands around waists and fingers tangled in hair and robin would hate them forever because she wouldn't get to do her speech.

it's after vows are shared, after rings are on fingers, after kisses are pressed to lips and cheeks and temples and hands and everything else they can quickly reach, that the two of them get some peace. everyone is inside eating snacks and drinking cheap champagne, and it goes unspoken that they're going to take some time for themselves. take some time to bask in their new maybe not-so-legally real but as real as could ever be in their hearts marriage.

they make their way, hand in hand like they've always been meant to do, to a table set up for them. eddie pops a bottle of champagne that they pass back and forth between themselves as they share cheesy smiles and champagne-laced kisses. and it's as they look into each other's eyes, fingers lacing so their rings clink softly against each other, that the sun peaks out to say hello once more.