#Drive (2011) fanfiction

[drivinmeinsane]

Mistletoe ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Twelve ※ Driver / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: Your apartment complex decided to decorate for the season and who else is with you but your ever-present shadow, Driver?

※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Cumming Untouched, Shy!Driver, Kissing

※ Word count: 1087

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

As the sun sets, the temperature continues to drop further. It’s cold and you rub your hands together, fighting the urge to blow on them. If you’re this chilly, you can’t imagine how your neighbor must be feeling. The quiet man had moved all the way from California about a year ago. You’ve become fast friends since meeting each other in the parking lot. He had been there when another neighbor backed into your car. His intervention when the guilty party decided to pick a fight had been invaluable. Strangely enough, that neighbor broke the lease and moved out not even a week after the accident. 

Today, the mechanic is helping you bring in the groceries. Driver had softly insisted on carrying all the bags, leaving you empty handed. Your only jobs in this process until getting inside the apartment were to close his truck and unlock your front door. Almost all your trips have turned into mutual excuses to spend time together. 

Your apartment complex has decided to decorate for the holidays. String lights are twinkling in the hallways and along the awnings of the buildings. The effect is admittedly cozy. You’re looking up, admiring the lights when you spot it and come to a dead stop. Driver nearly stumbles over you.

“What is it?” His tone carries an edge of concern.

Pointing upwards at fake leaves and berries, comically large for visibility, you answer his question. “Mistletoe.”

Driver doesn’t move when you spin on your heel to face him. He makes a low, questioning noise, but doesn’t speak, There is a moment of silence while he processes the word. You see the moment when he realizes what you’re getting at. His eyes widen slightly and he looks as flustered as you’ve ever seen him. 

Biting down on his toothpick and clearing his throat, he finally speaks. “It means a kiss, right?”

“Is that okay?” You ask softly, not wanting to push him into something he doesn’t want.

The man quietly nods. He stays still when you step into his space and reach up, slowly, to pluck the toothpick from his lips. You tuck it into its customary spot behind his ear. Driver leans down, angling his grocery-laden arms out of the way. You lean up to meet him, mouth hovering over his. He makes no effort to close the gap. He’s waiting for you to make the choice, breath brushing erratically over your face. His blue eyes are hooded, nearly closed as he observes you. There’s a flush creeping up his neck, dusting his ears in pink. He’s so lovely like this. 

Reflexively, his tongue darts out and wets his lips. They glisten in the light. He’s almost trembling, his jaw working. Finally, you take pity on him and kiss him. His mouth falls open under yours. You had genuinely intended to keep the kiss chaste, but the way he melts against you causes you to kiss him deeper, thoroughly. 

When you finally pull away, he makes an involuntary, wounded sound. It’s so needy that you immediately catch the tall man in another kiss. His breathing is ragged, and you can feel the muscles in his upper arms tensing underneath your hands. Your teeth catch on his bottom lip and you suck it. He lets out an unrestrained whine and his body jerks, hard. You pull away, concerned. The man is trembling, chest heaving. He’s flushed and his eyes are glazed. His lips are kiss-swollen and shiny with spit. 

Worried, you visually scan him for something wrong. You start to open your mouth to ask him if he’s okay, but that’s when you see it. There is a sizable wet spot spread over the front of his jeans. You can see the imprint of his erection straining against the thick material. Under your astounded gaze, you see it twitch and the spot grows larger. 

In a daze, you reach out and press your fingertips to the clearly visible head of his cock. The denim is warm and damp to the touch as you rub over it. Driver’s hips instantly press against your hand. Your hand opens and he’s grinding against your palm, over sensitive but desperate for contact, as though he can’t help himself. He’s silent now, but panting. 

“Oh,” you breathe wonderingly. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes, sounding distraught. He can’t meet your eyes when you finally look away from the sight of his gradually softening cock against your palm, separated only by a single layer from the look of things. 

“Don’t be,” you tell him, voice gentle.

Reluctantly, you remove your hand from the front of his jeans. Driver sways forward after it before coming to his senses and taking a step back. Neither of you speak as he follows you back to your apartment, still carrying the groceries. He lets you close the door behind him after he enters and makes his way to the kitchen to set the bags on the counter. You join him, hastily putting away the cold items. The two of you stand there for a moment in crushing silence. The mechanic turns to leave, but you interrupt him. 

“Would you like a glass of water?” It’s irrational considering the man has an issue to take care of but you can’t stand the thought of him leaving. There’s a growing certainty that you will only see him in passing if this doesn’t get resolved. He’s clearly embarrassed. 

He’s quiet for so long that you’re certain he’s going to just walk right out the door. “Sure.”

Your hands brush when you fill the glass and hand it to him. There’s no missing the way his breath hitches and his eyelids flutter at the small amount of contact. Your eyes are glued to the movements of his throat as he swallows. He sets the glass down on the counter at his side. There’s something sad in his expression, like he’s in mourning. You can’t stand it.

“Oh look, more mistletoe.” you say, tipping your chin at the ceiling.

“Yeah?” He asks quietly.

“It’s the invisible kind,” you confirm, getting a smile out of him.

Driver reaches out, sliding his hand over your side. He crowds against you. The devastated look is gone, replaced only by his searching gaze. You tilt your head back for him and then he’s kissing you. The way he groans into your mouth when you slide your hands under his layered jackets makes you thankful for your apartment management company for the first time since you moved in.

[gcslingss]

good boy | driver.

summary: you didn’t think driver would be so good at listening to orders.

pairing: sub!driver x afab!reader

warnings: not sfw minors dni, pain kink, praise kink, smut, reader has a vagina, orgasming, dry humping, mild swearing, slight fluff, kissing, dom-sub dynamics

word count: 1.1k

notes: this wasn’t supposed to become smut, but it was inevitable. apologies if its shitty, and thank you if you thought it wasn’t. enjoy :)

You were still a little bewildered as to how you ended up here in this hotel room, seated on Driver’s lap.

He didn’t tell you his name, but Driver worked just as well.

One moment, he had asked if he could drop you off at your room for your safety, and the next, this was happening.

There were better ways of phrasing this, but you were too lost in the heat of all the sensations to care.

His mouth was moving against yours with a passion you didn’t think he had, seeing how broody he had been the entire trip to here, but God, you loved it.

As you kissed him, your mind went further with imagination, wondering how he’d react if you took control, made him beg, and your fingers clutched painfully tight onto his collar.

There was no harm in trying.

He brought his hands up your thighs, and you found it to be the perfect moment to sate your curiosity. You pushed them off, and pulled away from the kiss.

Driver didn’t expect that. He gave you a perplexed look, and teasingly, you traced his perfectly red, swollen lower lip.

“Don’t touch me unless I tell you to,” you said simply, your tone bare but your words commanding, and it did something to him.

“Is that clear, love?”

You words clicked a switch. Something carnal spurred inside him, a feeling that had been buried under years of silence.

He nodded, and let his hands fall behind, but his dark gaze was forever tethered to yours.

“Good boy,” you cooed, and the softest of sighs left his mouth, his eyelids fluttering closed with a look of pained longing on his face.

You just wanted him even worse now.

You slid a hand into his dirty blonde hair, fingers gently caressing, nails barely scratching at his scalp. 

“Relax,” you whispered, and he did.

You leaned in, hand still in his hair, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips, on his chin, on his throat that bobbed when you did, and as you sunk lower to his collarbone, you unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt, pushed the cloth aside, and pressed your lips  to the jutting bone. 

You heard Driver take in a sharp breath as he attempted to keep composure, and you couldn’t help but smile. How hard he was trying.

Gently, you nipped at the skin, hard enough for it to leave a scarlet mark on his flesh. 

Driver groaned under his breath, the sound only providing more incentive for you to keep going.

“D’you like that?” you asked quietly, and you saw him hesitate.

But then you cupped his jaw with your hand and tipped his head upward, and brushed your thumb over his chin, and he nodded eagerly.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, swallowing thickly.

“Yeah, what?” you goaded. A look of defiance flashed past his eyes, but then he gave in.

“I… I like it when you hurt me.”

Oh, that was beautiful.

At those words, you tugged at his hair, hard, and he jumped, letting out a small cry of pain.

A rush of concern. “Are— are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No.” He paused, and then swallowed, his finger grazing over your knee. “Do it again.”

Oh.

You massaged his scalp with the tips of your fingers and tugged again, harder than last time.

A moan escaped Driver’s mouth that you could only describe as ecstatic, and when you felt him harden through his jeans, you just chuckled breathily.

“Oh, you love this,” you purred in his ear, “You’re so needy, hmm?” and he just noiselessly nodded.

“Please—“ he mumbled, voice laced with pure want.

You really couldn’t hold back any longer.

Softly, you started to grind against him, and you almost lost your mind when you heard him let out the neediest moan yet, rutting back instantly. 

“G-Good boy.”

His head fell back against the headboard of the bed, his hands came to your waist, holding you down, and his legs spread, allowing you to pleasure the both of you better.

His breathing was erratic, fluttering, and you took the opportunity to grab him by his shirt collar and crash your lips against his in a kiss that wasn’t like the rest of them; it was hot, needy, and absolutely out of your control.

You felt him say something unintelligible against your mouth.

“Hm?”

His eyes were barely open when he requested something that knocked the breath out of you.

“Choke me, please,” he said, hooded eyes looking up at you like a puppy.

“…Fuck,” you found yourself muttering, the tautness in your lower stomach only tightening. “Of, course, love, yeah.”

As you rutted against him, your thumb trailed from his chin to his Adam’s Apple, before your fingers clutched onto his throat, firm but unhurting.

He looked beautiful and so fucking needy under you with the way his skin glistened with sweat, eyes rolled to the back of his head, gasping for breath, his hips bucking further and further against yours, faint, meaningless little pleas falling from his swollen lips.

You should’ve found him so long ago. You should’ve done this ages ago, making him surrender to you, letting you do as you pleased, hurt him, make him feel things that turned his vision hazy.

It only took a few more moments for you to come undone, faintly whimpering, and your fingers curled against his throat hard enough for it to hurt. You could feel your panties wetten, your legs feeling weak.

But you couldn’t stop, not when Driver was clearly so close to his own orgasm. You could feel how damp his jeans had become.

You started to grind faster, unrelenting, choking him harder, teeth finding the skin beneath his ear as you nipped it, and that was the last straw for him.

The lowest, darkest of growls rumbled from his mouth as he came, hard, his thrusts reaching a sloppy end, the denim becoming warm and soaked.

You let your hand slide lower to his chest, and you could feel his thudding heart.

“You did so well,” you mumbled, entirely spent. You let yourself rest against his form, taking in deep breaths. “Good job.”

A gentle rumble of a ‘thanks’ echoed into your ears, and you felt him press a hesitating kiss on your head. A smile tugged at your lips at this.

“You were such a good boy, hm?”

You looked up at him, running a hand through his sweaty hair and pushing the strands from his face.

He smiled back, barely, but it was something.

tags: @barbiehandlrr @hollandstrophyhusband @officer-kd6 @bimbocoreblonde @webbo0 @sixyphus @ken-dom

[webbo0]

Prodigal Doll

Goose Boys Mafia AU

AO3 Link

Length: 753 words (short and not sweet)

Summary: Nobody ever expected Ken to join the family business, but when he's caught in the middle of a war he knows nothing about, the other boys have to pick up the pieces.

Content/Warning: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Hurt/barely comfort

Authors Note: I don't even remember how this started lol

I think I saw those Tag Heuer photoshoot pics that look like Ken but as Six?

Anyways I have a LOT of lore ideas and a whole arc for Ken in this, but god only knows if I can actually write it ugh

Also I'm not sorry lmao

“He’s… changed”

“ Don’t say that”

“Look at him!”

“Shut the fuck up, Richard”

Gathered, the men stare at Ken.

Whenever he used to be scared, he was loud (it was a liability sometimes, all the shrieking and sobbing). But now, he’s silent. Tear stains cut clean lines through the filth and gore on his cheeks, but none fall from his eyes. Not anymore.

He’s… vacant. Not like Driver, his stare always intense, or like Julian, always lost in thought. No. He’s just. Empty.

Six and Lars are sanitizing and bandaging his wounds. Slashes on his chest, burns on his limbs, bruises scattered on every inch of available skin like a fucking Jackson Pollock, and blood from god knows who and god knows where drenching his scarily pale skin and platinum blonde hair. He doesn’t flinch, doesn't move at all, even when Six gently murmurs that he needs to reset his shoulder. The bone grinding into place would have even the toughest of men gritting their teeth in pain, but Ken just sits there. Disconnected from the world. Lars is delicately cleaning the blood off of him, swallowing tears of his own while dabbing a warm cloth over his exposed skin. 

Ken wears nothing but a ragged pair of boxers stained with fluids nobody wants to think too hard about (just like they found him). He hasn’t said a word since they found him, but Lars finally gets a reaction out of him. He’s shakingly whispering to Ken that they need to remove his old shorts to wash him off and get him into something clean, but when his hand goes towards the waistband an explosion of movement happens. Ken bolts away from the men, scrambling to the closest wall and pressing his back to it. His voice is raw and venomous as he roars at the surrounding men.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” 

Everyone in the room freezes because Ken never curses. All eyes are on him, the torn and bloodied nails on his hands scratching at the brick wall, the bloody trail of footprints he makes, his heaving chest, and his frantic, darting, unseeing eyes. Blood drips down his inner thigh.

“I think I’m gonna be sick” 

“He needs a professional, guys, we can only do so much”

“Oh yeah, get the cops involved that’s smart”

“I thought I told you to shut the fuck-”

“Everybody out.”

The room silences once again, save for some muffled sobs and Ken's rapid breath. All eyes now turn to the man who spoke, the man in charge . His white jacket is splattered with blood, and a fire rages behind his cold, blue gaze.

“... are you sure we should leave him like this?”

“Six stays, the rest of you leave. He’s in no state for visitors. Every man is allowed some dignity.”

The room empties without protest, save for Ken, Six, Driver, and Julian. Julian didn’t need to ask to stay (not that he would have). Wherever Driver goes, he goes.

“Why am I staying?”

“You have the most combat-medic training. And. You can… restrain him if you need to.”

The rage in Driver’s eyes slips, showing for a brief moment deep, soul-wrenching anguish before he clenches his gloved fists and returns to his default neutral, intense stare. 

“I expect a complete injury report once he’s patched up. Ask Julian if you need any extra supplies. I have to go deal with the rest of this shit storm.”

He turns to leave, but pauses, glancing back over his shoulder.

“And Six?”

Six stands at attention, ready to receive orders.

“...be gentle.”

Six nods once in affirmation and Driver lets his head hang down, taking a deep breath before straightening his spine and closing the door quietly behind him. The room was now solely occupied by the three men left there.

Julian, standing and waiting by the door. Both ready to retrieve any necessary items and guarding against any poor fool that might try and interrupt them.

Six, shoulders sagged and ruffling through a medkit.

And Ken, who had slid to the floor, legs finally giving out, but the wild look in his eye still shining.

And it wasn’t until Six slowly approaches (the same way he did when he freed a wild deer from a beartrap as a kid), sinking to his knees, gently carding his hands through his blood-matted platinum hair and softly reassuring him that you’re safe now, you’re safe, we got you back that Ken starts trembling, a tear finally slipping from his eye.

[heresthestorymorningglory]

Alone in the Dark

As previously mentioned; inspired by the glorious works of @ken-dom (she's gonna get sick of me tagging her in shit...then maybe she shouldn't write so good) Seriously though...go read her shit...it's good.

This one's Driver x Reader....and as always, like everything I do, this one is 18+ so if it ain't you, don't read it.

You chew your bottom lip, watching him intently from your place in the passenger seat. His eyes are fixed on the dark road ahead, gloved hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, you were certain under the leather his knuckles were white as paper. A sharp breath through his nose is all the indication you need, his concentration is wavering; imploding further and further with every passing second. 

Neither of you speaks, the light of the dash illuminating your faces, the only source of light on the deserted stretch of blacktop in front of you, save for the car’s headlights. 

Your hand between his thighs squeezes just a little harder, the length of his shaft slick with precum leaking from the tip. Your own arousal, though less evident to the naked eye, soaking through the thin fabric of your underwear, your short skirt sitting high on your thigh, bare legs crossed in front of you at your ankles.

You had already found your release once tonight, the throb between your legs a welcome reminder as the scene replayed itself in your mind. 

He had picked you up, late, as agreed; and almost as soon as you stepped out your front door, you found yourself on the hood of his car, legs spread wide as he sank to his knees, pulling you to the hood’s edge, blanketed in darkness, but still exposed; that was part of the thrill. You leaned back, splayed out on the glossy paint, knees bent over his broad shoulders as he kissed his way up your inner thigh, making your whole body shiver with want. You reach between your legs, finding fistfulls of that gorgeous hair pulling him closer, needing him closer, needing more. 

You feel him huff a laugh against your core from under your skirt, face hidden between your thighs; you let out a small whimper, legs tightening around his head on instinct. 

Without a word, his hands, gloves on, ease your knees apart, his mouth enveloping your clit, his tongue attacking that tiny bundle of nerves. You take in a sharp breath, back arching up off the hood of the car, only for a second before you bite the back of your hand to keep yourself from waking the neighbours. 

“Holy..F-Ffuck” You gasp, taking in as much air as your lungs will let you as he hums appreciatively at a job well done, the vibrations sending another jolt of arousal through your nervous system. 

His hand sliding up under your silk shirt, to tease your bare chest; his tongue never stopping, causing you to jerk with every skilled maneuver It takes him no time at all to bring you to the brink, his massive hands yanking you closer to his face, keeping you trapped with ease as you squirm against the slick surface of the car’s hood, your orgasm imminent.

“Son of a bitch” you moan as he tongue fucks you through your orgasm, your quite certain your voice finding a new octave as you writhe under the moonlight, he lapping up every last drop you have to give.  

And now mere moments later, you sat in the passenger seat of that very same car, his throbbing cock pulsing in your hand, coated in his arousal. This had become a bit of a routine for the two of you; there was just something about a dark road and fast car…

This road in particular was one of his favourites, and yours too, many nights after he’d kissed you goodnight, popping a toothpick between his teeth as he stood on your porch, making sure you were inside safely; after you had climbed into bed alone, your hands would wander between your own thighs, the lightest touch of your fingers, triggering that delicious dull ache and you would be instantly transported back to that dark stretch of smooth straight asphalt, the speedometre easily creeping into the triple digits. 

Tonight was no exception, you moved your hand from between his thighs only long enough to unbuckle and shimmy yourself out of your underwear, they were an inconvenience, but all part of this dangerous little game. 

The car, his, the road, always the same, tonight  the moon has dipped behind the clouds, making it pitch black, his outfit, his scorpion jacket with a pair of black jeans and a simple black t-shirt….your outfit…one of his personal favourites…even before these recurring late night rendezvous. The tight little black skirt that was a respectable length, until you scooted into the passenger seat, showing a little more thigh than necessary, the white silk top with the deep v and spaghetti straps, you had worn it to the bar that first night, for a coworkers birthday…no bra…of course. The underwear, also one of his favourite pairs, a black lacy thong that would be left “forgotten” on the floor at your feet, until he would return them in a couple of days and you found yourselves here again in the near future. 

He rolled down the window on the driver’s side, flicking the used toothpick into the darkness; lifting his arm only long enough for you to climb over the console and into his lap; his foot never once letting up on the gas pedal. 

The slightest hint of a moan escaping his lips as you came to rest with his cock twitching between your thighs in anticipation. Trapped between his arms on either side briefly before he adjusted, shifting you slightly to keep eyes on the road. 

Dangerous? Without a doubt. Thrilling? Absolutely. Did you trust him wholly and completely to keep you safe? With his life. 

A gloved hand finds its way to your hip as you ease your aching cunt down slowly onto his slick cock. Your hips roll into his as you settle with ease, burying your nose in the nape of his neck; moaning with a need only he can satisfy. Both of your hands firmly on his shoulders as your rock back and forth in the tight space, one knee digging into the hard plastic of the centre console, if you hadn’t been so focused on finding your bliss you would realize how painful it is. The other wedged tightly between his thigh and the door. The car picks up more speed, his breathing heavy next to your ear. 

It takes no time before you’ve started coming unraveled in his lap; breaths coming in short quick gasps as your hair falls around your face with the movement, your teeth sinking into the sweat slicked flesh of his neck; a loud groan and a lurch between your thighs as your own thrusts start to waiver. 

“I’m….ungh” is all you breathlessly manage against the shell of his ear before you feel the hand on your hip grip tighter, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he slams on the brake, his free hand throwing the car in park, the other keeping you from flying backwards through the windshield.

In one motion your hand reaches down, flicking the lever on the side of the seat; the weight of your bodies sending it back as far as it will go. Your hands flat on his chest, your hips keeping a rhythm as a leather clad hand finds its way around your throat, squeezing gently before making its way to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to devour your mouth; his hips now thrusting upward to meet yours.

You gasp in pain as his teeth pull on your bottom lip, the hand in your hair pulling roughly. He knows you like it even before your eyes slip closed, your mouth hanging open as he releases your lip, watching you, a moan escaping from the back of your throat. 

A sharp cool breeze blows in through the still open window, your unprotected nipples hardening against the silk of your shirt and despite the cool air, you can tell there’s still a thin sheen of sweat coating his face and neck. His focus is completely on you. 

“Be a good girl and let go for me” 

You throw your head back with a moan, narrowly missing the ceiling of the car, both hands bunching the fabric of his t-shirt in your fists; you cry out as his large hands guide your hips, completely taking the control and you relinquish it willingly, letting the entire weight of your body collapse on top of him, moaning unapologetically and as loud as your strained vocal chords will allow as you involuntarily clench your walls around his hard shaft 

“UGHhhh fuck!” spills from between his lips and it’s like music to your ears as you feel his release spill from inside you, down the inside of your thigh. 

You sit up, breathlessly, pushing your hair back off your face, swallowing hard before you flop yourself back into the passenger seat, your long legs draping momentarily over his lap as he adjusts his seat. His favourite feature of yours “Legs for days” he commented to you once, 

As if reading your thoughts, his hand sliding up your smooth skin, silent, he’s a man of few words you’ve learned, before you righted yourself and he put the car back in drive, turning around and heading back the way you came….until next time. 

[theoriginallastnailinthecoffin]

A Gentleman and A Professional

Chapter One: Innocuous

Summary: He comes and goes each night, walking down the dimly lit hall of your apartment building with a black duffle in his hand.

Tags: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Physical Abuse, Consensual Kink, Hurt/Comfort

A/N: This is my second work ever posted after years of lurking and support. The first chapter has some character building. Beyond that, I know nothing. I have no beta. But I hope you enjoy. Link also in the cut.

Chapter One: Innocuous

Chapter Two: Opportunity

Chapter Three: Goodness

Chapter Four: Neighborly

18+ Only - MINORS Do Not Interact

You moved into the apartment building a few weeks ago with your husband. He is a good man, and people like him. You sought out this unit because it’s closer to your work and for a little while it seemed like your husband was satisfied with the location as well. He has a high stress job and often feels like he’s taken for granted by his bosses. It doesn’t make it easy some days… particularly when he comes home in silence. They always become loud evenings, try as you might to stop them. You’re never sure what it is that sets him on edge, but over the last two years you’ve learned it’s often something you’d done, or failed to do. You appease, you empathize, you take full responsibility, all the while managing your small internal world.

You’ve been in therapy for a while, and she’s incredibly sweet to listen to you even if it’s what she is paid for. She tells you that his mood swings are not your responsibility and you tell her you know that firmly, but knowing that fact doesn’t help you change how you’re treated. You’ve explained that you’re committed to helping him, to helping him push through this phase of life along side you. She tells you that you’re incredibly compassionate and intuitive, and that you’d be lovable to any man or woman, even if he is unable to see it or accept it. She reminds you that you’re making an informed decision, aware of why you chose to stay with him, aware of why you first fell in love with him, aware of why you said “yes, I do,” and aware that you have the freedom to chose a better life for yourself when you decide that you need to.

One day, you tell her what he’s told you before he left for work. That he’s no longer interested in sex with you and you confirm with her that you haven’t been intimate in weeks. When she asks you what you want and what you’re comfortable with, you explain you need emotional intimacy and some genuine semblance of psychological safety. You share that when you two are intimate… it often leaves you feeling vulnerable in a sick sort of dissociated way. It wasn’t always like that, but sex with him even when things were good never quite scratched the itch either. Since you were in university, you’d developed in interest in less conventional manners of intimacy, a strong desire to explore your senses and give yourself to the moment and to your partner. Your vague explanation was not misleading for her, and she genuinely recommended that you explore your sexuality further, as a way to connect deeper with your authentic self. It didn’t seem like a strange suggestion at the time, and so when your husband spent time with “the boys,” you spent time with yourself.

Through solo hands-on experiences and through perusing the internet you found what you liked, what you didn’t like, and eventually… who you liked. Men and women alike. It was rejuvenating and healing to be so honest with yourself about your needs and your wants. There were some videos you’d found particularly enticing and revisited their host site with some regularity. There were several “handlers,” or dominants, who you enjoyed watching, but there was one you were drawn to for a reasons you couldn’t put your finger on. They each wore a uniform of sorts; black clothing, a black ball cap, and black gloves, rendering their visible features unremarkable. Except for your favorite. He remained completely silent and unaffected, unremarkable except for an innocuous toothpick ground down and twisted around in his mouth throughout most scenes. Like the others, he ensured the women were the focal point of the scene, but the more of his content that you watched, you grew to appreciate that there was a kind of focus and artistry in what he did that separated him. And god was he good at what he did. It was a breath of fresh air that you caught fiercely as you came down each time, an evolved version of who you were only moments ago.

But your self-exploration did not improve or worsen the circumstances. Your increased time alone did not stop his words or lessen his rage when you were together. You were getting better at placating him, with a fraction of your needs met by the time you spent alone, it allowed you to give him the energy he’d no doubt burn when he left tasteless and loveless marks on your body during sex, when criticizing, unreasonably threatening, or when stonewalling you for days at a time. There were still days that pushed personal boundaries and set personal records. But you were holding onto what little sense of self you had left with a tortured grip.

x-+-x

It was a Thursday evening, you remember, as you were getting ready to take out the trash. Holding the heavy plastic bags, he told you it was the least you could do, that you generally contribute nothing of value and that it is he who keeps the household running. Wordless, you wait until he moves out of the hall and into the living room, letting the rank and baseless vitriol fill the air as he dropped himself onto the couch. Tearless and with a determined hand, you struggle to turn the deadbolt on the door to open it, the weight substantial enough that the little red drawstrings of the bag were taut and biting into your skin as you manage to unlock it. You gently pull the door open with your foot, push through the door and guide the door to close quietly behind you, careful to mind the neighbors at this late hour.

As you turn down the dimly lit hall, you can hear someone else locking up behind you. Shit. Typically, you would look out the peep hole before leaving the house, just to reduce the chances of running into anyone who lived within earshot. Panic seeps in and your palms grow clammy, the plastic beginning to slip. Maybe they didn’t see the unit you came from.

You tighten your grip and turn to walk down the dimly lit hall. You’ve decide it’ll be less awkward if you commit to seeming too occupied to notice them as you descend the stairs toward the lobby and the main exit, hearing the soft steps and scuffing fabric following you out. You don’t know anyone on your floor, let alone within the building. The office staff are nice enough and always give you a smile and a wave on your way to and from work.

When you get to the main door, you pause briefly to reason out what would be the easiest solution to opening it with the large bags weighing you down. It is within that time that the person trailing behind you reaches out a gloved hand and pushes the door open wide enough for you to fit through, a leg propping it open safely. Alarmed at the sudden intrusion of your personal space, you mutter a genuine “thank you” and respectfully speed walk through, the heavy bags awkwardly spinning as they hang, banging into your legs as you head toward the garbage bin. Not seconds later you’re dropping the bags to the cement, shaking your hands out at your sides to regain feeling. From where you stand, you are able to discretely glance back at the stranger who’d helped you, but he was tossing a duffle into the back seat of his car and quickly slipping into the driver’s seat. It looked like the kind of car who belonged to someone who knew how to take it apart and put it back together.

As they pull off, you move back to the task, dump the trash, and return back to your unit.

This night seemed particularly challenging as it progressed. Every moment you entered the same room as your husband, be it the kitchen or living room, it was an unspoken invitation for him to lash out. You’d hoped he would leave an hour ago to blow off steam at the bar with his coworkers and try his hand with the bartenders and waitresses. Tonight you were less fortunate and the air in the unit felt suffocating in way that you were unable to manage in his presence.

The moment he was occupied again, you left the unit. It was late. Really late. Breaking your own rule, you decide to sit in the hall to decompress and just… exist. It was quiet. With a few deep breaths you felt yourself return to baseline. You’d left your phone in the house, so you stuck with pressing patterns into the dark, surprisingly high pile and very plush carpet outside your unit door, tracing the design as you let yourself slip away from the moment.

It was movement that broke you away. Movement, but not from within your unit. Chancing a look up, you saw the same stranger making their way in your direction, no doubt to his apartment. Politely you kept your head tilted down, senses on guard for any sign that you should initiate or anticipate a greeting, and decided to stand and collect yourself, awkwardly acting busy with brushing off your legs and preparing to head back inside. As he neared, you glanced up to offer a soft generic greeting, or a neighborly “goodnight,” and instead you were forced into silence.

The man wore a dark Henley vee, bunched fabric stretched over his forearms. Corded veins led to his gloved hands that carried that small duffle bag you’d noticed earlier. His dark wash denim jeans were the sound that gave his presence away, with his laced boots cushioned by the carpet. Anyone else reasonably would have seen the baseball cap pulled low over his eyes and would’ve wondered who he was or what he was hiding, but you knew better.

Gloved fingers removed a toothpick as he offered you a short glance and a nod of acknowledgment in passing. He approached the door beside yours, his keys rattling quietly as he let himself in. When he closed the door, you felt for the stability of the wall behind you, sharply releasing the breath you held upon your imminent impact.

[danime25]

In The Snow

ao3 // normal masterlist // christmas masterlist

*Summary: Ken got so excited by the prospect of seeing snow. Driver shattered his hopes, but tried to find a way to make it up to his boyfriend

*Rating: E for Everyone

*Content/Tags: Fluff

*Status: Oneshot/Complete

“Wake up.” Ken joustled the nearly comatose man in his bed. His boyfriend roused from his sleep and looked up at Ken with a cocked eyebrow

“What?” Driver asked the other man. 

“It’s supposed to snow today.” Ken smiled

“It’s Los Angeles.”

“No, but the weather said it’ll snow. Here.” Ken pulled Driver out of bed and showed him the TV. Sure enough, it said that it would snow. In the Midwest. Driver sighed softly,

“Ken, we’re hours… days away from where there’d be snow.” He explained

“But it looks so close on TV.” Ken sighed, “I’ve never seen snow before, and when I was watching that one scary Christmas movie the other day… they had snow.”

“Scary Christmas?”

“Yeah.” Ken mimicked a scary face, “with the ‘ho ho ho’ thing?”

“Oh. A Christmas Story.”

“What story?”

“The name of the movie.” Driver tucked his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants

“Oh.” Ken nodded

“I’ll make coffee.” Driver said a moment later and went into the kitchen. Ken sat on the couch and leaned his head against the arm of it. Driver could tell Ken was slightly upset. Was it really such a big deal to Ken to see snow? Well he could take the two of them out to Lake Tahoe. But he didn’t really have that much money to rent out a cabin and the gas to get there. Colorado? Too busy. He sighed again as he brought two cups over to Ken. He sat beside him and ran his calloused fingers through Ken’s fluffy hair.

“Sorry.”

“For what?” Ken looked up at him

“The snow.” Driver shrugged

“Oh.” Ken nodded, “I wish there was a place where we could experience winter.”

“Wait.” Driver got up from the couch and flipped through his laptop. When he found what he was looking for he threw his jacket on, and threw Ken’s jacket at him. Ken quickly got up from the couch and put the piece of clothing on quickly. Driver ran out to start the car and Ken followed after him. He managed to get the seat belt in just barely before Driver put the car into reverse and they went off to wherever it was that Driver was taking them. Ken had only driven with Driver once before, and it was such a smooth ride. He wondered a little bit about why he drove with such… passion to wherever it was that they were going. After saying ‘Oh Mattel’ more than once on the drive, the couple arrived safely.

“I love it.” Ken said with a smile, “Where are we?”

“Let’s go inside.” Driver replied, turning the engine off and getting out of the car. Ken followed him and as they walked in Ken felt cold. Not cool, not chilly. Cold. He shivered a little bit and Driver took off his jacket, placing it on Ken’s shoulders.

“Aren’t you going to be cold?” Ken asked

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay…” Ken looked over at a giant desk that said ‘Rentals’ and tilted his head. Driver went over there and came back with two pairs of skates. Ken looked at them for a second before watching Driver as he slipped his shoes off and put the skates on. Ken tried pushing off the floor and moving like he was on roller skates, but fell face first.

“You have to… be on ice.” Driver sighed and did his best to help Ken back up onto his feet. He stomped across the floor, with Ken a couple steps behind him. They made it onto the ice and Driver managed to get a good glide in before looking behind him. He stayed in the blue lane and watched as Ken stepped on the ice. Ken started slipping again and Driver did the stupidest thing he could do at that time and did a whole lap around the rink before stopping behind Ken. “Do what you did before… in the locker room.”

“What?”

“Like you’re on roller skates, just push off,” Driver said as he moved away from Ken while saying the words ‘push off’. Ken pushed off again but kept his legs straight. He tried to keep them in but his feet seemed to move against him. Then there he was, down on a full split on the ice. Thankfully it was a gradual slide rather than a fall on his ass. Driver tucked his hands in his pockets and made a loop around Ken. Ken sat on the ice as kids moved around him, giving him a look of ‘get out of my way’. He was amazed with the way that Driver slid across the ice with such grace. He made it look effortless. Almost like how Barbie made roller skating look. After seeing Ken on his butt, Driver went over to help him, using the wall to get him onto his feet. Driver took Ken’s hands and while watching his back pulled Ken along to get him used to the feeling of moving across the ice. Ken watched as he moved forward and Driver encouraged him to push with his feet. He let go of Ken for a moment and Ken made it a couple of feet by himself. He seemed more content either leaning up against the wall or sitting on the side of the track. Before he totally got off the ice, Driver stopped next to him at an angle where the ice collected and hit Ken’s feet. Driver took the pile of ice that laid on the ground and put it into his hand.

“What are you doing…?” Ken asked, only for Driver to carefully sprinkle the fragments over Ken’s head. Ken looked up at it with a smile and let it hit his face.

“It’s like it’s snowing.” Driver replied. When he was done sprinkling Ken, Ken pulled him into a quick kiss. Driver returned the kiss with a careful peck and looked at his partner. Ken smiled back at him with a blank expression. Driver took his hand and let him skate by his side. Ken makes it one lap around the ice rink and decides to call it for the day. Driver promises him he’ll only be a couple more minutes, and Ken heads to the locker room. Sure enough, Driver comes in less than 10 minutes later with sweat collected at his forehead.

“Are you okay?” Ken asked

“Yeah, just wanted to see how many times I could make it around the rink in 5 minutes.”

“Wow.” Ken whistled a little bit

“Let’s go home.” Driver nodded

“Okay… and thanks.”

“Thanks?”

“For finding a way to let me see snow.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Love you.” Ken said with a smile. Driver gave Ken a quick kiss on the cheek and wrapped his arms around the other man as they walked out of the rink.

[whatthefishh]

Bc I don’t see anyone anywhere talking about standard……..

[ravenwolfie97]

i keep thinking back to a period of time in me and my friends' collaborative fanfic writing days when we would write Truth or Dare fics

and the thing about it is we were all Bad at coming up with prompts ourselves so we used a random prompt generator online

but then we expanded to not just randomizing prompts, but also randomizing seating arrangements (cuz turn order and also some prompts specified doing things with the person on your left or right), randomizing whether or not each character picked truth or dare, and further randomizing the prompts by putting a number of both truths and dares in a list and randomly picking whichever one they chose

and one may ask, how do you write a fanfic that's completely random? that's the beautiful part about it - you figure it out as you go. it's a character study and a chance to come up with interactions on the fly, and if you're really lucky like we were on some of these, the random prompts and interactions would work Perfectly with the characters they were assigned to and it would turn into an awesome scene or even series of scenes that would build off of one another

it's a very silly concept, but we ended up turning a funny little game into some of the most dramatic teenage angst shit and had a blast doing it too

so i highly encourage everyone to give it a try with whatever fandoms you have lying around :3

[simmonsized]

me, reading my shitty secret ocs being shitty assholes to each other: wow, literally so romantic, truly I am a 21st century visionary

[sl-walker]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Booster Gold Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Michael Carter & Rip Hunter Characters: Rip Hunter, Michael Carter Additional Tags: Major Character Injury, Parent-Child Relationship(s), Angst, Time Travel, Depression, Post-Crisis, +Modern Age (1986-Present), [Booster Gold Vol. 2 - 2007-2011], Bi-Weekly Challenge #3: No Win Scenario Summary:

Rip has spent the past several years driving the man-who-is-not-yet-his-father towards a destiny that Booster didn't really understand or even quite ask for because the man-who-is-his-father told him that he had to.

But that's a cruel place for any man to be. And a cruel thing to do to your son, too.

[drivinmeinsane]

{ Under Pressure }

※ Driver (solo) ※ { masterlist } ※ { ao3 } ※

※ Summary: Driver is feeling under the weather. Blaming the oppressive Los Angeles heat for the tightness in his chest, the mechanic leaves in the middle of his shift to try to recover only to receive a shock when it turns out to be something that he should be utterly incapable of. ※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content. ※ Content/tags: Male Lactation, Lactation Kink, Premature Ejaculation, Cumming Untouched. ※ Word count: 1,666 ※ Status: Oneshot/complete ※ Author's note: n/a

Time is going by painfully slowly. Every movement is laced with discomfort, and Driver can hardly focus on his work. His chest has felt tight since he left his apartment this morning. Each movement serves to agitate it.

The mechanic is in the midst of removing the last lug nut on a customer’s car when he feels something slide down his torso. He’s been flushed and sweating since he started work, so he thinks little of it. Summers in Los Angeles are hot and it is certainly warm in the open air of the garage. Exertion combined with whatever is wrong with him must be taking a toll. He feels unusually sticky beneath his layers.

“You look like shit, kid.” Shannon comments, catching the distressed eyes of his employee.

He shrugs in response, setting the impact driver aside on the cart alongside the rest of his tools and the displaced lug nuts. What is there to say? Shannon’s right. Driver knows he looks like a wreck and he sure feels like it too.

“Look…” The other man sucks his teeth thoughtfully, “Get that tire set off to the side and just get outta here. Go home. Get some rest. I don’t want to catch whatever illness has you looking like that. Damn.”

Driver doesn’t have it in himself to argue. He pulls the tire off the hub and drops it onto the floor beside the tool cart with a grunt. The action provokes another round of unexpected moisture to slick down his torso. He doesn’t return the other mechanic’s goodbye wave as he hurriedly walks past him towards his own vehicle. He doesn’t usually appreciate Shannon’s meddling, but occasionally, the older man is right.

Making contact with the steering wheel of the Malibu sends his head thudding back against the headrest as he tries to control the sudden flare of something in his gut. Pulling the seat belt over his sensitive chest and feeling it tighten into place when he buckles it has him gritting his teeth. He can’t put a finger on the sensation he’s feeling. It’s almost as though his skin feels too tight, too hot. The drive back to his apartment is immensely unpleasant. He flexes his hands over and over on the steering for the entire journey.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The first thing that Driver does when he gets home after closing the door behind himself is strip off his work button-up and toss it onto the kitchen counter with his keys. He wrestles himself out of his socks and boots before he makes his way to the bathroom and fumbles for the light switch. The minute the bulbs come to life with a buzz, he’s confronted with the sight of himself in the mirror. His undershirt is soaked through in some places. The blue fabric is darker from mid chest and downwards. He skates a concerned hand over the damp material, catching the hem of the shirt right above his belt and pulling it up to his chin. He almost takes it off entirely but decides against it. That seems too intimate.

His eyes trail back to the mirror and he freezes at seeing his reflection. He has been feeling discomfort for a number of weeks, ever since he had taken an active role in his neighbors’ lives. His chest has felt larger, each pec more defined than they had been prior. The stunt driver had chalked it up to muscle growth. He has been doing more lifting and carrying lately between increased work at the garage and helping out the woman living down the hall. But this… There is no precedent for this. His nipples are swollen into hard, straining peaks. The veins are more prominent than before, lightning arcs of blue against the pale sky of his skin.

Warily, Driver presses his fingers to his right areola. His breath gets caught in his throat at the feeling. A white substance beads on the tip, teetering precariously. He presses a little harder, giving the sensitive flesh a slight squeeze. A spurt of fluid surprises him. It runs, opaque and thick, over his fingers. Despite his better judgment, he lifts the hand to his face and gives the liquid an exploratory sniff. It smells slightly sweet. Surely, it can’t be what he’s thinking it might be. He brushes his tongue over it in doubt. The substance is rich and creamy on his taste buds. It’s milk.

His mind goes blank with shock. He’s lactating. Somehow, impossibly, his body is producing milk. For a moment, he considers pulling his shirt back down and going down the hall to ask his neighbor for help. She had given birth to a kid. He’s not pregnant, not even capable of it, but she might know what to do. He imagines himself knocking on her door, explaining that his chest is leaking milk, and the thought horrifies him. He can’t do it. He’s alone in this and he has to resolve it by himself.

He wipes the spit-slicked hand on his shirt before gripping the pulled up hem between his teeth. Driver braces a hand on the edge of the sink, he traces his fingers shakily down from his cloth filled mouth and back to his pectoral. He finds the nipple again and gives it another firm squeeze. More milk leaks out, but the pressure underneath the surface doesn’t feel as intense.

Driver searches his mind for any scrap of information that might assist him with this. He remembers going on a field trip to a hobby farm when he was young, before he stopped going to school at 16. Gradually, the memory of the farmer explaining how to milk a cow comes to mind. He cringes at himself for the association but does his best to mimic the instructions he was given a decade ago. He grips himself at the base of the nipple with his thumb and pointer finger, as close to the skin of his breast as he can go. Slowly, he gives it a gentle pull and is rewarded with a steady spurt. Encouraged, he lets go of the sink and takes his other, more tender, nipple in hand. He mimics the milking motion he had done for the other. The relief is immense. He can’t help but relax into it. His skin doesn’t feel so tight over his engorged chest now that he has drained some of the milk.

A deep breath through his nose and straightened back gets him on the right track to start dealing with the problem in earnest. With both hands tugging his nipples between the calloused pads of his fingers, he allows himself to wonder what it would feel like to have someone’s mouth doing the work for him. If he concentrates, he can almost feel the wet brush of a tongue over his tender skin. He breaks stride on one stroke just to feel the milk slick brush of his thumb against the peak. A particularly strong spray hits the mirror. The liquid runs down the surface in dense streaks.

Despite himself, he’s hard in his jeans and can’t help but grind against the edge of the sink, trying to relieve another source of internal pressure. He pants around his gag, jaw clenching. With his eyes lidded, he catches glimpses of himself in the spattered mirror, snapshots of unwilling pleasure. Saliva leaks from the corners of his mouth into the fabric of his shirt. It’s doing a commendable job of muffling his low groans and growls as he milks himself. His overworked nipples are a brilliant, rosy pink from the stimulation. Milk has run down in wide streams over his hands and down his torso, soaking into the fabric of his jeans. It’s hard to tell if the front of the pants are more of a mess from the trickling milk from his chest or the precum leaking from his cock.

Closing his eyes and hovering on the cusp of orgasm, he pushes his pelvis tightly against the sink. Driver lets himself daydream further. He lets himself imagine someone standing behind him, shoving his hands aside and taking over for him. Their hands would milk him dry with expert ease, pulling at both of his nipples, teasing the liquid from his full glands. He wonders if they would rub their own crotch against his ass while they grind him against the porcelain in front of him.

That's all it takes for his own imagination to push him over the edge into a free fall. He curls over, grabbing onto the faucet for stability as he rides it out. The moan he lets out despite being gagged is loud enough to warrant a neighborly complaint, but he hardly hears his own noises over the ringing in his ears. His cock is twitching and pulsing in his jeans. The material is a sodden mess. He pulls the shirt out of his mouth and over his head to drop it onto the floor at his feet.

Breathing heavily, legs trembling with the aftershocks, he tries to rally himself. He grabs the hand towel hanging on the rail mounted on the shower door. He has quite the mess to clean up before he can wash the rapidly cooling evidence off of himself. Breathing heavily, he wipes down the mirror. He does the best that he can in his current state and tosses the hand towel onto the floor to join his discarded shirt. His jeans follow suit.

Hurriedly, not wanting to think about the mess streaked across his skin, he turns the shower on. Not waiting for the water to heat up, the mechanic steps under the spray. The sensation of icy needles raining onto him helps to distract him from his overheated, sensitive body. He feels wrung dry, exhausted. This has to have been a one time thing. Surely, every day won’t find him with his hands on his chest, working busily at his nipples to keep the involuntary leaking at bay.

[josiebelladonna]

last night, somehow, by some whim, i started reading about my favorite f1 drivers, and i’m talking back when i was watching it religiously with my dad—2005-2011; 2012, i was watching it for the most part by myself; i remember i quit watching in 2013 because things were getting way too political to be enjoyable and everyone i liked was either without a drive or they sucked in the previous season and i wasn’t in the best headspace then. then somehow, i caught the 2016 season, right after jules passed away and that was it after that.

one of my first cartoon endeavors was called “life in the paddock”: a hand drawn comic/fanfiction that i made when i wasn’t focusing on school. i made my last cartoon in summer 2011 when my home life was in shambles and i had to focus on going to college and also surviving; i wouldn’t even touch the cartoon world again until that following may with my soundgarden ones. i remember it so well, from january 2007 - july 2011. in fact, just last night, i got the honest to god stupidest idea to resurrect it from the grave, 13 years after its untimely demise à la soundgarden’s reunion—if i do, it’s going to have to wait until i finish my kinktober fics, which i actually plan on signing and sealing and queuing up all the way in the coming days. it + throughout the dark months of april and may could be a wonderful balance to my testament fics. things that go vroom vroom to balance out the complex crush that i never want to stop exploring.

my guys are always going to be kimi räikkönen, robert kubica, nick heidfeld, jenson button, mark webber, takuma sato (his winning the indy 500 back in 2017 was easily a bright light for me in that summer), adrian sutil, “the nicos” (rosberg and hulk), the schumacher brothers, and i even liked bruno senna and timo glock for a while; i had the weirdest fucking soft spot for vitaly petrov, too (and when i say weird, i mean it—the dude was backed by putin and the mob, so i remember being seen as like the “bad girl” or even the “hellraiser” on the old groups and boards i used to frequent—that title literally just stayed with me the last 12 years 😅)

it’ll never not be wild to me to see how much it’s changed now. how americanized it all is now. the fandom now is like kpop twitter before twitter fell under elon’s control, a far cry from the kind of sassy, snarky fandom i had cozied up with initially.

when i was watching, it was insulated away from everything. it was a very ritzy, very glamorous atmosphere. it was all very high tech.

i’m literally not sure what happened after 2016. it’s got this “how do you do, fellow kids” vibe but slightly to the left.

[lusthurts]

writing meme about me!

no official tag but thought maybe time to share more about myself! mostly because I want to know more about you all as well, and @sperrywink extended an invite to seblaine mutuals so I will do the same!

How did you get into writing fanfiction?

I discovered it on accident as most of us do - I was on the Glee wiki I think? There was a link to select fanfics on the ship pages at the time, and I started reading one of the Finchel ones, and it was game over for me lol - I started writing my own a while after that, and I participated in a variety of Glee RPGs that inspired me to write other characters. I was in one of those massive Glee RPGs in like 2011 on fanfiction.net, and it was very formative for me in terms of connecting with the rest of the fandom and wanting to do more of that. RPGs are also so great for exposing you to ships you never would've liked or even thought of before, although all my current ships came from elsewhere lol

oh, and there was the whole escapism from family shit that was going down at the time thing - that was a huge factor for sure

2. How many fandoms have you written in?

I've almost exclusively been writing for the Glee fandom since the beginning, although the ships I've written for have changed drastically throughout that time. I've dabbled in some other things as well depending on my special interest at the moment, but I always come back to Glee. Other fandoms I've written for include The Outsiders, Degrassi, How I Met Your Mother, 13 Reasons Why, Girl Meets World, and Skam ! none of these are published anywhere anymore though as far as I know, it's all far too embarrassing (and yes I'm aware that's the most bizarre mix of fandoms ever)

3. How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

at least 12, I wanna say I started around 2012ish?

4. Do you read or write more fanfiction?

I genuinely think it's about equal, but it comes in waves. Sometimes I'm reading more, sometimes I'm writing more. I'm almost always working on something and I'm also almost always in the middle of reading a long fic.

5. What is one way you've improved as a writer?

I think I've gotten a lot better at writing comedy and ensemble dialogue. I like writing the silly goofy scenes with large friend groups a lot, especially when I feel like I've nailed the character's voices enough that I don't even need dialogue tags to know who said each line.

6. What's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

Ohio geography lmao - I like always have Google Maps pulled up trying to map out different locations and how far drives would be, etc. I also have researched a ton about various colleges (especially for my current WIP since these characters are actively applying for college rn) and France (never been there, constantly have to write stuff that takes place there).

7. What's your favorite type of comment to receive on your work?

I genuinely do love all comments! I especially loves one that are specific/mention parts of the chapter or the fic that they enjoyed or thoughts that they had while reading. I also like chatting about the characters and canon and their predictions/hopes for the rest of the fic. The length doesn't really matter so much - I love long comments and short comments, and I try my best to respond to all of them.

8. What's the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

Idk I kinda write a lot of infidelity and toxic relationship stuff. Seblaine is the main ship I write for nowadays, and the nature of their relationship lends itself to a lot of infidelity in their process of getting together. I also just love writing angst, so even when I'm writing established relationships, they end up being sort of toxic throughout especially given the traits of both characters. I just find it more fun and probable to write a slightly toxic relationship than a 100% healthy one.

9. What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

PWP - I struggle so much with writing smut, although I like to think I've gotten a bit better at it recently. I'm also trying to get better at writing ensemble fics, but it's definitely a struggle for me to give each ship/character enough attention. And I'm pretty awful at world building, so anything remotely fantasy, sci fi, etc. is a huge struggle for me.

10. What is the easiest type?

slow burns! I've gotten so much better at delaying the characters from getting together for a really long time in fics and it's soooo fun. I prefer a character centric slow burn with lots of sexual tension and an arc that involves characters moving from enemies/friends/strangers to lovers over the course of many months or years.

11. Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

I like to write outside of my own home - something about physically relocating makes me way more productive. I write a ton on planes (I travel a lot for work). I also love a good coffee shop, Panera, park, library, etc.

I write in Word and publish to AO3 - used to write in Google Docs but it's so slow and laggy so I much prefer Word. Used to publish on fanfiction.net but I will never go anywhere else now that I've transitioned to AO3, the far superior fanfic site lol

I am most productive with writing either during the day if I'm somewhere other than at home or in the middle of the night in bed - my most productive hours at home are between like midnight and 3 am

12. What is something you've been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

I recently got over my fear of PWP and published a one shot that I'm very proud of. I have many ideas for things similar that I'd like to work through in the future!!

Most of this is fandom specific though - I'm super intimidated to write for big fandoms because I've gotten so comfortable in the Glee fandom, especially writing Seblaine which has a relatively small audience in comparison. I'd love to write Marauders, but that fandom is HUGE and very intimidating because there is so much lore and fanon to mess up. I hope to give it a shot one day though!

13. What made you choose your username?

it's a song lyric! lust hurts comes from the song "Barcelona Boots" by Arlie - the lyric goes "Lust hurts, could you bear it for me?" and I thought that was very fitting for someone like me who's obsessed with romance in fiction but can't be bothered with it in my real life

any of my mutuals are welcome to participate! I'll specifically throw in a tag for @daisyishedwig @calsvoid @xonceinadream @andyandersmythe bc these are the ones that come up first when I go to tag haha

[tblsomedoodles]

1

1.How did you get into tmnt?

Oh boy, that's a weird story lol.

So. My parents all but forced me to watch the 1990 tmnt movie as a child. (i didn't want to at the time. Then after watching it i kinda liked it.) Didn't really click at the time so just went on with my life.

a few years later i had a dream about ninja turtles (i don't remember what it was) that prompted me to revisit it.

queue turtle brain rot.

i literally watched everything i could get my hands on (which, at the time, was the 1990 movies, next mutation, and 2003 off of youtube) and went absolutely feral about it. When i couldn't find anymore content, a friend introduced me to the turtle side of FF.net and i discovered what ✨✨fanfiction✨✨ was. Then i started writing fanfics for turtles. And then i started posting fanfics.

that was around...2011 i think? yeah, b/c the 2012 turtles were just starting to come out.

and yeah, that's about it. ninja turtles is essentially why i have any sort of online fandom presence. Without my initial drive to consume any ninja turtle content, i would probably not be writing or posting today.

Thank you!

[theoriginallastnailinthecoffin]

Appetite

Part Two of The Will Series

(Part One: Decisions)

Summary: Nothing he does is without intent you quickly learn.

Tags: Semi-Public Sex, Creampie, Oral Sex, Hand & Finger Kink

A/N: I know nothing. I have no beta. But I hope you enjoy. Link also in the cut.

18+ Only - MINORS Do Not Interact

(Part One: Decisions)

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

You open your eyes and mouth to retort, but he presses a button on the dash and you hear a bay door to your right lifting. Inside reveals enough space for a vehicle like his to fit.

Wordlessly he turns the wheel, guiding you into the garage to park. With a second press to the button, darkness descends.

You both sit in silence as a minute passes. He turns in the front seat to look you directly in the eye, as if to communicate that this… this is really going to happen. It’s a warning.

He exits the vehicle and you watch through the windshield as he walks around to your side, opening the door. You carefully step out of the car, bare toes on the cold cement floor as you stand to your full, diminutive height. Diminutive only by physical comparison. He gave you little space to exist, and even less with each labored breath he took through his nose. You slowly lifted your gaze from the zip on his jacket to the gentle flush of his skin, eyes on your lips.

“Put them back on.”

You stall for a moment and when he wets his lower lip, you do as you’re told. You search for the slip of fabric caught on the gearshift as you’d anticipated and, losing confidence with every second passing, you slide them up over your hips, the cool damp fabric uncomfortable.

You meet his gaze again, searching for… approval? Instead you saw a sort of confinement in his eyes and felt it in the restrained way he held himself.

He raises a hand, slowly, to cup your face gently. A display of appreciation, of respect. A second hand raises a moment later to pass through your hair and to mirror the other, holding you very still. Where he wants you to be.

It’s when you hold his gaze for a beat too long that his concentration clearly breaks. He pours forward, filling your senses and capturing your lips, his breath a warm mint.

He guides you by the hips and you stumble to the back of the car before he lifts you to sit on the trunk, standing between your thighs. He leverages your new height to bury his face in your neck, the wet heat of his unrelenting and traveling kiss sending goose-flesh down your arms and thighs. Sliding a hand beneath the collar of his jacket and up the back of his head, the brush of short bristled hair sends a shiver through him to precisely where he’s touching you, his fingers digging into your hips and thighs. You grip what you can on him to ground yourself as he presses himself to you, his thick and throbbing heat prominent against your core, and you pull his mouth to yours, tongue languidly caressing his in a mess of passion. He releases the first sound of what will soon become many – a resonating groan as he shifts his denim-clad hips, dragging his length along the thin barrier between his pride and your glory. He dips a hand between you both to draw the pads of his leathered fingers against and between your sodden folds, the cloying fabric doing nothing to hide how you must look.

He slowly, gently pulls his body away so you have time see his plan reveal itself. He pushes your hips further up on the trunk and lays heavy gloved hands against your thighs to keep them wide. He leans forward on his elbows, hooking your legs around him, delicately guiding your heels past his head to rest on his back. The satin feels delicious against the soles of your feet as he moves forward, mouth closing around the fabric at your apex, sucking the damp fabric. He nuzzles against your clit with an inhale and you feel it released against your thigh.

Nothing he does is without intent you quickly learn. Having felt your opening tighten at the contact, he closes his lips around the covered bud, finger tips of one hand simultaneously rubbing between your folds and pressing into you, soaking the resisting fabric even more. The other hand lays flat against your stomach, securing.

You loose a whimper, your hand coming up to rest on his head, his dizzying licks causing your hand to slip low in his collar to curl your fingers beneath his jaw, feeling it work to please you.

His tongue and his fingertips adventure to the edge of the fabric, peeling it to the side to expose your wet heat, the flat of his tongue repeatedly dragging up and down along your labia, neglecting where you need him most. And in the next breath he lets your legs down slightly, and presses his body further up to yours, holding his fingers in front of your mouth. A command? A request? You comply.

Opening yourself to him, he slips three fingers past your lips. You curl your tongue around them, coating them, sucking them, allowing him a glimpse into the vision and creativity you have. When he responds by pushing his fingers deeper, his eyes fixed on your lips, you relax your throat. You allow him to feel your insides and collect as much saliva as he wants. You know precisely where they’ll be placed next.

He lowers his fingers between your bodies and let’s the tips of them rest just outside your entrance. Holding your gaze he slides his body down, breath warm on your wet skin, bracing his cheek against your thigh. And he waits.

He waits until your pulse thickly hammers under your skin and only then does he sink two fingers into you, then three, pumping slowly, deliberately, maddening. His tongue resumes it’s caressing licks to your bud and with his grip on your thigh, he pulls you toward him, fucking you with his tongue and his hand.

You try to focus your eyes on his now unkempt hair, his face buried between your legs, but you let your head thud back against the rear windshield, releasing a serration of soft moans as your legs shake, his efforts dragging you up the side of your second peak of the night. Sensitive from the first, your body resists your desire, knees closing in around him. It’s too much. He’s too much. You love that he never pauses.

Your breaths grow steadily more and more ragged and then the silence around you is carved open by one long moan as he forces you to come, your body shaking in his grip. Gently, he slides his hand from inside you and he leaves feather light licks and kisses against your pussy, as if praising you before he stands, shadow casting over your body. Sliding your ass to the edge of the trunk, his hands work open the button of his jeans. You watch him eyeing the mess he’s made as he removes his jacket and throws it to catch on the nearby tool chest. He dips his hand past the denim to pull himself out, long and thick, pressing the wet tip directly to your entrance, hot skin sending shocks of arousal to your core. The weight of his cock resting against you is the last warning you’re given. Slipping his warm rough palms along the outsides of your thighs to grip your hips, he pulls you to him burying his length inside you. Your wordless cry is interrupted as he captures your lips in a bruising kiss. Teeth and tongue, as he fucks you deep enough you feel him low in your belly. You slip your hand between your bodies, fingers slick around your bud and slick around the base of his cock as you feel him press into you, squeezing around him gently. He releases another moan against your mouth, releasing it, lips hovering above yours to occupy as much of you as possible. His voice is quiet, and severe.

“You’re gonna come again.”

He lifts your legs, placing one on each of his shoulders and he lifts your ass, positioning his cock right against the soft, spongy spot inside you that drops your jaw. He reaches one hand around to press gently into the gentle dip above your mound, ensuring that every thrust builds more and more pressure. You feel the third peak approaching, your mouth watering, your eyes tearing, your fingers digging into his skin when it slams through your body, stomach muscles coiling, your body wrung for all it’s worth as you release onto him, liquid soaking the fabric hovering of where he continues to thrust into you.

He watches you begin to come down, breathing rapid, eyes wild as you watch him, sweat collecting on his brow, his lips parted. Everything he does comes with a warning. Enough time for you to reject his will, but as he dips low to consume you again in a searing kiss, you reflectively tighten around him, body craving his closeness as you thread your fingers through his hair, holding him in the kiss.

He licks at your open lips and whispers. “Can I?” You groan through the sloppy kiss and give a frantic little nod, heat welling up in your core for what is to come.

He carefully presses your thighs back, your legs collapsing to his sides again as he firmly grips your hips and ruts into you like his life depends on filling you over, and over, and over again. It’s when he releases one hip and lifts your hand to rest at his throat, pressing your fingers tightly into his skin in a request that he begins to show just how far gone he is. A display of vulnerability. You test a gentle squeeze and he expels a grunt that you feel vibrate through you to your core, and you squeeze your fingers and his cock again, holding… holding him.

He releases into you on a thrust, your low belly bulging against the pressure, as he he hangs himself above you panting, very still. Lowering himself onto you, he buries his face into your neck, a quiet, final grunt, content against your skin.

You feel a deep warmth as he shifts, his chest now pressed to yours, and a trickle between your legs as he retreats. Dropping his mouth again, he laps at the pearly skin, gently sucking, a hand caressing your stomach while the other squeezes your thigh. Hungry boy.

Distantly, you wonder if he likes movies and diner food.