#They KNOW that's the fastest way to get to him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

followingthebutterflies7 · 2 days ago

Text

Sweeter Than Honey | Part One: The Game

Mob Boss!Spencer Agnew x FBI!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: You were sent undercover to infiltrate the world of the most dangerous mob boss on the FBI’s list, Spencer Agnew. But the more you find out about him, the more you lose yourself.

Warnings: Mature themes that include emotional manipulation, psychological tension, dubious consent, morally grey relationships, violence, organized crime, and mild language.

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

Part One: The Game

You were built to ruin men like him. So why does it feel like you’re the one being led to slaughter?

The first rule of your honeypot training: they can’t know you want something.

Desire must look effortless. Seduction must feel accidental. You don’t chase the target. You become the thing they chase.

You learned that early, somewhere between the controlled flirtation drills and the hours of psychological deconstruction in sterile underground rooms. They stripped you down, not your body but your mind, in rooms colder than morgues until there was nothing left but raw, pliable instinct.

Then they built you back up, piece by piece. A different version of yourself, designed to fit the voids inside others. You were taught to map a man’s mind the way others mapped coastlines: to find where he was soft, where he was strong, where he could drown.

Comfort. Chaos. Curiosity. Control.

You learned to be whatever the moment demanded. Whichever hook would sink fastest into the heart, or throat, of the mark.

You were the FBI’s best recruit, the golden child of the honeypot program. Every lesson they had put in front of you, you had devoured like a starving dog. All the tests you were put through, you had passed with the kind of effortless precision that made others whisper in jealous awe.

Every operation you touched ended the same way: completed, clean, and without a trail.

Your instructors said you adapted like water, slipping through cracks and reshaping yourself into whatever was needed. You preferred to be compared to honey, patient, trapping, and sickly sweet.

You were cunning. Ruthless. Resilient.

And you were beautiful. But not in the way that mattered.

You were beautiful like a loaded gun left on a nightstand: inviting from a distance, deadly up close.

That was why you were their best.

Because you didn’t just know how to make men want you. You knew how to make power want you.

Still, this time felt different.

Because this time, the target wasn’t just dangerous.

He was danger.

“Spencer Agnew,” your handler, Claire Marlowe, said as she slid the slim black dossier across the table like it was a loaded weapon. Her fingers brushed the edge of it briefly, a silent warning.

The FBI's underground briefing room in D.C. hummed with cold fluorescent light. No windows. No clocks. No distractions. It was sterile, quiet, and cold, humming with tension of deep silence. The kind of place where reality was optional and morality was a suggestion.

You didn’t touch the folder yet. You knew better. Marlowe always delivered the worst of it first.

Marlowe’s gaze was razor-sharp, fingers steepled in front of her. "He's not a hammer," she said. "He's a scalpel. Precise. Surgical. Patient. He slices right through his enemies with a soft voice, expensive suits, and exquisite elegance. He lures everyone past a false sense of security, and into safety and comfortability. He doesn't bludgeon his way to power, he dissects his enemies while they're still smiling at him."

You nodded once, silent.

“He slices through his enemies with soft words and softer hands,” she went on. “You’ll want to underestimate him. Everyone does. That’s why they’re all dead.”

You let the silence stretch.

“I won’t underestimate him,” you said.

Marlowe arched a brow, skeptical but not argumentative. “He doesn’t like to get his hands dirty. But bodies drop when he says jump. Political leverage, international trafficking networks, arms deals. We've only scratched the surface of what he’s done. And now he’s started laundering through legitimate logistics contracts. He’s starting to buy himself into respectability.”

You met her gaze. She leaned back, exhaling. “That’s why we need you, Agent Dahlia.”

You opened the file. And stopped breathing for a fraction of a second.

Spencer Agnew’s photo was clipped to the first page. You weren’t sure what you expected. A brute, maybe. A thug with blood under his nails. Not this.

Spencer Agnew looked like a man who belonged in a penthouse suite above the city. The man in the photo was tailored to perfection. Charcoal suit, slightly messy curls, a half-smile so slight you might have missed it if you weren’t trained to look for the little things.

His eyes were dark and sharp, but with a detached air, like he was already five moves ahead on a board you didn’t even know you were playing. Every bit the predator who knew he could play with his food.

You weren’t new to infiltration. You’d seduced tech brokers, cartels, crooked hedge fund heirs. But none of them had a reputation like his.

They called him the Gentleman Reaper. And no one ever saw him coming.

Your stomach tightened. Not with fear, but with something colder, sharper.

Marlowe slid another folder across the table towards you. It contained a carefully crafted undercover persona, put together by the FBI’s best, your new life.

Your new identity was Elise Hawthorne. Ivy-educated logistics consultant with offshore shell companies, a brilliant paper trail, and a long resume of profitable, morally gray ventures. Believable. Polished. Just dangerous enough to catch a man like Agnew’s attention.

“You’d be inserted through a fake corporate front, an intelligence-created laundering contact.” Marlowe says. “Win his trust. Earn a seat in his inner circle. Gather intel. Bring him down.”

All roads led to one destination: proximity to Spencer.

"You’ll gather everything you can. Names. Accounts. Evidence. And when the time’s right-" She mimed pulling a trigger. "We take the whole empire down."

But first? You had to survive his gatekeeper. Standing between you and Spencer Agnew was his right hand.

Alex Tran.

Marlowe didn’t sugarcoat it.

“He’ll interrogate you before you ever breathe the same air as Agnew,” she said. “And he doesn’t care about manners or boundaries. He's a former intelligence, some black ops ghost, who vanished after a mission in Bangkok. Rumor is Agnew pulled him from a kill team and gave him purpose. Or maybe Tran found him. No one really knows.”

You tapped the edge of the file.

“What does he want?”

Marlowe's eyes glinted. “To protect Agnew. At any cost.”

“He'll vet you first," she continues. "And he doesn't play games."

Neither did you.

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

The first time you met Alex Tran, it was like walking into a den of knives.

You were taken to a penthouse in Manhattan under the guise of a private consulting contract. The residence was all glass and steel. No personal touches. No softness. Just the subtle hum of a building too secure to be anything but a fortress.

Your heels clicked softly against polished floors as you entered a living room designed for quiet intimidation. Polished stone. Chrome accents. A view that swallowed Manhattan whole.

And there he was. Alex Tran.

He was leaning against a black-paneled wall, dressed in matte black, arms crossed. Cold eyes. Movements so still he barely seemed to breathe. Watching you walk in like he was memorizing the sound of your footsteps.

“You’re early,” he said.

You smiled coolly. “Professional habit.”

He said nothing, just studied you with the detachment of a scientist examining a specimen he didn’t believe was real.

“Sit,” he said, nodding at the leather high-back chairs. “Let’s begin.” You did.

“You come highly recommended,” he says, standing behind the chair across from you, not sitting. “I don’t trust recommendations.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

The interrogation didn’t feel like one at first. It was conversational, subtle. Questions layered in questions. He asked about your past contracts, your strategies, the way you handled risk. Then the tone shifted.

“Tell me, what’s your price for betrayal?” he asked, casual as a knife slipped between the ribs.

You didn’t blink. “That depends. Who’s betraying who?”

For the first time, something flickered behind his eyes. Interest? Approval?

Maybe.

“You’re clever,” he said.

“You wouldn’t have let me through the door if I wasn’t.”

Another pause. Then, softly: “You lie like someone who’s done it for a living. That’s dangerous. For you.”

Your heart tapped a slow warning in your chest. You allowed yourself a fractional shrug. "It’s part of the job."

"Not the job you think you’re interviewing for," Alex said, stepping closer. "You’re not here to help Spencer Agnew. You’re here to survive him."

The room seemed to tighten around you.

“You think Spencer’s going to trust you,” Alex said, voice like icewater. “But here’s the thing, he doesn’t need new people. He doesn’t want them. I’m the reason you’re even being considered for a meeting. I’m also the reason it could be your last.”

You met his gaze. Unflinching.

“I’m not here to replace anyone. I’m here to solve problems.”

Alex tilted his head slightly. “Then let’s see how you handle one.”

He was suddenly uncomfortably close. Almost breathing down your neck.

“Your name,” he said.

“Elise Hawthorne.”

“Wrong. Try again.”

“Elise-”

His hand hit the table.

“You’re a liar.”

You didn’t flinch. Your training was a steel wall around your pulse.

“Everyone in this business is a liar,” you said calmly. “What matters is what I can do for him.”

Alex studied you like he could see the gears in your mind turning.

Then, just as suddenly, he stepped back.

“You’ll get your meeting.” He decides. “I’ll be watching you. Every second.” He waves you off.

You get up from your chair and walk calmly, even-paced, towards the door. Alex calls after you. You paused in the doorway.

His mouth tilted into something that was almost, but not quite, a smile.

“Just remember," he said, voice almost gentle. "Spencer’s not the only one who kills for a living."

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

You waited a week until any instructions came for your meeting with Spencer Agnew. A note on embossed paper had appeared on your kitchen table in your assigned undercover apartment. In dark ink were the instructions, just a date, time, and dress code.

A car pulled up in front of your apartment on the day. Not a second early or late. Your car door was opened for you, and you were escorted to the meeting location. Same city, different level of hell.

Your meeting with Spencer wasn’t hosted in a flashy club or a cold boardroom. It was a private speakeasy-style lounge beneath a closed restaurant. There was no signage, no cameras, only the faint thump of jazz through the walls and the metallic scent of money in the air. The kind of place where the carpet muffled every footstep and the walls drank secrets.

Security was invisible but omnipresent. Eyes followed you down the hall like ghosts. Your heartbeat was steady, but something coiled in your stomach, a quiet, anticipatory dread.

This was it.

Everything about the mission so far had felt technical. Strategic. You were the player and the board. But now, walking into this curated underworld, it felt less like a game and more like stepping onto a stage. And you weren’t entirely sure who you were playing anymore.

A hostess led you through the velvet curtain and into a room bathed in low amber light. Your heels sank into the plush carpet as you walked further away from the safety of the exit. The whole thing left less like walking into a negotiation and more like stepping onto a stage.

Then you saw him.

Spencer Agnew.

He was seated at the end of a dark mahogany table, backlit by low golden sconces, looking like a king in exile. A glass of something expensive sat untouched beside him. One leg crossed over the other. Perfectly still.

He didn’t look up right away.

You took in the tailored charcoal suit, the undone cufflinks, hair curling rebelliously against his temples. The sharp edge of his jaw softened only slightly by the curl of his lips, like he knew a secret no one else did. Like he was the secret.

You felt his gaze before he even looked up. When he did, it was like a slow burn.

Then his eyes met yours.

Dark. Intelligent. Bored, at first, as they slid over you like a hand tracing a weapon’s edge. Not hurried. Not surprised.

Then, something else.

Recognition? Curiosity? A flicker of interest? You weren’t sure. But it landed.

And suddenly you weren’t FBI. You weren’t Elise. You were seen, and you didn’t know how he’d done it.

“Ms. Hawthorne,” he said, voice smooth, warm, and utterly disarming. “I hear you solve problems.”

You stepped forward, unhurried, measured.

You managed a soft smile. “Only the expensive ones.”

He smiled back. A real one, this time. Slow. Dangerous.

“Good,” he said, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Because I have a few.”

He raised two fingers. A glass appeared in front of you.

You didn’t touch the drink they offered. He noticed.

The conversation started innocently enough, unfolding like a dance. You were deliberate in your steps, feints, and flourishes. You talked about your fabricated background, your “expertise” in laundering sensitive funds through unstable foreign markets. You were smooth, measured, confident. Everything your training demanded.

But Spencer had a way of listening that made you feel like you were the only person in the world. It wasn’t what he said, it was the way he watched you. Calculated. Curious. Quietly… amused.

“Tell me,” he said, swirling the amber liquor in his glass without drinking it. “Why this line of work? You could be running a legitimate firm. A big one. Why take on clients like me?”

You tilted your head. “Because clean money doesn’t come with nearly as much satisfaction.”

His brow lifted. “Danger turns you on?”

You smiled like it was a joke. But neither of you laughed.

There was a beat of silence too heavy to ignore. His gaze locked on yours again. This time it was colder. Testing.

“I don’t like games,” he said softly.

“Neither do I,” you replied, steady.

Another silence. Then:

“But you’re playing one,” he murmured. “Aren’t you?”

Your throat dried, but you didn’t blink. “If I were,” you said, “I’d be very good at it.”

Spencer leaned back slightly, eyes still on you.

“I think you might be.”

You didn’t reply.

You watched as his gaze unraveled you. Not your story, but you.

And for the first time, a cold trickle of doubt slid under your skin.

Spencer Agnew didn't look at you like a mark.

He looked at you like a puzzle.

Something to be solved.

Something to be wanted.

Something to be broken.

“You’re not afraid of me?” He asks.

"If I were," you said, "I wouldn’t be here."

For the first time, Spencer laughed, a low, quiet sound, more vibration than voice.

It was almost...genuine. Almost.

When the meeting ended, you stood. So did he.

He offered a hand, not for a shake, but to take yours gently in his, like a kiss might follow. You placed your hand in his, but he didn’t lift it to his mouth. Just held it.

You let your hand linger in his just a moment longer than necessary. Enough to signal an invitation. Enough to hold a knife behind your back.

His hand was warm. His eyes were colder than ever.

His eyes flicked to your lips. Back to your eyes.

And when he let go, you swore you could still feel his touch branded into your skin.

“We’ll be in touch,” he said, voice like silk and smoke.

But you had the distinct, sinking feeling he’d already made a decision. And whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be about business.

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

You didn’t exhale until you were back in the black town car that had brought you in.

The streets of Manhattan slid past the tinted windows, but your mind was still inside that velvet-lined room. Inside that amber gaze. You touched your wrist, where his hand had rested.

You should’ve felt power. Progress. Triumph.

Instead, you felt seen. Not as Elise Hawthorne, not as the FBI’s Agent Dahlia, but as something closer to yourself. And that wasn’t part of the plan.

You felt utterly disarmed after your meeting with Spencer. Like he had taken all your defences, all the knowledge of your fake identity and mission and stripped them from you as he had seen right through you. But as the fog that clouded your brain like the smoke from the speakeasy, you clung to two things you did know.

One, he was interested. Two, you were already in over your head.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, a single thought coiled tight: You weren't sure you wanted to climb out.

Marlowe was waiting in the basement of the apartment when you returned, a secure location for you two to meet. She had a coffee in one hand, suspicion in the other, and a frown etched deep between her brows.

"Well?" she asked.

You kicked off your heels, letting exhaustion hit like a delayed blow.

“He’s interested,” you said, voice low. Marlowe didn’t smile.

“Interested,” she echoed.

You dropped onto the armchair, rolling your neck. “I’m in. He’s giving me access to a tier-two contract, movement logistics. Alex Tran will supervise.”

Marlowe raised a brow. “You passed Tran’s screening?”

“Barely.”

You didn’t mention how close Alex had gotten. How much he had seen.

Marlowe crossed her arms. “Good. That means it’s working.”

She tossed you a burner phone. “You’ll report every 48 hours. No exceptions. If you miss a check-in, we’ll assume you’re compromised and move in.”

“Understood.”

“You look rattled.”

You hesitated.

Then: “He doesn’t act like a man afraid of being caught. He acts like the world already belongs to him.”

Marlowe gave a dry smile. “It does. That’s why we’re here.”

That night, you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the encounter.

His voice. His stillness. His quiet dissection of you like he already knew the things you hadn’t said.

You told yourself it was tactical. That it was good he noticed you. You needed him to.

But something about Spencer’s gaze didn’t feel like simple interest. It felt like recognition. And that was dangerous.

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

The next day, you were back at the Agnew Syndicate’s Manhattan front, a sleek logistics office disguised as a boutique firm. You were introduced to staff, led through the maze of operations, briefed on files that were mostly for show. Your cover identity was airtight. Your credentials flawless.

But you still felt eyes on you.

Alex Tran wasn’t in the office that morning.

He arrived just after lunch, moving like a shadow, silent and perfectly controlled. He said nothing to you at first, just watched as you took a call from a “client” and as you made notes in your new desk.

Then, finally, he approached.

He didn’t speak until everyone else was gone.

“You did better than I expected,” he said.

You didn’t turn around. “Is that a compliment?”

“No.”

You stood slowly. “You don’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone. But you?” He stepped closer. “You’re lying about something. I don’t know what. Yet.”

You swallowed.

He tilted his head. “But I do know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re not afraid of Spencer. Not the way most people are.”

You didn’t answer.

“You should be,” he whispers.

There was silence between you. Then he added, almost too quietly: “And if you’re not careful, he won’t be the one to get hurt.”

He turned and walked away before you could respond.

That night, you sat by your apartment window watching the city breathe below. The burner phone buzzed once, a coded ping from Marlowe.

“Status?”

You didn’t answer immediately.

Your reflection stared back at you in the glass, half shadow, half smirk. The city lights blur into gold and blood against the dark glass.

You’d spent your whole career becoming exactly what people needed to see.

But Spencer?

He hadn’t looked at you like a solution. He’d looked at you like a question he wanted to solve. And you weren’t entirely sure you wanted him to stop trying.

Somewhere out there, Spencer Agnew was waiting.

And for the first time in your life, you weren’t sure who was hunting who.

#smosh #spencer agnew x reader #spencer agnew #smosh fanfiction #smosh fic #smosh x reader #alex tran #mob boss au #fbi #secret agent #mob boss

57 notes · View notes

reids-gf · 11 hours ago

Note

"please don't make this harder than it needs to be" for carcar? 🙏

0.8k of angsty carcar for you anon <33 (but not too angsty because i can't hurt my boys)

Oscar is deeply sated, relaxed limbs sprawled on the mattress, his breathing back to a slow rise and fall of his chest. He slides a hand over his stomach, where Carlos just cleaned him up with a warm towel.

They had been very thorough tonight, like Carlos layed out all his best skills and Oscar’s favorite moves until he had him shaking and sobbing with arousal. Practically begging Carlos to make him come, even if he already had, three times.

His eyes slip closed, his tongue darting to lick his lips, when Carlos walks in once again. He extends his arm to the empty side of the bed, opens and closes his hand, beckoning him to fill in the space.

He hears shifting, Carlos clears his throat, he waits for the dip of the mattress that never comes. His eyes blink open, the silence of the room pressing on him like a heavy weight.

Carlos stands next to the bed, a conflicted look on his face. It always intrigued Oscar, how expressive Carlos’ face is, how his gestures betray him when he wants to hide his feelings.

“So, I hope that was a good enough last night,” He runs a hand through his silky smooth hair, his eyes looking anywhere but Oscar’s face.

“Um, what?” Confusion washes over him, his eyebrows press together. He sits up, hissing at his still sensitive body, until his back rests against the headboard of Carlos’ bed.

“Please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” Carlos looks pained and Oscar can’t imagine why, he tries to look for a reason in his fuzzy brain, but it hasn’t caught up yet, still feeling empty from the multiple orgasms.

“Carlos, I don’t understand, I,” His mouth hangs open, arm still stretched on top of the rumpled sheets, wishing Carlos would just climb in bed with him and stop talking nonsense at such late hours.

He watches as Carlos swallows, hands trembling at his side, his lower lip pulled in by his teeth.

“Come on, Oscar, the season starts in a week now,” He sighs, takes a step closer to the bed, Oscar wants to crawl over and pull him in but his body still aches and he feels too heavy. And Carlos might not really appreciate that now.

“So? We’ll make time.” Is that what Carlos means? That they won’t have as much free time for each other? They had been seeing each other for a few months now, spent a big proportion of the winter break tangled in bed, gazing at each other with starry eyes and labored breaths.

“No.” Carlos’ jaw clenches in that way he’s always doing, his eyes finally meets Oscar’s.

“Okay, what? What do you mean no?” He’s scowling now, exasperated by the one word response.

“I mean, you’ll have to focus, Oscar,” He speaks like he’s telling him something obvious, “You will have a serious chance at the championship this year, you can’t lose that chance,” He trails off, hands tangling in his hair again.

“You also have to focus, Carlos,” He scoffs, pulls his hands on his lap, tangles his fingers together to stop them from shaking. “And I’m not pushing you away.”

Carlos huffs a humourless laugh, lifts a knee to press against the mattress, Oscar swallows.

“It is not the same, I won’t even get close this year, but you,” His doe eyes shine as he holds Oscar’s gaze, bottom lip trembles, “You’ll have a big chance, Oscar.”

He knows that, he knows they have a great car this year, and he’s been training and working with his team to secure a good year. But, so has Carlos, he’s worked so hard in bettering his new team, he was the fastest in Bahrain just a week ago, Jesus Christ.

“So? I know what I’m doing, Carlos.” He doesn’t mean for the words to come across as biting as they do, but his throat still feels hoarse and his voice comes out low, and he feels his mouth too dry.

“I know.” He sniffles and, oh God, fastly wipes his nose. Oscar bites his lip, hands tightening their grip.

“And I know I want you.” He untangles his fingers, extending, offering his hand once again.

Carlos sniffles again, his knee slides forward. Oscar takes in the way his damp eyelashes stick together, the flush on his face.

“Oscar, I,” His next words die on his throat as Oscar links their hands together, fingers slotting in place perfectly, like the last pieces of a puzzle. He squeezes, tugging slightly until Carlos is climbing in bed beside him.

Oscar cradles Carlos' frame, arms wrapping around broad, trembling shoulders. Carlos nuzzles his face in the dip of his shoulder, sniffles loudly as Oscar runs a gentle hand through his hair, kisses the crown of his head tenderly.

“It’s okay, we’ll be okay, Carlos.” His eyes begin to burn with his own unshed tears as he holds Carlos impossibly closer.

#carcar #carlos sainz #oscar piastri #f1 rpf #f1 #f1 fic #carcar fic

44 notes · View notes

pianokantzart · 7 months ago

Text

#Luigi #Mario #Luigi's Mansion 3 #Let me tell you... the feelings I felt when I first saw this clip #Can't get enough of enemies openly taunting Luigi with his captured brother #They KNOW that's the fastest way to get to him #Unlike Bowser capturing Peach there's no real motive here except to upset Luigi #It's about how Luigi WILL repeatedly walk into what he knows to be traps #Every. Single. Time. Because he is so so scared for his brother and loves him so very much #Makes me want to see more of how The Mario Bros dynamic is on normal days when they're just doing plumbing together

90 notes · View notes

happi-dreams · 5 months ago

Text

me and my sister was thinking of little master builders world building before tlm and we had the silly idea of — hey maybe they did lil fun games as moral when things looked dire ?

therefore, ✨ Brick-lympics ✨

i think they’d have little categories they’d all play in like ‘who can build the fastest?’ <- (consistently benny) or ‘who can build the most creative design?’ ‘who has the strongest build?’

n maybe in tlm2 or tlm if they weren’t invaded literally seconds after, Emmet joins in and probably switches between judging and building every now and again

#the lego movie #tlm #silly hcs yet again #the lego movie 2 #it is just fact that benny builds the fastest in SPECIFCALLY spaceships #maybe they have to barr that theme of build because of him constantly winning and he gets pissed about it #i think when emmet joins everyone underestimates him a ton #and then when the structurally sound build comes along he clears everyone #construction builder guidelines cemented in his head #!!!#probably wins that so often he either does worse in order to have his friends win too #or maybe becomes a judge #probably people who are very good in those catagories become judges #emmet tries to judge and he is just way too nice #maybe they introduce new catagories after tlm like #who can follow the instructions the closest ??#porbably the hardest one out of them all #everyone (except emmet) hates it #i dunno what the prize would be though #maybe a medal like actual olympics?#or bragging rights?#cash ??#love thinking about masterbuilding worldbuilding i wanna know what they did for all those years #feel free to add any ideas i am #tired hwbhdbhwbudbhw

45 notes · View notes

thepandalion · 11 months ago

Text

help I'm going insane over deltarune and Undertale stuff again

#Guysss #Did you know the sprite for spamton neo has 6 stirngs #It's fucking with me so much guys #Element 6 and gaster and whatnot #Also have I. Have I mentioned the muffet thing #Muffet has these lines in. I think the neutral route?#Where she talks abt the person who warned her abt u #They had a lovely smile and were shapeshifting in the shadows apparently #Also the muffet laugh slowed down by 666% and reversed is the smile.ogg sound for entry 17 #There's multiple ways to make that connection this is just the fastest #Also gaster presumably egg man bc if you get ch1 egg in ch2 the car closest to u in the traffic jam can be interacted with one time #There's a man in that car and he smiles at you #Very clearly egg man but also specifically referring to him smiling like #Bestie gaster spooky noise literally titled smile.ogg. and is also very clearly the thing that fucked spamton up #Like bc the addisons after the neo fight tell u abt his mysterious benefactor right #And the garbage noise on the phone #And garbage noise being the description of what happens on the phone in the dark world #And yknow thats also smile.ogg #... Also what the fuck is the thing about the ocean in deltarune like fr #The vessel creation screen is water. There's ocean.ogg in the beginning of the dark world in ch1. the fucking song from the sea with onion #Whatever the fuck was going on when sans was talking about shyren at that one post a few years back #I have so much brain space that I use to store infinite utdr info #Like fr I need ppl to ask me directed questions for me to infodump bc I don't even know where to start??#Like. Do I start with the fonts thing? I can't even find the fonts thing anymore but I know its a thing #Do I start at the significance of the number 6 to gaster stuff? Do I start with the way his leitmotif is concerningly in noelles theme??#Like really. I'm begging to be asked questions about my special interests

17 notes · View notes

koachdal · 6 months ago

Text

Race, Phillip Island 2024

scale was pissing me off again so i had to do one without lap 1 to get a better look

#jorge and marc (and pecco for a bit) rlly did dominate this throughout #only times they weren’t among the fastest is when jorge fucked up and let pecco & marc get to him for the three way fight for p1 on lap 12 #and when he and marc were fighting for the lead on laps 24 and 25 #u can see how closely marc stuck to jorge once he got to him and sat behind him for ages and ages before making a move #i missed this genre of marc win more than any other i think #when he’d be on the leader’s rear lap after lap after lap before making a move everyone knew was coming- the guy ahead of him the comms #the fans- and everyone knows there’s nothing to be done than wait for him to make his move & hope he doesn’t have u completely figured out #and you have something left to fight him back with #i love genius.#also can someone who understands tyre deg better than me explain how marc didn’t cook his tyres making up places after his freak start #like he has identical or better lap times than jorge the entire time when jorge had clean air the whole time #which is incredible to me even given that he is one of the best if not tje best at extracting performance out of tyres when they fall off #also shoutout to enea late race pace hes just so committed to the bit #mm93 #motogp

8 notes · View notes

pwurrz · 1 year ago

Text

i know it’s not realistic but quincy being the first person to top yakumo and being so patient and reassuring and gentle throughout the whole process is something that can be so personal to me, actually

#like maybe yakumo’s curious about how eiden feels when they have sex and wants to. idk better understand so he can use his dick better #and who has a dick that’s similarly sized to his own?? that’s right it’s quincy!!!#yakumo’s already topped quincy several times by this point he’s just.. always wondered #eiden didn’t complain or anything (it was actually the opposite. eiden praises him for how good he is)#but you know yakumo. always striving to be better #and what’s the fastest way to get better if not through personal experience!!!#anyways they’re very soft and gentle and there’s lots of kissing and praise and other fluffy stuff #because of course there is #you can’t write quincy topping an inexperienced bottom without making it sappy as hell #he may be a giant but he is a GENTLE giant!!!#nu carnival #yakumo ♡#quincy ♡#quincamo #minors dni

20 notes · View notes

jaybirdsandbabybats · 1 year ago

Text

// tw blood //

yeah teachers satosugu is fun but how bout cult leaders satosugu

#tw blood #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #satosugu #gojo satoru #geto suguru #sorry but i HAD to draw gojo with blood all over his face #i have SO many thoughts about this AU #i know gojo is cat-coded as hell but consider: geto's loyal guard dog gojo #he will do all the dirty work without geto even asking him. he'd stain his hands red for geto without question.#theyre so disgustingly in love #this all started with me brainrotting in my friend's dms #and us wondering what wouldve happened if geto said yes when gojo asked him if he should kill everyone in the room when he retrieved riko #and things kinda spiraled from that point onwards #that sketch with geto holding him back happened because i was thinking about that “GET YO FUCKIN DOG BITCH” “it dont bite” “YES IT DO” vine #geto's the brains of the operation and gojo's the brawn #(if only because gojo's too lazy and thinks murder is the fastest way to solve all their problems)#ok im rambling too much bye #my art

23 notes · View notes

malusrecord · 5 months ago

Text

((I'm heinously picky about who interacts with him to begin bc of the general content but also because I swear to God if you don't respect the work---and I mean years worth of work---I've put towards this character and detailing every little thing, everything that everyone else seems to be shallow af about or completely mis-characterizes Danny entirely, both deliberately and as a stupid overdone joke that wasn't even funny in the first place, I will fuckin fight you with my teeth and fists and then bar you from writing with him.))

#;;ooc: mun muttering #I'm extremely protective about this character for very good reason; don't even fuckin joke with me about it #I've mentioned this shit a lot over the years but every time I see it I get mad all over again #you want the best fuckin most worked on in depth Danny on this site? right goddamn here I'm so serious #the non jpn fa/ndom will never treat him right it's fucking annoying; this house is mine thank you very much!!!!!!!#there's a reason why I don't want to be made aware of any other muns for him; bc of this shit and for my own extensive efforts #extensive with a capital fuckin E #obviously my older mutuals know all this; y'all have seen what I've done over the years; so just tell me to calm down or distract me otl #this shit involving this muse (and Pap too) is one of the few (not to mention fastest) ways to make my legit mad #obviously this isn't about the people who *legitimately* write for him this is about the shit I've rallied against since day 1 and still am #the bullshit; the mischaracterization; the people who just make stupid jokes and who don't even try to understand him #etc etc etc I can go on but I'm going to attempt to redirect my aggression into content #and for those who know me personally know how fuckin rare (unheard of honestly) for me to say that my shit is good in any capacity #forget me uttering the words 'the best' either; Danny is unbelievably special to me and I know some of you understand where I'm coming from #muses like Danny for me are probably obvious but he gets a lot of excessive shit and I hate it and I will continue to fight and rally

1 note · View note

curious-blupee · 2 years ago

Text

I'm glad y'all are resonating with my horse choices! It was a lot of fun to decide who got what horse. I originally wanted to include the totk horses but decided otherwise so I could post it without spoiler warnings.

That's not a horse Wild...

Hello I totally did not forget to post this not at all rushed thing I did for the beach day prompt from the lu server last week.

I kinda sketched it really early on and then maybe perhaps forgot about it for a little bit, then may or may not finished it in 5ish hours.

#Sky and Time got the big guy because they're tall and wearing armour and I didn't want to do that to a poor normal horse #Also Sky grew up with Loftwings not horses and lacks riding experience which is why he's paired up with Time who knows them very well #And in that regard I think they're fine with going a little slower so Sky can get used to the feeling of riding a horse #Legend and Hyrule got a stronger horse of a colour I personally really like because they're still 2 people but not as tall and less armour #Epona can carry Twilight and Four because she's a strong girl and Four doesn't weigh that much and of course Twi's on Epona #Wars got the white horse. Because of course he would.#Wind got the fastest Horse Wild had because he loves going fast. Horse choice again based on the horses I have in game.#At first I had it planned in a way that Wild wouldn't have a horse left because of botw's 5 horse limit and I thought it would be funny #but as I made changes there was a spot left (again one of my horses) but I decided to keep the stag because it's funny #And when I'm going somewhere eg with a new horse I caught but want to take my horse with me I just whistle before getting on #and then the horse follows you until you stop so I decided that that's what he did #Wild told Hyrule and Legend that they could have one horse each but they argued that he wouldn't have one then #So he said bet and went to catch a wild horse but found that stag first so technically he's without a horse still if they where to split up #But he's also still riding with them #I put so much thoughts into this help #Oh also Wilds horse (the one following him) is as fast as Winds because they have the same stats in game

534 notes · View notes

astonmartinii · 5 months ago

Text

put it all on red (bull) | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem russell reader

her brother won the race? does she know? does she care?

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, georgerussell63 and 204,300 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: VIVA LAS VEGAS

view all comments

user3: this is fucking hilarious

user4: her whole ass brother won the actual race and there's not a peep of him on the post

user5: i mean her boyfriend did win the championship...

yourusername: exactlyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy i mean my instagram is for pretty girls only

user6: do not erase george's beauty

yourusername: nothing to erase girlypop - FUGLY!

user7: the way the guys are in the media pen and can't see that y/n is coming for their necks in instagram comments

user8: i fear she's already started drinking...

user9: in the back of the sky broadcast she hands max a drink and i'm starting to suspect that it was not water or red bull

user10: LMAO HELMUT TOOK A SIP AND LIKE NEARLY FELL OVER

yourusername: i've never claimed to be good at mixing drinks

maxverstappen1: WHERE WAS THE TONIC ???

yourusername: i don't believe in tonic 💔

maxverstappen1: YOU GAVE ME STRAIGHT GIN?

yourusername: straight 🤣

maxverstappen1: Y/N THAT'S ATTEMPTED MURDER ON HELMUT ???

yourusername: free me i did nothing wrong !!!

user11: these people kill me

user12: sign of a healthy relationship is making gay allegations about each other

yourusername: ALLEGATIONS ???

yourusername: george is lucky that he was the first russell carmen met ...

georgerussell63: RIGHT, I HAVE HAD ENOUGH

georgerussell63: thank you for the congratulations but STOP flirting with MY girlfriend

yourusername: congratulations??? for what?

georgerussell63: WINNING THE RACE?

yourusername: boring!

georgerussell63: you are so lucky we're family because you are a few cards short of a deck

yourusername: CARDS? that reminds me ... time to gamble!

maxverstappen1

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and 1,342,988 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: winning without the fastest car isn't for everyone

view all comments

user13: this caption has y/n russell written all over it

yukitsunoda0511: i sat here and watched them giggle to themselves for a good five minutes while posting this

user14: tell max to post more pictures like the second one

yukitsunoda0511: they are not safe for innocent eyes and they are not taken with a locked door :/

user15: why are you there ???

yukitsunoda0511: they're very generous when they're drunk !

user16: so real

yukitsunoda0511: it's also not just me :(

user17: just how many people are using the bar tab?

liamlawson30: me!

oscarpiastri: me!

charles_leclerc: me!

landonorris: me!

pierregasly: me!

alexalbon: me!

yourusername: broke bitches

carlossainz55: you do not have a job?

yourusername: gambling and being pretty is more of a job that what you will have next season 🤨

carlossainz55: has anyone ever told you you're a really mean drunk

yourusername: just george about a billion times, you get used to it (we just don't invite you out)

user18: she is just dragging anyone now

user19: hold on that is her boyfriend's work boyfriend's enemy

user20: girl is 90% of lestappen twitter's source and you think she's not gonna have a problem with sainz???

yourusername: you're so sexy i actually can't even function

maxverstappen1: gotta put the trophy in trophy husband somehow

yourusername: jokes aside i am super duper proud of you, this year has been insane and you've proven that you are the bestest eva

maxverstappen1: couldn't have done it without my fave cheerleader

yourusername: i'll wear the uniform and everything ....

schecoperez: STOP

georgerussell63: still no congratulations? i know you won the title or whatever but we're going to be brothers soon SHOW SOME RESPECT

yourusername: literally suck his dick

yourusername: wait no

yourusername: suck my dick

yourusername: WAIT NO

yourusername: choke ❤️

georgerussell63: i have no words at this point

maxverstappen1: so romantic hehehehe

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, kimiantonelli and 410,300 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: put it all on on red (bull)

view all comments

user22: ma'am why is there a cat?

user23: i think we already know the answer

user24: oh i know the answer i just wanna know the batshit explanation

georgerussell63: exsqueeze me ???

yourusername: don't speak like that about your nephew ??

georgerussell63: tell me you're not keeping it??

maxverstappen1: IT? HE JUST LEAPFROGGED YOU IN OUR WILL

georgerussell63: 1. you have a joint will ??? 2. why am i on it ??? 3. what is a cat doing with a monaco penthouse ???

maxverstappen1: i thought you could use the money ? i know toto ain't paying you what he promised me

yourusername: george your weird sugar daddy is more broke than you think sorry xx

georgerussell63: once again, what is stopping me taking the monaco house from a literal cat ?

yourusername: caesar will be very aware of his rights string bean - just because you talk in an uppity accent doesn't mean you actually know anything

georgerussell63: i cannot tell who corrupted who but i am sick of being your victim :(

user25: yes as fun as watching them dog george is i do want to know caesar's origin story

user26: i have a very bad feeling i know where he got his name

alexalbon: HE'S NOT NAMED AFTER THE CASINO IS HE?

yourusername: ding ding ding we have a winner, always knew you were the smarter half of galex

maxverstappen1: your gambling is getting out of hand

yourusername: did i or did i not win us a cat ?

maxverstappen1: AND £250,000 ???

yourusername: didn't want to promote gambling too much

yourusername: KIDS DO NOT GAMBLE IT IS DUMB

yourusername: look at me i literally have a child now ???

user27: we have lost the original plot of the movie

user28: you must be new, we stopped trying to make sense of these two years ago

lewishamilton: i can assure you it does not get any easier when you know them personally

yourusername: we aim to be sexy and mysterious

lewishamilton: that's strange because you guys dance like little boys and overshare at any given opportunity

maxverstappen1: guilty !

georgerussell63

liked by alexalbon, landonorris and 873,409 others

tagged: lewishamilton, yourusername & maxverstappen1

georgerussell63: i won the las vegas grand prix and all i got was this lousy cat

view all comments

user29: i am sensing a y/n and max meltdown incoming

user30: maybe they're too hungover to argue?

yourusername: NEVER

maxverstappen1: LOUSY CAT? FIRST OF ALL HE'S NOT YOURS SO KEEP HIS NAME OUT OF YOUR MOUTH AND ALSO I WILL KILL YOU WITH A GUN

georgerussell63: excuse me?

yourusername: do NOT threaten my boyfriend !!!!!!!!

georgerussell63: do you have selective sight or something?

yourusername: no i just like him more than i like you

georgerussell63: you only met him because of me?

maxverstappen1: i have faith we would've found each other regardless we have a SOUL TIE

yourusername: EXACTLY

georgerussell63: i give up.

yourusername: this is exactly why you don't have a championship ... no drive (pun intended)

georgerussell63: NOW THAT'S IT

maxverstappen1: are you threatening my girlfriend?

georgerussell63: OMG LEAVE ME ALONE

user31: their commitment to never letting george have a day of peace is really quite charming

user32: they're going to give him grey hairs before he even turns 27

alexalbon: i gotta say georgie, i'm not with you on this one - caesar is THE dude

georgerussell63: are all my eggs falling out of the basket at once?

maxverstappen1: that's called karma for calling caesar 'it' and a lousy cat

georgerussell63: i can't lie i am missing your honeymoon phase you guys were a lot nicer

yourusername: we never left the honeymoon phase we just like annoying all of you

maxverstappen1: makes you people leave us alone :3

landonorris: you don't have to be mean to do that

yourusername: YOU JUST GOT OFF OF THIN ICE NORRIS WATCH YOUR STEP

user33: they can make excuses all these want but they just like annoying everyone else

user34: i mean based on their vegas shenanigans i think they would be super fun to be around

yourusername: oscar literally came to stay while he 'looked for a flat' in monaco and hasn't left... it's been three months. face it we're a HOOT

oscarpiastri: they are fun! the secret is to not be annoying sorry george!

maxverstappen1: they grow up so fast :')

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and 984,036 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: took a gamble when i went for the lanky posh dude's sister and i can now say it was definitely worth it

view all comments

user37: bro says snug as a bug in a rug once and now he's labelled as posh HE'S FROM NORFOLK

user38: it's also the way that y/n never gets the posh allegations

georgerussell63: it's because she's scruffy as fuck x

maxverstappen1: literally outside your house with a knife, keep talking

georgerussell63: i'm a grown man, max, you don't scare me

maxverstappen1: so i'm free to do a little gardening while you hide inside?

georgerussell63: you wouldn't...

yourusername: GO FOR THE PEONIES MAX

georgerussell63: NOT THE PEONIES I BEG HAVE MERCY

user39: so i'm supposed to read all of this shit and take them seriously when they get in the car

user40: it's part of the charm i think

user41: it's all fun and games until you remember they are full grown adults who can vote who are arguing over flowers

yourusername: i'd go through the strenuous task of growing up with george thousands more times just to be with you

maxverstappen1: i've been in love with you since i was 14, there has never been anyone else for me and there will never be anyone else for me

yourusername: ugh why didn't we just get married in vegas ?

maxverstappen1: because even though i did just harm his flowers, i do want to marry you in front of our families

yourusername: i guess you're right

georgerussell63: you know what? based on how you usually talk to me... i'm touched

yourusername: if i'm feeling generous i'll even let you do the seating chart

georgerussell63: I LOVE YOU BEST SISTER EVER

user42: only a declaration of love between max and y/n could end with george proclaiming his love for charts

user43: how does one procure an invite to this wedding ...

yourusername: be cunty

yourusername: @zakbrownceo YOU'RE BARRED

yourusername

liked by landonorris, alexalbon and 409,300 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: i'm the sibling who can't drive and yet i'm the one with four championship trophies in their house... george, step your pussy up x

view all comments

user44: omg queen who can't drive, she's such representation

yourusername: george says i'm so mean all the time but really i'm generous, i clearly gave him all the driving genes

user45: have you even tried driving?

yourusername: i went on max's sim once and got motion sickness and i'm also with the best driver in the world and siblings with an okay one - i'm surviving

alexalbon: he's already texted me about your language on this post

yourusername: just because he's a boomer in a string bean's body does not mean i must censor myself - he should know what stepping his pussy up means by now

georgerussell63: i will not be stepping on any pussy, i respect both felines and women

maxverstappen1: you called caesar 'it' so PLEASE

georgerussell63: i respect women?

maxverstappen1: you called y/n scruffy?

georgerussell63: that's y/n it doesn't count

maxverstappen1: that's not very feminist of you george. i am disappointed

yourusername: i agree, i really think the GDPA should reconsider the type of person they're letting run it

georgerussell63: huh?

yourusername: not once have i been invited to a grid meal ....

georgerussell63: well you're not on the grid that's why

yourusername: FEMALE EXCLUSION

maxverstappen1: you know we have attachment issues, you're so heartless george

georgerussell63: what is going on ???

yourusername: you CLEARLY don't care about me

maxverstappen1: and you CLEARLY don't care about the wellbeing of the grid

georgerussell63: I'M SORRY???

user46: george is unbelievably easy to rattle

user47: it must be so fun

yourusername: oh believe me, we have way too much fun

maxverstappen1: we once convinced him that it was a social faux pas to shake hands in japan lol

georgerussell63: IS THAT WHY MERCEDES WERE TOLD THAT EVERYONE THOUGHT I WAS REALLY RUDE ???

yourusername: LMAOOOOOOOO

maxverstappen1: so so so easy bro

user48: i guess a couple that plays mind tricks together, stay together?

yourusername: 4eva

maxverstappen1: til death do us part

yourusername: quite literally you're not leaving me alone with GEORGE

georgerussell63: you know what: DIE

yourusername: GASP

maxverstappen1: @fia get his ass

fin.

note: HAPPY MAX VERSTAPPEN CHAMPIONSHIP DAY TO ALL WHO CELEBRATE. IE. ME LOL

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #f1 social media au #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen social media au #max verstappen

3K notes · View notes

dcxdpdabbles · 15 days ago

Text

Bruce: What do you do if you wake up to one of your wards standing over your sleeping body, checking your heart rate while holding an Anti-creep stick?

Barry: Im going to take a wild guess here and ask: Was that Danny?

Bruce: Yes! He wanted to make sure I wasn't a vampire.

Clark: Where was Dick?

Bruce: Digging a hole.

Diana: Why was he digging a hole?

Bruce: In case I turned out to be a vampire, they needed somewhere to hide the body after Danny killed me.

Hal: Spooky, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I think those kids you took in are a danger to the public.

Bruce: They're good kids! Dick is just going through a lot with his parents being killed in front of him and Danny.....well, Danny escaped a lab that his parents sold him off to. Both of them are having some trust issues right now and are acting out. That's all.

Clark: Bruce, last week Danny broke into my apartment and held me at knife point demanding to know what my intentions were with you. He wouldn't accept that we're coworkers.

Bruce: He probably thought you were a vampire. Danny doesn't like those.

Hal: Didn't Dick break into your house too Barry?

Barry: Yeah, but that was more so he could cuddle with Wally then to make threats at me. Danny, on the other hand, showed up at three am. after rumors about Batman and Flash sleeping together went around. He threatened to cut the muscles in my legs so I could be " The fastest crawler in the world" if I didn't offer Bruce a ring by morning.

Bruce: Why is this the first I'm hearing about that?

Barry: *shrug* I figured you knew since the next day you showed up and apologize for the boy's behavior.

Bruce: I did not know. I was apologizing for him breaking into what I assumed was to see Wally while grounded like Dick. Great, now the boy is going to kill me in my sleep and/or ensure I never get a lover again.

Diana: I think it's rather sweet. Danny is placing a challenge for your would-be suitors. It's like a wolf pup attempting to scare away mates from his father. No real harm was done.

J'onn: He set me on fire.

Bruce: What? Why?

J'onn: Apparently, my eyes were on your back for too long. I was admiring your cape, but Danny believed my eyes were focused too low, and I was instead admiring your bottom. Dick threw glitter in my eyes a few hours later.

Bruce: *sigh* Danny is overly protective, and Dick does whatever his big brother tells him to. I don't know what to do anymore.

Oliver: Tell him you're a vampire but like a sluty one that feeds on lust instead of blood. He'll get scared and leave your dates alone.

Bruce: That's an incubus. What you just describe is an incubus. Also, that's a terrible plan. I would be in a hole so fast.

Hal: Yeah, but they would cry while they buried you so there's that at least

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #from a fic i never wrote #Danny is 15 #Dick is 9 #Bruce is way in over his head #The JL are friends #Also Danny thinks everyone is simping for B #and he needs to protect him #Danny “The Menace” Fenton-Wayne

2K notes · View notes

readwritealldayallnight · 23 days ago

Text

At this point, you couldn’t even remember what the bet had been about anymore

Was it who could chug their pint the fastest? Who could take the most shots in a row? Who could hold their breath the longest after a smoke?

Whatever it had been this time, one of the countless idiotic challenges the men liked to constantly one up each other with on nights out, it didn’t really matter, because the winner tonight was none other than you

Soap had been whining most of the way back to base about how they’d never hear the end of this now, telling Gaz about how they’ll have to up the stakes from now on if the lass is catching up

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you hiccup, fiddling with your seatbelt as you and the men pull into the base’s garage. “Enough complaining, gentlemen, I want my prize.”

“That so?” Gaz asks, looking back at you through the rear view mirror with an amused expression plastered on his face.

“Ye don’t get no fuckin’ reward, hen. Your blabbing’s been sufficient.” Soap pipes in, hopping out of the car all too eagerly.

“No. It’s definitely not officiant-”

“Sufficient.” The captain quietly tried to correct you as he himself steps out do the vehicle, hiding his amusement at your drunken state better than the rest of the lads are.

“- and I know exactly what my prize should be.”

“What’s that love?” Ghost asks you softly, having opened your door to help you out, a gloved hand reaching out towards you.

You place your hand in his, allowing the large man to help you to your feet, standing in closer proximity to the lieutenant than you probably would if you were sober, but you’re still riding high off your victory, and so you stand as close to him as you’ve been wanting to, and you say what’s been on your mind for long enough now

“I want you to kiss me.”

Ever the stoic soldier, Ghost’s reaction is imperceptible, apart from the slightest widening of his eyes and the tightening of his grip on your hand, until you open your mouth again

“In front of them.”

“… what?”

“I want you to kiss me, in front of them. That’s my prize, reward, whatever you want to call it. That’s what I want.”

A chorus of chuckles and teasing comments erupt from the rest of the men stood nearby, watching the scene unfold before them, curious to see how the Lieutenant’s going to handle this one

“Listen, I don’t know what kind o’ drinks you wer-” Ghost’s rough voice is cut off abruptly by the even rougher way you grab onto the chain of his dog tags and pull him in towards you, slotting your lips over where you imagine his are beneath his mask

Any comments from the peanut gallery are immediately silenced as the men of the 141 watch you, stood on tiptoes, only held in place by your death grip on his dog tags and your other hand holding onto his large bicep, making a mess of the Lieutenant’s balaclava as you continue to snog him through it, small smacking sounds from your lips and bated breaths from the men being the only sounds heard in the otherwise silent space

Frozen in place and eyes held open in surprise, you take pity on him choose not to torture Ghost for too much longer and release him from your embrace after one last sweet peck on the now damp fabric of his mask

“Fuckin’ hell, bonnie…” Soap is the first to breathe out, running a hand through his hair and not to subtly adjusting himself through his trousers. “I mean, I hate to be the one to get technical ‘ere, but I believe the lass asked for someone to kiss her, not the other way ‘round.”

Soap pointedly chooses to ignore the hard smack his fellow sergeant lands on his shoulder, grin widening as he continues to poke and prod at his LT.

“I jus’ don’ want ‘er losin’ out on ‘er prize!” He laughs, taking the smallest step in yours and Ghost’s direction. “Maybe if I were to-”

Whatever lame joke the younger man had planned at Ghost’s expense is cut short when in the blink of an eye, the Lieutenant’s hands are leaning you back against the side of the vehicle, one hand sliding into the hair at the base of your skull while the other is tugging his mask down before he’s finally crashing his lips onto yours

The Captain and his two sergeants really aren’t sure how long they stand there, watching the two of you, each one completly caught in a daze that they can’t entirely blame the alcohol on anymore, before the motion sensor lights in the garage are starting to turn off, letting the men know that they’ve been gawking entirely too long

It’s as the three of them are walking back to their respective rooms afterwards, that the thought pops into their heads…

Maybe they should start letting you win more often

2K notes · View notes

killerplink · 1 month ago

Text

CONSEQUENCES

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Plot: You knew teasing Jason while he was on patrol would have consequences. You just didn't expect him to come home early and ruin you over the kitchen counter.

Words: 8,5k

CW: established relationship, 18+, teasing, mentions of masturbation, vaginal fingering, rough sex, overstimulation, choking (consensual), spanking, manhandling, dirty talk, slight degradation, spit play, praise, aftercare.

A/N: For the bestie who wanted Jason to put reader in a chokehold and the one who suggested teasing him with pics while he's on patrol—this one's for you 👀

Jason exhales sharply, the sound muffled beneath the thick material of the Red Hood mask, his gloved fingers tightening around his phone. The dim glow of the screen is the only source of light against the pitch black Gotham skyline, the city stretched out beneath him, flickering in the distance with neon signs and dull streetlights. But he's not looking at the city. Not looking at the gang of low level fuck ups he's been tailing for weeks.

He's looking at you.

You, sprawled out in bed, wearing nothing but his shirt—his fucking shirt—riding up just enough to show him that perfect, pretty little pussy, already dripping, already making a mess of your thighs.

You, spreading yourself open with your fingers, so wet you're practically glistening under the dim glow of the bedside lamp, teasing him with the sight of your slick, swollen clit.

And Christ, you, grinding down on that stupid fucking hot pink dildo he's been clowning on since the day he found it buried in your nightstand, taking it so deep, your lips parted in a breathless moan, your brows knit together in pure, desperate need.

It's almost funny, really, how goddamn insatiable you are. He fucked you stupid just hours ago, left you whimpering, shaking, with his cum still leaking out of you, and yet, here you are. So fucking needy you couldn't even wait for him to get back home.

And Jason should be focused. He should be watching the five assholes below, the ones dealing weapons out of the back of a shitty, beat up sedan in an abandoned parking lot. He should be getting ready to make a move, should be handling business like he planned.

He exhales sharply, dragging a gloved hand down his mask as he adjusts himself again, teeth clenched behind the red helmet. His dick is straining against his tactical pants, twitching every time his mind flashes back to those pictures, to the slick mess between your legs, to the way you spread yourself open like a fucking invitation.

And he knows you. Knows you knew exactly what you were doing, knows you probably thought he'd just finish patrol and come home like normal, that you'd be asleep, all innocent and sweet, as if you didn't just send him those sinful fucking pictures knowing full well what they'd do to him.

But nah. Not tonight.

Tonight, he's handling business as quickly as possible so he can get back home and fuck the bratty attitude right out of you.

So with one last exhale, he focuses back on the losers below, his muscles tense, his mind already running through the fastest way to deal with them. Quick and dirty, no theatrics. Just a couple of broken noses, some shattered ribs, and a reminder that they're not welcome in his city.

And once he's done? Once his hands are free of the night's work? He's going straight home. Straight to you. Because you wanna be a tease? You wanna play games? Fine. But you better be ready to take what's coming to you.

Meanwhile, back home, you sigh as you rinse off your dildo, running warm water and soap over the smooth silicone. It's still slick, still sticky with your cum, and you bite your lip, fighting the embarrassing heat that flares in your belly as you finish cleaning it and grabbing a paper towel to dry it.

Because you're still wet. Still aching. You've already made yourself cum twice. Twice. And it's still not enough.

But it's not like you prefer your toys over Jason. Not anymore. Not since you got together. Because nothing—nothing—feels as good as him. Not his hands, not his fingers, not his tongue, not his lips, not a single fucking thing compares to the way his thick, heavy cock stretches you open, the way he fucks you so deep you feel him for days.

You groan, almost slapping yourself as your pussy has the audacity to clench again, a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs. It's ridiculous, really.

You shake your head, shove the dildo back into its bag, and stuff it into your drawer, trying to push past the lingering frustration. Maybe some tea will help. Maybe a snack. Maybe sinking into the couch and putting something on the TV until Jason gets home.

Yeah. That should do it. Because surely, after cumming six fucking times today, you'll be satisfied enough to sit still.

You're in the kitchen, one hand lazily pushing through the fridge, your other gripping the edge of the door as you scan the shelves for something quick and easy. You're still warm, still buzzing, still throbbing faintly between your legs even after a shower and the fresh pair of panties you slipped on. But at least your stomach is grumbling loud enough to distract you.

Until you hear it. The jingle of keys. The click of the lock turning. The heavy thud of boots against the floor. Your head snaps up so fast you almost give yourself whiplash.

No fucking way. You have to be hearing things. Jason went out not even two hours ago. He should still be on patrol, still handling whatever mess he had planned for the night.

He barely gets his helmet off before he's on you, gloved fingers biting into your waist, the other reaching past you to shove the fridge door closed with a dull thud. Your breath hitches, your body jerking at the sudden movement, but before you can so much as blink, he's spinning you into him, caging you between the counter and the solid wall of his body.

And then he's kissing you—kissing you like he's starving, like he can't get enough, like he's already decided exactly how this night is gonna go.

It's hungry, rough, all tongue and teeth and heat, stealing the breath straight from your lungs as his gloved hands slide down, groping at your ass, gripping handfuls of soft flesh like he owns it. You moan into his mouth, your fingers curling into the hard plates of his suit, nails scraping against the reinforced armor covering his chest. He's still dressed in his gear, the sharp scent of leather clinging to him, mixing with the faint gunpowder that always lingers in the air when he gets home from patrol.

And God, you feel him.

Thick, heavy, rock fucking hard, pressing right against your stomach, the heat of him seeping through his pants, through your thin t-shirt, making your thighs squeeze together, making your head spin.

Jason groans, low and deep, like he already knows exactly what kind of mess you're turning into, and then he yanks you closer, his grip tightening as he grinds up against you, letting you feel just how worked up he is.

You whimper, thighs trembling, your cunt pulsing between your legs.

He tears his mouth from yours just long enough to breathe, and you barely manage a stuttering, "J-Jay—" before he growls, a sharp crack echoing through the kitchen as his palm smacks against your bare ass.

You gasp, your body jolting at the sting, at the way his fingers squeeze the soft flesh right after, rubbing over the heated imprint of his palm.

"What the fuck you think you're doin', huh?" he rasps, his voice thick, rough, dripping with something dark and dangerous.

Your lips part, but no words come out. Just a shallow, shaky breath, your brain short circuiting under the weight of his stare. Because you know that look on his face.

And it means you're in trouble.

"I was j-just—"

Another sharp slap lands on your ass, making you gasp, cutting your words off instantly.

"You were just what, huh?" Jason growls, his voice thick with frustration, his grip tightening. "Sendin' me all those pics, makin' me hard as fuck on patrol? You know I had to fight with a fuckin' boner, baby? You know how fuckin' distractin' that was?"

You bite your lip, trying so hard not to let the smug little smirk tug at the corners of your mouth, because honestly? Yeah, you do know. That was kind of the point. But you'll never admit it, not out loud.

Not when he looks like this.

Before you can so much as think of a response, Jason grabs you—big hands gripping your thighs, your body weight nothing to him as he lifts you onto the kitchen counter. Your breath stutters, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders, but he doesn't give you a second to catch up.

Because the second your ass touches the counter, he's ripping your t-shirt off, tossing it somewhere behind him, leaving you in nothing but your panties. Your soaked panties.

His eyes drop instantly, and fuck, the groan he lets out—deep, rough, vibrating against your skin—makes your stomach flip, makes your cunt clench around nothing, makes your pulse pound between your legs.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, baby," he mutters, running a gloved hand down your side, gripping your hip, fingers curling into your soft skin.

And then he spreads your legs wider. Your breath catches, your thighs trembling as he steps between them, crowding into you, and before you can process any of it, he's grinding against your cunt. Hard. But the pressure is perfect.

Your panties stick to you, the friction hitting your clit just right, his cock thick and heavy, straining against his pants as he drags it against you, rubbing over your aching pussy. You let out a sharp little gasp, your nails digging into the Kevlar covering his shoulders, your body jerking at the overwhelming sensation, at the heat of him.

You want to say something, want to throw back a smartass remark, maybe tell him it's his fault for leaving you all needy in the first place, but you don't get the chance.

Because Jason's hand is already wrapping around the back of your neck, his fingers sliding into your hair, tilting your face up, and then his mouth is on yours again.

Hot. Messy. All tongue and teeth and Fuck, baby, you're so goddamn wet for me.

And the whole time, he keeps grinding against you, his free hand pinning you in place, the cool leather of his glove pressing into your hip, keeping you right where he wants you as he ruts against your dripping cunt.

You're soaking through your panties, through the lacy fabric right onto his pants, leaving a damp little patch over his bulge, and he groans into your mouth, feeling it, knowing exactly what he's doing to you.

Jason rips his mouth from yours, his breath hot against your lips, and before you can catch up, before you can so much as blink, you hear it before you feel it—the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing.

Your breath catches, your thighs twitching as the cool air of the kitchen hits your soaked cunt, the remnants of your panties dangling from Jason's fingers, the delicate lace snapped like it was nothing.

You gasp, barely processing it before his sharp, wicked little smirk takes over his face, his eyes dropping between your legs.

"Fuck," he mutters, low and rough, his gaze locked on the way a thin, glistening string of your slick clings to the ruined panties before snapping.

He lets out a deep chuckle, tossing them aside like they're useless to him now. He lifts one hand, gripping the edge of his glove with his teeth, tugging it off in one smooth motion, exposing his bare fingers—long, thick, skilled.

The next thing you know, two of them are buried inside your cunt.

"Oh—fuck—" you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders, your body arching as his fingers plunge into you, stretching you open, curling just right.

He works them deep, fucking them into you in slow, firm strokes, the wet, obscene sounds of your pussy filling the room, and shit, you're still so sensitive.

And his other hand—the gloved one—is already working his belt, working the buttons and the zipper, his knuckles bumping against your inner thigh as he frees his cock.

"Jay—w-wait—" you murmur, breath hitching, your legs trembling around his waist.

But he just laughs. Dark, knowing.

"What's the matter, huh?" he drawls, pressing his forehead to yours, his fingers still fucking into you, still dragging slick sounds from your dripping cunt. "Don't tell me you're too sensitive to take my dick right now."

You shake your head so fast, so desperate to deny it, but fuck, you're already so overstimulated, already so close again, and he knows it. He can feel it.

So he drags his fingers out of you in one slow, slick pull, making you whine, your cunt clenching around nothing, but before you can complain, before you can beg, he's already gripping his dick.

Already fisting it, dragging your wetness over the thick, flushed length, mixing it with the pearly precum beading at his tip, groaning under his breath.

"Fuck, baby, you're so messy," he mutters, his voice wrecked, his hand moving slow, firm, teasing.

You can barely breathe, your eyes locked on the way his dick looks in his fist, slick with you, with him, flushed and aching and ready to split you open.

His free hand grips your waist, drags you closer to the edge of the counter, his strength making you feel so small, so helpless, like you have no say in it, like he's going to take what he wants from you. And he is, because he knows you're gonna let him.

And then he's back between your legs, slapping your clit with his cock.

Your whole body jerks, a high, needy whimper ripping from your throat as the heavy weight of it lands against your sensitive bundle of nerves, over and over, each hit making your thighs twitch, making your cunt pulse with need.

"Jay—" you whimper, squirming, gripping his arms, but he just shushes you, his hand sliding up from your hip, up your side, until it's wrapped around the back of your neck again.

He grips you there, firm, tilting your head up, forcing you to look at him, his lips barely brushing yours, his cock still slapping against your clit, making your legs twitch, your breath hitching in quick, shallow gasps.

"Tell me, baby," he murmurs, his voice a low, taunting purr. "Was it worth behavin' like a little slut tonight?"

And you don't know what has gotten into you, don't know if it's the way he's looking at you, don't know if it's the way he's got you all pinned in place, your whole body under his control, but you nod.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, his smirk growing, his cock still slapping against your clit, sending jolts of overstimulation through your body.

You nod. Again. Even though you know what's coming. Even though you know he's about to fuck you stupid.

And before you can even think about saying, "I was just kidding"—not that it would save you now—his thick, aching cock is pushing in.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp, your whole body going rigid, your fingers digging into his arms as he splits you open, stretching you wide, forcing you to take every thick, pulsing inch.

Your eyes widen, your mouth falling open, a helpless, needy whimper slipping past your lips, and Jason groans under his breath, watching the way your tight little cunt struggles to take him, the way you clamp down, so fucking hot and wet and slippery for him.

"You wanna be a fuckin' brat, huh?" he growls, gripping your waist harder, pulling you onto his cock as he drives forward, forcing more of himself inside. "Guess I gotta fuck it out of you."

And he doesn't even bother bottoming out before he starts fucking you. Hard. Fast. Brutal.

The wet slap of skin on skin fills the kitchen, your moans breaking into helpless little gasps each time he slams forward, each thrust knocking the air from your lungs. The gun holster strapped to his thigh digs into your skin, pressing, the leather rough against your soft, sensitive flesh, a constant reminder of just how fucked you are.

His hand moves from the back of your neck to the front, his gloved fingers wrapping around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your breath catch, just enough to make your pussy clench around him.

"Fuck—" Jason swears, his grip tightening just slightly, enough to make your head feel light, enough to make every nerve in your body tingle. "You like that, huh? You like bein' choked while I ruin this little pussy?"

And you can't speak, can't breathe, can't think. All you can do is nod, your moans breaking into choked little whimpers as he pounds into you, each brutal thrust driving him deeper, making your walls spasm around his thick cock.

And when your mouth falls open on another desperate moan, Jason leans in, his breath hot against your lips, his gloved fingers still tight around your throat.

"Yeah, baby," he murmurs, his voice wrecked, his cock throbbing inside you, stretching you so full you can feel every vein, every pulse. "Take it. Fuckin' take it."

And then, his tongue slides into your mouth. Hot, wet, dominating, tasting every gasp, every moan, swallowing down every desperate little noise you make as he fucks you senseless. Your head spins, your whole body trembling, heat coiling tight in your belly, your climax building fast, dangerously close.

And Jason knows it.

"You gonna cum already, baby?" he purrs against your lips, his fingers flexing around your throat, his cock still slamming into you, pushing you closer, closer, closer. "Go on. Fuckin' cum for me."

He slams into you, again and again, his cock driving so deep, so hard, it's all you can do to hold on, to breathe through it, to take every brutal, punishing thrust as he fucks you open, stretches you so wide around him you don't know how you're still coherent.

Your nails sink into the thick material of his suit, your whole body shaking, legs trembling where they wrap around his waist, your toes curling with every sharp, unrelenting snap of his hips.

You can feel it. The heat twisting low in your belly, coiling tight, electric and overwhelming, your orgasm rushing toward you, unstoppable, devastating, making your walls flutter and clench so tight around his cock he groans, his hand tightening around your throat.

You love this. You live for this. The way his gloved fingers press against your skin, firm but careful, applying just enough pressure to make your breath hitch, to make you dizzy, to make every pulse of pleasure more intense.

And you trust him. You trust him with everything, with this, because you know—you know he'd never hurt you, never push you too far.

"C'mon, baby," Jason groans against your lips, his fingers flexing around your throat as his dick pounds into you, his pace brutal, relentless, fucking you so deep you swear he's in your fucking womb. "You gonna cum for me? Gonna make a fuckin' mess all over my dick?"

You try to say something—try to answer—but the words get lost in a broken, desperate whimper, your mouth falling open, almost drooling with how fucked out and wrecked you are.

"That's it," Jason growls, his free hand gripping your waist tight, slamming you onto his cock as he drives into you, giving you exactly what you need, what you crave. "Fuckin' take it."

Your orgasm crashes over you, blinding and overwhelming, your whole body tensing as wave after wave of white hot pleasure ripples through you, so fucking intense it leaves you shaking, clenching, soaking his cock with slick as you cum hard around him.

Jason groans, his hand dropping from your throat to your hip as he fucks you through it, fucking you harder, deeper, dragging out every sharp, shuddering pulse of your release until your cunt is twitching around him, sensitive, overstimulated, your whimpers breaking into helpless, pathetic cries.

"Good fuckin' girl," he grits out, leaning in, swallowing your moans with his mouth, his tongue sliding into yours, hot and wet, claiming every sound, every sharp little gasp. "So fuckin' pretty when you cum on my dick, baby—fuck—"

He's so close, he can feel it. His whole body tense, his dick throbbing, straining inside your tight, soaking wet heat, every little clench of your overstimulated pussy making his stomach coil, making his hips stutter.

"Shit—" he grits out, his hands tightening on your body, his rhythm turning desperate, frantic, fucking you fast, hard, chasing it, so fucking worked up he can't even hold back.

With a sharp, wrecked groan, his hips snap forward one last time, his cock driving deep, pulsing as thick ropes of hot cum spill into your tight little pussy, painting your insides, filling you up until you're dripping, leaking all over the counter. But he doesn't stop.

He fucks it deeper, fucks you through it, milking every last drop, his fingers bruising against your skin as he holds you still, grinding against you until his cock is twitching, until you're both a wrecked, sweaty mess of slick and cum and breathless desperation.

And when he finally pulls back, finally looks down—Christ.

His cum is already leaking out of you, creamy and white, spilling out of you, coating your puffy, overstimulated lips, slicking up his cock as he groans, watching it drip.

"Shit," he rasps, his fingers sliding through the mess, making you whimper, your whole body twitching from the overstimulation. "So fuckin' pretty like this, baby."

You're panting, gasping for breath, your whole body shuddering as Jason keeps grinding into you, his cock still rock fucking hard inside your wrecked little pussy, throbbing with the aftershocks of his orgasm, spurting the last drops of hot cum deep inside you.

And then—fuck—he crashes his lips over yours.

It's hungry, messy, his mouth claiming yours, his tongue licking into you, sweeping over yours, deep and wet and so possessive it makes your knees go weak.

His free hand grips your tits, squeezing rough, fingers rolling your sensitive nipple as he devours you, making you whimper into his mouth, making your overstimulated cunt flutter tight around his still hard cock.

"Fuck," he groans, his teeth catching your bottom lip, pulling, his hips grinding up, his dick pressing so deep it makes your whole body tremble.

He pulls back, his hand sliding down your body, gripping your waist as his dick finally slides out. His cum trickles out instantly, thick and creamy, dripping from your wrecked, fucked open pussy, sliding down your inner thighs, slicking up the mess between your legs.

Jason smirks, his eyes locked on the filthy sight, one gloved hand reaching down, dragging his fingers through the slick, spreading it around, making you whimper as your sensitive little clit twitches.

But before you can even think about what's next, he grabs you. Lifts you off the counter, spins you around, and bends you over. Your hands slap against the cool marble, your breath hitching as Jason shoves you down, pressing your tits flush against the countertop, keeping you pinned.

"Jay—" you gasp, trying to push up, but his hand is already gripping your back, keeping you in place.

"If you think we're done here," he grits out, his cock pressing back against your dripping pussy, smearing his cum all over your folds, "you're fuckin' wrong, doll."

And then, he slams back in.

"Fuck—" you choke on the word, your body lurching forward as his cock buries deep, stretching you all over again, the angle so perfect, so brutal, it knocks the breath from your lungs.

One hand stays on your back, keeping you bent over, keeping you pressed down, while the other grips your thigh, lifting your leg, spreading you wider for him as he fucks into you.

And the angle? Jesus Christ, this angle is insane. Every sharp, unrelenting thrust drives right into that perfect spot, making your legs tremble, your whole body shudder as your eyes roll back. Jason pounds you into the counter, the sloppy sounds of wet skin slapping filling the kitchen.

"Yeah, baby," he groans, his grip on your leg tight, spreading you wider, letting him go deeper, letting him hit all the spots that make you fucking see stars. "You wanna act like a slut? Then be one. Fuckin' take it."

You try—really, you try—but all you can do is moan, broken little cries spilling from your lips, drool pooling against the marble, your mind going blank from how fucking good it feels.

"Think bein' bratty was worth it, huh?" Jason taunts, his breath hot against your back, his pace relentless, his cock slamming into you, the sounds of your soaking wet pussy obscene as he ruins you.

You can't answer. You can only take it. And Jason knows. Knows you're too fucked out to speak, too wrecked to do anything but clench around him, your tight little pussy gripping his cock.

"Yeah," he grits out, his voice rough, his thrusts turning harder, his hand leaving your back to tangle in your hair, yanking your head up so he can hear every broken, helpless whimper that spills from your lips. "That's what I fuckin' thought."

Jason's a rough man. He always has been. His whole life has been one long fight—against the world, against himself, against the people who've tried to control him, break him, kill him.

But he's rarely like this. Because you changed him. Not all the way—he's still him, still sharp edges and rough hands and a body built for war. But he's softer, just a little. The kind of soft that lets you cling to him after patrol, lets you tug him into the shower, lets him let you love him, even when he's got no fucking clue how he deserves it.

And he loves you too much to be as brutal as he used to be. Loves you too much to fuck you like you're just another warm body, another hookup to use and leave. But right now, none of that softness is here.

Right now, you wouldn't want him soft. Right now, you love him like this.

Love how he cages you in, his broad frame looming over you, his tactical gear rough against your bare, overheated skin, the hard plastic of his gun holster still digging into your side as he pounds into you from behind.

Love how his cock stretches you wide, the fat head dragging against your sweet spot with every brutal thrust, slicked up with his cum, with your cum, with the mix of everything he's fucked out of you.

Love how his voice is wrecked, low and gravelly in your ear as he grunts, "God, baby—fuckin' love this pussy."

The slick, obscene noise of your dripping wet cunt, squelching as he fucks you, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin, his gritted curses, your helpless little whimpers—it's filthy.

And God, his hand. His big hand slides from your hair to your throat again. That thick, gloved hand, wrapping tight around your neck, tilting your chin up, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

And you fucking love it. Not because you're some mindless little thing who lets him do whatever he wants—okay, maybe a little— but because you trust him. Because you know he'd never hurt you.

Because you know that after this, he's gonna carry you to the shower, wash you with slow, gentle hands, let you curl up against him in bed, his lips pressed to your hair as he murmurs how much he loves you.

But right now? Right now, he's got you bent over, wrecking you like he's got a point to prove.

"Open," Jason orders, his grip tightening, his gloved thumb pressing just right against the side of your throat, making you shudder.

You barely process the command, your head spinning, pleasure thrumming through your entire body as he fucks you deep, relentless. But then he tilts your face higher, and you know exactly what he wants. You whimper, body trembling, and you obey, your lips parting, tongue slipping out just slightly.

Jason leans down, lets his saliva pool into your mouth, slow and filthy, his eyes locked onto you, watching as it drips down your tongue. You swear you could cum just from that alone, from the way he's looking at you, from the snarl on his lips, from the way his hand is still tight around your throat.

"Swallow it," he growls.

And you do. He groans when you do, when he feels your throat contract beneath his palm, when he sees the way you fucking love it.

"That's my girl," he grits out, his other hand gripping your hip, fingers digging into your flesh as he drives into you harder, fucking you so deep you can feel him in your fucking gut.

His good fucking girl, even when you're a brat. Even when you push his buttons, test his patience, send those filthy little pictures to fuck with his head while he's on patrol, you still take it. Take his dick, take his rough hands, take the way he ruins you like you need it.

He watches you—watches the way your tits brush against the cool marble with every thrust, the way they bounce from the sheer force of his fucking, the way your skin is hot, damp with sweat, your pussy an absolute mess between your legs, his cum and your slick dripping down your thighs, down to the floor tiles beneath you.

And yet, you still take it, just like he knew you would.

"Put your leg up, baby," he rasps, grabbing your thigh and hooking it up onto the counter, spreading you wider for him, letting him sink deeper into your cunt.

You moan, legs trembling as he bottoms out, dick pulsing, the thick head pressing right against your cervix.

"Keep it there," he orders, voice rough as he ruts into you, every thrust sharp, his grip on you tight enough to leave bruises.

And you listen, even though your body is shaking, even though your pussy is so fucking overstimulated, so wrecked from his pace, because you can't do anything else but obey him at this point.

"Look at you," Jason grunts, watching your body rock against the counter, "so fuckin' messy, baby, got my cum drippin' outta you, but you still want more, huh?"

You whimper, back arching, hands gripping the edges of the marble as he fucks you, relentless and rough, cock splitting your pussy open, stretching you wide.

"Was it worth bein' a brat tonight, huh? Can't even fuckin' answer a simple question," he taunts, one hand slipping down your stomach, sliding between your legs.

The second his fingers find your clit, you cry out, the sound breaking into a series of gasping, choked moans. You can't even form words, just desperate little whimpers, hips jerking, body twitching as he rubs quick, hard, matching the brutal rhythm of his fucking, rolling the swollen bud in firm, tight circles.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Jason groans, feeling the way your cunt flutters around him, feeling how wrecked you already are. "Still so fuckin' sensitive, but you just couldn't wait, could you? Had to send me those pictures, had to make me fuckin' ruin you, baby, Jesus fuck—"

And you're gone, you can barely think, your entire world narrowing to the feeling of his cock, his hands, his voice, the way he's owning you, the way he's fucking you stupid.

"J-Jay—b-baby, fuck, more—moremoremore—"

Your voice is wrecked, stuttering through the words, barely making sense as you push back against him, as you take everything he gives you, as you chase your next orgasm like you need it to breathe.

Jason groans, his dick throbbing at the sound, at the way you're babbling for him, your pussy so swollen, so raw from how hard he's been fucking you, but you don't care.

Because you need it. You need him to fuck you through another orgasm. You need him to fill you up again.

"Jesus fuck," Jason grits, snapping his hips forward, sinking deep into you, his cock sliding into your wrecked little cunt so easily, so smooth with your slick and his cum.

It's loud—the wet, filthy squelching of your pussy swallowing him down, the thick slap of skin on skin as he pounds into you, the sounds of your ragged, desperate moans.

"So fuckin' needy," Jason grunts, "so fuckin' desperate for it, baby, Jesus—"

His pace changes, from deep, dragging thrusts that have his cock pressing into every swollen, sensitive spot inside you, to sharp, shallow ones. The thick head rubs right against your sweet spot, the sensation intense, making you sob, making your whole body shake from how badly you need to cum.

His fingers on your clit are relentless, rubbing it quick, fast, rolling it in tight circles, making your thighs shake, your mouth fall open, a wrecked, desperate sob breaking from your lips.

"That's it, baby," Jason growls, "fuckin' take it, let me feel you cum, c'mon, be a good girl, fuckin' cum—"

You break, your whole body tensing, your cunt pulsing around him, squeezing his cock in hard, tight waves. So fucking tight that Jason swears, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it. He keeps rubbing your clit, keeps fucking you, dragging out your orgasm until you're sobbing from how good it feels, from how overwhelming it is. Until your pussy's gushing around him, soaking his cock, soaking his pants, soaking his hand.

Jason can barely think.

His body is a mess, his back soaked with sweat under his gear, his thighs burning, his skin sticky, and he doesn't give a fuck. He can feel sweat dripping down his nose, feels it fall onto your bare back, sees it mix with the sheen on your skin, and it just makes him crazier.

Because you're a wreck, too, your body slack, trembling from how many times he's fucked you into the counter, your tits bouncing, your skin flushed, covered in goosebumps. Your pussy is a wet, sloppy mess around his cock, soaking his pants, coating his thighs, and he swears he's never been this fucking hard in his life.

"Jesus fuckin'—"

His hand grips your throat again, tugging you back against him, making you arch, your body pressing flush to his, his chest heaving against your spine. And the angle—

"Ohhh—fuck, fuck, fuck—"

Your moan is wrecked, wild and desperate, your fingers clawing at his wrist as his cock slams into you from this new angle, hitting so deep, so fucking good that you almost black out.

Jason groans, deep and gritted, his fingers flexing around your throat, his dick throbbing, aching, his whole body tense and burning because he's so fucking close.

"Fuck, baby, I'm—"

His hips snap forward, burying himself to the hilt, and he breaks.

A wrecked groan rips from his chest as his orgasm hits, his body shuddering, his thighs flexing as he fills you up, thick ropes of hot, sticky cum pumping deep into your pussy, spilling against your cervix.

And the second you feel it, the warmth flooding you, coating your walls—

"Ohh, fuck—J-Jay—"

Your whole body locks up, back arching hard against his chest, your mouth falling open in a wrecked, helpless sob. Your nipples are so hard they ache, goosebumps ripple over your skin, your legs shaking so bad you swear you're gonna collapse, but you can't stop.

Because you're cumming, too. Hard.

Your cunt pulses around him, tight and needy, milking his cock, making his hips jerk, making his whole body shudder against you as he groans into your hair, his dick throbbing inside your soaked, wrecked pussy.

You whimper, body shaking, your clit aching from how hard he fucked you, how good he filled you. Jason groans, keeping you close, feeling his cum spill out, thick and white, coating your swollen, fucked out little pussy.

You're shaking, your whole body wrecked, overstimulated and soaked, your legs barely able to hold you up, and Jason can feel it.

His arms are around you before you can collapse, a strong, steady hold keeping you upright, his chest heaving against your back as he tries to catch his breath. His dick is still buried inside you, so thick and hot, and you sob, pleasure pulsing through you in aftershocks, your body still shuddering from the intensity of it all.

"Shh, baby," Jason breathes, his voice wrecked, panting, thick with heat and something softer, something that makes your chest ache. "I got you. 'M right here, pretty girl."

You whimper, boneless and exhausted, your hands reaching up to grasp at his arms, fingers curling into his sweat dampened sleeves, and Jason hums, pressing a warm, messy kiss against your temple.

"Jesus, doll..." He nuzzles into your hair, lets his hands smooth over your skin, rubbing slow, gentle circles along your sides. "Fucked you so good, made you all dumb on my dick— fuck—look at you, baby, still shakin'."

His voice is low, soothing, his lips ghosting over your temple, your cheek, your neck, the words melting sweet and hot into your skin. And even though he's still panting, still wrecked, there's a tenderness there—something soft, even as his fingers tighten just a little when you whimper.

Because you're a brat, you're a fucking menace, teasing him with those pictures while he was on patrol, making him fight with a raging hard on, and he should be mad every time you pull that shit. But goddamn, he can't even be mad when you're this perfect.

"You okay, baby?"

His voice dips a little softer, lower, his nose brushing along the curve of your shoulder as he squeezes you a little tighter, anchoring you, making sure you're still here with him.

And when you nod, still catching your breath, still soaked in sweat, still whimpering, he just smirks against your skin, presses one last, lazy kiss to the side of your neck.

"That's my girl."

You keep sniffling, little aftershocks making your body tremble against his, and Jason just soothes you like he always does when he's been this rough with you. His hands are gentle, rubbing slow, soothing circles down your belly, along your hips, his touch warm and steady even as you're still so wrecked.

"Shh, baby," he murmurs, voice low, lips brushing soft against your damp temple. "Breathe for me, yeah? I've got you."

You whimper when he pulls out, your whole body tensing at the sudden loss, the stretch of him leaving you making your breath hitch. Your legs immediately give out, completely spent, but he's already catching you, lifting you into his arms like you weigh nothing.

You melt into him the second he picks you up, arms clinging around his neck, face burrowing into his chest, not even caring that his tactical gear is in the way. You just need to be closer, need to feel him, need the solid, safe weight of him keeping you grounded.

"Jesus, baby," Jason huffs, but he smirks, his breath ruffling your hair as he presses a kiss against your forehead. "Fucked you that good, huh?"

You nod faintly, fingers clinging to the fabric of his sleeves, and he chuckles, shifting you in his arms as he starts walking, his boots thudding against the hardwood floor.

"C'mon, doll," he murmurs, voice still low and warm, tinged with the last traces of roughness. "Let's take a bath, yeah?"

You nod, barely more than a little, dazed tilt of your head against him, and he smirks, adjusting his grip before carrying you effortlessly through the apartment. You're still clinging to him when he steps into the bathroom, reluctant to let go even as he starts to set you down.

"Nooo," you whine, arms tightening around his neck, making zero effort to let him go.

Jason laughs, low and fond, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "Shhh, I'm not goin' anywhere."

You peer up at him, your eyes still glassy, still so thoroughly fucked out, lips slightly puffed from all his kisses, and you pout. "No?"

"Nah, baby," he reassures, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. "Took care of business for tonight. I'm all yours."

That makes you smile, your whole body melting against him, soaking in the warmth of him, the solidness, the safety, and you nuzzle right back into his chest, sighing as he strokes a hand through your hair. He reaches over with his other hand, turning on the water, the steady stream filling the tub as he drops the plug in.

And then he's wrapping his arms around you again, holding you tight, his palm smoothing slow, soothing strokes up and down your back as the water pours into the tub.

"Relax, baby," he murmurs against your hair, voice low, gravelly, but so damn soft. "I've got you."

Once the tub is filled, Jason reaches over, twisting the faucet off, and then he's lifting you again, hands firm under your thighs as he gently lowers you into the warm water. The heat makes your spent muscles immediately relax, and you let out a soft, content sigh, sinking into it, your head resting against the edge of the tub.

Your eyes are heavy, but you still watch him, all sleepy and soft, as he starts stripping out of his gear. His vest comes first, then his glove, each movement slow, unhurried. His shirt follows, baring his sweat slicked chest, the scars and tattoos across his body catching in the dim bathroom light. Your lashes flutter as you take him in, still entranced by the sight of him, no matter how many times you've seen him like this.

And then he pulls down his pants, the fabric sticking slightly to his thighs, and you giggle when you see the obvious stain of his cum on them.

Jason raises an eyebrow, a mocking smirk tugging at his lips. "Somethin' funny, doll?"

You just grin, innocent, eyes sparkling as you look up at him, and he shakes his head before stepping closer. "C'mon, brat, make me some room."

You do, scooting forward a little, letting him step in behind you. The moment he settles into the water, his legs spread wide, caging you between them, he pulls you back against him. His chest is warm, solid, his arms coming to wrap around your middle, holding you close.

You melt into him, your head nestling into the crook of his shoulder, your body fitting perfectly against his. You reach for one of his hands, bringing it up to your cheek, nuzzling into his palm, your lips brushing over his roughened skin.

Jason chuckles, his breath warm against your hair. "Already in sleepy cat mode?"

You nod, pressing a soft kiss to his palm before tilting your head up to look at him, lips pouting slightly as you murmur, "I'm hungry..."

Jason snorts. "I bet."

You whine softly, rubbing your cheek against his hand again, making him laugh before he relents. "I'll make you somethin' after we finish here, yeah?"

"I want cheesy chicken nuggets and fries," you say, your voice soft, almost dreamy, as if you're already thinking about the food.

"Yeah, yeah," he murmurs, lips pressing soft to your temple. "I'll throw some in the air fryer."

That makes you happy, your whole body perking up as you hum, wiggling a little in his lap to get more comfortable.

But the second your ass presses back against his lap, Jason groans, fingers tightening on your hips. "Careful, baby, or I'll fuck you again."

You freeze for a second, but then you giggle, wiggling just a little more, just to tease him.

Jason grunts, his breath shaky, and his hands flex around your waist. "Brat."

You just grin, settling back against him, feeling warm and safe as he holds you close.

For a few long, quiet minutes, Jason just holds you, the heat of the water soaking into his muscles, easing away the tension in his shoulders, his back. You're soft against him, warm and pliant, your fingers tracing idle little patterns over his forearm where it rests over your stomach. He lets out a long breath, pressing his lips to your temple, lingering there for a second before he shifts, reaching for the bottle of body wash.

His hand is gentle as he leathers it up between his palms, and you hum when he starts gliding it over your arms, your shoulders, down your back. He lingers there, just a little, kneading at the muscles, working out any lingering soreness.

And he can't help it—his lips find your shoulder, pressing soft, slow kisses along your damp skin. Then up, to the curve of your neck, to the spot just below your ear. He can feel you smiling, can feel the way your body relaxes against him.

He keeps going, washing you with slow, careful strokes, rinsing away the sweat and the remnants of what you just did. And when he moves up to your hair, you let out a happy little sigh, tilting your head back as he starts working the shampoo into your scalp.

You hum, all soft and content, and Jason finds himself grinning like an idiot the entire time.

It's always like this, ever since you got together. Before you, he never thought he'd feel this kind of happiness, never thought he'd have moments like these—where love wasn't just something distant, something out of reach, but something real. Something warm.

He never thought he'd have someone who knew every jagged piece of him and didn't flinch, who didn't try to smooth out his rough edges but traced them with careful fingers instead, holding them like they were something precious.

He was always too much. Too broken. Too rough around the edges. He thought he wasn't made for soft things, for gentle things. He told himself that for so long it started to feel like truth, like something carved into his bones. But then you came along. And suddenly, softness wasn't something fragile anymore.

It wasn't something that could be taken from him, something he had to keep at arm's length. It was you, curled up against him, fitting so perfectly in his arms, hands running slow over his skin like you were memorizing every inch of him. It was in the way you looked at him like he wasn't something broken, but something worth loving.

And now? Now, he doesn't have to wonder what it feels like to be held, to be wanted. Now, he knows.

He keeps rubbing small circles into your scalp, massaging the tension away, and you let out another little happy sound, and yeah, he's fucking gone for you.

He takes his time, gently massaging your scalp, lathering your hair with shampoo and making sure it's washed thoroughly, all the while being soft and slow, making sure you feel taken care of.

After a few more minutes of soaking in the warmth, he helps you rinse off, his hands still steady, still gentle as he cups the water, running it through your hair until it's completely clean. Then, once your hair's thoroughly washed, he rinses it one final time, ensuring all the soap's gone.

He stands, stepping out first before reaching for a towel, wrapping it around your shoulders as he helps you up.

You shiver a little as the cooler air hits your damp skin, but Jason doesn't let you linger in it. He tugs you close, rubbing your arms through the towel before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Sit tight for a sec, baby," he murmurs, giving you a squeeze before letting you go.

You nod sleepily, leaning against the sink, the warm towel still wrapped around you as you watch him step back into the tub.

Even though you're exhausted, your limbs heavy with post orgasm haze, you can't help but admire him—broad shoulders, sculpted arms, the scars and tattoos that map across his body, each one a story, a reminder of everything he's been through. His hands move efficiently, lathering the soap over his chest, his arms, down to his abs, and then... lower.

You bite your lip, watching as he strokes a hand down his thick thighs, washing away the sweat and the grime, half from fucking you, the other half from patrol. His dick is soft, but still impressive, flushed from earlier, streaks of soap washing down the drain as he rinses himself off.

"See somethin' you like, pretty girl?" he murmurs, smirking as he slicks his wet hair back.

You pout, cheeks heating as you pull your towel tighter around yourself, mumbling, "Maybe."

Jason chuckles, shaking his head as he reaches for the shampoo, running his fingers through his hair as the lather builds. He rinses quickly, shaking the water from his head before turning off the faucet.

Then he grabs a towel, rubbing it over his head, water dripping down his back, his chest. You can't help but sigh dreamily, still admiring the way his muscles flex, the way he moves.

Jason notices—of course he does—and before you can react, he's stepping forward, cupping your jaw, tilting your head up so you have to look at him.

"You keep eye fuckin' me like that, and I'm gonna forget about aftercare," he murmurs, thumb brushing over your lower lip.

You shiver, thighs clenching on instinct, and Jason just grins, pressing a quick, teasing kiss to your lips before letting go.

"C'mon, let's get you dressed before you catch a cold."

You don't bother dressing in anything fancy, just grabbing a comfy shirt—his, obviously—and slipping on some underwear. As you pull it on, you glance over to see him pulling on a pair of shorts, the fabric settling low on his hips. The sight makes your chest flutter, but you push the thought aside, smiling at him as you finish getting dressed. The moment you're done, you beam up at him before skipping toward the kitchen.

Jason watches you go, a smirk tugging at his lips as he follows, his bare feet thudding against the floor.

As promised, he pulls out a bag of frozen cheesy chicken nuggets and fries, tossing them into the air fryer while you grab your tea, getting to finally make it after he'd thoroughly ruined you earlier.

He watches you from the corner of his eye, the way you happily hum to yourself as you prepare your drink, and he shakes his head fondly, grabbing a beer from the fridge before leaning against the counter.

A few minutes later, the food is ready, and you grab the plates, eagerly bouncing to the couch, practically dragging him down with you.

Jason doesn't protest, just lets himself get pulled into the cushions, and you barely give him a second to sit before you're reaching for him, arms stretching toward him with a sleepy little whine.

"So fuckin' clingy," he teases, but he's already pulling you close, pressing a kiss to your temple.

With the TV playing softly in the background, plates balanced on your laps, he takes a sip of his beer, one arm draped lazily over your shoulders as you munch on your nuggets, still warm, still content, snuggling into his side like it's where you belong. And maybe it is.

1K notes · View notes