#Using the opening from the book as an opening for this shit show

[baurutruffle]

Let's go!

1. I'm a therian.

2. Crocodile, torn between Mugger crocodile and Siamese crocodile.

3. The most common shifts are mental and phantom shifts. My phantom shifts include tail, snout, the "horns" (which basically are ears), hands/feet, belly and the general flat shape when laying down on my belly. My mental shits often mean the urge to bask in the sun with my mouth open, do the death roll or make sounds like hissing or the like. Occasionally, I have the urge to turn around and snap or slide back into water, too. My oddest cameo shift? Wings. They make no sense but they're funny and feel nice.

4. I sometimes imagine my body to be a crocodile on two legs, interacting with other animals rather than humans. Sometimes, I'm just constantly tired and need to recharge by simply laying around or sitting in the sun. Sunlight is extremely important. Despite me being a mammal - a human - in this life, I sometimes feel like I depend on the warmth and the UV light of the sun more than anyone else. When I choose my meal, it gotta include good meat and veggies (yes, crocs eat veggies and fruits). While most women (and many men) see a sharp jawline as crucial for beauty, I like a slight double chin which I think might come from my crocodile self where we all have a kind of a double chin. A good trait of my body is the robust build. I'm not chunky or something but on a healthy side with small stubby hands which resemble my crocodile hands. And this makes me feel very comfy at times. Guess I had some luck there to look a bit crocodilian in my human body. c;

Though, what makes me feel weird at times are my boobies. They're... big. As a reptile, I often look down and think: "Wth, what's this? Oh, yea... right." Reptiles don't have such. The same goes with other things which I won't talk about here for the safety of the minors on this platform.

When someone's annoying the hell outta me, I have the urge to either retreat in a water body or chomp them or hiss at them. Usually, I'm very disciplined and can avoid following my urges in a social setting but sometimes a deep rumble leaves my throat either way.

Those are just a few slight insights. But I'll happily talk about more of my experiences in my everyday life, if you're interested.

5. I've been part of the community for over a decade. It should be 16 years soon. Over the years, I witnessed a lot. I really like the side where we all peacefully talk about our experiences and discuss about terms and the usage of those etc. The downside on the other hand looks way deeper. Gatekeeping, unwanted grilling, excluding young alterhumans, hate and more. After all, I think if we focus on the positive sides of the community, it's a fairly nice one. We should build up some more of the neutral, peaceful side. We're all sitting in the same boat - nonhumans living a human life and trying to make the best of it. Following the construct of self-care to not lose our minds in-between all these humans where a big part still sees us with despise and hatred. The community has its potential for the good and the bad.

6. Inclusion. I'm most euphoric to be able to say that I'm not alone and not mentally ill simply for identifying as something nonhuman. For believing in having been a crocodile in my past life and still carrying this part of me with me. I am a crocodile and that's completely valid. As a rational person (by law) who grew up not showing too many emotions and letting go of feelings and the like, I tried to find a reason for all these experiences and thought I was just mentally ill for seeing myself as a crocodile. I read plenty of books, went to a couple psychologists and tried to "treat" away this side of me. But the community took me back on the ground and helped me understand what was actually happening. Now I'm 29, have two jobs (social worker and firefighter), pay taxes and all these weird human things and I can still say I'm myself. I gained so much self-confidence and became more self-conscious over the years. I did have my downfalls in the community as well but it still caught me and helped me back up on my feet. Now I can say out proudly that I'm a crocodile. Thank you for that, dear alterhumans!

7. I experience species dysphoria a lot after all. While most four-legged mammals can simply walk on all fours and feel at ease doing so, it doesn't feel that right for me. I can't do this slumber walk and have a heavy tail being dragged over the ground. I can't eat like a crocodile with this weak human mouth and this weirdly shaped face. If a tooth is broken, it won't just fall out and grow back but has to be repaired and treated carefully afterwards. My boobies, which I mentioned above. I have no scales and can't swim like a crocodile. I don't have a third eyelid. My claws are weak and soft.

Many many things make me feel species dysphoria. Though, it's fine. I accept those feelings and do my best with that. I got to the nail manufacturer and let them make me grey relatively pointy nails. I have the possibility to get tattoos. I can swim and dive as a human just as fine. You name it.

8. Don't rush it! I made this mistake which left me in an identity crisis for 11 years! Let it go, live your life, embrace your existence. If you're like me, a journal can help as well. Keep track of your experiences. And don't compare yourself to others. You might not know what you are right now and it might take years to find out for sure but this is what you have in advance. You're able to learn so much about yourself and educate yourself more on many levels which those who know what they are since they can think don't most of the time. Take the part where you have to read about so many animals and dive into zoology so hard that you can consider yourself a little nerd (lovingly). Take the patience that you need. Or maybe learning about many facettes and their correlation to your nonhumanity. Of course, those who know their true self since the very beginning can learn about these as well but you still do it on an absolutely different level. Enjoy it! And if you need help, don't hesitate to ask for help.

9. I don't have any gear yet but would love to have some. Though, I wouldn't know what I could get. Maybe you have some ideas.

10. Theoretically, such experiences and self-portraying as animals or other nonhuman creatures takes us back to the first humans with the spiritual and religious side. We have evidence of humans from the Paleolithic time to self-portray as animals, that's been about 40,000 years ago. Zoologic art has been found that may represent the earliest known form of anthropomorphism. I like to see that as the beginning of nonhuman identities. And maybe humans were identifying as nonhuman even before that or at least have very special connections to animals which could be seen as otherhearted or even as an identity already. Several religions, thelogies and spiritual beliefs practice animal related rituals and the like way before civilization. I think we could root alterhumanity there already.

11. I don't tag individuals but let everyone decide for themselves, if they want to partake in such fun things or not. So, go ahead!

If you are a alterhuman, reblog and answer these questions!

(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

5/ What do you think of the community?

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

[rex-rambles]

➤ HOMEMAKER | LEWIS HAMILTON

summary: if your past relationships have taught you anything, you'll never be a homemaker, as hard as you try - so what do you do when lewis comes home to you? (inspired by 'homemaker' by next of kin)

pairing: lewis hamilton x celebrity!reader

wc: 1.8 k

warnings: angst with a happy ending, discussions of negative past relationships

➤ MASTERLIST

You had gotten used to silence. 

It didn't matter that you had adoring fans, or paparazzi trailing you, photoshoots or interviews, when you were alone, you were silent. That's how it always seemed to be, anyway. 

You don't know how many nights you'd sat like this, not saying a word as you're curled up at the end of some guy's couch. Sometimes, you had a book. Sometimes, you had a mug of tea or coffee, clothes actually put away in drawers or closets.

Other times you were just passing through. 

You don't know how many nights you'd sat like this, phone left on the table in front of you, waiting for that text, that call, anything. It always started out sweet, the messages, the compliments, only to turn to silence in a few months time. If you had a dollar for every night you spent like this, you could buy an island somewhere far away to be silent in, but instead, you waste your time and your money on the rare chance that they come through in the end. 

They never do.

In your fantasies, they're knights in shining armour, who come home with flowers or a surprise dinner, but even you couldn't fool yourself sometimes. You don't think any of the guys you'd seen have ever fantasized about you in that way, either, because you already did it. You showed up, you planned surprises, you played the role of the loving, doting partner. 

Yet, despite it all, you weren't a homemaker at the end of the day. It wasn't even like you were trying to be some stay-at-home spouse, you just wanted a relationship that was real, that lasted, that you could call home.

But, no matter how much time, or energy, or god forbid love you put into a relationship, it didn't last. In the end, it seemed that you just housed people who liked you break your heart. Men saw a star, something to chase, but never keep. Marriage was never in the cards, something long, something stable either. There was a time you used to dream about it, of actually settling down and finding enough love somewhere to marry someone, but now, you'd seen the worst of enough men to be content with silence, with not throwing your life away for them. 

It didn't stop you from curling up on strangers' couches, or watching your phone. 

It just made it that much more pitiful. 

"God," Lewis's voice makes you jump, mug of tea rocking forward and spilling onto his probably ridiculously expensive carpet. Penthouse guys always splashed out on whatever cost the most, even if it didn't look good. "Shit, sorry babe." 

"Shit," You echo somewhat numbly, trying to rise to find something to clean it up with, and Lewis waves a hand, moving from the open front door to the kitchen, and you can't help but stare at it. 

The hallway is brightly lit at all hours, casting a warm glow into the darkened apartment. It's like a little glimpse into whatever heaven Lewis had come from, and you spare a glance at your phone on the table, no message waiting for you. You'd surprised him, by being here, and he'd surprised you by showing up.

Lewis returns with a roll of paper towel, dropping to your feet to try and pat down the carpet, and he spares a glance up at you. "What are you still doing up?" He asks, before noticing the door is open. "Can you get that for me?" 

"I was going to wait to see if you made it in on time." You answer as you slowly move to the door, pulling Lewis's luggage aside as you close it, casting the apartment in darkness again. For some reason, you can't bring yourself to turn any lights on, so you stand in the little front hall, staring at the shadows of Lewis as he does a fairly poor job of cleaning. 

"It's so late," He says, finally rising with his hands full of soaked paper towel. "You should be in bed. You should be at home." 

"I can go." Most didn't want you to stay, anyway. Some liked this little gesture, of waiting up for them, surprising them with their favourite, back home treats after long periods away, but you'd only been going out with Lewis for a month or two now. It might be overstepping, or it might just be another sign of commitment you can never have. 

"No, no." Lewis says, throwing the paper towel away in the kitchen and flicking on the overhead island light. It was a soft kind of glow that made Lewis seem that much warmer, and the dark that much farther from him. "I gave you the key for a reason, but it's almost 2 AM. You're going to ruin your sleep schedule." 

You move forward to stand in the shadows of the living room, wrapping your arms around his oversized shirt you'd adopted to sleep in for the past few days. "You're one to talk," You try to tease, though it doesn't quite reach your voice. "How many time zones have you gone through this week?" 

"That's different." Lewis says, coming to stand before you. His hands are gentle on your waist, pulling you close to him. "You really stayed up? For me?" 

"Even got those brownies you like from that bakery." You say, gesturing to the kitchen counter. Lewis glances over and a warm laugh bubbles out of him, echoing off the walls. Your hands come to smooth against his chest, as if to feel that he's actually there. It wouldn't last, history tells you. He'd be this sweet, for so long, and then he'd go. 

"Great minds think alike, hm?" Lewis moves to grab one of his bags, and he fishes out a somewhat crumpled container that he hands to you, a logo embossed on the top that you'd recognize anywhere. "There was that cookie place you liked, and I had a layover. I was going to surprise you with them tomorrow, but you sort of beat me to that." 

You slowly take the cookies in hand, and silence rests over you once more. 

It was a regional bakery, a place you talked about loving as a kid. No one ever really cared about it, it was just a sweet story to share over desserts to make people think you had something to talk about. You spare a glance back up at Lewis, who smiles softly back down at you, and neither of you says a word. 

You had gotten used to silence, but you didn't know how to break it. You didn't know how to vocalize that he'd remembered, that, cracking open the top, he'd even gotten the flavour right, that he went out of his way to get them for you. You don't know how to think about this as anything other than doomed, but all the signs keep saying otherwise. 

Gently, Lewis's hand comes up to cradle your cheek, turning it so it's more in the light of the kitchen. "Are you alright?" He asks quietly, "Tired?" 

"I-" All words die on your tongue. You didn't know how to be anything other than what the world wanted to see of you, of a star with their equally famous partner, of being too much or not enough, never going anywhere. Every relationship had been some kind of car wreck, wheels spinning uselessly as you tried to move forward when all they wanted to do was press on the break. 

You didn't know how to love Lewis. You just knew how to pretend.

"You can tell me, you know." He says, letting his hand drop. "You've always got this look on your face, like you're so far away. Is it me?"

"You?" You manage to get out softly, "No." 

"Don't say 'it's me, not you'," Lewis says, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "Give me something real." 

"You didn't text." You find yourself saying, and Lewis pulls back with a knowing look. 

"Didn't want to wake you. But this isn't about that, because you told me just yesterday I don't have to check in all the time." He moves forward until you hit his couch, and easily he lifts you up to sit on the back of it, cookie box now resting in your lap, and he leans his arms on either side of your legs. "So? You making up reasons to leave?" 

Maybe. You stare down at the open box of cookies, and as honestly as you can, you try to explain the strange sort of pulling feeling at your heart. "Most guys don't text. When they go out, or when they travel, it's just radio silence. They give me a time, and I stay up, and they don't show." 

"Most guys?" 

"You know my reputation, Lewis." It was every other headline, every other blurry photo. You were the one they called a heartbreaker, despite the fact you were the one who wanted these things to work out. "I'm not exactly a homemaker." It's not that you didn't try, that despite it all you wanted to have the perfect relationship, but that they didn't let you. "Men come into my life, and for a blissful moment, I convince myself it'll work out, and it never does. No one's getting down on one knee, no one's remembering anniversaries, they just leave. Because of me." 

"That's not because of you." Lewis tries to defend, and you shake your head. 

"It is." It's a gallant thought, to try and defend you like that, but at this point there is only one part of this equation that remains the same: you. "I'm too famous, or I'm not famous enough. I'm too clingy, or I don't care about their art. I'm too far away, I can't travel, I'm just not enough. And you didn't text." 

Lewis moves one hand to gently graze the side of your thigh, gently rubbing his thumb in circles. "So you didn't expect me to walk through that door. That's why I scared you." 

"I get their apartments all nice and ready, change the sheets, pick up a favourite of theirs, get a text about it the next day and they repay me for it with a fancy dinner to make us both feel less guilty." You admit, suddenly far too close to Lewis to stop.  "And you showed up. You remembered. Why?" 

"Why?" Lewis echoes, sounding rather surprised by the question. "Because it meant something to you." 

"No." No, it didn't mean something to you, that's not how your partners have ever thought. It had to mean something to them, a bribe, something to ease the guilt, something to help them, not you. "It meant something to you." 

"Yeah, you mean something to me." The words force the air from your lungs, and Lewis leans forward to gently press his forehead to yours. Maybe it was that he was a British gentleman, maybe that he was a different kind of a celebrity, maybe that he was older, but he was different, and you didn't know what to do with that. "I guess I've been out of the dating pool too long," He jokes softly under his breath, "Seems like the world has lost their minds." 

You try your best to laugh, a small, sad thing, and Lewis pulls back to stare at you in a way you fantasized about for years. "Lewis," You finally manage to say, "I...I don't know what to do with all this."

"You don't have to. Just let me care for you." Maybe that was how love worked, after all.

You didn't have to know how to do it, or how it worked, but rather, you just tried your best to care for those who meant something to you.

Lewis's arms come under your knees as he scoops you up, carrying you bridal style toward his bedroom, and for the first time, in a long time, you think that this might last. "And to begin, that means getting us to bed." 

a/n: LISTEN TO NEXT OF KIN!! Homemaker and Jekyll and Hyde are my favourites

[henry7931]

World Of Magician: Magician’s University (MU)

In the World of Magician’s everyone wants to attend MU. That’s where you master magic the best!

And things can get very competitive…

Especially when this years freshman class finds out that Arthur Ridley is coming to MU.

Arthur as a young boy was special. His powers started to shine the second he started to speak and many believe he has the potential to be the most powerful Magician ever.

Arthur on the other hand, has no clue about his powers or Magicians for that matter…

Arthur:

It’s 7 PM and I just finished my shift at work. I feel so exhausted and yet like I’ve gotten nothing accomplished today. Actually I feel like that could be the motif of my life.

I’ve lived my last 19 years in a very small town surrounded by a bunch of bigots and douche bags. What doesn’t help is knowing that even though I’m smart, and I had the best grades in my class. I’m not going to college this year.

You see my mom died a couple years ago and she left me with her shitty ass husband. My stepdad Andy, who could really give two shits about me because he has his own son Owen.

I know this sounds like a pity party, but I just really want to get the hell out of here. I’ve always been a big fan of comic books and old fairytales.

And I don’t know I just keep hoping somebody’s gonna show up and tell me this is all of a façade. Like the life I’ve been living is a big lie because I’m ready to start a new one.

I lay my stuff down and count my tips from the night. It’s so early and yet I could go to bed right now.

I crashed into my bed and then buckled my pants…

Is this all I do now? Just jerk off to get over my stress? Is this true adulthood?

I fantasize about a handsome guy. Coming into my room and swiftly approaching me.

He’s sweaty… an all American boy.

He has clothes on but those will soon be off of him.

He says to me, “you look lonely… can I join you?”

I nod my head and say, “sure.”

He gets into bed kicking off his white tennis shoes. I can smell him— a mixture of cologne, musk, but his breath… smells like peppermint. He’s chewing gum…

I feel him touch me…

His feet are rubbing up on mine…

And his lips casually kiss my neck…

I feel his hand slowly slip into my pants…

HOLY SHIT!

I open up my eyes abruptly, I swear I just felt a hand going down my pants…

I try to get back into the mode but the phantom ghost hand is kinda freaking me out.

I get out of bed and I start heading to the bathroom but at the foot of my door there’s a letter. It’s addressed to me.

“Sir Arthur Ridley”

Huh… that’s strange. I never get mail.

I open it and take it with me to the bathroom. I start reading it as I’m taking a piss.

“ Dear Arthur, we are pleased to announce that you have been hand selected to join the freshman class this fall at Magicians University (MU). Now, please pack your bags and be prepared to meet your handler at this location.”

What the hell? Magicians University???

I head downstairs thinking this must be some kind of sick prank by Owen.

I knock at his door and say, “open up!”

“What the hell do you want?,” says my stepbrother who looks like he’s barely left his bed today.

“Owen did you make this?,” I say to him presenting the letter.

Owen looks at it and scoffs at me.

“Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t write this shit!”

Just then my stepfather approaches both of us and says, “what’s going on? I heard shouting!”

“Arturd here got a letter from the Fairy Academy,” says Owen dangling the letter.

I look over at Andy and he almost looks shocked.

“Give me that!,” he says ripping the letter out of Owen’s hands.

He reads it and looks more concerned.

“Andy, do you know something?,” I asked him.

“No! I don’t know anything, this is just— nonsense! I don’t want to hear about this ever again!”

Andy rushes me upstairs and tells me to find something to do. I was a little shocked by his reaction. He can be a lot but I’ve never seen him look that nervous…

Back in my room, I try to not think about that letter. But the place they listed to meet them is only down the road and I’m off.

I mean if I’m being honest with myself, I really don’t have anything to lose. What I show up and it turns out to be fake? 

The Next Morning…

I wake up and feel so disappointed. I was having this dream where I met this guy and somehow we were both magical? I was casting spells, fighting off some kind of evil. And after we…

Never mind it doesn’t matter…

I sit up and stretch… when I felt something grab my ankle.

“AHHHHHH!!!!”

All of the sudden, Owen comes crawling out from underneath the bed.

“Arturd!! I’m the grand Wizard! We’ve come for you!,” he says stupidly.

“Funny Owen!”

“Oh what the wittle fairy princess didn’t like that?,” he says pushing me.

“Don’t do that!” I say to him.

“Or what? You’re basically my bitch!,” he says shoving me even harder.

“Fuck you!”

“You know what, I bet you could suck it good. You’d probably enjoy it,” he says grabbing his junk.

“Bleh! No one wants to suck your nasty dick! Including Hannah Britton!,” I say to him. I knew I hit a nerve with that one.

“What did you say?,” he says to me. His face gets blood red.

“You heard me!”

“OH YOURE DEAD!”

Owen pushes me in to my bed and holds me down. He gets one good punch in and I try to fight back.

“Don’t forget you’re MY BITCH Arthur!”

“THE ONLY BITCH HERE IS YOU!,” I scream out at him. I get the strength to push him off and he falls to the ground.

All of the sudden, Owen starts glowing bright.

“What the fuck?”

Owen’s face shifts… he looks up at me and sticks his tongue out.

“Owen?”

“Woof!”

“What the…”

My bedroom door slams open and Andy comes rushing in.

“WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?”

Owen turns to Andy on all fours and starts barking at him.

Now in this moment, I’ve never seen Andy this pissed.

“What. Did. You. Do. To. Him..”

“Nothing! He tried to attack me!! I swear!”

“Bullshit! You figured out about your little powers and did this to him!”

We both turn to Owen who in proper comedic time cocks his leg up and tempts to pee on the wall but instead pissed his pants.

“YOU FIX HIM RIGHT NOW!”

“Andy! I don’t know even know how this could be possible.”

Owen lays on his back and starts sucking on his foot. I can’t help but giggle just a bit.

“You think this is funny?”

“I mean he’s already more likable.”

Andy’s eyes pierce into my soul.

“Fuck.”

He starts charging for me and I barely make through the window. I climb out onto the roof and jump onto a tree. (This is how I used to sneak out at night.)

I climb my way down and start running down the road. I’m sprinting and I don’t even realize how crazy I look because I’m still in my PJs.

I try to think of where to go… then I remember the address on that letter.

That’s only a quarter of a mile away.

I head that direction hoping like hell someone will be there for me.

I get to the spot and it’s just an alley.

I look around for a second and try to catch my breath.

“Hello?,” I holler out.

It’s silent.

“My names Arthur, I’m supposed to meet someone here?”

Shit, I guess this is fake.

My mind tried to rationalize what happened with Owen. Like it was all just an elaborate act.

But then…

*BAM*

Smoke fills the alley and the motion of it knocks me on my feet.

I look up and see a very handsome guy in a suit.

“You must be Arthur,” he says with a big grin.

“Yeah that’s me.”

He helps me up and says, “ I’m Alfonso, your handler. Well more like a consultant, I don’t directly handle you haha! But I’m tasked with getting you and your stuff back to MU. Speaking of which, where is your stuff? And why are you in PJs?”

“Ummm… long story.”

“Well we don’t have to go back now. Orientation starts in a few hours. So how about this! A new wardrobe!”

Alfonso snaps his fingers and three suitcases appear.

“Oh wait! One more thing,” he snaps his fingers again and then I’m all of the sudden in some very expensive clothes.

“ Chic! Follow me handsome!”

Alfonso pulls out a wand, flicks it three times and says, “Take us to MU.”

A giant hole appears on the side of the brick wall, on the other side of it I can see a green field.

“Let’s go!”

We walk in together and just as I start to step in— I see Andy rushing down the alley.

Before he can catch me, I just wave goodbye to him.

On the other side of the portal, the green field has a road leading up hill. At the top, I can see a grand building— surprisingly modern.

“Is that the school?”,I say to Alfonso.

“Yes! That’s MU,” he says to me.

“Wow, it’s not what I expected,” I say to him.

“What did you expect Hogwarts?,” he says to me jokingly.

“Yeah I guess,” I say back to him.

As we head up the hill, Alfonso tries to fill me in on as much as he can.

“Arthur, you need to know something before walking in—”

Alfonso stops walking and looks distraught.

“What? Is everything okay?”

“Yes. I just can’t believe I’m the one who has to tell you all of this— Arthur you need to understand that uhhh… you’re special. You have more power than anyone here,” he says to me.

“WHAT?!? Am I the chosen one?,” I say back.

“Oh Merlin! Arthur please don’t make another Harry Potter reference, it’s going to embarrass you.”

“Sorry! It’s my first day!”

“It’s fine Arthur, just be prepared. These students know your name and some of them are going to pass judgment before you even meet them.”

Damn, I wonder what makes me so special?

We get to the front of the school and I see so many students. Everyone is ridiculous gorgeous and so well dressed. So happy that Alfonso didn’t let me roll in with just my pajamas.

But I start to notice a bunch of them whispering to eachother as I walk past them…

Alfonso is pacing fast which I wasn’t sure if he’s rushing for a reason or if it’s because of who I am. He points out parts of the school to me as I’m trailing behind him trying my hardest not to get distracted.

“In the left wing, you have the schools library and over here is where most of classrooms will be,” he says while we head up a flight of stairs.

“Now you can go all the way up to the 12 floor but DONT GO TO THE THIRTEENTH FLOOR. Students are forbidden,” he says to me.

“Is that where you hide the Sorcerer’s st—”

Alfonso stops and turns to me. He gives me a glaring look and I say, “sorry it’s kinda funny now!”

“I’m being serious Arthur. You can get kicked out for going to the thirteenth floor.”

“Understood.”

“Now here is the dorm floor, you’ll be in… room 26. Right down this hallway,” he says directing me.

We get to my dorm room and it’s so lavish. I have my own bathroom with a shower and a tub. A full kitchen along with a balcony. It’s like a large studio apartment with a modern gothic twist.

“So this is all me?,” I say to him.

“Well you will have a roommate, who I’m sure will be here any minute. But I’m going to let you get comfortable, be downstairs out front in the garden at 3:00 today.”

“Great! Thank you Alfonso!”

“Of course! And one more thing— no more magical tv/movie references,” he says to me sternly.

“I promise I’ll stop,” I say to him rolling my eyes.

Alfonso closes the door behind him and open up the suitcase. It’s jam packed with endless amounts of clothes. As I start to unpack it, I wonder if it’s ever going to end.

I eventually give up on the never ending suitcase and crash into my new bed.

But as I lay down I hear the door turning.

As it opens, I glance up nervously to see who’s behind it.

And when I see who it is… I’m immediately stunned. It’s the guy from my dreams last night.

“Hey! I think this is my room,” he says to me.

I’m so shocked that I can barely get out words.

“Sorry! I’m Benji,” he says holding at his hand.

“Oh uhhh— I’m Arthur!,” I say shaking his hand.

Fuck, he’s got a tight grip.

“Nice to meet you,” I say trying my best not to be weird.

Benji hops onto his bed and snaps his fingers. All of his luggage starts to unpack itself.

“So Arthur, where are you from?,” he says to me.

“The East Coast, small town,” I say back.

“Oh nice! Any specific Magician Area or—”

I watch as he kicks off his designer shoes and pushes back his curly brown hair. His green eyes are so beautiful. It takes me a second to really taken what he’s staying to me.

“Oh no! I’m from a normal area,” I say back.

“Oh gosh, you lived with normies?,” he says to me.

Normies, I guess that’s what they call non-magicians. I should have known they had a word for it! Alfonso, should really clue me in on Magician slang.

“Yes,” I say back hoping he’s not too judgmental.

“Wow, I guess that must of been hard,” he says back.

“Ehhhh not really, I mean I didn’t know any other kind of life outside of that until today,” I say to him.

Benji sits up and says, “Come again?”

“I mean, I just learned about being a Magician this morning,” I say to him.

Benji’s eyes widen and I am hoping I didn’t say too much.

“Holy shit! That’s crazy!! You prior to today had no clue about magic?,” he says to me.

I nod my head.

“Arthur that’s… I’m sorry I’m not trying to be mean but that’s bonkers! Did your parents not tell you?”

“Well I don’t know anything about my dad and my mom passed away 3 years ago. So it’s not like anyone was around to tell me anything other than my stepdad who definitely kept that info away from me.”

I can see Benji is thinking hard, he starts to speak and then stops.

Then he says, “Arthur, what is your last name?”

“Ridley…,” I say quietly back to him.

Benji’s mouth drops.

“You’re the Arthur Ridley? The glowing child in the flesh??? And you don’t know about Magic???”

“I guess,” I say laughing nervously.

“That’s insane! Arthur, you have no idea. Has anyone told you anything?”

Benji gets off of his bed and he’s so close to me now.

“You have to be careful Arthur. These Magicians… I don’t know how to put this but they want what you have inside of you. You’re the direct lineage to Merlin. Your powers are just so…powerful! It’s almost too much to comprehend.”

“Shit, should I be scared?,” I say to him.

“No! Hell no!! I’ll have your back but some of these guys get a big head. They’ll challenge you, try to take your powers. You just need to learn how to use them and you’ll be fine!”

Benji grabs my shoulder and says, “just don’t go announcing your name just yet to everyone.”

“Got it,” I say back to him.

“Now I need to take a shower,” he says to me.

“Okay, I’ll see you shortly.”

“Oh no Arthur, I don’t need to shower my hair. Just my body.”

“Huh?”

In that moment, I watch Benji tug off his head.

“OH MY GOD BENJI!”

“What?!?! Oh sorry!,” he says holding his head in his arms.

“You could have given me a bit more of a heads up, no pun attended!”

“Just wait Arthur you’re going to be amazed by what you see,” he says to me.

I watch as Benji’s body places his head on his bed.

His body starts unbuttoning his shirt and I’m trying my best to keep eye contact with just his head.

Benji grins at me and says, “you okay?”

“Yeah don’t take this the wrong way, you’re just the first person I’ve ever seen pull of there head,” I say to him.

“Oh sorry, didn’t mean to make this weird,” he says to me.

“No it’s okay! I just have a lot to learn I guess.”

Benji’s body walks into the bathroom and the door is slightly open. I can see him in the mirror pulling off his pants and socks.

And then his underwear drops to the ground.

I see Benji’s beautiful naked body in the mirror and I can’t help continuously peek at it from the corner of my eye.

“So Arthur, you wanna learn how to detach?”

“Oh wow, that looks next level Benji.”

“Nah, it’s pretty easy. You just have to say the spell once and then you can do it whenever you want.”

“Okay, sure!”

I try my best to hold back my excitement. I mean I’ve never casted a spell (at least not on purpose).

“Okay Arthur, repeat after me… My head is attached…”

“My head is attached…”

“With the snap of my fingers it can now detach… and then snap your fingers”

I take a deep breath and say, “With the snap of my fingers it can now detach… *snap*”

“Great! Now tug at your head,” says Benji.

I grab the top of my head my hair and I hear a popping sound.

“Holy crap!! Benji my heads off!!,” I say holding my head in my arms.

“Haha cool right? You can use that same spell on any of your body parts,” he says to me grinning.

My mind rushes with all of the possibilities and then I say, “wait can I attach myself to someone else’s body??”

“Sure you can, it just can be a pain getting your head off of there body.”

All of the sudden Benji’s body comes walking back in with a towel wrapped around it.

I watch him navigate through his drawers pulling out clothes.

And then he drops his towel… now he’s completely naked…

I look over at his head and he’s looking at me.

I blush and start to say something but Benji says, “you know since we are roommates, you’re going to have to get used to my naked body.”

“Oh sorry! I um…”

“Arthur, it’s okay. I just giving you shit. Sides it’s kinda cute seeing you all worked up,” he says chuckling to himself.

Did he just say I’m cute? Is Benji hitting on me???

Man… this is about to be a crazy first year…

Meanwhile… Back at Andy’s House…

*knock knock*

“Who the hell is at the door?,” says Andy still trying to figure out how to fix Owen.

Andy opens the door and a tall man dressed in a black suit is standing outside the door.

“Good evening sir, is this the residence of Arthur Ridley?,” he says with a low yet deep voice.

“Depends, who’s asking,” says Andy.

The man grins and says, “you must be his step father… May I come in?”

“Listen I don’t know who you are but I got my own situation here… I especially don’t give a shit about that little brat right now.”

The man takes a step forward and says, “maybe I can help with your situation.”

Andy takes in the guy and realizes that this man probably has magical powers.

“Are you one of those?”

“Magicians, yes.”

“Thank god! I need you to help me with my son, my actual son.”

“Sure…but I’ll need something back…,” he says sharp of the tongue.

“Whatever! Just fix him! He’s pissed on my rug twice today!!”

The man shut the door behind him and says, “tell me where Arthur is…”

“I’ll tell you after you fix his mess!!”

The man stops and closes his eyes… he mumbles to himself…

That’s when Owen pops out from the top of the stairs.

“WHERE IS THAT LITTLE SHIT ARTHUR???,” says Owen fuming.

The man in all black turns to Andy and says, “yes, where is young Arthur?”

“That stupid magic school,” says Andy.

“Wonderful, well I must go!,” says the man in all black.

“Wait! Are you going to hurt him?”

“Hmmm… haven’t decided yet…”

As the man walks out the door… Andy watches him turn into black smoke…

“Dad, who was that?,” says Owen.

“Who knows and who cares!,” says Andy.

[emandemms]

okay so i'm actually sitting down and reading the iliad for the first time (ty emily wilson for your service) and i just finished book five, so here are a few of my favorite moments in no particular order:

- diomedes.

- diomedes in all of book five.

- athena telling diomedes he shouldn't fight any of the gods that may show up on the battlefield, except for aphrodite, because what's she gonna do, fight back?

- athena then lecturing diomedes for NOT fighting ares, and diomedes proceeding to tell her "dude, you literally told me not to fight him, what do you want from me?"

- achilles and his pure hatred for agamemnon. someone give this man a shirt that says "number one agamemnon hater".

- achilles and agamemnon arguing the entire time they're in the vicinity of each other. every time they talk, it's like two kids coming up with every insult under the sun without outwardly cursing each other out.

- agamemnon essentially calling achilles a whiny bitch. kind of iconic.

- a popular favorite but: odysseus going around and beating the men who wanted to leave with a fancy ceremonial stick. it just never gets old.

- odysseus being that one guy who never shuts up about his kid while beating the living shit out of thersites. he very proudly calls himself the "father of telemachus" while verbally and physically abusing this man.

- odysseus once again referring to himself as the "loving father of telemachus" when agamemnon is trying to piss him off so he'll join the battle. i'm pretty sure this is a fairly common thing for odysseus to do, and you got to love him for it.

- another popular favorite: agamemnon mourning his very-much-so-still-alive younger brother after menelaus gets shot by an arrow in the thigh. menelaus quickly realizes he's fine and asks his brother to stop lamenting his "death" because if he keeps it up, he's gonna spook the rest of the men and that's just not what they need right now.

- and then agamemnon immediately being like "oh, word? okay, but you need a doctor- SOMEONE GET THE DOCTOR!"

- athena grabbing achilles' hair during the argument between achilles and agamemnon in book one when achilles is deadass about to just kill agamemnon because he's mad as hell. she then proceeds to tell achilles to call agamemnon names instead and books it.

- helen being the bad bitch she is whenever she's on the page, despite her circumstances. not only does she flat out tell paris she wishes he had been killed, but she basically tells aphrodite to bed paris herself, which is ballsy as fuck and i have nothing but respect for her.

- speaking of paris: hector absolutely TEARING into paris after he flees from fighting menelaus one-on-one. he really just says that paris is only good for looking pretty and he wishes paris had never been born. honestly, good for him.

- priam asking helen to point out the various greek leaders and immediately calling agamemnon handsome. idk why but it made me chuckle just a bit.

- priam also comparing odysseus to a ram, which is such a wonderful visual and i think about it a lot.

- antenor, one of priam's advisors, recognizing odysseus when helen points him out and immediately going: "oh, that motherfucker, i remember him. he looks like an idiot, but man, does he know how to use his words to win over a crowd."

- nestor essentially saying "back in my day-" every time he opens his damn mouth. i love him and he never shuts up once he gets going.

i'm positive i forgot a few but these are the ones that i remember. who knows, maybe i'll add more later.

[minkshame]

PowerRed AU- First Meeting, part 1

Word count - 2178

Cowritten with @greasypigeonart

JUST A BRIEF TEASER OF THINGS TO COME!

ao3

He’s got it made right now. Life is good.

Edd practically whoops as he soars over the London streets. Flying is so damn FUN, and he’s just saved another life and it’s awesome. Everyone loves him. Girls swoon over him. His powers are sticking around, not causing him pain, he’s just living the damn life.

He’s pretty grateful for everything right now. He got these powers in a confusion filled freak accident and had a brutal fight with his neighbour, but he WON that fight and got to keep his abilities. Now on occasion he goes around helping people in need. And he has a secret identity, so it doesn’t affect his daily goings on.

Sure, Tom had clocked him pretty much immediately and knows the secret, but that’s just Tom. He’s so antisocial he’ll never tell anyone.

Edd’s job is so easy.

He can fly, he’s got super speed and strength, his X-RAY vision and enhanced hearing come in handy a lot. He only wishes he had night vision or invisibility. Those would rule. But the nuclear energy blasts and laser vision work fine too. It’s FINE! He just wants something to complain about.

Wind in his hair, smile on his face, he starts to slow down. His favourite roof is ahead, the one that looks over the London Eye with such a perfect view. Edd skids his boots on the roof’s surface and lands. He wipes his tousled bangs from his eyes.

No Eduardo, no Matt whining, no prying eyes. This is the place. It’s good for thinking.

He takes a seat on the edge of the roof and dangles his legs. The sun is setting and it actually makes London’s grey skies look sort of pretty. And it’s not raining, for once.

Edd’s only nagging thought is the return of his old friend. He sighs into the wind.

Tord’s back from his army stint, he served many years and he seems… different. He’s distracted, jittery. And Edd still…

Enhanced hearing. He mentioned that earlier? Yeah. There’s a small shuffle behind him, like someone stepping and kicking up dirt. Edd tenses.

He’s never been caught on this roof… he shouldn’t be in trouble, right?

“Who’s there?” He asks, without turning around or getting up, alerting anyone to the fact that he knows they’re there. “If you’re lost… I can help you.” That’s good. It’s nice and neutral. It opens him up for friendly conversation. Instead of a fine he can’t pay. He’s a superhero!

—

There he is. Oh shit, there he actually is!

Tord was starting to think he wouldn’t show, that he’d gotten the location wrong, but no! He was here!

As he watches London’s superhero touch down onto the roof, Tord’s heart rate picks up. An alert pings in the corner of his vision, but he ignores it. Everything he’s worked for has culminated to this moment.

For the last 3 weeks, he’s been utterly consumed. Since his return to his old home, he’s been left wanting. Not for friendship, Edd and Matt are as warm as they’ve always been, but for purpose. From his first day back, he’d been climbing the walls for something to do. The structure he’d grown accustomed to in the army was gone and the free-fall that was his life now made him want to tear his hair out. He needed a goal. He needed noise, he needed extremes. He needed destruction.

And then Matt, sweet, convenient Matt, offered up exactly that. This new superhero, PowerEdd. It was as if he was straight out of a comic book, complete with superhuman powers and flowing cape. Objectively, the man was fascinating. Subjectively, he presented a very unique opportunity for Tord.

London’s sensational PowerEdd lacks one thing: an arch nemesis.

Tord intends to fill this open position.

So for 3 weeks it’s been non-stop. Hours spent studying every bit of footage he could find of PowerEdd’s encounters to calculate damage output. Days spent engineering a suit that could take it. The challenge of gearing himself to go toe-to-toe with a nuclear-powered superhuman fed Tord in a way he so desperately craved.

He used everything he had at his disposal. Old projects were gutted or recycled, repurposed to serve a much more important cause. New things were bought if necessary and financially feasible, otherwise he simply designed around it.

Finally, in what would be considered an alarming turnaround time, Tord had completed something he felt confident enough to fight in. And not a moment too soon, he was beginning to feel the impatience eating away at him.

He’s by no means a designer of any kind, but when he’d tried the whole outfit on for the first time, he was practically vibrating in delight. With his horned mask and long, dark coat, he cut such a perfect image of a supervillain.

Now, he stands behind the rooftop exit door in the same outfit, feeling the same excitement surge through him as his green-clad target seats himself on the ledge of the building. The sun is setting over the city, and Tord is cast in perfect shadow. He couldn’t ask for a more ideal and dramatic setting for his introduction.

He takes a single step, not yet clearing the shadow cast by the door, when PowerEdd acknowledges his presence. His stomach flips, he hadn’t expected to be caught so soon, but it makes sense. Enhanced hearing must be part of the hero’s abilities.

He clenches and unclenches his clawed fingers. The shot of adrenaline feels good.

Tord hasn’t turned his face LEDs on yet. He leaves them off for now and stays in the dark.

“No need, I was waiting for you.” Tord’s voice sounds so foreign to himself through the mask’s voice changer. “Would you mind meeting a fan?”

—

Who… is this guy?

Edd can’t see him from the shadow he hides in. He definitely heard him, and when the guy talks it confirms it. His voice is… weird. It sounds like it’s coming out of a shitty speaker. Passed through a filter?

A fan he says? Is this guy serious?

“Uh…” He squints at the silhouette. What is that sticking out or his head…? damnit. Why didn’t he get night-vision? “I would sort of mind, yea. We’re… on a roof at the minute.”

So maybe the chap lived in this building or one adjacent and climbed the stairs. How else would be on some random roof? Or know that Edd is up here?

“Are you looking for an autograph? It’s a bad time right now mate.”

Edd pushes the windswept hair out of his eyes. A fan… not a crazed fan, please. A normal one. A normal fan who stands in a dark shadow and speaks in riddles.

Damn.

He’s certainly been chased a bit by some who are too obsessed before. They keep trying to flag him down for interviews. Publishing pieces about him in gossip columns. It’s irritating.

Edd stands from the edge of the roof and brushes himself off.

“I’ll take you home dude. Don’t go climbing up on roofs. It’s illegal.”

—

Tord chuckles a little. God, he’s so wired right now. Patience. He won’t get another chance to make a first impression like this one.

He waits for the hero to turn and face him fully. His HUD immediately box-targets the man, a small window pops up to display very basic info about him. Tord is pleased to see the camera and monitoring program are working as intended.

PowerEdd’s words are mostly casual, but he hasn’t made any real effort to get closer. This suggests some apprehension. Tord hopes to build onto that.

When he’s sure PowerEdd’s attention is on him, he turns the mask’s LEDs on. The smooth, black surface flickers to life. When powered on, the mask displays his real expressions as pseudo-pixelated emoticons using red LEDs under the screen.

The mask was easily the most intricate part of his costume. It was the first thing he started with when he’d decided to pursue the arch nemesis role, and what he’d spent the most time building. After all, a unique and memorable look was paramount to a secret identity!

Tord makes sure to school his face into something neutral, but mildly friendly. A simple smiley face displays itself outwardly on the panel. He makes no motion yet to move from his spot in the shade.

“So polite, I feel bad for interrupting.” He says, pixelated mouth moving with his words, “Apologies, I will keep things short.”

Tord takes a step to the shadow’s edge, letting some of the diffused sunlight tease his concealed form.

“Being a superhero, all on your own, it seems like you are missing something, no? Perhaps I can fill that role for you.”

—

Yeesh. The glowing face…

It’s like something sci-fi. Edd still can’t get a proper look at the guy but maybe he’s… cosplaying? A film fanatic? He can relate to that.

He does take a step closer at the same time as his unknown conversation partner. Looks like the chap has a long coat on. It is windy up this high. But man… that screen… Edd squints again. It’s a little emoji smile. Like from a keyboard. He thinks it’s friendly enough… but also just odd. Off-putting.

“No mate, you’re not interrupting, I…” He scratches his neck. “You shouldn’t be up here.” Edd remembers at this moment how truly antisocial he is when he’s not talking to one of his three friends. He feels guarded, tense. A stranger is asking him questions. Why should he have to answer? Yet, he feels a pressure to do so. Something about this strange man… his voice, and his mysterious nature…

“On my own…?” Edd blinks. “Uh, no. I do just fine by myself, actually.” It’s very simple to zip in when there’s an emergency. He can do more than the average first responder and people are very grateful for it. What could he be missing? Could– could it be?

“Are you a hero, too?” His brows perk up and his eyes shine a bit. Someone else with powers…? Someone who could relate to the weirdness of getting used to new abilities? He’s already picturing swapping stories about accidentally blasting holes in walls and floors. Floating to the ceiling in his sleep. Edd steps forward even more. A partner…? Someone… someone…

Maybe he would be less desperate and excited about this if he hadn’t been going through the wringer lately. His long time friend, his closest person, had gone away for so long. His return was something long awaited, Edd held his breath when the red car pulled back in front of their home.

But Tord had been busy. He’d be distant, dismissive. Said he was working on something. Even when he’d JUST come back and Edd thought they’d catch up… muck about together… he…

He’s certainly looking for a friend right now.

“You want to team up with me? I could use the help!” Edd kicks slightly off the ground and hovers there. He smiles back at the cartoony LED lights. That earlier unease has completely dissipated. “What’s your name?”

—

So perfect. Everything’s so perfect already. Grab his attention with trepidation, lure him in with mystery, lower his guard with opportunity. It was so easy, so textbook.

Tord’s skin prickles. His heart rate picks up again. He’s hyper aware of the muscles in his body, everything tensing in anticipation.

He wants to laugh. He does laugh. Airy and euphoric, though it probably doesn’t translate well through the speaker. Finally! Finally!

“Sorry, let me clarify,” he says, once he gets his laughter under control, “I am no hero.”

Tord takes a determined step out of the darkness. The sharp, metal horns of his mask pierce through the veil first, sinister and red in the waning daylight. The high collar of his coat, with its hooked corners and red trim, follows soon after, along with the rest of him. A pair of gold spikes sit along the plane of each shoulder, matching the buttons on the double-breasted cut of the garment. A red belt with gold buckle divides him at the waist. As a final touch, a large “R”, stylised to look like a pair of horns, is embellished in a vibrant red onto the lower right flap of the coat.

He feels like quite the imposing figure in the get-up. But if PowerEdd isn’t impressed yet, he certainly will be in a moment.

This will be an introduction he won’t soon forget.

“You can call me Red Leader.” Tord says, unable to keep the wide grin off his digital face.

He stretches out a clawed hand and tugs his sleeve up just a bit, revealing metal parts covering his forearm. Pieces of it raise and click back, others move and lock into place, until a complicated but very obvious looking laser gun sits at his wrist. The contraption whirs with increasing volume, the end of the barrel glows threateningly. He aims it directly at PowerEdd.

“And I’m the villain.”

He squeezes the trigger.

[b0n3s-is-gay]

Size kink w/ dallas winston?

Anyone?

Just me?

Deliciously Delicate

Synopsis: Dally just got out of the cooler, what a better way to celebrate freedom than visiting his baby doll?

Tags/CWs: Size kink, hand jobs, Gn! reader but could be read as Fem! reader, Penetration, smoking, typical greaser style, social status is left up for interpretation, reader is called baby doll, kinda sorta aftercare.

(Credits to @riottsrph for the post divider)

When he stepped out of the cooler, Dally had 2 things on his mind: His baby doll and cigarettes. The loud sounds of the Tulsa streets did nothing to distract him, but it did serve as nice background noise. The sound of Dion Dimucci's "The Wanderer" caught his ear as he passed by the music store. "Oh well, I'm the type of guy who will never settle down. Where pretty girls are well, you know that I'm around. I kiss 'em and I love 'em 'cause to me they're all the same, I hug 'em and I squeeze 'em, they don't even know my name. They call me the wanderer. Yeah, the wanderer. I roam around, around, around... "

"Ain't that the truth..." Dally thought as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit up one of the cancer sticks. Sucking in the nicotine laced smoke didn't do much in terms of actually being enjoyable, but it did make him seem tuff. And tuff was the way to describe him... among other words.

Dally let his feet guide him to where he knew he was going first, baby doll's house. The place where his girlfriend was residing at. After all, that's where they normally were after 3, so it was where he was going.

Knocking on the window, the soft sound rousing his baby doll from bed to their feet. The curtains drew and there they stood, looking down at the hood. Their eyes darted between the cigarette in his mouth and the window.

Dally sighed, already knowing what she wanted. Dally liked his cancer sticks but something made wasting this one worth it. He stubbed out his cigarette and once they saw that it was out, they opened the window and helped the hood inside.

"Come on, ya hood..." They grunted as their smaller hands grabbing his larger, calloused hands. Dally took this help, knowing what was to come soon after.

"Hey baby doll..." He smiled as he leaned down to their height, his fingers tilting their chin up to look at him... God, something about the size difference never got tiring to him... "Did you miss me?"

"Of course I did, you hoodlum. Missed ya every moment that you weren't here with me..." They replied as they stood on their tiptoes and captured his lips in a kiss that quickly grew heated.

Dally pushed them against the wall, enjoying the feeling of his tongue exploring their mouth. The taste of their clove flavored gum that coated their tongue tasted better than the nicotine that coated his. "Fuck doll... You're still chewin' that clove gum?" He joked once he pulled back from the kiss to catch his breath.

"Always." They said softly, panting just like he was. Dally leaned forward and started trailing opened mouth kissing their neck, leaving a train of saliva in his wake.

"Mind giving me a hand here, would ya?" He whispered against their neck, gently grabbing and guiding their hand to his bulge. They quickly took to it and pulled him out of his pants.

He looked down and watched their small hand, the finger tips just barely meeting, start to move up and down. A soft sigh escaped his throat as he enjoyed the feeling of their soft hand moving. "Feels better than my own hand, baby doll..." he whispered as he bit down gently on their pulse point.

A soft moan escaped their lips at the feeling of his teeth biting down on their pulse point. "Damn Dal..." They whispered as they rubbed the tip of his dick, precum sticking to their thumb.

"Come on doll... Have some fun, yeah?" He panted softly as he grinded against their hand. "I just got out of the cooler and I've been aching for some time with you..."

Dally scooped them up and kissed them again, the feeling of their smaller frame in his arms just made him feel just a little bit more desperate. When he laid them on the bed, he looked at them for permission before pulling down their pants. "Fuck baby doll, all for me?" He asked, not expecting an answer as he started prepping their hole. His fingers gently found their hole, spitting on his hand before starting to prep them. "Dal... Stop, please... Need you, need you inside..." Dallas, ever the smug bastard, smiled before pulling his fingers out, replacing them with his dick. "Think you can take it, baby doll? Y'think your small hole can take it all?" He asked as he started slowly thrusting into them, the moans sounding like music to his ears.

"Hot damn... So... Deliciously delicate..." He murmured, locking his lips with them as he kept thrusting. "All for me... All. for. me..."

"Dally... Dally please..." They panted as they squirmed under him, already close to cumming. "Then do it, baby doll. Ain't nobody stoppin' ya..." He hummed as he enjoyed the feeling of them tightening around him.

"Mph... Fuckk..." Dally groaned, feeling them milking him for everything he's got. He didn't last much longer, pulling out and cumming on their stomach. "Damn... I needed that." He smiled as he got up and went to the bathroom to get something to clean up his mess.

[pa-pa-plasma]

okay i just marathoned the entirety of ATLA live action & i might do an actual review of it explaining my thoughts more in depth, but the TLDR version basically boils down to this:

if you want to watch Avatar: The Last Airbender, just go watch the 2005 cartoon

[fuzzyunicorn]

Me as fuckin’ (burnin’) Hell when I get my summons 2 b Visenya Targaryen 

[yellowsubiesdance]

HEY GANG, HAVE I GOT SOME NEWS FOR YOU

we’re in the midst of our second show, and in this show i stand at a podium with a notebook and i write things in the book so i have something to do there

AND I FUCKING OPENED THE BOOK TO THE PAGE I LEFT ON LAST NIGHT, AND YOU’LL NEVER FUCKING BELIEVE IT

MY STAGE MANAGER WROTE “You’re beautiful!” AND SIGNED HIS NAME AND HE DREW A HEART NEXT TO IT

[classyrbf]

ᯓ★ BETTER THAN YOUR BOYFRIEND! — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS...what happens when your boyfriend cheats on you and you look towards your best friend for help

INFO...jjk men (toji, gojo, geto, nanami) x fem!reader, reader gets cheated on, riding, sending a video to your ex, oral (f!receiving), car sex, kinda cute/some fluff in the beginning, pet names (doll, princess, baby, sweetheart), creampie, possessiveness, choking, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

ᯓ★ TOJI

When you showed up on Toji’s doorstep in the middle of the night with tears pouring down your face he was more than ready to kill whoever made your cry. He wasn’t surprised when you told him your shitty boyfriend had cheated on you and not with just one girl but multiple. Toji never liked your boyfriend, he could tell that guy was up no to good from the start, reading him like a book. He’d be sure to beat the shit out of him once he helped you gain composure.

“I’m sorry for showing up so late,” you hiccuped as he wiped your tears.

“Don’t worry about it, doll. You know I’m always here for you.” He gave you a soft smile. Toji hated to see you this way, you were too pretty to be crying over some guy who looked like he crawled from the sewers. “That guy was a piece of shit. You deserve better.”

“But, every guy I’ve been with or tried to be with has done me so wrong!” It only made more tears spill from your eyes. Toji engulfed you in a hug, rubbing your back. “Toji?” You sniffled.

“Yeah?” He pulled away from you, wiping your tears again.

“Kiss me. Right now,” you demanded. You had to see for yourself if what you’ve been feeling these last couple of weeks was absolutely true. Toji had zero clue, but you’ve been thinking about him way too much, more than a best friend should, feeling more than a best friend should. And when he planted his lips on yours, cupping your face, kissing you like a starved man, you didn’t quite expect your tears of sadness to be turned into tears of pleasure.

“Nnngh, Toji!” You moaned, his fat tip rubbing against your g-spot with each thrust of his hips. Your arms clung around his neck, fingers resting in his black silky hair.

“Can’t—mmm, fuck—believe he’d cheat on you! His fucking loss!” He growled in your ear, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist, hugging you close to him. Your pussy clenched down around him, milking him for his every worth, juices dripping down his length and onto his balls. “So tight, doll—oh shit!” He grunted. Lewd sounds of his balls slapping against your ass filled the room, echoing off the walls around you. “Been wanting you forever, craving you.”

Your brows furrow in pleasure, barely able to contain your moans as you and Toji stare into each others eyes. “M-me too!” You whimper, nodding your head at him. You lips messily interlock, tongue gliding against one another, swallowing each others moans.

“Let’s show him what he’s missing, baby.” He smirks, reaching for your phone on the couch. His thrusts come to a stop, clicking on your now ex boyfriend’s contact and opening the camera to record a video. “Go nice and slow for me,” he says huskily.

Slowly, you move your hips up and down his thick shaft, whimpering when you feel him throb against your walls. Toji angles the camera up, a devious look in his eye. He moves it back down when you start to move faster, you sloppy pussy squelching when you slam your hips down on his. Toji slaps your ass a few times before grabbing it, guiding your hips to go slower once again. “That’s it, doll. Good fucking girl,” he lowly chuckles in your ear. Toji ends the video, sending it and tossing the phone to the side.

“I can’t believe we actually did that,” you giggle, biting down on your lip. Not even one minute passed before your phone began ringing, vibrating on the couch but you were too busy getting your brains fucked out to even notice. “Ah, you’re so deep,” you mewl, the curve of his dick making your back arch.

“Better get used to it cause we won’t be stopping anytime soon.” He placed a wet kiss on your neck, sloppily thrusting into your poor pussy. “You’re my girl now.” He’s slamming your hips back down on his cock, fucking you deeply, making sure every inch of him is coated in your juices. He quickly pulls out, jerking his cock before thick globs of cum coat your skin before he’s inserting himself back inside your dripping entrance. Neither of you noticing the five missed calls and fifteen unread texts from your ex.

ᯓ★ GOJO

As soon as you called Gojo crying, he basically teleported to your house. When he learned that your boyfriend had cheated on you and you kicked him out, he was the least bit shocked. For the past month you’ve told Gojo that your boyfriend has been acting off, and finally the truth came to light.

“I’m so sorry,” he frowned, rubbing the top of your head as you cried into his chest. It hurt Gojo to see you like this, constantly seeing you get hurt by these shitty guys who didn’t know any better. He had a massive crush on for the longest time and he’s always been afraid to say anything. He’d treat you better, treat you the way you’ve always deserved.

“I just don’t it, Toru! Is it me? Did I do something wrong?” You frowned.

“No, no! It’s not you all! You’re absolutely perfect. He’s a fucking asshole for not seeing that sooner. You’re kind, funny, smart, and beautiful. You’re everyone’s dream girl, y/n.” It may have sounded like he was only trying to be nice, but in reality he was speaking from his heart.

“Awe, Toru, thank you,” you giggled through your tears. Gojo looked at you few seconds, the most sincere expression written on his face.

So how, in only a few minutes, did he make you go from giggling to moaning like bitch in heat?

“Feel better, princess?” He mumbles against your cunt, sucking on your swollen and sensitive clit. “Please tell me you feel better,” he whines.

“Toru—mmph! What’s—ah! Oh my god!” He slides his long, slender fingers into your sopping hole, pumping them in and out, curling them up slightly. Your jaw falls slack at the way his tongue expertly explores your folds, licking up every last drop of your essence. Your hand clings to his fluffy white hair, his hands pushing your legs open each time they threat to close around his head.

“Taste so good, princess. Just like I imagined—mmm,” he moans at your delectable taste, ignoring the way your squirming in his hold and clenching around his fingers as your second orgasm approaches. His captivating eyes flutter open to look at you, watching the way you lose yourself on his tongue. He could tell your boyfriend—ex boyfriend has never pleasured you like this before, let alone made you cum.

“Fuck!” You gasp. “Feels so good—hah, shit! Toruuu!” You cry out, legs quivering when the tip of his tongue runs back and forth over your clit.

“Promise me something, yeah?” He moves his fingers in and out of your sloppy hole slowly, bringing you right on the edge. “Be mine? I’ll treat you so good, princess. Been wanting to for the longest time, god, you’re so fucking perfect. Please?” He presses soft kisses to your thighs that make your breath hitch.

“You’re confessing now?!” You chuckle, trying to catch your breath.

Gojo smiles up at you. “Is that a yes?” He quirks a brow. He presses the pads of his fingers against your g-spot massaging slowly.

“Ah,” you bite down on your lip, “you’re no fair!” You run your fingers through his hair. “It’s a yessssuhh.” You’re barely able to get the word out before he dips his head between your legs again, his wet tongue circling your clit. “Shit, shit, shit, I’m cumming again!” Your head is thrown back as your entire body shakes with pleasure.

“Thank you, princess,” Gojo murmurs.

ᯓ★ NANAMI

Nanami noticed you haven’t been yourself for the past couple of days and he didn’t dare to ask but he had a feeling it had something to do with that obnoxious and egotistical boyfriend of yours. It always had something to do with him no matter what. He didn’t think of it when you asked him if you can come over and watch a movie, but not even five minutes in the door you start explaining everything. You didn’t cry, just talked and talked about it, venting about the situation. He was glad to be an ear. He’ll always be here to help.

“I’m just so frustrated and I hate feeling this way!” You rolled your eyes.

“Maybe you need to deal with it in other ways rather than venting,” he suggested.

“Like what? Drinking my problems away? I’d rather not.” You shook your head, waving your hand in dismissal.

What didn’t cross your mind was the fact your best friend was talking about having you bent over, fucking you into the mattress. “K-Ken! F-fuck!” Your eyes squeeze shut when he thrusts his hips harder, the tip of his swollen cock pressing into your sweet spot.

His thick fingers squeeze into your plush skin, pulling you back onto his cock. He leans over next to your ear, breath fanning against your skin sweaty skin. “He doesn’t know how to handle a woman like you. Not like I do.” He peppers kisses down your back, a contrast of you screaming his name.

Your walls squeeze around him at his words, your pussy somehow growing wetter than it already was, creating a sloppy and sticky mess where you two met. Your hands grasped the sheets below. “Yes, Ken, handle me, show me you can handle me!” You grit your teeth, looking back at him.

A feral growl escapes his throat, blonde hair clinging to his sweaty forehead. He reaches a hand down, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pushes your head into the mattress, the sound of skin to skin slapping against each other growing constant as he fucks your hard and deep with such a grueling pace. “I can handle you, sweetheart,” he chuckles deeply. “Better than your boyfriend.” He licks his lips.

“Mmm—ah, yes!” You laugh with a smile. “Ex.” You’re quick to correct.

“Who gives a fuck what he is—hah, shit, sweetheart, gripping me so damn tight.” He’s so focused on the way your ass ripples against his hips, addicted to how warm and wet your cunt is. It was hypnotizing. Your jaw hung open, eyes rolled back, drool spilling from the corner of your mouth and onto the bed below you. Each rut of his hips had you going stupid, barely able to think.

Successfully, you can say that his method of dealing with your problems has worked better than you could’ve imagined. “Feel so good inside me! Don’t stop!” You cry out, voice wavering. The stretch of his cock against your gummy walls had you craving more. So much more to the point you wanted to feel all of him. “Cum in me.” You’re bitting down your lip so hard you’re afraid you’ll draw blood.

Those three words have Nanami’s eyes wide in excitement. His body runs hot, your words making the blood rush straight to his pulsating cock. “D-don’t say stuff—mmph—like that,” he grunts.

“I thought you could handle me?” You’re smirking, playing with fire. His rough hands grip onto your hips harder, hard enough to leave bruises. Each thrust of his ragged hips shoots bolts of pleasure through your core.

His brows furrow in concentration, grunts and growls mixing in with your moans as his abs tense up, body jolting forward as his sloppily thrusts into your greedy hole. “I can handle you better than anyone else and you know it!” His hand swats your ass, a loud smack cracking in the air. “Nngh, shit!” Before he knows it, his tip kisses your cervix, pulling you back on his cock as his hot cum paints your walls.

ᯓ★ GETO

When you told Geto about your boyfriend cheating on you, he knew you’d needed to be comforted despite what you said. So he planned a day just for you to do your favorite things in attempts to take your mind off of things, but he could see that you were still thinking about it deep down. The both of you sat in the car, watching over the city lights while music quietly played on the radio. The orange sunset casted a hue over the world, shining brightly.

“I’m sorry I just can’t get it out of my head.” You pout, fiddling with your fingers. “I appreciate you doing this, Suguru.”

“Of course, y/n. It’s the least I could do.” He gave a half smile, caressing your back.

“It just keeps replaying over and over in my head,” you shut your eyes, “I hate it. Nothing takes my mind off of it no matter what!” You ran your hand over your face, slouching in the passenger seat.

“Well, there’s something we haven’t tried yet.” Geto raised a brow, shrugging his shoulders.

“What?” You asked, confused.

Minutes later your knees are to your chest, the sheer force of his hips rocking your body into the seat of the car. Strands from his messy bun cling to his forehead, sweat dripping between the divots of his abs. His calloused hand presses down on your lower abdomen, the pad of his thumb reaching down to rub your neglected clit. “Sugu!” You cry out, tears pricking the corner of your eyes.

The car shakes with his feral and animalistic thrusts, the curve of his cock finding your sweet spot, knocking the breath out of you. You’re panting and gasping, clawing at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “Come on, baby, you can do it.” His lips quirk up into a smirk, his hand reaching out, slipping his fingers into your mouth to suck on. “Let it all go for me.” He moves at a rapid pace, your eyes rolling back and your body going limp, hands falling to your sides.

He removes his fingers from your mouth, his hands gliding down to your throat, fingers ghosting over your skin before he carefully wraps his hand around it, gripping it firmly. “I’ll make you forget everything about him. You want that, don’t you? Fill that pretty little head of yours with nothing else but me.” His sultry words send shivers down your spine. A devilish chuckle escapes from him when he feels you flutter around his throbbing length. “Nnngh,” he plants a wet kiss on your jaw, “cum for me.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m cumming!” You scream, eyes widening at the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. “Yes, yes!” You squeal, legs shaking as he continues to rub your clit, dragging every last bit of your orgasm out of you.

His heavy balls slap against your ass at a rough pace, threatening to spill his seed inside of you. “Want to mark you, show that asshole who you’ve always belonged to!” Sinful eyes stare back at you.

Fat tears roll down your cheeks. “I’m yours! I’m y-yours! Ahh!” He puts more pressure on your clit, your body jolting, squirming beneath him.

“Hah, fuck, baby!” He moans, jaw falling open as he tosses his head back. He clenches his jaw, grunting as he keeps the same fervent tempo. He watches the way your filthy pussy clings to him so tightly, your juices forming a ring at the base of his cock, creating a sticky, slimy mess. His thrusts grow hasty, hungry for his orgasm, itching to see you coated in his cum.

He bullies his cock into your cunt, snarling and moaning at how rapidly his orgasm was nearing. He pulled out of you with a drawn out moan and instinctively your soft hand wrapped around his cock, pumping him until you felt warm cum drip onto your stomach.

[corameiwrites]

𖦹 i want somebody to want 𖦹

pair: jason todd x gn!reader

plot: When you turn 21, the name of your soulmate appears on your forearm. Not everyone is born with a soulmate, and Jason Todd never thought he would have one. 

wc: 2k

authors note: I remember reading in a fic somewhere about the Wayne Scholarship, and I forgot who/where I read it exactly, so credit to them whoever they are. Also, some characters may seem a little ooc and tbh I don't really care. I had fun writing this which is all that matters, and I hope you have fun reading it!

The place Dick had dragged Jason to wasn’t all that bad, considering it was located in Blüdhaven. Unless it was near the University area, there was always something sinister and more corrupt happening under the alcohol, vomit, and blood-stained floors of Gotham bars. Normally no amount of bribery or guilting could make him voluntarily dress up and go out drinking with his older brother, but today was not normal. 

It was his twenty-first birthday. 

Meaning that by 11:59 tonight, if a name didn’t appear somewhere on one of his arms, he was destined to be alone. Not everyone is born with a soulmate, and realistically, after all the shit he’s been through, Jason Todd never thought he would have one. Despite that, there was some sort of dread slowly filling his body the more he thought about it. Maybe it was that small flame of the little boy he used to be—before Robin and the Bat and the Joker—igniting at the chance of finally having one. It was the same boy who would trace his parents’ names on their wrist, asking them to tell him once more how they met, what they felt seeing the names appear on their skin. Unfortunately, that little boy would be let down yet again by the end of the night. 

His plans had originally been to stay in his main apartment (the one where he stored all his books and indulged in a comfy couch), buy a 6-pack of the cheapest beer and get drunk alone. That was ruined, however, when he received multiple annoying texts from Dick, begging to go out for drinks tonight, specifying multiple times that it would be on him. Jason told himself the only reason he agreed was for the free drinks and to keep himself from checking his forearm every five goddamn seconds (a night out with Richard Grayson was known to be entertaining and unpredictable).

If it was Dicks plan to get Jason blackout drunk, he was doing a pretty good job of it. After agreeing he would be the designated driver, Dick had laid back on the drinks and only taken 3 of the five rounds of shots they had already ordered. Jason was opening up bit by bit, reminiscing on their childhood together. By his fifth shot, smiling seemed to come easier to Jason. 

Currently, they were both watching the flatscreen hung behind the bar showing a news channel covering Batman and Robin putting an end to another bank robbery. 

Dick pointed at the screen. “Damian learned that move from me.” 

“No, I taught him that.” 

“I’m the one who taught you that move when you were younger, big dummy,” Dick teased. 

“Oh, I forgot.” Jason's tone lost its joking edge, and Dick looked over at him. “You know,” he continued almost somberly. “Ever since coming back, I seem to forget a lot of things.” 

His eyes were glued to the screen, watching as Batman jumped out a window in pursuit of the bad guy. Robin shouted after him.

“You’ve been through hell and back, Todd. Normal people wouldn’t have been able to handle it the way you did.” 

“No, you see, that's the thing.” Jason's voice was frustrated, his previous smiles gone. His brows furrowed the longer he ranted. “I’m not normal. I cycle through apartments and bunkers like crazy to help me lay low. I sleep in until 3 pm and I put a helmet on to chase down crazy guys with guns for hours at night. The public knows me as some traumatized kid who somehow survived a terrorist attack.” He pauses to take a gulp of beer, slamming the glass onto the bar, lifting his arm to wipe his mouth. Dick watched his jacket slip down his arm.

“Jason–”

“I don’t have a home, I don’t have a stable routine, I don’t even have life insurance!” Dick had somehow managed to get the former deceased and outlaw brother of his drunk and ranting about life. And the worst part? Nobody was ever going to believe him.

“Jason,” Dick puts a hand on his younger brother's shoulder, gripping him like a vice. His eyes never left his arm. “Your soulmate.”

Both of them are silent for a moment. Jason sighs, shaking his head. 

“Damn, you're good at this.Yeah, it's about the soulmate thing.”

“You fucking idiot,” Dick slaps him on the back of his head. “Look at your arm!” 

Dick watched as Jason stared him in the eyes, his brain clearly trying to catch up with what his brother was insinuating. When he finally looked down, it was comedic the way his eyes bulged at the fresh ink on his left arm. Dick tried his best to keep his excitement at bay, biting back his proud smile. His grumpy, tough, and borderline psychotic little brother had a soulmate. After a couple more seconds of silence, Jason cursed under his breath.

“I’m too sober for this,” Jason mumbled, chugging down the rest of his beer.  

Dick laughs, waving the bartender over and handing him a card to close their tab. Jason slams the empty cup down, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. “I have a soulmate.”

“Yeah man, congratulations!” Dick pats his brother on the back, but recoils at Jason turning abruptly and staring him dead in the eye. 

“I have a soulmate.”

“I…yeah, you do bud.”

“...I have a soulmate.” He repeats, annunciating each word, as if he can’t believe it. “I need to find them,” Jason says, standing and walking towards the exit of the bar. 

“Woah, Jason–” Dick hurriedly stands, apologetically yelling for the bartender and grabbing his card. Rushing outside, he sees Jason recklessly crossing the street to the parking lot. “Slow down!” 

Jason stands awkwardly next to Richard Grayson's blue convertible, clambering over the door and into the passenger seat. Dick watches from across the street, shaking his head with a smile, making his way to the car. He couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed with Jasons drunken behavior. 

Hopping in the driver's seat, Dick puts the keys into the ignition. “Alright loverboy, where are we going?”

“The mansion,” Jason struggles to get his seatbelt on (Dick intervenes). “The Batcave’s computer can find anyone.”

“Huh. That’s actually really smart considering you're drunk.” 

“I’m not. Just shut up and drive.”

Dick laughs, hitting the gas pedal and doing as he was told.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩  ♡  ✩˚｡⋆𖦹｡°⋆✮ 

Bruce was home early, having quickly left the bank robbers tied up as Gordons responsibility. Currently, he was sitting in the library going over a case file. Damian had already gone to bed when he had gotten an alert of a vehicle coming up the manor's driveway. He checked the security cameras in the garage and was shocked to see his eldest rushing to the passenger side of the car to stop his sluggish brother from falling out. At first, Bruce had thought that he was poisoned or impaired in some way. He called for Alfred, asking him to prepare the medical rooms to tend to Jason. A few short minutes later, he heard faint voices approaching. 

“I used to live here before I died, I know where I’m going.”

“Clearly not, we passed the entrance already.”

“The old man has a sensor on that door. We need to take the entrance in one of the bookshelves, they don’t notify him when someone enters.”  No one but Alfred was supposed to know that. 

“I doubt it’ll matter, he’s out fighting crime with—oh shit!” Bruce watched through his freakish peripheral vision as two figures hurriedly backed away from the doorway of the library. “Code Bat! Code Bat!” Dicks voice had dropped to a whisper, though not so quiet that Bruce couldn’t hear. 

“B’s here?” A head with a white streak of hair popped through the doorway before quickly vanishing. “Oh no.” 

“It’s only 11:45, what is he doing lounging around?”

Bruce chuckled quietly, now coming to the realization that they weren’t drugged or in danger; they were just drunk. Jason especially, which made sense. Quietly, he sent Alfred a message telling him to disregard the request. He feigned ignorance to their presence, going as far as flipping pages of the case file in his lap while they bickered, attempting to formulate a plan. Listening in to their not very secretive conversation, Bruce deduced that they had come to find Jason's soulmate on the Bat computer. It was his 21st afterall, and why else would he come drunkenly to the home he tried so hard to stay away from? Bruce found himself smiling for the boy. He had been through so much, and he deserved to have some good in his life. He only hoped that whoever they were, they took care of him in places where Bruce failed. 

Sighing exaggeratedly, he stood, stretched and slowly made his way to the doorway, listening as the two brothers hushed. He allowed himself one last second of respite before wiping the smile off his face and walking out into the dark hallway. Dick stood alone, leaning against the wall and whistling. He turned his head, seeing Bruce standing, observing him. 

“Oh, hey Bruce! I’ve been looking for you.” Dick pushed off the wall, going to stand next to his Father. “I thought I’d visit, wait for you to get home, but you’re here!”

“What do you need?” 

“Oh nothing much,” taking Bruce's arm, he began to drag him in the opposite direction, past the library. “I just got nostalgic, and wanted to take a trip down memory lane with my Pops.” 

“You smell like alcohol.”

“Like I said, I was feeling nostalgic!”

Dick rattled on, leading him down the dark halls, and Bruce noticed Jason slipping into the library. He smiled, turning his attention back to his eldest. He couldn’t find himself to be angry about his sons keeping secrets from him. If he felt anything about tonight's endeavor, it was disappointment. Bruce Wayne had taught his sons to be sneakier than they had been tonight. 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩  ♡�� ✩˚｡⋆𖦹｡°⋆✮

Jason, in his drunken haste, had almost tripped down the short flight of steps leading to the massive computer. He couldn't really blame the alcohol though—it was his fault for looking down at his arm every couple seconds, as though the black ink would fade away before he ever found out who you were. Even if it did, he had already committed the name to memory.

He knew how many letters were in your name, the number of syllables in the different parts of it. Despite this, he hadn’t yet spoken it out loud. For the last 30 minutes of his life, every breath he took held a certain weight to it, and the beating of his heart had persisted to be about 120 beats per minute.

He blamed it on the alcohol, but logically he knew the reason.

 That little boy—the one he thought was dead and buried—was coming back to life, crawling his way out of the depths of Jason and settling into his gut. 

His hand shook as he typed the name, every click of the keyboard ringing dully in his skull. Inhaling deeply, Jason hesitated for only a moment before clicking enter. Your name popped up surprisingly quickly, specifically registered under the “Wayne Scholarship” file.

His hand moved by its own volition and the link was clicked, a government ID popping up on the display. 

Staring up at the photo of you in awe, his eyes flickered to the name and back to the photo, unbelieving that this was you. Your simple beauty was evident even through the low quality government ID.

He stared for a while, just taking in you. It was a little odd looking at the huge screen, knowing that you two were made for each other. The thought only made his heart speed up even more. 

Digging into your file, he finds that you’re 20 and won’t be turning 21 for another seven months. The knowledge that he knows and you don’t makes him nauseous.

Clenching the edge of the table, he remembers that the reason he found you so quick was due to the Wayne Scholarship. You moved to Gotham for your third year of college to attend Gotham University, with most of the tuition paid for as long as you agree to stay away from any and all crime. Suddenly, he had found another reason to be thankful that Bruce was filthy rich. Your current residence was an old apartment complex in the University area, which was for the most part, free of crime. The more information he got from Bruce Wayne's files, the more his stomach fluttered. 

That little boy was practically jumping up and down inside of him, chanting over and over again, “I knew it! I knew we would have a soulmate!”. As the information sunk in, he began to shake more violently, and he felt like his legs were barely holding his weight. In fear of throwing up or collapsing on the floor (or both), he fell backwards into Bruce's chair. A tear slid down Jason’s cheek, and then another, and another. 

For the first time in a long time, Jason Todd sobbed.

[riaki]

i literally cant stop thinkin’ about highschoolbully!gojo who used to be your ride or die ‘til he started getting attention from those popular jock type guys who are always assholes to everyone. and him being.. well, him means he preens under attention no matter who it’s from, so naturally he started to gravitate towards that group and their little troop of cheerleading fangirls. and then he started distancing from you and without either of you really realizing it, you’ve slipped between the other’s fingers. but the way he acts towards you makes you think he let you fall without moving a muscle to slow you down.

soon enough, a year swings by and by the end of it he’s gone from your life, save as just another face in the gaggle of boys who make crude jokes and laugh at smart kids and pop milk cartoons during lunch just for the hell of it. but you’re minding your own business, ‘cause you’re mature enough to realize that people come and go, no matter how close you might’ve been and you think it’s unfortunate that so many memories could be thrown aside in a blink of an eye, but it makes a lot of sense when you walk past satoru and his friends bullying some random kid. you don’t know him, but you’ve heard enough to realize it’s his girlfriend satoru’s flirting with while his ‘gang’ kick at the kid. and it’s sickening, but you don’t say anything when you walk by.

and when you don’t ever see the kid afterward and catch the dark eyebags under his girlfriend’s eyes, you come to the cruel realization that satoru isn’t the boy who’d bandage the scrape on your knee you got from tripping in the playground or buy you a soda because he’s noticed your sweat when you were walking home and you don’t have any money left on you.

it’s a glass half empty, half full type of situation. on the one hand, you don’t have him anymore. on the other hand, you don’t have him anymore. that is, you lost your best friend, but you’ve also lost someone who has the potential to absolutely ruin your life. and you don’t know whether to be glad or not, so you just mind your own business even if it hurts a little when he ignores you, stops tossing paper at your head in class (unless it’s to embarrass you) and stops walking you to and from school.

but the cherry on top of the shit cake is that he doesn't get it. so when he approaches you in the library one day after satiating the need to tear pages from books and make them into paper airplanes to throw at people, he doesn't seem to understand why you try to ignore him, or put off his attempts to hold a convo. but the worst part is that he's just sleazy and clueless about it. it's like he took an eraser and wiped every single year of your friendship off the chalkboard with one fell swipe, and you wish he'd done that too to the less-than-appropriate messages he and his friends had written towards one of your classmates.

he doesn't understand why you're hesitant to talk, and that's what makes it the worst. he always thinks he's in the right, and he keeps setting you off and it sucks that he knows exactly what sets you off. "i'm an asshole? what're you talking about? really, you're in over your head. you never change." he laughs, and you ignore him, and he gets bored, and he's about to leave when he spots your wallet open next to your book, on the table. there's a polaroid peeking out, and he recognizes the tufts of white hair to be him. but there's a weird feeling in his chest, and he thinks he gets it from you, so he leaves because he thinks you're weird.

and it goes on; you practically become a nobody in satoru's eyes, because of that weird, weird feeling you give him. it's unfamiliar and he's never gotten it before and he doesn't like it. but it's unavoidable when your professor pairs you two for the end-of-term project. and of course, you're ready to do all the work, because that's how it always was between you when you were kids. but sometimes he'd surprise you by helping, and he'd show you that he was actually intelligent just to earn your praise because he liked it. but he ignored you, and you did everything, and it would've been okay if not for his friends egging him on to present your entire project when the day came and leave you with no content for a grade.

that's the first time it hits him: does he really want to do that? but it's not like it'll be the first time; you've always taken the hits for him, because you're naturally smart and you'll pick yourself back up in no time, and you get why he does it, so it'll be okay. so he agrees, and he enjoys the time he gets to spend with you through it, but the nagging weird feeling that blooms in his chest like a pesky weed only grows stronger. that's all his feelings ever seem to do around you.

but before you know it, presentation day swings around. you had coffee this morning (on his card), and you're ready enough to shoot him a small smile that sends his heart a-flutter. so you go up, feeling up to the task and ready until— he starts talking, and talking, and talking, and people don't think that he's taking your words out of your mouth because he's intelligent when he wants to make you praise him and you don't get the chance to get a word in and you notice the guys are laughing and hitting each other's shoulders to themselves in the upper rows and before you know it it's over. people are clapping but moreso they're looking at you and they're whispering— but it's terribly loud and they don't bother to hide it. they call you things that shouldn't bother you but they do anyway, because it's satoru's fault, and you're such a fool for thinking you could have it your way again.

so you leave class early, excusing yourself and ignoring the way your professor gives you a distasteful look and scribbles something next to your name. you're out the door in a second, neglecting your bags and satoru's a little lost because— didn't he just do good? people were clapping, and laughing with him and not at him, but it's attention either way so he doesn't mind. so why do you? why did you look at him like he stabbed you in the back? and his friends are calling his name, and he wishes he could chase after you and do something but he doesn't.

and it's a little sickening what they do next; one of their girls grabbed your bags and tossed it to them, and they've started rifling through it as if they own it, tearing up your shit and dumping everything onto the ground and he's kind of just... glued to the chair by his feelings. his heart feels like it's been patched together and the weird fuzzy feeling he had in his chest that's been cultivating has extinguished to be replaced with something he realizes he's only ever felt when it comes to you— guilt.

he's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't realize his friend is silently offering him something— nudging his side to get his attention. he takes it without really realizing he moved his hand, and his silent friend with the gauges in his ears and the dark hair gets up and leaves without another word. when satoru looks down, he realizes he's been given your wallet. "the reward for betraying your baby," they call it. like all you're worth is the money in your account.

he's a little curious. that's how he's always been; asking you questions, rummaging through your stuff, laughing sheepishly and shaking it off when you caught him red-handed. so he opens it up, ignoring your sad little cards and the funny look on your license. he's looking for something, subconsciously; but he doesn't find it. there's no white tuft of hair to suggest his presence in your life; just empty black leather. nothing else.

and he doesn't see you after. or the following day. or the following weeks; weeks that turn into months that turn into the end of school and he's graduating but you're not by his side. and neither are his so called 'friends'; the only thing he has to their name is your own ruined friendship. it's a shame; he feels alone. very alone. no fuzzy weird feeling, not even that thing people call guilt. no attention to chase, and connections are ever harder to make. it shouldn'tve mattered that much, right? it was just a presentation. why wouldn't you just come back to him like you always did? were you not still friends...?

but the blood is still on his hands, and he doesn't manage to ever wash it off. guilt has a way of festering; of weighing on the heart 'till there's nothing left to feel or think but unfortunate circumstance and what could've been done differently. it just sucks that he never tried hard enough to keep you from slipping between his grasp. and now, he doesn't even have a polaroid to your friendship's name.

pt.2

[inhogf]

childhood bully, Gong Yoo.

· contains: dead dove do not eat, unprotected sex, dub-con, dark content, manipulation, bondage, blackmail, 🍇, mentions of ab*rtion · note: first fic and im not very proud of this !! ill probs edit this later soo like stay tuned

it had been three weeks. three whole weeks since gong yoo, your biggest bully, recorded you sucking your boyfriend's dick inside the male toilet stalls. your boyfriend would pull his pants up, ditching you and running away, leaving you to be cornered by your sweet senior gong yoo— who'd threaten to post the videos up on the school public board if you don't do as he says. he'd chuckle, staring down at your glossy eyes as you hoped he'd spare you just this once; unbeknownst to the fact his boner got even harder just by seeing you cry.

up until now, you've been rotting away at your house, terrified of what gong yoo would do when you went to school the next day. so you didn't. your mom would be worried sick, wondering why her sweet innocent child was missing school for days on end. your only excuse was being sick. after all; being home was your escape. your escape from gong yoo and from all the fucked up shit he'd do to you.

little did you know, gong yoo would find your address from the school's physical database after convincing his homeroom teacher he needed it for something important. after all, his punching-bag princess was important to him. he'd time it perfectly, waiting for when your parents left for work, and show up to your house; his school backpack filled with all the things he'd need for you. your neighbours were completely oblivious to what was going on. after all, who would suspect such a pretty looking boy all dolled up in a school uniform?

he didn't dare ring the bell. why would he? he had opened up the window and climbed into your kitchen, taking a quick note of all the surroundings and potential threats (the kitchen knives ♡) before making it all the way up to your room. your door was halfway open, allowing him a perfect view of you laid up on your bed reading a book.

you were in a loose shirt, and such dangerously short pants, you're so daring. gong yoo palmed the growing tent protruding through his pants. you made him sooo hormonal, and you didn't even know.

“hello, you.” he'd walk in with stomping footsteps, letting his presence be known. he's no pussy. you jumped up from the cavern you had been rotting in for the past few weeks hiding from him. your mind racing to get the nearest weapon you could find. all you could muster up in your hands was your bedside clock, daring to throw it at him.

he lunged at you, pinning you down to the bed as he shushed you, his strong arm holding yours above your back as your face was forcefully smushed into your pillow with his other arm.

“get the fuc- agh- away from me-!!” he held you down with his bodyweight as you'd wriggle in attempts to get him off— you're so innocent, you don't even know that turns him on even further. he'd grab a rope from his backpack and tie your swollen thin wrists up first, leaving your legs free.

“be still, and we can make it easy for both of us.” he'd turn you around and spread your legs apart, your legs attempting to kick away his hands yet all attempts fall futile under him. who knew teenagers were that strong?

eventually, you got too tired for it all. your kicking had stopped yet your crying grew louder and your nose runnier. it was all such a sight to see for gong yoo and his hormonal little brain.

he fumbled with his belt and unzipped his jeans, just sooo greedy to pound your pretty pussy until it had memorized his thrusts. he hooked a finger on the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down in one swift motion prior to practically ripping your panties off. he just couldn't wait to nut in you.

“you're enjoying this? getting fucked your bully? what a fucking slut.”

your own body had betrayed you as your leaking pussy was displayed to him. you hate to admit it, but your panties got soaked right when he entered the room. maybe, just maybe, he's right about you being a slut.

he'd jerk his fat cock off for a few seconds before aligning it up with your pink, leaking, pussy. he wanted to do you raw, his precum already beading up on his thick tip already.

he let out a hearty groan as he threw his head back. it was as tight as he imagined it to be. your juices had made it so easy for him to slide in, yet so painful for you. who were you to blame? his size was simply so fucking big. he gave you zero time to adjust and started thrusting it all in like a pussy-hungry little baby. you were so tight around his girth, your pussy practically denying permission to his body. all of it was too much for your tiny head as your brains were being fucked into mush.

he was pounding into you like there was no tomorrow, his balls slapping softly against your ass. he had you folded up like a book— all while you could do nothing but whimper and cry. your sweet pleas were music to his ears. you had to admit, though; his cock felt so fucking good rubbing against your walls like that. he did not give a fuck about making you cum though.. :c

“if you squeeze around me like that, i-i'm gonna fuckin’ nut..” he groaned, as his thrusts got inconsistent and sloppier indicating that he'd cum soon. your swollen red pussy was absolutely destroyed beyond repair. you were being such a little baby for him— crying while you were about to get your uterus filled, not caring about condoms or pulling out.

with one final thrust, his cum seeped into your cervix filling you up, as he rolled his stuttering hips and rode out his orgasm. he cummed so much, who knew his balls could store this much liquid? he buried his head into the crook of your neck and you could feel him breathing sososo fast, it was almost cute.

"take the pill."

cc @inhogf dont steal

[star--stilinski]

at first, stiles didn't even notice it. the way his heart would race and his cheeks would flush; he was used to having that reaction around you. so used to it, in fact, that he had stopped letting it be a distraction. you'd giggle at his joke or look up at him through your lashes and he'd blush, fidget, move on. like his own little routine.

what got distracting was when he had made the sudden realization one day: you're hot. 

the two of you had been friends for so long, crushing for almost that whole time, that by the time stiles looked up and saw you in your bikini, it was too late to turn back. he was a goner.

literally-he was out of lydia's backyard and in her half bathroom before you could even ask him to help with your sunscreen.

holy shit. he gripped the sink, glaring at his flushed reflection. get yourself together, perv. so she's got nice tits. really, really nice tits and thighs that could suffocate you and jesus her hips-

no! nope, no no no nonono. it is way too early for this. get real. she's seen you recite the entire opening crawl of the force awakens. she is not going to do that with you- woah! or that! get it together. get it together. get it together.

and so stiles marches back out where you and your friends are gathered, playing marco polo. you glance at him and smirk in that way the tells him you're totally cheating, only proven true when allison calls out "marco!" and you slide past her in the water without joining in the choruses of "polo!"s from all over the pool.

stiles stiffens. your goddamn smirk. 

this is going to be a loooong day.

☆

and it was. a long day that ended in his right hand wrapped around his cock and a fantasy he wouldn't repeat even if there was a gun to his head. 

but that was over, and it was three days later, anyway. the pack was meeting at the movies to see a new romcom, which the girls were excited for, and the guys were... hoping it had a good soundtrack. it's not that they didn't want to go, it's just that their time- well, stiles' time could be better spent on things like useless research and avoiding his homework. that was his mindset walking into the theater.

now, he's about three inches from having no mindset at all. you're sat next to him, too close for him to remember a single detail of the movie, and you're wearing a tank top. low cut. lace trim on the top. prettiest color he's ever seen.

and stiles can see straight down it. 

every time he glances over at you, whether it be an excuse of reaching for the popcorn or making a joke or listening to you talk, he has a view down your top right to where your tits are pressed together, rising and falling subtly with each breath. he wonders what the smooth skin of your breasts would look like covered in hickeys. he imagines the sounds you'd make if he had you pinned down, mouth enveloping your pert nipples. he-

he gets up a little too hastily when he rushes out of the theater, into the quiet hall.

"god," he mumbles, tugging his own hair. "fuck."

he has to will his blood to cooperate before he can show his face again.

☆

it's getting worse. 

stiles is chewing on the cap of the marker he has in his hand, eyes darting all over his murder board.

"wouldn't they hunt in packs? this fable here, it reads... stiles?"

stiles turns on his heel, watching you now as you sit on his bed. he's been avoiding looking at you lately, since just recently he had a close call when you hit your knee on scott's coffee table and whined a dramatic 'ahh', leaving stiles to imagine that noise, that face you made in other scenarios.

it's been harder (ha, ha, yeah, no pun intended. he's struggling.) since you asked to come over and help with some research he was doing after a meeting with deaton. you sat all pretty and focused on his bed, twirling and tucking and sometimes tugging your hair when you read out of a book he had borrowed (stolen) from the argent's.

so when he looked at you now, it was with great mental strength. especially when you started rattling off a really smart point he didn't think anyone else would notice that he had realized twenty minutes ago, giving him some time to zone out and watch as you gather your hair behind you, tying it up in a ponytail while you look up at him through your lashes. giving him a second to imagine you looking at him like that with your lips wrapped around his cock, letting him guide you by the ponytail-

stilinski! great. mental. strength.

he turns back to the murder board and nods, eyes squeezed shut as he feels the familiar heat spread all over and his jeans get tight. "yeah, that's- i know, that's a good point."

he hears you shift, the way you get noticeably quiet. "stiles, are you... is everything alright? you seem off."

he shrugs, nods, shrugs again. swallows. "yeah. just a bit tired, that's all."

he can feel your disbelief, but he'd rather feel that then disgust. you both sigh at the same time, and the evening moves on.

☆

it's pretty much every time he sees you now. he's a mess, unable to choose between relieving himself and willing his dick to cooperate. you've made a mess of stiles, and he's dying.

you're wearing leggings today, talking to scott while stiles watches from the bench. coach is barking orders at a couple of stray lacrosse boys, and stiles is lucky enough to have dodged his attention this evening.

game night is usually when he's free of the hold you have on him, too busy gnawing on his goalie gloves and tracking scott across the field. but you and allison showed up early (curse scott and his happy relationship), so his pea-sized brain has time to imagine sliding the buttery fabric down your legs, kissing exposed skin as he goes. he'd definitely pay close attention to your thighs- he thinks about those more than he'd care to admit, and he's aware of how idiotically insecure of them you are. 

because of his train of thought, he doesn't realize you've caught him staring until it's too late. you're prancing over excitedly and leaving scott to smirk at stiles all knowingly, and stiles resists the urge to flip him off.

"you gonna play, 24?" you nudge his foot teasingly with your own. he looks up at you and feels those telltale signs as he fanaticizes about tracing the line of your jaw with his finger, both of you panting softly as he coos at you while you whine pathetically. he has to blink away the thought before he can speak.

"um, i hope not. it's an important game." he leans back a bit and you tilt your head, clearly mulling over your next words. he fills the space in the meantime. "but if i do, i'll be sure to keep away from the ball."

it's music to his ears when you laugh. finally, finally he's blushing about something normal, having regular fantasies instead of these hormone fueled pornos that seem to be on repeat in his head lately. he smiles up at you and you take a small step closer to being in between his legs.

"i don't mean to bring it up so randomly..." you avoid his eyes, fiddling with your hands. "but i was just wondering if i've done something to upset you?"

he blinks. "what?"

"it's just that you've been distant and honestly, you're acting kind of like you're allergic to me. if i did something or there's something going on just tell me. it's kinda driving me crazy." you ramble, brows drawn together in discomfort. 

stiles' eyes widen and he shakes his head, standing. his heart skips a beat when you have to tilt your chin up a bit to keep his eyes. "no, of course not. i didn't know... i guess i've... it's just-" he sighs and rubs the back of his neck. how is he supposed to explain this? 'oh, hey, girl i've been super into for a pathetically long time, i've been imagining what you'd look like if i pinned you to my bed and drove us both insane from a sex marathon! that's cool, right? not objectifying at all!'

you frown, crossing your arms. "just tired?"

it's bait, he knows it is. the same excuse he used less than a week ago to keep you from figuring him out. you're a clever girl and he's stupid when he's horny, so he has to play his cards right here. if you think he's lying, things will only get worse and there's a hefty chance you'll distance yourself. but if he tells a lie a little too well, you're going to be around him constantly again. either way, he's starting to wonder if he's a masochist from the amount of pain he's going to inflict on himself.

"it's nothing, really. i didn't mean to get distant." he clenches his jaw as he gauges your reaction, which is a less-than-ideal-but-not-terrible pout. he wants to smooth the lines of your forehead with his thumb and make you laugh again, but he has to focus. "let me make it up to you?"

you turn your face away (very, very not good) and huff. "no, don't worry about it."

stiles cringes internally and bites the inside of his cheek. how can he un-dig this hole he's in? "no, no, i want to. i shouldn't have made you worry. that's my fault. i'll pick you up tomorrow, we can get food. my treat."

you turn back to face him, and the way your bottom lip just barely juts out tells him you're playing it up, but he doesn't mind. he's come to realize that you like to feel earned, and he's more than happy to earn you. he takes a breath, eyebrows raised. "what are you thinking?"

you drop the pout (much to his relief, he was just starting to imagine you using that face on him when he makes you tell him exactly what you want him to do to you) and put your hands on your (perfect, sexy) hips. "i'm thinking that if you didn't mean to get distant then it was subconscious, and it's going to be more of an effort to be around me than not."

so clever. god, you're so hot when you use critical thinking skills. 

stiles sighs and shuffles a bit. "yeah, okay, i can understand where you're getting that but it's wrong-"

"but it isn't. you've been proving it right all week and-"

"hold on, no i haven't, i've just been-"

"-you definitely lied to me in your room a few days ago-"

"-there's no way you're actually believing-"

"STILINSKI!" coach's voice booms over both of you, halting the beginning of an argument that probably would have only turned stiles on more. he whips his head around to where the entire team is gathered, and realizes he was so wrapped up in you that he tuned out everything around him, including the team rallying together to talk strategy before the game started. he blinks, distantly hearing you mumble a mortified "oh." and skitter off, leaving stiles to be completely embarrassed alone.

"would you like to join us or are you too busy harassing the young ladies in the general area?" coach's tone is strung with impatience, eyes wide.

"ah..." stiles glances to the spot you just stood in and then back to the team. "no, coach, 'm coming."

"fantastic." he drawls, before turning back to the team and continuing his rant. stiles is half-listening, half-daydreaming about 'making it up to you' in many different ways, positions, and places. for many hours.

yeah, he's dead. for sure. you're killing him.

☆

although making it up to you currently involved a lot more clothing and a lot less begging, stiles was having a really good time. sat in his room, arguing about book to movie adaptations, both of you holding your own milkshakes. with all his time spent avoiding you out of... sex-driven fear? he really forgot how much he enjoyed your company.

"you wouldn't get it," you shake your head stubbornly as he stands and sets his milkshake on his desk so he can use the dry erase board in his room. "you don't read books."

"i do-"

"yeah, i don't count the bestiary."

"that's besides the point, anyway. i don't have to read the book to know whether the movie is a good adaptation or not!" he starts writing down movies he knows are heavily based off of books while you crawl across his floor to his desk, sneaking a spoonful of vanilla ice cream and whipped cream. he's too busy to notice that the half-melted treat dribbles off of the spoon and spills above the cut of your tank top (the same one as the movie theater, actually) and onto your exposed thighs.

"fuck." you hiss under your breath. stiles turns to see what caused your quiet outburst, but his brain screeches to a halt at the sight of you.

perched on your knees, you're glaring down at the mess that's been spilled on the top of your tits and thighs, white sliding down to the line where they're pressed together. stiles doesn't even blink, just stares with a slightly open mouth at the sight of you. a small noise leaves his mouth and he can feel the tent in his sweats, but he's a bit frozen.

you look up when he makes the strangled grunt, looking caught with his milkshake in your hand, as if that's his issue right now. "uhh... whoops? i swear, it just flew into my hand! how crazy is that...."

your joke trails off as you really see his face. his eyes are dark and hungry, almost predatory as they sweep over your body, hanging on the spills that you made. his mouth shuts and his jaw clenches. his hands are curled into restrained, white-knuckled fists. and...

he's hard as a fucking rock.

it's easy to tell, with his grey sweatpants, and you feel your mouth water at the sight.

"it's fine." he mumbles, voice dry. you take a second before you realize he's talking about the milkshake. both of you are bright red. you force out a breath and he seems to come to, turning back around quickly. "uh, s-so, harry potter-"

"is that because of me?" you blurt, getting hotter in the cheeks every second.

"is... oh. um, i'm sorry, sorry, fucking shit-" he's not facing you.

"stiles."

stiles quiets, turning to face you finally. your stomach swoops and you shuffle barely closer. his adams apple bobs.

"yeah. it... it is"

that's it. a simple confession, but it feels like a chord being snapped between the two of you. your confidence grows. you made stiles like that.

"are you gonna do something about it?"

his head snaps up, eyes wide as he looks at you. "you want me to?"

"why else would i ask, stiles?" you sound almost exasperated, like he's taking to long. he swallows and drops to his knees in front of you.

stiles. is crawling towards you. on his knees.

"are you... do you really?" he's close, so close now. looking into your eyes like they'll answer for you. like they contain every 'yes' you've been too scared to whisper.

which, honestly, is probably not far from true.

"i do. i really, really, d-"

his lips are on yours before you can finish, one hand cupping the back of your neck to bring you closer. you let out a muffled noise of surprise, mouth opening on it's own accord as stiles takes the kiss deeper, tongue exploring your mouth hotly.

"you're impossible-" stiles gasps, going in for more before he can finish. "-to be around-" his teeth nip your bottom lip. "-when i can't have you."

his lips leave a wet kiss on the corner of your mouth, so passionate that he misses, and he continues that trail onto your neck until he finds the spot that makes you squirm. his hands go to your waist, pulling you closer and knocking your knees together. you feel dizzy with want, barely registering his words.

"what-" you gasp, blinking and leaning into his demanding mouth. "what is that supposed to mean?"

stiles groans against the skin of your neck, kissing lower, closer to the sticky mess you made just minutes ago. "i can't think... can't even... fuckin'... breathe when you're near, y'look so pretty. j'st wanna make you-"

he interrupts himself again, opting instead to lick the ice cream off the top of your tits like he's starving. you gasp as the feel of his tongue against your skin, pressing your thighs together to try and relieve some of the sudden pressure shooting down your stomach to your core. he's barely making sense and he still has you all foggy brained, swaying just a bit under his touch.

"you-you've thought about this? befo- oh-" you stumble, as he tugs lightly against the low cut to give himself better access to the sweetness melted onto your skin. he laughs, seeming to clear up a bit.

"yeah. you kidding me? i've basically been-" he's kissing back up your neck now, seeming to track a path to your lips. "-perpetually hard for the past three weeks."

you swallow thickly and he captures your lips. stiles tastes like vanilla ice cream and it's the most tempting sin, luring you over the edge. enticing you to do things you'd normally pretend you weren't into. he runs a hand down the side of your body, squeezing your hip lightly. "you're torture, you know that?"

"i could say the same to you."

he smiles at you, like a sap, like a saint. you feel your mind fall into his hands and your heart nestle against his ribcage. you no longer belong to yourself. you never have. and neither does he, it seems, as his eyes wander all over you.

"wanna move to the bed? i can clean up your thighs..." his tone is low, clearly suggestive in a bad-pickup-line way. you nod, giggling girlishly and stiles hauls you up to gently lay you back on his bed, tugging your tank top off on the way. his eyes linger on your chest before moving along, kissing a wet trail down your body as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. "god, look at you. you're gorgeous."

it's not like you're wearing lingerie and sexy makeup- you went to stiles' place to lounge, so you're wearing your lounge bra and some comfy shorts. stiles looks at you, though, as if you invented beauty. he sighs contentedly as he pulls your bottoms off slowly, eyes drinking in your stomach and hips and thighs like you're the first woman to have them. once he's got them far off enough, his hands press your hips back down and his eyes meet yours.

"not to late to back out. well- obviously it's never too late, it's just... okay, this is me asking for consent. i was trying to make it sexy, but it sounded a bit rapey."

you laugh breathlessly and nod at him where he stands, towering above your almost-naked form. "stiles, please stop talking and fulfill both of our fantasies already."

stiles grins and tugs his shirt halfway off before stopping abruptly. "wait- both?"

you roll your eyes. "stiles, why would i be so... so..."

"obedient?" he offers with a cocky smirk. you flush.

"agreeable, if i didn't want this?" you nibble your lip as he pulls his shirt the rest of the way off his body, getting on his knees at the edge of the bed and spreading your legs. your body moves pliantly under his hands. the sight of it all is downright promiscuous.

"well," stiles presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. it would be sweet if not for the sinful way his eyes are preoccupied with the wet spot on your panties. "i heard girls find consent sexy. maybe i screwed that one up a bit. what do you think is sexy?" 

he asks in that absent tone that tells you he's storing away information as he kisses further up the inside of your thighs more fervently. you let out a breath that feels too shaky too early and watch as his pink tongue swipes out to lick up some ice cream spill. it makes you clench around nothing. 

"any day now." his hand is gently rubbing your thigh as he moves to lick and suck almost crudely at your other thigh.

your eyes narrow slightly. "gimme a second."

he gets closer to where you're literally soaked for him, nibbling lightly at the plush flesh of your inner thigh. you shove down a low whine of impatience to avoid your already growing embarrassment.

"your attention to foreplay is- i like it." you admit softly and he hums, licking a stripe of ice cream out of the way. taking a second to think, you continue. "i like the... the desperation. how you took me without really... um... i like it when you just do what you want, i mean."

it's difficult to form a single thought once stiles presses a kiss against your clothed clit, being sure to add plenty of pressure. almost like a reward. "what if you don't like what i want? will you tell me to stop?"

you nod, chest rising and falling heavily with every breath. you glance down at stiles, and a small sound leaves your lips when your eyes catch his hand down his sweats, slowly stroking himself. he flushes. 

"you.... can't i help?"

he lets out a small moan and his eyes flutter as he halts his movements. "i don't- i don't have a condom."

against all better judgement, you shake your head and thread your fingers through his messy hair. "it's okay. just pull out, yeah?"

his brows shoot up, and you wonder for a moment if he's about to cum in his pants. but then he nods and rises, standing in between your legs now. his fingers deftly tug off your panties, pocketing them in his sweats (for "safe keeping") and his lips part silently once you're exposed to him.

your legs begin to close, feeling suddenly too naked and too insecure for his hungry eyes, but his hands catch your knees easily, even giving you a little tap as a sign to scoot further onto the bed.

before you comply, curiosity takes over and you tug at the strings on his sweatpants. "wait, what about you?"

he tilts his head. "what about me?"

you narrow your eyes, fingers dipping under the band. "can i take these off?"

"oh!" his brows shoot up, as if he forgot about himself altogether. "oh, yeah, of course. please."

you waste no time pulling his bottoms off, his cock springing out. it's flushed and leaking, looking properly erotic in the dim lighting of his room. your eyes flutter up to meet his and you wrap your hands around him, pumping twice.

stiles moans, hips twitching into your hands on their own accord. "holy shit."

part of you just wants to finish him that way, positively fucking hooked on the look he has, pleasure pinching his pretty face all tight. he pants and pulls your hands away, eyes squeezing shut for just a moment. "y're gonna make me cum, holy shit."

"i'm sorry, you just..." you fluster, laughing a tad at the both of you. he shakes his head, though, so you fall silent and let him crawl over top of you, kissing you deeply. he unhooks your bra with a bit of struggle and you both have to cooperate to get it off of your body. you giggle, and his eyes are locked on you as your smile slowly fades.

"don't be sorry," his voice is gentle, "i've imagined that so many times it should be criminal." he kisses you again and you feel his fingers graze along your stomach. stiles pulls back far enough to see your whole face and you wonder why- then his thumb is circling your clit.

the high-pitched gasp you suck in is not as embarrassing as the louder whine that leaves your lips once he's slid a finger into you, eyes closing for a moment to soak in the bliss. it feels like heaven, for a long moment. but his fingers are slow. too slow. and even when you cant your hips, he doesn't speed up enough to have you seeing stars (like you know he can). instead, he has you writhing impatiently. "you're... stiles, please."

it's whiney and pathetic, but stiles seems to stifle a smirk when he hears it, covering it with a sympathetic pout instead. "i know, pretty girl, i know. you gonna ask nicely?"

and you knew you gave him permission to do whatever he wanted. but you didn't expect to be into it. your lips part and you almost tell him to shut up and fuck you already. but you're hot with embarrassment and something else he can totally feel when your walls clench around his torturous fingers. so instead, you opt for falling right into his hands.

"please, stiles, fuck me already." you whisper, lips brushing against his when you speak. "please."

"there we go." he presses a peck to your lips and slips his fingers out. "such a good girl."

you aren't given any time to process that and the fact that it made you throb like a personal whore- stiles is already swiping his tip through your folds, making you gasp when it catches on your clit. he's panting heavily as he lines himself up, and you're a little surprised when he finds your hand and laces his own against it. 

then, he's stretching you open and you're seeing stars, just like you knew he could make you do.

stiles is sweet, but he's not exactly gentle. hips rolling into you and his tongue pressing against your own. a hand pinning you to the bed and keeping him upright, the other tweaking your nipples or teasing your clit. he's all over you, pulling back every once in awhile to watch the way you arch your back and gasp out unintelligible pleas. his moans are about as pathetic as yours and he hisses "fuck" into your ear when you clench around him tightly. your dance goes on like this for a moment, and he's rambling horny nonsense constantly.

"stiles, 'm close-" you whimper, free hand pulling him closer by the hair. he gasps out and his hips snap roughly. 

"yeah, me too. jesus, you're so perfect. look at you." he pushes some of your hair out of the way, eyes meeting yours. "you gonna cum for me?"

you nod, eyebrows turning up as you feel the warmth crawl up your belly. your free hand tugs at his mussed up hair again and his expression matches yours. he speeds up and you gasp and whimper, pliant under his body as he fucks you into his mattress.

"stiles, fuck, stiles, i'm-"

"that's it, there you go, hooooly fuck." he holds your hips down when you finish, rutting into you with an open mouth. he's got his forehead pressed against your own, swallowing each others desperate moans as he rides you through your orgasm. stiles' moan is sudden and loud when he pulls out in a rush and finishes on your cunt, his tip pressing into your overstimulated clit and making your legs twitch.

you gasp out a breath and sink into the mattress, sighing contentedly. when your eyes flutter open on heavy lids, stiles is gazing at you. he leans down and kisses you, soft and sweet and full of a confession long coming.

"that was..."

"amazing." he finishes dazedly, hands running over your bare skin anywhere he can reach. "want me to use my mouth?"

your brows raise. "stiles, i just came."

"i know." he sighs, playing with some of your hair. "it was so fucking hot."

"you said you've been perpetually hard for three weeks?" you attempt to change the subject, but stiles only grins wider.

"yeah, so i've got plenty more fantasies to play out before i'm out of steam."

you shove him lightly, fighting a flustered smile. "just- give me a second, you dog!" 

"awooooo." stiles deadpans an imitation of a howl, nuzzling into your neck. "let me know when you're ready. i'll just be here. naked. on top of you. in the mood to make you pass out from orgasms. willing to learn every kink you have- which, hey, the praise kink was a good guess, right?"

you groan, pushing him off of you. your face is flushed red and you snatch his nearby discarded t-shirt when you sit up. "that was so out of left field."

"yeah, but was it? i mean, you-"

"i'm getting in the shower, stiles." you stand and take a few steps away from him before you turn to gauge his reaction.

his eyebrows shoot up from where he sits on the bed. it makes you bright fucking red when his eyes trail down and he watches a bead of his own cum slide down your inner thigh. he licks his lips.

"i'll come with."

☆

this is from the vault, so if you've read it already, that's why! don't be afraid to interact with it anyway, i love crazy readers and feral responses sjdjsaskdj

[chiscaralight]

what's that sound?

includes: nsfw! continuation of my college athelete!choso linked here. vouyerism, oral sex(f receiving), somewhat bottom choso, p in v, unprotected sex, choso is a little pervy, he’s never eaten pussy before either, choso cums from hearing i love u then he gets a little emotional. he’s just a loser!!!!!

word count: roughly 3k

a/n: we r so back!!!!

choso has been at his best since he met you.

ever since you two got together, he's been much different. not just to you—to everyone! there’s a pep in his step when he walks, he’s a little more confident when he talks, and he’s even playing better on the field now! (totally not because he knows you’re in the bleachers and he’s trying to look extra cool just for you.)

and it pains him in more ways than one when he has to stay away from you for so long. with the new league about to hit its peak, coaches are adding in extra hours, school work is getting more and more tasking by the day, and only talking to you on the phone for a couple of minutes and texting the whole day is nowhere near enough for him. even though he’s the one that needs most of the space!

you’re so sweet about it too, assuring him you’d be fine and he has to prioritize his sports career. you still show up to the occasional practice to offer a quick kiss before you go home, and you leave him snacks in his book bag when you see it lying around. you’re honestly such a blessing, why is the world so against the two of you right now?

but a single ray of light shines down on Choso’s dim day when the head coach sends a text that they can have the day off since they played so well in the last game. he’s almost flying out of his class seat right then and there—his mind is going straight towards you.

he feels like shit as he makes his way out of the flower shop; bouquet in hand. it’s not much, but he hopes you find it sweet enough that you’ll forgive him for how long it’s been since he last saw you. he stood there, individually picking out the best blue hyacinths and white orchids from the bunch, all fresh and neatly wrapped as a sort of poetic apology. you might not even know what it means, but who cares? it’s the thought that counts.

and he feels even weirder driving to your doorstep after all the times he’s run there instead. he’s still nervous even after all the times you’ve held him, kissed him, fucked him. you’re just so perfect, who wouldn’t be near pissing themselves right now with you behind the door?

he’s carefully sliding the single key you gave him in, pushing inwards after he hears the soft click. fingers tightening around the paper holding the flowers together, he steps in. empty.

what the hell? you should be home right now. it’s Friday—your classes end early and your favorite podcast should be up by now. but you’re not here.

choso’s brows furrow. He peered into the kitchen and checked the downstairs bathroom, the backyard, and even under the stairwell. nothing.

agitation crawls up his neck as hears a muffled noise from upstairs. it's faint; almost impossible to hear, but he’s sure it’s you.

the staircase is barely creaking as he makes his way up insanely slow. his grip on the flowers are tight, almost inhumane as he’s prepared to use them as a weapon. his steps are quick once he reaches the top, deathly silent but still quick as he closes in on the cracked open door of your room. the noises are getting slightly louder, more frantic and they sound less like pain and more like moans. moans..?

choso’s heart cracks once and he stops dead in his tracks. there’s no way. he knows he’s been gone for a long time, but it hasn't been that long, right? fuck—you said you loved him, you said it so many times, you wouldn’t cheat on him so quick. you wouldn’t cheat on him at all. so why are you–

“f-fuck cho.. miss you s-so much..”

oh.

oh.

oh.

the blood flow in Choso’s legs finally picks up once again, and he’s noiselessly pushing himself against the wall right next to your doorpost. he’s craning his head so far to the side, but he can finally see it. he can finally see you. and holy shit, he might have just cum in his pants.

your legs are spread, bed facing the door as your fingers disappear into your cunt. your shirt–his shirt is pulled up right under your chin, leaving your cute tits out in the open as you harshly tug on one of your own nipples.

the view is stupidly mesmerizing, and choso catches himself just before he starts drooling at the sight of you. he’s not even paying attention to how hard he is, he’s completely entranced by every little action. the way your body is twitching, how your fingers are moving, how your eyes are pressed tightly shut as you cry out his name.

choso is genuinely about to lose it. he just wants to crawl over there and eat you whole, in more ways than one. but he’s practically glued to the spot; he’s even holding his breath just to not ruin the moment!

but he’s getting knocked out of his incomprehensible trance when you let out a particularly irritated groan.

it’s so annoying. you haven’t been able to cum once since your boyfriend has been scarce. it’s not like you tried anyway, you’d much rather have him pump your orgasms out of you like he seemed to love doing. but it’s been so long, and you’ve been so sexually frustrated that you had to turn back to playing with yourself like this.

it’s not that you couldn’t call him, you’re almost a hundred percent sure he’d run all the way to you if he was on the other side of the country. but you didn’t want to bother him too much. his schedule has been overflowing with activities and he’s probably so busy, you didn’t want to seem inconsiderate! so you’d settled on seeing him when you knew he was free.

but this is getting way too bad, and you’re sure you’d start losing sight in your left ear if you don’t get it out right now.

so against your better judgment, you’re using your free hand to reach over to your phone, banking on the fact that his voice will be enough to get you off. he doesn’t have to know, right? And plus, you can always tell him later when you feel less guilty.

it doesn’t take long for you to find his name surrounded by hearts in your contact list and you’re calling without a second thought. it takes a couple of seconds before the line actually starts to ring.

the loud noise from Choso’s back pocket startles him so much that he drops the flowers he’s forgotten he’s holding. he’s silently cursing himself amidst the noise of his phone singing out, and now he’s lost on what to do.

you speak first though, voice breathy and low as you call out his name. he bites down on his lower lip, slowly stepping into the entrance of your room. you bite back a laugh despite the obscenity of the whole thing. he looks like a kid who got caught with their chubby hand down the cookie jar, he’s just way too cute!

“were you watching me, cho?”

almost immediately he’s a stuttering mess of excuses and apologies. he swears he didn’t mean to, he just wanted to surprise you—he just got a little carried away!

and you can’t hide your smile as you shut him up, gesturing for him to come closer. you’re sitting up now, more covered than before as your shirt rolls down.

you pat the space beside you, signaling for him to come over. it feels like ages, almost eons when your bed finally dips from his weight, but he’s still so far away. it’s definitely an improvement from the first time he came over, but you need him much closer than he is.

you can see his body tense up as you shift closer. he’s still avoiding your eyes, finding the floor much more interesting than the face of yours he always says he can’t get enough of. your fingers are giving his bicep a reassuring squeeze as he apologizes once again. you’re not upset. nowhere near even—this might have been the best possible outcome. but if he’s all mopey like this, neither of you will get anywhere.

“y’know, i don’t mind you watching me.”

you can feel him physically cringe at your words, but you’re not done just yet.

“so, you can keep watching me, or…”

his eyes finally meet yours after what feels like an eternity, waiting for you to go on. there you go.

“or?”

“…you can help me.”

quite literally, you can see the gears turning in that silly little brain of his. but he’s choosing to forgo an actual response, pressing his lips against yours instead. you can’t help the moan you let flow out of you, and he’s grunting in response, arms closing around you hard so he can push you onto your back once more.

choso’s kisses are heavy and full of need, tongue dancing around yours as his fingers graze the exposed skin of your thighs. you feel so good under his rough palms, he can’t help but try to soften his touch. he doesn’t want to hurt you! after all, you’re his most prized possession. he has to take care of you in every way he can.

and you’re half expecting his fingers to replace yours as they were a couple of minutes ago, but he’s pulling back with a sharp huff. you’re lazily opening your eyes, gaze connecting with his again as you start to notice the tips of his ears are a burning red.

“can i... i want to taste you. please.

even with his eyes still trained on yours, his entire face is flushed. even after all these months, he’s still as nervous as ever.

you offer him a welcoming smile and nod. he’s clearing his throat as he moves away, making quick work of getting his shirt off before settling between your legs.

and he’s a little overwhelmed coming face to face with your pussy like this. he knows you’re watching him, and he’s watching your essence drip out and down your cunt as he thinks. he’s racking his brain, trying to think of the best way to approach this. but your hand guiding the back of his head closer towards your aching heat is all the encouragement he needs.

once his tongue comes in contact with your slick, his eyes fall shut. you gasp at the experimental licks he’s giving you, warmth of his tongue sending jolts all the way down into your toes as he groans at how sweet you taste.

he’s catching on with lightning speed, lightly dipping his tongue into your entrance between every couple of strokes from his tongue. his nose is bumping your clit just right, and you’re tugging at his hair quite harshly as he continues to suck at your hole.

it’s his tongue going deep into your cunt that has you arching off the bed, nails digging into his scalp as your thighs close around his ears. his strong hands are only wrapped around your thighs, locking you tight in place as he ravages his new favorite meal.

and the tip of his tongue is starting to invade your sensitive spots as he fucks it in and out of you, wiggling it around when he’s sure it’s as deep as he can go so you’re arching high off the bed. you’re desperately trying to push him away—you’re not sure you can handle all this! but choso is too far gone; he’ll apologize later. right now, he’s going to get a fill of this flavor he’s been missing out on for weeks.

but even with your pleas and cries, choso doesn’t stop. you’d think he’d gone deaf from how hard your thighs were pressing on his ears. truth is he can hear you loud and clear. he just wants to make sure he gets every single drop of your release down his throat.

he’s only had a sneaky taste of it after he helps you finish on his fingers. when you’re finally off the high and sleeping wrapped in his arms like a baby, he’ll bring his digit to his lips, childishly licking at them to get whatever remnants are on his fingers onto his tongue. but it won’t be long before pangs of guilt and shame cover him, and his hand will settle right by your side.

but now? there’s no way he’s about to give this up. he can feel it. the way you’re tightening around his tongue, how your moans are starting to crack just like they always do.

and he’s right because your thick release is hitting his throat in no time, flooding his mouth as he slurps up every last drop.

when he finally lets you free from his vice grip, you’re both panting and sweaty. his chin is entertained covered in your release. you can barely keep your eyes open, but you can hear how choso is fighting to get rid of his pants next.

it’s not long before Choso’s lips collide with yours in a much softer kiss. he’s been slightly… satiated. but his boner is getting more painful by the second, and he misses the way you envelop him so dearly.

he doesn’t break the kiss as he hooks his elbows under your knees. he’s pushing up, not stopping u til your calves are rested perfectly against his shoulders. he didn’t know you could bend like that. you didn’t know you couldn’t bend like that. but both of your trains of thought are broken when he finally pushes into you. a short string of curses falls from his lips when you clamp down around him just like you always do.

and regardless of how impatient he’s been all this time, choso never fails to fuck you properly. his thrusts are calculated and deep, each one making your entire body twitch under him.

you never fail to give him the praise he deserves either, telling him he’s doing so well they turn his harsh grunts into weak whines.

but he loses all composure when you call him ‘my good boy’. you can swear you hear him sob, but the noise gets drowned out fast by the sound of skin slapping as he picks up the speed of his hips

your eyes are crossing, fingers dipping into his shoulders when his pelvis starts to brush your overstimulated clit. he’s hitting everything so right, deep whispers of your name breezing through your head as he pounds into you.

you’re practically an inch away from getting fucked into a concussion but it’s the least of your worries right now. you’ve missed this—you’ve missed him. it’s the moments where he’s so raw with you, no masks of shame or fear covering how he truly feels that you love the most. this is the cost that you love.

but you’re still a human being, and one with limits. your orgasm is bubbling hard in the pits of your belly, so you’re tightening your own hold on him, mumbling about how you’re getting close. and you barely last another five seconds before a stupidly broken ‘i love you’ falls from your swollen lips.

those three words are sending choso over the edge so fast he can’t help the strangled noise that comes from his throat. those words are pumping energy throughout every vein of his body, and even through his orgasm, he doesn’t stop his movements. his face is digging into your neck as he rides out the rest of his high, tears dripping onto the skin of your collarbone.

you’re so confused when you recover, that you don’t know what to say! all you can do is shush him, dragging your fingers calmly through his messy strands as you try to calm him down. even through his fit, he’s still apologizing and it breaks your heart over and over. all you can do is press a sweet kiss against the side of his face and tell him how cute he looks with his face all wet like this. then he remembers.

he’s returning to your sides within seconds, setting the bouquet carefully in your arms before explaining what it’s supposed to be. they’ve already been out for quite some time though, so you’ll need to take them downstairs to place in a jar before they start to wilt too badly. but you’re in no state to walk like this.

so choso is scooping you up bridal style despite your protests and carrying you down the steps. he only puts you down to place you in front of the kitchen sink as he moves around to find a suitable container. it’s adorable you think, how proactive he is about this. but he’s done pretty quickly, and all you have to do is lean over the basin and push the jar onto the sill.

which you do with a gasp because he’s pressing onto your back, wrapping his arms around your waist. but that’s not what catches you off guard, it’s how hard he is. and with the way his hand is trailing down between your thighs, you know you don’t have long before you’ll be getting filled up again.

if you think you’ve missed him, you have no idea how much he’s missed you. and even with that, he’s so considerate! he knows how tired your legs must be, so he’s keeping you up with his vice-like grip as he fucks into you from behind right in front of the kitchen window. your brain's been turned to mush a long time ago, you don’t even care if your neighbors see you like this. all that’s on your mind is how bruised you’re going to be when choso finally lets up, and how much cum he can pump into you until he has to go for his next practice.

[flowersforbucky]

love language

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 6.6k

snapshots of your relationship with bucky told through the five love languages.

“remember, we're madly in love, so it's alright to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”

warnings/tags: smut, oral, unprotected sex, mentions of blood, wound care, brief uses of alcohol, anxiety and self-doubt, language, reader is afab, avenger!reader, fluffier than what i typically write, undercover mission, friends to lovers!!! 18+ only

Acts of Service

“Exciting Friday night?” Your head snaps up at the masculine voice. You nearly slosh hot tea on both yourself and the pages of the book that lay open in your lap. You're surprised to see him - as far as you were aware, Bucky and Sam were in Munich. You didn't think they were supposed to be back in the country for another two days.

“Something like that,” you answer, regaining your composure as you bring the mug to your lips. “What are you doing back so early? Did recon go okay?”

Bucky lets out a long sigh as he plops down into the recliner, adjacent to where you're curled up on the sofa in the compound’s communal living room. His eyelids look heavier than normal, with dark circles underneath that aren't typically present. You place your cup of tea on the end table next to you and close the book before angling your body towards him, giving him your undivided attention.

“It was a shit-show,” he answers bluntly, voice laced with defeat. “HYDRA had the drop on us from the minute we entered Germany. What was supposed to be us just gathering intel turned into an ambush. One minute, it was just the two of us in an old warehouse, and then the next..” he trails off, eyes locked on one of the buttons of his tactical pants that he’s fidgeting with. “We’re lucky to have made it out. Sam was taken to med-bay as soon as we got back. Broken arm and collarbone, dislocated shoulder, possibly a few fractured ribs..” he lists off the injuries.

“Jesus,” you cringe, a death grip on the book in your hands as you listen to him summarize the mission. “Looks like you came out pretty unscathed in comparison.” You glance him over from head to toe, relieved to see no visible wounds or bruises.

“Yeah, well,” he starts, sitting forward and pulling the collar of his black t-shirt over to expose his right shoulder. Your eyes bulge when you see the obvious knife wound that the fabric had been concealing. “Not completely unscathed.”

“Holy shit, Bucky, why didn’t you go get this stitched up?” You stand up quickly, your book falling forgotten to the floor as you step closer to him to inspect the cut. There’s dried blood covering the surrounding skin of his chest and shoulder, with fresh blood still seeping from the opening of the wound. Even with the luxury of the Quinjet, a direct flight from Germany to New York is at least eight hours, who knows how long the cut had been steadily oozing–

“The bleeding has slacked off for the most part at this point,” he tries to assure you, attempting to cover the wound back up with his shirt. His shirt that, upon closer inspection, is thoroughly soaked through with blood. You all but smack his hand away so that you can continue to inspect the cut.

“It’s too deep,” you shake your head. “It needs stitches.”

“It’ll be fine by morning–” he starts to argue with you, but you’re already walking away from him, exiting the room to retrieve a first-aid kit kept in one of the shared bathrooms just down the hallway. Though you can’t currently see him, you have no doubt that he is shaking his head and rolling his eyes at you.

Before returning to the living room, you stop by the kitchen and grab a cold can of Blue Moon to help take the edge off. Upon reentering the living room, you find that he’s hunched over where he sits in the recliner, leaning forward to grab your book from where it had fallen on the rug.

“What were you reading before I so rudely interrupted you?” The corner of his mouth tugs upwards in a smirk as he inspects the cover of the book.

“The Hunger Games,” you answer simply as you place the first-aid kit on the couch and hold out the beer to him. He accepts the drink, a small, surprised smile appearing on his face.

“Shirt,” you instruct a second later, turning to him with a warm, wet rag that you intend to clean some of the dried blood off with. Surprisingly, he obliges your request, placing both the beer and the book in his lap to pull the bloodied fabric over his head.

“And what exactly is The Hunger Games about?” he asks, looking up at you through his thick lashes before turning his attention back to the book in his lap. He flips it over, skimming the words on the back cover.

“The Hunger Games,” you begin as you delicately swipe the damp washcloth across the dirty skin around his wound, watching as the material turns from white to pink as it collects the old blood. “Are dystopian fiction novels. The books get their title from an annual event in which a boy and a girl, ranging from the ages of twelve to eighteen, from twelve different districts are selected by name-drawing to compete in a fight to the death. Twenty-four go into an arena, one comes out.”

“Sheesh,” Bucky grimaces and pops the tab to the beer. You turn away from him, placing the soiled washcloth on the table next to him before retrieving some disinfectant from the kit. “And what’s the point in having a bunch of children kill each other?”

“Punishment and control,” you shrug, pouring some of the clear liquid on a large gauze pad until it’s soaked. He gives you a vague nod, signaling he’s ready for you to clean the wound. You dab the drenched cotton along the opening of the wound, wincing more visibly than Bucky does himself. “The districts where the children are reaped from have had uprisings against the nation’s Capitol in the past. The games are to punish them, as well as to remind them what power the Capitol holds.”

Bucky’s brows furrow together, contemplating your words. You make the initial incision for his stitches and he lets out a grunt of discomfort. “Sorry,” you mumble, concentrating on the stitchwork.

“So what happens?” He asks after a few moments of silence, obviously trying to distract himself from the needle going in and out of his tender flesh as he sips on the amber colored liquid. “The group of kids rebel and take down the Capitol?”

“You’re not too far off,” you chuckle lightly. “I guess you’ll just have to read them for yourself to find out.”

“I suppose I will,” he says, eyeing your needlework from the corner of his eye. “Will you let me borrow your copies when I finish The Lord of the Rings?”

“You’re reading The Lord of the Rings?” you fail at hiding your tone of surprise, more focused on finishing suturing his cut.

“Don’t act so shocked,” he feigns insult. “I read when I have the free time to do so.” He turns his head towards you for the first time since you began stitching, causing you to realize just how close his face is to your own. You push down the fluttery feeling in the pit of your stomach at the close proximity, clearing your throat as you turn to grab a pair of small medical scissors. You clip the thread before backing away from him.

“That should hold you together well enough until your supernatural super-soldier healing abilities take care of it while you sleep.”

He stands from his position in the recliner, holding out your book to you. “Thank you,” he tells you sincerely. “For the stitches, and the beer.”

“Of course,” you say as you take your book back from him. “Don’t want you getting blood all over the compound.”

“I think I’m gonna go check on Sam,” he sighs. “I’ll let you get back to your reading.”

“Get some rest!” you demand as he retreats to the hallway.

“Yes ma’am,” he calls without looking back, his Brooklyn drawl making an appearance.

For the rest of the night, you try to focus on your book and not the way you felt when his plush pink lips and cerulean blue eyes were just inches from your face.

Receiving Gifts

One week later

Punctuality has never been your strong-suit, but you didn’t expect to be the very last person to arrive at Bucky’s birthday party - get together, as he insists on calling it, since he feels silly having a birthday party at over one hundred years old. However, as you’re approaching the pavilion at the compound’s lake, you see that all of your friends are already mingling comfortably.

Natasha, Sharon, and Wanda wave at you from where they lounge next to the bonfire, Steve and Sam are engaged in an intense game of beer pong (which Sam seems to be doing impressively well at, considering one arm is still in a cast and sling), Clint and Bruce are playing cornhole - everyone is here, though you don’t see the one person you came for.

You make your way over to a picnic table closer to the lake that has been dedicated to presents so that you can add yours to the pile. You had ordered the gift a week ago, the same night that you had stitched up Bucky’s shoulder wound, and it arrived just in time - in today's mail, only an hour ago.

Hence the reason you are the last to arrive with a shittily-wrapped present in hand.

“Is that Avengers wrapping paper?” You whirl around at the amused voice to see Bucky walking towards you.

“That it is,” you confirm. “You and I aren't featured, though. Just the OGs,” you shrug, staring down at the cartoon depictions of Steve and the others.

“I was starting to wonder if you weren't going to come.” He says lightheartedly, nodding in the direction of everyone else.

“Your present didn't get delivered until the last minute,” you explain, giving the box-shaped object in your hand a shake. “Didn't want to show up empty handed.”

“You didn't have to get me a gift at all,” he says reassuringly, but eyes the present curiously. “But since you almost missed my party over it, I should open it right away.” He holds his hands out expectantly, almost childlike.

You roll your eyes, handing over the poorly packaged present. You had never been the best at gift-wrapping, usually preferring to reuse bags.

“I did not almost miss your party. It's just now eight o'clock,” you defend yourself, staring at the sun that's just starting to set over the lake's horizon, painting the New York sky in hues of orange and purple.

He smirks, walking past you to place the present on the table. You watch as he rips the wrapping paper away unceremoniously, until the gift is revealed.

“I know you had asked to borrow my copies,” you begin, suddenly feeling nervous as you watch him look over the box set of the first edition of The Hunger Games trilogy. “But my copies are old, and tattered, and have been annotated to shit, so.. I thought maybe you'd like your own,” you shrug nonchalantly.

He studies the box, pulling out the first book and glancing it over with a look you can't quite decipher. There's a faint hint of rose on his cheeks, and the lines around his eyes crinkle when he turns his head to look at you.

“Thank you,” he says with a soft, earnest smile. “This is incredibly thoughtful of you. I'm going to start reading them–”

“This pizza is getting cold!” You hear Sam's voice bellow from under the pavilion a few yards away. “I'm about to dig in with or without the birthday boy.”

You exhale through your nose, a half laugh, half sigh and look at Bucky expectantly. “Pretty sure you're the only birthday boy here.”

“I guess that's my cue,” he sighs as he places the books with the rest of his unopened gifts. “Thanks again, really. It's my favorite gift,” he adds with a sly grin as he begins to walk towards Sam and the table of pizza boxes.

“You haven't even opened the others yet,” you point out, following in his steps.

“Don’t need to open any of the others to know that yours is my favorite.”

Words of Affirmation

Two weeks later

Overstimulated. That's the best word to describe the way you're currently feeling.

Nervous, uncomfortable, irritable, a little hungry, even - any of those words would suffice, too. But with the way the velvet fabric of your dress hugs your hips too tightly, the way that the conversation of the drunk party guests roars in your ears, and the way that the heels of your feet already burn in your platform wedges so early in the evening, you think overstimulated sums up your current state the best.

You fidget with the extravagant ring that adorns your left ring finger, twisting it back and forth and rubbing the pad of your right thumb across the oval-shaped stone.

You aren't even supposed to be here, your brain keeps reminding you. It was supposed to be Natasha. Natasha, who has a boatload of undercover operations experience. But then she had to come down with the flu. Natasha, who never gets sick with anything more than a head cold, bedridden with the flu the day before a highly anticipated undercover mission that you are now taking her place in.

It's not that you hadn't been part of an undercover operation before - you had. You just hadn't been part of any undercover operation that required you to pose as someone's wife before.

Definitely not Bucky's wife.

The two of you had just arrived at the party no more than thirty minutes ago and you had spent the entirety of that time thinking that you wouldn't be able to make this believable; that everyone would see how anxious and awkward you feel and just know - just know that you weren't meant to be here and that it's abundantly clear that you and Bucky aren't actually together.

“Ivanov just arrived,” Bucky's voice murmurs next to your ear as he walks up behind you, snapping you out of your self-doubt induced trance. His left hand, disguised using nano-tech to look like a human, flesh hand, comes to rest against the small of your back and his right hand extends the drink that he retrieved for you from the bar.

“How'd you know I like lemon drops?” You ask, instantly recognizing the pale yellow liquid in the martini glass.

“I'm your husband. It's part of my job to know your go-to cocktail,” he smirks, looking at you in a way that almost makes you believe his words. “Besides, I'd know your drink of choice anyway. You always order a lemon drop.”

You clear your throat, breaking his stare by checking out the fellow attendees and event staff filtering through the ballroom. You slowly sip the sour liquid, trying to focus on the burn of the vodka and not the heat radiating across the skin of your back from him simply resting his fingers against the material of your dress.

“So where's Ivanov?” you break the tension. The illegal arms dealer that you'd been assigned to spy on was nowhere to be seen.

“He should be showing his face any minute now,” Bucky answers, a hint of displeasure in his voice. “I overheard some men at the bar saying he had just arrived in a three million dollar Bugatti with his twenty year old girlfriend.” You visibly cringe at the numbers. Ivanov had to be approaching senior citizen status at this point.

“Can't say that I'd expect anything else from him,” you sigh, attempting to wipe the disgust from your features. “What’s our game plan from here? Hover close by him and listen in on conversations–”

“Dance with me,” Bucky interrupts, his eyes locked on something on the opposite side of the room. You follow his gaze, realizing that Ivanov has entered with his exceptionally youthful girlfriend on his arm. Bucky extends his own arm to you, which you accept after tossing back the last sip of your drink and setting the empty glass on a table behind you.

He guides you to the center of the dance floor where several other couples are swaying to classical piano music. Ivanov mingles with a small group of questionable looking men just a few feet behind you, where Bucky is able to keep an eye on him.

He places one hand on your waist, using the other to hold one of yours in his own as he begins to slowly sway both of you to the rhythm of the music. Your free hand rests on the back of his neck, where you nervously twirl a tuft of his hair between your perfectly manicured fingers (you tried not to take too much offense to Sharon rushing you to the first salon she could find yesterday to help you look the part).

Bucky huffs a low laugh before using his grip on your hip to tug you closer to him, closing an awkward amount of space that separates your chest from his.

“If we want this to be believable, you’re gonna have to act like you kind of like me,” he murmurs lowly so that no one near you overhears. His face is just inches from yours - the scent of sandalwood from his aftershave and spearmint from his mouthwash is dizzying. Add in the fact that the lemon drop you had just quickly downed was heavy on the vodka, it’s a miracle that you’re still standing upright in these ridiculous heels that Sharon had picked out for you.

“I do like you,” you huff, your cheeks warming. “Not liking you isn’t the problem.” His gaze shifts away from where Ivanov stands a few yards behind you and down to your face.

“What is the problem then?”

You stare at his hand that holds yours, your eyes fixated on the brilliant diamond of your faux wedding ring. “For starters, I don’t really know how to slow dance,” you half-mumble. As if on cue, your left ankle shifts ever so slightly in your shoe, causing you to wobble. Bucky tightens his grasp on both your waist and hand to help steady you. He cackles - loudly enough for an old lady walking by to give him a side-eye.

“I think it’s pretty unlikely that our cover gets blown because you’re a little unsteady,” he whispers reassuringly. It does little to ease the lump of anxiety that has settled in your gut.

“It’s not just my lack of dancing experience,” you retort. “It’s all of this. I’m a bit out of my element here and I can’t help but feel like Natasha would have been able to do a much better–”

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, beginning to massage his thumb over the skin of your hand in languid, circular motions. You can’t decide if it’s the effects of the alcohol coursing through your veins or if it’s just the fact that it’s him, but it feels as though there’s a continuous trail of hot sparks everywhere his skin touches yours. “You've got this. If anyone’s got this, it's you. You've handled missions far more daunting than this with ease, right?”

You finally shift your eyes to meet his gaze. His deep blue eyes bore into yours with utmost sincerity. You give him a small nod of agreement and a tight-lipped, uncertain smile.

He leans in closer so that his mouth hovers just next to your ear, his warm breath raising goosebumps down the expanse of your neck and shoulders.

“And remember, we're madly in love, so it's alright to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”

The slow, gentle swaying motions you'd been forcing your body to perform come to a sudden halt. You look at Bucky as if he's grown a second head. He’s looking at you with a shit-eating grin spread from ear to ear.

“Did you just quote Peeta Mellark?”

“I finished up the first book yesterday,” he shrugs as if his words hadn't just made your heart skip several beats. “Now let's get this job over with so we can go discuss the book in detail over some greasy diner food, yeah?”

Quality Time

The mere thought of getting the fuck out of that giant estate and away from Ivanov and the other countless skeevy party-goers to gorge on greasy diner food was more than enough motivation to get you through the duration of the mission.

Of course, it helped that Ivanov is a lightweight drunk with no concept of volume control. After a couple drinks, he handed the location of his next illegal arms deal to you and Bucky on a silver platter - without ever even noticing the two of you dancing just feet away from him.

“I'm sending the audio recording over to you right now,” Bucky says as he types on his cell phone. The two of you are currently in a drugstore parking lot half an hour away from the estate, sitting in the Audi SUV that you'd been given for this evening’s mission.

“Got it,” Sam’s voice booms through the car’s Bluetooth speakers a second later. “You guys did great back there. Go ahead and get back to the compound for debriefing.”

Your eyes flash to the time on the vehicle's touchscreen display - 10:06 pm. You can feel your stomach churning from hunger and your skin itching to get out of the restrictive velvet fabric, the last thing you wanted to do at this hour was go to a fucking debriefing.

“About that..” Bucky starts, noticing your disappointed expression and tense posture. “Debriefing is going to have to wait until the morning.”

“We should really get any details while they are still fresh–”

“What’s that? Sam? Sorry, you're breaking up, can't understand what you're–”

Bucky's flesh finger touches a button on the digital display screen and the call disconnects before he finishes his sentence.

“You know he's going to call back any second, right?” You ask after a moment of loaded silence. Bucky says nothing at first. You watch as he powers off his phone, and then grabs yours from its location in the center cup holder and powers it off, as well.

“I fully anticipate him trying,” he answers as he puts the car in reverse and peels out of the nearly vacant parking lot. “But I promised you a potentially gut-rotting meal, and I'm going to keep that promise.”

Half an hour later, you and Bucky sit opposite each other in a cozy, corner booth of the only open diner in a five mile radius. It's half diner, half arcade, and the two of you are some of the only people here save for the teenage couple making out next to the jukebox in the gaming area. You both look out of place - him in his black satin suit and you in your burgundy colored dress with the thigh-slit, but you're too relieved to be eating to care.

He's already scarfed down a fried chicken sandwich and is rapidly making his way through a pile of mozzarella sticks. You're eating a fat stack of blueberry pancakes and the best loaded hash browns that you think you've ever had.

Breakfast foods hit different at eleven o'clock at night.

“I'm just saying, Katniss is kind of oblivious,” Bucky shrugs with a mouthful of fried cheese. “It's obvious that Peeta was never just pretending to be in love with her.”

“That's a big assumption coming from someone who hasn't even started the second book yet,” you say as you fork a bite of pancake into your mouth.

He throws his hands up in mock defense, covering his now empty plate up with a dirty napkin.

“You're not wrong though,” you admit. “She did miss a lot of signs, and she's not always the most reliable narrator.”

He responds with a small hum as he watches you finish your pancakes with a soft smile that shows his laugh lines and the dimple of his left cheek.

His smile turns to something more curious as the young couple who had been making out in the arcade room earlier dashes past your booth and out the back door of the restaurant.

“What is it?” You ask, pushing your empty plate towards the center of the table.

“The game room is free now,” he states, as if it's obvious. “Now I can kick your ass in air hockey.”

And kick your ass in air hockey he does. And skee ball, and Dance Dance revolution.

“Please don't tell Natasha that you beat me at Dance Dance Revolution,” you beg him as you pick up your high heels that you had discarded for the game. “She'll never let me live that one down. In fact, if anyone asks, it was a dead tie for all of these games.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” he chuckles, approaching the pool table in the center of the room and leaning against the edge. “As long as you win this game of pool.”

“No, nope, absolutely not,” you freeze where you're standing, crossing your arms over your chest. “If I couldn't beat you at air hockey then I don't stand a chance of beating you at pool.”

He ignores you, instead turning to choose two cue sticks from the selection on the back wall. He tosses one to you from several feet away, which you instinctively drop your shoes to the floor to catch.

“I haven't even tried to play pool since I was maybe ten years old,” you whine.

“Why were you trying to play pool at ten years old?” he chuckles, gathering up all of the balls and placing them inside the triangular rack in the center of the table.

“It was at a birthday party,” you admit. “I pretended to know what I was doing to impress a boy that I had a crush on.”

“And how did that go for you?” He removes the triangle-shaped container from around the balls and begins to line up his shot.

“Well, I haven't tried to play pool since then,” you begin, taking a seat on the edge of the table and turning your head to watch him. He pulls the cue stick back and quickly stabs it forward, breaking the balls apart and sending them rolling in various directions across the felt table. “And Kyle from my fourth grade class thought that I had cooties, so, you tell me how you think that went for me.”

“Sounds like it was Kyle's loss.” You watch as he walks to one of the table's pockets to look inside. “I've got stripes,” he states, looking at you with an expectant smile.

You exhale a dramatic sigh, hopping off the edge of the table and turning around to position your stick in front of the cue ball.

“Fine,” you relent, looking up at him from where you're leaning over across the table. “But you're not allowed to laugh at me when you realize I wasn't lying about having no experience at this.”

“Scout's honor,” he swears and you can tell by his smile and reddened cheeks that he’s already trying to contain his laughter.

Feeling extra nervous due to the way you can physically feel him watching you, you take an embarrassing amount of time working up the courage to propel the tip of the cue stick towards a solid purple colored ball.

It travels a foot or so across the green felt material of the table and comes to a stop just inches away from a corner pocket.

“Damn it,” you sigh under your breath.

“That wasn't too bad, actually,” he says, not even trying to conceal his tone of surprise as he walks over to where you're standing. “You just need to change your stance a little and hit the ball a bit harder.”

“So, do basically everything differently, then?”

“I can help you, if you want,” he offers with a smug grin.

“Hm,” you bite your lip as you pretend to contemplate the proposition. “Okay,” you accept with a shrug. “But this better not be an attempt to pull a cliche “pretend to help her with pool as an excuse to make a move” kind of move.” You're fully joking - you know Bucky well enough to know he wouldn't make such a corny, obvious move with anyone - and you definitely wouldn't expect him to do so with you.

But you don't miss the way his expression darkens ever so slightly and his eyes sweep up your figure before moving to stand behind you, propping his own cue stick up against the table.

The front of your thighs brush up against the edge of the table and Bucky’s arms enclose you on either side - his hands coming to rest next to each of your legs on the table's edge, as close as they can be to you without actually touching.

Your breath hitches in your throat when the silky material of his suit brushes against your bare shoulders, the sensation causing you to go deadly still as you await his next move.

“With how fast your heart is beating right now, I don't think I would have to do something as cheesy as that to make a move.” He murmurs, his mouth close enough to the exposed skin of your neck that you can feel the heat of his breath. It's an automatic response, the way your head tilts back into his touch. You start to pull away, start to feel embarrassed, start to tell him just how wrong he is, when he brings a flesh finger to the ball of your shoulder and trails his index finger down the skin of your arm, eliciting a surge of goosebumps in its wake.

This physical reaction doesn't go unnoticed by him, either. He hums a small laugh, inching closer to you so that his body presses against your ass.

“In fact,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, “I think that if I wanted to, I could have you bent over this table for me without having to resort to anything like that.”

If his chest wasn't pinning you between him and the pool table, you probably would have fallen over. The air in the arcade feels a sudden ten degrees warmer and you swear you can hear your blood pumping in your ears - things that unfortunately can't be blamed on the effects of the martini that had dissipated from your system hours ago.

No, it's all him. His closeness, his warmth, his voice, his scent. Just him.

“If you wanted to, yeah?” You question, your voice an octave higher than you ideally would have liked. “That makes it sound like you don't want to. But the bulge I'm feeling from your pants makes it seem like you do want to. Kinda sending me mixed signals here.” You rut back against him for good measure.

He hisses next to your ear, his hands snapping to your hips, effectively stilling you beneath him. His fingers dig into the flesh around your hip bones, the pressure somewhere perfectly between uncomfortable and pleasurable.

“Here? Bent over this table?” he tuts, his lips grazing the skin next to the shoulder strap of your dress. “Where a couple of unsuspecting teenagers could walk in for a game of skee ball at any second?” He lets out a low laugh, the sound vibrating against your back.

“No, I don't think so,” he continues. “Not when we've got a brand new Audi with a spacious backseat and highly tinted windows just outside this building.”

Physical Touch

If someone had asked you six hours ago if you thought there was a chance you would be ending this night by having sex with Bucky Barnes, you would have said no.

But if someone had asked you if you thought there was a chance you would be having sex with Bucky Barnes in the backseat of a car in a diner-arcade combo parking lot, you would have said fuck no.

You would have been wrong on both accounts. And with the way that he's nipping and sucking up the insides of your thighs, you're pretty fucking okay with that.

Your dress is bunched up around your waist, your panties discarded on the floor of the car. You're laying as comfortably as you can across the backseat with Bucky nestled snuggly between your legs. It's a tight fit, and the stagnant air inside the Audi is balmy, but you'll be damned if you interrupt this to turn the AC on. The only light inside the vehicle is from the glow of the full moon that illuminates the sky, and the giant neon green diner sign a few yards away from where you're parked.

He's not wasting any time - it's well past midnight at this point and considering the fact that Bucky turned your cell phones off hours ago, you're surprised that Sam hasn't traced the location of the vehicle and sent search and rescue already.

As soon as his mouth makes contact with your center, you’re lacing your fingers through his short, soft locks and tugging on them. You grind your pussy against his face, meeting his fervent motions with your own. He locks his lips around your clit before pulling away with an obscene, wet pop that echoes through the cab of the car.

He reaches one hand up to your shoulders while keeping his lips on you, quickly tugging down the spaghetti straps of your dress and then pawing at the fabric covering your chest to free your tits.

At the same time that he plunges his tongue inside you, he rolls a nipple between two of his cool, metal digits, yearning a sharp yelp from you. He releases his grip and then palms your breast in his hand, continuing to work your folds with his lips and tongue.

You don't know if it's the fact that it's been a ridiculous amount of time since you so much as kissed someone or the fact that Bucky eats pussy like he's starving, but you're approaching your climax insanely fast.

You clench your thighs around his ears and push your hips upwards, the friction building that warm tension in your lower belly that comes spilling over when he lets out a guttural moan across your core.

You cum against his face, feeling your juices drip down the insides of your thighs - there's a pesky voice in the back of your head telling you that you're going to have to pay to have this car detailed before giving it back.

He sits up, his back resting against the middle of the leather seat. He unbuttons and unzips his suit pants, raising off the seat just enough to tug them down to mid-thigh along with his boxers. You're still coming down from your orgasm when he's pulling you up from the seat and into a sitting position.

You tuck your legs underneath you so that you're propped up on your knees on the seat directly next to him. Bucky pumps himself in his hand as you lean over, gathering all of the saliva in your mouth and letting it slide between your lips and over the head of his cock.

You push his hand away to replace it with your own, using your spit as lubrication as you stroke him up and down. He throws his head back against the headrest, looking up at the roof of the car as he brings his hand around the curve of your ass, flesh hand finding your pussy that's still throbbing from how hard he had made you cum.

You can feel the smooth band of the engagement ring that you'd been wearing all evening repeatedly caress a large vein on the side of his dick - you remove your hand from him, causing him to snap his head back down to look at you. You bring your other hand to remove the ring from your finger, planning to tuck it into a cup holder for safekeeping while you use your hands on him.

“Leave it on,” he breaks the thick silence when he realizes what you're doing. “Want you to keep wearing it.”

You push the ring back down on your finger, his command sending a fresh wave of arousal to your core. You're extending your hand back to his cock when he cuts you off, pulling you to him and across his lap.

You straddle him, his erection locked between your pussy lips and his lower belly. You move forwards, and then backwards - earning another deep groan from him as you coat the underbelly of his cock in your juices. You grind up and down against him several times, until you're feeling impossibly empty and can't take the feeling of not having him inside you any longer.

You lift yourself up on the balls of your feet, high enough for him to guide himself to your entrance. He teases your hole with his head - or at least tries to, before you're sinking yourself down onto his length. You go still for a moment when he's fully inside you, giving you both time to adjust to the new, overwhelming sensation of each other.

You begin to ride him, slowly at first - he stretches you blissfully sweet and soon you're picking up the pace, your ass bouncing off of his thighs with each comedown.

He places a hand on the back of your neck, pulling your face down to his in a sloppy, searing kiss. It hits you that he's inside you raw right now, and you're just now kissing. You taste yourself on him, warm and salty sweet. He sweeps his tongue along your bottom lip and you open up for him, letting him explore your mouth from the perfect angle that he's at beneath you.

He continues to kiss you but removes his hand from the back of your neck, moving both of them to cup your ass. He begins to meet your movements with his own, thrusting himself upwards so that his cock is ramming into that sweet spot of your cervix and sending you towards a second climax.

“Feel so fuckin’ good,” you moan into his mouth, breaking the kiss for air. Your encouragement spurs him on, increasing the speed of his thrusts. Your legs turn to jelly beneath you, but he's got you - he holds you up by your ass cheeks and leans forward to take one of your nipples in his warm mouth.

It's enough to send you over the edge again. Your orgasm builds, heat exploding through your abdomen as his movements grow erratic and he spills into you from below.

He stills beneath you when you're both spent, your chest heaving against his. You make no effort to remove yourself from him, and he seems more than happy to keep you right where you are - his arms locking around your waist and pulling you close to him.

“I guess now would be as good of a time as any to ask you if you'd like to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Go on a date with you sometime?” You lean back, looking down with him with the limited amount of moonlight and neon lighting that breaks through the tinted windows. “We dressed up real nice, slow danced, spied on a bad guy, ate greasy diner food, played arcade games, and you're inside me as we speak. I think it's safe to say we're currently on a date.”

He snorts, breaking into laughter beneath you. “A second date, then,” he concedes. “I would love to take you on a second date.”

♡♡♡♡♡

thank you for reading!!! kind of nervous to put this one out there tbh, i've been working on it off and on for weeks but i love how it turned out and i hope you all do too. as always comments and reblogs are very appreciated 💕

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