#but. yeah. feel free to imagine they are there

[othernightslikethis]

ARE YOU ENGAGED?

3,9k words

smut

Karina (Aespa) x Male Reader

Hey there, folks, it's been a while. I'm trying out new writing styles, so bear with me! This was supposed to come out on Karina's birthday, but a few things happened that caused quite a delay! That's it

Yuu Jimin.

Your Brother’s Damned Bride.

You didn’t even know who she was when you had her. When your hands gripped that slender waist, when your lips met the smooth curve of her neck, when you buried your balls deep inside her tight cunt in the loo of some upscale club—she was your brother’s fiancée.

But let’s start at the beginning.

Two years ago, you and your older brother had a row that began as something trivial and ended in irreparable damage. No one even remembered the reason—money? Jealousy? Some drunken comment after too much soju?—but the result was you packing your bags and leaving for London without a second glance.Life there wasn’t easy at first. You drowned yourself in work, in parties, in random bodies you couldn’t remember the next morning. It was liberating, but hollow. Your parents called occasionally, but your brother? Complete silence.

Until that bloody invitation arrived.

"We request the pleasure of your company at the wedding of..."

You nearly spat out your coffee reading it. He was getting married. And worse—he wanted you as his best man.

Your first instinct was to ignore it. But something—guilt, maybe, or longing—made you reply "Yes" before you could think twice.Yet returning home wouldn’t be so simple. Your old room no longer existed (now a posh office for your father), and staying in a hotel seemed too depressing. That’s when Hwang Hyun-jin, your brother-from-another-mother since school days, came through with a solution:

"Just crash at mine, yeah? Still got that ugly sofa with your name on it."

On your first night back in Seoul, Hyun-jin already had plans.

"There’s a new place in the city centre—expensive drinks, beautiful people, perfect for forgetting you’re here for a wedding.

"You didn’t resist. And that’s when everything went wrong.

You were on your third whisky when she appeared.

Sitting alone at the bar, wearing a tight black dress that left little to the imagination. Hair dark as ebony, lips painted red, legs that went on forever. She smiled when she caught you staring, and you—drunk, stupid, completely oblivious—didn’t hesitate before approaching.

"Here alone?" you asked, in slightly rusty Korean

.She laughed, the sound low and husky, twisting something in your gut.

"Depends. Are you offering company?"

It was too easy. She leaned into you, her fingers playing with the collar of your shirt, her perfume—sweet with a hint of something forbidden—filling your lungs. When your hand slid along the curve of her waist, she didn’t pull away. On the contrary, she pressed herself even tighter against you.

"You kiss well... for a lost boy," she murmured against your mouth.

You didn’t even process the comment before she tugged your belt and whispered:

"Bathroom. Now."

---

She threw herself into the cubicle like a hurricane of sedition and pent-up desire. Her high heels slipped slightly on the damp bathroom floor as she lunged at you, but it didn’t stop her—her blood-red nails dug into your waist as she shoved you with animal force against the cold wall. You staggered, feeling the hard edge of the toilet press into your thighs, but you didn’t fall. Not when she was there, warm and insistent, smelling of jasmine and lust.

"Someone’s in a hurry," you growled, but any teasing died in your throat when she dropped to her knees with the fluid motion of a geisha, her knees meeting the filthy bathroom floor without hesitation.

Your leather belt creaked as she tugged it free with sharp teeth, the metal buckle clattering against the tiles with a final click. Your zip was down in a blink—you hadn’t even noticed when she’d undone your trousers, but there they were, sliding to your knees, your boxers yanked down with a firm motion from someone who knew exactly what they wanted.

Your cock was already throbbing, swollen with need, the vein pulsing visibly as it met the humid bathroom air. Her eyes dilated like a feline’s before prey—dark pupils swallowing her russet irises as her wet tongue dragged slowly over wine-red lips.

"Fuck," she murmured, her voice a rough whisper as her manicured hands wrapped around your length, measuring, comparing. "You’re… much bigger than him." A low, husky laugh escaped her throat as her thumbs smeared the pre-cum already beading at your tip. "Much."

You almost asked who "him" was, almost questioned why she was here alone in a bar, almost showed a shred of decency. But then she opened that sinful mouth and swallowed you to the hilt in one smooth motion, and all rational thought evaporated.

"Fuuuuck," you moaned, your voice echoing off the cramped bathroom walls as her throat constricted around you. She gagged, eyes watering, but didn’t pull back—instead, she took you deeper, nostrils flaring as she fought her reflex. You could feel every spasm, every clench of that hot, tight throat, and when you looked down, the sight was near pornographic:

Your cock disappearing between her swollen lips, spit dripping from the corners of her mouth, her makeup slightly smudged. And then you saw—she’d hiked up her tight black dress to her waist, revealing nothing underneath. Nothing. Just that perfect body, skin smooth as silk, and that…

"You really are a little slut, aren’t you?" you snarled, fingers tightening in her ebony hair.

"Left home without knickers, knowing you’d spread for someone tonight?"

She answered by pulling back until only your tip remained between her lips, her burning eyes locking onto yours as her right hand slid between her own legs. The sound she made when her fingers found her swollen clit was something between a moan and a stifled laugh.

"I knew… I’d find… a proper cock today," she gasped between slow licks at your head, each word punctuated by a flick of her tongue that made your abs clench. "He… ahhh… he never fucks me like this." Her fingers were now plunging into herself with quick, filthy strokes, the wet sound filling the small space between you. "Never… makes me… feel… like this…"

Doubt hammered at your mind like a distant echo—should I really be doing this?—but every moral thought dissolved the moment your hands fisted in her dark hair, guiding your cock back into that hot, obedient throat.

She didn’t resist. Didn’t pull away.Just opened her eyes and stared up at you, pupils blown with want, as you used her mouth as you pleased. Your hips moved on instinct, slamming against her face with a savage rhythm, each thrust taking her deeper until your balls hit her wet chin.

"Take it, slut. Swallow it all," you growled, fingers tightening in her scalp.

She choked, tears welling, but didn’t stop. Her hands clutched your thighs, nails digging in as if begging for more.

When you finally yanked her back, a thick string of spit still connected her lips to your cock. She gasped, lipstick smeared, face flushed with effort—and yet, she smiled.

It was then that you fixed your eyes on those breasts.

She understood immediately.With a deliberately slow movement, she pulled her dress down, freeing those perfect tits—large, firm, her nipples already hardened with arousal. She swayed them in front of you, letting them slap together, and the moist sound of flesh against flesh nearly made you lose control.

"Come on, big boy," she teased, her voice hoarse from sucking. "I know you want it."

Before you could react, she had already trapped your cock between them, squeezing with perfect pressure. Hot. Soft. A heavenly grip.

You groaned, your abdominal muscles tensing involuntarily as she began moving her body back and forth, rubbing her breasts around your cock like a second cunt.

"This is what you wanted, isn’t it?" she whispered, her lips curling into a filthy smile.

You didn’t answer. You just grabbed her hair again and started thrusting between them, losing yourself in that heat, in that forbidden sensation.

She laughed, low and dirty, as she watched your face twist with pleasure.

"Come. I want to see you cover them."

Your cock pulsed violently between your sweaty bodies, a brutal contraction signalling the inevitable.

"Fucking—" you snarled, but the words were lost in a rough groan as the first thick ropes of cum erupted from your tip, streaking across her perfect face in hot white lines.

She didn’t flinch.

On the contrary—she smiled, those red lips parting as your semen dripped down her cheeks, spilling onto her chin and exposed tits. You were still coming when she wrapped her mouth around the head of your cock, sucking the last spurts with an obscene "glug", her tongue working frantically as she swallowed every drop.

"—Fuck, you came so much..." She laughed breathlessly, wiping the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand before licking her own breasts, devouring every drop that had landed on her skin.

You watched her, still breathing heavily, your cock still throbbing, still hard against your thigh.

She started pulling her dress back up, her breasts returning to the confinement of the fabric, but you grabbed her by the hip and shoved her against the wall again, lifting her leg in one sharp motion.

"Wh—?" She looked confused, until her dark eyes drifted down...And saw.

You were still erect.Her lips parted slightly, her swollen mouth still trembling from the sucking.

"...Bloody hell."

And then—that smile. That catlike smile that knew exactly what it was doing. She bit her lower lip, her fingers rising to grip your neck, nails digging into the back of your skull as she pulled you closer, the heat of her body burning against yours.

"Fuck me then, you bastard."

It was all you needed to hear. You turned her towards the wall, her hands pressing against the cold tiles as you lifted her leg higher, exposing her completely.

"You’re definitely the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen," you growled in her ear, feeling how wet she already was, her entrance pulsing just from the head of your cock pressing against her.

She moaned—a rough, filthy sound—her hips arching back in an obscene invitation.

"And what are you waiting for?"

With a single brutal motion, you filled her to the hilt, feeling her insides clench around you like a hot fist. She cried out, fingers scratching the tiles, her head thrown back as you started fucking her with anger, with desire, with the sheer need to mark her as yours.

The sounds she made now were uncontrollable—loud moans, slurred words. You shoved her hard against the bathroom wall, your body moulded against hers as your cock drove in and out with a rhythm that made her hips slam against you. She was so wet that the slick sound of the two of you echoed in the cramped bathroom, each thrust filthier than the last. If anyone was outside, they’d hear just how loud you were.

"Like that, fuck—! Harder!" she screamed, her voice a mix of command and plea, her nails raking down your back through your shirt. You obeyed.

Grabbing her hair, you yanked it back, arching her spine as you kept fucking her mercilessly. Her tits bounced with each impact, her hard nipples dragging against the cold tile.

"Just like—! Ah, fuck!" She moaned loudly, her body trembling around yours. "You—you’re fucking me so good—"

That’s when you felt it—her tightening even more. Her inner muscles squeezing around your cock as if trying to suck every inch deeper.

"Gonna come for me, you slut?" you snarled in her ear, teeth sinking into her neck as you picked up the pace.

She didn’t answer—just screamed, a raw, animal sound, her body convulsing in pure ecstasy as another orgasm ripped through her. You felt your cum dripping down your thighs, her pussy so drenched it overflowed with every thrust.

But you didn’t stop.

"You think it’s over?" you whispered, your voice rough with lust. "You think I’ll let you leave this bathroom without filling you up again?"

She turned her head to face you, eyes glazed, lips swollen and red like crushed cherries.

"Don’t stop," she ordered, her voice a mix of defiance and submission. "Fuck me until I forget my own name.

"You spun her roughly against the wall, her black dress now hitched at her waist, her breasts perfectly exposed—large, heavy, with dark pink nipples so hard they looked like gemstones. Your fingers dug into the soft flesh, squeezing tightly as your cock plunged back into that already ruined cunt.

"AH! FUCK! YES!" she screamed, her voice echoing in the tiny bathroom as you buried yourself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

Her tits jerked violently with each slam, hitting the wall with a wet "smack", her skin reddening from the friction. You could see the veins beneath her delicate skin, how her nipples puckered with every thrust.

"These tits are mine now," you growled, squeezing hard until she moaned, your fingers leaving red marks on her perfect flesh.

She was so wet that cum and her own fluids dripped down her thighs, pooling on the floor in obscene puddles. The smell of sex and cheap perfume filled the air, intoxicating.You yanked her hair back, forcing her into a dramatic arch as you sped up, your balls slapping against her clit with a filthy "slap-slap-slap".

"COME AGAIN, BITCH," you commanded, spitting down her back before licking the salt from her skin.

She obeyed like a bitch in heat—her body convulsed, her cunt clenching around your cock like a hot fist, her tits shaking as fresh streams of fluid trickled out.

You couldn’t hold back—with an animalistic snarl, you hilted yourself and unloaded your second load deep inside, spurting so hard you felt the hot liquid leaking down her thighs.She collapsed against the wall, completely ruined, her breasts now marked red, her makeup smeared, her lips swollen.

"We... need... to stop..." she whimpered, even as her legs trembled uncontrollably.

You smirked, your cock still throbbing between you.

"Who said we’re done?"

You didn’t know where you found the stamina, but your hips kept slamming into her with an animal rhythm, wet skin making a lewd sound with every impact.

"He... ah!... he never filled me like this..."

Your cock twitched violently inside her at those words. You gripped her waist harder, fingers sinking into soft flesh as you picked up the pace. Raising your hand, the bathroom filled with the sound of spanks. You loved watching her arse jiggle and redden with each slap.

"Never?" you snarled, spitting on the back of her neck before licking a salty trail up to her shoulder.She shook her head frantically, her tits swinging like sweat-soaked pendulums. "Never... never... never..." Each word was a hoarse moan, synced with your brutal thrusts.

You pulled her hair forward, forcing her to look down and watch your cock plunging in and out of her. "Look how you’re taking my cock, slut."

She saw—her red, swollen cunt stretching around every inch of your length, her plump lips clinging to you with each withdrawal. "Fuck... you... stretch me so wide..."

Your heavy balls slapped against her clit with every thrust, the wet sound maddening. You saw in the reflection how her eyes rolled back when you hit that spot inside her.

"Does he make you scream like this too?" You didn’t even know who the poor bastard was, but you taunted her, hammering exactly where it made her fingers claw at the tiles.

"NO! NO! FUCK, NO!" she screamed, her body quivering like a leaf in the wind. "Only you... only you... OH, GOD!"

Her tits bounced violently, her nipples so sensitive that she pinched them between her own fingers, moaning louder with each tweak.

You felt the heat building again, your cock swelling even thicker inside her. "I’m going to fill you again," you warned, teeth sinking into her shoulder. "Until it’s dripping down your legs at the altar."

She came instantly, a hot gush coating your cock as her womb pulsed uncontrollably. "YES! FILL ME! FILL THIS SLUT UP!"

It was enough to make you explode—with a snarl, you hilted yourself and pumped what must’ve been your second or third load deep inside (you’d lost count by now). So hard that you felt the hot liquid leaking down her thighs immediately.

She slumped against the wall, completely ruined, her breasts marked red and bitten, her makeup smudged, her lips swollen from screaming.

"That was definitely good, but I need to go, stud," she whimpered, even as her legs shook uncontrollably.

And you were already spent, pulling out of her, watching the sheer amount of cum you’d dumped inside her leak out. She brought her fingers to her well-used cunt, rubbing gently as if gathering your seed, then brought them to her lips.

"Mmm... delicious."

---

The daylight stabbed into the room like a knife, and you could barely open your eyes. Every ray of sunshine felt like a needle piercing your brain. Your mouth was dry, with the metallic aftertaste of a hangover and regret. When you finally managed to focus your vision, there was Hyunjin, standing beside the sofa, holding a steaming cup of coffee with that mischievous grin you knew so well.

"Good morning, gorgeous," he sang, sarcastic. "Or rather, good afternoon. You look like you’ve been run over by an elephant.

"You groaned, trying to sit up, but the world spun violently. Your hands trembled as you held the cup, and the smell of coffee, which would normally be comforting, now felt like a direct assault on your churning stomach.

"Bloody hell..." you grumbled, rubbing your eyes with your knuckles as if you could wipe away the pain.

Hyunjin flopped onto the sofa beside you, jostling the cushions in a way that made your stomach turn over.

"So, shall we talk about last night?" he asked, that glint of malicious curiosity in his eyes. "Because you came home saying some… interesting things."

Your heart stopped for a second. Fragments of the previous night came back in torturous flashes—the packed nightclub, the deafening music, the shots that had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. And her. Dark hair, a dangerous smile, a wedding ring glinting on her finger.

"Oh, no..." you murmured, covering your face with your hands.

Hyunjin laughed, a bright, cheerful sound that should be illegal for anyone in your condition. "Ah, so it’s true! You actually hooked up with a girl who’s taken!"

"I didn’t know!" you protested, but even your own voice sounded guilty.

"Sure, sure," he replied, sarcastic, shaking his head. "And I believe in fairies. But relax, your drunken charm probably convinced her never to tell you her name, right?"

You threw a cushion at him, but he dodged with a laugh, grabbing your arm in a suffocating hug.

"If you die—and at this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised—I’m taking your PS5, your flat in London, and your sneaker collection. Deal?"

That line came with the fakest, sweetest smile he could muster—the one that made people forgive any rubbish he said. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help a half-smile.

"Keep dreaming," you muttered, shoving him lightly.

Hyunjin just laughed again, releasing you and stretching out on the sofa like a satisfied cat. "Just saying... if her boyfriend shows up with a baseball bat, I’m pretending I don’t know you."

You threw another cushion, but this time he caught it and hugged it, lying on his side to stare at you with pure amusement.

"The guilt’s eating at you, isn’t it?" It was. It really was. But you’d never admit it out loud. Instead, you buried your face in the sofa and let out a long groan while Hyunjin laughed—loud, merciless, and thoroughly pleased with the chaos your life had become.

---

The air felt heavier in front of that house. You stood frozen on the pavement, your fingers gripping the straps of your rucksack so tightly your knuckles turned white.

It had been years since you’d last set foot there. Did they still remember your face? You weren’t the same person anymore—not the scruffy teenager who spent nights glued to the computer, fuelled by energy drinks and instant noodles. Adulthood had reshaped you: strict diet, gym routines, skincare regimens. But none of that mattered now.

With a heavy sigh, you stepped forward and rang the doorbell. The sound echoed inside the house, and your heart raced as if it might explode.

"Just a moment!" a woman’s voice called from within.And then the door opened.It was her.

She was there. The girl from last night.Without the heavy club makeup, without the dim bar lights masking her features. Just her, her skin slightly creased from sleep, her eyes still heavy. Beautiful. Horribly familiar.

"Ah... s-sorry," your voice came out in fragments, syllables shattering like glass—"I think I’ve got the wrong house.

"Your fingers tingled. Breakfast threatened to come back up. You were already stepping back when another voice cut through the air:

"Babe? Who is it?"

Your brother.Your body reacted before your brain could—a wave of heat surged from your chest to your ears. You knew he was engaged. Of course, that was why you’d returned to Korea. Now, your brain made the connection.

And there he was, in pyjamas, his hand resting on her shoulder. The way she leaned slightly into him… it was intimate. Natural.

"Bloody hell!" Your brother stepped forward, eyes wide. "You vanish for years and just show up like this?!"

Your throat tightened. You could feel sweat trickling down your back. The girl—your brother’s fiancée, his bloody fiancée—frowned. You saw the exact moment she recognised you:

First, a vague flicker of familiarity.

Then, her eyes tracing your face.

Finally, the shock. Her hand flew to her mouth.

"Wait…" Her voice was barely a whisper, "last night at… at the…"

Your brother looked between the two of you. His grin faltered, shifting into confusion, then something darker.

"Last night where?"

The silence hung like a brick. You could hear the ticking of the hallway clock. Somewhere in the house, a tap dripped.

"At… at the restaurant!" you blurted, your voice three octaves higher than usual. "I saw you! At that place we used to go to as kids! Alone! And I thought, ‘Wow, she’s gorgeous,’ and… and…"

Her hand tightened on your brother’s arm. Her eyes glistened—with panic? With anger?

"That’s right," she cut in, too quickly. "I mentioned it to you later, remember, love? That annoying customer who wouldn’t stop calling the waiter?"

Your brother hesitated. You saw his jaw tense—that same tic he’d always had when processing lies.

"Right…" he drew the word out, eyes fixed on you. "Then why are you acting so weird?"

"Jet lag," you muttered, fingers twisting behind your back. "Flight was rubbish. Think I’ll… go buy fags. Or throw myself under a bus. Either works."

Your brother opened his mouth to reply when she intervened:

"Love, leave him, he looks half-dead. D’you want coffee, at least?"

Your brother just laughed and pulled away from her, crushing you in a bear hug.

"Missed you, mate!"

[nvrngl]

˚ · .˚ ༘ 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒕

synopsis. you run into dean while working on a case.

pairing. supernatural﹢ dean winchester x hunter!reader ﹢ smut

wordcount. 1.1K

warnings. nsfw ! alcohol, too much flirting, semi-public sex, unprotected sex.

You clock him the second you walk into the bar.

It’s not just the leather jacket or the stupidly confident sprawl of his legs beneath the sticky table. It’s the way his eyes cut across the room like a weapon, scanning. Like yours. Like he’s hunting too.

You pretend not to notice. Order a whiskey. Neat. The bartender raises a brow but doesn’t argue.

The bar smells like beer and regret. One guy’s already passed out on the pool table. Perfect place for a cursed object to be changing hands. You’re here for the hex bag that’s been killing truckers up and down the state.

He’s probably here for the same thing.

You settle into the stool, sip your drink, and resist the urge to turn around and stare.

Doesn’t work.

Because suddenly, he’s beside you, leaning against the bar like he owns it.

“Hunter?” he says, low, amused.

You arch a brow. “You don’t exactly scream civilian.”

His smile kicks up lazy and crooked, full of trouble. “Dean.”

Of course he’s Dean. You’d know that face anywhere—even if you’d never met him before. Rumors. Stories. That smile.

“(Y/N),” you reply, taking another sip. “You here for the hex bag or just to annoy me?”

“Both,” he says, and he means it.

You snort, lips brushing the rim of your glass. “You always this charming?”

“No,” he says. “Usually I’m worse.”

You don’t flirt when you're working. Usually. But Dean Winchester is the kind of problem you want to make worse before you fix it. That look in his eye? That hungry edge under the smartass? You’ve met enough bad men to know what good trouble feels like.

He buys you a drink. You let him.

Then another. You pretend it’s for information-gathering. For the case.

But you both know better.

It starts as a game. The slow lean of his shoulder into yours. The way his hand brushes your thigh like he’s not even trying to hide it. He tells you about the hex bag—how he’s tracking it to some lowlife in the back booth, fourth beer in, about to head home with a “gift” for his wife.

You tell him about how you have already set a trap for the witch.

He looks at you like he’s impressed and turned on, and you’re too buzzed to care which one wins out first.

“You always work solo?” he asks.

“I like the quiet.”

“Bet you moan loud, though.”

You choke on your drink. He grins like it’s his birthday.

“Wow,” you cough. “Real smooth.”

“I can be,” he says, voice low, like he’s already picturing it.

There’s heat curling between your thighs now. You hate him for it. You love it.

One more drink. One more dare in his eyes. One more glance at that mouth and you know exactly how the night’s gonna end.

The bar’s too crowded. The alley’s too gross.

But the Impala? Oh yeah.

You don’t even make it ten feet from the bar before he’s pushing you up against the passenger door, mouth crashing onto yours like he’s been dying for it all night.

It’s not romantic. It’s not sweet. It’s desperate. Tongues and teeth and hands fumbling at layers of leather and denim. His knee slots between your legs and grinds just right, and you whimper before you can stop yourself.

“God,” he groans against your neck, “you sound even better than I imagined.”

You grip the back of his shirt and drag him into the car.

The moment you land on the backseat, it’s chaos.

He’s everywhere.

Mouth on your throat, your collarbone, your breasts. Hands unzipping, tugging, lifting. You don’t even remember your boots coming off. Your jeans hit the floorboard and his tongue hits your skin and it’s all heat and sweat and filthy little moans.

“Dean—fuck—”

“You gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth down your stomach. “Don’t wanna give the whole lot a free show.”

“Then stop doing things that make me wanna scream,” you snap.

He grins. “No promises.”

His mouth moves lower, tongue sliding between your thighs like he’s starving. He groans when he tastes you—groans, like the fucking sound of it’s enough to undo him.

And you?

You’re seeing stars.

Your fingers claw at the seat, legs shaking, breath catching as he circles your clit with slow, devastating precision.

“Jesus Christ—Dean—”

He pulls back just enough to smirk. “Still like the quiet, huh?”

“Shut up,” you gasp.

He chuckles and dives back in. Your hips buck against him like they’ve got a mind of their own. He holds you down, firm hands on your thighs, tongue working you open like he’s been dreaming about this for years.

You come hard—loud, messy, clenching around nothing and sobbing his name like a prayer.

And he doesn’t stop.

“Oh my God—”

He only lets you breathe when he finally crawls up your body, kissing you like he needs to taste your moans in his mouth.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he pants, lining himself up. “You want it, sweetheart?”

“Dean—”

“Say it.”

Your nails dig into his back. “I want it. I need it. Fuck me already—”

He thrusts in.

Your head snaps back with a cry. He fills you deep, thick and hot and perfect. You cling to him, legs wrapped tight around his waist, every breath hitching as he starts to move.

Hard. Deep. Rhythmic.

The Impala rocks under you. The windows fog up. His name falls from your lips like a mantra, your whole body wound tight, strung out, ruined.

“God, you feel so good,” he groans, fucking into you like he’s trying to leave bruises. “So tight, so wet—fuck—been thinking about this since the second I saw you.”

You gasp against his shoulder, biting down hard enough to make him growl.

He slams into you faster, sweat dripping from his jaw, lips crashing into yours like he can’t get close enough. His hand slides between you, rubbing circles over your clit until your vision blacks out.

You come again—loud, shaking, writhing beneath him.

That’s all it takes.

Dean curses, slamming deep one last time before he groans your name and spills inside you, buried to the hilt, panting like he’s just fought off a demon with his bare hands.

The car goes still.

You’re both wrecked.

Boneless.

You don’t even open your eyes as he slumps on top of you, breath warm against your ear.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles.

You laugh, breathless, hair stuck to your forehead. “That was... yeah. Wow.”

“Top three,” he admits, nuzzling into your neck.

You snort. “Three?”

“Gotta leave room for improvement.”

You smack his shoulder.

He pulls back enough to look at you. His smile’s softer now, lazy and stupidly satisfied.

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ navigation : all works ; guidelines ; let's be friends .ᐟ

[cami040405]

Firstly: Oh em gosh, I'm actually so in love with your writing style it's crazy and thank you a thousand <3

Secondly: Okokok, can I please request Bo Sinclair and Thomas introducing their family to their (Fem or GN) s/o that is their total opposite and/or similarly; Vincent and Carrie introducing their family to their bff!Reader that's their total opposite? Feel absolutely free to do only one of these/include whoever else you'd like to write for, please and thank you sm in advance love ♡

SLASHERS WITH A S/O WHO IS THEIR OPPOSITE

Summary: Imagine Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt, and Carrie White introducing their S/O to their family who are the complete opposite of them.

Includes: Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt & Carrie White

A/N: I'm sorry for the delay in writing this request, I was recovering from wisdom tooth surgery, but anyway, I hope you like it, your ideas are always great. :3

Bo Sinclair

"The Storm and the Sunlight"

The sun had just begun to dip behind the skeletal trees surrounding Ambrose, casting the whole town in an amber glow that made the waxy silence feel even heavier than usual. Bo Sinclair leaned on the hood of his old truck, cigarette dangling lazily from his lips, boots dusted with gravel. The engine still ticked behind him, cooling with little pings and hisses that were the only noise—aside from your voice.

“Bo,” you said softly, fingers laced nervously in front of you. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

You looked so out of place it made his jaw tighten. White sundress, soft curls, kindness practically bleeding from your pores. A gentle soul in a graveyard.

He took a drag and exhaled slowly, eyes squinting at you in the light. “Ain’t about good or bad, sugar. It’s just time.” A pause. “They’re my family. And now… you’re too, right?”

You smiled at that, the kind of smile that made Bo’s insides itch. Not because he didn’t like it—but because it was too good. Too clean for the kind of man he was. For the place you were stepping into.

The doors to the old church creaked when you stepped inside. Dust swirled in the air like ghosts. The pews were empty, except for Vincent in the front, working silently on a wax figure. His hands moved with eerie grace, focused, methodical. He didn’t look up until Bo cleared his throat.

“Vin,” Bo said gruffly. “Got someone I want you to meet.”

Vincent turned his head slowly. His mask caught the amber light like glass, his head tilting with curiosity.

“This here’s my girl,” Bo added. “She’s… well, she’s different.”

You stepped forward—nervous, but not frightened. Your eyes didn’t recoil at Vincent’s appearance. You didn’t flinch. You smiled, gentle and warm, like spring melting snow.

“Hi, Vincent,” you said sweetly. “I’ve seen your sculptures. They’re… breathtaking.”

Vincent stilled. That wasn’t a word people used around them. Not without fear lacing it. But you meant it. He could tell. Bo watched, arms crossed, chewing the inside of his cheek. He expected Vincent to turn away, to ignore her like he did most strangers. But instead, his brother gave the slightest, most careful nod… and reached over to uncover a small half-finished wax sculpture—an animal figurine. A gift in his own language.

Bo was stunned.

Later, Lester showed up, as he always did, uninvited and covered in whatever he’d been dragging through the woods. He eyed you like you were a hallucination.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Lester laughed. “Bo, you bring home a Sunday school teacher?”

You didn’t snap back. You didn’t wrinkle your nose. Instead, you chuckled, brushing hair behind your ear. “Not quite. But I do love animals. Do you have dogs?”

Bo tensed, expecting Lester to say something dumb. But instead, Lester’s eyes lit up. “Hell yeah, I do! Wanna meet ‘em?”

“Of course,” you beamed.

Bo stared, not saying a word. He wasn’t used to watching someone soothe the madness around him. You didn’t tame it—you didn’t try to change anyone. You just was, like a cool breeze cutting through a humid storm. When night fell, you sat on the Sinclair porch, and you leaned your head against Bo’s shoulder. His arm wrapped around your waist without thinking.

“You sure you’re not scared of us?” he murmured.

You were quiet for a moment. “I think there’s good in all of you… even if the world doesn’t see it. You protect each other. You’re loyal. That means something.”

Bo swallowed hard. “You know what we’ve done. What I’ve done.”

“I’m not stupid,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “But you’ve never hurt me. You don’t scare me, Bo. You confuse me sometimes. You frustrate me. But you also love me… in your own way.”

He looked at you, something raw and unspoken in his eyes. You were sunlight in a coffin. And maybe he didn’t deserve you, maybe you’d end up cracked and jaded like the rest of Ambrose—but for now, you were his

And God help anyone who tried to take that from him.

.

Thomas Hewitt

The old Hewitt house creaked under the weight of the Texas sun. Dust floated through the air, making golden beams from the few cracked windows. Thomas stood silently by the doorway, his massive hand engulfing yours. You were a vision compared to everything inside — clean, bright-eyed, the complete opposite of the world he came from.

As they stepped inside, Hoyt’s voice echoed from the kitchen. 

“Well, well, well... What did we get here, Tommy boy?”

Thomas tensed immediately, his shoulders stiff, but you squeezed his hand in silent reassurance.

Hoyt sauntered into the living room, wiping his hands on a dirty cloth, his eyes raking over you like you were something he'd never seen before. You stood your ground, even though your fingers tightened just a little around Thomas's. Your smile, though small, was steady.

“Hi... I’m, um, Y/N,” you said politely. Your voice was soft, almost too pure for the grime-stained walls around you. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Hoyt chuckled, the sound low and sharp. “Nice, huh? Ain't nobody nice around here, sweetheart. You sure you're in the right place?”

Thomas grunted low in his chest, a warning. His free hand twitched toward the chainsaw by the door, but you stepped forward before things could escalate, brushing your fingers lightly over Thomas’s wrist.

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” you said, so gently it almost startled Hoyt into silence.

Monty rolled in from the hallway, his old wheelchair squeaking. His sharp eyes scanned you from head to toe. “Pretty little thing. Bet you ain't used to dirt under them nails.”

Thomas lowered his head in shame, but you just smiled—brighter this time—and knelt slightly so you were at Monty’s level.

“I can get used to it,” you said. “Family’s more important than clean hands.”

Monty barked a surprised laugh and patted you on the shoulder with a rough hand. “Well, hell, maybe you do belong.”

From the kitchen, Luda Mae finally emerged, wiping flour off her apron. Her mouth pressed into a thin line when she saw you, wary at first. But you stepped forward and extended both your hands like a prayer offering.

“I brought something,” you said, pulling a small, neatly wrapped loaf of bread from her bag. “I made it myself. I thought maybe... we could share.”

There was a beat of silence where the whole house seemed to hold its breath. Thomas stared at you, his heart hammering in his chest like a drum. He couldn’t believe it — you weren't just tolerating his family; you were offering them kindness.

Luda Mae took the bread carefully, her weathered face softening. “Well, aren’t you just somethin’ special,” she murmured, her voice catching in her throat. Thomas felt your hand brush against his again, like a silent thread tying you to him, to this broken home he never thought you could accept.

As the evening wore on, you listened to Monty's long-winded stories, even laughed at Hoyt’s twisted jokes when appropriate, never letting go of Thomas for long. You helped Luda Mae set the table, humming under her breath — a soft sound that filled the hollow spaces in the house like sunlight through the boarded windows.

Later, after dinner, Thomas found you sitting on the porch swing, your head resting against the chain, staring up at the stars.

When he sat beside you, the swing groaned under his weight. He didn’t know what to say — he almost never did — but you turned toward him with that same soft smile and tucked yourself into his side without hesitation.

“They’re rough,” you whispered, “but... they’re yours. That means something to me.”

Thomas’s throat tightened, an unfamiliar burning behind his eyes. He wrapped his arms around you carefully, like you were something fragile he didn’t want to break.

In the dark, under the endless stretch of sky, he realized:

For the first time in his life,

something gentle had chosen to stay.

.

Carrie White

Carrie stood nervously by the old iron gate outside her home, twisting the strap of her worn dress between her fingers. Her heart raced as she waited, feeling like at any moment, the world might split open just for daring to do something so bold.

And then she saw you.

Striding down the cracked sidewalk, head held high, a spark in your eyes that never seemed to dim. You were everything she wasn’t — fearless where she trembled, loud where she whispered, fierce where she was soft. You smiled as you saw her — a real smile, wide and warm, and Carrie's cheeks flushed pink immediately. She shifted from foot to foot.

"You look beautiful," you said without hesitation, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

Carrie lowered her head, the praise too much, too overwhelming, but it filled something inside her that had been empty for too long.

"Y-you sure you wanna come inside?" she stammered. "Mama... she’s... she’s real strict."

You only grinned, fearless. "I’m not scared."

Carrie’s breath caught in her throat. Maybe you should be, she thought. But she couldn’t say it. She didn’t want to push you away.

You held out your hand, palm up.

"Come on, Care. I’m here for you."

With a trembling breath, Carrie slipped her hand into yours, and together, you stepped into the lion’s den. The house was dark and heavy, the air thick with the smell of old wood and something sharper — fear, maybe. Religious icons stared down from every corner. Carrie's shoulders hunched automatically, but you walked tall, squeezing her hand in silent support.

From the kitchen, Margaret White emerged, her face pinched and tight as a clenched fist.

"Who's this?" her voice sliced through the air like a knife.

Margaret’s eyes raked over you, judgmental, suspicious — you, with your leather jacket, your confident gaze, your very existence defying everything she believed in.

Carrie shrank slightly, but you stepped forward, your smile unwavering.

"I’m Y/N," you said brightly. "I’m Carrie's friend. It's real nice to meet you, ma’am."

Margaret's mouth twisted. "Friend?" she hissed, like it was a dirty word.

Carrie’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. She waited for you to back down, to leave, to abandon her like everyone else.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you slid your arm gently around Carrie’s shoulders, anchoring her, steadying her.

"I care about her," you said simply, your voice low but strong. "A lot."

Margaret recoiled as if slapped. "You'll drag her down into sin," she whispered, voice trembling with fury. "You’ll open her up to wickedness—"

"Or maybe," you interrupted, voice calm but cutting, "I'll lift her up. Help her see she deserves to be happy."

Carrie's eyes widened, tears prickling at the corners. No one had ever — ever — defended her like that.

Margaret’s hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Get out," she snapped. "Both of you."

You nodded coolly. "Fine by me."

Turning to Carrie, you softened instantly. "You coming with me, sweetheart?"

Carrie froze — torn, terrified — until you gently touched her cheek, your thumb tracing her skin as if she were something precious. And in that touch, she found something stronger than fear: hope.

Carrie nodded, her small hand slipping into yours once more. Margaret screamed, a high, keening sound that rattled the walls, but Carrie didn't look back.

Not this time.

Outside, the night air was crisp and new against her skin. Carrie shivered, not from fear, but from the thrill of freedom.

"You okay?" you asked quietly.

Carrie looked at you — your fire, your light — and for the first time in her life, she believed maybe she could be more than the scared little girl trapped in the shadows.

"I am now," she whispered, and smiled — a real smile, small but brave.

And as you both disappeared into the dark, Carrie clung to you, the total opposite she never knew she needed, the spark that might just save her from the storm brewing inside.

.

[casdeans-pie]

These tags by @kinky-cas and @anthropophagustiel have been living in my head rent free for a couple of days and I need to get this off my chest:

Okay but imagine Sam twists his ankle during a hunt and he's limping back to the car and Dean is like, I can't watch this, c'mon Hopalong I'll call Cas to heal you up, and Sam is like, no! no it's fine. And when Dean is confused Sam has to finally admit that he doesn't like the weird itchy feeling he gets under his skin when Cas heals him - he'd rather just put some ice on it when they get back to the bunker and let it heal naturally.

But Dean is totally baffled, and thinks to himself: Weird itchy feeling???? Getting healed feels like being hugged warmly from the inside. Like having that first sip of ice cold beer on a hot day. Like waking up with no alarm and being able to turn over and go back to sleep.

But he eventually says, Yeah, yeah the uh, itchy feeling. know exactly what you mean.

---

And then when Cas has to use his soul like a supercharge battery one day (for world saving reasons or something) they found out that it doesn't hurt him at all - it instead feels like the most intensely profound thing they've ever experienced. Grace and soul recognise each other. It feels like home.

Castiel deserved to shove his hand in Dean's chest to use his soul like a battery at least Once in the whole 15 seasons. Just saying.

[keelt9]

CHERRY I

Masterlist

A/N:  Nervous about this one, please be gentle with me. 🥺

“It’s a mess.” Harriet said, sucking her lollipop. “Come one Y/N you must be joking.”

The old church of the town suffered a tragic accident. 6 years ago the intense rains of the season caused a landslide in the mountain range at the back of it, producing severe damage all over it and in the gardens that border it.

It's a small town surrounded by big mountains and a river at the limits; the life there is based on one thing: community support, everyone knows everyone and everything, with small houses and a lot of nature; the big fancy buildings and expensive houses are the most unnecessary things.

Y/N scoffs taking out her sunglasses. “That's why we're here.”

With years and a few government support all the mud and rocks were clean, but the damage was done. The church that dates to the XIX century is now a dark shadow of the brightest days.

“Jesus! Well, where is it?” Ron asks, looking around the sad view that Harriet points at. “Please, you're joking.”

Y/N shakes her head waiting for Mila to reach them. “No, it's not, let's go.”

With bags over the backs and lanterns they walk inside where full darkness and a strong smell make them cover their nose.

“Listen, Y/N, I got it, the thing about a new project of searching calmly, but here?” Harriet asks, pointing the broken glass around.

After years of working in the city making art restoration or traveling around for long seasons for the same reason; Y/N needs a urgency to breathe, she is getting tired of the rush and the noise, plus the third wedding of her mother two weeks ago made her feel she was suffocating every second.

“It's an adorable place.” Y/N sees what years ago was the entrance to the back gardens. “I was born and raised here.”

She hasn't to turn around knowing all the eyes are on her, big open as their mouths.

When she told her team about taking a break from the city and working in a calm place, they instantly offered to wherever she needed it. 

Like Mila said, “We're a team, you're dreaming if you believe you're going to do this alone.”

“You said a small village.” Ron grabs her hand as she climbs a rock. “This is a tiny little one.” 

“I know.” Y/N smiles. “Add one to the list of the wonderful things around here.”

Among what it supposed to be the benches Harriet said. “It's hard to imagine Lennox around here.”

Y/N giggles because she couldn't be more wrong, in fact Lennox as her other two older brothers; Holt the oldest, Lennox the second, Kilen the third and the little one, Y/N; loves that place. If they could come every weekend, they would definitely be more than enchanted.

“Yeah, Lennox seems the picky one.” Mila said somewhere in the altar.

The girls are wrong Lennox isn’t the picky one.

“Speak now or never.” Y/N said observing the big black wall where an impressive mural must be. “You can leave any time.”

Ron sighs. “Leaving you here swimming in mud.” Y/N rolls her eyes. “I won't miss that for anything.”

Mila sees among the altar what it looks like a holy chalice. “It's going to be an interesting months, I'm in.”

Harriet lift and old book cover by mud. “You mentioned free coffee, right?” Y/N laughs. 

The owner of the coffee shop is a good friend of her father. “Yes I did.”

“I am where the free coffee is.” 

It was the third or the fourth time Max and Cameron crossed the same street with the same red rose bush “You idiot!” Max said, sitting on the ground.

Walk? No problem. Long distance? Sure. Walk in the sun long distances searching for a place he heard? Yes, he's mad and tired.

“Dude…” Cameron was about to complain but Max interrupted him.

“It's for me.” Max drinks what it remains from his water. “It's me to follow you and you didn't even know where the hell we were supposed to go.”

After a rollercoaster season, plus the last medical check ups, Max doctors were clear, or he took a few months away or his issue of eyesight would get worse.

Resulting in his friend's recommendations about a lovely town in the mountains far away from the city and all the noise, sounds perfect besides he or his friends doesn’t know where that place is.

Cameron laughs sitting next to him. “My girl's best friend has been there, I just follow the directions.”

“Terribly wrong.” Max jokes, seeing the blue clear sky, at least he has such a beautiful view.

After announcing to the team he will miss half of a season, probably a little by more plus an energetic discussion about being reckless and weak, he confirmed he just needs to get out.

The skid of bicycle wheels calls for their attention. A kid with a cap and bag at his back with different colours of flowers, stops next to them.

“Need some help” The kid asks to see two grown up men defeated next to the rose bush.

“We're looking for Che Creek town or something like that.” Cameron said, seeing the kid smirk.

“Lucky day, that's where I live.” The kid went down to his bicycle. “Let's go, the walk is 10, maybe 15 minutes from here.”

Untrust Max and his friend observe the kid who is waiting, such a small kid could know where to go?

“Or you can stay here and I will send someone to pick you up.” 

Max shakes his head, he is reluctant to spend another hour waiting, he stands up following the kid.

They remain silent most of the path until Cameron questions him about the flowers in his backpack.

“Oh, I'm trying to approach a beautiful girl.” He smiles, carefully looking at his back. 

“How old are you?” Max is genuinely intrigued by this kid.

“10, next month 11.”

The conversation was interrupted by a bigger roses bush next to the road and an old structure that rises above the ground. The banner is damaged because trying to see the name is impossible.

The kid waves his hand to an old man who's driving along the path. “We're here.”

A few metres ahead, Max and Cameron understand the reason for the fuss about this place. 

In the distance, mountains surround the small village that makes it almost invisible, still among them you can see a clear sky as the wind brings the sound of waves.

“Waves?” Cameron asks as they start to see multiple houses and small businesses.

“Yeah, 1 hour from here is the ocean.” He keeps walking ahead of them, grabbing his bicycle. “You can hear it like it's at the other side of the mountain because it is, but the path is long.” 

“David!” A woman rushed, blonde as him. “It's getting late, let's go.”

The woman narrowed her eyes seeing the two men standing behind him. 

“Who are you?” The woman ask pulling David to his side.

“Mom, he's Max Verstappen!” The kid, now known as David, said, rolling his eyes. “A champion! And his friend.”

Max laughs hearing the switch of excitement in David's voice mentioning Cameron.

“They were lost searching the town. I'll give him a hand.” David proudly looks at his mother.

“We're sorry, he would be here earlier but.. well we didn't bring our bicycle.” Cameron said, extending his hand to introduce.

David mom nods, shaking both hands. “I guess you'll be looking for a place to stay right?”

Both men nodded exhausted but relieved of being able to witness such a beautiful view.

A couple of blocks after they arrived at a small guesthouse where a nice man offered two rooms and a hot dinner, before leaving; apparently the village had a reunion where all were invited.

For the rush of the things they didn't have a chance to thank David and his mother, they’ll make sure to do it tomorrow when they walk around the village.

The morning is simply enchanting, the soft ocean breeze cools the weather but the sun comfortably warms you; the bird song as soft mumbles of people is almost like a lo-fi song.

The owner of the guesthouse, Rupert, said David's family is the owner of the small store 5 blocks away from there, so that's the first thing they did after having breakfast.

Max was expecting eyes and cameras around him but for the town his presence is imperceptible just for the fact they're new there.

5 blocks away they found David feeding a cat white outside of the store.

“David!” Max said, waving his hand as the kid raised his eyes, smiling.

“Max, morning.” David stands not before serving more milk on the cat's plate, giving him a soft pat on his head.

“We forgot to thank you for what you did for us yesterday.” Cameron said, raising his hand for a high five with David. “Thanks.”

“Oh no problem, I'm sorry for leaving but a lot of things are happening here lately.” David smiles. “Amazing things.”

“Hey, is there any chance I could find a red bull in your store?” Max asks to see the bottles of soda inside.

David laughs, the city people and they're strange requests start to become normal.

“Probably, let me see.” 

Inside of the store another man is laughing with a man as he picks all the things over the shelf.

“Thank you Mr. Becket, I'd better go or my boss will rip my head.” The man said, closing the bag. 

Mr. Beckt laughs at the words of the young one.“Tell her I'm sorry but her chocolates are hard to find.” 

“I'll do, but I better go, she's literally hanging off the wall.” The man said running out of the store. “Bye David!”

He said running as he said goodbye to David.

“Dad, he's the guy I talked to you.” David exclaimed, walking to the other side of the shelf. “Guys, this is my dad David Senior.”

David Senior smiles and greets the outsiders, wondering who’s the man that made David feel so happy to meet and make it impossible he stop talking all the dinner. 

“They wonder if we had…” He saw Max and his shirt. ��red bulls.”

“Yeah, in the fridge, they arrived yesterday.” 

Max sighs in relief walking to the fridge, finding a line of red bulls, at ease for having his vital liquid.

“Can I ask why you are here?” David's father asks. “Don't get me wrong this place is incredible but there is nothing tourist around here.”

Cameron giggles seeing Max adopt his usual posture, in one hand a RB, the other hand over his waist. 

“We heard this place is kind of healing.” Cameron answered, curious about the products at the store. From power chilli to a German beer, so varied for being a small village.

“I don't say healing just, pure, keep it basic.” David senior answered seeing his kid walking back from the room of the store, bag in hand taking a bottle of water and a bag of chips.

“I'm leaving dad.” He said to make sure the lantern, boots and tools are in his bag.

Max moved his head wondering in which moment David disappeared and came back with a lot of things on his hands.

“Careful David, remember to listen to the guys.” His father warned his son with a smile.

David bumps his fist with the outsiders man. “See you later.”

With the sun and wind moving the branches of the trees, David goes riding his bicycle disappearing in the distance.

“Anxious?” Max asked with a smile on his face.

David Sr. smirks, scanning all the things they take with them, as the two young men finally lose David when he turns in the next street.

“Excited, the old church is under restoration. The first days, just the expert people were there, and a few people who could help them, with the days volunteers started to go; they reached the point where they had to divide people in groups, and in a few days install small tents.”  

Witnessing was impressive, beginning with a group of 5, now are 6 groups with 10 people going one day at the time helping with all they could. 

The rumour about the old church being restored starts as a dream with time and the arrival of the expert as the end of the first month ends, people turn enthusiastic and offer hands to help them. Maybe just give them food or water, bring supplies, offer cars, trucks, etc, for carrying things or simply a comfortable talk after a long day.

“Church?” Cameron asked, as he paid for the things.

A long talk and some snacks later, the boys knew about the story of the church, sowing a palpable curiosity on Max.

He questions if he plans to spend some time here, maybe he could do something for help.

She almost forgot how wonderful this could be.

Her family wasn't so religious besides her mother, yes, they used to go to church every Sunday but more for pleasing her mother than for a actually strong conviction.

After the mass, she and her brothers lay in the grass, seeing the clouds as they bet a faded away race, pick a cloud and the one who fades away wins. Holt has a talent for that.

Then, at home a lovely lunch took place in the backyard followed by endless hours of playing and of course a couple of hours of homework.

Until their parents decide things need to change…

“Every single time, every single time.” Harriet said, sitting next to her cover in dust. “I thought I reached the floor or the wall but hey! It's more dry mud.”

Y/N chuckles crossing her legs. “I told you, that landslide was terrible.”

“This place have something special for you?” Harriet asks to see her friend with a strange enthusiasm. 

“No, it's just…” Y/N turns around seeing how Mila is talking vividly with David about some insect in his hands.

David is a red-haired boy who is strangely cheered up by the restoration of an old church that probably he doesn't remember but he came every weekend to help, well, talk with them or light some things in the ground, with more questions every day.

“Complicated?” Harriet asks, seeing her conflict to be open about something private.

Y/N giggles. “A little bit.”

“Well, we’re working hard and even from time to time this only makes us look like we're doing nothing.” Harriet said, extending her one of her lollipops. “We’re bringing this to life.”

Y/N shakes her head, she’s not that into candies, chocolates that’s her weakness. 

“Any trace of considerable damage?” She asks her, everytime Harriet is so optimistic about work. 

“Just need one to remember all can be healed.” Harriet said walking back where Ron joins Mila and David laughing and screaming by a lizard that just ran away from their hands. 

“It’s the right choice.” Y/N whispered to herself seeing the sky. “Slow down a little bit.”

Mornings are always such funny moments, between making breakfast as preparing the things they could need and receiving the last result of whatever they sent the previous days the team and her barely are able to finish their breakfast in one place; they could begin having breakfast in the kitchen and finish one in the studio. another in the dining room and probably the other in one bedroom.

“RON! Where is the bread?” Y/N screams from the kitchen, searching for the sandwiches of the day

Ron closed his eyes, he forgot to mention they ran off yesterday. “Hm, in the store?”

“In the store?” She closes her eyes, knowing the one who goes to the store must do the daily grocery store; arriving with a flat bag for leaving with a rock.

Mila was crossing in the moment with a toast in her mouth and a computer in her hand shaking her head. Harriet who is hearing all front the studio scream. 

“YESTERDAY WAS MY TURN!” Y/N takes a deep breath, that means she must go.

“I’ll see you in the church!” She screams taking the keys of the jeep, yes, she will go but that means, they will have to go on foot to the church, uphill. 

“Genius Ron, genius.” Mila said, searching for her bag to shove all her stuff.

It’s not that she dislikes going to the village, it's just she feels so overwhelmed by all the attention around her; without her brothers being the little girl, she could just go for a couple of things and go back with four bags with different items and a lot of praising and love words. 

“Mrs. Becket” She said entering the store, it’s the middle of the week, so David must be already in the school. 

“Y/N we start to miss you.” Mrs. Becket said with a smile, opening the door. “Your chocolates are here.”

“Really?” Her excitement is visible but she’s craving for one of those since the moment she runs off. 

“My husband will give it to you.” She said giggling while still watering the plant outside of the store.

Inside Mr. Becket is talking vividly with the guys who apparently are preparing from a little excursion besides the big bags over their backs, the supplies on the shelf looks for an army.

Waiting for her turn she goes and picks up all they need; bread, sodas, lollipops, milk and well, a bottle of whiskey.

Standing behind them, one of the guys hasn’t noticed her because he takes a step back.

“Ouch, that’s my feet.” Panic, the man turns around, and feeling she goes backwards as wanting to avoid a fall, he tries to grab her hand carefully, but to the opposite a touch of their hands feels like thunder goes through them.

“That’s my hand.” When she saw an open can she only thought of the worst scenario. “Please don’t let that fall on my face.”

Lucky it wasn’t in her face…is in her shirt.

[wifeiy]

nia the new ts demo,,, as a Leander girly,,, gasps hyperventilates explodes all over your floor and shoes and fuses back together

LEANDER MANIPULATE ME AS YOU PLEASE BBYGRL

REG! Exactly. Manipulative Dick can lead me places i wouldn't go with a gun. when i'm not thinking with my pussy i Am interested in why he's. Like That. like, what his interest is rooted in and how MC/their curse plays into his plans... like yeah he's generally a skilled manipulator but the level he's going to... 🤔

anyway Heh here are a few ts cast thoughts for u reg 🦔🪩 (anyone) pleak let me know if there's an LI u want me thinking about 🫵🫵

leander seeing someone hitting on you...😱 i won't talk too much about it in case i want to write a post later (someone ask me.) but i forgot i made this one about jealous/needy leander... oh my goodness him if someone was Genuinely hitting on you.. he's hiring a hitman. half-joking but if the person was incredibly awful maybe murder is allowed idk.

suggestive // leander exhibitionism..? like with the way he takes you to your room or picks a booth in the first demo... imagine getting together and he gets more and more casual about it... the adders and bartender know (leander never uses his usual room anymore)... also with the first point... him becoming way more touchy and possessive the rest of the night . like nibbling your neck hand on your ass taking a shot then holding your face in place to pour it into your mouth SIR BACK DOWN!!!

food stalls with mhin.. maybe they know some good (as they can get) cheap ones and when you try them and agree they have a satisfied look on their face :3 also... mhin scrunching their face when they try something they don't like 🥹

mhin being a great/nice teacher... like if you show genuine curiosity they glance at you, contemplating, before explaining what they're doing or looking at. and they're super easy to follow too. and when you bring up a point they said later on they're like ? you remembered that ? but their face kind of softens 🥹 Oh my goodness

kuras getting used to you coming in with an injury or needing help -> kuras getting used to you visiting for any other more casual affectionate reason -> kuras's shock and worry when you come in because of a serious injury for the first time in a long time . the difference between his initial calm "do not be afraid" and new.. whatever he says. a "you're awake," or "good morning," with a shadow of worry/relief hidden beneath his usual calm

do you guys think there's a line where kuras the doctor will snap and hurt somebody.. 🤯 angry kuras save me... save me angry kuras....

someone please ask me to talk about that ais "it's a nice laugh" scene and other fluffy ideas I'MSOBBGGINGGG IMSOGGY the way his face softens or how he gently traces the features of your face while you're asleep or talks to princess/the soulless about you or his generally beautiful balance of gentle but firm but teasing way of speaking when you need his help OH MY GOODNESS MYhaehfahfbehbfjrsbgjsbgJBRFJAEFB

btw sorry was that scene at the bar where ais keeps his hand on vere to make sure he doesn't fall or whatever in the original demo because idr. that hit me like a truck. i coughed

was thinking about breaking out/freeing vere.. even from just like, one job or whatever. needing his help and he's like you know I don't need to help you. freeing the senobium's hunter? i could kill you right now. obviously he ends up helping—out of intrigue, not wanting to owe a debt later on, affection, etc etc

i still adore the fact that vere likes handmade gifts 🥹 especially in a scenario where your gift plans goes awry... you're worried because the gift broke, or it looks wonky to you, or whatever else, and you try to explain and apologize and he's oddly quiet because he's looking at it, turning it in his hands... depending on how bad you feel, he might tease you for it, but very genuinely appreciates it 🥹 says something like how you're cute but worry too much... he's gotten much less, much worse, as birthday gifts... my gooodness .

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - Week 16 - Endgame Fixits

Yesterday was the 6 year anniversary of Avengers: Endgame, and since I’m still in my Tony and Steve lived happily ever after era, here’s some Endgame fixits! Enjoy and feel free to share your favs with me! 

And Time Can Do So Much by JenTheSweetie

"I really shouldn’t be talking to a figment of my imagination,” Steve said. “Sam would be reading me the riot act. I can hear him now. Therapy works wonders, you know.”

“Sounds like Wilson,” Tony agreed. “And therapy does work wonders. You might want to look into it, once it becomes a thing in a couple of years.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve said.

A few years after Steve moved permanently back in time, he started having conversations with Tony again.

Down in Lonesome Town by resurrectedhippo

“Why do I always find my way back to you?”

Maybe Tony didn’t necessarily return to Steve, but fate is a funny little thing, and after living a life of loss, Steve wants something that’s his to keep.

After the universe is restored, Steve is lost without any direction. Retiring from the Avengers, he moves across the country and ends up building a house by a misty blue lake. Across the bridge is Tony Stark’s new workshop.

home is a four-letter word by meidui

“My apartment got demolished,” Steve protests, but the look on Tony’s face tells him that he’s about to get it. He tries again, “They’re building a condo.”

“I don’t care if they rezoned Brooklyn for wildlife preservation. Why are you living in a hotel?”

Endgame, Not Checkmate by geekymoviemom 

“Tony?” Steve asks as Tony immediately taps his screen to life, calling up the specs for what looks like a new set of his nanite armour.  “Um… aren’t you going to take it easy for a while?”

Tony frowns at Steve over the top of the screen.  “Ah, no?  Why would I do that?”

“Maybe because you almost died?” Steve blurts out.  “I mean, just yesterday you were—!”

“Yeah, you're right,” Tony cuts in.  “But that was yesterday.  And since now it’s today, and, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine, then I need to get back to working on some stuff.” He shoots Steve a grin, like that somehow makes it okay.  “You're welcome to stay and watch if you want.”

Against all odds, the Avengers have beaten Thanos. But when Tony fails to see that victory for what it is, Steve decides the only way to get him to see reason is to confess the secret he’s been harbouring for way too long.

since i've memorised your face by meidui

Tony waits until they're out of eyeshot to turn the wooden duck over in his hands. “Does reconciliation mean something totally fucking different on their planet?” Tony asks.

Steve manages a laugh. It's funny, because it's a misunderstanding, because Steve is never going to get to marry Tony.

something to live for by Areiton 

“It’ll take time,” Tony says. “Steve, it--it could take years.”

He says it softly, almost a confession, and Steve--

He nods, and says, “All we have now is time, Tones.”

burnt toast, sundays by Lesty (penguinwithitsarseonfire)

Tony stared at the bike as it spluttered pathetically on the side of the road. He had to admit, when he woke up deciding he was going to have pancakes, he didn't see his morning turning out quite like this.

Dammit. All he wanted were some goddamn pancakes, and this was turning into a Tolkein like quest.

--

In which Tony really wants to make some pancakes, Steve wants some eggs, and somehow, they find love instead.

[elodieunderglass]

Hi, hello, I'm sending you a weird not quite ask that you can feel free to tuck deep into the recesses of your inbox and never look at if it's too weird.

But I've been thinking about Killie. Again. Which is odd, because I'm not the blorbo rotating type. I'm happy enough to watch other people play in their sandboxes, but I just...don't. Fandom. The way people normally do on this site. So, I was wondering why your horrible horseboy is so beloved and such an infohazard to anyone who comes across him, and I think I hit on it. At least for me.

You don't shy away from two things in your telling of him: that he's kinda awful in some ways, and that he's deeply loved. He's a horrible little gremlin with bad lungs and worse social skills who bites, and he's LOVED.

As kind of an awful person myself (*this isn't self deprecating, gimme a sec), who's not at all okay with the idea of dying alone and unloved, Killie and your depiction of him is soothing.

*I'm not awful because I choose to be, and I know I have a lot of good qualities even if it takes my therapist bullying me into recognizing that I do, but due to both disability and just life in general, I'm sometimes not a pleasant person to be around. I'm irritable quite often, and I'm flaky even when I'm doing my absolute best not to be, and I'm overly sensitive sometimes, and don't know how to talk to people without talking about myself and trying to relate it back to them, and I'm messy...it's hard to imagine anyone loving me.

But even though Killie is a fictional character, there's enough 'loved in spite of and also for his flaws as much as his virtues' that helps me reroute the worst of those thoughts into something a little healthier.

So thank you? I think? Yeah. Thank you for your horrible horseboy and his long-suffering but steadfast partner.

(in reference to killie the horrible horseboy OC)

thank you so much for this. far from not looking at it, I have looked at it a lot. It made me think very hard and (hopefully very well) about what I'd like Throw Your Heart Over to be about, and what I'd like it to achieve for people. You remind me that, while it's all fun, what's most important is to be brave and true.

You are so very brave and true. I admire you very much for being so brave and true. I am humbled by it. It is a big, big thing and I don't quite know what to say. I think it is reductive and unhelpful to say things like there's someone for everyone! everyone deserves to be loved! when we live in a world where that doesn't happen, nor does everyone want to be partnered, nor does everyone want to be given to someone else as a partner. it's an automatic reflex when someone says "I don't feel lovable for these reasons," for other people to be dismissive of the reasons - as if that's helpful - or to instantly say "someone will love you!", as if there has simply been a administrative mistake in the assignation of one's soulmate. But that reflex doesn't do much good. Firstly, it's true that there are reasons that make love less easy for people, and pretending that love isn't work just makes people who don't get enough love feel rubbish. Secondly, there is no mechanism in the universe by which people are assigned their very own partner (and believing that there is can make people crunched-up and hurtful, if they're having trouble finding one.) So yeah! It probably IS hard to imagine finding someone! And that's okay! It means making your imagination stronger! Beefing up your imagination! getting your imagination buff and built! (insert montage of Killie attempting to lift weights with his mind.)

so I made this with you in mind, though I'm not sure it's all that I wanted to say. it was something about your fears might be true, but your hopes might be too; and in the event of someone loving you, you'll know that you will have something tremendously special, because you'll both have to be VERY brave and true with each other. and because of this, you will have a lot of evidence to show yourself how loved you are. You might be hard work, but to someone who loves you, it will be good work. and no weird ghosty worries, with or without antlers, or even your own self-doubts, will be able to take away how real that work will be.

I think you sound tremendously lovable. I think you make a great difference to the world. Thank you for making me more brave and true.

[bennyboyfics]

I can imagine shy!gf!reader not being used to the public attention when with Ben and maybe they’re at the bmw open and there’s a crowd for Ben and you try to let go of his hand to give him space but he only pulls you closer 🤭🤭

Hold me || Ben Shelton x gf!reader

A/n: oh I love shy!gf!reader

Wc: 1,029

Warnings: none!!!

MASTERLIST

-

Ben’s calloused hand was clasped tightly around yours as the two of you made your way through the tournament grounds at the BMW Open in Munich. His tournament badge swung against his chest, and his cap kept the sun out of his eyes. You could hear snippets of whispers trailing behind him.

“That’s Ben Shelton.” “He won his last match in straight sets.” “He’s even taller in person…” It wasn’t the attention that bothered you, not really. You were proud of him—so proud. But being seen beside him, being part of that spotlight, still made your stomach twist up like a knotted ribbon.

Ben was the kind of person who lit up any space he walked into, tall and confident and utterly unbothered by the eyes that followed him. And you… weren’t. You were quieter. Naturally reserved. Happier on the sidelines. A little softer spoken, a little more hesitant in crowds. You never knew what to do with your hands or your eyes when strangers looked your way—especially with cameras.

But Ben had never once made you feel like you didn’t belong by his side. If anything, he made sure you knew you did. And right now, you needed that reassurance more than ever. And then it happened. Just before the players’ tunnel, a group of fans spotted him—sharp eyes, posters, hats, phones already out. “Ben! Over here!” “Can I get a selfie?” “Would you sign my ball?”

They rushed forward like a friendly wave, eager but respectful. Within seconds, a small cluster of fans quickly became a growing crowd, phones in hand, excited voices rising as people realised it was him. Ben looked over at you, his expression warm. “You okay?” he asked, squeezing your hand gently. You nodded quickly—too quickly—and gave him a little smile.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Just… maybe I should step aside so you can… do your thing.” You didn’t want to be the awkward girlfriend standing there looking like she didn’t belong. He raised an eyebrow, sensing that flicker of shyness behind your words. You tried to slip your hand out of his, fingers twitching nervously.

But Ben didn’t let go. In fact, his grip tightened. Your eyes widened a little, and you let out a surprised giggle. “Ben—” you whispered, leaning into him slightly, “let go, you’re going to take pictures—” But he just grinned down at you, dimples and all. “Nope.”

“Ben,” you laughed again, trying to sound stern, though your voice was light and breathy, “You’re literally being swarmed. I should move—” He looked out at the fans, who were now holding out tennis balls, notebooks, tournament programs—phones raised in hopeful anticipation. “No,” he said simply, and tugged you a little closer to him.

Your face flushed warm, glancing at the fans who were already lifting their phones. You tried again to pull your hand free, more out of embarrassment than anything else, but Ben wasn’t budging. He leaned in just slightly, not taking his eyes off the girl he was signing a hat for. “You think I’m letting go of your hand in Germany?” he murmured under his breath.

“Not a chance.” With his other hand, he took a pen from a fan and started signing with ease, all while keeping you anchored beside him. He took photos, signed hats, fist-bumped kids—but never once did he let go of your hand. You stood there, tucked slightly behind his arm, your free hand covering your face and your smile unable to stay hidden despite how flustered you felt.

His fingers were intertwined with yours, thumb brushing softly against your knuckles every so often, like he knew exactly how to ground you. Some fans noticed—of course they did. A few whispered, one girl cooed audibly saying “You’re so cute together,” and someone even said, “He’s holding her hand the entire time—oh my God, that’s so cute,” before bouncing off with her signed hat.

You covered your face with your free hand, trying to hide your flushed cheeks, but you couldn’t stop smiling. Ben caught your eye again and leaned down just enough to murmur, “Still wanna let go?” You rolled your eyes, heart fluttering. “You’re impossible.” He chuckled, low and fond, his lips brushing your hair as he turned back to sign another photo.

“Yeah, but you love me anyway.” The fans loved it—his easy charm, the way he laughed with them, signed every last poster, took photos without rushing anyone. And through it all, you stayed right beside him, your hand in his like a promise he didn’t intend to break. The crowd eventually started to thin, fans drifting off with excited chatter and grateful smiles.

Ben finally let go of your hand—not to leave you, but to wrap his arm around your shoulders instead. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “Proud of you,” he murmured. “For what?” you asked, smiling despite yourself. “For staying with me. I know this stuff’s a lot.” You leaned into him, heart swelling. “It is. But you make it feel easier.”

He gave you that boyish grin that made your knees feel weak. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not planning on letting you go anytime soon.” And he meant it.

[realwildernessbaby]

... can i request some nsfw for melissa hat. with shauna or reader i don't even care just use this as your free pass to write literally anything with melissa i can not think of anything specific. thank you

──¸.☆ PERV

a/n: not proofread so...

warnings: swearing, masturbation smut, oral (m!receiving), fingering m!receiving)

pairings: melissa hat x reader

It started with little things. she noticed the way your hands gripped the fresh red meat as you cut it. or the way you kneeled down to start a fire, your fingers wrapped around the sticks in a practiced manor as you struck them together. she saw it all. that quiet blonde girl who seemed as if she had nothing but innocent thoughts behind her glassy cerulean eyes was actually struggling to breathe every single time you walked by.

it became obvious to her few close wilderness friends. immediately after every small interaction the two of you had, she was racing back to her hut, a wave of fiery heat washed over her face. another one of those interactions occurred today.

“oh my god”

gen snickered as she leaned into akilah’s side, watching melissa scurry away to the comfort of her wood hut.

“jeez… is she okay?”

akilah whispers, sounding genuinely concerned to which gen laughs and shakes her head. gen’s demeanor is completely opposite to melissa’s, who at this point in time is pacing back and forth in her hut, tugging at the loose stitches on the hem of her muscle tank. it’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the heat building between her thighs, which you are completely oblivious to as you carry out your daily chores.

after a long internal battle, melissa closes the drapes to her hut door, and sits awkwardly on her makeshift bed. she shoves her hands quickly down her boyshorts, applying pressure to her clit over the fabric of her panties the way she believes you would. ‘i’m not weird, i’m not weird, i’m not weird’ she repeats to herself like a motto as she imagines your fingers between her thighs.

once you finish up your daily chores you skip over to nat.

“anything else?”

nat looks up from her lap, twiddling her thumbs. she awkwardly meets your gaze, her voice coming about a bit raspy. you assume it’s from stress.

“yeah, um… would you mind checking on melissa? gen said something about her not feeling well?”

she says, in a skeptical tone.

“it’s getting dark, almost time for dinner and uh… she needs to set the table.”

she continues, to which you nod and agree. the trip to melissa and gen’s shared hut is a familiar one. you typically wake melissa up to start chores for the day as she sleeps in later than anyone else. she’s probably staying up late, but why?... whatever. you hear the sound of fabric rustling as you step up to the hut, awkwardly knocking on the wood. a surprised gasp is faintly heard from the inside of her hut.

“hey… you feelin’ okay? nat wanted me to check on you, so…”

you yell awkwardly through the barrier between the two of you. you infer that melissa quickly gets up due to the racket you hear, a strange thing for someone who’s “sick” to do.

“um. i’m fine.”

melissa blurts out quickly. that doesn’t sound like the truth.

“are you sure? i’m coming in.”

you push the drapes to the side and step into her hut, watching as melissa quickly sits up against the wall, almost instinctively shoving her right hand into her pocket. she appears a bit messy. her wavy blonde hair is disheveled, her shirt slightly riding up to reveal her toned abdomen which your eyes trail over for a little too long. you inadvertently take your lower lip between your teeth at the sight. it’s subtle, but just obvious enough for melissa to notice and quickly divert her gaze, her heart thrumming in her chest.

in this moment, it became obvious to you what you did to her. the way she pushed her legs together, subconsciously held her breath, and fidgeted with her hands. she was whipped for you. so, what do you do? oh, you’re gonna play along.

“you don’t seem too good. here… lemme check if you have a fever.”

melissa visibly tensed up at this idea, her eyes wide and glued to your body as you lowered yourself to your knees and crawled over to her. you sat with your legs folded beneath you next to her, leaning over her body and placing the back of your hand on her forehead. she shivered under your touch, seemingly unused to this kind of contact.

“mm… you’re hot.”

a complete lie. you were unable to feel a fever. but the words got such a sweet reaction out of her, it made a chuckle slip past your lips. that got to her. 

“wow… your face is so red, too. you must be really sick, huh?”

a nervous whine escaped melissa. you lean in closer.

“what are you?...”

she breathed out, her voice quivering.

“taking care of you.”

you whisper through a smirk, before smashing your lips against hers. melissa freezes like a deer in headlights, before easing into the sensation as you add movement. your lips move against each others in a natural rhythm as if it wasn’t the first time. you position yourself over her in a quick movement, your hips straddling hers, and your arms caging her under your body. she was completely trapped, yet relishing in the sensation of it. you add your tongue into the mix, flicking it out and tracing along her bottom lip, as if begging for an entrance, to which she eagerly gives you. the second melissa parts her lips, a moan leaves your throat and enters hers. in return, she gives you her tongue, which you greedily take. it’s slick with spit as it dances with yours, lewd wet noises filling the air.

you break apart for a second to look down at her, the two of you panting together.

“fuck…”

the curse leaves her mouth, almost whispered. you move your hands up under her shirt, tantalizingly trailing your short nails up the bare skin of her stomach. this sends an intense shiver down her spine like a lightning bolt, so strong you can feel the girl shake beneath you.

you push the shirt up over her head in a swift motion, leaving her in her sports bra and shorts. your lips press into her neck, leaving subtle nibbles every few kisses. 

“i know how you feel about me… what you’ve been doing.”

melissa’s breath hitches in her throat at your claims, the sudden interrogation making her nervous, yet intrigued.

“how do you do it? desperately rub yourself in circles? push your fingers into you imagining they’re mine?… maybe you’ve been stealing my clothes to grind onto.”

melissa whines nervously, stammering.

“i…”

she trails off, to which you chuckle, your sloppy open mouthed kisses moving from her neck to her chest.

“all of the above, perhaps?”

and without a warning, you feel up her chest, eliciting a moan from the nervous blonde. you rule out the possibility taking your time, quickly pulling her sports bra up over her head and discarding it somewhere in the hut.

“such a pretty girl…”

she whined at your comment as you smirk down at her body, taking in her features. her soft breasts, hardened nipples, nervous goosebumps visible all over her glistening pale skin. you ate up every inch of her body with your eyes. 

“don’t say that…”

she breathed out, her voice taking on a sheepish tone.

“why not? is it making you too wet?”

you whisper teasingly, trailing your right hand down and quickly dipping it below the waistband of her shorts. your fingers drag through her folds over her underwear, feeling the heat through the fabric.

“mhm. i think it is.”

you pull your fingers away, melissa groaning at the absence of your touch and bucking her hips up into the heel of your palm. you move yourself up off of her, crawling down between her legs. melissa looks down at you with an anxious (or maybe eager???) look in her eyes. the index finger of each of your hands hooked around her waistband, pulling her gray boyshorts down to reveal an unexpected pair of black panties with a little bow.

“these are cute.”

you tease, smirking down at them. you desperately want to get them off though, quickly pulling the black lace down her legs. once those god forsaken fabric barriers are finally off her, you spread her soft legs open, hands wrapping around her thighs from underneath to keep them in place.

you’re met with her pretty pink core directly in front of your face. your mouth waters at the sight of her stiffened clit, the pink flesh glistening with arousal.

“such a pretty pussy.”

you moan out, the vibrations sending shock waves up her body. 

“fuck- please… please.”

melissa whines out, seemingly mindlessly begging for pleasure. in response, you lean in and attach your lips to her throbbing clit, a lengthy moan clawing it’s way out of her throat. after a few flicks of your tongue, you start sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves. you aren’t even aware when the blonde throws her head back, leaning onto her elbows for support from the overwhelming pleasure.

she already feels on the edge. as you suck, you flick your tongue out, teasing her quivering entrance. she feels too empty, and you know it. 

“please… need you-“

that’s all the convincing you need to slowly trail your fingers toward her hole, tracing around the opening. a string of whispered curses and quick moans leave melissa’s mouth as she eagerly waits for your next move.

you begin to push your index finger into her entrance at an agonizingly slow pace, waiting for her reactions to make sure she feels good. melissa groans as she adjusts to the difficult squeeze, her tight walls clenching onto your single finger. you begin to suck on her clit again as you push your middle finger into her, slowly curling them together towards her sweet spot.

“fuck~ oh god…”

melissa moans out, not even trying to quiet her moans from the outside world, too wrapped up in the pleasure. you find the perfect rhythm, curling your fingers as you suck on her clit, slowly thrusting in and out of her. a very particular thrust makes her cry out, your fingers lingering on the sponge like flesh within her.

“are you close, baby? you getting close for me?”

at the sound of your voice, her walls begin fluttering around your fingers. you suck extra hard on her bud, curling your fingers at a practiced rhythm as she climaxes with a loud cry.

you don’t pull out, though… you fuck her through it, making her legs shake intensely and wrap around your head. she’s trying to get away from your touch, yet push herself into it at the same time. the feeling of overstimulation runs through her entire body, her hole continuing to pulse even after the extended orgasm. melissa’s strangled moans turn into shaky cries of pleasure, and finally, you stop.

a sigh of relief leaves melissa’s lips, her tired eyelids opening to look down at you. she relishes in the sight of your messy appearance, glistening arousal dripping down your chin. melissa laughs.

“you fucking pervert.”

[kissboybyler]

SO- i have a vague byler college au fic idea but due to school and stuff i won’t be able to write anything any time soon, so PLEASE feel free to take this idea as a prompt and write something (and tag me because i’d love to read it <3)

POV: A Mike-centric fic

okay so i understand that plenty of my moots (and other peeps in this fandom) and I are going through the horrors of senior year and uni/college applications and exams and many of us are pretty uncertain about whether or not we’re gonna get into our dream schools, the courses of our liking or like- GET INTO COLLEGE/UNI AT ALL!!! Because personally, yeah i do think “oh i hope i get accepted into the uni in this town” or blah blah blah, but MOSTLY im like “i hope i GET into uni” PERIODT.

So, i was thinking…what if things didn’t turn out for the better after-all? What if…we end up being stuck and forced to try again next year, and thus going through similar horrors again, only THIS time, most people will be on their way so you’ll be…alone?

And because mike is literally me in another universe, i want to put him through the horrors and have the entire party get into college and be pleased with it, and mike just- fail. So he’ll be forced to stay in hawkins and try again the next year.

It’ll be a story centred around failure and how one deals with it (in this case our cringe-fail loser mike wheeler, who i love dearly), hating oneself and comparing oneself to others, academic pressure and expectations, feeling like you’ve fallen behind in life… but it’ll also be a story of forgiveness, determination, and the power that someone’s love, acceptance and support has in our lives, even when it’s really hard for us to accept and forgive ourselves.

I don’t know it’s just- i can really imagine Mike failing to get into college his first year and spiralling and stuff but also having will by his side and ALSO trying to figure that out.

Ummmmm

i don’t know really

i’m just projecting onto Mikey, can you tell?

[scificrows]

The Roombabot Diaries

"Even without full scan function, I still had my dark vision filters and my own mapping data, so with the fixed point of the corridor hatch, I could retrace my steps to the ramp. It just looked awkward and stupid because for the first part I had to navigate like a floor-cleaning bot." - Martha Wells, System Collapse (Video and audio description below the cut)

VIDEO ID:

An animated video of Murderbot, in a full environmental suit (featuring a little 'Perihelion' logo on its chest and an opaque helmet).

Murderbot is wandering around a dark space, the sound of its footsteps on the stone floor are audible. It walks in a straight line to the right until it hits a pillar with an audible 'thunk' noise and stops. A grumpy smiley face appears next to it.

It recalibrates, making little chirping calibrating sounds, then turns and moves towards the viewer until it seems to hit the camera (again with a 'thunk' noise and a little frowny smiley face next to it) and recalibrates again.

It turns its back to the viewer and starts walking again, this time seemingly hitting the wall in the back. It recalibrates again, then turns to the right and starts walking again. After a few seconds it stops briefly, two exclamation marks appear next to it along with a beeping noise, then it quickly walks out of frame.

[scriblesandbits]

Auugghhh beforus headcanon doodles 😄😄😄😄 I could only be bothered to really color two of them lmao

I like to think that Pre-Scratch Fef like. Adopted Kankri because he wasn’t lusus compatible or whatevs. Being raised by overbearing, more than slightly coddling royalty is part of the reason why he’s. Like that. Also that Pre-Scratch Sollux was Meenah’s official (offishal) grubsitter

[whiteboardartstudios]

I SAID I WAS GOING TO DRAW THAT CAR SO HERE WE ARE (I hope you enjoy this is the stupidest thing I've drawn in months /affectionate)

(I put the image descriptions in the Alt text this time because there's so many images. If it doesn't work please tell me and I'll yeet them in the actual post!!)

happy finale of Wild Life everybody! :D

[slavhew]

dreaming of friends

[pose reference: Reunion by Salman Toor (2018)]

[originalartblog]

fuck it *wholesomes your skk*