#car bumper guard

[dapidx]

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[majestygalaxy]

Clocked an undercover cop car behind me in traffic, made me nervous cause they changed into another lane then swiftly changed back into mine and stayed behind me for a good bit (without lights) before pulling over another car for seemingly no reason.

[begouristore]

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[webslingingslasher]

https://x.com/astralbaes/status/1771601120026079297?s=20

this is cherry when she unlocks makeouts and isn’t scared of peter anymore fnnfnfnd

peter wobbles when you wrap your arms around his neck, appearing from nowhere and hanging off him. he's in the middle of talking to a brother, but still holds an arm around your back to steady the both of you.

'right, right, uh huh. it's like- wait, did he fucking tell you about,' peter's brain lags slightly when a wet kiss is placed at the base of his neck. '- the car? not only did he dent the fucking bumper but then he tried to tell...' his voice cracks at the end, peter was unprepared for the light nibble you'd give him.

peter clears his throat and continues, he tightens his grip around your waist. he's telling you to calm down without words. '-tell ryan it was there when he took the car that morning.'

conversations over. you waste no time and bounce up on your toes to meet his mouth, peter's caught off guard but he shouldn't have been, kissing him has been your new favorite thing. especially because he gets so pliant when you're the one initiating.

'hey, c'mon, you had him all week. let me get ten minutes with parker.' peter thinks that's fair, you've been all over him recently and he’s had zero complaints. his brothers on the other hand... are starting to notice his absence from the group.

peter pushes at your hips, he's pushing you away, he's revoking his kisses. it won't do, you turn to glare at his brother, you keep peter tight against you.

'he's mine.' you hiss out the words and peter almost drops to the ground because he's never had a girl so possessive over him and having it be you was the hottest thing he's ever witnessed.

'there's enough of me to go arou-'

'no.' it's just as cold as your earlier statement, no one is going to take your favorite thing away from you. peter flashes his brother a weak smile and holds his finger up, then he brings his head down to whisper in your ear.

'give me a few minutes with my friend. i'll come find you in a second.' you tug at his shirt, 'no.' peter kisses your temple and gently brings his hand around his back to try and gently pry you off.

'c'mon, cherry. your friends are here, go say hi for a minute.' you latch down when peter tries to grab your wrist, you've got a vice grip. 'no! i wanna kiss you.'

peter's brother is watching him fall right into your hands, he channels some of that frat boy edge from last year and breaks your hold. it's like he just committed a cardinal sin. 'we're in public. no more kisses, go find your friends.'

you turn into a grumpy mess and cross your arms over your chest. 'you never wanna do things when i want! it's always you and what you want and your rules and your game and... and... you suck! find someone else to kiss tonight!'

you stomp off, then turn right back around and point at him. 'that's me being upset. if you kiss someone else tonight i will fucking kill you. but- go kiss someone else cause it won't be me!'

peter watches you leave his eyesight and closes his eyes when his friend snorts at him. 'well, you know what? i've never seen a girl so desperate to makeout with you.' he punches peter’s shoulder as he jokes around. 'i thought you were better than a 'put something in her drink' type of guy.'

peter rolls his eyes. 'yeah, yeah, yeah. like you wouldn't be first in the lineup if you woke up with tits.' his brother raises his hands up, 'i dunno, man. that 'he's mine' comment has me second guessing it.'

'fuck, i know. where the fuck did that come from?'

'no idea. it was kind of hot though.'

'okay.' peter's done with this part of the conversation and what his brother finds hot about you. peter moved right back in on the semi- car thief and was filled in on what he missed out on while he was mia. peter doesn't think he missed much, you were much more entertaining than an arm wrestling competition.

ten minutes later and his brother nods towards the party behind them. 'go find your girl, i'm gonna go try to find my own possessive princess.'

you're still upset when peter approaches, he aims for a kiss on the cheek, it's a bad move and you're swatting at him to back up. 'oh no, not happening, no sir. you told me no more kisses and i said it's always up to you when it's convenient and you let me walk away.'

peter frowns, 'did you want me to run after you?'

'yes! i wanted you to tell me that wasn't true and you respect what i want too.' peter cups your cheeks to force you to keep your eyes on his.

'i respect what you want. and i'm sorry, cherry, but i'm not going to run after you. part of a relationship is communication, when you walk away from me i assume you want space, not that you want to be followed. if you have an issue you need to hash it out with me, not expect me to fill in the blanks.'

'so you don't care?'

'i do care. i care a lot, cherry. but i also have other friends and obligations and i can't always drop them for you. but that doesn't mean you have to stomp off and expect to get your way.'

you look to the side, you're bad at this relationship stuff and you're glad you have peter here to guide you. it doesn't mean you always like it. 'but you're mine.'

you have no idea how that makes him feel. 'i am?' he's craving more of your possession, he wants to know just how much you need him. 'of course you are! you're mine and i'm yours and when i want a kiss i want you to kiss me, it's very simple.'

peter perks up, 'is it?' you huff up at him, your hands wrap around his wrists. 'yes.' peter would be very, very dumb to disagree. but he also has some boundaries.

'alright, i hear you and i'm glad you're communicating with me. personally, i'm not a huge fan of pda, but you are. if you want a kiss, i'll give you a kiss. but no makeouts or groping, can we agree on that?'

you almost blind peter with your smile, you nod quick and fast. 'yes, yes, yes! look at me go, petey! communicating and compromising! i'm gonna freaking rock this girlfriend stuff.' you brush a hand over his shirt, smoothing out a small wrinkle.

'all thanks to my practice boyfriend.'

peter feels numb. 'practice boyfriend?' you grin, 'yeah. you're the pop quiz before the test, so, thank you.' peter drops his hold, you frown and reach for his hands but peter crosses them over his chest so you can't.

'i'm not doing this to pass you off to another guy, cherry.'

you raise an eyebrow, 'then who are you passing me off to?' peter's not the best at communication either because he still can't get the 'i'm in love with you' off his tongue.

'i don't know. what was all of that about i'm yours and you're mine?' you 'ooh' at him and do a little spin, peter feels his heart thump three times as hard.

'not ready to give me up yet, parker?'

you don't have to ask for a kiss, peter's already doing it for you. you're breathless when he pulls away.

'never.' 

[notamilfluver]

Car troubles with Mrs. Maximoff (fem smut)

Summary: you’re a mechanic coming over to fix Wanda’s car. But she doesn’t realize an attractive woman is the one coming over.

Warnings: fingering and kissing.

Wanda looks at you suspiciously as you make your way to her doorstep.

Hi ma’am, I was called here to fix a car, are you Mrs. Maximoff?

Wanda looks up at you. “Yes, I am.”

Well you are insanely gorgeous hon’.

You look up and down at her curvy body.

Wanda looks at you in a slightly confused manner but her expression softens when she hears your compliment. “Well... thank you. I can say the same thing about you.” she laughs softly.

Anyways, I was called here to fix a car? You lean your arm on the door and look down at Wanda.

Wanda looks up at you. She swallows and tries to keep her cool while looking into your eyes.

She quickly breaks the eye contact to avoid giving away any obvious signs. “Oh yes...you're a mechanic?”

Yes ma'am, I sure am. You smile real big at Wanda.

Wanda looks at your arms. Her eyes linger a bit too long on your muscular arms but she quickly shakes her head to snap out of it and looks back at your eyes.

“So um... which car is it you came to fix?”

Uh ma'am, I’m not sure? You just told me over the phone you needed your car fixed. You cackled.

Wanda's eye roll is almost audible. “Oh right right...how could I forget.” Wanda stands up.

She turns away and starts walking to her garage while expecting you to follow her.

Wanda opens the garage door and walks inside. The garage is pretty organised and clean. Her car is situated in the middle of the garage.

Ahh I see, a Lincoln huh? It’s a nice car.

“Yep you got it...my car just stopped working a few days ago... maybe you can have a look at it and tell me what the problem is?”

Sure can ma'am! You open the bumper.

oh you're missing a spark plug and your water and oil is low, I'll have it fixed in a couple of hours.

You smile at Wanda.

Wanda looks slightly confused and a bit annoyed that she didn't spot the missing spark plug but she can't help but melt at the sight of your smile.

She leans against the bonnet of the car, watching what you're doing.

She crosses her arms and looks down at the floor to avoid staring at your arms.

“So, It'll take 2 hours?”

Maybe less than that, I can work fast. You look down at her.

Wanda sighs deeply.

“Sounds great thank you. I really appreciate that you're doing this on such short notice.”

Wanda smiles politely.

She can't help but get distracted by the sight of your arms flexing as you are focusing on fixing the car.

She looks away again and swallows.

Your hands are dirtied up with oil, So you slip off your black wife beater and wipe your veiny hands off on the shirt.

Wanda's eyes immediately flicker towards your abs. She looks at them for a pretty long time.

She tries not to make it obvious that she's checking you out but it's pretty obvious that she's distracted by your body.

She forces herself to look back at the car and keep a straight face while she's in a complete daze.

You look up at her.

Your battery is fried as well, I’ll have to bring you a new one, is it fine if I show up tomorrow?

Wanda can't help but smirk slightly when she sees you taking your shirt off but quickly puts a straight face on and looks at you.

“You're coming back tomorrow?”

You fix your sports bra to a comfy spot.

If that’s okay with you?

Wanda swallows. She notices you fix your sports bra and can't help but notice just how perfect your body looks.

She takes her time before answering as she wants to make sure she doesn't say anything stupid.

“Of course it's fine. It's no trouble at all.” She says quietly.

You okay mrs. Maximoff, you look a little shaken?

“I'm fine I'm fine.” Wanda quickly replies, almost too quickly.

She bites down on her lip.

She does think she looks a little shaken as she's struggling to keep her composure after looking at your body.

She takes a deep breath and sighs.

“You just caught me off guard. You know... taking your shirt off.” She laughs slightly.

oh my god i'm so sorry, I can put it back on if it's a problem. You say concerned.

Wanda quickly shakes her head and looks panicked almost.

“No no it's fine really. It's not a problem at all. “

She looks at you and studies your body once again. She's getting more and more attracted to you the more she stares at your body.

Her eyes flicker up and down your body a few times before meeting your eyes again.

You get distracted and look over at her breast.

Wanda notices where your eyes are going.

She swallows slightly but tries to keep her serious expression on her face. She's trying to act unaffected by the attention you’re giving her but she's actually quite flustered.

She looks down and realises that she dressed up and wore a pretty revealing top today and now she's embarrassed.

Her cheeks turn slightly red but she looks back up at you.

That dress looks really good on you Mrs. Maximoff. You chuckle nervously.

Wanda looks surprised when you complimented her so suddenly.

She didn't expect that at all. She glances down at her dress and looks back at you.

“Um thank you... I appreciate it.”

Wanda smiles and starts twirling her hair with her fingers as her cheeks turn slightly more red.

She looks at your body again discreetly.

Alright.. so I put in a new spark plug and new oil and water all it needs is a new battery and it will be good to go.

Wanda nods in response.

She can't stop herself from admiring your torso. She looks at every inch of your defined abs and her eyes linger for way too long on your arms.

Her mouth goes slightly dry as she looks at you but she forces herself to look at your eyes and not your body.

“That's great thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”

Is there anything else that you need fixed I can do more than fixing cars I can do plumbing as well and just about anything. You eagerly ask.

Wanda bites her lip and ponders on your question.

She can think of a few things that need "fixing" right now. But of course she's not gonna say that out loud.

She quickly composes herself and tries to think of something that needs fixing.

“Um no l don't think so. Maybe the toilet in my bathroom needs a new flushing mechanism but i'll manage for now…”

Are you sure? I can fix it up it, it won’t take long at all.

Wanda considers your offer.

She wants to accept but she also wants you to stay in her garage for a little longer so she can admire your body.

Wanda looks back and forth from your arms to your abs. She looks at you up and down a few times before she finally speaks up.

“Um...you know what? I could do with a new flushing mechanism…”

All right then, can you show me to the bathroom hon’? You ask.

Wanda looks startled for a second when you call her "hon'" she's not used to all the random pet names but she doesn't mind it at all and it even turns her on a bit.

Her heart flutters slightly as she looks away from you and clears her throat.

“Yeah sure...follow me.”

She turns around and starts walking into the house with you following close behind.

You've got a really nice house. You say as you look around.

As you look around, you see toys lying around on the floor.

oh you have kids? You ask.

“Thanks.”

Wanda smirks when she looks back at the toys lying around and picks them up.

“Yeah I have twins. They're just playing in their room right now.”

“I should go check on them.”

What's their names?

Wanda smiles when mentioning her children.

“Their names are Billy and Tommy. They should be in their room playing with legos or something.”

Billy and Tommy, cute names.

“Thank you.”

Wanda smiles as she stands near Billy and Tommy's bedroom door.

She peeks into the room and sees them playing with legos on the floor.

Her twins quickly look up at their mother when they spot her standing in the doorway but they continue playing with legos.

They are adorable, they look a lot like their mother. They are very lucky to have you.

Wanda's heart melts at your comment as she smiles looking at her twin sons.

She turns around to look at you and is once again distracted by your body.

“Thank you. They're my little angels...”

she says quietly before biting down on her lip.

You know, your husband is really lucky to have such a beautiful sweet wife like you. You flirtatiously comment.

Wanda's heart aches and sinks a little at the mention of her husband.

She looks down and fiddles with her engagement ring.

She quickly composes herself and plasters on a fake smile.

She forces herself to look you in the eyes and laugh softly.

“Thank you so much. But um my husband...he's not around anymore.”

Oh I am so sorry for bringing that up- I saw the engagement ring and I just thought- I'm so sorry Mrs. Maximoff.

You feel bad for being up her husband.

Wanda shakes her head and gives you a reassuring smile.

She reaches out slowly and pats your shoulder.

“No no it's fine you don't have to apologize. I know most people think I'm still with my husband I don't blame you. And please just call me Wanda.”

Wanda lets her hand rest on your shoulder for a little longer than necessary.

You get distracted by her hand placement on your shoulder.

Oh uh the bathroom, you were going to show me?

Wanda's heart flutters when she realizes that her hand is still on your shoulder. But she's too distracted by your body to move her hand away...yet.

She swallows and slowly moves her hand away from your shoulder and turns to point at the bathroom door.

“Oh...yeah right the bathroom.”

“It's right here.”

She leads you to the bathroom.

Alrighty thank you.

Your arm brushes past her body as you walk through the door.

Wanda's whole body tingles when your arm brushes past her body.

Her heart is racing now and she's desperate to touch your body again. She watches you walk into the bathroom and she slowly follows behind after a few seconds.

Her mind is racing with all sorts of inappropriate and inappropriate thoughts as the sight of your body distracts her.

Can you hand me that wrench right there?

Wanda is snapped out of her thoughts when you ask for a wrench.

She blushes slightly as she looks for the wrench and hands you the wrench a moment later.

She stares at your arms as you fix the flushing mechanism.

Alright it's fixed. So easy to fix.

You smile looking down at her.

Wanda can't help but smile back at you as she looks up at you.

She can't stop herself from staring at you like a lovesick puppy.

Her eyes linger on your chest and arms before making their way up to your eyes. She swallows and looks a bit flustered.

“Wow you fixed it really fast. You're really good at this...”

It's what I do. You need anything else?

Wanda knows that she should just let you leave and end this interaction before she does something stupid.

But she wants you to stay longer. She steps slightly closer to you and looks up at you with a sultry gaze.

“Well actually...there is something you could possibly help with...”

And that is?

Wanda takes another step closer and places a hand on your arm.

She runs her hand up and down your arm as she stares into your eyes.

Her expression is filled with desire.

“Can you stay a little bit longer... please?”

Of course I can. You smile big.

Wanda feels her heart skip a beat when you accept her request. She feels slightly flustered and also very excited.

Her whole body tingles under your gaze and she slowly moves her hand on your arm up to your chest.

She slowly moves her hand up and down your chest while she looks at you with a sultry expression.

“Thank you...it means a lot to me.”

It’s really no problem.

You look down at her full lips.

Wanda's eyes flicker to your lips as well.

Her heart is racing and she can feel a pool of heat between her legs now.

She moves her hand up to your neck and slowly strokes your neck as she moves closer to you.

“You're too nice for your own good you know...”

I try to be.

You move your dirty hand to grab her waist.

Wanda feels her breath catch in her throat when you grab her waist. Her heart is racing so fast.

Her body tingles when your dirty hand touches her skin.

She swallows and presses her body against yours as her hands move to your arms. She caresses your arms and feels your muscles under her palms.

“God you're so...big...and strong...”

You chuckle. You think that?

Wanda looks up at you and gives you a coy smile.

She slowly nods her head as she looks you up and down slowly.

“Yes you know how to use your strength...it's hard for me to resist you...”

You let out a little smirk.

You know I can use my strength for other things too.

You pick her up and shove her on the sink.

Wanda squeals and gasps as you pick her up and put her on the counter with ease.

Her heart soars when she's lifted so easily.

She giggles as she wraps her legs around your waist and looks up at you with lust in her eyes.

“Oh yeah? What other things do you wanna use your strength for?”

Well that's for you to decide hon'

You grab on her thighs.

Wanda moans softly when you grab her thighs. Her skin feels like it's on fire and the nickname “hon’” is still making her feel weak in the knees.

She leans her head back and exposes her neck to you while she tugs on your shoulders.

You sloppily kiss down her neck to her big breast.

Wanda moans even louder as your kiss her neck and her breast.

Every touch of your lips on her skin is driving her crazy.

Her legs wrap tighter around your waist, pulling you closer to her.

“Oh god... please... don't stop...”

What's that I hear? You tease.

You want me to stop?

Wanda whimpers in frustration as she looks back at you. She shakes her head and pouts.

“No... please don't stop... please... don't tease me...”

You laugh playfully while twisting her hair.

You're so beautiful, especially when you're begging me.

Wanda feels slight embarrassed when you call her beautiful but she swallows her embarrassment and looks at you with a lustful gaze.

She lets out a soft moan as you twist her hair and she tries to keep the pout on her face.

“Oh shut up...l'm not begging...” she says in a whiny tone.

You grab her chin and kiss her lips.

mmm, you taste so good. I wonder what you taste like between those pretty little thighs.

You slide your hand more closer up her thighs.

Wanda moans into your lips as her body tenses up.

She gasps when you slide your hand further up her thigh and shivers at your comment.

Her legs part slightly and her skin feels like it's on fire.

“God you're so...damn forward...no one's ever said things like this to me before...”

You like that? You tease.

Wanda nods her head frantically and grabs onto your arms again.

She can't help but bite her lip in anticipation as she watches you slowly move your hand up her now parted thighs.

“Yes...yes I like it... keep going...”

You slide your hand rubbing against her soaked pink lacey underwear.

You're just so sweet.

Wanda gasps and bucks her hips against your hand.

She throws her head back and moans in pleasure while gripping onto your arms tightly.

Her whole body is on fire. She pants and trembles slightly as she desperately tries to keep holding eye contact with you.

“God...don't stop…”

You look directly into her eyes, smiling cockily.

Wanda gasps slightly and swallows as she looks back at you.

She feels flustered but somehow she still manages to pout even in this situation.

She's trying not to let your smirk affect her but she's clearly affected and flustered by your cocky gaze.

“God you're so cocky...it's driving me crazy..”

You cackle as you slide her panties down and rub her wet cunt in circular motion.

Wanda moans louder and grips onto your arms tighter.

She tries to keep a straight face but she's slowly coming undone and unraveling under your touch.

Her body feels sensitive and she's starting to crave more from you.

She lets out a whine in frustration and looks at you with pleading eyes.

“God...please...l need more...give me more...”

You slide a finger through her tight pussy.

Wanda moans even louder and shudders at the new sensation.

Her body feels like it's melting in your touch.

She closes her eyes for a moment and gasps softly as she tenses and grips your arms tighter.

The pleasure is almost too much for her to handle right now.

Hmm you can't handle it? You tease as you slowly slip another finger into her.

Wanda moans louder and shakes her head. Her breath starts to quicken as she pants heavily while looking at you with pleading eyes.

“Ugh...you're so damn cocky and you know how to drive me crazy...”

She's trying to say that she can handle it but at the same time she's starting to lose herself in the pleasure your fingers are giving her.

Her legs trembles and her body quivers.

Hmm you like that? You say as you push harder inside of her.

Wanda whines and nods her head.

Yes... I like it...I love it...don't stop...

Her voice is trembling and she's panting in ecstasy now.

Her body is starting to shiver and her legs start to tremble more as she gets closer to her climax.

She's gripping onto your arms tightly as she tries to keep her eyes open.

You’re so wet honey.

You tease.

Wanda moans and shivers at your words. She gasps softly as she feels herself get even wetter from your words and touch.

She feels overwhelmed by pleasure now and she's starting to lose herself in the sensations.

You kiss down her neck as you go in and out faster.

Wanda moans louder and louder as she gets closer to the edge and feels your lips on her neck.

Her body is trembling more and more and she lets out soft whimpers as she grips onto your shoulders.

She’s clearly overwhelmed from the intense pleasure and is desperately trying to hold back.

“Oh god... oh god...l'm so close…don’t stop…”

Kisses get sloppier and sloppier as she gets closer to cumming.

Wanda is trembling and moaning uncontrollably now as she gets closer to her climax.

Her legs tremble violently and her grip on your shoulders tightens as she's struggling to hold back now.

She's whimpering and panting as her long nails dig into your back.

You move your left hand to pull her hair back. Wanda gasps and moans at your firm grip on her hair.

She loves the feeling and can't help but let out a louder mewl of pleasure.

She's so close to the edge now and she's struggling to form words as the pleasure is starting to overpower her.

“God...yes...yes..please...”

Shhh baby the boys are going to hear us. You smirk while fingering her harder and faster.

Wanda lets out a louder gasp and moans when you tell her to be quiet.

She bites her lip hard to keep herself from moaning loudly but it's hard to keep quiet with how good you're making her feel.

You push harder until you hear little knocks on the door.

Oh shit! You quietly say under your breath.

Wanda gasps and her whole body freezes when her sons knock.

Her body feels like it's on fire from the interrupted climax and she doesn't know what to do.

She's desperately trying to calm down her breathing.

“Boys...give me a minute!”

You keep going, you won’t stop until she finishes.

Wanda gasps and bites back yet another moan when you keep going.

She's trying so hard to keep herself from moaning loudly.

She desperately grips onto your arms and tries to slow you down before her sons hear her.

“Wait…please...slow down...”

What’s wrong baby? You question.

Wanda tries to keep a straight face but it's hard to do when you're still going so good.

“You're...going... too fast...the boys are here... they'll hear...”

It’s okay I got this.

You smile as you put your hand over her mouth and you shove your fingers even faster.

Wanda gasps and moans loudly into your hand when you go faster and harder than before. The pleasure and excitement is driving her crazy.

You nibble on her earlobe and whisper.

Come on baby cum for me.

Wanda gasps at your whisper and shivers.

The tone of your voice and the sensations you're making her feel is starting to drive her to the breaking point.

She desperately moans into your hand and tries to say “I’m close” but her words are all muffled by your palm.*

Shhh honey. You press harder on her mouth. As Billy bangs on the door.

“Mommy what are you doing in there?!” Billy yells.

You uncover her mouth.

Wanda gasps and moans loudly when your hand leaves her mouth.

Her head is spinning, her body is trembling and she can barely speak through her panting and moans.

She moans your name but then she hears her son’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Oh…fuck…”

She gasps and tries to control her breathing so she can talk to her children.

You whisper in her ear.

I’m not stopping until you cum darling.

Wanda whimpers softly at your whispered words and nods slowly.

She's starting to give in and just let you take her right in front of her kids.

She looks down in embarrassment as she moans softly while she listens to Tommy and Billy bang on the door.

You hold the door shut so the kids won’t be able to come in.

They won’t know.

You say as you wink at her, pumping faster with your fingers, in and out.

Wanda whimpers and shudders at how cocky you are.

She feels flustered by your winks and how easily you've taken control of the situation.

She looks at the door while you hold it shut and tries to listen to her sons on the other side of it.

“Ugh...they're gonna know...”

They won’t honey.

You reassure her as you continue fingering her.

Wanda wants to believe you but she hears her sons on the other side trying to figure out what she's doing in here and it makes her feel more embarrassed.

“Ugh... ..l can't... they're gonna catch us...”

It’ll be okay.. just cum for me baby.

You pump your fingers harder into her.

Wanda swallows and nods slowly. She moans softly at your words and trembles at the pleasure you're giving her.

She closes her eyes and stops worrying about her sons on the other side of the door.

Good girl.

Wanda moans louder and shakes her head as she tries to control her breathing.

“They...they know...they. they're right... on the other side...”

Oh baby quit being paranoid, they don’t know.

Wanda trembles and moans shakily as she looks at the door.

Her body is on fire from pleasure and her mind is clouded from it too but she still feels embarrassed from her sons listening to her moans.

“They're gonna figure it out...”

You want me to stop? You slow down.

Wanda lets out a shaky whimper and closes her eyes again as she feels her body melt into your touch.

She's getting closer and closer to the edge and she's not even paying attention to her sons talking on the other side of the door anymore.

She's completely focused on the pleasure your giving her.

“Mmm god…so good...”

You going to cum for me baby? You shove faster.

Wanda moans and nods her head shakily.

Her body is trembling and her legs are shaking violently as she grips onto your arms to steady herself.

She's breathing heavily now and she's so close to the edge.

“Yes..yes...I'm about to cum... please...don't”

Mm you’re so close baby cum for me.

Wanda whimpers and nods again, her head spinning as she trembles under your touch.

She lets out a louder moan and gasps softly, her body starting to tense and shiver as she gets closer to the edge.

“Mmm I’m so close....don't stop...please baby..”

You use your thumb to rub her clit while shoving your fingers into her faster.

Wanda let's out a soft cry and moans loudly, clinging onto you tightly as she gasps and shudders violently.

“I’m..I’m going to cum!”

She rides your fingers until her sweet juices drip down your fingers.

She trembles and leans against you, overwhelmed and breathless.

She's trying to regain her senses as her body slowly calms down from the intense pleasure.

Good girl, you did so good.

Wanda leans against you as she tries to regain her breath and control her breathing.

She's still trembling slightly and her body feels like it's buzzing with leftover pleasure.

“Yes... that was...that was incredible...”

You think so hon’?

You kiss her one last time before you open the door.

Wanda gasps at the last kiss and her body shudders.

She feels flustered as you open the door afterwards.

She quickly fixes her disheveled hair and tries to act like she wasn't just getting pleasured so good right in front of her kids.

Hi boys! I was just helping your mommy out.

You smile real big at them.

Wanda looks over at her sons and smiles nervously as well.

She can't look them in the eye right now, knowing that they were probably listening to her moans and gasps through the whole thing.

She feels embarrassed and blushes slightly but still manages to force a smile.

“Yes boys...I... just needed some help with something...”

Wanda looks at you and turns back to her twin sons.

Well, I guess I better get to going you say as you grab your tool box.

See you boys. You smile as you walk away.

Wanda watches you go and she still feels embarrassed but she tries to act normal.

She walks over to them and looks down at them both with a nervous smile.

“How...how long were you boys listening for?”

You laugh as you make your way to the door, she’s so concerned.

Wanda's head snaps towards you as you laugh and she tries to give you a death glare at the same time.

She blushes furiously and blushes even more when both of her sons also look up at you and then back up at her.

Billy grins mischievously while Tommy has an innocent little smile on his face.

I'll see you tomorrow, Mrs.Maximoff. You smile at her.

Wanda swallows anxiously and blushes.

She forces a smile and nods.

“Y-yes. I'll see you tomorrow.”

She watches as you leave and then looks back at her sons, wondering what they are both thinking right now.

Billy is still grinning mischievously while Tommy is still looking up at her with innocence.

You walk out the door making your way to get in your car and drive away.

Wanda stands with her sons and watches you go.

She can't help but feel a mixture of embarrassment and excitement.

She can't wait to see you again tomorrow.

Billy is still grinning and looking up at her while Tommy is giggling softly.

“What's so funny, boys?”

[spidervee]

afterglow (tangerine x reader)

summary: tangerine finds himself falling for the girl next door (part 1/3) words: 3.1k warnings: fem!reader, lotsa swears, sexual thoughts, implied sexual situations, implied violence, implied drug use, no use of y/n, neighbours to lovers trope, tangerine's angry inner monologue is a warning all its own, lemon being the best

You’re determined to move your groceries from the boot of your car to the front porch in a single trip. Mind, there’s not more than a dozen or so steps between the two, but it’s the principle of the matter—one trip is so much more satisfying than two. However, your determination did not account for the fact that you bought a family-sized box of Cheerios, a bag of flour, and a carton of eggs along with your usual run of fruits, vegetables, and pasta. Thus, you’re more than a little off-balance as you shoulder your canvas tote bags, your body tilting dangerously toward the left as you try to close the boot with the three fingers on your right hand that remain free. You miss, staggering forward and hitting your knees against the bumper and hissing out a curse.

“You quite alright there, love?” An amused voice distracts you from the pain of what will doubtlessly become a tender spot, though the sudden realisation that you have an audience is horrible, embarrassment flooding through you as you straighten up and try to look composed. 

“Brilliant,” you call back, refusing to look at the man you know is watching you. It’s the bloke next door, on the right, the tall one with the blue eyes and the weirdly retro moustache and the suits that look far too expensive for this neighbourhood. 

You’ve never exchanged more than a few words at a time with him, only interacting when necessary—the time a package of his got delivered to your porch, the time your cat climbed the drooping branches of the willow tree in his yard, and the time he’d nearly run you over with his car during your morning run. Admittedly, that last time had been rather terse, though it hadn’t stopped the minimal pleasantries neighbours were meant to exchange. The two of you still nodded politely at one another if you happened to cross paths. Sometimes you’d give a wave that he would return with a slightly more emphatic nod than his usual. 

So, it surprises you when he starts down his drive toward yours, flicking away the cigarette that had been dangling from his lips moments earlier. You try to hastily correct yourself, balance your posture, rearrange your bags so that you don’t look so helplessly overwhelmed, but his legs are too long and he’s by your side in just a few strides, helping you shrug off one of the totes, and then another. 

“Gonna break your bloody back,” he mutters, tone disapproving as he lifts the bags effortlessly in one hand and carries them to your front door. 

“I was managing,” you say sharply, embarrassment getting the best of you. He snorts, a derisive noise that only seeks to send your guard up even further, a scowl writing itself across your face. “I was!” 

“A simple thank you is all I need, love.” He turns to face you with those dazzling blue eyes and your throat feels suddenly dry, your body pinned under his stare. You want to protest, to underscore the fact that you’ve unloaded your groceries alone more than a hundred times and his little show of chivalry was entirely unnecessary. 

But all you can do is swallow, watching as his tattooed hands pull a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his tailored trousers. 

“Thanks,” you mutter. A grin turns up the corners of his mouth as he lights his cigarette and presses it between his lips. With a nod, he’s heading down your steps and back to his own porch, not another word exchanged between the two of you. 

You can’t stop thinking about him, damn it. Three days later and you’re still remembering the way his eyes danced over you, somehow appraising and appreciative all at once. You think you want to see more of him, feel his hands, that moustache scratching along the inside of your thighs. 

Maybe it’s been a while since you got laid. 

Because you shouldn’t be having these thoughts about the bloke next door—he’s definitely dodgy. He keeps odd hours and disappears for questionable stretches of time. He only ever has one visitor, a friendly bloke, sure, but almost as dodgy, driving a different car nearly every month. And you’re fairly certain you once saw him coming home with blood spattered on his crisp white shirt—not that you were watching, no, you’d just happened to be bringing in the shopping at the time. 

Still, when you find yourself out of sugar in the middle of baking cookies for tomorrow’s fundraiser, you’re desperate. And Mrs. Barry on the left is out at her daughter’s, so you’ve no choice but to go knock on the door and ask porn-stache if he can do you a real quick favour. 

You’re not sure what’s worse. That he answers the door with a gruff “whaddaya want?” 

Or that he’s shirtless, belt buckle hanging open and trousers slung low around his hips. 

“Sugar,” you manage to squeak out. And he raises a thick eyebrow at you, amused. 

“Right, sorry,” he grins, the gruffness gone in favour of something almost teasing. “Whaddaya want, sugar?”

Tangerine never gets visitors, unless he’s counting Lemon. He doesn’t count Lemon because it’s fuckin’ Lemon. There’s obligation there. Call it business. Call it brotherly love. Call it bloody codependency. 

And Lemon has a key. He never knocks. In fact, knocking is utterly fucking suspect in Tangerine’s humble opinion. It meant you were either going to open the door to the world’s dumbest fuckin’ assassin or someone was trying to lure you into a false sense of security. Or it was the lad delivering curry. But he hadn’t ordered any curry. 

So it’s not his fault, really, when he slips his gun into his back pocket before opening the door. The heft of it pulls his trousers ever so slightly more down his hips, but he’d been about to get into the shower and whoever the bastard at the door is doesn’t deserve his decency, not when they’re knocking on his fucking door like he’s invited them over for tea. 

But when he opens the door, his brow furrows immediately because there’s that sweet-looking bird from next door just stood on his bloody porch like she belongs there, eyes wide and a shy smile on her face. Tangerine takes care to puff up his chest a little bit because suddenly he’s not so terribly annoyed. 

Although the gun pressing into his tailbone is a fucking nuisance. 

There’s a plate in your hands, piled high with something that’s wrapped in aluminium, and you hold it out in his direction by way of greeting. Tangerine just looks at your offering, unaccustomed to receiving things. 

“Cookies,” you explain, “From the sugar I borrowed.” 

His brain searches for a snarky remark, a teasing word, anything to make this feel less intimate than it does because you’re standing on his porch with cookies you made for him like he’s not a bloody bastard who killed six men in Cape Town three weeks ago. But, his traitorous brain supplies nothing—not a single syllable to his suddenly parched tongue. 

So, he blinks at you, unsure what to say. His first instinct is to laugh, but he manages to suppress that and instead allows you to instead shove the plate of cookies into his hands and wave an awkward little goodbye. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, watching you walk away with the oddest sense of déja vu. But your front door has already closed behind you. 

Inside, Tangerine sets the plate aside on the corner of the counter, beside the spice rack and tucked away so he doesn’t have to think about the cookies. It’s less about the cookies themselves and more about the inkling of warmth that filled him when you graciously handed him the plate, a small smile playing on your lips like you knew they were fucking delicious. 

He has no intention of eating them. For all he knows, they’re laced with bloody poison. More likely, though, is that they’ll taste like the things he’s missing in his life and that’s so much more fucking depressing. 

He decides to shower, if for no other reason than to wash away the feelings you’ve left like electricity rippling along his skin. And, if he’s being honest, the shower is the best place for him to think about you right now. For…reasons. 

When he emerges, he’s calmer and decidedly happier…until he spies Lemon at his kitchen island, the plate of your cookies—his cookies—open in front of him. 

“Bruv, these cookies are fucking ace.” 

“No, you daft cunt don’t eat those!” 

Lemon doesn’t even pause in chewing, fixing his brother with a confused stare, eyebrows quirked. “Why the hell not?” 

“They’re…fucking hell, Lemon can’t you just listen?” Tangerine is incensed, hands wringing, “You always hafta ask a million questions like you’re the fucking coppers. Really gets on my tits, you know?”

“You’re angry,” Lemon says through a mouthful of cookie. 

“Bloody brilliant observation. Sherlock fucking Holmes over here. Call Scotland fucking Y….” 

“It’s not about the cookies.” Lemon cuts off his ranting with a well-timed observation. 

Tangerine breathes out heavily through his nose. “Sod off.” 

“Is it about a girl?” 

“Not a bloody girl.” 

“A boy?” 

“For Chrissake, Lemon we’re not in the fourth fucking grade!” 

“It’s that pretty little bird next door, innit?” 

“Fuck off.” 

He returns the plate with a handwritten note on a Post-It. His penmanship is nice enough, a neat if somewhat loopy cursive, telling you thank you for the cookies. It was Lemon’s fucking idea, being neighbourly and all that shite. He rings your bell, glad when you don’t answer so he can simply leave the plate on your welcome mat. 

You’re pruning roses the next time he sees you and the look of focus on your face, the way your tongue pokes out from between your lips, almost makes him smile—bloody fucking hell, who is he? 

Unlucky for him, you notice him and wave, shears in your raised hand so you look a bit barmy until you realise you’re waving a weapon around and quickly tuck them sheepishly behind your back. Tangerine, in a stunning display of idiocy that he will later want to smash his head into a wall over, begins to walk toward you. Like you’re a goddamn magnet. No, stronger than that. The sunshine around which the fucking earth of his own body has begun to orbit. Gravity makes no fucking sense anymore because if it did he would not be falling for the cute smile you fix him with, the stunningly normal and carefree way you adjust your sunhat and point out that your climbing roses are almost taller than you; the manner in which you wrinkle your nose at him and inform him—as if he doesn’t fucking know—that you don’t even know his name. 

He gives you the name on his most recent fake ID, Andrew—a perfectly nice and proper name, but then shakes his head. “Mates just call me Tangerine,” he tells you, neglecting to say that his enemies call him that as well, along with some choice other words.

“Tangerine?” More nose wrinkling and Tangerine is ready to take his own knees out with a billy club because they’re getting weaker by the fucking second standing here with you. 

“It’s a footie thing,” he lies, “That bloke you see coming and going is Lemon. He plays goal” 

“You play football?” 

More lies. More small talk. Until Lemon’s car pulls up and Tangerine is torn between relieved to see his brother and wanting to throw him off the fucking face of the earth. He tells you he best be going. You nod, holding out your hand, encased as it is in thick gardening gloves up to the elbow. 

“It was nice to meet you, Tang—oh! Sorry, is it just a footie thing?”

He takes your proffered hand and gives it a small squeeze. “No, love, you can call me whatever you’d like.” 

It’s 3 in the morning and you can’t sleep, tossing and turning as seemingly every embarrassing childhood moment comes back to haunt you from the depths of your mind. Since your bedroom is no refuge and you don’t particularly feel like catching anything on the telly, you seek a moment of solace on the porch, wondering if maybe, for once, the stars are out. 

But the only light, aside from the artificial yellow of the streetlamps, is the low glow of cigarette embers on Tangerine’s porch and you narrow your eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of his figure in the shadowy night. 

“Can’t sleep, love?” His voice rings through the silence and you take it as an invitation to walk over and join him. 

“One of those nights, I guess.” You shrug as you drop down onto the porch swing next to him. It’s an oddly homey thing to have there, you think, for a man who is not always home. Tangerine makes a noise of agreement in his throat. He’s familiar with those nights, has them every so often when his birthday is coming up and those incessant thoughts about what he’s done with his life start to creep up on him. 

The two of you sit in comfortable silence until your head drops to the side, landing on his shoulder. If Tangerine is surprised by the contact, he doesn’t show it, remaining still other than the slight shift to accommodate you. 

There, on his porch, in the summer heat, you fall asleep against Tangerine, leaving him to glance up at the starless sky in askance because it all feels alarmingly normal and he doesn’t hate it.  

There’s screaming on the lawn. Not his lawn, so he shouldn’t really get involved, but the angry voice of a man calls out your name and his ears perk up, less out of interest and more out of a sudden desire to murder any bastard who dares raise his voice at you. 

Quietly, Tangerine slips out his front door to see what’s unfolding. You’re stood on your porch, arms crossed over your chest in defiance. There’s a man on the lawn, consumed by rage by the looks of it, and Tangerine contemplates popping inside to grab his gun.

“You stupid bitch!” 

“Get the fuck out.” Your voice is hard and Tangerine feels a stitch of pride at how stoic and unaffected you look by the absolute meltdown happening ten feet in front of you. But then, the man threatens to kill you and Tangerine is across his yard faster than he’s ever moved before, his fingers wrapped tightly around this fucking bloke’s wrist, staying him.  

“I think fucking not, mate,” Tangerine’s voice is low and threatening. “You touch her and I will cut every fucking one of your fingers off then shove them up your bastard arse before I fucking kill you. You don’t even fucking look at her. Tuck you tail between your legs and get the fuck out of here before you make me do something I’m gonna have too much fun doing to fucking regret.” 

It all happens quickly after that. The man shrugs Tangerine off, curses at him, looks about to pick a fight but must see the seasoned glint of violence in his blue eyes because he curses again and leaves in the car that’s been idling in front of your house the entire time. 

Tangerine turns to look at you with a raised eyebrow and he knows it’s a stupid fucking thing to say but he goes ahead and says it anyways because he can’t fucking help himself. “Didn’t mention you had a boyfriend, love.” 

To his surprise, you laugh. Loud. Heartily. It almost makes the tears that have welled up in your eyes disappear, but he can still see them. “That wanker was not my boyfriend.” When he looks at you, silently giving you space to continue, you sigh. “Brother,” you clarify, “He stops by once in a while for money.” 

Tangerine nods and you step into the front door, leaving it ajar for him to follow. “I’m making some tea,” you call over your shoulder, “Care to join me?” 

After that, he starts stopping in regularly. 

At first it’s just tea, sipped across from one another at the small glass table in your breakfast nook. Tangerine greets your cat, settles into his seat, talks about the latest book he’s reading. You try not to smile too big when Shelley, the cat in question, curls up on Tangerine’s lap, nor when he pretends to be cross about fur on his expensive pants. You pour the tea, respond in kind about the things you’re reading, complain a little bit about work and eventually, because he doesn’t offer the information freely, ask what it is he does for a living. 

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but when, with zero hesitation, he tells you he’s a banker you’re a little surprised. 

Soon, tea turns into suppers spent with your feet kicked up on the coffee table, plates balanced on laps—much to Shelley’s dismay as it means Tangerine’s legs are unavailable for snuggling.

You find yourself growing fonder of this man who has carved his way into your heart, made a place for himself amongst the fixtures of your home. He’s got sharp edges, certainly, yet you can’t help but to get caught on them, snagged on the roughness of him. 

After six or seven or eight dinners—you’ve lost count—you realise you want more. You don’t want to say goodbye to him only to retreat to your empty bed and thoughts of his hands and his lips. So when he says he ought to be going, you take a leap of faith. 

“Wait,” you whisper, gathering your nerve, hoping you haven’t grossly misjudged the situation. “Stay?” You voice quivers on the word, makes you sound uncertain, so you steel your nerves and try again. “I want you to stay.” 

It’s the first time you’ve seen Tangerine look flummoxed, look anything less than totally and completely sure of himself. He leans in slightly, clasps his hand over where you’re still holding his arm. “Love,” his voice is low, so dangerously low you might just fall into him straining to hear, “If I stay…” 

His words trail off, but you know what he’s implying. If he stays then you’ve crossed a line there’s no uncrossing. If he stays, he’ll want all of you that you’re willing to give. If he stays, he’ll absolutely ruin you for anyone who might come after him. 

“Stay,” you repeat, pressing your forehead to his. 

So he does. 

[juniperdugong]

Perfection Pt.5; Wake me before you go

Falling unconscious Mingyu rushes you to the Mortuary to try and bring you back. As you're out, a memory comes back.

Pairing: mortician!mingyu x corpse!fem!reader

Genre: Mortician!au, Horror!au || Fluff, Crack, Romance, Angst || Inspired by Frankenstein and other undead media

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts || Depression || Minor wounds ||Mentions of death and corpses (Nothing in-depth and nothing intended to disturb) || Mentions of suicide || Necro-romance, aka romantic attraction to a corpse. || {Please let me know if there are other warnings you would like me to add}

WC: 3k

Songs that inspired this fic

Series Masterlist

"We have to take her inside!" Wonwoo is yelling with urgency as the guard surrenders your body over to Mingyu's care.

Mingyu kneels down, cradling you in his arms as tears form. "We can't…" he says in a near whisper against your forehead not letting Wonwoo's words tear his attention from you.

"What do you mean we can't?! It's right there!-" Confusion rides over Wonwoo's face as he watches Mingyu begin to weep over you, droplets slipping off his face and onto yours. The young guard steps away from the situation in shock as Wonwoo gives him a slight nod and a wave of his hand signaling to find help quick.

"I said we can't Wonwoo!" Gyu whips his head around to face Wonwoo, he's gleaming red in frustration. He brings you in closer to him, resting his head against your chest so he can, hopefully, find a pulse; Please be beating. Please be beating. Please be beating. "Fucking, thank goodness." the biggest wave of relief washes over him as he hears the faintest of murmurs. "Wonwoo help me get her into my car."

"Are you crazy?! She needs medical attention-" Wonwoo raises his voice not understanding why Mingyu is being this way, the fact that Gyu isn't bringing you further into the hospital agitates him beyond belief.

"WE NEED TO GO TO THE MORTUARY! FUCKING HELP ME!" Mingyu, completely lost in his emotions now, screams at the other man till his throat hurts. Veins popping out as he's now gripping so hard onto your lifeless body that bruises were sure to appear. "Help me Wonwoo!"

He's never seen Mingyu like this. Sure there was the occasional squabble between him and Seungkwan from time to time but he had never seen Gyu so distraught and broken. "Forget it." As Wonwoo's trying to figure out how to handle what's going on Gyu gets up - suddenly remembering his strength - and begins to carry you back to the car, letting the door slam in Wonwoo's face as he leaves.

It's dark and he can barely see as the one flickering street lamp attempts to brighten the entirety of this back lot and the crying isn't helping. "Shit, fuck! I shouldn't have left you. This was so stupid. I'm so sorry, my love." He presses a gentle kiss to your temple and his knees nearly buckle as he feels how cold you've gotten. "We just got you warm, y/n. You were getting warm." The tears are overtaking him as he reaches the car, it dawns on him that he can't open the door while holding you and it only fuels his current rage as he kicks a dent into his bumper.

"Let me." Wonwoo reaches for the door handle, heaving as he ran over here. Mingyu is taken aback as his friend helps get you inside.

Gyu places you in the back seat as gently as he can, leaving a small kiss on your jaw before he backs away and faces Wonwoo. There's a seriousness as they stare at each other with furrowed brows. Wonwoo knows it isn't the time to ask questions when he sees Gyu nearly shaking, eyes wide in panic, and his breath unsteady as his shoulders rapidly move up and down. Gyu shakes his head and runs over to the driver's side, hands scraping down his body for the key.

"I'll drive." Gyu looks up as Wonwoo pushes him out of the way. "The key-" "They're in there, Mingyu." He points past the window to the ignition where the keys have been sitting since Mingyu had gone into the morgue. "Come on."

They get into the car and take off with speed, thankful that there were little cars on the road tonight. "The mortuary?" Wonwoo questions, Mingyu nods frantically as he reaches into the back to grab your hand and hold it in his, not daring to let you go right now. "You'll tell me about this later." Wonwoo says pointedly. Mingyu doesn't even process the words as he contorts himself in his seat to look at you, a faint beeping noise falls on deaf ears as the seat belt light comes on.

--Flashback--

You see Mingyu enter the building, letting out a huge sigh as nearly half of the job is done at this point. You recline back in your seat, legs shaking and jittery with nerves as you wait for Gyu to return. It's not even a minute before you bring yourself back up and rest your head on the window to try and calm yourself.

As you look out you see a group of people walking on the sidewalk, it's dark and you can barely see them but the face of a girl comes to you clear as day as she passes under a streetlamp. Suddenly your vision is starting to blur and you feel lightheaded. Your heart pounds in your chest like it's about to burst out and your head is spinning, you look down and see your fingers turn grey and cold.

As you start to panic you stumble with the door handle. You need air, you need help, you need Mingyu. Your fingers barely catch on the handle as they fall limp on you. Willing yourself to stand you struggle to put one foot in front of the other, pushing the car door closed with what little strength you could muster.

When you make it to the door of the building you feel yourself begin to dip between conscious and unconscious, knees buckling and head fighting to stay on your shoulders. With a lack of control of your limbs, you slam yourself into the door repeatedly. It hurts at first but your senses are beginning to numb, eventually you're unable to feel anything as you continue to slam your body against the door.

Finally, the guard opens the door, eyes wide as he sees you in a zombie-like position. "H-hel-p Mi-ng-gyu." are the last words you get out of your mouth before the world goes dark.

--Flashback--

You're back in your room, not the one you had made home with Mingyu in, no. You're in your old room. The one littered with trash and piles of dishes that hadn't been touched in months. The apartment. You sit on the edge of the only clear spot on your bed, the rest of the space being taken up by mountains of clothes and random items that were in rotation as you took to rotting daily in this space.

Whoever Mingyu is and whatever that life is is not apparent to you. You're stuck in a memory, one where you've settled into the routine of living like this. Destroying yourself by isolation and hurt, wanting a way out but not seeing one, the only viable choice nowadays being continuing on like this until someone comes to save you or death. Yeah, those were the only options that made sense.

Ding Your phone lights up with a text message, of course.

- You're scheduled for 3pm today.

It was never anyone important, just your boss reminding you that you had work. You scroll up to see if you've gotten any other notifications, although you never do. The only things you see are notifications from other apps telling you to return and waste away the time you have left on them. No surprises there.

You let out a sigh as you get up and head for the bathroom. Lifting your head as you enter you see your face in the mirror, deep bags under your eyes, and a gaunt look on your face - nothing new here either. You push away the junk around the sink before running some water to at least wash your face before your shift.

Exiting, you pick up your uniform which laid on top of one of the piles of clothes. You don't remember the last time you washed, you don't remember the last time you had done much of anything other than work, come home, lay in bed, and sleep.

It's been like this for months, at this point you wondered if things could change. If it's too late for you to get yourself together. It is too late, you'd need help for that - that's the conclusion you draw. But who would help you? Your family barely texts or calls anymore, the only people you could call "in-person friends" are your coworkers, and the few friends you do have barely contact you because they're too busy with their lives, their interesting lives. There was no one who you felt you could divulge all of your darkest thoughts and worries, no support.

Maybe…it would just be better…if you were gone. No more problems. No more worries. You wouldn't even be much of a burden to the people around you anymore. Your boss wouldn't have to text you for work every day. Your landlord wouldn't have to voice her concern over the state of your apartment. Yeah, no one would have to worry. It would be much better that way, wouldn't it?

You had pondered upon this idea many times before but this is the only time you felt you could stick to it. You could actually do it this time. It's not like anyone would come looking and once people did, well it would be too late to have stopped you.

You decided you were going to do it. You'd finally give up on this shitty excuse of a life.

As they arrive at the Mortuary Mingyu has already gone through a plan in his head, wanting to get you to the prep room as quickly as he can.

"The key for the building is the smallest one on the ring, open the door and keep it open as I bring her in." He instructs Wonwoo with an urgent tone. As soon as the car stops Mingyu is out and on his feet. "Run!" He says to Wonwoo - his friend's speed not enough for him in this moment. He goes to pick you up and once more rests his head against your chest, just to make sure. "Dammit, it's even slower now."

Getting through the door he again instructs Wonwoo as they navigate the halls of the Mortuary, eventually getting to the prep room. "Quick, grab the empty table." he sloppily points towards the metal table that he hadn't used since you had awakened, the one that he laid you on that night. He lays you down, the slightest chuckle willing itself out of him as this moment reminds him of when he had brought you back to life, a bittersweet memory right now.

Wonwoo watches in amazement and concern as Gyu begins to hastily arrange all the equipment. Questions only continue to build up in his mind observing his friend's ministrations. He occasionally tries to step in and help, only to be swatted away by Mingyu giving him an excuse about it being more efficient if he just does everything himself.

Gyu couldn't take any risks. Just by being here, Wonwoo was putting himself at risk, and much more than that he was putting you at risk. The night sky promised no rainstorms, which meant no lightning, he had to find another way to jumpstart you. He stepped away for a second before a lightbulb went off.

"Wonwoo." He looks intensely at the man. "I need you to go to the front of the building, find the fuse box, and turn off power for all rooms except for this one." Gyu waits for a step, for any sign of acknowledgment. "I need you to tell me that you've got this." "I got it, Mingyu. Easy." "Good." His breath settles in its pace - he uses the energy from the adrenaline to hone in on his objective. "After that, I need you to go outside to the storage room. It should be just around back. Take my keys and the same key you used before should open that door." Wonwoo nods as he takes in all the instructions. "Bring me the generator that's in there." "Okay. Is that it?" "That's it. I'll take care of everything else, now please go. And hurry."

Pushing his glasses back into place Wonwoo takes off. Gyu goes over to you, hovering as he hesitates to place the hooks in your body. He has to keep reminding himself that this is to bring you back, the thought of actually hurting you now that you're alive being far too painful for his fragile heart. He swipes a piece of hair off your face. "This is gonna work, y/n. It has to. It worked before and besides…I need you. Can't bear to live without you now. Just got you, can't give you back so easily. So just come back to me pretty girl, okay?"

Talking about how he can't be apart from you gives him the amount of confidence he needs to continue. Steadily he brings the sharp hooks to your skin, right over the punctures he had made before that have already begun to heal over. With the gentleness of a lamb he skewers them through; You slightly twitch and blood begins to drip down, Mingyu is nearly passing out at the sight. If you had made any noise of discomfort he swears he would find any other way to do this. But you don't and he calms himself realizing that you're at least still able to react to sensations slightly. He sees as the lights flicker off in the hallway - Wonwoo's gotten to the fuse box.

Mingyu waits for a while, allowing himself to come down from his adrenaline high and actually prepare himself for what's to come. He organizes the machinery and goes over the rough details of what should happen in his head. Once he's sure that everything is in place he goes back over to your unconscious form. He slides his hand over yours, comparing palms before clasping fingers and leaning down to leave a soft peck against the back of your hand.

Wonwoo comes in minutes later. "Found it." "Good good, bring it over." "What exactly are you trying to do?" Mingyu turns to him hesitating, "I'm going to jumpstart her heart…again." "What." "I'm going to fucking plug that generator into the wall and then hook it up to her to jumpstart her heart." Wonwoo thinks he's finally lost it, the emotions have overwhelmed Mingyu to the point of insanity and Wonwoo doesn't even think he has the power to do anything but watch as his friend spirals. "Wait, what do you mean again?" "It's a long story. I just need you to trust me." Mingyu grabs Wonwoo by the shoulders, shaking him and staring into his eyes like a hawk. "I need you to trust me. Do you trust me, Wonwoo?" He sounds crazed, like a true madman right now, but goddammit was he persuasive with his passion. Grabbing Mingyu's hands by the wrist Wonwoo twists himself out of the other man's grasp, "I trust you, Mingyu. I just don't unders-" "Good. I was gonna kick you out of here if you said you didn't. It would've done irreparable damage to our friendship too. Also, now isn't the time for questions. Help me figure this shit out."

They both begin to fiddle with the generator and the machinery. Neither of them were engineers, mechanics, or technicians of any kind so it took all the knowledge Gyu had of building these machines for them to finally figure something out that had even a sliver of a chance of working.

Standing back from the monstrosity of wires and parts they exchange a glance. Mingyu gives a nod and Wonwoo picks up the generator's plug. "Do it. Just do it." - the hesitation gets to Mingyu and he can't help but cover his mouth in anticipation as Wonwoo brings the plug to the outlet. With a final thud into the wall - it's in.

They both get even more nervous as nothing happens, silence befalling the room, and Mingyu's heart drops.

TCH TCH TCH In succession, the lightbulbs in the room burst! Sparks flying out in every direction. The men cover their heads as surges of electricity pulse between the machines, each of them flickering on for just a second before shutting down once again. With each machine, the energy got closer and closer to your body, although the parts weren't working in tandem they sure were moving all of that electricity towards the intended destination. Your body.

Mingyu is watching with wide eyes, practically biting at his fingernails, watching as everything goes off. As the machine closest to you blazes with light he's wide-eyed, time spreading so thin that he swears he can feel as each individual electron shifts to create energy.

Panic ensues as the surge reaches your body. You begin to write on the metal table, the pain eliciting haunting groans from your mouth. Gyu is immediately at your side, his hands hovering over you as he tries to fix whatever is happening, even though he doesn't know how. Wonwoo joins him rushing to the opposite side of the table, "What do we do, Mingyu?!" "I don't know!" They're both yelling incoherent sentences at each other, as you twist and turn. Your body contorts unnaturally as muscles you've never used before spasm. "Unplug it! Unplug it! Unplug it!" Mingyu repeats the words over and over again as Wonwoo rushes to follow his commands.

Just as Wonwoo grips the plug…

Your chest lifts as you suck air into your lungs, torso lifting to sit up. Short jagged breaths follow as your hands roam all over your body to try and ground yourself. "Hey hey hey, I'm here.", Mingyu reaches out to you. You grasp onto his being so tight that you think your nails might be drawing blood, but Gyu doesn't care. He's hugging you, rubbing a hand along your back to soothe you as you're still shaking and in pain - evident by the tears that have formed in your eyes and the way you're breathing hasn't steadied. "I'm here. Not going anywhere. I promise."

A/N: I'm really enjoying what I've written lately guys... BUT LOVELIES!! If you don't already know, this series is no longer going to be scheduled so if you want to keep up with it the best way to do so would be to join the taglist below, just send a comment or ask and I will happily add you to the list! Please Reblog and Comment (They act as power-ups for me)

Taglist (OPEN): @jjin-kun @mydolle-dd @sojuxxi

[apocalypseornaw]

Fall Into Me

Dean has realized his feelings for you

Fluffy drabble that wouldn't leave my mind.

Only warning is cursing I think? Mention of sex?

Music, that's the first thing that hit Dean's ears as he got closer to the garage. He realized it was one of your playlists when he heard you singing along "You got that power over me, my my" he started to just lean against the wall and listen because it was rare you let your guard down.

You'd gotten better since breaking up with that asshole ex of yours. Dean nor Sam had liked him in the least and after he'd made some comments about you not being as strong of a hunter as him well Dean had been forced to nearly carry you out of the bar.

---------

That had been nearly a year ago. You now lived with them in the bunker and hunted with them about eighty percent of the time. Dean hated when you hunted with anyone else. He trusted you to be able to handle yourself but he trusted him and Sam more than any other hunter to have your back.

He understood needing to catch a breather and most of the time when you hunted outside of being with him it was with some of the female hunters you knew. He always found himself looking for you when you were gone and happy when you returned most unscathed.

He pushed the door leading into the garage and stopped when he realized you weren't only washing your own jeep but baby as well. You were dancing as you worked, singing low along with the music. You were wearing a pair of Halloween boxers and white tshirt that clearly showed the outline of the grey sports bra you had on. He didn't mean to stare but damn you were so damn beautiful and seeing you that relaxed only added to it.

----------

You hadn't even heard Dean walk in until you spotted him out of the corner of your eye and froze dead in your tracks. You held up the rag you'd been using to dry the impalas bumper. "Damn Dean I wanted to surprise you!" He grinned "Was the car washing the surprise or the show?" You shrugged with a laugh "Either or" he raised an eyebrow but failed to realize you'd grabbed the hose in the meantime.

You walked closer to him as you motioned towards baby "Ya like?" His attention was on the impala as he nodded "Yeah sweetheart. I mean you didn't have to but she looks damn good" you nodded with a grin "Good. Now one more thing" he turned to face you "What's that?" "You're a little dry!" You said as you pushed the sprayer on the hose squirting him down with it.

"Y/N!" He hollered and you squealed when he made a dive for you "Nope!" You had the advantage being barefoot on the wet floor so you took it and ran. You could hear him laughing as he ran after you even as you slid into the hallway.

----------

Dean chased after you, slipping slightly on the wet floor. You had the advantage and was laughing like crazy. You passed Sam outside the kitchen and barely got out "MOVE SAMMY"

Dean shot Sam a wink on the way by "The damn little gremlin sprayed me!" You laughed harder when you heard him. He didn't know if you were headed towards your room or the room they'd cleared for a training area when they needed to move their asses a bit.

--------

You weren't sure where you were headed. Dean was faster than you and the bunker was only so big. Not like he was actually mad but revenge would come. You made a split decision which was to let him catch you.

You felt his hands a moment before your back was up against the wall and he was staring down at you,his wet hair clinging to his forehead "Y/N. What do you have to say for yourself?" You grinned as you reached up to play with the wet strands "Well damn Dean I just wanted to be the first woman to make you wet. Ya know turn the tables a bit" his eyes widened at your words but his grip which was already barely there loosened more.

You leaned up and placed a quick kiss to his cheek "Bye" you slipped under his arm and made the dash to your room. The moment your door shut you could hear his laughter "Point for you darlin"

Sam stood at the counter, sipping on a cup of coffee the next morning when Dean came walking into the kitchen. "Why haven't you asked her out yet?"

Dean shook his head "We aren't like that" before he could grab a coffee mug Sam stepped in front of him "Like what? Absolutely crazy about each other? Man you look like a whipped puppy when she's not here. I've never seen her happier than when she's with you. Why not just try?"

"Try what?" You asked from the doorway, making both men jump. Sam looked up at you with a smile "Nothing important" you looked from one brother to the next then shrugged "In that case, I'm grabbing coffee and you two need to meet me in the library. I think I found a case"

They watched you walk out before Sam leaned closer to Dean "She likes you. You like her. You're both adults so be an adult and admit your crush"

Dean watched you dancing with Sam and couldn't help but smile. The line of butterfly stitches on your cheek was barely noticeable, Sam's shoulder had nearly been pulled out of socket and he himself would have one hell of a shiner but you'd all had worse and in your words it was "a reason to celebrate"

When the song ended Sam said something to you so you glanced up and curled one finger at him in a "come here" motion. He shook his head which resulted in you pushing your way across the bar to where he sat "Dean, come dance with me"

You held your hand out and Dean laughed "you gonna lead?" You shrugged "For you? I'll hand over some control" the way you'd said it, mixed with the look you gave him..were you flirting?

He took your hand "Promise you won't regret it" he said nodding to Sam who made a motion towards the door. Your motel was two parking lots down. Dean nodded then turned his eyes back to you.

-----------

Turns out, dancing was another thing on the list that Dean was damn good at. He held you in his arms as you spun around with the song. You smiled every time he pulled you closer.

For so long after you and Theo had split some of the things Theo had said stuck with you. Things like no one would ever love you because the real you was too chaotic and insane or that you were a fun time not a long time type of deal. You weren't sure why you'd ever been with him.

You'd been asked out a few times since then but you of course hadn't went. You were a little shy of opening yourself up like that again. You couldnt see yourself catching feelings any time soon..The only exception was the man who's arms you were in.

You'd always had a passing attraction to Dean but after being in such close quarters for so long and knowing each other as well as you now did? Easy to say you'd began to fall for him.

---------

When the song ended Dean pulled you against his chest. Your eyes tracked his movements. He wanted to kiss you, he wanted to take that chance but he had to be sure you knew he wasn't anything like your ex.

He needed you to know he didn't want a one night shot, he wanted to try this. He needed you to know that no matter what happened he'd always be a safe place to land. That he'd always have your back.

---------

You knew Dean was thinking heavy about something "Dean, you ok?" He nodded then sighed "You're the most amazing woman and you deserve so much better of a man than you've had in the past and...." you felt your heart flip at his words so you cut him off by pressing your lips against his.

He froze for half a second before his hands went to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss.

Damn could that man kiss. You felt a flicker of heat roll through you at the feeling of his lips on yours. You'd had sex before that didn't feel anywhere near as good as kissing Dean.

When you pulled back he licked his lips slowly "So I guess the point got across?" You nodded "Now, wanna get out of here?" he hesitated before saying "As long as you take the lead" "You're handing over control?" You asked and he nodded with a smirk "Only for you"

[vampirevatican]

Hi, hope you're doing well!!

I love your Judd works and was wondering what your headcanons are for Judd having a sensitive girlfriend...

Like, they're polar opposites. She's quiet, sweet, and tender hearted. She keeps to herself for the most part and is good at self-regulating her emotions, but when she gets too overwhelmed, upset, mad, or stressed, she totally breaks and has a hard time cooling down. How would Judd handle her strong emotions?

I think Judd being super soft only for his sensitive girlfriend is such a cute concept 🥺

Thank you sm!! <333

omg thank you, that's so sweet!! also...

'oh my goodness i love this question!!! um, i think...'

a super soft gf for judd?? just what the doc ordered tbh

i think he'd handle her big emotions differently, mainly depending on the situation

like say she's really pissed and is about to get into a fight? i don't think he'd stop her unless it wouldn't be good for her in the long run. like if it risks her bright future or he could see her having to go to hospital

when it comes to work? be it a job or school then he'd definitely make sure she got breaks before she breaks down or burns out completely

he'd probably give her a rage room, like he'd build a cutesy shed and the inside of it is where she can scream, throw, punch, kick and break things as much as she wants

he's very much an actions over words, ya know? although if she just needed him to sit with her for a bit and repeat reassuring phrases he would

he'd hold her close and rub her back, or play with her hair, kiss her forehead and the top of her head

god forbid his family caused the break down, you're just consistently in his room as prisoner and if you have to use the bathroom he's a body guard at that point

some additionals bc gosh this is cute (and brainrot tings)

he will not do the soft sanrio cutesy things with her like matching outfits... UNLESS she found a way to make badtz maru, or another all black sanrio character, more punk

hear me out please... i can picture him 'tolerating' a lot of cute stuff for her, especially if she pulls puppy eyes

the raccoons? consider some of them dressed up with bows, silly outfits or even glitter

his van? there's holographic and cute stickers on it sometimes and yes he rides in her car sometimes and accepts that it's decked out in full girly uniform

actually his favorite sticker on her bumper is a cute bunny that says, 'i know i have a cute ass. can you stop riding it?' or it's baby baphomet stickers he picked out for her by the same artist (tiktok mention)

whenever he picks outfits for her? she has to hide whatever black she has, lest it looks more pastel goth/grunge

he loves her dearly. this is a sun and moon dynamic. this is one of those 'if anything happens to them id kill everyone in the room and then myself.'

[pendarling]

Follow Me

I will do more smut and maybe take it all the way next time. Love y’all💗😦

CW: Some smut, some language.

Villain laughed with humour as soon as they caught sight of Hero trying to escape the binds again.

“Oh dear, you know that won’t work again.” Villain lifted up their weapon and saw Hero tense their shoulders. They were locked in a sturdy bind with their arms cross behind their back.

“I’d like to test that.”

Hero pushed themselves up from the ground and dodged a blow to their chest. They tried again to free their arms with much frustration.

Villain stumbled foreword but regained their posture. “You’re quick. But I’m quicker.” Hero huffed with annoyance and raced out of the building to the streets. People scattered all over the place and ran to seek shelter from the debris falling from the sky.

A bombing nearby had caused enough ruckus to distract police from Villain’s true intention. Hero tripped on a fallen bicycle and fell flat on their face. From behind them they could barely make out the sounds of Villain’s footsteps compared to the loud noise of the city surrounding them.

Villain cackled and caught up.

Their weapon immediately came into sight as their feet stood planted in front of them.

Hero clenched their teeth and watched Villain kneel down until their eyes met. “Cmon, everyone knows they predator always catches their prey.”

In response their nemesis gave them an obvious eye-roll. “Shut up.” They sat up slowly again and backed up slowly, their back unexpectedly meeting the bumper of a car.

Villain scooted closer in response. Their damned smile had given them the same feeling like always. The ache in their chest kept growing each day and Hero knew they were falling for them again.

“You’re coming with me, love.” Villain tapped the tip of their nose, and what Hero wished more than ever was for their touch to linger.

“I’m not.” They mumbled.

“But you want to.” They tilted their head.

Hero blushed and looked around the streets that emptied out. This wasn’t what they were aiming for, and it would only be a matter of time before authorities arrived.

“I don’t.”

If they looked into Villain’s gaze one more time they would surely give in to their desires. It was then that Hero felt the tingling sensation of their hand glide smoothly up their chest and to their chin forcing them to face Villain.

“Hero...” They firmly spoke. “You want to. I know you do, love.” Their voice lowered almost with lust and again, Hero fell for the trap laid out before them.

Villain left their weapon to the side and pressed their lips against theirs with a passion they hadn’t experienced. Hero instantly melted and reciprocated the feeling to their lips. They remained still for a moment just before the unexpected moans escaped their lips as soon as Villain pushed further and went to explore other parts.

When Villain’s eyes fluttered open they captured the sight of Hero’s guard lowering. Finally succumbing to the temptation. They smiled with delight and ran down the palm of their hand to the side of their hips and thighs.

It was almost too easy to play out their wildest dreams and in public much less.

Villain worked their lips down their neck and left a trail of teeth marks. The other shuddered at them. Their hips finally responding to the touch and pushing upwards with want. Villain smiled as soon as they realized the results were coming in positively. They gripped the back of Hero’s head and tightly pulled their head back by the hair.

“See?” They whispered to their ear. “Don’t you want to come with me now?”

“Mmm…” Hero bit their lip. There was no way they could leave their job.

Their nemesis slipped a hand between their legs and padded them softly. “Come on dear we don’t have all day.”

The other groaned heavily and felt their legs shift to lift up to the touch. It was so light and distant it couldn’t possibly be more teasing than this.

Villain raised their head to gaze down at Hero’s figure; their face was burning with embarrassment and want. It made Villain want to kiss them again. “What’s wrong, Hero?”

They shut their eyes trying to rid of the feeling of desire and return their professional self. “Villain, please…”

“You know you’re making this so difficult for me.” They stared down with eyes full of pity and continued pressing and stroking their most sensitive part. Hero let out a whine that sent shivers down Villain’s back. Of course they couldn’t leave them here, but kidnapping was certainly still an option if they weren’t willing to come voluntarily.

They panted heavily as soon as the motion between their legs sped up. “Villain! I—”

“You?”

They finally cracked open an eye lid and saw the criminal’s waiting expression. “S-stop!”

“Oh no, no, dear. Don’t say that.” They pulled their head in closer and laid another deep kiss towards them. This time Hero couldn’t stop them from pushing their tongue around their mouth without concern for their circumstance.

But it felt so good.

And Villain’s touch was always so careful with them.

Eventually, Villain thought, they would agree.

Villain pulled away again and watched their glassy gaze roll up to the back of their head. Villain paused their action and went to remove their suit with eagerness. There was little effort to stop them by the time they got Hero to flip over onto the ground, now just partially dressed. Though now Villain had gained access to their paints where their pleasure was the highest. Their face was pushed up against the gravel.

Villain leaned down once more; watching their lover’s face brighten in hue, “I’ll take you right here, darling.” Their hips weighed down to the back of the city’s favourite protector.

“Aahhh… no..” Hero had become a little bit of a mess and wasn’t in their usual state of mind. That much Villain could recognize. Hero attempted with pathetic intent to free themselves but Villain was already over it. The heavy breathing, the moaning it was getting too obvious.

“What do you want, then? Look at you, Hero. I’ve already bitten you in every area an onlooker could spot.” Their eyes widened with curiousity and grabbed onto Hero’s hips encouraging them to continue their desperate pursuit to pleasure. “Is that what you want? You want people to know that you’re a slut for me? Huh?” They chuckled heavily and bit onto the crest of their ear. Hero moaned again and it brought a satisfying smile to the criminal’s eyes.

After a moment Villain let out their classic cackle again and Hero could only whine while blushing in shame. They could sense their enemy’s impatience with each squeeze that travelled up and down their ass to their thigh.

Villain was desperate like that and their dominance was one of their biggest traits.

Maybe lust was all they were after. Nonetheless, it didn’t stop Hero from also taking the invitation and excitedly responding to their constant groping with another audacious grind of their hips.

“What’s this?” Villain pulled them closer and crawled a single hand up to their nipples which were drawn out from the tight clothes. “Are you sure you want to do this here?”

“Villain…” they panted, “please Villain!~ I can’t take it anymore…”

“Aren’t you overt? This isn’t very heroic of you.”

“Uhnnn… please..”

“Please what?”

Hero had enough with the teasing and their counterpart could tell it had made them agitated. In their attempt to use their body against their nemesis Villain found themselves in a situation that left them irreversibly needy as well. All Villain could hear was the resounding thoughts of tainted ideas on how to solve their lust right there and then.

Hero hadn’t responded to their question yet.

“Fuck Hero,” the tension in their groin was not one to be taken lightly, Villain wasn’t this easy to suppress for long periods of time. “if you’re gonna make it this hard I might actually just do it”

“Mmm..!~” Hero kept their eyes shut and tried facing away from their rival.

It was growing darker outside. The sounds of the city were fading and somewhere in the distance Villain could hear the reinforcement returning to the area. They’d have to be quick in either getting their hands all over Hero or leaving the scene.

One option was clearly more difficult to implement right then. For Villain that meant putting aside their selfishness.

They cussed themselves inwardly and with narrowed eyes, they pushed the bulge in their pants away from their ass. “Fuck!”

Hero was getting better at rejecting any advancements with only limited time on their hands. There were times when this operation could be easily performed and Villain would reward their love greatly.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the case this time.

Villain grabbed their weapon and carried their weight back up. They stared at the tired Hero who laid on the ground. Their suit was messily fixed by them even though nothing truly happened.

“You’ve grown confident, Hero… and aggravating.” They sternly mumbled the second part.

A distressed part of Villain worried that Hero had lost interest in their pursuits or was pulling an act all along. Though that would have to be a well done act if they were able to go through with it a few times in the past.

Either way, it didn’t deter Villain from trying again next time. And when they did, they wouldn’t wait.

~~~

MASTERLIST

[dapidx]

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[battleangel]

A History of Violence

I wonder if Kris Jenkins who was recently drafted in the second round by the Bengals, same name & same position as his father who was a Pro Bowler who played 10 seasons for the Panthers, Patriots & Jets, ever bothered to read what his father told the New York Times in 2011 about what it was like playing in the trenches in the NFL?

Kris Jenkins - View of Life in the NFL Trenches

Article Excerpt

"N.F.L. fans, people outside, they have no clue what goes on. This isn’t like playing Madden. This isn’t like being the popular kid in high school. When you do those things in the real world, and it don’t work out, you still have your health. The thing about football is you’re directly playing with your life, the quality of it and the longevity of it. The stakes are up there.

You ever been in a car crash? Done bumper cars? You know when that hit catches you off guard and jolts you, and you’re like, what the hell? Football is like that. But 10 times worse. It’s hell."

Nothing is questioned, nothing is learned.

Cycle and history of violence from father to son continues.

The son will just repeat everything his father went through.

Life in the trenches, on the line.

His fathers New York Times article was only written 13 years ago — did his son even bother to read it?

Article:

"The debate about concussions wasn’t there yet. I’ve had more than 10, including college and the pros. Nobody cared. And that’s the thing. We play football."

Are we as an audience, as fans, as a nation of football loving fanatics so blasé about the same violence that was visited upon the father being visited upon his son?

Does that not even get us to collectively pause before checking pre-season match ups in preparation for Week 1 next month?

America's collective Christmas in September — footballs back!!!!!!!

Do actual thoughts ever creep in amongst the unbridled ebullience, enthusiasm and unchecked joy of, "Football!!!!!!!!!!!!".

Or is the unthinking emotion inherent in football fanaticism across all levels, players and non-players alike, the point?

The pure emotion and the short circuiting of logic.

Its probably not a great idea for me to go bash my head against that dudes head 70 to 80 times a game, every game, every season.

But, its football!!!!!!!!!

So, nothing else matters?

Unlike rules now protecting quarterbacks and other positions from helmet to helmet hits, absolutely nothing has changed for offensive & defensive linemen and running backs — you're still smashing yourself head first into a concrete wall — as a running back, 20 to 30 times a game and as a lineman, 70 to 80 times a game.

No matter how much the NFL lies about this and tries to pretend the issue is concussions, its not — the existential issue threatening the sport of football itself is the repetitive SUBconcussive head impacts involved in every blocking and tackling play in football.

They are absolutely unavoidable and occur literally over a thousand times every single season.

It is these repetitive subconcussive head impacts — average 1500 hits to the head per season in high school, football & the pros — that 10 to 15 years after their playing careers are over, can cause neurological disorders and conditions like CTE, Parkinsons disease, Alzheimers disease, ALS and dementia in former players.

We have seen the movie before.

Im pretty sure Will Smith was in it.

And even that movie was nothing but masterful subterfuge from the NFL as they named it as their eternal smokescreen — Concussion — instead of what actually turned Mike Websters brain into CTE mush — Repetitive Subconcussive Head Impacts.

Doesn't have the same Hollywood ring to it, does it?

But it doesn't make it any less true or the NFL any less deceptive.

The NFL's own disability paperwork for former players says players can be compensated as early as 36 for early-onset dementia.

Is a game really worth someone losing their literal mind at 36?

When do we question the every day violence inherent in every tackling and blocking play in football?

Article:

"I remember one game, at Carolina, my second year. We played Arizona, and the double team weighed 780 pounds combined. They just kept double-teaming me, hoping I would fold and cave in. I didn’t. But that was probably the most painful day I had.

From the double teams, over the years, I wore the left side of my body down. I was past hurt.

I was at the point of numb. Like my body was shutting down nervous systems, so I didn’t have to deal with pain.

The numbness started at the very beginning. I couldn’t feel part of both arms. I couldn’t feel part of both legs. It was worse on the left.

I’m just starting to get feeling back in my left side. Look, football is no joke.

But I’m going to say this much: somebody has to be the grunt. That’s why there’s no better position on the field than interior defensive line. Forget quarterbacks or specialists. They’ve got it easy. If we don’t come to play, nobody else on defense can do their job. We’ve got the toughest job on the field. We don’t care about our facial hair. We play a grimy position.

Piles, oh, my God, they’re brutal. I’ve had my ankles twisted. I’ve been bit. I’ve done stuff. I’ve tried to break guys’ elbows, pinching people, twisting ankles, trying to bend up their arms, pop an elbow out. Why? I had to fight back."

Tackle football is cognitive dissonance & constant dissociation.

The inherent violence of football is never seriously questioned nor is it held up under a critical lens.

The most violent, punishing plays are casually dismissed post-game by players waving their hands and saying, "It was just a football play."

Yeah — thats actually the exact problem.

Ah, pile ups. Just a good old fashioned rugby scrum.

Nothing dehumanizing, nothing to worry about.

As long as its not my dick being grabbed at the bottom of a pile as I dig my way through my second bag of Fritos Scoops, safe and secure on my couch, while those dumb fucks kill themselves for an oblong shaped ball for my entertainment.

Exploitative, much?

The spectacle of the pile up.

The brainwashing so clearly evident when grown adult men who would be ashamed to act this way publicly over anything else suddenly leap in unison into the air like feral animals as Troy Aikman shouts with unfettered glee, "The ball is loose!!!!!!".

So is our collective humanity in watching a several ton mass of flesh undulate, eye gouge, scrotum twist, bite, spit and hurt each other for...what?

Us? Them? Football?

Article:

"Mentally, we’re conditioned to be tough. We’re conditioned to feel no pain. The only injury I ever felt while playing was when one of my knees tore. That’s the only time I felt pain and was like, O.K., that hurt.

But Mondays, you wake up, and it’s hard to get out of bed. It hurts wherever you got hit. I remember one time getting hit by Edgerrin James. He put his head in my chest. I woke up, and I couldn’t even move, because it felt like my chest was going to collapse. It was sore for days. All you want to do is get the blood circulating.

Hot tub. Cold tub. Hot tub. Cold tub."

Hot tub. Cold tub. Hot tub. Cold tub.

That's brainwashing.

A dissociative brainwashing ritual to dissociate the self from the pain & violence of the game.

It's like Junior Seau when he referred to himself in third person when he was mic'd up for NFL Films before every single hit for the duration of an entire game.

Very creepy if you can find it on youtube.

It literally sounded like he was programming himself to hit, then he would hit the hole, collect himself on the ground and do it.

Hard. Goddamned hard.

Again. And again. And again. And again.

If thats not brainwashing, what is?

Article:

"The brain fog? It still hasn’t stopped. It feels like you’re punch-drunk, like someone hit you over the head. It’s like you knock yourself stupid. When you have to concentrate on things, then it becomes an issue. My head gets foggy to the point where I really can’t function."

And yet you put a helmet on your son's head and you sent him out to play the same position.

Like father, like son.

Just like fathers in the military who have sons who "follow in their footsteps".

Often, articles will speak of a newly drafted player's heritage and lineage in the sport and if his father had a storied career, the hyperbole of the newly drafted son "being born to play" is routinely trotted out.

Smacks of eugenicism, genetic determinism, militarism, rigid heirarchies, dynasties.

Capitalist masculine toxicity.

Article:

"We know it’s going to hurt. We know because pain in football is consistent over time. You’re still hurting in the off-season. You’re hurting when the next season starts.

I mean, guys play hurt, but it’s a choice. They do a pretty good job now, with all the scrutiny around concussions.

On the line, it’s still painful. By the end of the year, half an offensive line might be getting shots, draining fluid from their knees. Most stay away from cortisone now, because it’s degenerative.

Everything gets off center. Bulging disk. Herniated disk. For linemen, it starts in the lower back. Throws everything off."

What did Jason Kelce recently say on his podcast with his wife?

His back is so fucked up from playing football that he cant bend down to pick up his 1 year old daughter nor can he hold her while standing.

Kelce also played on the line as the center for the Eagles.

Is it worth it?

Should children be playing this game?

Should anyone in its current incarnation?

Has science shown that the risk of repetitive subconcussive head impacts causing neurological conditions & disorders is too high for any child to assume?

What about teenagers in high school who are legally minors and not adults?

Should they be able to assume risks as teenagers that can mentally incapacitate them later in life as soon as their 30s?

Potential suicide due to CTE in their 20s?

1500 hits per season every season starting in high school.

So, that's 6k hits to the head in four years of high school football.

Another 6k more hits to the head in four years of college football.

12k hits to the head before the pros not counting youth football prior to high school which is ages 5 to 14 aka Pop Warner.

Even 5 year olds endure on average 336 hits to the head every season in Pop Warner.

5 year olds!

Kindergartners!

Ask yourself where else you could hit a 5 year old child 336 times in the head over the course of a few months without being arrested and jailed?

Is it really okay just because it's football?

Does that truly justify that amount of head impacts to a 5 year old child?

Wouldn't we call that abuse if it was happening in the Boy Scouts or any organization other than Pop Warner?

Should it be happening at all?

In service of whom and for what?

Football? Glory? Masculinity? Manhood? America? Pride? Militarism?

All of the above?

Article:

"I can’t blame anybody for my death. I made the choice to play football. I made the choice to walk through the concussions. I could have stopped. I could have said, my head hurts. It was my choice, as a man."

But who told you that playing through permanent brain injuries is what makes you a man?

Can't we blame that person?

Your father and your coaches from youth, high school, college all the way to the pros?

Militaristic views of masculinity kills boys and young men for the game of football.

It's a militaristic war game that simulates combat yet kills people in slow motion for real.

The violence suffered by players in football is as celebrated as militaristic ideals of what soldiers suffer through in war: valor, courage under fire, physical courage, endurance, stoically fighting through unimaginable injuries & pain, the quarterback heroically leading his squad as their captain marching his troops down the field to victory just like any military commander complete with a chevron like system that awards stars for each year or season of service very similar to how stripes function in the military.

This militaristic ideal of masculinity is endlessly promoted, encouraged, rewarded and valorized in football just as it is in the military.

Football is Americas killing fields.

High school players — teenaged boys, not adult men — die every year playing football.

Over a million boys play high school football each year and only a handful die or suffer permanent, disabling and/or catastrophic injury.

Would you be so glib about the numbers though if it was your son or your brother or your boyfriend or your best friend who died playing high school football?

What if they were permanently paralyzed from the neck down playing college football?

It's easy to treat the above numbers as a statistic or rounding error when you can close out of the Facebook support page for the now dead or disabled high school or college player and get ready for Chiefs/Ravens next month.

What if you couldn't just X out of the Facebook page because you had to quit your job to take care of your disabled son for the rest of your life?

Or what if your brother killed himself from having CTE from playing college football?

The reality is, we can drop a "sad crying" emoji on a Facebook status and move on — the families of the young boys and men sacrificed to this sport definitely can't.

Go ask Tyler Sash's mom if she's "moved on".

Hasn't science proven at this point that tackle football just doesnt work the way it is currently played?

Why are we okay risking future Junior Seaus, Mike Websters, Justin Strelczyks, Phillip Adams, Tyler Hillinskis with every boy and young man that straps on the pads and helmet and charges on to the field?

Is it 10% of players that get CTE? Is it 20%?

Is it more? Is it half?

More than half?

The truth is we wont know until a CTE test is developed for living players.

Pop Warners Chief Medical Director is working with the FDA to develop the test as I type this.

Why do you think that is?

The NFL's own study funded through a university admits that NFL players are 19 times more likely than non-NFL players to develop neurological conditions and disorders.

19 times!!!!!

As long as its not your brain getting scrambled right?

And you can just sit there and watch the leagues reigning back to back MVP and reigning Super Bowl Champ slowly deteriorate their minds while accumulating permanent brain damage for your entertainment.

Pass the chips.

Article:

"We consider football a gladiator sport because we understand you’re going to get hurt. You’re putting your life on the line.

You might not die now, like in an old Roman arena, but 5, 10 years down the road, you could. You know that.

I wouldn’t change anything.

During my career, I kept my mouth shut. This now, speaking out, it’s about telling you my life. There’s no agenda, no vendetta. This is what football’s really like.

The first warning is the first meeting you have with an agent, when you realize this is real. My choices count at this point. I’m going to be prostituting myself for the next 18 years of my life.

That’s the first warning.

The next one is that good old combine.

That’s when you realize, when you march in that room half naked, I’m a number now."

No, thats when you realize that the NFL is MODERN DAY SLAVERY.

It's a modern day meat market.

6% of the US population is Black male. 75% of the NFL is Black.

0% of the owners are Black. Only 2 out of 32 coaches are Black.

Almost all of the NFL owners are white with very few exceptions and exactly none of them are Black.

The NFL is a modern day plantation.

Article:

"I loved New York. I loved playing there. I loved the spotlight. I was fine in New York, but I also played for Eric Mangini. We started 8-3, Brett Favre, all of that. Everybody told Mangini, stop with the long practices, you’re killing us. You practice too hard. We’re on turf."

36% of all injuries that occur in the NFL are due to turf & 1/4 of all concussions are a result of players heads slamming against turf.

So...

Why won't the NFL replace turf with grass in their stadiums as the NFLPA has been asking for for years?

Because they're cheap as hell and would rather injure their own investments then pay for grass.

The owners & the league have the same exact disregard and disdain for their own players.

The NFL has agreed to switch out turf for grass for the World Cup because the soccer players refused to do what NFL players are forced to — fuck their bodies up on turf.

It proves the NFL and owners could do it and, in fact, they did do it so they could host the World Cup in their football stadium — unless it's actually for the players in their own league.

In that case, you're shit out of luck.

Should have played soccer.

Article:

"What you hear from guys like Ray Lewis, James Harrison, what they’re saying is we’re well aware what we’re signing up for. The violence, we love it. The madness, we love it. We love measuring ourselves in it.

Those guys express themselves with their pads. You soften the game, you’re taking away their freedom of expression. Nobody wants to see flag football, and now, you might as well give guys flags, tell them to hug afterward, all that."

Did he even read the beginning of his own article???

Constant cognitive dissonance is the distillation & essence of tackle football — by the players, the audience, coaches, trainers, medical personnel, announce team, play by play, color, pre-game & post-game hosts, team & network journalists.

I see no repetitive head impacts causing CTE.

I hear no repetitive head impacts causing CTE.

I speak no repetitive head impacts causing CTE.

Article:

"The violence is what I remember. Like against Buffalo in 2009, when I had the game of my career. Or the time I slapped a lineman out of the way in Houston with one arm. Winning, the physical part, the mayhem, finding the line between insanity and sanity, that’s the exact reason why you play. That’s the reason fans like football in the first place.

A guy like James Harrison, he’s possessed, and that’s the guy you love to play with, love to watch. He doesn’t need to be babied."

Protection from permanent brain damage & trauma, fans bloodlust, coaches unreasonable demands, neurological disorders & conditions, neurological symptoms including suicidality, depression, memory loss, confusion, irritability, volatility, aggression, amnesia, mental incapicitation, deteroriation & decline is being "babied"??????????

Article:

"The N.F.L. is too big to fail. If that happened, it would be a slow death. It’s still the ultimate game. For us, it’s like legal prison rules. You have to protect your manhood, your well-being. You’re going to be challenged. You’re going to be tested."

"You have to protect your manhood."

Protect The Shield.

Brainwashed into the cult of American masculinity.

Just like all the other 2.6 million young boys & adolescents playing youth football.

Another million playing in high school.

100k playing in NCAA college football.

1600 play in the NFL.

All brainwashed into the cult of masculinity.

Millions of young boys and teenagers sacrificed on the altar of tackle football, Americas true religion.

Article:

"There aren’t too many places a 400-pound guy with an attitude can go and beat the crap out of somebody and not get locked up for it. I have a violent streak. I have to fight it out of my system. We signed up for it. All of it. We’re not trying to be sane or rational."

What does an 8 year old playing tackle football for Pop Warner sign up for?

Tradition, rigid authoritarianism, toxic masculinity, ideals of manhood worth sacrificing your body, mind, memories, personality, self and literal life for.

A 13 year old football player committed suicide after an egregious hit and post concussion symptoms that lasted for over a year in 2018.

He played through the hit and practiced in pads the very next day — think that might have made his concussion worse?

Prior to the hit, he was a straight A student, a voracious reader, erudite, sociable & well-liked.

After the hit, he became withdrawn.

He lost vision in one eye. He lost his balance frequently.

He was unable to read for more than a few minutes at a time.

He started tackle football at 9.

He played two ways as a linebacker and running back and was known as a ferocious hitter who never complained of pain.

He attempted suicide, was hospitalized, seemed to be improving, then the second suicide attempt was tragically successful.

Dead at 13 for the sport of football.

When is enough enough?

Football is a game, it's a magical talisman, it's a sport, it's a crucible, it's a maker of men, it's the distillation of manhood and masculinity, it's what being a man is.

It's worth bashing and battering your brains repeatedly.

It's worth your mind.

It's worth not knowing who you are at 50.

It's worth you committing suicide.

Just remember to shoot yourself in the chest so your brain can be donated and studied.

[supernaturallyedsheeran]

Strength in Darkness

SYNOPSIS: After a brutal meet with your boyfriend, Dean Winchester is set to keep an eye on you - but after the attack, you find yourself noticing things; things that you can't recall where they came from, or how you got there.

PAIRING: fem!reader x Dean

WARNING: physical abuse, alcohol abuse, bodily arm, hospitals, drunk driving

CHARACTERS: Dean Winchester, f!reader

WC: 5385

FANDOM: Supernatural

You’re curled up on the couch, an ancient book resting on your lap, the soft glow of a nearby lamp illuminating the piles of paperwork surrounding you. The air is thick with the scent of aged paper and a hint of herbal tea. Your mind is deep in lore, deciphering the nuances of a long-forgotten legend, when a sudden knock at the door jolts you back to reality.

You glance at the clock—perfect timing. You knew they were coming.

With a sigh, you set the book aside and rise, the warmth of your cozy sanctuary giving way to the cool, unwelcoming hallway. You pull the door open, and there they are: Sam and Dean Winchester, their familiar silhouettes framed against the dim light outside.

Sam smiles wide, "Hey you!" He grasps you in a tight hug. You and Sam were comfortable with each other, best friends, you dared to think. "Hey Sammy!" You reply cheerfully, easing into his bear hug

“Hey,” Dean says, his voice a mixture of casual charm and urgency. You look up to the oldest Winchester, a smile tugging at the side of his mouth. You and Sam had a great relationship - able to talk about anything; whereas you and Dean were always at an arms distance - able to talk but something was always itching between you two.

"Hey yourself" you reply back, through a gentle smile. "C'mon in, Bobby said I'd expect you."

In the kitchen, Sam pulls out a folder, flipping it open to reveal a collection of newspaper clippings. “There have been a series of disappearances in a nearby town. All young kids. 'm thinking Shtriga?"

You absorb the information, your mind already racing with possibilities. After a brief discussion, you realize you could use a break—especially if it means some time with Dean.

“Let’s grab some food first,” Dean suggests, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Sam noticed the way Dean glanced at you "You two go ahead, I'm in a groove and I wana finish this bit" This was Sam's way of staying and letting you and Dean have a moment together.

“Sounds good,” you reply, and as you and Dean head out, a nagging feeling tugs at your gut. Paper bags of fast food in hand, you and Dean return to the Impala, setting back to the house to finish work with Sam. A feeling tugs at your stomach - you can't quite shake a feeling of unease.

As you reach the parking lot, you catch sight of your boyfriend’s car idling at the far end, a familiar figure slumped in the driver’s seat, watching. Your stomach twists. He wasn’t supposed to be around today.

“Is everything okay?” Dean asks, noticing your sudden stillness.

“Yeah, just… a bit of a situation,” you mutter, trying to shake off the anxiety. You don’t want to spoil this moment, not when Dean is smiling at you like that.

You and Dean climb into his Impala, the rumble of the engine a comforting sound. You chat easily, the tension from earlier fading as the city lights blur past. But in the rearview mirror, you spot your boyfriend’s car trailing you.

Dean seems to have noticed the car too, glancing feverishly into the mirror and tightening his grip on the wheel. "I think we're being followed." He says through gritted teeth. You stare in the mirror and let out an anxious sigh. Your stomach flips. You know that car too well. The busted headlight. The rusted bumper. "Pull over." You state to Dean. "What?" He's caught off guard - he wouldn't stop for someone trailing them - they could be anyone. "Dean stop the car." You state more sternly. He listens, pulling off into the dirt shoulder of the road. You get out of the impala and walk towards car coming to a halt right behind you. Dean follows, scrambling out of the car and catching up to you.

“What the hell are you doing with him?” Your boyfriend’s voice is sharp, echoing across the stale air. He exits his car, clearly intoxicated.

“Just grabbing a bite,” you reply, trying to diffuse the situation. “You know Dean and Sam—”

“Yeah, I know who they are,” he interrupts, stepping forward, his body tense. “What’s going on here?”

Dean straightens, his chest puffed out ready for a fight. “Just getting food. You got a problem with that?”

Your boyfriend’s jaw clenches, and you can see the struggle within him. He glances at you, searching for support. “You need to come with me,” he says, a note of desperation creeping into his tone.

“No, you're drunk, you need to go home.” you say firmly, stepping closer to Dean, who stands ready but calm.

“Why are you with him?” your boyfriend snaps, incredulous. “This, this, wana-be in his souped up car!”

“souped up?” Dean scoffs, a hint of indignation in his voice. “I appreciate you noticing”

The tension escalates, your boyfriend lunges at Dean, who sidesteps easily, a trained reflex. Your boyfriend falls onto the trunk of the impala.

“Stop!” you yell, fear gripping your heart as you watch the chaos unfold.

You rush in, pushing between them just as Dean lands a solid hit, and your boyfriend retaliates with a shove that sends you stumbling backward.

“Enough!” you scream, your voice rising above the tumult. “This is insane!”

Both men freeze, the air thick with tension and confusion. You look between them, anger and worry clashing in your chest. “I'll come home. Just leave Dean alone.”

Dean lowers his fists, confusion flickering in his eyes. Your boyfriend steps back, breathing heavily, arrogance creeping in as he processes what just happened; a wicked smile crossing his lips. "Good choice." He says flatly. His hands grip your upper arm tightly as he drags you towards his car, the pressure of his grip leaving marks on your arm. The tattoos on his arms giving you a sick feeling. They looked so familiar. "Get in." He hisses - he opens the passenger side door and throws you in.

“Take it easy man." Dean warns, stepping towards you in the car "Dean, it's ok. I'll be back at the house in a bit." You try to remain calm as tears are building in your eyes. You know what is about to come in the next few hours, trapped in your boyfriends house. "I'll call you when I'm on my way" You say with a sad smile. "Hey," Dean tries to convince you to stay, falling short. Your boyfriends car tears away, leaving Dean and the Impala in the dust.

______________________________________________________________

You creep quietly through the front door, your heart racing and your body aching. The familiar scent of home hits you like a wave, both comforting and suffocating. You want to feel safe, but the memories of the past hours claw at your mind, reminding you of the struggle, the fear, and the bruises now hidden beneath your clothes.

The sun is beginning to set, casting long shadows in the cold hallway. You take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down. You hear voices coming from the kitchen - Sam and Dean. Just hours ago, you’d been torn from their presence, yanked away by your boyfriend’s desperate rage. The thought makes your stomach churn.

As you step into the room, their heads turn. Sam’s brow furrows in concern, and Dean’s expression shifts from casual to serious in an instant.

“Hey, we were worried,” Sam says, standing up. “What happened?”

You force a smile, hoping to mask the truth. “I’m fine. Just—got caught up in some stuff.”

Dean narrows his eyes, his instincts honed over years of dealing with danger; having watched the scene unfold as you were torn from him hours prior. “You sure about that? You look—”

“I said I’m fine,” you interrupt, a little too sharply. The bite in your voice surprises even you, but you can’t let them see.

Sam steps closer, his concern deepening. “You can talk to us, you know.”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of your bruises pressing down on you. “Really, I’m okay. Just tired.”

“Okay, if you say so,” Dean replies, though doubt lingers in his voice. He watches you closely, and you can feel his scrutiny, like he’s trying to peel away your facade.

You move toward the kitchen, hoping to put some distance between you and their piercing gazes. As you pour a glass of water, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the window—your hair a mess, eyes dark with exhaustion, and the faint outlines of bruises peeking just above the collar of your shirt. Panic rises in your chest. You can’t let them see.

“Need any help?” Sam asks, entering the kitchen, clearly sensing your unease.

“No, I got it,” you reply quickly, turning slightly to hide the way your shirt shifts, revealing a bruise on your side.

Sam’s eyes narrow as he observes you. "What happened?”

You take a deep breath, grappling with the choice before you. You could lie, could push them away again. But the thought of facing them alone is unbearable. The walls feel like they’re closing in, and suddenly, the weight of your experiences crashes over you like a tidal wave.

“Okay, fine,” you say, your voice shaky. “I—he took me. I was with him for a while, and… things got out of hand.”

Sam’s face falls, and Dean’s expression darkens. “What do you mean, ‘out of hand’?” Dean asks, his tone sharp and protective.

You bite your lip, trying to maintain control. “It’s nothing. Just some yelling and—”

“Show me,” Dean says, his voice gentle yet firm.

You hesitate, the memories clawing at you. But when you meet their concerned gazes, something inside you breaks. You pull your shirt up slightly, exposing the dark bruise blooming on your side. Dean’s breath hitches, and Sam’s eyes widen with fury and heartbreak.

“What the hell?” Dean growls, fists clenching at his sides. “I’m going to—”

“Dean, no,” you interrupt, panic rising. “It’s not worth it. I just want to forget it for now, ok? Get back to the case." Your insides flutter, you feel weak, upset, mad. A fake smile graces your lips. "It's ok. He's passed out anyways." The boys silently agree, hoping to ease your emotions by pretending nothing happened. The night continues on, Sam and Dean casting worried glances between each other. By now, the sun has set and everyone had settled in for the night. You in your room, Sam on the couch and Dean in the guest bedroom. You couldn't sleep - your mind playing tricks on you, the creaks of the house imitating steps walking towards your door. You tried, and failed, to convince yourself if someone had snuck in the house Sam and Dean would be the first awake and you were safe.

But you weren't safe from the torment of your boyfriend. You wanted out, so badly, but you knew worse things were waiting if you left him. You couldn't remember a time when he wasn't yelling at you or talking down to you - in fact you couldn't remember a time when you'd ever been separate from him... He always found you and berated and beat you, made you feel small for even thinking you were worth more. There were no more 'good days' to pretend on anymore - you knew you were stuck in hell, and now Sam and Dean were aware of it too.

As you lay there, staring at the ceiling, your phone lights up, a soft glow illuminating the marks on your arms. It buzzes gently.

3:27am - outside now.

Your stomach falls, and a lump forms in your throat. He was angry you left again - angry you returned to your own home with two other men in it.

Feeling like you were outside your own body - you do as the text reads. You throw on your shoes, and a sweater, and quietly work your way downstairs, missing the creaky steps and broken pieces of floor boards that made sound. You hear Sam rustle on the couch in his sleep, you gently turn the knob, as not to wake him. The cold air reminds your body to wake up. You feel empty, and outside of yourself. The headlights of your boyfriends car pointed towards the front door illuminate you as you step into the brisk air. Your wrists hurt, like a cold metal hung around them - like your body was telling you what was coming.

He's waiting inside the running car, passenger side door open, begging you to step inside. As you do so, you gently shut the car door. The creaking engine sputters as he reverses the car out of your driveway and onto the dirt road. He says nothing, which you know will lead to screaming. Anytime he was quiet with you in the car meant a world of anger was boiling beneath his skin.

Unprompted, his fist flies across the car interior and slams into your lip, splitting it open immediately.

You inhale the pain, trying to not make a sound - if you cried or screamed, he would continue to beat you.

"Got somethin t'say?" He slurs, staring at the road ahead, the car picking up speed. "Whorin' aroun' with 'em brothers?"

He wanted to fight. The bars were closed to the next best thing was you.

You stay silent, the tears streaking down your hot flushed cheeks as you pat your bloody lip with your sleeve.

"Answer me bitch!" He spits, landing another blow, this time on your head. "No!" you scream, breaking your silence. He smiles, he's broken you again and knows now you will fight to protect yourself - it's what he wants. He wants to watch your struggle against him.

The car slows, and limps off to the side of a dark unlit road. In his intoxicated state, the car rolls gently, and comes to a stop in a ditch, against a wire fence.

You fight against your seatbelt to get out of the car before him, but as you hear the click of the belt release, he already has a fistful of your hair, pulling your face to his, his tattoos shining in the light of the cars interior.

You feel his hot alcoholic breath against your face, the thumping pain in your lip and head amplifying.

"Please," you start to plead as he forces your face to his and he starts messily kissing you, feeling his other hand make its way up your thigh to the top of your pants.

You fight against him, his body pressing heavy against yours. You feel your leg free, and you kick up. You hit him right where it hurts.

"G'off me!" You scream, struggling as he pulls back. You manage to open the car door and fall into the metal fence, the dewey grass wetting your hands and face.

Before you know it, he's already back on top of you landing blows where he can, laughing and smiling - his tattoos the only thing glinting in the moon light. You crawl towards the road, your sight filled with tears and blood as you find the asphalt you curl up into a ball, sheltering your head from his kicks.

It feels like hours have passed. Your boyfriend spun his tires leaving you on the road. You feel your body, sore, broken, bloody. The cool concrete icing your cheeks as your head stares down the road, waiting for anything.

Your eyes flutter open again, some sun has peaked over the mountains, bird song beginning. The dewey grass beside you glinting in the sunrise. Your eyes close again as you hear the roar of an engine coming from afar. A smell fills your nose - of dirt and wood...a smell that doesn't match the asphalt and grass you cling to.

______________________________________________________________

Somewhere in the distance, a car approaches. The faint rumble grows louder, and you hear the screech of tires as it skids to a halt. Footsteps rush towards you, and a voice breaks through the fog of your mind, sharp and urgent.

“Hey! Can you hear me?”

You can't open your eyes; the light piercing your vision like daggers. A familiar voice looms above you—Dean Winchester. Relief floods through you, but the pain quickly overwhelms you again. You try to speak, but your throat feels raw, the words lost in a haze of agony. You can't talk or move. It's like you were outside your body watching Dean's horrified face move over your body.

“Just hold on,” he says, his voice firm yet laced with concern. “I’m going to get you help.”

You feel strong arms lift you, cradling you gently, as a wave of pain crashes through you. The feeling of safety is immediately replaced with a feeling of sickness - no more warm arms around you - your body feels limp, likes its suspended in air...cold metal clinging to your wrists, the smell of dirt filling your nose again - the sound of silence, like a car was never at your rescue.

When you next awaken, the sterile scent of antiseptic fills your nostrils, and the bright overhead lights make your head pound. You’re lying on a hospital bed, an IV drip attached to your arm. Panic grips you as you try to sit up, but a sharp jolt of pain shoots through your body, forcing you back down.

“Easy there,” a voice cuts through your panic, and you turn your head slightly to see a nurse beside you, their expression a mix of relief and worry.

“What happened?” you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse.

“You were found on the road,” they explain “You’ve got multiple fractures, broken ribs… it’s bad. But you’re going to be okay.”

You can’t help but feel a wave of despair wash over you. “My boyfriend… he—”

“Don’t worry about him,” they interrupt, "He went to go find the person that did this to you, your boyfriend brought you here."

You try to think back to what happened - your boyfriend didn't bring you here - Dean did. Didn't he? You couldn't remember being transported anywhere. The phantom feeling of metal on your wrists crept back up - you look at your wrists...nothing but finger print bruises.

“I’ll be back,” the nurse says, and then they're gone, leaving you alone with the stark white walls and the beeping of machines. The loneliness creeps in, but you cling to the hope that Dean will come back.

Hours pass, your mind swirling with thoughts of your boyfriend and the pain you endured. You think of Dean, of how he’s always been there, fighting monsters—both supernatural and human. You can’t shake the fear for what might happen when he confronts your abuser.

Just as exhaustion begins to pull you back under, the door creaks open. Sam steps in, his expression a mixture of relief and concern. “Hey, how are you holding up?”

You manage a weak smile, grateful for his presence. “Dean… he went after him.”

Sam’s expression darkens. “I know. He shouldn’t have gone alone. But he’s not one to back down from a fight.”

You wince, imagining the confrontation. “He can’t do this alone, Sam. It's not his fight."

“We'll find him,” Sam reassures you, his voice steady. “You just focus on getting better. We’ll make sure you’re safe.”

______________________________________________________________

Days had passed and you had been discharged and sent back home under the watchful eye of the Winchesters. They had decided against continuing with the case, and handed their research back to Bobby to give to another hunter. Their immediate concerns were of you, and your safety.

As you sat in your chair, staring through the TV, your casted arm resting on your chest, you can't help but think back to when you and your boyfriend had gotten together. Something kept tugging at your mind, you couldn't actually place where you had been together. Where you had met.

Your furrowed brow, and stale expression caught the attention of Dean. He and Sam were sat at the kitchen table, Sam reading into lore while Dean sipped a whiskey, leaning back into his chair. He sat up, and walked over to you, taking a seat beside you.

"Hey" he stared down at you, arms crossed, bringing you back from your thoughts

"Hey" you reply flatly. "Whats up?" He questions, sitting across from you.

"Dean when was the last time you were here?" You question, looking up at him

His expression falters, his eyes looking up to the ceiling, thinking. "That's a good question. Couple months ago, why?"

"A couple months ago." You repeat. "Why were you here a couple months ago."

Again, he falls short to reply. He shrugs. "A hunt, I assume?"

You shake your head - you turn to look back into the kitchen where Sam was, to find he was no longer there. Like he had silently gotten up and exited.

"Dean--" You turn your attention back around to question him again to find he too disappeared. You were back in the car, with your boyfriend, speeding down the road.

"Got somethin t'say?" He slurs, staring at the road ahead, the car picking up speed. "Whorin' aroun' with 'em brothers?"

He wanted to fight. The bars were closed to the next best thing was you.

You stay silent, the tears streaking down your hot flushed cheeks as you pat your bloody lip with your sleeve.

"Answer me bitch!" He spits, he aims to land another blow but this time you know it's coming - you dodge it which only makes him more mad. "Don't!" you scream, breaking your silence. He smiles, he's broken you again and knows now you will fight to protect yourself - it's what he wants. He wants to watch your struggle against him.

The car slows, and limps off to the side of a dark unlit road. In his intoxicated state, the car rolls gently, and comes to a stop in a ditch, against a wire fence.

This is all too familiar. Your instincts kick is as you land the first punch and unclip your belt. You manage to make it outside the car before he does, and you begin bolting down the cold dark road.

You hear him yelling after you - you hear the car restart and struggle to turn around, spinning out on the grass. He eventually gets the car out and turns it to face you, gunning it for you.

You know you can't outrun the car, his headlights coming brighter and brighter at you, the engine roaring, screaming to life, your ears bursting at the sound. "Dean!" You shout

The head lights blind you as you close your eyes ---

When you next open. your eyes, the sterile scent of antiseptic fills your nostrils, and the bright overhead lights make your head pound. You’re lying on a hospital bed, an IV drip attached to your arm. Panic grips you as you try to sit up, but a sharp jolt of pain shoots through your body, forcing you back down.

“Easy there,” a voice cuts through your panic, and you turn your head slightly to see a nurse beside you, their expression a mix of relief and worry.

“What happened?” you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse - your body sending cold shivers through your veins - you've been here before.

“You were found on the road,” they explain “You’ve got multiple fractures, broken ribs… it’s bad. But you’re going to be okay.”

You can’t help but feel a wave of despair wash over you. “My boyfriend… he—”

You blink and suddenly Dean is sitting at the end of your bed - the monitors beep faster, your heart quickening, your mind failing to understand what is happening.

"You need to wake up" He says sternly, looking at you with intense eyes. "Wake up!"

Tears start to well in your eyes you try to sit up, but you're restrained, your wrists, with an IV in one, now have metal cuffs scratching marks into your skin, hanging above your head. Your blood slowly trickling into a bag, hanging beside you.

You blink the tears away, breathing ragged as your world comes back into view, the smell of dirt and wood filling your nostrils.

You look around, dirt floor - old basement? The only light that filled the scene was a small lantern tucked away on a crate in the corner of the dishevelled room. You were suspended, hanging by your wrists.

"Dean, " You call out, hoarse - your mouth dry, your head pounding, body weak and empty.

You blink and suddenly Dean is standing at the end of the room - the hospital monitors beep faster in your ears, your heart quickening, your mind failing to understand what is happening - you've been here before.

"You need to wake up" He says sternly, looking at you with intense eyes. "Wake up!"

Your head bobs again, fighting against an invisible force, trying to keep you unconscious.

You hear a commotion above you - dust floats from the ceiling as someone walks on the floor above you - a panicked pace - you hear shuffling, yelling, and something heavy drop - you see more dust fall as someone makes their way across the floor.

You give into your heavy eyes, and close them again - tears slowly streaming down your cold cheeks.

You blink the tears away, breathing ragged as your world comes back into view, the smell of dirt and wood filling your nostrils.

You look around, dirt floor - old basement? The only light that filled the scene was a small lantern tucked away on a crate in the corner of the dishevelled room. Newspapers hanging on the walls of disappearances - like Sam had shown you in the kitchen. You were suspended, hanging by your wrists - a pale man suspended next to you, tattoos decorating his arms. A chill shoots through you.

"Dean, " You call out, hoarse - your mouth dry, your head pounding, body weak and empty.

"She's down here!" A familiar gruff voice finds it's way into the darkness. A flashlight fills the room, you squint your eyes like you were seeing the sun for the first time.

You can't open your eyes; the light piercing your vision like daggers. A familiar voice looms above you—Dean Winchester. Relief floods through you, but the pain quickly overwhelms you again. You try to speak, but your throat feels raw, the words lost in a haze of agony. You can't talk or move. It's like you were outside your body watching Dean's horrified face move over your body.

“Just hold on,” he says, his voice firm yet laced with concern. “I’m here, you're ok.”

Something floods over you - reality sinks in and your body finally begins to feel like it's back within itself and you can feel every inch of your skin.

You hang limply, your wrists raw and aching from the restraints.

The scent of earth and decay fills the air, but just as despair threatens to swallow you whole, Dean's voice breaks through again.

“Hey! Stay with me, I’ve got you.”

Dean’s figure emerges from the shadows, his eyes fierce and determined. He rushes toward you, cutting through the silence with the swift motion of a knife. The moment he’s close enough, you see the tension in his jaw, the fire in his gaze—a promise that he won’t let you suffer any longer.

“Dean,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but it feels like a lifeline.

He comes before you, his hands gentle as he works to free you. “Just a second, okay? I’m here. You’re safe now.”

With a final tug, the restraints give way, and you collapse into his arms, the warmth of his body grounding you amidst the chaos. He pulls you close, cradling you against him as if you might shatter. “I’ve got you,” he repeats, and the sincerity in his voice melts away the lingering dread.

You cling to him, your breath shaky as the memories of your torment flood back. “I thought… I thought...” Your mind swirls with the stories that had flooded your mind...how long were you there? How did they find you?

“You’re okay,” he replies, his grip tightening. “ We’re getting out of here.”

As he helps you to your feet, the shadows begin to retreat, the weight of the djinn’s influence dissipating with every step you take beside him. You glance up at Dean, his expression unwavering, and in that moment, you realize that you’ve not only survived the nightmare; you’ve emerged stronger.

As you reach the door, the dawn breaks outside, spilling golden light into the darkness of the basement. You step into the warmth, letting the sun kiss your cold face.

"I thought we lost you." Dean muttered, his voice wavering. "I thought..." his voice catches in his throat. He shakes his head, clearing the thought from his mind focussing back on you.

"How long have I been there" you ask shakily, still clinging to Dean as he places you in the back of the Impala. "Why was I there." "Djinn." Dean said flatly. "We've been looking for you for weeks. Sam found the trail." His eyes met yours. "We were on a hunt a couple weeks back and...you went missing." His eyes started shining as he stared at the bruises on your body "I'll never forgive myself for taking my eyes off you."

"Dean" you start, cupping his face with your hands. "It's not your fault." You smile painfully at him, sincerely knowing your words are true.

You settle into the back of the Impala, the comforting rumble of the engine a soothing balm against the remnants of fear still clinging to you. Dean drives the Impala, while Sam sits in the front seat, glancing at you every so often.

Deans jaw is clenched tight, the weight of guilt heavy on his shoulders. You can see the storm brewing in his eyes as he glances at the road ahead, lost in his thoughts.

“God, I should have been faster,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I should have gotten to you sooner.”

You shake your head, reaching out to touch his arm, grounding him in the present. “Dean, this isn’t your fault. You saved me. That’s what matters.”

He turns to you, his eyes searching yours for a hint of absolution. “But you went through hell because I wasn’t there.” He shifts his eyes back to the road, shaking his head.

“I don’t blame you,” you insist, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “You fought for me. You risked everything to bring me back. That’s all I see.”

For a moment, he looks away, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face before he meets your gaze again, the tension in his muscles slowly easing. “I just wish I could’ve protected you.”

“Dean, you did protect me,” you say softly. “You brought me back from that nightmare. I’m here, and I’m okay because of you.”

His expression softens, and you can see the burden lifting ever so slightly. As the familiar landscape of the road unfolds before you, you lean your head against the window, watching the world blur past. The sun begins to comes into view, casting a warm glow across the horizon, creating a sense of safeness within the Impala.

“Let’s just get home,” he says, the hint of a smile creeping onto his lips. “I'll feel better when we're there."

You nod, feeling a sense of peace wash over you. As the Impala speeds toward the bunker, you realize that while the scars of your experience may linger, the terrors that haunted you for the last several weeks won't ever grace your mind again. You were safe with Dean, and he would always be there to save you, time and time again. Nightmare, or reality.

"You need stay awake" He says sternly, looking at you with intense eyes. "Wake up!"

Your head bobs again, fighting against an invisible force, trying to keep you unconscious.

"I can't," you whisper, giving into the shadows that envelope your body in a cold blanket. "I'm so tired."

“Easy there,” a voice cuts through your panic, and you turn your head slightly to see a nurse beside you, their expression a mix of relief and worry.

“What happened?” you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse - your body sending cold shivers through your veins - you've been here before...

[philtstone]

I know I already sent a Put Em In A Situation ask, but an alternate option to mix things up: Juliet + Gus, forced to lie about something

Summary: The zombie apocalypse comes to Santa Barbara and turns Juliet into a liar.

Stranger things haven't happened, thank you Gus, but that's not to say there isn't always still time for it.

Y'ALL!!!! i did it. i caved. i wrote a zombie apocalypse au. i feel like the reasons why all of these idiots would effortlessly survive the end of the world are pretty self evident. anyway, gus and juliet my beloveds, and i'm really quite proud of this one ... enjoy!

"The fact that I still have to get my period in the middle of the freaking zombie apocalypse is the height of twenty-first century sexism," Juliet declares angrily, as she makes an emphatic beeline toward Shawn and his armful of stolen Wal-Mart items anyway. "What's the point of scientific progress if birth control can't survive the collapse of civilization? You know who doesn't have to worry about this? Men! Unfair! Anti-feminist, frankly!"

"I'll make sure to tell the zombies that next time we see them," Shawn says, helping her spread the bags out on the ground and handing her the one she's looking for. She digs into it to find Kotex – he sprung for the good stuff, she thinks with a surge of affection, Juliet would've just grabbed the first thing off the shelf – and sniffs a little bit when he pats her gently on the shoulder. Then she tears into the little cardboard box with more vigor than it objectively deserves and stalks off to face the indignity of squatting behind the Blueberry's cracked back bumper while Shawn and Gus graciously direct their focus to the rest of their haul. "Wait," Shawn adds. "I got us air-freshener, too."

"You got us air freshener?" she hears Gus ask skeptically. "You couldn't even remember to do that when it wasn't the end of the world, and you get us air freshener in the middle of the zombie apocalypse?"

"We don't know if zombies can smell blood!" Shawn protests, and Juliet lets out a miserable groan.

Anti. Feminist.

She hadn’t loved the idea of splitting up – or of sending Shawn and Gus off on their own into an abandoned big box store – but someone had to guard the car, and this area is pretty abandoned, anyway. Not even in an eerie way. Just a sad, end-of-the-world one. Besides, the boys have been nothing but competent and reliable and ever-so-useful in a crisis since this whole mess started. Somehow, as the days have gone by, Juliet’s anxiety has only grown anyway. 

“What if they can smell air freshener, Shawn?”

“You know what? No. They can’t smell both at the same time. I don’t care that real life doesn’t operate by a constrained set of rules like every zombie movie we’ve ever seen. There have to be limits to this!”

The limit, Juliet supposes, is that Gus can almost always smell the zombies coming before the zombies can smell them. 

read the rest on ao3!

[voxmortuus]

idk if you’ve ever seen death proof by quentin tarantino but in the movie three girls are basically going a on road trip to a lake house and they run into this guy who’s basically been stalking them and he ends up killing then with his car. i was wondering if you could write something like that with ray marcus. but instead of him killing them with his car (or at all) you could maybe do something else.

✧*̥˚ PAIRING: *̥˚✧ Ray Marcus x F!Reader ✧*̥˚ UNIVERSE: *̥˚✧ Nocturnal Animals ✧*̥˚ WORD COUNT: *̥˚✧ 1.4k ✧*̥˚ TRIGGER WARNINGS: *̥˚✧ Speeding Cars | Scared Reader | Swearing | Angry sex | Unprotected P-in-V | Dub-Con? | Mention of Creampie | Rough sex | Sex on the hood of Ray's Car | PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this… ✧*̥˚ NOTES: *̥˚✧ I'm glad I know you and your likes! ✧*̥˚ IMAGE & DIVIDER CREDIT: *̥˚✧ @nyxvuxoa ✧*̥˚ TAGLIST FOR R.M.: *̥˚✧ @earth-elemental18 @f4irylid @nyxvuxoa-writes ✧*̥˚ My Master Masterlist | Aaron Taylor-Johnson Masterlist *̥˚✧

It was like every other night, you leave your job, and you just drive. You enjoyed the roads at night, they were clear, they were empty, there was no one out to get in your way, just you and the open road. But tonight, there was something different, as you kinda speed down the road you decide to take a different turn. Wanting to take the longer way around, a car pulls out turning on their lights, keeping his high beams on, it's kind of blinding in your rearview mirror.

You squint a moment and then you move your mirror enough so it's not too troubling. You speed up a bit, but he starts riding your rear end.

"Fuck man, get any closer and you'll need to buy me dinner and pull my hair." you scoff.

As you keep driving you put a little more distance. Checking your mirror, you realize that he's backed off a bit. Letting out a breath you turn your music up, your thumbs strum against the wheel and you begin to sing along. You forget about the driver behind you while you enjoy the empty road.

You had a moment to enjoy the road again, your guard going back down as you press your foot into the pedal a little more. But it wasn't much longer till the highbeams were back to feeling like they were inches away from your vehicle, shining brightly in your rearview mirror. You go to speed up a bit, wanting to put some distance, but your car jerks with another tap at your bumper.

"What the fuck?" You state to yourself as you proceed to speed up again trying to get out of the reach in a matter of a way.

It was a raw moment of adrenaline as he speeds up on you again. You had no clue what was going to happen. One moment you're enjoying your drive, next thing you know you've got someone on your ass from what felt like nowhere. You slow down, maybe he'll speed around you, but no luck. Snarling you look back into your mirror before you motion for him to go around, but that doesn't work.

You try and speed up, but he bumps your car again. Out of instinct you reach your hand out the window and flip him off as you speed off. Okay, probably not the smartest move. Your heart begins to pound. You proceed to put the petal to the metal and try and zoom past so he's no longer behind you, but this straight road was going to possibly be the death of you. Your heart racing, your radio turned down, no cell service.

"FUCK!" you scream and begin to beat on your wheel. "Come on asshole! COME ON! Fuckin' try me!" you snarl.

Like a bat outta hell, he speeds up on you and he pulls up and pulls up enough to fishtail you causing your car to spin into the dirt. Your heart is pounding, your mind is racing, and you don't know whether to fight or freeze. It takes you a moment to respond as your call stalls from the spinning. You hear nothing but a high-pitched buzzing in your ears, unsure of what to think, what to say, and then it hits you, you have to fight.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" you scream out of your slightly opened window.

Getting out of his car he moves to your slightly opened window and looks at you.

"You've ran into my car..." He states

"I ran into your car? Are you fuckin kidding me? What the fuck is wrong with you?!" you snap.

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you?" He asks.

At this point, you damn well know he's trying to get a rise out of you when he starts to chuckle. You get out of your car and you move to the front of his and you slam on his hood.

"What the fuck are you doin?" He askes you.

"What the fuck are you doin?!" you snap back.

He walks around to the front of his car and you go to run off but he grips the back of your neck and pulls you back to him and he snarls and points to the hood of his car.

"What the fuck was that?" He snarls.

"That?! That was fuckin mild compared to the shit you just pulled!" you go to slap him across the face but he catches your hand and throws it to the side so you shove him instead.

You watch him stumble back a bit but not enough time to get away. You attempt to slap him again.

"I fuckin swear to fuck girl, you go to hit me one more fuckin time..." he snarls.

"What? What the fuck are you gonna do about it?" you push.

"I will have no issue putting you in your fuckin place." He growls.

"Oh? How you gonna do that big boy?" You look over him and you present yourself as if you're going to attack.

He shakes his head. "Bitch I'll have you screaming for this whole desert to hear if you keep it going." He smirked.

"I fuckin dare you. Go ahead... try me." You press.

"You want to get fucked don't you? Girl, I fuck you, you'll be comin back for more."

"I fuckin said try me." you snarl you step forward and throw your hand across his face, making contact the sound of the slap echoed.

He grips your arm and shoves you against the hood of his car, bending you over and grips at your frame before he hikes your hips up and makes quick work of your clothes and grips at you before you realize it, he's shoved himself right between your legs and made himself quite comfortable with you.

You snarl, but fuckin hell, he's packing some serious heat in the below the cock department. Your jaw clenches as he starts to thrust into you with this heated fever. It was this rapid thrusting that caused you to gasp. Gripping the top of the hood of his car you snarl as he continues picking up his pace.

You close your eyes a moment, feeling this anger pulse through you, you jerk your hips back and start to fight but not in the way of getting him off of you, a way of working out your anger.

"Oh there she is... Fight be Darlin' I like it when they fight." He growls through his motions.

Reaching back, you grip at his shirt and pull him to you as you move your hips up and back, as if grinding against him. He reaches for your hands and pulls them behind your back. A snarl escapes you as if hiding your small whimpers.

He picks up on those small whimpers and he starts to thrust harder, thrusting upward he smirks watching your face in the reflection of the windshield. Deeper thrusts causes you to moan a little louder. The moans were nice, but no, this man wanted you to scream.

Did you want to give him that win? No, no you didn't. You snarl and start backing your hips up into him as if fighting back, a low snarl escapes you as he slams his hips against your ass and he lets out another snarl as you moan.

It wasn't until he moved in a different angle that he found that sweet spot and you bite your lip, and your hips buckle.

"That's the spot isn't it Darlin'?" he asks.

You moan a little louder as he continues to thrust. You moan louder as he thrust harder against that sweet spot and there it was, that win. That sweet spot caused you to scream.

"That's it... scream louder for the whole world to know." He mused with a soft chuckle to his voice.

You feel your legs start to shake, your eyes flutter as you feel yourself getting wetter as he rides that spot.

"Fuck!" you moan louder.

"No, scream. Don't fuckin moan. Fuckin scream." He snarled.

You can feel him work you, stretching you at a new angle, and it wasn't long before you were giving him frequent reoccurring back to back screams. It was as if they wouldn't stop pouring from your mouth.

Pulling a little harder, thrusting a little more you feel yourself building to that finish.

"Come on Darlin'. Show me how good of a job I did. Make a mess." He coaxed.

"FUUUUCK!!" your voice echoes across the surface of the surrounding area.

"That's a good girl." He chuckles as he gives a few more needed thrusts before be gives his own finish deep within you, filling you to the bring where you are oozing and snarls.

This moment stuck with you, but he was also right, he won, every night after work, you take the same route, and have the same race, and a much needed finish, damn near tradition at this rate.

[bruisedbluberries]

no bumper.

mini drabble with uzui and tomioka. more to come soon. wanted to get my writing brain back together.

“Holy shit, dude! What the hell happened to your car?” Tengen yelled to Giyuu through his window, the loud bass of his music nearly drowning him out. Seeing his friend pull up to the red light with a missing bumper was not what he expected. 

Just ten minutes ago they were weaving through traffic before Giyuu got cut off by a random driver, leaving the Porsche driver to himself. And last Tengen remembered; Giyuu’s Ferrari wasn't missing its rear end. Giyuu glared at his friend, holding up a very shaky middle finger. “Some twat swiped me and then ran off into the backroads. I don't care, I’ll get it fixed.” He rolled his eyes and sighed. 

Tengen was caught slightly off guard by how careless Tomioka was to his problem. He really didn't seem to care. The light turned green and the two of them roared their vehicles and began racing again. Open roads ahead of them making it a smooth drive, the cool night air blowing through their windows as they flew past buildings. 

It was only a short amount of time before they arrived back at Uzui’s place. They both got out of their cars and immediately went to take a look at Tomioka’s car. “Do you really think you can afford to get that fixed?” Uzui questioned, cringing violently at the damage done to his friend's car. Not only was the bumper gone, part of the body was dented and scratched to eternity. 

“Don't know. If not, I’ll just get a new one. No biggie.” Tomioka glared at the damage, pulling out his phone and snapping a picture. 

Akaza, when I catch you and your shit prius-c.