#chrome spin off

[yeoslattes]

How We Live In Tokyo

Genre: Smut, TFATF: Tokyo Drift AU!

Word Count: 5.8k

Pairings: street racer Matz!Hwa x street racer fem! reader

Summary: You were notoriously once known as the drift princess, but now you're Hwa's girl. In attempt to reclaim your title, you race, pissing off Seonghwa in the process. You are also Hwa's number one cheerleader.

Warnings: Hwa comes off as a meanie during certain parts, VERY minimal description of reader, Hongjoong openly flirts with reader (his bffs girl...), Hwa confesses, possessive Hwa, weed use, high sex, manhandling, ruined orgasm, oral m+f receiving, eating it through the panties..., lots of spit, spanking, mentions of Hongjoong fucking you by Hwa, Hwa is low-key into it, choking, just rough asf, reader cries during sex, deepthroating, creampie (unprotected sex asf), use of sir like once, basically Seonghwa fucks you stupid, very minimal subspace by reader, aftercare

A/N: She's here, for my first smut after a while it's not too shabby. I'm an over thinker so I kept reviewing and editing just making sure I was happy with the final product. Also I based the reader's car off Suki's pink car in 2003 movie, just cause I thought it'd be perfect for her. I hope you guys enjoy this Hwa as much as I did!

“Ready! Set! GO!” You swing the red cloth in your hand down, the cars beside you rev noisily. Smoke from the tire burnout goes up in the air engulfing you in a heavy cloud, and just like that the first racers of tonight were off. This was one of your favorite parts of the night life in Tokyo, the races. You never intended to become a car girl, but after a couple flings here and there got you into nighttime racing, the rush and thrill it brought you was simply euphoric. The crowd cheers loudly, flip phones out recording and taking pictures, you jump in the air waving your hands cheering over the loud music and screams. 

While everyone was focused on the race at hand your eyes scanned the scenery for the only man that mattered to you, however he was nowhere in sight. You walked over to your pink Supra S2000 and leaned against the door. Your manicured hand ran over the sleek paint, you smiled at how smooth the finish felt beneath your fingertips. This car was your baby, everything was thought out and hand picked. Rolling around in a ride like your own had never made you feel anything less than superior. You were also Hwa’s girl and that in itself said enough. 

As if manifested by thought, the loud exhaust causes heads to turn, the familiar midnight blue body and chrome accents on the 350Z were unmistakable. Your eyes lingered on the white lettered decal spelling ‘MATZ’ on the upper windshield, you smirked slightly as he pulled up next to you. People cheered when Hwa stepped out, clad in a long fur coat and a muscle tee underneath, he looked delectable. Despite the layers, the large letters in black ink decorating his neck were perfectly on display. 

He greets his racing partner Hongjoong and the notorious KQ Fellaz who had also built an impeccable reputation amongst the Tokyo racing scene. He smiles at you as soon as he spots you. The glimmer of his grills catch the fluorescent lights of the crowded parking garage. “Hey.” He grumbles lowly in your ear, pulling you into him and pressing a searing kiss on your glossy lips. He looked down at you, long strands of raven black hair falling over his eyes. “You look good babe.” He compliments, long fingers coming up to tap on the hoops that were slightly hidden behind the layers of your hair. You smiled up at him, your legs suddenly feeling like jelly under his stare. 

The arm wrapped around your shoulder drops as he turns around to look at the S2000 you were resting your weight on. He walks around it, a singular hand running over the paint. He lifts the hood up, whistling when he sees the engine, “V8 is looking good babe.” He closes the hood after admiring, “Thanks, can’t wait to take her out on a spin tonight.” At your words Hwa’s face drops, his small grin being replaced by a disapproving expression. “Not tonight baby.” You huff in annoyance, see before you and Hwa had gotten together, you were one of the best female racers in this particular part of Tokyo. Every Friday night you’d come out to the streets and race against other girls and even guys. More often than not you’d end up winning. Slowly, you built up a reputation for yourself, even earning the nickname ‘drift princess’ in the process. But that was before Hwa came in and dethroned all the top racers and drifters, ending your streak as well. Eventually, you fell for him, and while he looked stoic and rude on the outside he was a sweetie behind closed doors. His charm was all you needed to become enthralled in him, needless to say you became his princess; you were Hwa’s girl as everyone knew. You ate that title up every single time, however, the singular con about being his one and only was that in fear of you getting hurt, Seonghwa didn’t let you race anymore, not against the good ones at least. He’d always let you go against the newbies, those who were still getting the hang of the Tokyo streets and drifts. 

“Seonghwa.” You begin in a begging tone, but he put his ring clad hand up, silencing you. You rolled your eyes, brooding against the Barbie pink car that was begging for a race. You watched as he went back to where Hongjoong stood conversing in a group.

A frown replaces the big smile you had just minutes ago.

You look around, hoping to find someone that’d wanna take you up on a race, even if Seonghwa had said no. Majority of the seasoned drivers were men, and due to their fragile egos, they wouldn’t dare race against you in fear that you might actually beat them and they’d never be able to live it down. 

You huff in annoyance, and pull your car door open, slipping into the pink leather seats. Your mini skirt is short enough that you feel the cool leather against the plumpness of your ass. You shake your own tan fur coat off, flipping your long hair over your shoulder to give your moistened skin some air. Rummaging through your glove compartment filled with body spray and lipgloss, you pull out a roll of bubble gum, shoving a fat piece in your mouth.

As you reapply gloss and fix your hair in the mirror a female voice catches your attention, “hey,” you looked up at your friend who was polishing the car door just a few minutes ago. She nods in the direction of Matz.

Your eyes turn into slivers when you see 2 girls chatting with Seonghwa and Hongjoong. Hongjoong has his arm around the slimmer girl, he gives her a cheshire cat like smile and you could almost see her swoon, but that’s not who you were worried about. Seonghwa, is leaning against his car, arms crossed, talking to the girl in front of him. Her dainty hand comes up to touch the fur sleeve of his coat, she says something with a big smile that causes Hwa to cackle loudly. She wears a low cut halter top and a mini skirt slightly longer than yours, but the expanse of her legs made it look like a belt around her waist. 

You rolled your eyes and stepped out of the car. You walk over to them, a big smile adorning your face, “hey baby.” You say in a sultry voice, your hand comes up Hwa’s arm and you proceed, “Who’s our new friend?” You turn to look at her, popping the pink bubble gum in your mouth. 

You can audibly hear Hwa sigh, he leans into your ear so only you can hear, “play nice.” He whispers, his cold hand resting against the warm skin of your waist. You continue to look at her, and she smirks, “who are you?” You chuckle loudly at her words, catching the attention of the people that were around. Seonghwa lets out an airy laugh looking back at Hongjoong as if to say ‘are you seeing this right now’ to which his best friend just raises his eyebrows and chuckles, fully invested in the face off. “I’m his girlfriend. Who are you?” People are starting to gather around, you step closer to her and feel Hwa’s hand squeeze your side as a warning but you ignore him. There’s a look of realization in her eyes and her face relaxes, “ahh,” she starts, “you must be the so-called drift princess.” Her faux friendly expression drops into a stoic one, “Where I’m from there are no nicknames. You’re either good or absolute shit.” She spits. 

Your heart hammers in your chest but you ignore it, “Is that a threat? Cause I bet you I can give you a run for your money.” At this point you’re so close to her you can see the glitter lining the underside of her eye. “If I lose, I’ll leave but if I win…” She pauses momentarily, looking behind you at Seonghwa, who stands arms crossed against his car, a serious look adorning his pretty features. He hated where this was going. “If I win I’ll have him.” You chuckle and so does Hwa, making the girl in front of you cock an eyebrow up in confusion at his reaction. “I hope you pick something else.” You say shifting your weight from one leg to the other. Her eyes wander to your right, “oof didn’t think the puppy had a designated owner but that’s fine. I’ll take your car.” People around you gasp and ‘ooh’ at her request. When you tongue your cheek, she feigns a pout knowing she’d hit the spot. “Deal, see you in 10.” She whips around and walks off somewhere. 

Before you can take a step, Seonghwa grabs your arm tightly, spinning you around to face him. “You must be out of your fucking mind. You bet off the car you’ve worked so fucking hard on?” He scoffs, his tongue pressed against his cheek in annoyance, “you’re fucking unbelievable.” He groans, your arms cross at your chest, resting underneath your tits, causing Seonghwa to glance down for a split second. “Oh but if it was you it’d make it okay?” You leave him with his words in his mouth, walking away before he even got the chance to get a syllable out.

Hongjoong laughs loudly at your attitude and Seonghwa’s distress, he slaps his friends back in amusement. “She’s giving you a run for your money huh Hwa?” He says. The annoyed man shoots his blonde friend a glare, resting his hands on his hips he throws his head back and huffs out a breath. 

You stand on standby waiting to get the okay from your girls as they check your car before the race. Your teeth toy with your bottom lip, nervousness settling in your tummy.

You hop in your ride and turn it on, the loud engine causing people to whistle. You might’ve been old to the game but the pre race jitters were very much real. Your opponent on the other hand seemed relaxed. Your hands are clammy on the wheel but with deep breaths you manage to bring the bile rising up your throat down. Hwa stands front row and you can see him through your windshield, he stares at you before whispering something to Yunho who was part of the KQ Fellaz. The tall and slender man draws his eyes to you as Seonghwa is in his ear, and he nods agreeing with whatever your boyfriend was saying. Hwa finishes and stands still in his spot, his jaw ticks, clearly upset at what was about to happen in just mere seconds. 

A girl in low rise jeans and a skimpy top comes between both cars, your foot presses on the gas, your car sputtering loudly. “Ready! Set! GO!” The pretty girl lifts her hand up and just like that your foot slams onto the pedal. You feel it before you see it as you zoom down the spacious garage. With your opponent already a couple feet ahead of you, your heart hammers in your chest, body running on pure adrenaline.

A tight turn is up ahead and you maneuver the wheel and use the e-brake to perfectly drift around until you’re heading straight again. She on the other hand turns slightly too wide slowing her down by a couple of seconds allowing you to zoom past her. The girl is hot on your ass but you keep her at bay not allowing her to get the upper hand. Her pretty face contorts in frustration as she struggles to make any moves. 

This is when you start to relax and it’s like you had never stopped racing. Your mind becomes so aware of your surroundings and what you were feeling. From the way your new wheels felt smooth on the cement, to the low vibrations shaking through you; this was euphoria. 

Your eyebrows knit together in pure concentration as you accelerate. You hit another tight turn, performing the drift that many struggled with effortlessly. Right before the parking garage ramp that spirals upward into the main street, you keep going straight. With a heavy foot you press on the gas, giving it all you got, you can see the exit of the garage and the final drift that everyone always anticipated. 

As you neared it you turned the wheel and pulled on the e-brake, successfully drifting up the ramp till you made it out, the hoard of people eagerly waiting. At the sight of the pink lights adorning the underside of your car, Seonghwa relaxes. You had fucking done it. Your wheels skid loudly as you slow down to park your car.

People high five you and jump on the hood celebrating what had basically been your comeback after so long. You hopped out the car, pulling your slutty skirt down and jumping on Hwa. His hands wrap around your waist, stuffing his face into your neck, taking in your sweet perfume. “Good job baby.” He whispers in that deep voice of his. “You’re so fucking hot you know that?” He says pulling you into a sloppy kiss. The girl who had raced you parks her car and hops out storming over to you. “That wasn’t fair.” She argues, “you are either good or absolute shit.” You shrug, reciting her words back to her. She grits her teeth and storms off, disappearing into the mass of people. You feign a pout and roll your eyes. As people start to head back down into the garage, Seonghwa pulls you into him. “Bad girl.” His words shoot straight to your pussy, a heat wave rolling over your body.

Another Friday rolls around, it'd been precisely one week since you won your first race back. It was already 11 PM but the streets of Tokyo were calling your name. Tonight’s outfit consisted of a low rise pleated miniskirt and a long sleeve crop top. You looked in the mirror, enjoying how your belly button jewelry dangled and glimmered under the warm lights of your room. Tonight would be special since Matz had gotten challenged by two random guys who wanted to claim territory. If there was one thing you loved to do on a night that Hwa would be racing was look pretty and sit like a good girl in the passenger seat of his car while he raced. I’ll be there soon baby, you sent Hwa a message through your pink flip phone hoping that he wouldn’t be too distracted to read it. 

Singular strands of your hair stick to your glossy lips as you cruise down the somewhat empty roads, the wind blows through your hair and you sing along quietly to the Nelly Furtado CD Hwa had gifted you. It wasn’t long before you were pulling up into the infamous garage. If there were alot of people last Friday, they had tripled today, of course just for Matz. You pulled into the spot next to Hwa, your loud exhaust catching his attention. He went from talking with Hongjoong to looking at you. He smiled at your car, still not over how perfectly the pink decked out car suited you. 

You killed the engine and hopped out, already feeling the eyes running over the expanse of your body, Hongjoong and Hwa included. If there was one thing about Hongjoong was that he did not care. Yes, Seonghwa was his best buddy, but he made sure to let Seonghwa know just how delectable you were with no shame. Still, in other ways he was respectful of his best friend’s relationship but he loved to take peeks anytime he could. 

You walk over to your boyfriend who instead of the iconic big fur coat wore baggy cargos and a muscle tee, his arms on full display. “Hey baby.” You say pressing a kiss on his cheek, you smile at the slight residue of your lips on his cheek. He grabs your chin and kisses you, you try to pull back but the suffocating grip on your face keeps you in place. His tongue toys with yours, and he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth before letting go with a final bite. When you pull away he grins at your flushed face and how he had basically eaten all the lip gloss off. 

“Hey Hongjoong.” You pant loudly, greeting the other man who had seen the entire exchange in front of him, he nods his head up at you, “drift princess has made a comeback huh?” He teases, you nod sheepishly. “Maybe next time you’ll take me up on a race?” You ask with big eyes and he smiles, “is that a challenge?” He asks, cocking his brow up, “of course.” He lets out an airy laugh, “that’s if Hwa lets you.” He teases, before walking towards his car. You turn to look back at Hwa who’s grip has tightened around you.

“Hongjoong is up first. Are you gonna be a good girl and cheer for him baby?” Seonghwa says leaning down so you could hear him. You nod and clap excitedly when you see Hongjoong’s car by the start line. As soon as Hongjoong takes off you and Seonghwa run towards the finish line, you both wait, watching through the small flip phone screens as people document the race. You cheer loudly when you notice Hongjoong’s car is ahead. In no time he is skidding up the ramp, drifting into the big pit. He had won! Hwa claps and whistles loudly at his partner's success, now it was up to him to win the second one to maintain the best of the best title. 

You follow your boyfriend down to the garage and hop into the 350Z, you inhale the fresh car scent mixed with his cologne. “Ready baby?” You ask him, he grips your hand and kisses it, “always.” 

Hongjoong peers in through the passenger side window, you buckle in as he talks to his best friend, paying no mind to what they were discussing. When he finishes he taps the edge of the window and sends you his infamous cheeky smile and a wink. 

You sit quietly, sucking in a breath and getting ready for the ride. Hwa exits the garage, and that’s when it becomes too real. One thing about Seonghwa was that he always preferred racing in the streets rather than the garage that almost every race took place in. You place a hand over your chest, feeling your blood pumping muscle thrumming beneath your fingers. At the sound of you sucking in another sharp breath Seonghwa turns his gaze to you. “Scared?” He asks, a teasing smirk playing at his lips. You purse your lips swallowing thickly, nodding. “It’s usually more dangerous Hwa, I hate when you do this.” You say, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Dangerous…” He scoffs, “That’s what I said last week when you raced and you still went against my word. So, sit, look pretty and hold on tight or get the fuck out.” He had gotten you there, regardless, there was no way to ever argue with Park Seonghwa. So, you shut your mouth up and look down at your fiddling hands.

The starter is another girl, she swings her bra up in the air and when it drops Seonghwa takes off. The g-force alone pulls you back into the seat, your hands grip the door handle and your seat, ironically your fear only grew. He hollers loudly already having a great advantage to his opponent, your body turns with the car as he drifts. You stared at his pretty features, his perfect skin and long nose bridge accompanied by his pink and plump lips. He’s too busy looking for the guy through his mirrors to really pay attention to anything else, the air blows violently into the car, your hair a mess now. The longer you sit in the car, the more you start to relax, the cool breeze in your face relieving your anxiety. 

Seonghwa startles you when he grumbles loudly, he hits the steering wheel out of frustration, his opponent had passed him. You weren’t too familiar with the path Hwa was taking, perhaps racing here once or twice before and if you remembered correctly he was more than halfway done. 

“Hold on!” He yells, he presses the red button beneath his thumb, immediately you are pulled back from the sudden acceleration. His 350Z zoomed by the guy in the other car and already you could see where the finish line was. Hwa keeps the man at bay as he rides his ass. As if it were clockwork the crowd of people disperse to make room for the infamous Park Seonghwa. He crosses the threshold into the pit of people, the car coming to a noisy stop. He cheers and you cheer along with him “I fucking love you.” He yells, you feel everything go in slow motion at that moment, the faces of the people cheering him on outside become a blur, it almost felt like you had ascended. “W-what?” you say in confusion, “I fucking love you. I am in love with you.” He says, smiling widely at you. 

Like a tradition, people hit the roof and hood of the car congratulating him on another victory. He pulls you into a heated kiss and when you pull away you lean into his ear. “I love you too Hwa.” He hops out of the car and you follow suit, instantly, he wraps his arms around you and lifts you up. Hongjoong comes up and gives him a hug, “we are still the best of the fucking best.” Hwa’s best friend yells.

The rest of the night you had spent velcroed to Seonghwa’s side, celebrating the win and watching other races go on. By 2am you were ready to call it a night. That's when Hwa pulls you aside, “wanna spend the night?” He asks tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear. You nod eagerly, “we can get high and do whatever we want.” He whispers only for you to hear. His hands softly caress yours. “I’ll see you there baby.”

The drive to Matz’s garage is about 10 minutes, you pull in and park in the spot Seonghwa had reserved for just you.

The garage was Seonghwa’s and Hongjoong’s working space, it was scattered with car parts as well as half built vehicles. You stepped out of your pink mobile and headed up the metal stairs, your boots stomping loudly, sending vibrations up the railing. Hwa stands at the door and lets you in.

You stepped into the warm apartment, fully expecting Hongjoong to be there but instead it's quiet. “Where’s Joong?” You wonder, not wanting to impose on his personal space and most definitely not wanting him there if you and Hwa got to it. “Found some girl at the race tonight so he won’t be here.” 

As always Hwa hands you an oversized shirt, it was a routine any time you stayed at his. Given that your clothes weren’t always the most comfortable, he’d always have an oversized tee on deck just for you. You strip in front of him, already feeling his gaze burning holes into your supple skin. You sigh gleefully at the feeling of the tight clothes being off your body. 

Seonghwa sparks the blunt, his slender fingers bring it up to his lips, he takes a long drag and hands it to you. “I don’t know if I should.” You say quietly, weed just wasn’t your thing like it was Hwa’s. “It’s indica this time baby. You’re here with me, it’ll be okay.” You take the burning blunt from him and raise it up to your lips, praying that you wouldn’t end up panicking like the first time you had smoked with him. Your eyes close softly, as the smoke rushes into your lungs, affecting all your senses.

You hold the smoke in for a couple seconds, handing it back to your lover. Seonghwa takes 2 long hits, relaxing into the couch you two were on. Your eyes linger on  him, you could see his eyes drooping slightly from the marijuana. His limbs are loosely splayed on the couch, blunt hanging loosely between his pointer and thumb. Without much thought you reach for the burning plant and take another hit, that was enough to have you feeling like you were melting into the couch. You didn’t know how, but Hwa always managed to finish the blunt, this time was no different. 

“I’m pretty high right now.” He mumbles thoughtlessly slouching down even further. As the minutes tick by you feel yourself get more and more intoxicated. You felt tingles run up and down your arms and legs and your eyes felt heavy. Seonghwa drapes his fluffy blanket over the both of you when he notices your body starting to shiver. Normally, you’d be freaking out but for some reason you felt fine, just high. Seonghwa lays his head on your lap, eyes on the TV. You looked down at him watching his eyes slowly blink as he focused on Finding Nemo. The chills had subsided, if anything you felt warm now, even warmer as you felt Hwa’s hand trailing up and down your bare thigh. 

He grins slightly when he feels your thighs twitch beneath him. He kept this up for what felt like ages, never getting close to where you really needed him. Seonghwa shifts down, the full weight of his head now resting on your left thigh. You lean your head back on the couch when he runs his hand between your legs this time. He fully reaches your hot heat. “H-Hwa…” You whimper weakly, you pout when he looks up at you. He sits up, one leg pulled in and the other one resting on the floor. He presses his lips against yours, his hands gripping your face. Nothing was neat about the kiss, it was filled with hunger and lust. His spit coats your chin now and you moan when his tongue snakes between your parted lips. He roughly pulls you onto his lap, large hands going directly to rest on your ass. You pulled away momentarily, to mumble a quick “I love you Hwa.” He pauses his actions, fingers brushing messy hair strands away from your face, “I love you too baby.”

Seonghwa grunts when you grind down forcefully on him, he pushes you off him roughly, and drags you into his room. You bask in his sheets, his scent completely engulfing you, you felt like you were drowning in him. “Been wanting to fuck you ever since I saw you in that stupid slutty outfit of yours.” He tugs his shirt off you. Immediately his lips latch onto one of your buds while his free hand toys with your other tit. You felt like you were floating and in a way he felt so far yet so close. All your senses were on overdrive thanks to the weed. “Seonghwa please.” His hands wrap around the back of your knees to flip you onto your belly, 

His hand comes down heavy on your plush ass. Hwa smiles sinisterly at the red hand print forming, he feels himself twitch in his pants. He delivers a couple more slaps, “don’t think I have forgotten how you’ve been flirting with Hongjoong.” You lift your head up to protest but he shoves you back down and you let out a yelp. “What a slut. My best friend? Really?” He grits out as he works on the button of his pants.

You can’t push down the tears that sting your eyes, despite his words you knew he knew you’d only ever pick him, he just wanted to pick on you. 

You rest tummy down one cheek pressed against the mattress, “Hongjoongie keeps messing wi-.” You’re cut off by Hwa’s hand landing on your already abused skin. “Don’t try to make it his fault.” He grits, leaning his torso to get closer to your ear, “but honestly if I was him I’d wanna wreck you too.” A wave of arousal crashes over your body, shooting straight south. 

 Hwa pauses, watching the way your thighs pressed together. You sniffle, tears rolling freely now out of frustration. “Are you fucking crying?” Seonghwa says brushing your hair away from your eyes. He scoffs, “no way you’re fucking crying.” Seonghwa clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“It’s okay baby, maybe one day I’ll feel nice and let him fuck you too. Would you like that?” He teases, flipping you back onto your back. You shake your head ‘no’. He spreads your legs open and toys with your sensitive bud that your panties outline. “No? Because you’re soaked right now.” Without slipping the dampened undergarment  off he leans down and flattens his tongue against your cunt, soiling the fabric even further with his spit. 

Hwa works his long tongue languidly against you making you writhe in his grasp. “H-hwa.” You moan attempting to shove your hips against his face. The grip he has around your thighs prevents you from doing so. He presses harder against you and loosens his grip allowing you to fuck yourself on his pretty face. You groan, involuntarily grinding against him desperately trying to chase your high. “Cum baby cum.” He sounds muffled, the weed heightening every sensation has you teetering on the brink of your orgasm rather quickly. Right before you fall over the edge he pulls away; waves of what could've been your orgasm roll through you but fade as quickly as they came leaving you unsatisfied. 

You groan in annoyance, tears pooling in your eyes yet again. “You’re leaking from both ends now, that’s new.” Seonghwa says as he cups your chin, he leans down so his droopy eyes are directly in front of your teary ones. “There's no reason to cry so stop before I give a reason to.” His words make the tears actually roll down your face this time and he grins at the sight.

He flips you back onto your belly, “all fours baby.” As high as you were, you did your best to move into the requested position, your limbs moving slowly due to your impaired motor skills. He pulls your underwear down, sniffling slightly. You can feel his cockhead prodding at your sopping hole, you whine, wiggling your hips back against him. His large hands come to your shoulder blades to hold you down while he pushes in. You gasp at the intrusion, the stretch so delicious you squirm back to get more. “Stay still.” he grumbles annoyingly. He fucks into you hard, his hips being unforgiven against the globes of your ass. You keep shifting to which Seonghwa stops and places a hand on your lower back to deepen your arch. “Don’t move.” He keeps you there, his thrusts are deep and forceful, hitting that spongy spot deliciously. 

Your mouth is agape but there’s no sound coming out. “God- fuck Hwa,” you pant, tongue lolling out of your mouth and your eyes rolling back to your skull. “Feels good huh baby” He grunts, his own pants and groans filling the room, “so fucking perfect- you’re perfect.” He whines desperately, rutting into your wet pussy, you fight for air, your gasps sounding high pitched every time you sucked in air. 

He pulls out, “Get up quickly.” He commands, grabbing you by the arm, he manhandles you on your knees. “Open.” Your mouth drops open, tongue out ready for whatever he had to give you. Seonghwa wastes no time shoving his cock down your throat. You relax as much as you can, spit pooling in your mouth and falling onto your chest in thick ropes. Through the slits of your eyes you can see Seonghwa looking down on you with heavy eyes, the ‘Matz’ scribbled across his neck stretching beautifully as he throws his head back. Spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth and he grabs your head and shoves his dick desperately as far as he could until you are fighting to pull away.

You push back, resting your ass on your heels, fighting to catch your breath. “Good fucking girl baby. Cmon get up so I can’t fuck my load into you.” Hwa says, slightly out of breath. You lay back on the bed, hips hanging slightly off the bed, he slips right back in. Your spit mixed with your wetness, allows his cock to enter your walls smoothly. Your back arches off the bed as he fucks you hard, his hands push down on your waist once more to pin you down. 

The fat head of his cock hits your spot again. Everything feels far away now, but your orgasm is fast approaching. “You’re fucked d-dumb aren’t you. Does my dick do that to you?” He asks, his tongue running over his pink lips, “look at you can’t even fucking answer me.” Seonghwa’s hand wraps around your throat tightly while his free one toys with your clit, stimulating you to the brink of your orgasm, a couple more strokes and your legs begin quaking on his shoulders, “Fuck Hwa, sir too muc- I can’t.” You cry out, bringing your arms that suddenly feel so heavy to push him off but instead he wraps his hands around your wrists and presses them into the bed, “it’s o-okay baby. I’m almost there.” Sweat drops are now falling on you. He slows down his thrusts, he grinds himself into your cervix that sends him over the edge. His hips still and he groans loudly emptying his load into you. You whine, weakly trying to get him off, but still relishing in your postorgasmic bliss. He pulls out watching the way you weakly curl into yourself, his spunk seeping out of you and he can't help but smirk. 

“Don’t float away from me yet baby.” He says tapping your cheek. He slips the same shirt you had on earlier over your head and wipes you down. Slipping on some sweats and an old shirt he tucks himself in bed with you. Your eyes are now closed, the cloudiness of your high slowly dissipating but still, you felt exhausted. You slowly blinked, now realizing that Hwa had turned off the lights and you sleepily admired the way the neon purple lights from the signs outside illuminated the room.

“Hwa?” You ask into the darkness. “Hm?” He responds, not moving from his spot, “I might’ve agreed to another race next weekend.” You say sheepishly, he rolls his eyes in the dark, and you can feel the disappointment and annoyance radiating off him, “you’re in big trouble.”

[leclercstars]

advantage, zweig.

college!art donaldson x college!patrick zweig x reader based on this request

Summary: You've been into Art for years, but after he misses out on your senior awards ceremony, your feelings completely disappear. Seeing you out with a new guy certainly didn't help Art feel any better either. Warnings: mentions of alcohol, drug usage, kissing, mentions of sex.

You had been friends with Art and Tashi since you all were in the 5th grade. Spent hours on the playground together and in each other’s backyards before tennis consumed all three of you. When you all committed to Stanford, the joint going-away party your parents threw was unforgettable for quite a few reasons.

There had never really been any romantic tension between any of you. You and Tashi always had different types, and Art was sort of a self-proclaimed fuckboy so neither of you wanted anything to do with that. At least neither of you ever let it show. You had a sort of evergreen crush on Art, that seemingly persisted through every phase of your lives. From playing spin the bottle in basements to sneaking out for real parties in high school, the silent yearning you had for his touch never fully went away. Even when you had other boyfriends, shamefully, you always caught yourself thinking of Art when you listened to playlists they had made you. So when you walked him out to his car alone after your party, both of you single, Tashi preoccupied with talking to the adults, you knew you couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Bathed in the yellowy light of the street lamp, you leaned up against his car, wearing a low-cut white mini dress that did a good job of showing off your assets. Exactly what you wanted in this moment. It was 10pm, and the summer breeze had picked up, making your nipples pique through the thin fabric of the little dress. Art slowly stepped towards you, saying nothing, the lighting making his features dark, shadowy, lustful. His hands found the curve of your waist and pinned you against the chrome car door, tongue snaking its way down your throat with a passion that you had never experienced before. You tangled your hands in his hair, never wanting to let go of him or this moment. You kissed for what felt like hours, but as soon as he pulled away you already missed the taste of his lips against yours. He rested his forehead on yours, eyes closed, thumb rubbing your cheek. And then he got in the car and drove off.

And that was it. You never spoke of that moment again. You never told Tashi. That was it. And it was eating away at you. Your insides were constantly being mauled by a hunger for the feeling of his hands on you again. It was like a drug. A moment that had happened two years ago, and you constantly wanted another hit of that feeling. You all stayed friends, and you started to wonder if Art even remembered that it happened. It became harder and harder with each passing day to just act like things were the same, even when you had boyfriends of your own. You felt awkward bringing them around Art, knowing the way you felt. You still texted him all the time, hoping every notification was one from him. He had never been able to tie down a serious girlfriend, but spent quite a bit of time going on dates, which Tashi thought was trashy. “You can’t just keep leading girls on!” she would constantly groan. Boy, if only she knew. You kept yourself distracted from your own emotions by throwing yourself into school work, knowing that would at least pay off eventually. You excitedly texted Tashi and Art when you learned you were earning a distinguished senior award, and both of them promised to come to the ceremony. Tashi showed up 10 minutes early, always eager and overly punctual. 5 minutes passed, then 10, then 20. No sign of Art. He wasn’t responding to either of your texts, and Tashi started rubbing your back, knowing how excited you were about him being there. You had all done everything together for so long, and Art was missing out on the most important moment of your college career. How could he? This man you had loved for so long suddenly exposing his true colors sent a shock throughout your entire body. It was like waking up from a deep sleep, your feelings for Art slowly dissipating into the air around you. You heard a knock on your apartment door late that night. It was Art, standing there with flowers, wearing his sweat-stained Stanford tennis t-shirt. 

“I am so sorry.” “I don’t care Art,” you snapped, starting to close the door when he put his hand out to stop you, forcing himself inside. “Get out of my house,” each word dripping like venom off your tongue. “At least let me apologize, I overslept.” “You don’t get to just oversleep an important moment in my life and then expect me to act like it never happened,” you were choking back tears, not wanting to appear vulnerable in front of the man who hurt you so badly. “You’re gonna throw 10 years away for this? For one moment?” Art’s emotion was visceral, slicing through the thick tension hanging between the two of you. “I loved you Art,” you said matter of factly. “But this isn’t the only time you’ve “overslept” and no one who is wasting my time is worth any of mine.” He stood there, mouth agape. Tears welling up in the bottom of his eyes. He looked like a sad puppy, which was making it harder and harder for you to remain stone faced.

“What?” he said softly, voice quivering. “Get out, Art.” you choked. You couldn’t do this right now, just wanting to push him out of your apartment and out of your life. He threw the flowers on the table and left, slamming the door behind him. The wilted flowers still sat there two weeks later when you were bringing Patrick through the door, drunkenly stumbling with him to your bedroom. Tashi had set the two of you up after you spent hours crying to her about Art. “You can’t spend the rest of your life buried in a pint of ice cream,” she said. Obviously, it went well, as you watched him slip the condom out of his wallet before you shut your bedroom door.

Things were far from serious between you and Patrick. You couldn’t stand the thought of experiencing real emotion for anyone at the moment. Patrick was fun, he was sexy.  He loved going out and he was always happy to provide you with drunk cigs. Patrick showed up right at the perfect moment on Friday night. You were already drunk and all that tequila had gone straight to your clit. It was like he had a magnetic field around him, pulling you closer and closer with each passing minute. You met on the dance floor, your ass finding his crotch pretty easily as he pulled you in, the bumping techno song intoxicating you even more on him. 

“Oh hey that guy over there sits next to me in class!” Patrick waved and grinned before getting back to feeling you up. It was Art. Standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching you bump and grind with a guy who he thought was a random classmate. Your phone pinged and you sneakily pulled it out to read the text. It was from Art.

“I’m pretty sure he does coke.” You rolled your eyes and glared at him.

“I don’t really care Art.”

“I’d be a much better dance partner.” he shot back

Your stomach fluttered a bit at that, but you suppressed it. Remembering why you had distanced yourself from Art in the first place. “Let’s get out of here” you whispered to Patrick.

The two of you waded through the crowd, hand-in-hand, and you were sure to choose a path that led you directly by Art. You walked past without glancing at him. Once you reached the door, you saw him standing there still, watching, mouth drawn in a tight line, brows furrowed.

You had never felt so satisfied.

dividers by @.cafekitsune

tags: @fangirlinc @nuhteyam

[dellalyra]

Gojo, who just for ONCE, ends up somehow cooking an actual meal. A meal that doesn't seem poisonous or sweet in any way. That is actually edible. And now everyone is just having a mixed range of emotions because how and why has he just cooked something edible? (And idk its somehow pure coincidence that this has occured or he literally followed a recipe but reader keeps throwing things at him to check its still her husband and it just keeps hitting him cause he hasn't turned on infinity)

This seems like a long request so do not feel obligated to do this ajfnejc

ɪᴍᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇʀ? - 𝘍𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴

pixie says: this was so fun to write oh my god! i love this idea sm, i hope you like it too!!

Eggs. Parmesan. Linguine. Pancetta. Salt. Pepper.

Surely, this couldn’t be too hard? He could definitely do this. He’s the strongest sorcerer alive - he definitely can conquer a carbonara for his wife. He clicks his fingers and curses disintegrate, so that means he’s going to make the best dinner ever. At least, that’s his logic.

He usually brought you out to eat for your birthday, but he decided he’d treat you to a Satoru Gojo Michelin Star meal at home with the kids tonight.

He could do this.

He won’t be defeated.

Not by pasta.

Tsumiki and you had been to the salon to get your nails done (Satoru’s treat) and Megumi hung around the nearby book store until you both were done - stating that he didn’t want his nails done this time because they got chipped when he played with his dogs.

“Mama.” She says, eyes fixated ahead of her.

Pulling up to the cottage, you listen to the boy in the backseat tell you about the book he picked up. You notice Tsumiki freeze beside you.

“Tsumiki? What’s wrong? What do you - oh, shit.” You saw it mid sentence. The kitchen light was on and you could see the silhouette of your husband through the curtains.

“Mom? ‘Miki? What’s wrong? Is it a curse? With this treasure - ” Megumi starts from behind you.

“Papa’s in the kitchen.” His sister responds.

“Fuck.” The 13 year old responds, utilising the deal that they can swear as long as it’s just around family.

“We gotta go.” You take the key from the ignition and vault out of your seat, using speed Megumi had only ever seen when he came to minor missions with you.

You whip open the kitchen door and you’re immediately greeted with a smell.

And not the scent of smoke and melted rubber you expect from seeing your husband in the kitchen.

The smell was… really good.

And you recognised it immediately as your favourite meal.

The kids skid in behind you and go through the same motions.

“There’s no fire.” Tsumiki states.

“Are we sure it’s dad? Maybe uncle Nanamin came over?” Megumi asks.

“We do Kooking with Kento on Thursday, and it’s Saturday. I’m pretty sure he’s on a date tonight anyway.” You whisper, toeing off your shoes and slowly creeping to the kitchen.

As you round the corner, you see your husband in your floral apron singing along to music from the speaker - music you recognise as your wedding playlist from 3 months ago.

The kitchen is clean. There’s no fire. No food on the ceiling. The utensils all seem to be intact and the oven door is still attached and the counter tops aren’t melted (all things Satoru’s cooking has caused).

He spins around.

“Princess! There’s my birthday girl! Let’s see those nails! You too ‘Miki!” You both hold out your hands, still surveying the room - Megumi walks in with the fire extinguisher.

“Oh these are so pretty, ‘Miki! Purple is a very nice colour on you.” He says, looking at her fingers as she smiles at him. Charming bastard.

He turns to yours next.

“Princess, these are beautiful! I love the shiny bits on the blue!” He says, meaning the chrome on the baby blue acrylics.

“Thank you, ‘toru. But… what’s going on?” You say, kissing him on the cheek.

“I made dinner! It’s your favourite! C’mon, everyone go sit at the table.” He smiles and swats you all with the cloth he’s holding and you all go sit at the table.

“What is happening.” You breathe out.

He comes over, somehow balancing four bowls.

“Et voila! Bone apple feet!” He says, placing the dishes in front of you all and sitting beside you, pouring you a glass of white wine.

The food… looks incredible. Creamy, silky and perfectly cooked and presented like you’d see in a restaurant.

You grab your fork and twirl some pasta onto it, tentatively putting a bite into you mouth.

You freeze.

Not in the way you usually freeze when you’re eating his home cooked meals.

But because it’s so fucking delicious.

You turn to look at him as you swallow and see him smiling at you, glasses removed onto the table.

“Who are you?” You ask.

“Satoru Gojo - clan head of the Gojo’s, wielder of the six eyes and limitless, husband to The Dryad and father of two gremlins.” He smiles, cocky as ever.

You poke his cheek.

“You’re not an illusion?”

“Nope! In the flesh!”

You ball up a napkin and toss it at him. Hitting him square on the nose.

“Eh?! Excuse you, madam!” He exclaims, hands on his hips.

You grab a piece of bread from the basket on the table and throw that at him too. By now, Tsumiki is laughing and Megumi is smirking at the sight before him.

“Woman! Quit throwing stuff at me!” He says, tossing the bread back at you.

“Not until I’m sure you’re not a curse with the abilities of a chef who has replaced my husband. My husband can’t cook, and this is the best carbonara I’ve ever tasted.” You see his eyes light up as you say that.

“Of course it’s the best! I made it!” He retorts, digging into his food.

You blink for a moment.

“How did you do this?” You ask.

“So I put the pasta in some water, cooked the pancetta- ”

“No - my ‘toru can’t cook to save his life.”

“Rude! I make amazing hot chocolate!”

“You actually did this? By yourself? From scratch?” You grab his cheeks and turn his face to look at you.

“Yeah! Followed a video on YouTube.”

You slammed your lips onto his, and feel him smirk into the kiss.

“Get a damn room!” Megumi mutters.

“Stop it, Megumi - they’re so cute. I hope my boyfriend will do things like that for me.” Tsumiki replies, scolding her sibling before her voice took on a dreamy quality exclusive to a teenage girl.

“I’ll be sure to tell Kaito from your class that you like homemade food.” He says, snickering and teasing her with the knowledge of her crush on the boy.

“Shut it, sea urchin!”

“Oi! You two! It’s your momma’s birthday, you can bully each other tomorrow.” Satoru directs to them.

He looks at you are you’re smiling a big, glittery smile at him which makes his heart skip a beat.

“This is so amazing, ‘toru. Thank you so much for everything. I love you so much.” You say as you fling your arms around his neck.

“Anything for you, Princess.”

[angellurgy2]

Pull The Trigger

your favourite freak's writing agaain! you ever wanted to read a story about a homophobic gamer boy getting doxxed and raped? well here u go! ^-^ part two coming soon

cw: noncon, forced gay, slurs, shit like that

sandstone brick, towering ahead. trapped in a corner, waiting, ak-47 comfortable in hand. listening, watching, pixel-perfect gaze. the soft pitter patter of booted footsteps approaching on sand. spin, shoot before you see. three shots of triple-round burst to centre mass. dead. 

multiple pings hit the wall ahead of him, pelted at while his back was turned. losing health rapidly. he flicks and sends his barrel spinning 180 in the opposite direction, blind trading fire. 

he screams into his bulky turtle beach headphones as the body in front of him ragdolls, screen blurring with bloody low health warnings. “YEAAAH FAGGOT, YOU LIKE THAT?”

he’s swiftly popped into the win screen, all chat and winner microphones switched on to offer a chance to flaunt or whine. 

[ALL] TriggerFinger: get GUD fags i’ll wipe u in the next one 2 lmao

[ALL] XxxGr1mR3eaperxxX: dude you suck u just got lucky

[ALL] TriggerFinger: i bet u kno a lot about sucking huh?

[ALL] TriggerFinger: just like your MOM

trigger clicks on to queue for the next game, a satisfied gleam plastering his face as everyone else is gone to the aether.

in the top left of his screen as loading screens trawl pops a message from an unfamiliar user. not on his friends list, rather it looks like they’re in the ‘recently played with’ section. probably just another noob coming to rage.

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: that was pretty rude, you know.

‘ThAt WaS pReTtY rUde-’ what a beta.

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: why shld i care? get a life faggot. lmao

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: you really shouldn’t talk to people like that.

this guy’s clearly got some form of retardation keeping him from getting the hint. but trigger’s got better shit to do. the loading screen for this game always takes so long. he grabs a pack of shrimp tempura cup ramen off the nearby shelf and fills it with day-old water from his water bottle, shoving it in the microwave for a couple minutes. he numbly trawls through social media feeds, doomscrolling the beautiful faces on instagram before that gets boring, then the stale porn on twitter, then the ragebait on 4chan. nothing satisfying his appetite except this one clip of some guy eating shit on his first try skateboarding, which too is ethereal in the drips of serotonin it gives.

ding!

he grabs his soppy steaming meal and brings it back over to his computer, stirring it with a stray fork before moving back into the screen. the first thing he sees is another message from the same person as before. he rolls his eye and opens the notification.

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: this you? 78.222.0.13

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: TF?? 

he thinks he’s so cool. trigger quickly tabs over to chrome, typing into the address bar ‘whats my ip ad-’ before it autofills. he clicks in, praying for the release of the little ball of stress slowing spreading in his chest. only to have it implode. IPv4… 78.222.0.13

ok. well, he’s probably just trying to scare you. theres not much you can do with a few numbers. he remembers the streamers he’s watched being ddos’ed and how freaked out they’d always get. he can’t find that humour in the angered horror on their faces now, though.

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: thats not my fuckin IP asshole. ur not funny

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: i think it’s pretty funny.

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: see you soon :)

trigger looks around his surroundings. nothing around, just the same open bland studio basement. mattress on the floor, check. couch, check. tv, check. tiny window that shows literally nothing but a foot of grass? check. its hard for him to hide the scowl of hatred at this empty rotting enclosure. shit, did you lock the door? he runs up and flicks it locked like how a child runs up the stairs when they’re scared a monsters behind them. not because of this ‘specter’ though. just normal precaution. he wouldn’t let another man take up space in his mind like that.

trigger sits. unable to pull his focus enough to start another game, or to divest himself entirely. stuck in a limbotic resting space. he grabs the monster can sitting on his desk - one of many - and pours it down his throat with anxious franticity. after staring at the screen for long enough, with nothing else he can see to do, he types.

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: What r u talking about? fuckin weirdo

10 minutes pass.

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: hello?

nothing at all. empty threats and childish games. who puts in that much effort just to cause a little scare? freak, probably a faggot too.

he sighs and switches over to spotify, plugging his favourite XXXtentacion album into his grindy bluetooth speaker and grabbing a pre-roll from his weed drawer. a rusted old lighter folds between his fingers. flick, flick. hot choking mist fills his mouth and then suffuses his screen as he blows it back into the stale air. he lies idly spinning in his gaming chair, puffing until its gone and until the words leave his head. empty.

but not for long, apparently.

a resoundingly loud knocking thuds at his door. earthquaking enough to shake him out of his seatlock. but the tremors remain, rocking through his veins. he gingerly lowers his eye to the peephole. a short man looks up from a foot away, holding some sort of black bag. this is it trigger, time to man up. he paces back with soft steps, pulling a steak knife from the block and holding it behind his back. no more games, this is real life. no more being harassed by that bitch landlord, no more bad looks when mom and dad visit. when the police find him beaten and you on top you won’t have to feel bad anymore.

he opens the door.

“Hello. uber for trig?”

he doesn’t remember ordering any food, was he really that faded?

“it’s… trigger. but that’s me, yeah.”

the man passes trigger an unlabelled brown bag from the bigger unlabelled black bag. something liquid seeps out of the corner.

“have a great night, sir!” 

trigger tosses the bag onto the table already scattered with trash. throwing the knife onto the counter along with it. being paranoid is the sign of a weak mind, you need energy. he thinks about the shrooms his bro gave him a couple weeks back, saved for a special occasion in a box under his bed. the devil and angel on his shoulders scream.

he examines the food. taco bell crunchwrap and spilled soda, amazing. he begins to clean it up right as a CLFBKGBNJ clanging from the kitchenette behind his back rings out. he turns to see a tall, muscley imposing man already towering over him from there. backing up slowly, like hes a blind animal that’ll pounce at any moment. 

“hey there.”

“hi???” his words spit out with a spiteful acidity, tantrumic. 

“you must be trigger.” his monotone face twists upwards into a cruel mockery of a smile. he examines trigger up and down, who shivers at being ogled like meat.

he hears his dad in his head. puff up your chest, faggot. you can’t let people walk over you like a little bitch all the time. he straightens his back, stops retreating. his voice mimics a tough deepness.

“you need to g-get the fuck out of my house.” 

specter tilts his head with curiosity. trigger can feel the aftershocks of monster and adrenaline crumpling his heart as he looks into the intruders eyes. a dark jade gazes back, blank. empty. like null space inside his skull, giving off only the aesthetic of a watching being. beyond the entrancing holes, partially hidden behind curtains of frayed brown locks, a jagged scar cuts through his face, curved and serrated with the impression of its assailant. 

“it’s not really your house though, is it?” 

trigger stares back dumbly. specter lifts up a chiseled arm and knocks on the roof, indicating where the landlord resides. “it’s theirs, really.” he takes a step forward.

“what’s your fucking problem man?”

another step back. guarding facade broken as quickly as it was put up. you’re weak. pathetic. he can smell it on you, just like they all can.

“here to give you an attitude adjustment.” he says it so monotone, like reading a script. as if you should know what that means. specter gives a wide scan of the interior. sizing up your crime scene? this won’t be going the way you think it will, buddy. “this is a pretty shit place you got here”

“not any more shit than the goon cave you probably got, bitch” 

the molded smile on specter’s face drops in a second. in 3 sudden steps forward he closes most of the gap between them, the air between the two grows cold. trigger has no choice but to back up more to keep the feeling of safety. the distance between handler and beast, but there’s no leash here. and there’s no medic to save him.

“listen.. s-specter? right?” he looks into those dead eyes with a quiver hes kept hidden for so long.  “i'm sorry i insulted you or- or whatever i didn’t mean it okay? that’s just online shit, this isn’t real.”

specter takes another wordless step, and trigger hits the wall. this isn’t real.

“why so quiet all of a sudden?” his hand reaches out and cups triggers chin, his face too frozen with animalistic chemicals to react. forcing trigger’s weak inebriated gaze to meet his, dead yet malevolent. “are you scared of me?”

trigger spits in his face. “you- couldn’t. scare me.”

untrimmed nails dig sharply into the base of his skull. “i will.”

“my dads the chief of police. you don’t wanna do this.” he tries to put on monotone the best he can, head as swirly with emotions as it is.

specter chortles. “no he’s not”

the music emanating from trigger’s desk scratches hard as it changes into a fast-paced track. specter’s eyes and ears twitch in its direction like a bat.

“this is what you listen to?” his smile almost looks genuine this time. he gestures at the ground below them. “stay here.”

he turns and moves to walk past trigger, when he jumps into action, leaping at the man with a guttural yell.  “AA-”

immediately cut off by searing blunt force ripping through his gut, sending him crumpling to the floor with the force of extraneous gravity. so you’re a warlock, subclassed into gravitational magic, is that it? he gets up onto his hands and knees, a trail of saliva connecting his lips to the dirty linoleum floors. he chokes on each breath he tries to take in. the pain is unlike anything his soft and unexplored body has experienced before. 

specter walks away to the booming speaker, pulling out a black rectangle from the pocket of the black jeans sticking to his legs.. the speakers switch to a new track, unfamiliar to his ears. some kind of aggressive rapping, underscored by a metallic sharp noise groove. he tries to listen for words, analyzing the rhythm and slotting it with memories of other songs to try and figure out what it is. but before he can comprehend the first words to come out, a rigid boot crashes into the side of his ribs.

dazed on the ground, heaving for the little pieces of air that’ll fit through his trachea, cartoons birds twirling over his head as he stares up into the ceiling. 

a sharp sound cuts through his stupor. “you’re funny” says specter, “i really thought you’d have more fight in you.”

PHWACK. the sound of some elastic material slapping against skin, a black glove clinging to specter’s boney hand.

trigger’s shocked by the feeling of cold on his bare stomach, face twisting with rage but the rest of the body betrays him with frozen fear. specter begins to slowly lift triggers shirt, feeling up his concave flesh with rubber digits.

specter flinches back as a red handprint manifests on his cheek. i wasnt even thinking i didnt mean to i just-

a vice grip takes hold of his windpipe, holding it hostage. the hand begins to rise upwards, holding him against a wall that wasnt there two seconds ago, and then he has to fight with his noodlish body to stand up before it rips his throat right out. “you’re so weak. how did you make it so long, bullying people like that?” his other hand then puts itself to use. the cold rises up triggers body slow and nerve-wracking. he tries not to feel it and to just keep his eyes on him. the tangible, hurtable, beast. 

his mind lags from his body, not realizing he’s on the ground before he already is. terrifyingly strong knees spreading his legs apart ever so slightly, invading hand-shaped ghosts pinning him into the dirty floor face-first. months of uncaring habitation coming back to bite him in the ass all at once. his eyes jump from little pieces of dust and crumbs, filling his vision more than their existence is intended for. brought low with the trash. maybe you should’ve listened to mom.

a bottle squirts loudly out of his sight. he tries to spin his head around but he’s just met with increased pressure on his neck, pinning him down like meat on a butcher’s table. fuck this. thrashing out with all the strength in his limbs- it forces specter to change up his positioning, but even then you can’t make a single scratch, slapping at this very real intruder like a whiney little girl. 

“stop it.” he says it like he’s talking to a petulant child, dry and tired.

“fuck you! get off me!” 

a rubbery object shoves itself down his throat as he opens his mouth to yell more obscenities. fingers ripping open his jaw, dispelling his pleas into inhuman garbling.  

“reht rre throo!” 

he looks around, there has to be something he can do. everything is dark blobs because of his eyes wetting from the fingers assault of his uvula. heavy whispers assault the back of his neck, venom in his blurred ears. “i could take out a tooth. how about that?”

he shakes his head, as much as he can crushed between these manly hands. 

water trickles down from the corners of his eyes. fuck, don’t let him see you crying, that’s the ultimate defeat. man card revoked. the only benefit of this positioning is that only the tile can see your face’s treason.

the hand abruptly leaves and moves back to the rest of his body. not preferable, but at least now his eyes will stop coating themselves in water. there has to be something on this floor somewhere if he can look. 

blood coats his vision. bloody floor, bloody nose, face shoved into a pool of it. he can feel his nose contort under the hard material, head bouncing off it with a loud crack.

‘look’, you shouldve known better. thousands of hours of experience watching torture scenes in COD, and you think he’s gonna give you a break? you’re not the shooter like you thought you were, you’re just the dead russian snitch. 

slender hands dip under the waistband of his sweatpants, threatening with slow dragging downwards. fuck, he is a fag. so much screaming in his head, be a man be strong fight back faggot stop being a fucking BETA. but the weak trembling in every inch of his nervous system won’t let go. the part that knows what you are. weak little soyboy. shit, was it the burger king? he looks at the softness of his tiny arms splayed out in front of him, thinking back to all those impossible whoppers he had during that first (and last) year of college. sure there were the conspiracies but- he had to lose some weight and it was right next to his dorm and surely a little bit of hormonal meat couldn’t hurt anyone. well, apparently not. he shudders at the thought of all those tiny little girl particles running around in his bloodstream.

coldcoldcoldcoldcold fuck. something cold and wet drips down his ass, sending rippling twitches through his body. something small pokes and prods, forcing the wet inside, already he feels speared through, he has to purposefully hold his face together to not burst into open sobbing. 

“shhh sh sh. it’s okay. you’ll take it.” 

it pulls out, a hot emptiness filling all feeling. another squirt, and more wetness shoved so deep he cant handle in the choking cries. “please. please don’t. i don’t- i’m not-” cut off by the finger pulling out again, leaving his hole gaped. “Fuck stop im not gay pleasepleasepleasepl”

a sweaty palm wraps over his mouth.

something warm and hard and fleshy begins to rub circles around his hole. pressing up so close his breath hitches in fear it might go in and then pulling back and then repeating.

“be a good boy and stay quiet, trig.”

pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing

“HEEEEELPP WAIT PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE HELP NONONONONONONO STOPP#&$*%9

&$#%^#^%)#!($#$^%

##&% %%#(% %$$*$#&

*#$&$THELP

* * *

specters hard chest presses up close and warm against trigger’s back. hot, heavy breathing forces its way into his ear. they stay there for a moment, frozen in time. a breaking point cut, getting a cinematic view of his own ruination. what a shitty fucking movie this is. 

“mmhng-” specter pulls back, breaking the trance, almost making trigger wish he would’ve just stayed inside. he grunts at the feeling of trembling boyflesh seizing on his cock, shaking with each inch moved in either direction, clenching for dear life. he grips a handful of trigger’s hair and pulls it back, forcing his limp and drooling expression into specter’s vision.

 “so, what was it?” the burning rod of pressure starts to move faster, thrusting with detached force, muscular hips bouncing off trigger’s ass. “dad beat you?” another assault forward, enunciating each bit of words with the slapping of their flesh. “mom molest you?” it hurts sososososososososo bad but he cant feel anything other than the pain nothing but searing waves of some long-forbidden feeling. “or- fuck- you just get bullied too much in those squishy formative years?”

boiling hot rain streams down his face, terror burning his eyes blind. choking sobs spit out little bits of snot and saliva pooling with his tears below him in a sad filth soup. 

“oh c’mon-” specter reaches in closer, thoughtlessly pushing his cock into a switch that turns triggers legs to jelly. a waterfall of tears overlaid with shameful noises, the kind he’d before only ever heard through the speakers of a computer. each one abrading his will even more. he was supposed to be on the other side, not this. anything but this. 

“please stop”

“it’s too late.” his hand brushes triggers cheek, mimicking a comforting motion with uncomfortable skin, “you can never take back what’s already happened… and what’s about to.”

[ninyard]

Oh my, would you mind writing about the date or truth Kevin interview if you want ? I feel like you would nail it

This is literally so silly and not as dramatic as it could be but I was picturing it a little like this; Kevin, the interviewer, the researcher and his publicist/manager/agent or whatever have already had a conversation about which questions are totally off limits - they can’t ask about the perfect court, or Riko. They can’t ask about the Ravens, and a couple other things. They clear a few that are going to be bait questions - ones he’s not going to answer, but will allow them to ask for viewership and engagement’s sake.

It’s an interviewer Kevin clicks quite well with, not a completely obligatory interview on a long and exhausting press run, but a half-relief of a pit stop in between the other obligations. It’s for a late night talk show, of some sort, one that’s known for showing the funnier side of celebrities because the host is so good at their job. So the rehearsals go fine, the audience fill into their seats, and Kevin is backstage with hair and makeup.

“Did they tell you what’s in the glasses?” He asks, the makeup artist touching him up with some powder on his forehead.

His publicist shakes her head. “Only that they’re gross. How’s your stomach?”

Kevin knows it’s likely he’ll get sick if there’s anything texturally disgusting put in front of him - he can handle most of the typically gross foods, but anything liquidy and unexpectedly chunky and he’s done for.

He gets his time warnings from the different runners and then he’s off to the left of the stage, and the host is introducing him with far too much flattery like he’s a real superstar - “Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s give a warm welcome to the Son of Exy, Kevin Day!”

Kevin steps onto the stage with that shining bright smile and a hand in the air, eyes on the crowd as if he’s waving at anyone in particular. The crowd goes wild.

The initial nterview is mostly boring press stuff - how’s the season? Excited for the future? Heard you got signed back on to the National Team this year, how does that feel? How are the Foxes? Tell us what’s in store for you next.

Then the host introduces the game section, and he’s brought over to a round table with a lazy Susan in the centre and a number of covered dishes along the edge.

“Have you ever played our little game of Truth or Drink before? Because I don’t think you have.” The host smiles as they sit down across from him, cards of questions in their hands.

“If I say I have, does that mean I don’t have to do it?” He looks out towards the audience like they can save him, playing up to the cameras around him. The crowd laugh like he’s the funniest person they’ve ever witnessed. It helps that the floor manager encourages them from the stage floor.

“So here’s how it goes, we spin our little table here and you’ll end up with a drink or a snack in front of you,” The host explains. The audience know there’s more to it than that. “I’ll ask you a question, and you have a choice - you can answer that question, Kevin, or you can have whatever is on that plate in front of you. Got it?”

“Sounds easy to me,” Kevin nods and then purses his lips as if he doesn’t know what he’s signed up for. “Maybe too easy.”

“Definitely too easy,” The host agrees, and spins the table until a dish stops in front of Kevin. “So why don’t you lift up that cover there and tell us what’s in front of you?”

Kevin lifts the chrome covering - it’s a small shot glass of some thick white substance. It looks like mayonnaise, and then he lifts the identifying card to read it; It’s a shot glass full of pure mayo. Easy enough.

“Not a good start,” he holds up the card so the cameras can find it and frowns. “But something tells me it’s not the worst.”

“Who’s to say?” The crowd are prompted to laugh. “So, first question, we know that you were the person who made the decision to sign Neil Josten to the Foxes last year. Did you know who he was when you signed him?”

The crowd ooh at the question and Kevin feels his heart stutter for just a second. Were they supposed to mark Neil as a no-go topic? Did they forget? He laughs instead, and places the cover next to the shot glass.

“No, no, I didn’t.” He shakes his head, and shrugs his shoulders. “Unfortunately it didn’t come up on his background check.” He mocks pulling on his collar like the whole Neil situation is a yikes topic. The words leave his mouth through a false awkward smile and the audience eat it up with laughter and applause.

“Would you have signed him if you knew?” The host asks, and Kevin points a finger at them in mock warning.

“Isn’t that a second question?” The crowd love it. He knows how to work an interview, having fun with an audience that love even the simplest of jokes.

“Okay, okay, playing by the rules, I see,” The host turns the table until another covered dish lands in front of Kevin. “And our next dish is…”

Another shot glass. This time full of cold baked beans. Kevin grimaces as he inspects the glass. “I’m beginning to think this interview was a bad idea...” He laughs.

“Hey, no take backs!” The host flips their stack of cards to a question Kevin knows is one he’s not supposed to answer. Gross, he thinks, but it’s not the worst thing on the table - that, he’s sure of. “Our next question tonight, is one I’m personally interested in…” The host riles up the audiences curiosity. They point to his cheek. “Kevin, what’s the real meaning behind the Queen piece?”

It’s an obvious answer - everyone knows it’s because Riko was the so-called King of Exy, but saying that out loud would just confirm it, and it’d be the first time he’d have said it on record. People have been itching for him to confirm it since he’d had the number covered up, but he’d refused to, in order to avoid the stirring up of unnecessary drama. It was a 75% harmless question, but still good enough to get some speculation and buzz online about the show and Kevin’s interview.

“And if I say it’s my favourite chess piece, can we move on?” Kevin pokes fun at the question with half a grimace, half a smile. The host laughs and covers their face with the cards.

“No, no, we’re looking for the real reason Kevin,” They raise their eyebrows and use the cards to point at the glass in front of him. “Or you can always take a drink.”

Kevin pretends to hesitate before he holds his nose and knocks back half of the shot. The gag he can’t hold back isn’t quite pretend, but he covers his mouth to swallow, before shaking his head. “That’s… disgusting.”

“It’s protein?” The host offers.

“Not enough to be worth it.” He retorts, and the audience laughs again. He washes it down with the glass of water that had been left by his side. He shakes his head again before clearing his throat. “Next one, please.”

The same as before, a spin of the table, and suddenly Kevin is sat in front of some other gross concoction, and a supposedly online-drama inspired question is asked. It’s something he doesn’t mind answering, and so he does. The game moves forward; blended fish guts. The audience grimaces with him. There’s no way he’s drinking that. There’s absolutely no way.

“This is torture,” he holds back a retch and tries not to smell the wafting fishy odour from the awful looking drink. “I think you should be put in prison for this.”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” the host laughs. They line up their cards by tapping them on the table. “Okay, are you ready for this one?”

“Go easy on me,” Kevin turns away from the glass to stop himself from looking at it. “I won’t ever come back.”

“I don’t know…” They tease. “So instead of drinking that delicious drink, Kevin, why don’t you tell us how you really broke your hand?”

The question is out before anyone can stop it. Not that they would’ve been able to, anyway, but he could’ve sworn he’d put that on a list of do-not-asks. But maybe he had been stupid enough to believe that he’d been back in the public eye long enough after all that controversy that they wouldn’t care anymore. He let the crowd drink in the question as his careful-not-to-falter eyes caught his publicist standing off the side of the stage. He watches her turn to a crew member with pure rage on her face.

Kevin hides his head between his legs in an over-dramatic reaction, as the audience continue to go wild for much longer than necessary. He pretends to laugh as he catches his breath and considers if there is any possibly way out of this one. He could lie, maybe, but he doesn’t have anything on the tip of his tongue that would be good enough. It’s only likely to get him in far more trouble than it’s worth, anyway, if such a lie were to start spiralling.

“Fish guts?!” He swallows down his beating heart and exclaims. “That’s the question you ask when I have fish guts in front of me?!”

He’s certain he can see fear flash over the hosts face as they laugh. They know this is an off-limits question, even if they hadn’t been told.

“I’ll go easy on you,” they hold out their hands, and the crowd boo as they’re dying for the answer. “You don’t have to drink the whole thing. Or you can answer the question…” they push.

Kevin looks at the grey pink liquid. This wasn’t in his PR training. But not once does his million dollar smile fall from his lips, not once does his face give anything away. Smile, laugh, give the audience what they want. They love you. Remind them why.

He lifts the glass to smell it. A bad idea, in retrospect, as he’s retching before it’s barely an inch or two off the table. For a moment he half considers telling the truth, but that is never a serious option. He hopes the Moriyama’s can see his dedication, that these are the lines he’s willing to cross to keep their little secret.

“I miss when these shows were boring,” Kevin beats a hand on the table, and the crowd slows down, save for a few still pushing for him to answer the question. “They didn’t have this kind of thing on Larry King.”

He gets a laugh for that one. He tries to lift the glass once more and retches again. The host covers their face again to laugh, but Kevin can see the fear beneath branded card stock.

“Remind me never to come back here again,” The audience erupts as the glass reaches his lips, and as quick as its there, its in the trash bin that the production team has left beside him. He can’t help but vomit up a mixture baked beans, water, and whatever else sat in his stomach. Dedication and loyalty, he reminds himself, as he thinks of the clips that are going to surface online after this one.

The interviewer is quick to wrap up the segment, thanking a now pale Kevin for his appearance, and the call is made that the show is at commercials. On-Air and Mic-Live lights switch off, but Kevin doesn’t let his smile fall until he’s out of view of the crowd who applaud him off the stage well into the ads. He barely comprehends the words his publicist is saying to him as he is handed some flavoured carbonated drink. It doesn’t matter that it’s against his rules of things to drink, he chugs half of the bottle down anyway. It doesn’t do much anyway; He’s sure he’s going to be tasting fish for weeks.

Note, he thinks, pushing open the door for his private dressing room. There’s nobody there, and he heads straight to the toilet to retch again.

Add how I broke my hand to the list of things that interviewers are NOT allowed to ask about.

[grapefives]

STARRY EYED | HC

senku x gn!reader

astronomy + friends to lovers + reader is a good drawer + light fluff + author knows jack about astronomy + two nerds in a room they might…

he finds you wide awake, staring at the sky.

even more amusing; you have a journal and pencil in your hands, soft mumbles of spoken thoughts emitting from you.

“night watching to a whole different level, hm?” senku finds himself teasing as he climbs up to the roof to join you.

he’s rarely ever talked to you really, probably only to bark out orders and explain in full, head spinning directions.

“i guess,” you say awkwardly as you close your journal, a but shy now that someone is up here with you.

senku eyes the journal before eyeing you. he won’t press. instead he turns to look at the sky.

“what do you see?” he asks.

“the moon,” you say bitterly.

he snorts, “aside from it.”

your ears turn read but your face remains dull, “and stars.”

“hmmm,” he looks at the sky once more.

you find the courage to ask him, “and you?”

and as expected, he starts to list off all the things he sees. planets, the names of each star he assumes has exploded into nothingness while they were stuck in stone and a bunch of things you wished you comprehended.

“wow,” you mumble. “makes me wish i actually learned back then”.

“this is just basic knowledge,” senku says blandly.

he sees you frown. he feels a tad bad now.

“i can teach you if you want, there’s still lots i need to relearn since things aren’t the way they were anymore.”

“you sure?” you ask, looking at him with a tiny hint of excitement.

an excitement he knows very well, and as soon as the thought of how cute you looked like that, is just as soon as he suppresses it.

“you sleepy?” he asks, unsure how you’re currently feeling.

“nope, why do you think i’m out here?”

senku feels a smile crawl up his face, but his lips only twitch. “come on, let’s go.”

and he takes you to the observatory, the place you’ve been far too hesitant to ask permission to enter in.

and senku was a lot gentle with his explaining and ranting. above everything, he first made sure you were comfortable with jotting things down and asking random questions that were needed for your knowledge.

seeing you grin at your own discoveries and having someone to fawn over space with made senku feel quite warm.

observing and analyzing space became a thing between you too.

anything else went with chrome and gen and taiju. or anyone else really.

but he found himself enjoying having you for that specifically.

and when he saw how much you enjoyed it as well, his feelings started to shift.

late night talks. late night peace.

it was almost…. intimate. almost like, if anyone else came in, they’d disrupt the vibe and he’d probably feel irritated.

“and that’s it, i’m beat,” you huff happily but filled with exhaustion.

senku grabs your journal, which is already on its last remaining pages, and flips through it. he knew you weren’t guarding it as much anymore.

and he felt more comfortable to grab it now that he learned how easily you dropped your guard around him during these moments.

“nice,” he smiles, proud at how much and how fast you learned.

“off i go,” you say casually, leaving the journal in his hands. “put it in my bag when you’re done.”

“no,” he says with a puff, dropping the journal on the table.

you roll your eyes, smiling at him. “give,” you extend your hand and he stares at it, almost tempted to try pulling you into his embrace.

instead, he puts the journal in your hand like asked.

he watched you intently, finding himself fawning over how cute you look tired.

“good night,” he says as you walk past him to head out.

“night,” you say as you ruffle his hair, making him huff and slap your hand away.

your laugh rings in his ears. and when he feels himself blush, he grows in subtle horror at the realization of what his feelings for you are becoming.

it remains something to himself, locked deep down as the days pass by.

however he soon finds himself unable to fully focus, constantly glancing over at you.

he’s subtle of course, not risking anything.

but darn is it hard to suppress his feelings when you suddenly start to get touchy.

a pat in the shoulder shouldn’t be making him so flustered.

a simple praise shouldn’t make him yearn for something more.

you smiling at taiju a lot more shouldn’t make him jealous.

“i think i’m interested in you,” he blurts out calmly in the depth of the silent room the two of you are once again in.

your pencil stops moving and you visibly tense. your mind falls blank, unable to process the idea you once had to senku’s confession.

it floods your senses.

“what?” you ask, so soft in the room but so loud in both his ears and yours.

“you heard me,” he says, feeling anxious.

you force yourself to look at him, eyes slightly wide. “you… like me? are you sure?” it’s laced with fear and yearn

“i’m sure. why else would i say it?” he says, hoping he doesn’t show his nervousness. but he’s always been good at hiding it.

“you said think though.” you find yourself tease, the nerves giving you some adrenaline and confidence.

“y/n,” he says soft but sternly.

you find yourself grinning, “i think i’m interested in you too.”

but it remains like that. confessions in the air, because the two of you were far too nervous to ask the question.

that is, until gen figures it out and tells senku to stop playing dumb.

so once more, the two of you are in the quiet room. but after the confessions, the two of you had grown a bit… distant.

“i’m not avoiding you,” he finds himself blurting it out again

“mm?” you look up at him, quickly looking away.

“why aren’t we dating?”

you blink. then you laugh, “the simple question hasn’t been thrown. by neither of us.”

“then-“ he takes a deep breath, “let’s date.”

you find yourself frowning. but…. “how romantic,” you tease.

“take it or leave it.”

with another laugh, you take it.

[thankspete]

Reunion | dob

Word Count: 4.6k Rating: M Summary: Doesn't matter how long you've waited for it; it's always worth it. | Also on Ao3! Warnings: (the usual, minors dni etc) praise, oral (m+f receiving), unprotected sex (+creampie), marking??, pretty boy is always in charge <3, overstimulation, brief somnophilia + masturbation mentions, they're so in love, no use of y/n as always A/N: this is my belated x(xx)mas gift to u. mwah ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅

You couldn’t blame anyone but yourself, not really.

It was always like this. Maybe it would’ve worked if your back was flat against your mattress, in solitude at eleven at night. You always fell asleep, so content, within minutes. But succumbing to your desires, utilizing your free will to make yourself tremble and squirm during the daylight hours of three in the afternoon while he’s out there, so sexy and so unaware… it was over as soon as you turned the faucet to hot.

There was nothing like cumming in the shower; maybe it was the adrenaline of holding yourself upright at the risk of shattering the glass door or maybe it was the rough pulse setting of your showerhead. Who knows.

There couldn’t have been a better–more scorching–late spring afternoon after days of uncharacteristic gloom. Your late-morning was spent lounging by the pool, grazing on cubed pineapple and hiding greedy looks at Dylan’s body behind your sunglasses. It’d been nearly a week since you’d last had him; he was fresh off a red-eye from his sibling’s birthday celebrations on the east coast. The early flight, coupled with Tommy’s insistence on taking him to a show at a bar in the East Village last night, meant he was schlubbing around all day, falling in and out of a day-long nap. You could admit it was cute when he dozed off on the lounge chair, cap brim low on his face and chin on his chest, but it reached a breaking point when you were sprawled on the couch together, his large hand cupping your breast and a soft snore in your ear. His grip was loose, allowing you to slide easily from his arms, slink to your room, and grab your bathrobe.

Your skin felt warm when you stepped onto the cool tile, still deciding between waiting it out and dealing with the thud in your cunt. You stood beneath the stream, feeling the hot water funnel into the main line as the shower temperature quickly rose from frigid to steaming. You were focused at first, fingers diligently massaging shampoo into your scalp, but they roamed a little further while you scrubbed your torso. With a sigh, you reached for the chrome showerhead and twisted to change the water pressure. It’s quick, you thought. He’d likely still be asleep by the time you left the bathroom, so gorgeous but so unavailable. 

And it was quick, but it also left your knees rattling and head spinning from the thick, waterlogged air. Tiny shockwaves are still traveling up your body when you step out onto the plush bath mat, intensifying as the cold bathroom air rushes past your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. A tiny whine escapes your lips as you shimmy into your fleece bathrobe and wrap a towel around your head. Looking at yourself in the mirror is a struggle of its own, a visible warmth spread across your face and a well-bitten bottom lip alerting you to the levels of your own arousal. You grunt when you step away, attempting to designate your urges to after dinner, and instead thinking about if you need to take anything out of the freezer to defrost. 

“Hi,” Dylan’s soft greeting is a surprise when you step out of the bathroom into your shared bedroom. He’s lying on his side, head resting on his elongated arm and phone screen-down on the bed. His eyes look tired, but his silhouette glows in the light from the window. Dark green sweatpants hang low on his hips, exposing the elastic of his underwear. 

“Hi.” You hang your hair towel up behind the bathroom door and begin to walk towards him. “Looking for me?”

“Mmhm.” You twirl a lock of his chestnut hair around your pointer finger, enjoying the length before he inevitably buzzes it all off. “S’boring out there, every episode of Curb is the same.”

“Yeah?” He shifts, sitting up to swing his legs over the side of the bed and face you. “You know what happened during the episodes you were asleep for?” Your hand is in his and he pulls it to rest on his cheek. 

“Yeah.” He smiles up at you. “Larry David acts like an asshole, gets what he deserves, goofy end credits song, repeat.” You refrain from rolling your eyes as you settle into his lap, your knees on either side of his body.

“Hm. You’re right,” you mumble between pressing kisses into the scratchy skin of his cheek. One of his hands settles comfortably on your lower back. “That’s it? You came to find me because you were bored?”

“I missed you.” Dylan’s free hand travels up your thigh until he is forearm-deep beneath your robe. “Woke up an’ you were gone.” The water droplets on your skin provide no retaliation to his hot breath on your neck. Something about it makes you want to curve your spine to press your chest to his. Would he feel the rattle behind your breastbone? Could he feel the heat from between your legs, so deftly pressed against the lump in the front of his sweatpants? “Had a dream about you.”

You’re certain now you’re both on the same page, but you pull back and narrow your eyes at him anyway. “Just now?” He narrows his eyes right back at you, a playful smile teasing the corners of his lips. His eyes are a decadent shade of brown as they gaze sleepily into yours. 

“Maybe it’s been recurrent.” He shrugs as if he has no clue what you’re talking about, but you catch a glint of mischief in his look. His hands are moving now, one groping your outer thigh and the other fiddling with the fabric rope keeping your bathrobe tied shut. 

You almost fall into him at that moment. The flood between your legs only feels more and more apparent since you’d hooked the shower head to its mount and twisted the faucet tightly to the left. Instead of finding comfort against his mouth or alerting him to the wet spot you’re leaving in his lap, you blurt out, “You wanna tell me about it?”

“Would rather show you.” His lips lock onto yours, arms pressing your body into his, molding yourself around him. He’s diligent and in control, mouth firm and domineering against yours. His tongue is soft and wetter than yours, with access to it allowing you to taste a hint of sweetness and tobacco. His hands roam dutifully across the hems of your garment, pushing the fabric off your shoulder and loosening the belt around your waist. Dylan’s back falls to the bed, tugging you down with him. Your robe is splayed open now, caught on your shoulders and thighs. His mouth disconnects from yours to watch you, properly feel you softly grinding yourself against him. It’s almost enough to make you self conscious, but his gaze is always so soft when you’re at your most vulnerable. He doesn’t haphazardly grasp at your body as you lean over him; his hands are deliberately placed on your upper thighs, ghosting feather-light circles into your skin. The sensation makes you slightly ticklish, immediately sending electricity up your spine and goosebumps rippling across your skin. How he knew that would get your nipples pointed and directly in front of his face, you’d never know. You’re not being watched by Dylan, you’re being seen. “You like using me, huh angel?” It’s posed as a question, but you don’t need to answer. You just press your hands to his stomach, your center to the firm bulge in his pants. “Mine,” he says quietly to himself, greedily holding you by your hips and guiding your movements. It’s not enough, but you can feel a pool slowly form in your lower stomach as he works your cunt against his increasingly hard cock. His hips press harder into yours as he moves, fucking into you. You surrender control over your core to him entirely, letting him scrape his clothed cock into your swollen center, twitching when he’d move just right. Your nails leave crescent shaped marks as you hold tightly to his sides. You’re trembling, soft sighs escaping your lips with each swipe of his hips. “Is this really how you wanna cum, sweetheart? Like you’re a teenager again, can’t control yourself?” The condescension dripping from his tongue is almost enough to send you over the edge right then and there. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” You whimper pitifully as he halts your movements and pushes you onto your back. 

“Thought you’d take it as a compliment if I came on your pants.” Your breathing is shallow, eyes watching the way he leans over you, caging you onto the bed with his body.

“Mm.” Dylan’s thinking about it, even if he’s pretending to be preoccupied with touching you. The shift in his eye contact and slight bob in his throat is what gives him away. “Yeah… I have some other ideas, though.” He absentmindedly traces up your stomach, under your breasts, to your collarbone. “My dream, remember?” His tired eyes shine as they look down at you. He is deliberate in his touches, your skin sensitive and lower abdomen incredibly keyed-up. 

“I’ve been so good,” you pant, letting your hands roam across the firmness of his chest to his shoulders, then his triceps. “Missed you.”

“I believe it,” he says off-handedly, too busy determining whether to attack your collarbone with his tongue or his teeth. “Thank you for picking me up from the airport this morning.” The sentence comes out muffled; he chose teeth. 

“You’re so welcome,” you sigh. “But that’s not what I meant.” You hook your right knee around his thigh and he holds it in place. “You’ve been so busy snoozin’... I’m feeling a little neglected.” He licks his lips as he stares down at you. You’re looking up at him from beneath your lashes, seemingly too bashful for what stumbles from your mouth next. “Maybe it’s unfair, but I was hoping you’d fuck me when we got home this morning.” His eyes, calculating and a remarkably burnt umber color, remain steady as they bore into yours. He’s always so much better at this than you are. “Maybe in front of the mirror by the entryway.” You swallow. Your voice is small, mind distant with nothing but his body keeping you grounded in reality. “Or against the front door.” You guide his hand down your stomach, over your stubbly pubic mound to the dampness that has been accumulating for what feels like hours. It probably has been hours. His eyebrows shoot up. It was only seven in the morning when you’d gotten back, the golden warmth of sunrise peeking through the ornate crystal gaps in your wooden front door. Dylan looked beautiful in the light, especially with a duffel over his shoulder and raccoon circles around his eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart.” You feel yourself falling into your favorite dynamic as your senses become overloaded with him. Dylan is bigger than you’d think from afar, experiencing no issue trapping you between his arms and beneath his body; his gentle breathing, smelling faintly of spearmint and American Spirits, fans over your skin. He’s looking at you like you’re dinner, but something in his eyes tells you he’s going to savor it. “You’ve been so patient, haven’t you?” The hand you placed over your cunt is lazily spreading your pleasure between your folds, brushing past your clit and occasionally circling your trembling hole at excruciating intervals. His other hand travels everywhere, brushing wet hair from your face to ghosting around your neck and gently caressing your breasts. “All day, bet you were soaked for me the whole time, my good girl.” Your eyes roll back and you feel your chest cave in with your breath. “You could’ve said something, y’know.” It comes out almost like a purr and electricity zips up your spine.

“If you hadn’t passed out every fifteen minutes,” you bite. He pinches your nipple sharply between his pointer finger and thumb in response to your attitude, resulting in a yelp escaping your throat. Luckily, it’s the only punishment you get.

“Baby, you know what you want is always alright with me.” You swallow as you watch him intently, your eyes flickering between his eyes and lips, unsure of his next move. “You know how incredible it would’ve been,” he pauses his movements between your legs and shifts his arms to the sides of your head before continuing, “seeing you needing me, in my sleep, taking me like I know you can… to wake up to you messy, doe-eyed, and gagging all over me?” Your face is hot, you’re sweating, and you’re squirming under his firm gaze. “You’d like that too, huh? Be honest, my love. You trust me, don’t you?” His voice is satiny to your ears. Your vision is blurred by pure adrenaline and adoration. The dryness in your mouth prevents speech, but you nod weakly, ready to succumb to whatever he wants to do. “Say it.” His fingers press into your cheeks and puff your lips forward. “You’ll get anything you want as long as you keep talking, keep telling me how much you want it.” His hand rests gently on your mound, feeling like a promise.

“Yes.” It’s hoarse, but it’s there. “Yes, please.”

“I want to hear you, okay? I know you love it, angel, but I need to hear how good I can  make my pretty girl feel.” His voice falls to a whisper. “You don’t know how hard it is to be away from you.” Dylan is always like this after returning from a trip, thoughts jumbled from lustfully depraved and tenderly sweet, fighting urges that exist somewhere in between. “No one is like you…” He loses himself in the kisses he’s pressing to your shoulder, your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. “No one can make me feel the way you do.” His hands move sporadically across your torso, grasping at your skin haphazardly. “Not in this lifetime, anyway.” 

You whine at his touch and words, head spinning but wholly devoted to him. “I love you.” It comes out quietly, a pledge kept solely between you two. A layer of static feels like it is embedded into the top layer of your skin. His fingers are gentle and precise; his pointer and middle finger nestle themselves comfortably around your clit, squeezing occasionally as he moves his fingers vertically. There’s no chance you’ll last under these conditions and there’s no way he doesn’t know it. You’re not in control of your movements against his fingers; you’d be embarrassed by the arhythmic pace of your hips, but you’re too honed in to his touch to care. You’re not even sure what you’re doing, but you know his eyes are illuminated by the light from the window and the look he’s giving you is all-consuming. You also know it feels good. “Dylan,” you whisper. You move your hands from his neck to his shoulder and bicep; he may like being scratched and squeezed, but it doesn't mean he wants a punctured jugular. “I don’t think–” A soft gasp bubbles up your throat. The sheer consistent repetitive movement of his fingers are  increasingly enough. 

“It’s okay… it’s okay.” Dylan’s mouth covers yours, almost overwhelmingly. His breath is hot as it mingles with yours, your tongue desperately needy in his mouth. The knee hooked around his thigh shifts to rest on his lower back. Your hand slides from his bicep, down the front of his chest rather clumsily until it reaches the elastic of his sweatpants. A frustrated rumble emanates from your chest. You’re surprised he’s had the self control to keep them on this long, especially given the tent he was pitching. Your hand breaches the drawstring, fingers dipping past the elastic of his underwear.  “You wan’ me to feel you, sweetheart?” He nips at your bottom lip, already so raw you taste a metallic warmth slowly dripping  into your mouth as soon as his teeth make contact. Something about the action and the sharp, but sweet flavor on your tongue feels carnal, your mind sinking to its most feral form. Your fingers dip entirely into his tight boxers, thumb spreading the stickiness from his slit to the bottom of his head. His hips jerk slightly to your touch and your second hand slinks to palm the hot girth in his pants. “Always so considerate, my girl’s always thinking of me.” You nod, out of breath and drunk on the feeling of his middle finger being smoothly inserted into your slick. When he’s successfully knuckle deep, he pulls out and reinserts, adding his pointer finger. You can’t control the sounds that leak from your mouth when he licks at the droplets of blood that have re-emerged from the cracks in your lips. “It’s okay, baby, don’t worry. Let go for me.” He taps his thumb on your bud and you grip tightly to his fingers. You feel ragged, tired from both incessantly thinking about being your boyfriend’s little fuck doll and actually following through on your shared desire. The pool in your lower stomach has only been expanding, tendrils of pleasure seeping up your back, through your limbs. There’s no way to hold on, not with his voice in your ear and his fingers in your cunt.  “Promise next time it’ll be around my cock, but I need you to come now.” With a final flick at your clit, at his instruction, the dam breaks. Your hips flick forward, back arching to press your stomach firmly into him. The trembling in your thighs feels like it rocks through your whole body. His fingers fuck you through it, the squelching noises almost embarrassingly sinful. You’re leaking as Dylan pulls his fingers out from your center, coated in your own creaminess. He presses them into your mouth, watching intently as you circle them with your tongue. He seems satisfied by your method, pulling the fingers out and replacing them with a quick peck. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, brushing against his with each breath. “My girl,” he breathes. “My girl, my good girl.” His thumb gently caresses the upper part of your cheek.. “I love you. You’re gonna give it to me again, sweetheart.”

“Off,” you mumble as your hands shakily tug at his underwear. He assists, shooing your hands away to swiftly remove himself of his garments. You use the shift in his weight and attention to your advantage, pushing Dylan onto his back. He’s gorgeous–looking angelically warm in the afternoon light and body hair deliciously untrimmed. You swallow the saliva that floods your mouth as your vision hones in on the twitching, sticky cock resting on his stomach. It’s pure instinct, the way you lean over his lower half, tongue readily lubricating his tip. You pump your spit down his shaft until you’re able to get the first four inches into your mouth.

“I don’t think this was part of my dream, pretty girl.” His verbal attempt at protest is weak while his hand is firmly in your still-damp hair, steadying your head to take him further. In response, you reshift your tongue’s focus to his head, while your saliva-coated hands tug at the base of his cock and balls. 

“It’s not a dream of yours to get head from me?” You look up at him for only a few seconds, caught in his lidded yet bemused gaze, before redirecting your attention back to your favorite plaything. 

“Definitely not what I meant. You’re…” He trails off and pulls your head up by your hair. His hand moves to cup your jaw, his thumb wiping spit off your chin. “Come here. Would rather finish inside of you.” There’s nothing he can say that you won’t agree to. Especially not the most fulfilling way of feeling his. You clamber up his torso and he sits up to meet you in the middle. You unceremoniously fist his dick, swiping his head through your folds and beginning to press it into your core. From your perspective, playtime is over; no need to drag it out further when it’s already been a week without each other. “Eht–! Tsk.” His hand is on your throat, lifting you slightly as he pulls his head out from your quivering hole. It falls onto his stomach with a wet, heavy thud. “Let me.” Your jaw is slack, breath whizzing past your lips as your pussy clenches at the loss of his stretch. He lets go of your neck, moving his hand down to the hollow of your collarbone. Gently, he pushes your shoulder, body falling backwards onto the bed. He towers over you, perfectly silhouetted in front of the window. He pauses after placing his hands on your inner thighs and spreading you, one knee perpendicular to your crotch and the other pulled up by your shoulder. His fingers glide across the smooth skin of your inner thighs without purpose.

You jokingly rasp, “Won’t let me be in charge, but you haven’t decided what you’re gonna do to me?” He shifts his gaze from your little box, gaping and thumping for him, and narrows his eyes at you.

“Debating if I’m gonna break my promise or not.” Your heart nearly stops.

“What do you mean?” The fingers on your left hand tangle with his as you stare, wide eyed at his pretty, stubbly face. There’s no possibility he wouldn’t finish the job, not by now. He crouches further down the bed, head nearly resting on your lower stomach.

“You think you can handle three today for me, sweetheart?” Oh. His face is so close, you can feel his cool breathing against your warm dampness. You swallow the saliva that has built up in your mouth. “I’m sorry. I’ll get to it eventually, I swear.” His fingers spread you open and he leaves a soft kiss on your clit. “Jus’ missed you. Please?”

“Yes,” you breathe. He wastes no time pressing his flat tongue along the entirety of your slick. “Whatever you want.” 

He groans in protest, the vibrations making you gasp. “Whatever you want.” Your hands find his hair, a little oily and just long enough that he looks ruggedly sexy when his beard is grown out. He’s going for the gold, suckling and circling your clit directly with his tongue, well aware that you’re sensitive enough to flood his mouth in under a minute if he plays his cards right. It’s an ego thing for him, knowing exactly how to take care of you. He’s certain no one could make you fall apart the way he can and today he would prove it to himself again. Prove it to you. “You’ve been so lonely without me, huh?” His tongue flicks slow down, but the pressure against your slit increases. “How many nights did you go to bed thinking the time difference fucked you over? Did you think of me when you couldn’t get me on the phone?”

“Dylan.” A wringing motion comes from deep inside of your gut, alerting you to your incoming orgasm.

“Answer me.” His stern voice cuts through the air and reverberates against your cunt. “I know your fingers aren’t enough. Were you left unsatisfied without me here to make you feel good?”

“Yes,” you pant. “I need you. All I can do is think about you when you’re gone. Please keep going, I need you.” He places his thumb right above your clit and pulls to stretch it upwards. With one final thick swipe of his tongue, he has your eyes rolling and fingers pulling his hair. His arms are wrapped around your thighs, pressing his face further into your flooding core as your hand holds him exactly where it feels best. He’s literally moaning into you as he laps you up, occasionally praising your receptiveness and taste. When you let go of his hair and begin to jerk your hips away from his face, he pulls away.

“Good?” He sits up and wipes his mouth on his forearm. You nod weakly, hands wobbly as you attempt to touch his knees. You’re pounding and leaking still, limbs incredibly heavy. With no hesitation, he presses his cock into your weary little hole, messy and slick from your cum and his spit. All of the air rushes from your lungs when he bottoms out. 

“S-so sensitive, Dyl,” you whine. 

“One more for me. You want it, don’t you?” You tighten around him as he pulls out and slowly presses back in. “Breathe. I’ll take you through it.” He reaches a comfortable pace, fast enough to override the overstimulated numbness but not painful in its force. Each deep thrust scrapes his pubic bone against your button, making you feel like you’re glitching in and out of existence.The pillow to your left disappears and, while still inside of you, Dylan lifts your hips to place it beneath you. You’re wide open for him now, hips tilted up as he changes his angle and begins to slap himself into you. “So good for me, taking me so well. You’re tired aren’t you, baby? Waitin’ on me all day…” Your noises only get louder as he pokes the fleshy roof of your cunt. “We’re almost done,” he coos. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you hiccup. You’re holding onto his forearms, still trembling. “Please, faster. I need it but it feels, I feel so–”

“Okay, honey. Just trust me, alright?” Dylan’s lips purse and a glob of saliva falls from his lips to where your bodies meet. He uses a finger to spread it around, then holds your hips by the curvature of your lower back. He grinds you against him with each full-length thrust, his spit messily coating your point of contact. He doesn’t even pull out anymore, just pushing himself as deeply as possible inside of you. Your ankles link together behind his back, pressing him so deep you can feel a tingly pressure next to your cervix. It almost hurts, the feeling shooting between your pussy and your brain. He spits again, harder this time, directly onto your clit. The pace of his hips combined with a quick pinch of his fingers sends you over the edge without warning. Your final orgasm rips a small cry from deep in your chest, whole body vibrating as you clench around the hot girth inside of you. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes, your body feeling tight and loose at the same time, alive and dead. In purgatory, maybe. “Fuck.” He grunts and presses himself as deeply as he can, spurting hot stickiness as your orgasm milks him. “‘It’s like you were made for me, swear to God.” Your body relaxes as he claims you, filling you to satisfaction. He pumps into you a few times, coating your inner and outer cunt with his essence. His body covers yours completely, kissing you as he continues to lazily thrust. Your hands roam his back, arms, and hair as he continues to purposelessly move inside of you. It’s hard to take a deep breath; you’re still trying to address the trembling in your limbs and stretch in your core. 

“Missed you.” It’s all you can muster. Your brain and body are composed of nothing but mush and Dylan.

“Missed you.” He’s smiling, eyes shining happily as they look at your weary face.

“Can we cuddle?” He nods and almost laughs, pressing a final kiss to your cheek. The air feels cold against you when he sits up and pulls out.

“Stay right there, gonna get a towel.” He squeezes your hand as he stands from the bed. You watch him saunter towards the bathroom and your eyes snap all the way open when he grabs the towel you’d been using for your hair.

“Dylan–!”

ermmm anyway so. ty for reading <3 as always, i'll love u forever if u like, rb, and/or lmk what u think :) (this is a sideblog so i cant respond to replies but i see them and ily)

[cyberwhumper]

Something’s off.

…1.82km/h. Visibility: 3.21km. Good looks, Hotshot.H̸o̶t̴s̸h̵o̴t̶.Ḧ̴́ͅo̴̙̕t̷̢͐s̸̳̾h̵̬̊ǫ̸̕t̵̥͌…

Vic presses knuckles to aching eyes, rubbing until he sees technicolor in the blackness, blotting out the constant flicker of information in his heads-up display just for a second. It’s been making him lowkey disoriented all day—like, it’s like it’s one of those optical illusion things where he swears there’s a pattern in the data, but it disappears the second he looks directly at it. Christ. Leave it to him to code himself into a migraine.

You good? Despite being right next to him, Rex’s voice comes over their private comm channel instead, low and steady into his brain. He breathes out, willing his heart rate to regulate.

Yeah, he sends back. Just need to defrag or somethin’. Tired.

Rex grunts, but doesn’t press it. He’s unnaturally still, posture ramrod straight thanks to the steel alloy drilled into his spine and the discipline drilled into his soul, the metronome twitch of his bladed tail-tip the only giveaway that something’s alive in that hulking body. He’s telegraphing, Vic realizes, projecting his stable vitals across their connection, trying to coax Vic’s deep-fried nervous system back into the green like one of those dogs they make hang out with cheetahs in the zoo.

It’s very sweet. And it’s very not working.

He absently chews at a fingernail as the display chatters away in his periphery. Coordinates, wind speed, adrenal output, H̴̩̔Ę̶̏L̵͈̍L̶͎̚O̸͇͗ ̴̪͊T̸̗͒H̶̥́E̸̤̽Ȑ̴̙E̵̞͘, ammo load—hold the fuck up.

His eye twitches.

…Hey, jack in here with me for a sec. Seein’ ghosts.

Rex doesn’t respond, digital or analog.

Big Dog. Yoo-hoo. Read me?

Nothing. For the first time in months, Vic’s alone in his head. He’s suddenly very aware of the eerie stillness of the oven-hot desert air, of the beads of sweat sliding down his back under his flak vest, of the silent ringing building in his ears.

“Rex, something’s…” He trails off as the display begins to expand, filling more of his vision, error messages stacking up. CONNECTION UNSTABLE. CONNECTION LOST. RECALIBRATING. H̴̩̔Ę̶̏L̵͈̍L̶͎̚O̸͇͗ .

No. Fuck. God. No. This can’t be happening. His stomach clenches, mouth going dry. Their chrome is clean, he wiped everything himself, rebuilt their mainframes from the ground up with Vargas and Bjornsson’s help. Mal’s gone, he can’t hurt them anymore he can’t he can’t he—

CONNECTION LOST. H̴̢̃e̶͎͛l̴̬͌l̷̗̐ơ̷ͅ. H̶̼̑ę̴̓llo. Hello, Montez. He can’t hear you. It’s just you and me.

Instinct sends him to the ground a millisecond before the gunfire does. He doesn’t even hear the shots ring out—his fucking audio is offline—and his field of vision is compromised, errors on glitches on errors, but not enough to save him from seeing Rex’s back arch unnaturally, arterial spray vivid against the acid-blue sky as his body spins, then falls, bare meters away from Vic. It might as well be miles.

He’s alone. And he can’t even scream.

[Fic by the exceptionally talented @bxtterflystxtches , who I have the honor of collaborating with for this event. Please show him some love!]

[OC INDEX]

COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

Tag list: @whumpsday // @demondamage // @squidlife-crisis // @whumpedydump // @cyborg0109 // @whumpfish // @astrowhump // @the-scrapegoat // @whatwhumpcomments // @dustbunnywhump // @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question // @dokidokisadness // @moss-tombstone // @lambofmine // @maracujatangerine // @pinkraindropsfell // @writereleaserepeat // @blood-and-regrets // @littlespacecastle // @snakebites-and-ink // @unforgiven235 // @lonesome--hunter // @atomicsandwichprince // @writereleaserepeat // @whatamidoingherehelpme // @skittles-the-whumpee // @the-blind-one-speaks // @i-eat-worlds // @devourerofcheesecake // @theauthorintraining // @otterfrost // @mommymarichatfurever // @whumpifi // @catnykit // @bitchaknso // @softmutt444 // @yet-another-heathen // @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat // @burnticedlatte // @violent-ultraviolet // @limitlesstrash17 // @inspiral-rl // @coyotehusk // @mis-graves // @caffeinatedscorpio // @defire // @badluck990 // @unforgivenn //

If you’re interested in being added to the tag list, please let me know!

[starlingflight]

Ginniversary Drabble 3

Prompt - O72 - sorry, its just that i get nervous when someone else is driving.

AO3 or read below:

“So,” Ginny drew the word out until it was almost a breathy sigh that she knew would carry to Harry's ears on the faint spring breeze. Sunlight glinted brightly off the sleek chrome surface as she stroked her finger languidly down it. She looked at him over her shoulder, letting her hair fall back and pushing her lips out into the smallest of pouts. “Were you ever planning on taking me for a ride?” 

She leaned back against Sirius’ old motorbike, half-perched on the leather seat, as Harry laughed. “Your mum will kill me.” 

“I’m of age,” she reminded him, quite unnecessarily; he was definitely aware. “I don’t need my mother’s permission.” 

“No, but I do!” Harry protested, leaning against the wall of her father’s shed; showing no intention of moving, despite Ginny’s best efforts. “She has to love you unconditionally, I’m already on thin ice.” 

“Oh please, she’ll disown me before she disowns you!” 

“She already gave me a lecture about how you’re her responsibility until you finish Hogwarts,” Harry continued, a slight tremor in his voice she knew he was trying to battle into submission. “It took a lot of the enjoyment out of my treacle tart.” 

“That is not true!”

They shared a look and Ginny thought the same image that was filling her mind might be in his too; a taunting smile, a jet of light from her mother’s wand, the corpse of Bellatrix Lestrange dropping sickeningly to the ground. Suddenly, the balmy spring day felt unseasonably chilly. 

Ginny’s laughter was weak, but she forced it out anyway. Ghosts could only haunt you if you dwelled long enough to let them; she had become experienced in outrunning them. 

“I’m practically done, only one term left to go.” 

“Ninety-six days.” Harry agreed. His eyes went wide. She suspected the words wouldn’t have slipped from his lips at all if not for the unsteadiness of the moment. 

Ginny quirked an eyebrow; the smile spreading across her face was genuine. “Keeping count, are you?” 

“No,” Harry’s grin made it clear that this was a lie. “I know for reasons totally unrelated to you.” 

“Oh? What reasons might those be?” Ginny settled herself more firmly onto the motorbike’s seat, legs dangling over the side, looking at him expectantly. 

His smile remained in place, but something in his eyes turned earnest. “I’m keeping count.” 

Her head fell back in laughter. The motorbike remained stationary on the ground but Ginny felt the familiar soaring in her stomach that she’d grown accustomed to accompanying a moment of complete happiness in the face of the demons that were always lurking beneath the surface. 

“So, in ninety-six days I can take this thing for a spin?” 

“I can take you for a spin on it,” Harry corrected. 

“And what if I want to go solo?” 

She didn’t. She had a very specific vision of how this was going to play out, one that involved her arms wrapped around Harry’s waist, and her face tucked against his back while the wind blew through her hair. 

“No.” 

Still, the speed with which he shot down the suggestion had her eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, eyes shining with a vulnerability Ginny was beginning to understand was for her eyes only. “It’s just that I get nervous when someone else is driving it… it was…” 

“Sirius,’” She finished for him. 

This time, it was Harry who didn’t allow them to linger in the shadow of a grief too big to face on a peaceful Spring afternoon. “Anyway, is that really what you want to do the minute you finish Hogwarts?” 

“Maybe,” Ginny shrugged, allowing the change of topic. “It feels fitting, doesn’t it? To finish school and do something a bit reckless and dangerous?” 

Harry shook his head. “It’s not that dangerous – your dad put loads of safety charms on it when he was rebuilding it.”

Ginny refrained from pointing out that if that was the case, there was no reason for her mother to protest her going out on it now. 

Instead, she slid from the seat and swiftly crossed the untidy patch of grass that separated them. “You’re playing this all wrong…” Her hand found his; Harry immediately used the contact to pull her closer. “you’re supposed to tell me how risky it is…” She rose onto her toes, letting her lips brush against the shell of his ear. “Entice me with tales of your thrilling adventures...” 

When she pulled back, Harry was smirking at her, and his eyes were focused intently on her lips. “I did get this when I went round a corner too fast the other day, if that’s dangerous enough for you?” 

He held up his free arm, the one not currently wrapped around her waist, revealing what she’d thought was a long, red burn across his forearm.

She’d seen it already, her eyes had been drawn to it the minute she’d got off the train, but she’d assumed it was from work, and hadn’t asked for any further explanation. The scenarios she dreamed up in her head while she was at school, and he was maddeningly out of sight, of things that could happen to him were hard enough to deal with, without adding more details to flesh them out further. 

Ninety-six days. Ginny had a feeling the number was about to become something of a mantra. Ninety-six days and she’d be able to see for herself that he was alright at the end of each day. 

“That looks terrible,” she said, pretending to look more closely at the minor abrasion. “I think you might be in need of a mediwitch.” 

Harry’s voice lowered in response to her tone. “If you think that’s necessary…” 

Ginny was already reaching behind her, nodding, as she unlatched the door to the shed. “I’ve really expanded my healing capabilities this term… if you’ll just step into my office, I think I should probably examine you, just to be on the safe side.” 

[mittch22]

An insidious leak: the analysis of seemingly shady uncloakings

My brain is rolling and spinning yet again at one thousand miles per hour and Leland Turbo is right at the centre of it. Certain writing persuits have triggered a pattern of thought surrounding the circumstances of his discovery by the lemons, and I have a few things Id like to further examine.

"This is Agent Leland Turbo. I have a flash transmission for Agent Finn McMissile. Finn, my cover's been compromised. Everything's gone pear-shaped."

He doesn't elaborate any further than this for potential reasons I shall delve into a little bit later in this post. So the question I have is this:

Why? Why did it all go to hell in the first instance? How was he compromised?

Leland is very much on par with Finn in the sense of experience. They spent both of their entire adult lives together in training at the CHROME academy and have carried out countless missions both seperately and with each other. He is more than competent with, what I estimate would be, around forty years of field experience. And considering he would have known that complacency would always get him killed, he would never have allowed himself to become complacent enough to permit his facade to come into the light. And to be permitted to perform any type of mission on his own, then his ability is extensively trusted indeed. Mistakes happen, sure. But I sincerely doubt Leland would have made one that held this type of consequence.

My current aswer to this question?

CHROME had a mole.

Upon beginning this post, I came to the realisation that there is a second segment that didn't initially cross my mind that adds evidence to this particular ideology:

"Finn, I need backup. But don't call the cavalry, it could blow the operation."

Leland knew about the mole. Or at least he had his suspicions.

Initially I simply put this statement down to 'too many cooks spoil the broth', or in this case, 'too many agents will screw up the mission.' However, I'm no longer so sure that this is the case.

Visually speaking, his face says a million words. He is terrified. Evidently, if he's caught, he knows he is in for a whole universe of hurt. And death is very much on the horizon. But the fear makes a drastic appearance when he specifies not calling the "cavalry". This makes perfect sense to me if he thinks that the lemons were tipped off about his presence. And if there was someone within CHROME who could not be trusted, then the only vehicle he was be able to notify was Finn.

He knows him better than any other vehicle in the world and trusts him with his life. He's also aware that, if the flash transmission were to be seen by any other CHROME agent by accident, and he had of mentioned anything about a potential leak, it could have put Finn in a gargantuan amount of peril. So he kept quiet about the idea, simply telling him to not get the agency as a whole involved.

Now, I can't bring up Leland in this circumstance without also talking about Rod Redline. The second agent in the equation who also lost their life because he was compromised. And the same question applies since we don't really know how it happened to him either.

Rod was also a highly skilled and competent individual, hence the statement: 'Rod "Torque" Redline is considered by many as the greatest American spy in the world.' So all, if not most, of the criteria that applies to Leland applies to Agent Redline as well. And yet, he was also caught.

His shock when Grem and Acer followed him into the bathroom at the Towkyo party is quite telling. Its indicitive that he didn't know he had been caught until that exact moment. And the lack of any other emotion but deep seated anger on the faces of Grem and Acer could potentially indicate that they knew exactly who they were looking for.

If he was discovered due to a mole, since inter-agency cooperation isn't uncommon when working on the same mission, then it may just have been the same mole that told the lemons about Leland Turbo.

And of course there's the question of how Grem, Acer and the professor knew about the agents in the first place. Zundapp even mentions them both by name.

"Hey, Professor Z! This is one of those British spies we told you about." Yeah. Most likely a mole.

So what was the mole's driving force? Money? Blackmail? Sadism? A crippling hatred for the agencies or individuals? Who knows.

Of course we might never know for sure the exact reasoning for why they were both compromised. But it's always interesting to speculate.

Chrysler help the vehicles who caused Leland's death when Finn gets hold of them. Particularly if they are someone that he once trusted.

[impala-dreamer]

Tourniquet - Chapter One

A Supernatural Dean x Reader Series Told Backwards

~Y/N has been by Dean’s side through his worst days, always there if he needs her, forever just a call away. Love is impossible to fight and more impossible to live with. Just a side character in his epic life, Y/N would give anything just to give Dean a moment’s peace.~

Please see MASTERLIST for full info/warnings/chapter links.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

All The Damage That This Dark World Does

It had been raining on and off for days and the ground was little more than a muddy expanse that swallowed up the soles of their boots like quicksand. 

The forest was dark and the air rang loud with the requiem of nature. Birds sang low and sad; branches crackled underfoot. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled and the hunters froze. Each set of ears turned towards the sound and eyes darted about while tired minds calculated distances. 

Bobby’s gruff whisper broke through the rain’s symphony. “‘Bout a half a mile east.” 

Dean nodded and Y/N squared her shoulders. 

“And where’s the rest of them?” she asked, tone a little harsher than it needed to be as she glared at the old man. 

Dean shot her a look but she didn’t flinch. Mary shifted uncomfortably between them, not wanting to get involved. 

Bobby adjusted his cap and shrugged. “Gotta be close. They’re hunting us as sure as we’re hunting them.” 

She sighed. “So which way do we go? I’d rather not run right into the pack.” 

Dean cleared his throat and cocked a brow her way. She wasn’t going to let up and he knew it. 

“Why don’t we split up,” he suggested, looking at Bobby and his mother. “You guys go south, we’ll keep heading west.” 

Mary nodded. “OK. Just stay safe.” She smiled and Y/N half returned it. 

Bobby huffed. “You two be careful and holler if you get in trouble.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes and set off before Dean could spin around. 

“Why are you such a bitch to him?” he asked, easily catching up to her with his long stride. 

“You know why.” She swatted at a low hanging branch and groaned. “That’s not Bobby and it’s fucking creepy.” 

Dean laughed at her. “It is Bobby-” 

“Not my Bobby.” 

He sighed. “You get used to it.” 

“No thanks.” 

Another howl, this time closer and followed by another. 

Y/N stood still and tall, listening with her entire being. Dean came up behind her and she held a finger to her lips, ordering him to be silent. 

The earth was damp. The fallen autumn leaves were too wet to make a sound, but she heard the squelch of mud as a creature ran through it. The being gained speed, and the wind picked up, chilling their faces as sure as the adrenaline prickled their skin. 

She nodded towards his right and Dean raised his pistol, gripping it tight and following the line of sight into the dank woods. He squinted and a mess of black, matted fur moved behind the trees. 

“Shit.” 

Y/N flipped off the safety on her gun and steadied herself. She took a breath, gave him a wink and set off to the left. 

He knew her well enough to understand the plan without conversing, and Dean moved off to the right. They’d wrap around in a circle and meet behind the beast, hopefully catching it off guard and raining silver down upon it. 

It was a good plan. Solid. Proven. 

Y/N moved swiftly through the trees, careful to tread lightly through the muck and avoid the fallen soldiers of the wood. The rain picked up and with the distance now between them, she lost sight of Dean, but she wasn’t too worried. They were professionals, after all. 

Another few yards and the tree line gave way to a clearing. Y/N wondered for a moment if she’d gotten turned around in the forest, but her internal compass told her she was going the right way. 

A wolf’s cry made her sure.  

The grass was tall and free, untouched by blades or trampled by tires. She pushed through the weeds and a flash of memory struck her. 

The sweet smell of spring; the tickle of grass against her cheek. Rusted metal and chrome gleaming in the sun. The smell of burgers burning on charcoal. Perfect green eyes. 

Y/N shivered at the sensory overload and blinked into the clearing. She was taller than the grass now and so much older than her days in the junkyard.

She took a deep breath and heard her name. 

From across the field, Dean emerged from the trees and shouted her name. He spun his hand in the air and she cocked her head, staring at him, confused but smiling. He was just as beautiful as the first time she’d seen him, though a bit more broken down and tired. 

Again, he yelled for her, and the slow motion world around her cranked back up to full speed. 

“Y/N!” 

She heard it then- the horrid, hungry growl. She smelled the dirt, the wetness. Felt the fear as her body tensed. 

Y/N turned and the wolf attacked. She pulled the trigger but it only made the beast more aggressive. 

Powerful jaws clamped down on her defending arm; razor claws ripped through her flesh. The wet ground accepted her body as they fell, the mud curled up around her as the grass gave way. 

Two shots rang out and the wolf was hit. It reared back and leapt over her, gunning for Dean. 

Y/N flipped over in the mud and tried to get up to help him, but her arms gave out and she sank down, her face cradled by the soft grass. 

One more blast from the gun and she heard the monster fall. Boots splashed through the mud and she felt Dean’s warmth as he fell to his knees beside her. 

Big hands turned her carefully and Dean scanned her face. Her eyes were rolling, her lips curled into the sweetest smile. 

“No. No. No.” His bottom lip trembled as he peeled back her jacket and saw the damage. Her chest was torn, her stomach ripped open and gushing blood. He pressed his hand into her middle and she cried out. 

Pain spread through her at his touch and then subsided. 

She grabbed at his arm, wrapping her fingers around the canvas sleeve. 

“I… I’m sorry, Dean.” 

Her voice was quaking as badly as his hand and he closed his eyes, shook his head.  

“No.” 

She smiled, laughed a little. “Yeah.” 

Again, he shook his head, refusing to let her go. “No.” He sat up a bit, craned his neck over the tall grass. “Bobby! Somebody! Help!” 

Weakly, she lifted a hand to his face and guided his gaze back down to her. 

“Hey. It’s OK.” 

He raged inside. Grit his teeth. “It’s not OK!” 

Blood rushed beneath his hand like a dam had burst on a river. Her skin paled, her eyelids fluttered. 

His heart raced, breath quickened. “Please don’t. Don’t leave. Please.” 

Her shoulders twitched inward and the pain returned. She cringed but kept her smile, unwilling to go out like some terrified victim, some damsel in distress. 

“Dean…” She pet his cheek, wiped away a hot tear. 

“Please.” 

“Do you remember when we met?” 

He chewed his lip, closed his eyes, and took a breath. 

“Yeah, Y/N/N. Of course I do.” 

Her fingers tensed on his cheek. “You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. You still are.” 

“Don’t say goodbye to me, Y/N/N. You can’t.” He turned his face and kissed her palm, grabbed her wrist with both bloody hands and kissed her fingertips, kissed her knuckles, kissed every inch. “You can’t leave me.” 

With her free hand, she tugged at the chain around her neck and pulled the necklace free. 

“Here. Take this back,” she whispered, hardly able to spare the breath to speak any longer. 

Dean gasped and dropped her hand, ran his fingertips over the old lug nut pendant. “You… you still have this? After all this time?” 

She laughed painfully. “Of course I do, you idiot. I never take it off.” 

He closed a fist around it and shut his eyes, trying to erase the tears and be strong for her. It was all ending and he knew it. She had just moments left and he couldn’t let her go without letting her know the truth. 

“It’s my good luck charm,” she said under a harsh breath. She coughed and the taste of iron flooded her mouth. She swallowed it down and held on. 

“Didn’t do you much good today.” 

She smiled and closed her hand around his. 

“I’ve always loved you, ya know. You… you were always it for me, Dean. Always. I’ve… I’ve loved you since that first day by the stream. I’ve never not loved you. I just need you to know that.” 

He shuddered, sucked in an uneasy breath. “I knew, Y/N/N,” he confessed. “I always knew. I… I love you, too. So fucking much.” 

Her eyes lit up for a second and she shook her head sadly. The tears broke free and refused to leave. 

“Then why? Why didn’t-” 

She couldn’t finish the words, but he understood. 

He pressed his hand lightly to her forehead and smiled. “Come on. I’ve told you a thousand times, Y/N/N. I don’t deserve someone like you.” 

He leaned down, held her cheek, kissed her forehead, her cheek, her lips. 

Y/N closed her eyes, safe in his arms, and felt the sweet pull of sleep yank at her limbs. 

“Shut up, Dean,” she whispered. 

He laughed gently. 

She smiled. 

He would be OK.

Dean stared into the fire, watching through bloodshot eyes as the flames licked at her silhouette. 

Her necklace gleamed in the pyre’s glow and he closed his fist around it, holding it tight. Despite the heat of the fire, the metal was cold against his palm. 

She was really gone. 

She’d been there almost his entire life, always at his side when he called, always there to stitch him back together. But now she was gone. 

He’d watched a hundred bodies burn over the years, said goodbye to every friend he’d ever had, but this was too much. There was a piece of him gone, a wound had been carved out of his chest that would never heal. 

So many things he should have told her, so many times he’d taken her for granted. Guilt pulled at him and grief chewed at his veins. So many years wasted. So many nights he could have been alone with her, happy and loved. 

The blaze burned hot, the wood crackled. 

Dean stared silently, drowning in his pain. Forever the man she loved. Still the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. 

The boy with the green eyes.  

Tourniquet Tags: @prettyinplaid94 @winharry @muhahaha303            

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!) @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05  

[howtofightwrite]

When I was 15 we went to China and we went to see a martial arts show and were allowed to take photos with the performers and hold the weapons. Well, the one I first picked (ji polearm) was heavy and difficult to just pick up and hold straight up and off the ground. I don't understand why weapons like this are 'NEVER heavy' is all over here. There ARE heavy ones.

So, there's a couple important things to note. For obvious reasons, I can't examine that specific ji, but  they usually weigh about 9lbs. Which isn't particularly heavy. Now, it is possible that the martial arts school was using a weighted ji as part of their act, or it could have been an ornate example. Even then, it would be unlikely to break around 15-20lbs. Which loops back to the original point, infantry melee weapons aren't heavy.

It is worth remembering that if you're picking up a weapon without any prior experience, it may feel much heavier than it's weight would imply. This is, in large part, because you don't know how to find the weapon's balance. As, I'm sure you noticed during the show, the trained practitioners had no problem spinning it around like a baton.

This is going to be true of most melee weapons. Even a sword, which weighs a fraction of what that ji does, may still feel awkward and heavy until you learn how to wield it.

With all that said, the ji is on the heavy side for melee weapons. That's generally true of polearms. They're large and a bit awkward (in the hands of the untrained), but the weight is still quite manageable once you learn how to hold them.

It's possible (though somewhat unlikely) the weapon was also simply too larger for you to wield. This tends to be more of an issue with being unable to effectively balance the weapon in your grip, rather than it simply being too heavy to physically lift.

With all of that said, heavy weapons do exist. One of the classic examples are parade swords, which were heavily ornamented, and could weigh up to 20lbs. The important thing to remember with these object is that they're art pieces, not functional weapons. However, the fifty pound greatsword that looks like it was fashioned out of a chrome bumper does not, and while an adult with average physical fitness could lift such a weapon, wielding one in combat would be extremely tiring.

Fatigue is the real reason you don't see heavy melee weapons. The heavier the object is, the more energy you need to expend getting it moving (or stopping it.) The more energy you burn getting your weapon up to speed, the faster you will exhaust. When you're exhausted and facing a fresh opponent, you die. (That last bit is part of why you never saw things like the 50lb greatsword. It's not enough to be able to utterly obliterate a foe in one strike, you also need to be ready for all of his friends that are waiting behind him.)

As mentioned earlier, weighted weapons can be used for shows like the one you attended. Usually the purpose is to adjust the center of gravity on the weapon to facilitate specific tricks, but I don't know if that was the case here.

Either way, what you're looking at isn't so much the amount of weight, as an unexpected point of balance. I don't know what your general physical fitness was as a teen, but lifting 10lbs should not be an issue for a 15-year-old. Consider that your winter coat probably weighed more than that ji. However, you were not expecting the weight distribution, and probably didn't know how much weight to expect. Also, while I didn't state it explicitly, weapons tend to feel heavier than they are, until you get used to them. This is a consequence of the weapon's point of balance being someplace you weren't expecting. It gets better, because it's surprisingly difficult to lift significant amounts of weight off your center of gravity. The normal exercise example of this is to lift and hold a small barbell at arm's length. If you've never tried it, (or tried to hold a gun on someone for an extended period of time), it's surprisingly difficult. No one is going to argue that 1-2lbs of weight is heavy, but when you're holding it out, away from your body, it feels much heavier, and takes more effort. So, the, “trick,” with the ji is to keep its center of balance is close to your center of gravity. That's actually pretty easy once you've started to build familiarity with the weapon, but it can result in a deceptive first encounter.

Finally, I hope it's self-explanatory, but a theatrical show is not the same as battlefield combat. A lot of the physical considerations, like the threat of being killed because you burned too much energy, aren't really a problem in a ninety minute show, where performers can rotate out. This leads to a flashier, more physically demanding performance. You couldn't take that performance onto a battlefield because, “exhausted then dead,” but it will entertain the crowds.

Which leads back to: No. Heavy weapons do exist, but their place is on the mantel or stage, not in combat. You NEVER want a weapon to be any heavier than is absolutely necessary, and in a lot of cases, when you can't get the weight down, that will diminish the value of that weapon in combat.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

[cherubispunk]

UP IN YOUR ARMS (PROLOGUE) -Noir!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the begining of it all tasted like whiskey and ciggeretes. But smelled of the interrogation room.

a note from Lucy: Helllooooo my lovely Joel Miller enthusiasts! i'm here again, and so are you, with yet another joel au series. this time with a historical twist. wiil it be completely historically accurate? probably not? are we here anyway because its joel fucking miller? yes. yes we are. fair warning, some dark contant will be in later chapters, so if that isnt your cup of rosey lea, feel free to scroll away. if it is, then sit back, relax, enjoy a dry martini and some blues or jazz music on vinyl, and lets have a wild time. Also, a huge thank you is due to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for convicting me to post this. Love you cherub! xxx

playlist

wc: 912 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! 1940s!au, no outbreak, no use of y/n, age gap (reader is in her early 20's and Joel is in his 40s), allusions to Smut, smoking, use of pet names such as doll, cursing, being arrested, interrogation scene, references to violence, ww2 references, probably an unhealthy relationship between reader and joel, mentions of blood, let me know if ive missed any warning out that should be tagged.

series m.list | m.list

“Okay,” Detective Granger sighs opposite you, “Let’s try this again.”

Your knee bounces rapidly under the chrome metal table. If it weren't screwed to the floor it would surely rattle with your antsy movement. Your eyes fall to your lap, the dress you wore tattered with a mix of blood, dust and the smell of Joel’s aftershave. A smell you wish you had with his physicality.

“Please state your name for the record.” He asks. Again. From the moment they put you in cuffs, shoved you in the back of a cop car, and brought you up to the station, you had not uttered a word. Maybe you were scared, or maybe it was the principle of the fact. But the idea that Joel was a few rooms over – not at arm's length – it made you yearn for his touch. To be under the rough pads of his fingertips once more. Weather it be in a grimy motel room, or even the fucking Canary Club back in the cesspool of Boston. 

But you sighed, knowing you aren't going home anytime soon without giving them something. Joel told you to spin it. Tell them the truth with the twist he promised would work. Leave you unscathed. 

So you tell them your name. And then your occupation once they ask for that too; “Singer.” 

The detective looks at his co-worker, raising his brow. He nods back at him, believing you. If only you could unleash the insults that curl and cinder at the tip of your tongue. 

“Okay,” Granger tips his head to the side in acknowledgement of the fact your answers are the truth. What leverage would you have to lie if the very thing you are about to spill is an ever so slight twisting of the truth?

You watch with unblinking eyes as he places a black and white picture upon the table, between you and his now folded hands, “Care to tell us who this is?” 

It’s Joel. You knew they knew that. They just need to confirm their suspicion for the record. For the jury. The court. Your impending trial. So you take a second to study it, hold back a smile at the very sight of his broad shoulders, his tarnishes, creased dress shirt that clings to him like a second skin you wish to ravish him off. Even in the stale air of an interrogation room, through the captured image of a blurred mugshot, he makes the fire in your loins kickstart. Memories of joyrides, money, sex, motel sheets and speakeasy rendezvous. 

You give them a nod, sitting back in your seat.

“Who is he?”

“It’s Joel Miller. ‘Says it right there.” You tap the mugshot with your index finger to prove a point, kissing your teeth with a smug smile. “Or can you pig’s not read?” Venom spills from your words like maroon wine from a shattered glass. 

Detective Granger bites his tongue, leaning forward over the table, hands grasping the lip of it as he stands up, knuckles bleached white under his own grip. 

“Don’t think I ain’t above sending you to a cell with a shiner to your pretty lil’ nose, Doll.” He glared. It didn't seep any deeper than skin though. Didn’t rattle your bones that way Joel’s voice would when he called you a pretty ditzy thing that one time. If he were here the detective's teeth would be splattered across the tile of the floor for saying that. Daring to call you what he did, turning it into something that made your lip curl in disgust. 

“Oh, I'm sorry, Mr, Detective.” You pouted, tilting your head at him, doe eyed, sarcastic innocence wrapped around your tongue’s words.

His fist descended down upon the table with a slam, making you flinch. Much to your own dismay. “Just answer the damn question!” 

“Was he your boyfriend?” 

“No.”

Joel was no mere boyfriend. 

He was your lover. Your life. Your glue that mended cracks seen by no other. The man that undressed you and wrapped you up in his warmth. His Texan drawl. Unravelled you between your thighs. Made you lust for anything he did. He was air in your lungs, the smell of cedarwood and musk. Metallic blood on your collarbone and gravel under a cars worn in tires. He was the leather of your car seat. The Egyptian cotton of your sheets. 

But this was where the lie began…

“He was my jailor.” 

Detective Granger’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at you, your eyes finding him behind the wisp of your lashes. The glassy shine of a tear slipping from your waterline. He furrowed his brow, his thin lips pressing into a thin line below his bushy moustache that curled at the ends. The nostrils of his bulbous nose flared and his jaw ticked under the clenching of his teeth. Once more, you looked into your lap at your folded hands.

He sighed once more, adjusting his grey suit trousers to sit down, holding his tie to his beer belly as he did so. “Can you tell us what happened? Leading up to the crime?” His voice was softer and he winced at the sound of your sniff. How you were so timid all of a sudden like a deer in headlights. 

You nodded, swallowing your own saliva, the walls of your oesophagus grating together like coarse sandpaper. And then you spoke. “I met him when I was living in Boston.”

[allamericanfinalgirl]

𝓛𝓞𝓥3 𝓛3𝓣𝓣3𝓡𝓢 💌

Dev Patel as Joshua (Modern Love) x Saleka Shyamalan as Juno J. (OC) - a fic inspired by emails i can’t send and short n’ sweet by Sabrina Carpenter

Word Count-(1K)

(part two)

-

Joshua tossed the ring; it skipped down the street and disappeared down the storm drain as he stomped along the rain-covered sidewalk, entering the first bar he found and shaking his soaked hair out.

“Whiskey. Neat.” Joshua opened a tab, intending to drink away the sting of his first time being cheated on by his long term girlfriend, Emma.

Ironically, it must have been singles night in the bar because it was decked out in cherry red hearts and pink streamers along with cakes piped with sarcastic phrases like ‘CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR BREAKUP.’

A woman in a blue dress swayed back and forth on a bar stool, a melancholy look on her gorgeous features as she stabbed a piece of the ‘Congratulations’ cake with her fork with one hand and nursing a drink with the other.

Feeling eyes on her, Juno J. looked up and locked eyes with a handsome man across the bar: black, rain-soaked curls and a grey t-shirt sticking to his broad chest, warm brown eyes behind thin wire-rimmed glasses balancing precariously on his sharp nose.

‘Hi.’ Juno mouthed, waving her hand at the man before looking bashfully back down at her drink.

After a year in a fake PR relationship with a tennis player who cared more about the game than her, Juno was out of practice and so. fucking. horny.

“I met her parents, y’know?” Josh tossed back another shot with the woman he had met at the bar, Juno. “She’s seen me naked, and I met her parents.” He winced as the liquor burned his throat. “And I got cheated on?”

Juno shook her head when the lemon drop’s sourness puckered her glossed lips. “I got dumped by a number one tennis player.” She sniffled and held her head up high. “I was ‘too much.’ for him, apparently.”

Joshua scoffed drunkenly, swaying on his bar stool. “Too much?” He replied incredulously as Juno stood up, doing a turn in her rhinestone pumps to show off her lacy blue dress. “Do you think I’m too much, J?”

Running a hand through his thick black curls, something like a prince, Juno wondered how Joshua’s ex could cheat on him as he flashed a charming smile and shook his head, ‘No.’ while rubbing the scruff on his jawline with his long fingers.

“I can’t believe I let some white man ruin my self-esteem.” Juno groaned in humiliation and pulled her hair in front of her face like a long black curtain. “This boy didn’t even know the difference between ‘they’re,’ ‘their,’ or ‘they are.’”

Joshua thought of Emma and the ex-boyfriend from high school she had ‘gone back in time with’. “I can drink to that.”

Another shot.

Suddenly, hours passed, and it was one am and the bar was closing.

Juno and Joshua stumbled out onto the sidewalk, too many drinks in and flirting heavily with Juno laughing and grabbing an equally hysterical Joshua’s arms for support.

He wrapped himself around Juno to protect her from the rain that had never stopped.

The street lights and the spins reared an ugly head as Juno pushed off Joshua for the nearest garbage can, pulling her hair back into a ponytail just in time as she retched into it.

“Oh, God!” Lip gloss smeared Juno’s face as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I'm so sorry!" She gagged and turned away from him as she spit up the remains of her espresso Martini in the gutter.

“You can leave. I’ll call an Uber.” Juno kicked off her sequined pumps; she couldn’t have been more than five feet tall without them.

Juno sat on the curb, leaning against a lamppost and closing her eyes.

Joshua watched the chrome eyeshadow on Juno’s eyelids change shades of blue under the light as she took deep, shallow breaths.

“Are you sure? I know we’ve only met, but I live about a block from here.” Joshua knew better than to leave a drunk woman slumped over on the sidewalk. “You can sleep it off on my couch.”

Joshua removed his t-shirt and used his jacket as a cover for Juno in the alley they ducked inside of for her privacy. “Here, if you need to change.”

“If you’re offering. I don’t want to be alone tonight.” Juno accepted Joshua’s help rolling the blue, martini-soaked lace down her wide hips.

Twisting her shiny black hair back in a bun, Juno asked Joshua to hold her hair while she pulled his t-shirt over her head.

Inhaling the scent of Joshua’s cologne calmed Juno’s senses. “Thank you.” She sniffled, feeling very unpretty with her hair windblown and dried spit on the sides of her mouth, not to mention her ruined dress and bra.

“Do you think you can stand?” Joshua looped an arm around Juno’s waist, and she wrapped an arm around his shoulders, nodding and allowing Joshua to lift her.

“Hop on my back.” Joshua turned around, and Juno grunted with drunken effort once, twice, before throwing her arms around Joshua’s neck and allowing him to hike her body up and wrap her garter-covered legs around his waist.

“You can clean up and take a shower if you’d like,” Joshua said as he climbed the stairs of his apartment complex with Juno on his back. In her drunkenness, Juno was impressed by how Joshua carried her with ease.

If Juno didn’t know better, Joshua was reassuringly rubbing the inside of her thigh with his thumb. “This is me.” He gently set Juno down against the wall and unlocked his apartment door, walking her to the bathroom and lifting Juno again to sit her on the sink’s marble counter.

There was a brief moment where Joshua was standing between Juno’s thighs, her dress rolled up so high that he could see the blue lace of her underwear.

They both got quiet, chests rising and falling as heat filled the bathroom. “I’ll get you a change of clothes.” He quickly excused himself, and Juno pouted to herself as she watched Joshua leave.

Joshua heard Juno singing in the shower and was impressed. It sounded familiar; Juno must have been covering some pop songs from the radio. He made a mental note to look it up later.

The shower and fan were turned off. Joshua listened to the shower curtain open and the sound of wet bare feet on the linoleum.

The door clicked open, and Juno padded into the living room in one of Joshua’s clean t-shirts, and a pair of sweatpants rolled up to her ankles. “You can throw those away.” Juno frowned at the ruined dress and bra. “Those were expensive.” She pouted, her full bottom lip trembling slightly.

Juno had tried to wipe her face clean; her thick brows were unruly, blue mascara streaked down her shiny face, and her wet hair was already starting to curl.

“It’s alright.” Juno looked exhausted, and Joshua felt bad for the young woman, guiding her to the bed he made her on his couch. handing her a glass of water and an ibuprofen. “Get some sleep; everything will feel better in the morning.”

“This is a strange request, and I know how much you have already done for me tonight,” Juno snuggled underneath the blankets Joshua had laid out, looking up at him with her glassy brown eyes.

“Can you stay out here with me?” Big tears started to roll down her round cheeks, and Joshua didn’t hesitate to slip underneath the covers with Juno and use the sleeves of his sweater to wipe away her tears.

Joshua enveloped Juno in his arms. She put her head on his chest and nuzzled her face into the material of his sweater. “Thank you. You’re a real stand-up guy to let pretty drunk girls sleep on you in your apartment.”

“I don’t like being alone,” Joshua admitted, still feeling drunk as his lids got heavy and his voice slurred. “S’nice to have the company for once.” He let his hand rest on her exposed lower back from where his t-shirt rode up her.

Juno kissed the space above Joshua’s heart as he reached back to flick off the tableside lamp. “Night, Josh.”

“Goodnight, Juno.”

[thisisnotthenerd]

next ih season: the unsleeping city

quick episode descriptions:

mutant santa melee: first battle. pete and sofia's intro to the fights of the unsleeping city. wild magic surge. mutant santa clones & big santa slug in an igloo. ricky decapitates the santa slug. santa lays eggs.

scramble in the sewers: saving em from the rat king. the rat king is a piece of shit. the beefy boys come out. sofia sinks, pete goes to get her, kugrash turns into a shark. sofia detangles the rat king's tails and kug becomes the rat king.

the war of bugs & rats: pete summoned the bugsters here. 'wasp' centaur. spider web in the bodega. the beetle's just gonna have to kill ya. sofia bonds with la gran gata de la tienda de la esquina. the bodega of wonders.

subway skirmish: evil horse cop & crooked cop ghosts. summoning the train to nod with nod present. i'm gonna kill that dog. summoning the beefy boys and rats that eat a centaur. pizza rat. i shoot kingston in the leg.

panic at the art show: isabella infierno & her devils. chucking a toilet & breaking the water tower. waking willy. she killed my husband. i'm walking away and she's not. jumping off the building to come in the front door. spider trampoline.

broadway brawl: the show must go on. misty having the performance of a lifetime. queen titania. i may be little but i am fierce. ricky, naked, bodyrolling on misty. stephen sondheim riding a bear. subduing titania with a waist trainer.

showdown at the stock exchange: robert's ritual and vampires in kiosks. animate objects. paralysis for kug. put that tongue back in your fuckin' mouth. pete comes back from the dead to cast dispel magic. i wanna cut right now, and then we'll cut back and brennan will just be covered in bruises.

times squaremageddon: spinning around the puritan work ethic american dream. sofia jumping to hit and dying. puppeting the bodies down safely. rats as a hat on the american dream. esther planting one on ricky. santa and stephen sondheim with broadswords. alejandro falls into the void. buff chrome pete and ricky hanging off the edge.

times squaremageddon part 2: individual vignettes. i eat the bagel. you already are here. i was just fucking him in heaven. i want to see its true form. ricky's sacrifice. santa dies. 19 to catch esther. greed is good for rat motherfuckers like robert moses. shaking hands as kug disperses into the universe.

[tyungelic]

so i sent cherry a similar ask but im gonna do it backwards for u hehe

thoughts on bad girl tyun corrupting good girl reader ><??

★ a/n: this has been sitting in my inbox for eons sorry for the late reply this was soo fun to write~

warning: fem!taehyun drops the d slur in this

your roommate taehyun knows exactly the kind of girl you are.

you’re always so kind, so sweet, so innocent— at least that’s what others saw on the surface, but she knows the truth.

she’s seen your browser history after all. tsk tsk, shouldn’t have left your laptop open while you went to take a shower. taehyun knows she shouldn’t go around peeking at your stuff, but she just couldn’t resist. you’re so cute and pure, you had to be hiding something. a dark secret, a strange fetish, anything. taehyun wants nothing more than to mess with you. you were always so fun to rile up, so pouty and easy to upset.

taehyun’s eyes go wide when she sees all the lesbian porn in your history. link after link, gifs, videos, and pictures. my god, it’s like you’re some kind of porn addict. no one would ever expect this of sweet little y/n.

so of course she has to let you know that she found out. after all, just the thought of you crying and begging her not to tell anyone about this secret of yours amuses her so much that it turns her on.

you walk into your bedroom and nearly drop your towel in shock when you see taehyun watching one of the videos you were watching just last night.

"taehyun! wh-what are you--"

"-- oh, just watching from your little collection," taehyun says with a sly smile. "you should do something about your chrome history. ever heard of incognito before?"

you rush to your bed and slam the lid of your laptop down, cutting off the salacious moans blaring from your laptop's speakers.

"i didn't give you permission to use my stuff," you say, voice already rising in anger.

"sorry."

bullshit. you both know she isn't sorry.

"what's with you?" you ask. "do you hate me or something? what have i ever done to you?"

“are you a dyke, y/n?” taehyun asked, a sadistic kind of mirth in her voice. you bit your bottom lip, fighting back tears.

"no! i'm not... that. i don't like women that way..."

“i don’t know,” taehyun says in sing-song. “your history is pretty telling. you want a woman to fuck you that badly, hm?”

you gulp, mouth feeling dry and head spinning. you feel so humiliated and you know she’s eating this up. she loves to get a rise out of you and here you are, playing right into her hand.

“do you think about anyone when you watch stuff like that?”

you shake your head, avoiding eye contact with your roommate. one of her hands makes its way to your waist and the other grabs your chin, forcing you to make eye contact.

“wanna try it out with me?”

your knees are starting to go weak. her eyes are so dark, so hypnotizing. does she have any idea of the hold she has on you?

“i need an answer, princess.”

you remove her hand from your face, rage building up inside of you.

"no, not you. never you."

"oh, you don't mean that," taehyun says, feigning offense. "you hate me so much you wanna fuck me, don't you?"

you can't stand this. what the fuck is her problem? why does she always target you? she's such a bitch, so condescending and mean. she's gone too far this time. she knows just how to toy with you and you hate it. you hate her.

and yet...

“y-yes,” you squeak out. “yes, taehyun. please touch me, use me, do whatever you want with me.”

taehyun pulls off your towel, exposing your wet, naked body. she presses her knee between your legs and slowly grinds it against your pussy.

"good girl," she whispers before biting your earlobe. "listen to everything i say and we'll have a great time. okay?"