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minhosimthings · 8 months ago

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I dont know if you accept a req now but... fresh grad worker! (jake or hyunjin) × ojt student y/n. Y/n was assigned to (jake or hyunjin) to train her but yn like riding (jake or hyunjin) in his swivel chair. (Jake or Hyunjin)'s work desk cubicle is in kinda hidden in the corner. (cockwarming, cowgirl, softdom!(jake or hj))

Me quedo Mirandote || 18+

Pairings: Hyunjin × fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, 18+, thigh riding, degradation, 1% sir kink because I can, orgasm control eyy, cock riding, unprotected sex (zont zo it), mention of blood, fingering, praise, semi-public sex, role-play ish situation?, Use of petnames 'doll', overstimulation, dom!Hyunjin, sub!reader, swearing, reader wears a dress

A/N: This was such a hot thing to write omg I love your brain annonie. Also I am shit at writing riding things so FORGIVE ME IF ITS NOT SATISFACTORY. Also for my beloved @astraystayyh (who is probably still stuck with Hyune's ponytail)

Never in a million years would you ever have thought that you'd be fixing your frizzied hair and ruined lipstick in your soon-to-be office's bathroom, but here you were, your lipstick three shades lighter and your white dress all ruined.

And no one would ever question how Hwang Hyunjin's shirt had the exact same lipstick shade stains on it. Why would they? A playboy never loses his instincts, even if he's freshly graduated and teaching the only on- the-job student with full responsibility.

The fortunate student being you.

And it wasn't to say Hyunjin wasn't fortunate as well. You were compliant, perhaps even exactly like him. He wondered how you had ever managed to get through your classes so well during the day and get through him during the cool intoxicating nights.

Another thing Hyunjin was fortunate to have was his "private office". And by office, he meant his own comfortably small cubicle, which was far away from the prying eyes of his co-workers. It was weird for a fresh out of school student to have his own cubicle, but he guessed that his workplace valued privacy to an extreme level, so much so that his "office" hid discarded red laces, tainted white silks and on the job students perfectly.

"And that's how you write up a summary for the graphs of the month." Hyunjin clapped his hands together, trying not to sound overly positive, as you stared dead eyed into the computer screen. Hyunjin had been explaining the concept to you for an hour now, and although you'd been standing resting your chin on his head, you were mentally exhausted.

"Doll, you doing alright?" Hyunjin cocked a brow at you, standing up to your level, arms going to your waist as if it was his daily routine. Well, technically it was his daily routine.

"Do I look like I'm doing alright?" You scoffed, eyes flittering between Hyunjin's eyes and lips, "Don't I deserve a promotion for all the work I've done Sir?"

Hyunjin's lips morphed into a slow smirk at your widened lamb eyes and your 'good girl' pout. His hands gripped into your skin tighter, as he leaned in closer, pressing a kiss to your neck.

"You're just a student Y/N. I can't give you a promotion so quick." He smirked into the nape of your neck, knowing what was coming next. How couldn't he? With how many times, his favourite 'employee' had begged on her knees to get a 'promotion'.

"But sir haven't I been a good girl?" You whispered, staring at Hyunjin's plump lips, "I even wore the dress you bought me." You motioned towards your clearly visible cleavage in your summer dress, one of Hyunjin's most favourite painting topics.

Your hands went up to his luscious locks of hair, which were tied up into a ponytail with two flicks framing his face perfectly. God, his hair was as soft as cotton, you thought, a complete contrast to how he behaved once you were suffocating his length with your pussy.

Hyunjin's hands slid down to your ass and pulled your hips against his body, your hand pressing against his desk. It made the dress you were wearing ride up your thighs, exposing your panties. His hot lips moved away from yours and down to your neck, kissing and gently biting the delicate skin. You let out a little gasp and arched your neck, it felt divine.

“Doll, with the way you're gasping now, I wonder what you'd do once I actually start with the usual." Hyunjin chuckled darkly, pressing a rough, carnivorous kiss to your lips, "fuck—be a good girl for me now."

Hyunjin pulled away from the kiss and sat back on his chair, leaning as prosaic as he could against it, and rubbing his hand over his thigh, ever so cordially inviting you over to him. Why would you ever refuse? It was your favourite place to be at any chance you got. Some days, that's the only place you wanted to be, on a hot lazy day, when you wanted nothing more than Hyunjin to shut up about presentations and slides and spread out his leg for you.

You manoeuvred yourself so that your covered but damp core met with Hyunjin's thigh, the hem of your dress gracefully swooped over his thigh, as you parted your legs enough to let your clit brushing against the fabric. The contact caused your mouth to fall open in a silent sigh.

"Already?" Hyunjin clicked his tongue, "That's sort of pathetic don't you think doll?"

From this angle you looked pretty to Hyunjin with your head thrown back, pupils blown out with lust and a prominent blush on your face. It made the animalistic side in Hyunjin, ravenous for more.

Hyunjin adjusted his position on the chair, your loud mewl made him chuckle and press a kiss to your forehead. You hands went up to grip his soft, ebony hair, which was tied perfectly in a ponytail. Well, tied perfectly, until you ran your hands through the follicles, throwing the hair band off, and continuing to grip his open hair tightly. Your grip made Hyunjin silently moan.

"Feel that?" He lifted a cocky brow at your pleasured expression, "It's just for you, doll."

Slowly you began rocking your hips back and forth, letting your clit get maximum friction against the clothed barriers. Your hands gripped at his shirt now tightly, leaving tiny creases all along as you chased your release.

Somewhere along the way, Hyunijn had abandoned his work and had turned all of his attention on you, gripping your hips harshly, digging marks, guiding it along his thigh while pressing open mouthed kisses along your shoulder and neck. The chair was creaking worse than a wooden bed, but there wasn't a care in the world for that.

Hyunjin's hands move up your thighs towards your hips pushing you harder against his thigh gaining more melodic moans from your mouth.

You rut yourself faster against him, moaning louder and louder until you finally reach what you thought was your peak.

"Hyunjin," you whined, his kisses descend even further down your body, lips at the top of your chest, eyes peering up into your desperate and pleading eyes.

"Fuck," you sigh out, when Hyunjin grabs your breast, lavishing it an equal amount of attention, his hands moving your hips harder and faster against him, your orgasm building swiftly at his actions.

"Beg for it darling." Hyunjin's sadistic smile hit your face, "Be a good slut, and beg for your cum."

"Hyune-fuck!" You moaned out as his thigh gave a little flick upwards, "please Hyunjin—"

"So desperate," he mumbles, tone laced with dominance, hands gliding across the back of your thighs, teasing you. "So wet," he adds, doing as you asked and sliding his finger across your clothed core, a sinful groan escaping you, head lolling back against.

"Come for me," he husks out, letting you fall over the edge with a guttural moan, back arching, as your legs trembled, hips rocking at the pleasure that filled you. A pleasant buzz consumed your body as you rode out the aftershocks of your powerful release, your body practically going limp on his thigh at the exhaustion of coming so hard.

Your chest rose and fell with every unsteady breath, as you steadied yourself on Hyunjin's thigh, leaning your head towards his shoulder, from how dizzy you were. Being a cowgirl really took a lot of energy from you.

As you were getting ready to stand up, you felt Hyunjin's arm grip ours tightly.

"So soon, pretty?" He pulls you in for a rough kiss, biting your lip, he could taste salty blood on them, "I'm not even half done."

“Come here,” Hyunjin demanded as he pulled your arm. You move around from the back of the chair as he pushes it out a bit from the table.

“Oh baby. Aren’t you just deliciously naughty?” he says as his finger slips in between your folds to find you positively dripping. “Is this all for me?” he asks as he starts to rub your clit in slow circular movements. The stimulation was killing you, yet you obliged, dumbly nodding along to Hyunjin's words.

“So greedy,” he whispers. He slips his finger from your pussy, his hands come up to your shoulders, and he pushes the dress off of them.

“Come here and sit on my cock,” he says with that lopsided smirk you love so much.

Lifting yourself up a little, you line him up with your entrance, and then you sit back down and let him slide into your wet, needy pussy. Filling you so perfectly. Stretching you completely. You slowly sink down onto him, as he grips your waist harder, holding you down.

“You can take it.” He moans out. He slowly pushes himself in a little more, and you swear you hear him whimper. You cry out, laying down on his chest.

“Shit!” He goes inch by inch, and you groan louder and louder as he fills you out.

"Fuck,” Hyunjin groans. And then you start to move. Slowly, up and down. Your hands rest on his hair for leverage as you bounce yourself on his cock.

Your tight grip on his hair makes Hyunjin throw his head back slightly, his eyes almost rolling to the back with the sheer amount of pleasure he was recieving from your hands running through his locks.

"Fuck—baby keep doing that." He mumbles, not even sure if you've heard it, you probably did as was evident from your now tighter grip, your fingers dancing their pretty ballet through Hyunjin's velvety hair.

Hyunjin grabs a tight hold of your hips, and he lifts you up a little before he starts to thrust up into you. Harder and faster than you managed. Pounding into you over and over.

"Fuck—Hyunjin!" You gasp, a little louder than usual, "touch me—please." Your begs elated Hyunjin, how could he refuse? He shakes his hand from your hip and presses his fingers to your cunt.

His motions on your clit are as frantic as his thrusts into you. Pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

And with a final buck into you so deep that he nudged your cervix as his thumb pressed down on your clit, you both cum. Hard and fast.

Your hips gyrated harder, until the spurring had come close; hot liquid squirted on his cock. The orgasm rips through you at such intensity that your eyes roll into the back of your head, and you scream out his name. His cock twitches as his cum spurts inside you.

Hyunjin tilts his head to rest on your chest as he tries to catch his breath, and he moans out your name. You kiss him softly at the top of his head. Your fingers are raking through his hair as you try to calm your own breathing down to normal.

"You've made such a mess." Hyunjin chuckled, pressing his forehead to yours, "my messy girl."

"How about those graphs now, Mr Hwang?" You asked, a tint of cockishness smeared in your voice.

"Graphs?" Hyunjin laughed, gripping your hips again.

"We're not even a quarter done yet, doll."

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lookinghalfacorpse · 4 months ago

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Okay now you got me really interested SO here's the itwall prompt: cphil and cdream doing scar care

well if you insist..... (context)

/dsmp /rp

"On your stomach, lad."

Dream chuckled at the gentle command, his robe hitting the ground as he shrugged it off. Commands like these were casual and comfortable between the two of them; Dream knew that he could disobey if he wanted. He usually settled on a bit of playful back-talk. "You could take me to dinner first?"

"I cooked your dinner myself three hours ago."

"Okay, fair."

Slowly, Dream lowered himself to the mattress, gathering a pillow in his arms and placing it beneath his chest for a bit of extra padding. The candlelight danced across the dramatic valleys of his skeleton and the rips and tears of his skin, casting uneven shadows across his pale back. The sun dropped below the treeline a while ago, and the arctic enjoyed a peaceful and windless evening. Philza proposed that they try a bit of anti-scarring treatment before bed, and Dream agreed to give it a try.

Philza removed a bit of dressing-- a piece of gauze taped over a fresher wound on Dream's side-- and Dream could feel Phil's weight shift on the mattress as he leaned back and observed.

Feeling eyes on him, Dream peaked over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"You'd think I'd be used to seeing your scars by now." The lid of a container popped open. "But it still hits me sometimes."

"Do they gross you out?"

"Nah. They're just scars. I have them, too." From his limited vantage, Dream saw Phil's blonde hair spill over his shoulder, pooling at his collarbone. His hair was loose. He was dressed for bed. "I'm just... always surprised by how deeply humans can hate."

Dream didn't hate his scars. Well, he hated some of them. The worst of them were on his back. A bracket smile, drawn with unsteady lines. The word "bitch," written in a broken, brutalist font.

"I'm going to massage some silicone gel on the scars," Phil said, "in little circular motions. It might take a while, mate."

"Mm-hmm."

Dream flinched when Phil's fingers, cool from the silicone, touched between his shoulder blades. The temperature simply surprised him. Phil whispered a quiet "You alright?" before proceeding, and upon getting permission in the form of a nod, moved his fingers firmly across the expanse of a scar. It might've been the bracket smile. Dream didn't quite remember its placement.

"The pressure will help the edges flatten," Phil explained in a low voice, "and the jelly moisturizes it to help the discoloring."

The skin was sensitive. As Phil pressed his fingers in, the nerves responded by breaking into chills. Dream's next exhale was shaky.

"Tell me if I'm hurting you."

"No-- No, you're not. I-- fuck, it's just sensitive."

Philza recognized the effects of pleasure when he saw them. "Mm."

It took twenty minutes to finish the massage. Twenty long, vulnerable minutes of squirming and sighing, fighting back the urge to groan. Something about it was so primally satisfying. His skin has been begging for gentle treatment for months. Begging for Philza's fingers along his ribcage, his stomach, his chest, his hands. Even the deep scar along the edge of his jawline got Philza's attention. The slime of the silicone was cold in the winter air, but not uncomfortable.

The candlelight illuminated Phil's golden eyelashes. "Still alright?" he asked, his fingertips on a long scar across Dream's lower abdominal muscles.

Dream nodded, a small smile on his lips.

#old man yaoi alert #dreamza #dreblr #itwall #itwall extra scenes #drabbles #drabble #gapple duo #the crackship of my heart

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robiinurheart33 · 7 months ago

Text

Reject tradition, accept goofy plotlines

What if ghost fell first and soaps a dumb bitch

Like what if during the missions leading up to events of MW2 soap proves himself to be useful and ghost gets just the tiniest bit attached to him as they spend a lot of time together

But the Alone mission was definitely when he realised his thoughts towards soap was not one that he should be having, as if he’d had any thoughts about this to anyone else in his life. It’s different, and it’s scary and it’s new and exciting. He doesn’t know what to do with it so like anything else having to do with emotions, he leaves it alone to (hopefully) rot.

Soap however, he’s been with a lot of soldiers over his way up to SAS. Been with a lot of men whose walls he’d broken down and being friendly is just second nature to him now.

While Ghost may be someone who’s feared and famously known for his brooding nature, it’s not too much of a surprise when soap eventually gets a full conversation between the two.

During the Alone mission, Soap does register that Ghost now calls him “Johnny”, but he doesn’t think much of it. Maybe he finally came to the realisation that in fact, they were friends. Now, he knows that he doesn’t allow many people to call him Johnny. Not anyone, really. It always sounded too childish, like he wasn’t the badass SAS Sargent he was supposed to be. But when Ghost says it, it doesn’t feel like something belittling. It feels like a brand of pride, something to flaunt as if he was the one that wore down the ghost.

There was definitely something wrong with that kind of thinking, but there was no time. There were betrayals to avenge, soldiers to kill, secrets to uncover. Johnny’s sure that he’ll think about it more later. He definitely won’t forget.

(Clicks for Palestine)

#spoiler alert: he does forget #dribble drabble #been so unmotivated lately ughhhhh #fml #robs ramblings #call of duty #john soap mactavish #ghoap #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap

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whump-about-it · 2 years ago

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Red Alert/ Distress Call/ Panic Attack

@whumpril day 1 (few days late)

CW: panic attacks, brief mention of blood, implied suicidal ideation, concern about self harm, dissociation, PTSD

Caretaker knew something was wrong as soon as they saw Whumpee’s name pop up on their phone. Whumpee never called. They hated talking on the phone. Even when something actually warranted a call Whumpee was more likely to send a text. Which more often than not Caretaker wouldn’t see for hours.

“Whumpee?” They said a little too loudly when they picked up the phone, causing a few of their co-workers to look up at them annoyed. On the other end of the phone Whumpee didn’t respond. All Caretaker could hear was heavy, ragged breathing, like Whumpee was running from something.

“Whumpee?” Caretaker repeated “Whumpee are you there? Is everything okay?”

“Caretaker.” Whumpee finally spoke. They sounded out of breathe and their voice lacked its usual force “Caretaker. I - I” They paused for several breathes as Caretaker held their phone in a white knuckle grip, trying not to speak over Whumpee. Trying to let them get the words out on their own.

“Red” Whumpee finally said with a gasp.

Caretaker was up and moving before Whumpee had finished the word. Rushing through their office and towards the exit.

“I’m on my way. Where are you?”

Whumpee wasn’t good at talking about their feelings. Even before Whumper it was something they didn’t like doing, and preferred to keep an emotionless mask at all times. Since Whumper though, holding that mask had gotten harder and somehow more important to them. When they couldn’t hold the mask anymore though, and it cracked, Whumpee struggled to explain what was going on. Their emotions came out in violent outbursts and debilitating panic attacks that they couldn’t control or explain. Overtime Whumpee and Caretaker had managed to come up with a code that Whumpee could use to explain to Caretaker what was going on inside their head.

Green meant everything was okay, and Caretaker was misinterpreting the situation. Yellow meant Whumpee was on edge, but still in control. Orange was for panic attacks. And red? Red meant Caretaker needed to drop everything and get to Whumpee quick.

“Whumpee? Where are you?” Caretaker repeated when Whumpee didn’t respond to them the first time.

“I’m sorry” Whumpee gasped, their voice was sounding more and more distanced, like they were falling into a trance. Caretaker began to panic a little, imagining Whumpee lost someplace and totally dissociating. Doing something stupid or dangerous, and Caretaker not being able to get to them in time.

“Just tell me where you are Whumpee” They insisted in a forced calm voice.

“Home.” Whumpee said and Caretaker breathed a sigh of relief.

“Okay. I’m on my way. I’m already in the car. Just stay on the phone with me okay?”

“I broke the mirror.”

“Alright. We’ll deal with that. Are you hurt?”

“I’m sorry”

“I don’t care about the mirror Whumpee. Did you hurt yourself?” There was a long pause. before Whumpee responded.

“I don’t know.” They breathed “There’s blood”

Caretaker’s heartrate leapt.

“I’m five minutes away. Just hang on and stay on the phone with me.”

Whumpee didn’t respond. Caretaker kept trying to talk to them but they feared Whumpee wasn’t hearing them anymore.

Caretaker finally pulled into the driveway and jumped out of their car, running into the house. Thankfully they found Whumpee exactly where they thought they would be.

They were sitting on the floor of the downstairs bathroom with their knees up to their chest and starring ahead of them without seeing. Their back was against the vanity and they were surrounded by shards of glass from the shattered mirror above them. In one hand, they were still holding their phone up to their ear even though Caretaker had hung up when they had come through the door. In the other they were holding one of the shards of broken mirror with such an iron grip their hand was shaking. Caretaker could see blood pooling between their fingers and there was a trail dripping down their wrist.

“Whumpee!” Caretaker ran into the bathroom and fell to their knees in front of Whumpee ignoring the bits of glass pushing into their knees through their pants. They grabbed both of Whumpee’s wrists and shook them until they dropped both the phone and the glass shard. With their hands now empty Caretaker examined Whumpee’s arms and wrists for injuries. Their fingers and knuckles were cut on their dominant hand from having punched the mirror, and there were deep cuts on their palm from where they had been gripping the shard of glass. But otherwise they were uninjured, and none of the injuries they had seemed to be intentional.

Caretaker breathed a shaky sigh of relief and looked up at Whumpee’s face. They were white as a sheet and Caretaker could see tear stains running down their cheeks. But they were surprised to find that Whumpee was looking back at them with at least some level of awareness that Caretaker was there.

“Caretaker?”

Caretaker reached forward and put their hands of Whumpee’s cheeks, wiping away the last of the tears.

“Yeah Whumpee I’m here now. How are you doing?”

“Red” Whumpee replied after a moment, and their eyes filled with tears again. Their face twisting to try to keep from crying.

“I can’t even look at myself” They sobbed. “Why did Whumper do that to me? What did I do to deserve it?”

“Oh, Honey” Caretaker knew Whumpee would scold them for the pet name later, but now they didn’t seem to notice. Caretaker pulled them into a hug and let Whumpee cry into their shoulder shaking and gripping at the back of their shirt with their non-bloody hand, as they stroked their hair and tried to hold back their own tears.

“You didn’t do anything to deserve this. Whumper is a monster, and they were going to hurt someone no matter what. But I’m so, so, sorry it was you. Never believe though that it was your fault. Please never believe that.”

They stayed there on the floor of the bathroom for a long time. Whumpee crying into Caretaker’s shoulder and Caretaker doing what they could to comfort them. It had been such a long road for both of them since Whumpee had been rescued from Whumper, and they had a long way to go before Whumpee would even start to be okay again. But Caretaker was proud of Whumpee for today. For calling. For asking for help before they were too far gone. They were glad the code system had worked.

They would tell Whumpee all this later. But now wasn’t the time. Now Whumpee just needed a shoulder to cry on.

#whump #whump drabble #whumpril2023 #whumprilday1 #caretaker x whumpee #whumpee x caretaker #panic attack #distress call #red alert #ptsd #calling for help #recovering whumpee

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blackjackkent · 2 months ago

Text

Despite the unexpected darkness in the process of getting into the circus, Rakha has to admit that the event itself is unlike anything she has experienced previously.

It is crowded and loud, normally things she does not enjoy, but all of the noise is of excitement and laughter and cheering. She has never been in a place where everyone was happy before. The sun is bright and warm after the stinging darkness of the Shadowlands.

It is not peaceful, not with the way the beast in her head is growling eagerly at the sight of so many innocents ripe for slaughter. With every breath she is fighting it back, struggling to keep it from taking control and painting the whole place with blood. But at the same time she is conscious of a lightness in her that has nothing to do with her own emotions and everything to do with those around her.

Especially Wyll. He is all but bouncing on the balls of his feet at her side, smiling from ear to ear. She has never seen him look so pleased in all the time they have traveled together. He trots from stall to stall, examining goods, watching performers, chatting away with other patrons. For a moment, here and there, she can see flashes of the boy he used to be, the lighthearted youth that was stripped away from him by Mizora's cruelty and his father's dismissal.

(He avoids the facepainting booth. Unbeknownst to Rakha, he is very tempted - but he remembers her meltdown in the shadowlands after Dolly cursed her into clown makeup. It'll be tough enough, no doubt, when they go to see Dribbles - he's not going to force her to see that paint on his own face.)

The best moment for Rakha, though - a brief moment of true joy before the whole thing comes apart - is when she spots a bard performing to a crowd of onlookers at one corner of the central square.

This is (as near as I can recall) the first time she has actually seen music performed by someone who really knows what they're doing. Rakha's experience with music has primarily come through her own experiments with Alfira's lute, through which she has slowly learned to manipulate the Weave with the power of song - but the songs she has created are strange, atonal things, unpolished and based only on how she feels the magic around her shift in answer to it.

This is very different. The dragonborn playing for the crowd is a practiced bard and the music he plays is lovely and lilting and rhythmic, rising and falling in a smooth cadence that sets the Weave rolling in tandem. And it is among the most beautiful things she has ever seen.

After several songs, the bard notices the rapt way she is listening to him, and Alfira's battered lute strapped to her back. He gestures her forward, invites her to play with him.

She doesn't really know what she's doing, and certainly doesn't know the song he's playing. Her head hunches self-consciously in contrast to the bard's exuberant performance. But she is quick and observant and after some experimentation she manages to pick a very simple line of notes underneath the song's flourishes and melody.

Something seizes in her heart and, astonishingly, tears prick at the corner of her eyes. A few voices in the crowd call out with cheerful encouragement. Behind them, she can see Wyll watching her with that quiet, happy smile on his face again.

A strange, heady warmth settles through her and, for a moment, even the beast seems to fade to quiet, masked by the rhythm and harmony and the magic swirling around them all.

Then the song ends. The bard smiles, claps her gently on the shoulder, and turns away. The moment passes.

The warmth lingers, though - and it is because of this that she agrees when Wyll suggests playfully that they should speak to the dryad in the booth next door.

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #self-indulgent flavor drabble alert XD #figured maybe rakha deserved a little bit of nice stuff in between The Horrors #<3 i'm having feels

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jamietarttsnorthernattitude · 10 months ago

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Drabble prompt-

“You dumbass. Don’t do that. Ever again.”

I think I did it! I think I actually wrote a drabble. And crossed off another @badthingshappenbingo square!

UPDATE: I did not do it lmao

UPDATE2: Now on ao3 so I can have everything together.

Jamie Tartt was going to be the death of him.

“You dumbass. Don’t do that. Ever again.”

Roy pressed his thumb and index finger against the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply.

“What was I supposed to do?” Jamie scoffed.

“Not that!” Roy said, trying to keep his voice down but failing.

“You were going to fucking fall!”

“Your fucking point?” Roy asked, psychotic eyebrows shooting nearly to his hairline.

“Didn’t want you to get hurt,” Jamie pouted.

“So you got hurt instead?”

“Didn’t think that part through, did I?”

“No fucking shit.”

“Well, innit better me than you and your old man bones? They’re probably just dust in there held together by anger and stubbornness. My bones are young and strong.”

“Jamie your wrist is broken.”

“I told you I didn’t think it through, alright?”

Jamie adjusted the ice pack on his wrist. The pair had been having a similar conversation on and off since they arrived at A&E. All the trouble started on a bike ride. They were nearing the coffee shop by Keeley’s office, intent on bringing her and Barbara coffee and pastries while they worked on their latest campaign.

They were bike riding when Roy’s tire caught a divot. He started to tip and Jamie lept off his bike to try to catch Roy before he landed on his bad knee. And it worked. Roy didn’t land on his bad knee, unfortunately, all Roy’s weight landed on Jamie’s outstretched wrist instead. Ice packs and x-rays replaced coffees and scones.

So much for an uneventful off-season.

“Next time, maybe wrist guards, knee and elbow pads for everyone. And helmets. Definitely helmets,” Ruth said, pulling back the curtain where the pair sat waiting. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”

“Fuck.”

“That is my diagnosis. Yes.”

“Fucking professional. Is it really broken?”

Ruth turned her ipad to show the pair the x-ray and pointed. “Unfortunately, yes. You can see the break right there.”

“Fuuuuuuuuuck,” Roy and Jamie said simultaneously.

“Told you.”

“Fuck off.”

Ruth rolled her eyes. “There’s minor displacement, so I can reduce it and then we’ll get you in a cast and get you out of here a soon as we can.”

True to her word, Jamie and Roy are waiting for Ruth an hour later, Jamie’s broken wrist secured in a cast and sling.

“You’re such a dumbass,” Roy said again.

“Stop calling me that,” Jamie said and Roy began to feel badly.

The situation seemed to sink in for Jamie once the cast was applied. The nerve block meant he wasn’t in too much pain but that wouldn’t last and right now the lad just looked uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry. I just, I hate seeing you hurt and especially when it was my fault.”

“How was it your fault?” Jamie asked skeptically.

“You were trying to catch me. Did you hit your fucking head too?”

“It were an accident, Roy. If anyone’s to blame it’s the fucking pot hole you drove through. Thinking of writing a strongly worded letter to our boy Sadiq Khan about the maintenance of London’s roads.”

“I’m impressed you know who the Mayor is.”

“Fuck off. Met him at one of the England matches couple of weeks ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Roy said again then motioned vaguely at Jamie. ”About all this.”

“I told. you, it were an accident,” Jamie shrugged then winced as it jostled his injured wrist.

“Ready lads?” Ruth appeared holding a bag with pain medication she handed to Roy.

“We picking Phoebe up?” Jamie asked.

“I can drive you home first if you want?”

The bikes were abandoned after the incident and they’d taken a taxi to the hospital, thankful Ruth’s shift ended as they were ready to leave.

“Let’s get Phoebe and then Roy said he’d buy us all kebabs, didn’t you, Royo?”

“When the fuck did I say that?”

“You did. Felt bad on account of landing on me and all.”

“Right, yeah,” Roy said as he helped Jamie into Ruth’s Range Rover and buckled him in, careful of his sling. “But seriously, don’t do that again, yeah?”

“No promises, mate.”

One way or another, Jamie Tartt was going to be the death of him.

#thank you friend!#i wrote about a thousand words as a follow up to my first drabble #but that seemed a bit harsh since in it jamie just woke from a (spoiler alert) coma #so i wrote this instead!#whump #whump prompt #jamie tartt #roy kent #bad things happen bingo #accidentally hurt by a friend #ted lasso fanfic #writing prompt #drabble #i think #ao3

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chris-continues · 2 years ago

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Kiss me, I need it.

A desperate (more noticeably) desperate college student Nai Saverem begging for a kiss

@yakulting ty for the amazing idea <33

Nai groaned against you, hands throughly covering your whole back and drawing you towards him. Not that it was needed, you were plenty willing, mind in a welcoming buzz of finally letting the fuck loose.

His lips found yours as the rare party you found yourselves at continued in the background, his hands moving up your sides and to your bare waist, the cold of his hands making you shiver.

Fuck, iron deficiency was crazy dude.

“Please, fuck..” he murmured against your neck, “Let me kiss you.”

You’d been sure to not get more than tipsy- you didn’t want to lose yourself tonight, and the idea of dealing with the aftermath already made you want to bash your head against 47 slabs of concrete. Nai had shared that sentiment with you, perhaps in hopes to remember you. Every curve of you, the map of your lips he’s wished to engrave in his mind, or the way your hands grip onto the front of his shirt in an attempt to anchor yourself.

Not that he could say much, hands holding onto you as if you were a lifeline. Nai Saverem wasn’t one to beg, not in the slightest.

“Yeah, of course..”

Ah, but he was for you. Any part of you, he was devoted to your entire being and was always nervous as hell to do anything. Alcohol assisted in ridding that worry, taking off the edge and ebbing off any ordinarily running thoughts. His mind remained focused on you, still running haywire, still fucking enamored at the sight of you.. just less at his expense. His body reacted plenty for him, hands instinctively reaching for you. Like now.

His hands bundled your shirt into clenched fists as he lost himself in you, tongue laving over yours as he released guttural groans, a slight whimper when you’d lean in more, moving your hand to tickle the nape of his neck and hold his undercut firmly. His piercing pressed against your bottom lip, cool and familiar yet never just a bit surprising, giving in to the temptation to take it into your mouth as you sucked diligently.

The whine he let out was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

When you’d wiggled to reposition yourself, his hands remained firm on your back. “Stay.” He ordered, although it held very little fire considering the warble in his voice and the partially dazed expression on his rosy lips and tinged cheeks.

“No, no don’t worry,” you reassure him, “I was just adjusting.”

He gazed upwards to you, looking through his eyelashes to admire you. So beautiful, so perfect, so..

And you were his.

“Good.” He pulls you to him once again, being far more intoxicated from yourself rather than any amount of alcohol.

#drunk #drunk kissing #kissing #Nai saverem #college au knives #Chris writes #drabble #millions knives #knives millions #college au #whiny #needy #pathetic man #PATHETIC MAN ALERT #I LUV LOSERS #established couple

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letgraysonsheart · 1 year ago

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im gonna be crazy and try to write drabbles for every song on my spotify wrapped

#aka 100 drabbles #i really want to get my writing mojo up and running again #probably different fandoms #starting from nr 100 #but hopefully alot of dick fics!!#im posting about it so ill feel more pressure to do it #probably also various lengths #spoiler alert the first one is noah kahan and the f1 au!!

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quietwingsinthesky · 5 months ago

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Drabble 181 - Supernatural

If Kevin doesn’t look at it, it isn’t happening.

His body isn’t betraying him. The weeks and weeks stumbling, starving, painfully around translation aren’t changing him. He can barely breathe, so binding is out of the question. His hands shake too much for injections, anyway.

If he finishes this, he can be himself again.

He hates living in a body whose breaking can be witnessed. Hates that the Winchesters’s eyes skimmed over him once, but now Sam’s says him with a hard note, like he has to remind himself, and Dean rolls his eyes, complies to get what he wants.

#transmasc kevin angst be upon you. one of those winchesters better fucking pick up his prescription #i think about it a lot. trans!kevin and how that intersects with the cost of saving the world.#when are you allowed to be yourself. not until you fix everything else. not until you’ve made the world perfect. then maybe you get to be #trans. you know? kevin tran on that horrible prison of a boat downing whatever will keep him awake and alert to keep working. no mirrors on #board. so maybe as long as he doesn’t have to look. the damage isn’t real.#a body as a ticking time bomb that you have to hold in one hand while you unwillingly do holy work with the other #just some thoughts. i can hit any character with the transmasc beam. watch me #drabble-a-day #drabble-a-day 2024 #fanfiction #spn #kevin tran

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minhosimthings · 1 year ago

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Hi!! What do you think of Chan x athlete y/n, and when she's done w her competition/performance he fucks her w "You did so so good. Daddy's proud of you"- kind of thing.

Yes I'm delusional as fuck. I also love Love LOVE your writing

A/N: ok this was legit so hot to write I love your brain anon 🥰 I made it kinda so that Chan is teasing reader in the beginning because why not? And OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH DARLING MMWAH 😗

Prizes for Pride

Warnings: smut MINORS DNI, fingering, swearing, use of Daddy, chan calls reader 'good girl', fem!reader, dom!chan

The way Chan's face lit up after seeing you scream out in joy and collapse on your knees in a mixture of emotions of exhaustion and idyll, you'd have thought he had won the award himself.

Watching you go up to the stands to collect a prize you had been training for, for such a long time, he felt like a proud mother duckling. But as his eyes laid on your sweat soaked shirt, hugging your figure so tightly perfectly framing all the places he loved to leave his marks, he couldn't control the bulge growing in his trousers.

"Channie!" You ran up to him in glee after all the impromptu photo sessions were completed. You threw your arms around his neck as he twirled you around in his arms, lifting you up with ease. "My little athlete." He cooed at you, ruffling your hair and giving you a quick peck on the top of your head, "Your real prize will be waiting at home darling." You had probably never changed into new clothes faster than that, after hearing Chan's words whisper hot breath onto your ear.

It seems Chan can’t contain himself any longer as he approaches you, fingers sidling up beneath the hem of the shirt. His lips are on you in an instant, pressing gently against that irresistible patch of exposed skin on your shoulder. A sigh falls from your lips and you melt into his touch. you close your eyes. His calloused palms knead over the flesh of your hips, earning a soft groan from you.

He smirks against your skin. “So quiet baby? This is your reward darling.” his breath fans along your neck as he kisses up towards your ear. Goosebumps rise on your skin, a shiver threatening to snake down your spine.

"C-Channie-" you moan. There’s a knowing second of quiet You’re flustered, trying to deflect his teasing words. the butterflies fluttering in your stomach have long since morphed into flames, burning like your skin as you wait for his next move.

Chan's jaw brushed against yours as you kissed him. Your head was tipped back against the pillow, Chan laying by your side, propped up on one elbow, his head angled down towards yours. The arm that wasn’t supporting his weight was skillfully placed so that two of his fingers were easily buried inside of you.

“That good that you can’t kiss me back, huh?” he whispered. Your eyes were screwed shut in pleasure but you could feel his lips smirking against yours.

His thumb bumped against your clit, rubbing small circles onto the sensitive nub. You moaned into his mouth, lips parting slightly, just enough for Chan to slip his tongue inside. You tried desperately to kiss him back but every time you would, his fingers would expertly move and you'd be back to square one. Lips parted, grazing against Chan's, struggling to kiss back.

His grasp tightens at the gasp of his name. He chuckles quietly, snaking a hand up over your stomach. the rough pad of his hand finds your breast, kneading it in his palm whilst his other hand holds you firm against him. He’s hardening behind you, bulge pressed against your scantily clad frame. His gaze is still trained on you in the mirror, dragging over the lush sight of your flushed face, your lips parted in small pants, the dark look in your eyes. He loves watching you fall apart at his smallest ministrations. more than half of his pleasure comes just from working you up like this, pushing you to the brink without even trying.

“daddy please,” you manage, voice constricted as you writhe against him. the ache between your legs is incessant, throbbing as you watch his expression above you.

"Please what my darling?" Chan chuckles into your neck, his tip teasing your labia. "Chan- need- your cock." You throat out. The room feels like it's spinning at a fast rate as Chan chuckles again. His cologne is like poison to you, wrapping you in tight corridors of pleasure and pain.

“there’s my good girl,” he says approvingly, the praise in his voice like music to your ears. You cry out, voice cracking as he applies pressure to the bundle of nerves with expertise. He knows your body like the back of his hand, knows exactly what drives you crazy. The pad of his finger dips further down, swirling through the mess of juices shining on your lips.

Mewling moans tear from your lips as he works you towards the edge. his lips are attached to your neck, abusing your skin to the point of saccharine tenderness. Wine red marks bloom over your skin. His hand falls away from your breast to toy with the hem of the shirt, lifting it up in the front just enough so that he can watch himself pleasuring you.

“You're daddy's good girl aren't you?” he prompts, moving closer as he palms his bulge through his boxers, then drags the waistband down just enough to let his length spring free. you hum at the sight, licking your lips as he swipes a thumb over the angry red tip, spreading a bead of precum over it. he spits into his hand, pumping the moisture over his cock before positioning himself above you. two of his fingers push the fabric of your panties out of the way, and he drags the cockhead through your folds, coating it in your arousal.

"Need you daddy please." You mewl, mind going numb for his touch. "Daddy knows baby." He smiles at you, "Been wanting to stretch you out since I saw you there on the stands. My good little girl, coming out on top like she always does."

You cry out, the feeling of him pushing into you driving you mad. It’s been ages since you last had him inside of you, and there’s a sliver of pain as he bottoms out inside of your dripping cunt. Waves of pleasure accompany the sting of the stretch, and your eyes flutter as he rocks slowly into you. He’s watching the way his cock splits you open, low grunts coming from deep in his chest. He shifts, one hand pressing on your lower stomach, thumb swirling over your clit. you cry out, head falling back onto the pillows. The other hand lifts one of your legs, pushing it towards your chest.

“Daddy's so proud of you baby,” he grunts, brows pulled together as he snaps his hips into yours with particular force. "So fucking proud.” He’s eyeing your swollen cunt, his thumb massaging a steady pattern into the bundle of nerves. You clench around him involuntarily, your insides so swollen and tender that you imagine you can feel the ridges of his veins pulsing against your walls.

“Daddy, i’m close,” you sob, your voice shaking. You feel his hips snap against yours, skin slapping in the quiet night as he drills you into the mattress. The room smells of him, like cologne and something woody, and it drives you even closer to the edge. He’s taking over your senses; the sight of him hovering over you, muscles in his abdomen clenching and rippling as he fucks into you is enough to make you scream on its own.

He’s not far behind, hips meeting yours with a force that is almost painful, though you’re far too distracted by the fireworks blooming behind your eyelids. You feel him spill into you, hot seed pouring into your soaked cunt and making your thighs shake. His groans are hoarse, a couple grunted curses and growls of your name joining your chorus of moans in the room. He sits up once you’ve both ridden out your high, heads swimming as he watches his cum spill from between your legs when he pulls out.

Chan cleans you up, fingers that were once moving like a maniac's inside your cunt, now delicately touching your legs with warm towels. He holds you tightly in his arms, warmth beaming from him to your body.

"I'm proud of you darling so proud." He presses kisses to your forehead and all over your face, "You'll get a proper celebration tomorrow don't worry." He smirks into your neck, "This was just the beginning."

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