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soundcrusher · 1 year ago

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The super secret thing that's definitely Hot Rod x Overlord

Okay, so, it might have taken me three days to finsish this, but it's done now. Here's the "Secret Option that's definitely not Hot Rod x Overlord" that you guys voten on here.

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As a small sumary:

In this little story, Hot Rod never joined a faction after Nyon burned. Instead he became a drifter before becoming a mercenary who works for both factions from time to time.

(Please keep in mind that I'm working with whatever I can gather from TFWiki about the characters and their stories from the IDW contenuity.)

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With that being said, please enjoy a roughly 11 pages long fanfic with a pairing that should (probably) have never happened.

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Nyon burned, and no-one cared.

His people died, and no-one cared.

He was the only one left, and no-one seemed to care about that. They only wanted to claim one of the last known survivors of Nyon as their own. Not because of what he could offer to their cause, but rather as a symbol of how cruel their enemy could be.

It was sickening, because neither side didn’t think about what their claim would mean to Hot Rod. The Autobots saw it as a duty to take in a stranded mech without a home as a sign of good will, while the Decepticons only wanted him as a symbol of what a corrupted government could do to you. And call him selfish, headstrong or stupid, but Hot Rod did not want to become either. He, like every Nyonian buried under the ashes of their home and burned by the flames of their deathly freedom, would never join a faction that failed to help those in need.

The leaders only saw their goal after all. They could have helped, but neither did. No-one came when they called for help, and no-one tried to save them. They were pushed to the end. They fought till the end, and only now are the Autobots and Decepticons coming. Trying to claim the last remains of Nyon as their own.

And Hot Rod wouldn’t stand for that. No matter how much they tried to convince him, the young speedster only looked at them, before turning his back on everything. Walking away in search of a new home and purpose, far away from everything that provided a stark reminder of what he has lost, but Nyon’s downfall always found him.

At first, it was a single Autobot caught up in a trap set by Decepticons. And despite his burning hate for either faction, Hot Rod couldn’t turn his back on someone who was in need. So, he helped the Autobot out. Bringing them to safety, before leaving them alone. He couldn’t risk getting on their radar and getting another ‘Recruitment Speech’. He’s gotten sick of them the first time around. Especially those made by Optimus.

‘Freedom is the right of all sentient beings’, what a load of robo-bullcrap. If it truly was the right of all, why were they fighting and destroying life and freedom across the galaxy. Yes, the Decepticons are also to blame, but still, the Prime should be more self-conscious about his own decisions. And that comes from a known hot head”

Either way, this whole mess he found himself in started with one Autobot, and then it just spiraled. Everywhere he went, everywhere he tried to run to Nyon followed him. And then, when he thought about all he had lost, there was always someone in desperate need of help.

And Hot Rod always ended up helping whoever needed him. Be it Autobot, Decepticon, Neutral, or a poor organic caught up in the middle of Megatron’s and Optimus’ spike measuring contest. He was always there to help out, and despite his late friends' wishes, despite everything they hoped for him, Hot Rod took up arms and learned how to shoot, to fight, take on and dismantle ‘bots and ‘cons bigger than him, stronger than him. And when the factions learned about it, Hot Rod found himself facing them again. Over and over, like an endless song stuck in your head.

“Join us!”

“We could need a mech like you.”

“Why are you throwing away your skills, when you could use them for something greater?”

Those were just a few of the phrases Hot Rod heard while helping out, and he hated them. His skills weren’t supposed to be used by one of the sides. They were supposed to help whoever needed him. Whoever was faced with a situation like his own, like Nyonians, where the only way out was death.

So what if he sometimes helped out Autobots, only to face them on the other side in the next battle? This was war, and he was a drifter turned mercenary, Hot Rod had no obligations to anyone. No matter how many of those he fought with called him a traitor for taking on jobs offered to him. Let them think what they want, Hot Rod knows who he is. The last Nyonian he knows, and one who wouldn’t bow before anyone.

Not before the senate, not before Optimus Prime and not before Megatron, even if he was currently working for the latter one.

At least working for Megatron was easier than the Prime. Yes, he might get the occasional question as to why he isn’t joining his quest, but at least none of those questions were ‘Recruitment Speeches’. Not anymore at least.

But then again, working with the Decepticons also had its down-sides. Especially when it came to the mechs and femmes in the faction. Some were okay, some were annoying, and then there were those who seemed to have it out for him. And with ‘out for him’, Hot Rod meant that they were either trying to pick a fight with, or kill him.

Although, it was mostly the bigger ‘cons asking for a fight, because they never truly believe him that he can take them down. And yet, he always proves them wrong. Right now, he was sitting on the downed Decepticon he just fought while cleaning his rifle. It wasn’t his fault that the big lug got knocked out while fighting him. Also, Hot Rod was quick to notice how others seemed to avoid him whenever he was perching on one of his defeated opponents. So, this quickly became a habit. Not only because it kept others away, but also because it added to his image of a menacing mercenary. And such an image is always good.

But, much to Hot Rod’s disdain, one ‘con seemed to not take the hint. Or at least, he chose to ignore the hostile field the speedster let seep through his cracks, whenever he wanted to make sure others knew not to talk with him. Thus why he internally gagged, as he heard all too familiar footsteps come his way.

Great, as if he didn’t have anything better to do.

“Look what the cyber-cat dragged in…” Muttered Hot Rod quietly to himself, as he looked over at the mech. “Overlord, didn’t expect you to come back so soon. I would offer you a chair, but… yeeaaah. There’s none around.”

Overlord only smirked, as he waved one of his hands in a dismissive way, while the other was placed on his hip. “Oh, that’s okay. I’ve been sitting most of the day either way. That little mission was over in nothing more than a second.”

��Sounds like Megatron didn’t give you the interesting one. Heh, but you’re not the only one who’s been pushed to the side lines.” Hot Rod said and finished cleaning his rifle. Storing the cleaning rag in his subspace, before getting down from his perch and walking away. “But hey, I don’t mind it. Just means work is easier for me and I’ll be gone sooner than later.”

“So, you’re leaving again? Didn’t think you would abandone a fight that easily, Hot Rod.”

The speedster only laughed and shrugged his shoulders. Hiding his annoyance when he suddenly noticed that he had company when walking down the hall towards his temporary hab-suite. “Oh, I’m not abandoning a fight. I’m merely doing my job, while hoping to get an opportunity to finally see the… let’s say ‘fulfillment of my dream’.”

“And what would that entail?”

Overlord sure didn’t take social cues, or he opted to ignore them. Hot Rod was betting on the latter, while praying to Primus that his hab-suit would finally show up. He couldn’t stand the company of others, especially when they were nothing more than murderers who killed just for the sake of killing.

Hypocritic, he knows, but what else can he say? Everyone’s going to become a killer sooner or later when getting involved in this war. Doesn’t mean that Hot Rod had to enjoy it, even if there was a small part deep down that somehow relished in the fact that the mechs who didn’t help his people found their end at his hands. It’s poetic, in a way.

"Many things. Nyon being rebuilt would be a part of it, but… I would say seeing Megatron’s and Optimus’ grayed out form would be the biggest part. I wouldn’t even care who did it, as long as it happens.” That seemed to shut Overlord up for a second, and Hot Rod reveled in the silence. Until the bigger mech decided to speak up again.

“Would you try to kill Megatron on your own?” Asked Overlord, and this time, Hot Rod wasn’t sure what to think of the bigger mech. He didn’t like his tone. It was too flat and lacked his usual dramatic tendencies. Making him feel like prey, and Hot Rod hated that feeling.

“No, I’m not stupid.” Was the speedster's answer, before he let out a sigh. “Everyone knows he’s your kill. And frankly, I wouldn’t take your chance away to fight him.” He said with a laugh. “As I said, seeing his grayed out form is enough for me… Just… may I have one request?”

“And that would be?”

“A front seat when you get your re-match. I want to see the look on his face when he realizes that he can’t win.”

A smirk was all Hot Rod got as an answer, before entering his temporary hab-suit. And as he sat down on his berth, rifle stored away next to it and a knife placed in an easy to grab spot, did Hot Rod think about what exactly he said. Hopefully he didn’t make himself interesting for the big-lipped psycho. He didn’t need the attention of someone who’s known for his obsession over bloodshed and killing. It would only lead to problems. And Hot Rod didn’t need even more problems.

But those fears seemed unfounded, because when he awoke from recharge the next day, Overlord was long gone. Send to a mission which Hot Rod found out was far enough away from him. And so, the Nyonian continued his work for the Decepticons, before going his own way again. Leaving as soon as he got his payment and deciding to keep away from the war for a while.

And a while became a long time, because, as the war dragged on and he had to fight and kill more than before, Hot Rod found himself constantly confronted with the darkest part of his spark. A part that constantly tried to justify his killing by saying it was vengeance for his fallen people, but who was he kidding? War turns everyone into a killer, and Hot Rod was fighting with his urge to just go wild. Thus why he distanced himself from both factions from time to time. He didn’t need a longer list of victims, although he would always keep two spots open. Just in case.

His struggle to keep his darkest part at bay is also why he joined many ships and crews not as a killer but as a security guard. Traveling from place to place, until his latest crew crash landed on a planet he didn’t bother to learn the name of. Although, maybe he should have, because a group of Decepticons herded together the remaining survivors of the crash and him, and led them all back to a prison. An Autobot looking prison that was entirely run by Decepticons.

Great, this was just what Hot Rod needed. A place where he’ll probably rot until the end of his days, or die a lot sooner. Hopefully it’s the last, he’s always hated being trapped in one place. It reminds him too much of Nyon and how many of his people must have died trapped underneath rubble or in a room forced to slowly die.

But alas, fate seemed to make his life a cruel joke, because when his temporary crew was brought before the warden… it was Overlord. And Hot Rod found himself regretting his life choices, because out of all the planets he could have crash landed on, it was the one where Overlord was running a prison.

He really needs to have a long talk with Primus after this, because why must he torture him with having to face the one mech he didn’t want to see? But hey, at least Overlord didn’t recognize him when they were in front of him, and didn’t say anything when they were all herded towards the nearest cells. And as long as he kept his head and spoilers low, he should be able to-

“Hot Rod?”

Primus damn it! His luck was never here to stay, was it? So, with a deep inhale, Hot Rod put on his most charismatic smirk, before turning around. “Howdy Overlord, long time no see.” He said, while awkwardly finger gunning at the bigger mech. “Eeeeeeither way, I’m pretty sure your guys are supposed to bring me to a nice cell. Sooooo, see ya later?”

“No. I would rather see you now. We have… a lot of catching up to do.” And with that, Hot Rod was whisked away by Overlord. Separated from his temporary crew and led to another part of the prison. One that looked more like mechs were supposed to live there, rather than being imprisoned. Which means, there’s only one way how this is going to end, and Hot Rod wasn’t ready for that. Not even when Overlord simply pushed him into the biggest hab-suit he’s ever seen and locked the door behind them.

Great, just great, he was locked in with a mech known for killing anyone he pleases. And who was currently lounging on something that looked like a mix between a berth and a plush chair from earth. Weird choice of furniture, but who was he to judge. Hot Rod didn’t have the greatest taste either.

Still, with Overlord ‘seated’, the speedster remained standing. His hands fidgeted by his side, as his eyes roamed around the room. Mapping out possible escape routes, while he was already preparing a strategy in case this encounter would end in a fight.

“Well, well, well, look what the cyber-cat dragged in.” Said Overlord with the most self-serving smirk Hot Rod has ever seen. “I didn’t expect to see you this soon, Hot Rod. And this time, there are even enough chairs that I can offer you one to sit on.”

“Very clever, Lordy. Using my own words against me. Didn’t think you would remember them.” Was the answer Hot Rod gave, while walking around the room. Noting some energon stains littering either the floor, walls or ceiling. “And it looks like you’ve been… busy in here…”

“Of course. A gladiatorial pit doesn’t run itself after all and, well, you could say my sense of decor is quite… explicit.” Said Overlord, as he watched Hot Rod walk around. Observing how the speedster’s hands would sometimes form into fists, while his spoiler shook from something the Phase Sixer couldn’t quite place yet. “But it seems I’m not the only one who’s been busy, ‘Flaming Death’.” A hitch of the spoilers. One that made Overlord smirk even wider. “It seems you’ve made yourself quite the name, Roddy.”

“… A name I hate, but it seems to stick with me.” Was all Hot Rod said, before sitting down on a chair. “Either way, why am I not in a cell? Because I doubt this is only a way for us to ‘reconnect’, Overlord. If you want news about the Decepticons, I don’t know much. Haven’t worked with them for quite some time.”

“Oh no, that’s not why I invited you in here.” He didn’t like Overlord’s smile. Nor did he like how the Phase Sixer was sitting up, arms propped up on his legs and hands clasped together as he leaned forward. A smirk similar to that of the cheshire cat stretching across his face. “I was hoping you would stay here for a while. You see, the fights have become somewhat repetitive. No-one seems to know how to properly entertain my me-”

“You.” Hot Rod cut in. Barely containing his shit eating grin, as he saw one of Overlord’s eyes twitch in annoyance. “No-one seems to know how to properly entertain you. And let me guess, you’re hoping that I could breathe some fresh air into the fights by participating myself. Sorry Lordy, but I’m trying not to fight or kill anyone currently.”

Overlord looked deeply into Hot Rod’s eyes. Trying to find something that would or could indicate that the speedster was lying, but it seemed that his ‘friend’ was speaking the truth. But alas, he could see something simmering underneath the surface of the truth. And that was enough for him. “What a pity then. I know how much you hate recruitment speeches, but my proposition surely will interest you.”

“And what would that be?” Hot Rod didn’t like this. Hearing a speech from Optimus or Megatron was one thing, but Overlord played in a different kind of league. And he was never sure if Overlord didn’t know about the darker part of his spark. The one that liked killing.

“No need to be so tense, Roddy. It’s quite simple. Stay for a few days and join me during some of the matches. You don’t have to fight, only watch. And if you happen to want to join, I won’t stop you.”

This sounded like a good deal. One Hot Rod could do, but he was still unsure. There surely was a catch. “And what if I don’t want to?”

“There’s always a nice cell waiting for you and then you will have no choice but to fight.”

Damn it, that was a good point. And considering how he was currently at Overlord’s mercy, if that mech even knew the meaning of that word, his hands were tied. So, Hot Rod heaved a deep sigh, before nodding. “Alright, but I’ll be allowed to decide when I go. You know why I don’t like sticking around one place for a long time. I get too twitchy whenever I can’t move on.”

“Of course, of course. But I would still advise you to, at least, stay for some stellar cycles. You can’t really get the full experience otherwise.”

And so, Hot Rod stayed. Joining Overlord whenever there was a fight happening and watching the poor mechs dying for a chance of freedom, but the speedster knew that it was a lie. Overlord never lets anyone live, and he only needed to witness one winner getting annihilated by the Phase Sixer after their hard earned winning streak, for him to get into the arena himself.

At first, he made sure the deaths would be quick. Hot Rod hated dragging them out. No-one was supposed to suffer when he fought them. Not when there was already enough suffering across the galaxy, but then he was confronted with his next opponent. And Hot Rod’s blood started to boil.

He remembered the mech from when Optimus came to gaze upon the burned remains of Nyon. That mech dared to insult his city, his people. Calling them cowards for destroying their home and not finding another way out. And for once, Hot Rod didn’t hold back, nor did he let the Autobot die a quick death.

No, Hot Rod took his time with killing this mech

At first, he made the mech stagger and fall by weaving between his punches. His opponent was taller than him, but this wasn’t the first time Hot Rod faced off against someone that was bigger and stronger. And neither was it his first time fighting a mech who had an ego bigger than what was healthy. So, it didn’t take him long until the Autobot was tired out, and with one quick punch between his chest plates, the big fella fell. With Hot Rod quickly descending upon him. Ribbing through cables and painting the ground of the arena with his opponents energon, until the Autobot could no-longer move. The speedster hard removed every cable needed for that.

However, Hot Rod didn’t finish him off yet. Rather, he took one look at the mech, before igniting his fire. Coating his right arm with flames burning hotter than they should while he slowly pressed it against his opponents chest. Melting his chest plating as Hot Rod’s hand steadily buried its way closer and closer to the mech’s spark. And when he reached his destiny, Hot Rod stared into the Autobots eyes. Tilting his head slightly to the side while smiling sweetly, before plunging his hand deeper. Burning him from the inside.

And only when it was done, did Hot Rod look up. Staring Overlord straight in the eyes, as he slowly got up. Energon that wasn’t his own dripping from his frame, before he turned around and left the arena.

He had given them a spectacle. He had given Overlord exactly what he wanted, and now, he was tired. Primus, was he tired. Using his flames freely without restriction was one thing, but using them in a concentrated way that made it able for him to burn through another Cybertronian’s plating was another thing. There were many things he had to consider after all. The spot where he was concentrating all his flames to, the intensity of the heat used and the willpower to pull through.

And that alone made Hot Rod tired. Tired enough to not notice the looming presence following him.

“That was quite the show you put on, Roddy.” Great, Overlord coming after him was the last thing he needed. Especially when he was low on fuel and his frame was screaming at him to rest.

“Can we not do this now Overlord? I’m not really… in the right mood for whatever this is going to be.” Hot Rod sighed, as he felt his body slowly shutting down. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone all out, but pit be damned, it was worth it. Even if it was just to shut up the dark part of his spark and, in a twisted way, protect his fallen city and people's honor.

“I can see that. Using those flames of yours must have really tired you out.” Overlord grinned, as he scooped up the exhausted speedster and started to carry him down the halls. “I can’t recall ever seeing them. Nor have you ever said anything about them. How come?”

Hot Rod didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help but lean against Overlord, before answering the big lug. “I just didn’t think it would interest anyone. Flames aren’t really that special after all. There are far cooler abilities out there.”

“And yet, I must admit that they fascinate me. Seeing you burn through your twelfth opponent with such ferocity, such bloodlust, one could start to think that you relish in the pain of those you kill.”

Hot Rod knew that Overlord was toying with him, but frankly, he was too tired to indulge him. So, he simply shrugged his shoulders as best as he could, before closing his eyes. Thinking more about the fact that he’s killed twelve mechs so far, with only the last one being a brutal death. Seems like he still has his self-control in check. Good.

"Twelfth… huh? So, did you come to pick up the scraps and finish me off? Don’t think that that would be satisfying for you.”

“Oh no. I’m not here to fight you. I’m just here to make sure you’re taken care of, before your ‘final fight’. I want you to be presentable and at full strength after all.” That didn’t sound good. The final fight, from what Hot Rod has seen, was one between Overlord and whoever the unfortunate Cybertronian was that got so far.

“Sorry… but that won’t happen. The second I can, I’m calling in our deal and leaving this place. And you can’t really do anything against it, Lordy.”

“Are you sure I can’t do anything against it?” Asked Overlord with that degradingly silky tone of voice that caused Hot Rod’s internals to churn in hate. And, maybe, something else. But he didn’t say so. Instead, the speedster online his optics and glared up at the smug looking bastard towering over him. Growling lowly, as he hurled a small blast of fire at Overlord’s face. But considering his state, it didn’t reach its target. Dissipating the second the blast left his outstretched arm.

Causing Overlord to let out a chuckle, as he readjusted his hold on the weakened speedster. Holding Hot Rod’s arm, while gently squeezing it. “I take this as a ‘No’, Roddy. And if I were you, I wouldn’t try to argue with me. Not when you like your arm.”

“Suck my exhaust pipe.”

“Maybe later.”

Later came all too soon for Hot Rod and, turns out, Overlord didn’t really mean an actual fight when he told him he had to be ready for his ‘final fight’. It was a proposition. One he wasn’t sure if he should accept, but considering everything else, he said yes. And ended up with more than just Overlord sucking his exhaust pipe. Because it turns out that Overlord doesn’t just have very kissable lips, he’s also very good with them… and with everything else too…

That’s also why Hot Rod finds himself fighting back a deep blush whenever he remembers that night. Even as he moved on, leaving the prison and planet, the memory of that night never truly left him. It was something else, and to be honest, it was probably the first time Hot Rod felt understood or even heard out. And the only part that caused some sort of anger to rise whenever he thought about that was, that it’s Overlord.

That guy’s supposed to be a dangerous but charming mass murderer who kills only for the fun of it. Not someone Hot Rod feels comfortable around… and yet, the spark wants what the spark wants. And so, the speedster did the only thing he could think of.

Run as far as he could and wait until the war was over, before going back to Cybertron. He wanted a new start, something that could give him a chance to break out of the circle of violence he found himself in, and yet, the only jobs he got were those that caused others pain. And those only caused the dark part of Hot Rod’s spark to grow, no matter how deep he tried to push it back down. It always rose up, just like Overlord said.

Maybe that’s why he joined that weird crew when they were looking for Cybertronians who wanted to join their quest in finding the Knights of Cybertron. Maybe he thought that the Knights could help him with his problem. They were Knights after all, they surely fought some mechs. They should know how to deal with the urge to kill, right? They could help him, right?

Either way, joining the crew might have been the wrong call. Not because it wasn’t fun, oh no, despite him being surrounded by Autobots, Hot Rod had a blast. He even found a friend in the swordmech named Drift. His problems were more with the crew members who knew him from his time as mercenary. Especially that Whirl fella always tried to pick a fight with him, and Hot Rod always obliged. Whipping that mech’s aft over and over, and always landing in the brig for it. If he didn’t know it better, he would say that that big blue mech was after him. Then again, he did kind of steal his version of the Autobot Codex and vandalize it, so, yea. It’s kinda deserved.

But still, no matter how many adventures they got into, or how often he fought with Whirl, Hot Rod couldn’t escape his urges. They always came back to haunt him, especially after he visited Rung to talk about Nyon. It was turning into a problem, one his new and only friend always seemed to notice. And then, Hot Rod would find himself seated next to the swordmech. Trying his best to meditate with him, but it was harder than he thought.

Things have only gotten harder for Hod Rod since the peace time started, and they seemed to only get worse when it was discovered that none other than Overlord was held on the ship. Like, wasn’t his life already hard enough? Did Primus really have to make him face the one mech he loathes and maybe loves the most?

Primus was probably using him as nothing more than a joke, but at least he got to fight the Phase Sixer. And this time, Hot Rod didn’t hold back like the other times the crew got into a fight. Oh no, he went into the fight with fists raised and fire blazing. Taking some of his new crew members by surprise, because they only knew him as a neutral mech who, sometimes, got into fights with Whirl. Not as someone who would willingly go up against someone like Overlord and flirt while doing so. It sure was fun.

“Well, well, well, look what the cyber-cat let loose. Haven’t seen you since Garrus-9, Lordy.” Chuckled Hot Rod, as he dodged one of Overlord’s strikes by ducking and rolling to the side. “Don’t tell me you’ve been… hey!… Waiting for me in that cell.” Another dodge, before he sent a blast of fire into the Phase Sixers direction. Successfully distracting him from stepping on poor Pipes and probably killing him. “If I had known, I would have visited you sooner.”

“You left so soon after our special night and never came back, I thought you'd forgotten about me.” Chuckled the big mech, before driving his fist into the ship’s wall and ripping out a pipe. Which he hurled after poor Pipes. Knocking him off his feets but not killing him. “But had I known that you were here, I would have broken out sooner.”

“Awww, sounds like I’m your new favorite mech! Heh, I bet it’s my charm that won you over.” Hot Rod quickly struck a pose, before jumping to the side and doing a somersault to dodge another one of Overlord’s punches. Doing his trademark finger guns as soon as he stood up-right again. “Come one, admit it, ya missed me!”

“Of course I’ve missed you, Roddy. None of the mechs I’ve met after your departure have screamed like you have.”

That seemed to shut Hod Rod up, because the flamboyant mech couldn’t quite figure out what Overlord meant. And so, he put his hands together and two fingers against his lips, before moving everything forwards and pointing at the mech in front of him. “You’ve interfaced with someone else? You don’t really strike me as someone who would do something like that.”

“Oh no. I actually meant your screams when you burned the hole into that Autobot’s chest.” Answered Overlord, before quickly smacking away the pipe Hot Rod picked up and threw at him. “But now that you mention it, I also missed those screams.” And with each word, Overlord walked closer and closer to Hot Rod, until the small speedster was literally trapped between a wall and the Phase Sixer. And as soon as he was sure Hot Rod couldn’t escape the situation, Overlord leaned down to whisper straight into his audials. Purring softly. “And I’ve been itching for another ‘fight’, little flame.”

But before Hot Rod could say anything, they got interrupted by some of the crew. Much to Overlord’s dislike. “Can’t you see we’re having a moment!?” He yelled, before noticing exactly who interrupted them. “Ah. Why hello Maximus. I haven’t seen you since Garrus-9 either.”

And then, everything turned into chaos.

Hod Rod still can’t remember how he managed to somehow slip past the two the second Maximus bounced on Overlord like a rapid turbofox ready to tear out someone’s spark, but hey. When he was still a mercenary he didn’t really question things like this either. So, he simply stood there. Watching, taking notes on the fighting styles of both mechs and waving at those of the crew who decided to join the fight. And when asked why he was standing to the side, Hot Rod simply shrugged his shoulders and said, “Would you get in between this?” Which was met with understanding nods, until things got even messier.

And now, Hot Rod found himself sitting in that one cell together with Overlord and that poor minicon Rewind. Or at least with whatever remained of Rewind. It was a shame, not only because of Chromedone, but also because Hot Rod kind of liked the witty minicon. He was fun to talk to, even though he often had to pretend to be someone else in front of him. Just like with everyone else.

“You seem unhappy to be stuck with me.” Said Overlord, after the silence between them grew too large. “And here I thought our reunion would be a lot better.”

“Well…” Started Hot Rod with a rather annoyed tone. “ You just killed some of my crew members and poor Rewind over there, I think ‘unhappy’ is underselling it a little bit.”

“Since when did you care about other mechs? As far as I can remember, you never cared about anyone else but you.” He scoffed while waving a hand around. “But it seems like a few years apart can change even the most interesting mechs. What happened to the Hot Rod who fought bigger mechs than him and then used them as his perch? What happened to the Hot Rod that killed mechs with a single shot, and then joked about it? Where is he?”

“Gone! He’s gone, Lordy. Gone, buried and never coming back.” Growled Hot Rod, before smacking his hands against his face. “And honestly, I was happy with that, but then you had to come back! Just walked right into my life and dug him up again… Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“What!? Nevermind, listen. It would have been better if he-” Hot Rod was about to explain why exactly it was better for him to have that part of his life buried, but Overlord stopped him with a quick kiss.

“It’s a shame to see you bury such a lovely part of yourself, little flame.” Purred the bigger mech, before sitting back up and pulling Hot Rod onto his lap. “Do you know how thrilling it is to watch you tear through one mech after the other? To see you turn them into grayed out husks of their former selves? I loved seeing you take out all that buried anger on mechs who deserved nothing else but death.” Overlord chuckled, before his smile turned into a frown as he saw how Hot Rod was avoiding his gaze. So, he softly placed a finger underneath the smaller mech’s chin and tilted it upwards. Giving him no other choice than to look into his smug face. “Why are you so scared of a part that’s so beautiful?”

“Maybe because if I… if I show it, others won’t want to be with me? Because it reminds me too much of Nyon? I don’t know…”

“And even if others would avoid you if they knew about it, what does it matter? You still got me, Roddy. I would never turn away from someone as beautiful as you.”

Hot Rod couldn’t help himself not to laugh. This was cheesy, while also sounding impossible. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

But Overlord only smiled, before leaning down to press another kiss onto Hot Rod’s lips. “If I were, you would be dead.”

And then, it was their ‘final fight’ all over again.

#transformers #hot rod #overlord #hot rod x overlord #idw #you people wanted it; I'm just the littel guy who wrote this #if someone got some criticism; let me know #I know that I'm not really good at writing #or portraying certain characters ^^'#valveplug #<- even though it's just hinted at #tw violence #tw minor character death #tw character death #tw mention of death

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passionmaterial · 1 year ago

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So back when the VA For Cyberverse Roddy requested the Barbie ship template that was going around with SoundRod, I drew this and never really posted it.

You can tell I made some adjustments from the line art, like Roddy's Smile and the signs saying "Soundrod" instead of Soundwave and Hot Rod.

But this is one of my favorite arts (and the actor commented when I posted it on tiktok so-)

#cyberverse #soundrod #soundwave x hot rod #rodwave #Cyberverse Roddys va is a huge Soundrod shipper.#you probably know that if you have been in the Cyberverse part of the fandom for a while

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webism · 2 months ago

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‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎HOT ROD !

After getting hooked on your taste, pornstar!satoru invites you and your pornstar boyfriend to shoot a threesome in the countryside.

pornstar!suguru x pornstar!satoru x fem!reader | part one, two

cw; ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she/her pronouns used for reader, unprotected sex, creampies, oral (m and f receiving), anal (m receiving), mmf threesome, voyeurism.

The sun has barely risen, the typical tangelo orange of a morning sky is yet to develop—instead, you watch a dull pink canvas the sky, turned more of a rose colour through the car's windshield. Suguru Geto, your lover and costar alike, keeps his hand on your thigh as he drives. Occasionally, he'll tap his fingers against your exposed flesh along to the beat of the old niche rock song blaring through the radio. You have the volume up too high—which isn't good for your ears, but is great for the soul—and the windows rolled all the way down. The wind is in your hair, which aids the setting heat of Summer in Japan. It's quite pleasant out here. You're filming at a location you can only reach through an open road that goes right past some very scenic hills, and you're having a lovely time just enjoying your lover's company. Nothing but the two of you.

That being said—something sits at the forefront of Suguru's mind. You can tell his thoughts are preoccupied, having been with him so long gets you a sweet look into that pretty mind of his. So, when the strings of an electric guitar die out, you turn the radio down and shift in your seat to face him better.

“Cold feet?” You ask.

His hair is up and out of his face, save for a stand that falls over his eyes, though it’s pushed back by the wind regardless. He glances at you, smiles, and looks away.

“I don’t get cold feet," he says flatly, looking at you for half a second before his focus returns to the road. “I'm just interested to see if he'll fuck as good with me there, of if the poor guy will get performance anxiety."

Ah, jealousy it is. The flat kind, because your sweet-boned lover never gets openly jealous. You have to settle for half-bitten quips. You smile, "he didn't seem like the type to get performance anxiety."

Suguru hums in a noncommittal way, his lips pulling inwards. He squeezes the fat of your thigh and taps a finger against your skin. Your skin heats under his touch, it always does. You might earn your living through the most sensual of touches, but none of them quite set you alight like Sugurus does.

Well, except for Satoru. You try to avoid closing your eyes, in fear of being met with the memory of his cock sinking into you rather than the darkness of your closed eyelids. You feel half-guilty, despite Suguru's obvious itch to see you laid out for Satoru Gojo of all people. You know him, you wouldn't be driving forty minutes through the countryside if Suguru wasn't at least a little bit obsessed with the fantasy.

Satoru Gojo, a known name in the porn industry, got to fuck you stupid only a week ago. He had asked you out for drinks after, and though you rejected him verbally, you’re starting to fear that your mind didn’t reject him in the same regard. You had come home that night to your sweet Suguru, and told him all about being hit on by your co-star, to which he laughed.

And oh the irony, that your Suguru was balls-deep inside of you that night when the two of you got an email from Satoru’s agent– an offer, an expensive one. One shoot, a week from then, a threesome between his new favourite love birds and, of course, him.

Suguru remembers Satoru like he was the season prior, like the winter that bled into you, the spring. They did a few films together, Satoru got a little too stuck in Sugurus mind and then, once their contracts were up, they never spoke again.

The rising sun makes him squint against the road— he almost misses the turn off to the countryside estate you had been told to meet at. The place is nice, big, and you’re starting to wonder just how widely distributed this porno will be if the producer is shelling out so much money just for an estate to rent out for half a day.

“With how much they’re paying us, I half expected the budget for location to allow for a crack den at most,” Suguru snorts as he pulls in through the large paved driveway.

“No kidding,” you hum. With this paycheck, you’d just be greedy looking for work in the next few months.

Suguru parks and undoes his seatbelt with a sideways glance in your direction. “We’re a bit early,” he notes. “But it never hurts to get a feel for the place, talk to our co-star for a minute or two.”

You smile. “Mhm, talk.”

“Ready to get fucked for cash?” Suguru snorts, and opens his door to get out of the car. You follow suit, rolling your eyes at his crude words when your feet hit the ground and you’re closing your door behind you.

You walk around the car to meet your boyfriend, and he greets you with a pinch to your ass and a kiss to your temple. You’d recognise something poetic in the contrast of his actions if your mind wasn’t so preoccupied with thoughts of performing for him in only a few moments.

Despite both being pornstars, you rarely take scenes together. Threesomes aren’t a frequent venture— this is something relatively untapped for the both of you. And though you’re sure it would never jeopardise your relationship at all, you can’t help but entertain the worries that creep in. Will Suguru really not mind sharing?

You aren’t sure what’s worse— the thought of him getting overly jealous of Satoru and cutting the scene short, or the thought of Suguru not minding in the slightest as you get fucked stupid by another man. A little possession never goes unappreciated on your end.

“Hey,” Suguru’s silken voice brings you back to the now. “You okay? We can turn around and speed off into the sunrise if you want to leave.”

You grin. “I’m good. Excited, even.”

Your boyfriend nods and leads the way to the estate's front door. It’s closed, which is a little odd considering the production crew will be coming in and out with equipment and the such. You furrow your eyebrows and realise your car is the only one here—maybe you’re earlier than you realised.

“You checked the shoot time, right?” you ask.

“Yes, love,” Suguru makes it to the front door and tries the handle only to find it locked. “Fuck, maybe I should have triple checked.”

He presses a thick finger to the doorbell button and glances to you as the sound of an overly upbeat chime echoes through the estate. Maybe it’s the wrong place, too lavish to be true. Maybe it’s the wrong date, even. Maybe—

The door swings open, and standing to greet you with a knowing grin is Satoru Gojo.

His eyes meet yours first, and then drop to take in the rest of you. Something soft flashes over his face. Lust, perhaps, or appreciation, maybe both. His arms cross over his chest, leaning his body weight on the doorframe as he flits his gaze to your boyfriend, and his eyes return.

“Long time no see, lovebirds. Just on time," he chirps, stepping aside to let you in. "Excuse the mess, I just moved in."

It takes a moment for your brain to register his words, and Suguru is right behind you in thought. "This is your place?" he asks, appraising the foyer as he walks in.

“Mhm,” Gojo replies, and though you expect his lilt to be more cocky, he speaks smooth like silk. “The city is too… busy for me. Plus.. saves a dollar on renting out a house to film in, right?”

You can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips: from the looks of his home you doubt he’d blink an eye at paying rent for a night of filming. Still, you don’t know if he’s just trying to show off, or if he really wants his home to play backdrop for the shoot. But whatever the case, he definitely thinks it’s clever on his behalf to lead the both of you here. It worked, you give it to him, but damn.

You look around, taking in everything that catches your eye – the sleek furnishings, a wide kitchen to the left, and an elegant living room straight ahead. All of it feels clean and welcoming. You wonder, idly, what it's like for Gojo to live in a space like this all alone – if he is alone, that is. The question remains unanswered as Gojo leads the two of you down the hall until you reach another door and slip inside.

The bedroom you end up in is stunning; a double bed dominates the centre of the room with fluffy duvets thrown haphazardly over top, whilst the walls are painted a warm, calming shade of grey. The carpet is plush and dark brown in colour, the curtains hanging at either side of the grand windows allow for plenty of natural light to flood the room. There's a tripod set up with a very expensive looking camera pointed directly at the bed: Satoru points to it and grins at you and Suguru, "our camera crew."

You furrow your eyebrows, but Suguru speaks up before you can. "It's just us?"

Satoru nods, crossing his corded arms and he flits his gaze between the two of you. "Yes. I did specify it was a private shoot, lovebirds."

Your boyfriend settles in closer beside you than before, you can feel the heat from his body as he crosses his own arms, a mirror of the white haired man in front of you. "I figured it was a private production shoot," he speaks cautiously. "The email I got was from an agent, not you directly."

Satoru looks unperturbed. "'Course," he says languidly. "She handles all my correspondence."

Gojo turns to the dresser and, from the top drawer, pulls out two white envelopes. Your eyes linger a little too long on his slender fingers as he hands them over to you, one each. As you peek into the envelope handed to you, you find an obscene amount of cash neatly sat inside.

"As agreed, plus... a little extra for the commute," Gojo shrugs. "You can take it and go, if this isn't what you want. If it is, well..." He gestures to the bed. "I'm kinda dying here."

You glance down at his insinuation and find that he's beyond hard. His pants are tight and tented, making his arousal painfully evident. You have to force your gaze elsewhere – to Suguru, who is staring almost shamelessly at Gojo, his brows creased in the middle as he thinks.

The silence is deafening, you can feel the tension rising between the three of you, vibrating off the surface of your skin and permeating the air itself. Suguru seems to have made his mind up, because he turns to you with an awfully familiar look on his face: desire.

"Thoughts, darling?" he asks, and your stomach flips.

There's no point in pretending that there aren't things wrong with how your mind still reels after Satoru's touch. This entire thing has been confusing and disorientating; you're confused about everything – your feelings, your career, your sexual desires – and now, in your current situation, you’re downright torn. And yet, despite that, despite all the questions swirling around in your mind, as soon as your eyes land on Satoru's again – you know you'd die without another taste of his pink glossed lips. That feeling, the desire, the forethought of how he'd pant and whine after you've fucked him senseless – you'll do anything to achieve it.

This doesn’t feel like work anymore, not with the way these two men are looking at you. The camera isn’t even rolling yet, and yet you find yourself ready to fuck them both to the brink of oblivion.

So, without so much as a second of hesitation you pull away from your train of thought and turn to press your lips to Suguru's in a searing kiss. The action, so swift, causes Gojo's breath to hitch in his throat at the sight. Suguru kisses you back, of course, the hand that isn't holding his envelope quickly makes its way to your waistline and pulls you flush against him, leaving nothing but your clothes between the both of you. You wrap your arms loosely around his neck as Gojo watches the two of you intently, gaze burning into the meeting of your lips. You can feel him watching you, his spectatorship dizzying, and you bite Suguru's bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the moan bubbling up your throat.

“Jeez, didn’t know this was a cuckolding shoot,” Satoru sounds whiney, threadbare with lust. “Though I wouldn’t mind that… another time maybe.”

You place a hand on the planes of Suguru’s chest as you disconnect your lips and turn your head to the white-haired pervert with heart-shaped pupils. Your grin is sweet, sultry - "another time, huh?"

You pull apart from Suguru and move past Gojo, making a point not to glance in his direction, until you're crawling onto the bed and turning to rest with your elbows propping you up. Both Suguru and Satoru standing, your observers - admirers, is a sight for sore eyes. The camera sits between them, propped up and set on you. In spite of it, you feel oddly at home. The same sweet excitement builds within you that you normally feel when it’s just you and Suguru at home. You didn't know the air could weigh so intimately in front of a camera.

It takes a moment of staring at you, jaw slack, for Satoru to finally spring into thought. He steps towards the camera, makes sure everything is looking good, and then clears his throat as he presses record. He almost looks nervous, and if he weren't so cocky in his usual demeanour you'd think he's getting cold feet. But you remember the way his eyes glossed when he pushed into you, how that confidence of his melted into carnal need in just one thrust. You know what you do to him, and god does it seem amplified tenfold with Suguru here.

And your black-haired lover must know it too, because the second Satoru makes a move to speak, Suguru cuts him off with a step towards him and a burning kiss pressed to his lips. Satoru's sound of alarm at Suguru's lips on his is almost enough to send you dizzy, but the true aphrodisiac is the sight of your lover taking charge with him; lips locked onto one another, the lewd noises they make as Suguru cups Satoru's face with one hand and scratches into the back of his hair with the other. Satoru's moans become louder and more desperate, as Suguru's tongue explores the recesses of his mouth, sucking hungrily upon the flesh of his lower lip. When the two break apart they're both breathing heavily, panting as they catch their breath. An undoubted look of longing is etched into every last one of their handsome features.

You feel your stomach roil with anticipation as you watch them, realising the camera is only pointed at you, capturing your wanton expression. But then, it snaps, and suddenly your lovers are pulling apart to instead lay their gaze on you, resting back on Satoru's wildly comfortable bed sheets with a lust-driven smile pulling at your lips.

“You’re a fucking lucky man, Suguru,” Satoru coos, blue eyes raking over you in appreciation. You’re hardly undressed, and yet you feel naked under his gaze. “Don’t know how you can do porn when you’ve got such a pretty thing waiting for you at home. It’d ruin my performance.”

“I know,” Suguru says plainly, truly. "You've never been good at multitasking, have you Satoru?"

"Harsh words," Satoru pouts, giving his best imitation of an overly dramatic frown. "I can multitask just fine, do you need me to prove it?"

Without a word further, he plucks the camera from its tripod and points it at Suguru. "For example," he sing-songs, "I can fuck and film at the same time."

“Can’t do it dressed,” you point out, to which both men turn to find you already stripping yourself of your clothes. Satoru turns the camera onto you, finding it a sin to not capture you revealing yourself with such delicate fingers. You look into the lens, eyes sultry as you’re known for doing, and wonder just how many people are going to slip their hands under their waistbands at the sight of you.

Once you’ve laid yourself bare, your naked skin feels static with the tension in the air, you reach your hands out and make grabby-hands at Satoru. “Pass the camera,” you hum. “It’s your turn.”

A glance between themselves, and then Satoru is leaning over the bed to slot the camera in your hands. It’s heavier than you’d thought it would be, but feels nice and cooling against your otherwise sweaty palm. Satoru’s fingers brush over yours as he hands it over, something electric stills the room for a moment, and then he pulls away with a cough.

He hadn’t realised that Suguru had fallen into place behind him, because when he steps backwards and his back hits your boyfriend's chest, Satoru gasps. You capture the pink blush that speckles at his cheeks, and the beautiful way in which Sugurus hands snake around his body to caress down his chest.

Suguru has always been gifted in the way of sparking intimacy. It’s why the porn he shoots is usually so artistic, he’s sensual. And Satoru, not for the first time, is falling victim to his seductive ways. The gentle traces of his fingers down Satoru’s chest is testament enough to just how narcotic Suguru’s touch is. When he reaches the hem of his shirt and starts lifting upwards, unwrapping his next meal, Satoru can’t help but lift his arms and help move the process along — he’s feeling beyond restless.

Now exposed, Satoru’s chest and torso are now at the mercy of Suguru’s searing touch. Each trail of his fingers down the white-haired man’s chest, each tweak over his surprisingly sensitive nipples, each rough kiss against the column of his neck, they all elicit the most pornographic moans from Satoru Gojo’s throat. You study them both through the camera’s screen, and watch as Suguru presses his lips against Satoru’s ear.

He speaks in hushed tones, enough so that you know the camera isn’t going to pick up on his words. You can hear them though, only just, they're low and sensual and entirely full of sin. "You're lucky I'm letting you fuck my girlfriend for a second time," he purrs. "You know, she hasn’t stopped thinking about your last shoot. We watched it together the other night, I matched your rhythm, let her pretend it was you. She’s obsessed."

You're almost embarrassed by the confession, a burn sheens your skin, but the way Satoru's eyes darken impossibly further calms you. Suguru grins, catching your gaze from over Satoru's shoulder, and presses a kiss to his earlobe. "It brought me back, too," he says. "To when I got you to myself. You remember our films, hm? You're just like she is."

Satoru nods, the tips of his ears turning redder. His breathing is shallow, ragged, needy; and in a split second he's turning around and returning his lips to Suguru's. Desperate hands lift at your boyfriend's own shirt, exposing his tattoo-laden skin underneath. His jeans soon follow, and then so do Satoru's pants.

For a moment it's just the two of them, all clothes bar their boxers discarded to the floor and hands exploring bare skin. The warmth of Satoru's fingers digging into his chest, his ribs, his hips, the hard planes of his body, their bodies pressed together as if to become one. Their lips connect again, hungrily, their teeth knocking together with every brush of tongues. Satoru takes Suguru's lower lip between his teeth and bites hard enough to elicit a choked groan from the back of Suguru's throat.

And when they part, it's obvious just how much heavier the air has gotten. Suguru turns your white-haired tryst and pushes him towards where you sit on the bed. "Move your ass before I fuck that too," he deadpans.

Satoru doesn't blush like you expected he would. Instead, he grins. "That would be a big change from last time, don't you think?" he sing-songs, eyebrows raised as he steps further towards the bed. "Or maybe you don't remember crying from how well I stretched you out, I sure do, all pretty and—"

This time Suguru does flush crimson, and you laugh out loud at this revelation. "I didn't know you bottomed for him," you shake the camera a little with your laughter, capturing the way Suguru glares at Satoru from beneath long eyelashes, "that's something I've got to see."

"Hah," Suguru climbs onto the bed and snatches the camera from you, settling on his knees as he points it down at your form. There, his fingers graze lightly against your bare skin, making you arch your back in anticipation. "Tough luck, pretty."

His black boxers are beyond tented, and he slips them off easily enough, allowing his cock to spring free, perfectly poised and ready for your hand. The sound of Suguru's moan as your fingers wrap around his length is paired with the shuffle of Satoru climbing onto the bed too. He hovers above you for a moment, watching you stroke Suguru through the camera, before taking it from him with a grin.

Satoru returns the camera to its stand and checks its positioning before climbing back onto the bed and settling himself just behind you. You turn to smile at him, and then gasp as his hands tentatively find your shoulders. He peers over you, to the sight of Suguru’s drooling cock in your hand, and presses a kiss to the skin just under your ear.

“You know I’m fucking obsessed with you, right?” He purrs, glancing down to your boyfriend's cock before pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “Haven’t stopped thinking about you. I dreamt of breaking you and your boyfriend up until I found out it was Sugu, here. Wanted you all to myself, pretty thing, but I think I’m happy enough to share now, because god do I want to see your lips wrapped around his cock.”

“Mm,” you hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “You haven’t even kissed me yet, and you’re making demands?”

Satoru smiles, his lips glossy and so perfect you could cry. “I want to taste him on you.”

His words light a fire in your core that licks through your body, ravenous. You can't help but oblige at his words, returning your gaze to sweet Suguru before dipping your head down and pressing a chaste kiss to the weeping tip of his cock. Suguru and Satoru both inhale sharply when you do so. You wet your lips with your tongue and then meet his cock again, drawing lazy circles across his tip before closing your lips slowly, reverently around the shaft of Suguru's cock.

Satoru's hand pushes down a little on your shoulder, and you're forced forward onto your lover's length. Your moan betrays you and sends narcotic vibrations down his shaft, making Suguru grunt and buck his hips forward a little. Satoru, who remains behind you, gently takes hold of your hips and manoeuvres you into more of a doggy-style position — your fingers splayed over Suguru's thighs to try and find purchase as Satoru leans over you.

Gojo's chest presses against your back, skin-to-skin intimacy broken by the feverish kisses he presses to the back of your neck, down to your shoulder blades, your spine, His kisses become hotter, wetter, open-mouthed as he moves down to your waist, large hands playing with the flesh of your ass as he kisses a path down. You moan and shift against his grip, moving your hips in an effort to push yourself back against his boxer-clad erection, but Satoru only snaps you forward, and you choke a little as you're forced to take Suguru's cock even deeper down your throat.

"Fuck," Suguru hisses, pretty purple eyes meeting yours as you look up. Drool glosses his length, slick and hot and heavy against your tongue when he finally gives you a moment to breathe.

Your mouth immediately goes back to work again once your breathing steadies, hollowing out your cheeks and dragging him down, deeper, faster, more desperately. The receipt of pleasure etched into Suguru's tight-wound face is enough to spur on your own needs, but you nearly choke when Satoru Gojo bites into the fat of your ass. Your body arches up and you squirm and whine, but Satoru is relentless, licking over the indentations left behind as Suguru snaps his hips into your open mouth over and over again.

You barely have room to move before Satoru is pushing your knees apart with a strong hand, the heel of his palm firm against your ass as he spreads you open. He takes a moment, heavy breaths fan against your exposed slick, and you’re suddenly all too aware of yourself. You’d protest, tell him not to stare if your mouth wasn’t full with your heavy-lidded lover's cock. You don’t even know why you’re embarrassed — you’re a pornstar, your job is to lie subject to the most intimate of ogling.

Your thoughts melt into the bedsheets, however, when Satoru groans and connects his lips to your pussy. Stupid off the taste of you alone, he whines against your slick heat, enamoured. His tongue flicks over you, circling your clit repeatedly and making your insides burn. You moan, and it comes out muffled and breathless around Suguru's dick.

"You taste so fucking good," Satoru speaks against your cunt. One hand slips between your legs, running two fingers through your folds in collection of your arousal, whilst his other hand tugs down at his own boxers, pulling his cock free and growling against your pussy as he starts to stroke at himself. "Fuuuuuckkk..." He pushes two fingers into you, easy with just how wet you are, and curls them in tandem with each pump of his cock.

Each thrust of his fingers pushes you just that little bit further onto Suguru's length. And you're thanking god that he's there, because without his muscled thighs to hold onto, you fear you’d be fucked too dizzy to keep yourself upright. You figure you must look a mess now, hair mussed and eyes bleary and drool rolling down your chin and all over Suguru's pulsing cock.

You feel pathetic with how quickly your orgasm crests. Satoru must feel it too, how you clench around your fingers, the subtle tremor in your thighs, because his tongue only speeds up in its assault. He's still stroking himself, keeping you open and willing as he sucks your clit harshly. Once you're right at the brink, teetering off the edge of ecstasy, Suguru pulls out of your mouth and leans down to crash his lips against yours.

"Come," he orders into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. "Come for us, darling, come on now."

You're overwhelmed by Suguru's rakish lips over yours, and Satoru's relentless tongue over your sex. Before you can even try to present yourself for the cameras, you're cumming, hard. You writhe against Suguru, and your nails scrape across his thighs until you can hardly draw breath. The world slows down around you, leaving nothing but pleasure to consume.

"Holy shit," Satoru’s breath comes out in a hitched sort of laughter as he pulls back, not bothering to wipe away the sheen of your lust that coats his mouth and chin. “My head’s spinning, I think I’m in heaven. Do I still have a pulse?”

He makes a show of checking his pulse, despite the way you roll your eyes. You’re still coming down from your climax as Suguru peppers feather-light kisses over your face. Satoru, feeling more hungry than doting, brings his two fingers to his own mouth, licking them clean. Suguru catches sight of the action and gently pulls back from you, something knowing in his eyes.

You assume he’s going to redirect your head back to his cock, let you finish your job, but instead he tuts and nods his head to your shared tryst, who is still diligently working at tasting you some more on his fingers.

“Think someone’s a little pussydrunk,” Suguru grins, and you do too at the sight of Satoru Gojo so blatantly desperate for more. Your eyes drift down to his cock, long and hard and weeping with precum.

Though, you don’t want to neglect Suguru, so you turn back to him — “you didn’t finish,” you make a move to reach for his cock, still rock hard and achy-looking, but your lover shakes his head gently.

“Got other plans,” he nods subtly to Gojo. “How about we show our stalker here just how much better the real thing is?”

You grin, catching onto his drift, and watch over your shoulder as Satoru rolls his pretty blue eyes. “You know, I’ve had the real thing, from both of you.”

“You haven’t had both of us,” Suguru shrugs. “And I know you’ve fucked your fist to the thought of it. Don’t lie, or you won’t enjoy this as much as you could.”

Satoru’s loaded remark gets stuck in his throat as Suguru pulls away from you entirely, though not without a gentle kiss to your forehead first. He stands by the bed, rolls his shoulders and nods to Satoru — “go on,” he gestures to you, still on your hands and knees. “Taste me on her lips.”

Satoru would probably blush if he weren’t so dedicated to the promise of a taste, because he’s got a hand under your stomach and is flipping you onto your back with ease in only half a second. You sigh at the reprieve of the strain on your hands and knees, and revel in how soft Satoru’s mattress is, when he’s collapsing on top of you with a strangled growl and his lips are meeting yours.

It’s a strange thing, to taste both Satoru, yourself, and Suguru at the same time. You taste Satoru in the way he kisses, hungry and listless, with knocking teeth and exploratory tongues. You taste Suguru in the remnants of his cock in your mouth, the precum that has coated your tongue, mixed with your saliva that now mixes with Gojo’s. And you taste yourself glossed on Satoru’s lips; your climax, the buildup of pleasure he had gifted you with both his mouth and fingers.

A strange mix, maybe, but a perfect one nonetheless. You have to close your eyes to stop yourself from growing too dizzy, and also partly to stop yourself from worrying too hard — how were you meant to enjoy anything to its full potential now that you know how this tastes?

Satoru’s cock presses against the inside of your thigh; you can feel the gentle thrum of its pulse — a testament to his aching need. His arms box you in on either side, settled comfortably between your still-shaky legs. When he pulls back, a string of saliva connects your lips to his, and his eyes are darker than you remember.

“I need to be inside of you, need. You’re fuckin’... god I can’t think.”

As if by instinct, your legs part further, allowing him the access he so craves. It’s a fluid movement, the way he moves one hand down to direct his cock to your slick folds. He rubs himself against you, his tip kissing your clit teasingly. You suck in a shaky breath between parted lips, and when he doesn’t hurry up despite his desperation, you feel like you could cry.

Though, before a complaint can leave your lips, you're watching as Suguru joins you two on the bed, kneeling behind Satoru and running his long fingers gently down the white-haired man's bare back. Satoru's head falls forward at the touch, and as your boyfriends hand runs lower and lower on his back, you realise exactly where this is going.

"You're gonna fuck her good," Suguru purrs, graceful in his touch. "Because I'm going to help you -- that okay?" He reaches back up, brushing his knuckles from between his shoulder blades, down the curve of his spine until he reaches his tailbone.

Satoru's eyes are locked on yours as he answers your lover. "Yes," his exhale is beyond needy. "Please, god. Yes."

And from there, things move with practised ease. It feels normal to submit yourself, your body, to Satoru. As Suguru takes hold of either side of his waist and guides him into you, the stretch is searing. You remember just how hard it was to adjust to his size the first time, having to try and keep your face melted neutral for the cameras. You don't feel that same pressure now, despite Satoru still filming, and your nose scrunches up at the feeling of Satoru inside of you.

"You're..." you try, words stuck in your throat as Suguru pushes Satoru's hips into yours a little more. "Please."

Satoru takes control of the pace, his breath hot and heavy on your cheek, his body moving in sync. You moan as he starts thrusting slowly in and out, stretching every muscle in your body as you get used to the feeling. With every thrust, you feel him getting harder and deeper within you, and his mouth dips down to trail along the sensitive skin on your neck.

It's a narcotic, the way he fills you. He's longer than Suguru, though not quite as thick, but he reaches depths that aren't typical for you. As he sheathes himself deeper and deeper inside of you, with the help of Suguru's hands on his waist, You slowly become spineless; relaxing into the pleasure of his sweet push and pull.

Sweat beads at your skin as Satoru quickens the pace, pulling out and plunging back in again with unbridled whimpers as Suguru works on taking his fill. Your boyfriend, domineering though still gentle, starts working your tryst open with one of his fingers.

"Ah- fuck," Satoru's words are heady with need, the initial discomfort of Suguru's fingers pushing into his ass are quickly forgotten, replaced with a deep yearning for more sensation. It sends his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out inside of you at such depths you can't help but cry out. It's a symphony of wetness and gasps of air, each syllable punctuated by Satoru's frantic movements. Your body grows tighter and tighter around Satoru with every pass as he gets worked open so beautifully by Suguru.

Your mind is clouded by everything Satoru has done to you and by the sheer force of him filling you with his cock and all that comes with it. You're completely and utterly lost in the moment, consumed by Satoru, who is consumed by Suguru, who is consumed in the pleasure of serving you both in turn.

"More," Satoru is barely able to get the word out as he slams deeper and deeper inside of you. "Fuck, more."

And Suguru isn't one to deny a pretty thing like Satoru such pleasures; he's pulling his fingers out of him in seconds and replacing them with the head of his cock at his ass. Suguru is gentle, but unrelenting as he thrusts himself into Satoru in one fluid motion. The pressure is enough to prick tears at Satoru's pretty blue eyes, which you reach up and wipe away from underneath him.

A moment is shared, a chance for Satoru to breathe the best he can, before he's testing the waters and pushing back a little, onto Suguru's cock, before thrusting his hips forward, into you.

This is ecstasy incarnate. The two men seem to merge together, their bodies melting as they meet. Suguru fucks you through Satoru, each thrust into him is a thrust into you, into the both of you. It almost hurts, you'd wager, the way your whole body throbs in synchronization with theirs, the way Satoru moans as Suguru drives you both to insanity. It's a weird way to connect with your lover, but one that works nonetheless, the both of you seem to share an awful yearning for the man sandwiched between you, fucked mindless.

And then he's driving your entire being towards the edge, and you feel the orgasm coming on, the rush of blood to your head, your muscles tightening around Satoru. It's a strange feeling of being connected to something bigger than yourself, a system working in tandem with each other to chase climax, but it's a feeling you're quickly growing addicted to. It's warm, it's comforting, and most importantly, it's yours. This man right here, his body pressed tight between yours and Sugurus, is yours. Even if only for the early morning.

"Gonna cum," you whine, lips ghosting against Satoru's. He nods, eyes locked onto yours.

"M—fuck—me too, baby. God, you have to let me come inside of you, doll, can't deny me, please. You—"

"You better," Suguru cuts in, his voice biting from behind Satoru. He thrusts sharply into Satoru, sending him keening forward into you, pressing right into your sensitive g-spot as Suguru hits his prostate in a mirrored pleasure. "Wanna watch you claim her," he bears down, "gonna fill you up, you fill her — watch her face, Satoru. Watch what you do to her."

You gasp as Satoru's fingers dip down to rub frantic circles over your clit, pushing you closer and closer to orgasm with each knock of his hips into your, of Suguru's into his. the room is filled with a chorus of moans and whines and desperate pleas for more and more and more. You know you'll never recover from this level of arousal if you don't come soon, but before you can find purchase in your body and begin your descent into bliss, Suguru is first to come undone.

His hips snap forward into Satoru, head craning into his neck, biting down on the muscle of his shoulders for some sort of physical gag — ever the one to stifle those beautiful noises of his. And the feeling of being filled in such ravaging volumes must be enough to send Satoru over the edge, too, because he's knitting his eyebrows together and cumming ropes into you in only moments.

"Fuck," he whines, once again tears prick at his eyes, overwhelmed by the duality of his pleasure, of you and Suguru, so close to you but also never close enough. He wants to be one with you, a complete unit, bound by sex and soul and the sweet sounds of the most powerful orgasm he's ever had in his life.

You come in tandem with him, it's completely blinding. Your legs fall apart as you cry out, nails scraping across Satoru's bicep as the world melts away and the sensations start swirling about in your mind's eye and the last thing you register is Satoru collapsing forward, breathing raggedly into your ear.

You catch the salty flavour of him as you suck in a lungful of air and smile in response, fucked stupid and blissful and never ready to give this feeling up. Never ready to give anyone else this feeling- god, you already despise whoever gets to taste Satoru Gojo next.

Suguru has to pull out of Satoru slowly, and you wipe at his face with the pad of your thumb when it scrunches up in protest of the loss of Suguru’s stretch. Before he can truly call the scene over, though, Satoru leans down and presses the most gentle of kisses to your lips. A myriad of ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’s spill from his tongue as he does so, each word cut by a kiss to the expanse of your face.

And when he pulls out of you a sickening gush of his cum follows. It spills from your aching pussy and onto the bed sheets beneath you, though Satoru doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. He swipes his finger through the mess he’s made of your sex, smiling when you hiss at just how sensitive you are, and brings his cum-coated finger back to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours.

Your stomach flips at the sight. Great, he’s gone and fucked you lovestruck.

“Satoru,” a clean voice cuts in. Your head constricts in your fucked out daze when you turn to see Suguru standing by the tripod, his eyebrows raised and pretty purple eyes beyond amused. “It’s not even fucking recording.”

Instead of being confused, Satoru looks sheepish. He flops down onto the bed next to you, eyes glossy and cheeks blushed pink. “I…. can explain? I think I’d rather die than share the two of you with the world. But I’d really die if I didn’t get my hands on you both.”

You meet your boyfriend's gaze. Something passes between you, something knowing. In a weird, probably unhealthy way, you both feel the exact same. This was never a scene for the cameras, anyway— not when such strong… feelings are involved.

“I’m not proposing marriage here,” Satoru huffs when he catches onto your shared gaze. “I just, you enjoyed it, right?”

You giggle from beside him, your sweat-soaked skin cool against the air. Suguru chimes in with his laughter, melodic and beautiful. He folds his arms and watches the two of you laid across the bed.

“Let’s get you both cleaned up, then,” Suguru hums. “I’m not fucking either of you again until we’ve shared a shower.

TAGLIST: @sugurubabe @fullbelieverheart @starrysho @meowforluv @ch3rryistheg @miizuzu @okayiamkassandra @inconcise @sexcults @hotgirlgoob @mistalli @ourfinalisation @graceloveslanadelrey @blessed-princesa @plinkuro @pe4rl-diver @sugojosgf @beachaddict48 @chimmysoftpaws @blendingcaramal @dongh9e @caramelised-onions @kyluskaye @sammywo @4evrglow @hiraethwa @stinkinstuffie @tomiokasecretlover @ser0t0nln @yuzu-ku @lagataprrr @dear-fifi @hel-lhound @kensqueent @sserafin @dabisdolly @zoroisminty @angelkazusstuff @reinam00n @kaeyakaikai @bunny416 @littletittygothgirl @glitterbitch1 @saccharine-nectarine

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ervotica · 6 months ago

Text

hot rod — a.donaldson & p.zweig

pairings; art donaldson x fem!reader, patrick zweig x fem!reader, art donaldson x patrick zweig

summary; patrick comes to visit you and art at college. he finds college life is a lot more adventurous than once anticipated

warnings; mdni, 18+ only, SMUT, threesome, overstim, oral (m receiving), sub leaning!reader and art, more dom leaning!patrick, established throuple, polyamory

a/n; i’m not so sure how i feel about this tbh. i love the dynamic though so i pushed through even when it got away from me a little🥲 there will be another drabble for older!art and his pretty girl soon!!

you and art fuck until you’re brain dead and passed out from exhaustion. always have. neither of you possess an off switch, and when patrick’s not there to rein the pair of you in, things get a little… messy.

his cum is dried in your hair, the sticky substance smeared across your cheek, his knuckles still wet with slick.

patrick walks in, full belly laughs and peels you from art’s sweat soaked form, gives your cheek a pinch when you stir and whine.

he doesn’t clean you up because he likes to leave you naked whenever he has the opportunity — which is more often than not. seriously, you two need close supervision.

he just carries you with him to that shitty little armchair in art’s dorm, the room still stinking of sex and the humid summer air clinging to your skin; art shines with perspiration where he’s face down on the bed.

pat makes do with the lack of room, hooking a bare leg over the backs of your thighs until you’re squeezed snugly against his torso, face smushed to his chest. you’re snoring, and it makes patrick smile, slumping down in his chair to rest his lips against your cheekbone.

you wake slowly, eyes sticky and crusted over with exhaustion. your face is almost nestled beneath patrick’s armpit where you’ve been writhing in slumber and you grumble at the scent of sweat, layered with cheap aftershave. his hard-on presses to the center of your stomach and you can feel everything— the curve it makes now it’s hard and weeping, the feel of the spongy head, the vein that runs through the middle.

“you smell, pat,” you grumble, reaching up blindly to snatch the cigarette from between his teeth and take a long pull from the stick.

“yeah, well you’re not so hot yourself, babe. the whole room reeks.” he reaches down to tug on a loose strand of hair at the crown of your head. “there’s cum in your hair.”

“not my fault.” you stretch upward like a cat, curling into patrick’s chest. “where’s art gone?”

“still sleeping, baby.” he lights another cigarette, sacrificing the first one to you - still resting between your lips - and the clicking of the lighter draws your head upward to gaze through heavy lashes at him.

“come to bed,” you murmur, kissing his knuckles. your free hand coasts a long line across his jaw and you dig your thumb beneath his ear, giggling when he scrunches his features and relents, and pushes you to stand with a swat to your naked backside.

art curls into you instinctively when you roll onto the mattress, your hand threading through the curls atop his head. you scrub sweeping circles across his bare back and he hums a pleased sound, smearing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. patrick splays himself over the pair of you, all long limbs that sit askew to cover as much of your naked frames as possible.

art squints through the yellow light that illuminates the room, bright and artificial on his sensitive eyes. your movements against him don’t halt, a slow, rhythmic, loving sweep of your hands that he’s come to look forward to in moments like this. his jaw tilts upward as he mouths at your neck like a starved man, like you haven’t just gone five rounds and collapsed from overstimulation.

“you two need supervision,” patrick snorts. you quirk a bemused brow. “i’m serious, look at what you’ve done to each other! you look like you’ve been mauled.”

“jealous, much?” art mumbles sleepily, the sound muffled through your skin. you’re laughing and it splits your expression in two, eyes crinkled with amusement as the strawberry blonde boy snipes at patrick.

“should’a come to college with us, pretty boy,” you giggle. “could’a had this twenty four seven.” you dip your head until your brow presses to art’s. “poor pat, with no one to stick his dick in. how will he ever cope?”

“you could help me out, sweets,” he deadpans, the nickname saccharine and sour on his tongue all at once. art watches you through heavy lids. you huff, biting playfully at art’s lip before you tilt your head to face patrick,

“okay,” you chirrup. art’s quick to sit up, separating from your warmth in favour of nuzzling against patrick. patrick tips his chin down, slanting his lips against the blonde boy’s.

meanwhile, you’re working his cock through his shorts, palming the muscle until it chubs up beneath your hand, drooling a wet patch through the fabric. patrick groans, hips rolling up into your touch when you hook your fingers beneath his waistband and tug his cock free.

he moans into art’s mouth and your mouth goes dry at the sight. you’ve always loved to watch them like this, the way they get lost in each other, the way they start fervently pushing into one another’s space until patrick inevitably makes the first move and sticks his tongue down art’s throat.

patrick turns to putty beneath art’s roaming touch, huge paws that squeeze and grope and push at every inch of skin they come into contact with, not stopping even as you press your face to the seam of patrick’s balls, inhaling the sweat-soaked musk that creeps up your nostrils.

art’s hand snakes downward, flicking over pert nipples and ridges of muscle before he’s flicking a thumb over the weeping slit of his cock. patrick’s back bows into an arch as you lave your tongue over his sack, humming into the sensitive skin, full and heavy and begging for release. his hips rock upward into you as you seal your lips over him, eyes heavy with lust as art comes down to meet your mouth over his mushroom head.

it’s filthy and messy, downright pornographic as art licks over patrick’s cock, tongue pressing flat against the corner of your mouth and letting his spit pool there. you’re moaning - unable to help yourself - pressing your face forward to slant your lips over art’s fully. it’s all spit and drool as you lick into art’s mouth, the heady taste of the brunette boy still on your tongue, and then patrick’s bracing a hand against each of your heads and easing his cock through the seam where your spit slick mouths mesh.

you gasp and your damp lashes flutter, heavy with tears, and art’s tugging you frantically by your waist, pressing your bare chest to his own as patrick throws his head back and groans, shallow thrusts deepening. his breath stutters out in short, sharp bursts, chest heaving when your face slides down, down, down, all the way to the base of him until your pretty plump lips are wrapped around his sack.

you suck it into your mouth just as art takes patrick down his throat, the head of his cock bulging through the hollow of art’s throat as spit stretches and bows from the corners of his lips and lands in globs across your face.

you’re too drunk on the pleasure to care, the vibrations of your little sounds shooting right through patrick until you feel his balls tighten; he groans, long and loud, pushing closer to the pair of you as his cock pulses rhythmically and he releases down art’s throat.

you push your way through until your mouth is on art’s again, tongue licking into his mouth to taste patrick, wanting to be marked, claimed by both of them. his lips part, nose pressing to your cheek, and then he’s lifting you into his lap, his cock an angry red and pressed to the seam of your thigh.

patrick groans. there’s no fucking way he’s hard again.

“no more, you horndogs!”

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ddejavvu · 2 months ago

Note

Ohh I just thought of another one..

Logan with grumpy reader and he just leans her over the nearest surface and pounds the attitude out of her 🙃

Attitude - Logan Howlett x Reader

send me mean!logan requests!

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni, mean!logan, brat taming, don't like don't read.

"Go on." Logan urges, his voice domineering and loud, his palm squishing your face against the cool, hard surface of the kitchen countertop, "You had so much to say earlier, where is it now?"

You don't answer- you can't, not when Logan's hand is squeezing your mouth shut with the way it smashes you against the counter. There's also the matter of his cock pounding relentlessly into your pussy from the back, your ass shaking with every thrust.

"Hm?" He leans in when you don't answer, his breath hot against your ear as he spits, "Where's all that shit about me bothering you- about me being in your way? 'You so prissy no one can be in the room with you? Hm? Am I in your way now, princess?"

You let out a strangled cry, as good of one as you can muster with your makeshift muzzle, as Logan humps into you like a crazed animal. He's irritated at your audacity, and this is what you'd been asking for earlier with the way you'd snapped at him. He'd grabbed you by the arm and forced you over the counter, and now you're pressing back desperately into his thrusts, trying not to give him the satisfaction of moaning while he keeps you pinned.

"I'm in your fuckin' guts now," He snickers, leaning in close to bite at the shell of your ear, sending a lightning rod of pain through the thin skin, "Y'know, you need a good fuck when you get like that, priss. It calms you down- it shuts you up. See?" He jostles his hand against your face, pressing your head even further into the counter as he mercilessly fucks your cunt, "No more attitude."

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x you #logan howlett blurb #logan howlett drabble #logan howlett oneshot #wolverine x reader #wolverine imagine #wolverine smut

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g0dlyunsub · 2 months ago

Text

not enough.

spencer couldn’t be there to help you during a case, and he thinks that he’s not deserving of your forgiveness.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: mentions of fire, burns and injuries, hospitalization, reader gets injured, angst, descriptions of blades, hurt/comfort, fluff, medical inaccuracies

word count :: 1.8k

author’s note :: i have not written in a while but here's something that's been sitting in my drafts :3

accompanying song :: breathe by lauv

"kid, you need to go."

"no, i'm not leaving you. i'm not-" spencer coughs as the dust mingles with the air in his lungs. "-i'm not leaving her."

"reid, go!" derek shouts over the roaring flames.

you can hear their desperate exchange, but you can’t say anything.

everytime you swallow, it feels like a razor blade's sliding down your throat; it makes jagged cuts in your parched throat.

all of your tears have evaporated from the surface of your eyes due to the scorching heat, and it hurts to blink.

you don’t even realize that your trousers are literally on fire until spencer’s patting at the flames with his bare hand, all the while trying to get the restraints off of you.

“i can’t- i can’t get them off!” spencer heaves, and you can hear the panic in his voice turning into hot anger.

“reid, just take the other guy and go!”

derek’s shouting, but he’s barely audible next to the unrelenting fire.

"please, let me-"

you feel spencer tug with all his might, pushing and pulling against the ropes, but they’re too tight. the ropes aren’t made of special material, but the heat’s completely melted and fused the knot, making it near-impossible to rip apart.

you can barely keep your eyes open, but you can still see spencer frantically whipping his head back and forth, glancing at you and the last hostage in the room.

derek gives spencer a knowing look, one that you know all too well.

reluctantly, spencer looks down.

he can see the flames reflected in your eyes.

he can see the pain seared into your skin.

a lump starts to form in his throat.

you’re mouthing the word go.

greasy tears well up in his eyes, and spencer splutters a cry.

“sorry.”

he adds another sorry. and he adds another, until all he’s murmuring is an incoherent stream of apologies.

you watch as he slings his arm around the hostage’s waist and drags his feet to the exit, and you watch until all you can see is the wavy outline of his figure, distorted by the heatwaves.

your eyes flicker between open and closed.

“y/n, stay with me. no, no, no,” derek shakes you while he continues to saw through your strings with a dull object, “don’t you give up on me now.”

the smoke’s rolled up to cover the ceiling, and an amber glow coats the entire room.

with the cacophony of the roaring flames, expletives spluttering from derek’s mouth, and the back and forth of the rounded blade, the sounds of your restraints loosening barely make it to your ears.

“come on!”

derek hastily tears the fraying restraints and pulls you away from the blazing rod that you’ve been tied to.

you take a desperate gasp for air at the sudden relief, but only choke on dust and the fierce heat.

it’s too much — too much grime, grease, toxins coating your airways. you stop trying to breathe.

you hear derek groan as he takes your limp body in his arms and lifts you up, and the sudden change in position has you seeing stars.

as derek hauls you out, you see a brief flash of the sky. you could’ve sworn it was a shade of blue clearer than the ocean before you entered, but now it’s a beat down shade of jaundiced yellow.

huh.

it’s burning so darkly.

—

when spencer sees you come out of the burning building, tucked in the arms of derek morgan, he thinks he’s looking at a fallen angel.

dark smoke and dust pepper you head to toe, and your parted lips are making such a desperate effort to stay open.

you’re not breathing.

he breaks into a sprint. the calls from hotch and rossi fly behind him, as do their attempts to grasp him back. he runs to you, and not a single person can stop him.

he drops to his knees next to your unconscious body on the ground with derek, and his heart instantly falls.

his brain starts to perform an instant diagnosis of your condition – he sees the burn marks scattered over your arms and legs, and he can almost feel your pain, like your nerves are connected to his.

the medics surrounding the scene yell out orders to stay back so that they can start chest compressions, but spencer won’t move.

he’s with you when you jerk back out of unconsciousness, when you’re still too weak to process all of the visual and auditory cues around you.

he’s with you when you’re lifted onto the back of the ambulance.

you can hear him raising his voice at the medics.

“we need to administer aerosolized unfractionated heparin with albuterol and check for hypovolemia, she needs oral and mivf immediately upon admission-”

you phase out once again.

—

when you open your eyes, you realize that you’re not in an ordinary hospital room.

you’re inside the intensive care unit.

generally, only family members are admitted as visitors in the icu, but the man laying his head over the side rails of your bed isn’t your family member.

spencer had to break some protocol to get here.

as you shift your bandaged arms over the blanket, spencer starts to stir slightly, until he realizes that it’s you moving beside him.

his eyes widen as he raises his head.

“how do i look?” you weakly mutter and force your lips into a smile.

his lips quiver, and he’s about to reach for your hand before he realizes that you probably can’t even handle his touch.

“so-” his voice cracks, “so beautiful. so incredibly beautiful.”

your heart does a flip at his words.

“you don’t have to lie.”

he looks away for a brief second, before shaking his head. “i’m not. i swear. you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever met — that i’ve ever seen.”

you let out a pained chuckle. “would you look at that, my skin’s blushing.” you turn your arm to the side slightly and loosen your bandages to reveal the pink cuts in your flesh.

spencer’s brows knit together in a pained expression, and you cringe at your own joke.

you inhale slowly. “spill it, spence.”

“spill what?”

“you did that thing where you look away. it’s your giveaway.”

“no, i-”

you turn your head to look at him with a pleading face, and he succumbs instantly.

he pulls his hand. “i- uh…”

he looks at you once and you raise your brows, an encouraging sign to continue written all over your face.

“i don’t deserve you.”

you blink slowly.

“you deserve someone better,” he continues, looking down ashamedly.

you can't possibly be hearing him correctly. “someone better?”

“someone like morgan.”

“morgan?”

“yeah. derek morgan. he’s the one who stayed with you, who carried you out of that crumbling building. i couldn’t protect you. i failed the one thing i promised myself.”

“spencer, i wasn’t the only one- you had to save the other guy stuck in there.”

“the worst part is-” spencer chokes, “even if i traded places with morgan, i don’t know if i would’ve gotten us out in time.”

your eyes start to water. “no, spence, don’t say that.”

“i’m not strong enough. i’m not strong like morgan, and i’m not strong enough to protect you. i let you down. i failed you.”

you shake your head. “no, spencer. no. you’ve never failed me, do you hear me? you never failed me and you never will fail me. because-”

you take a deep breath.

“you broke protocol for me, the entire time. i heard what you said to the medics in the ambulance. and you’re here. right now.”

this time, he shakes his head. “it’s the least i can do. it still doesn’t change the fact that i couldn’t take the bullet for you.”

“spencer-”

you lean forward, a strangled grunt leaving your lips, until you’re a mere inch away from spencer’s face.

“maybe,” you start, flickering your gaze left and right into his sunken eyes.

“maybe i want to take the bullet for you too. maybe i want to protect you too. maybe i want-” you smile, “-to fight to stay with you.”

he pulls back, and glassy traces of tears coats his entire face.

again, you smile. “because if you don’t deserve me, then i don’t deserve you either.”

and it’s your goddamn smile that absolves all of his worries in an instant, that makes spencer forget that you’re bundled up in layers of gauze and bandages, that makes him think you’re an angel with a golden halo that’s lighting up the entire room.

it’s only when you let out an disgruntled sigh that he realizes you’re not an angel in a dress but a patient in a hospital gown, and the guilt latches back onto him like an inseparable magnet.

spencer’s eyes soften with concern and gloss over your entire body. gently lifting the edges of the blanket, he brushes his fingers against yours.

“my arm – it’s itchy,” you explain, and close your eyes to restrain yourself from picking at your scabby skin.

“i’m sorry,” spencer returns, an empathetic expression sweeping his face. “the bandages have to stay on, unfortunately.”

“my face-” you start, and spencer’s now looking at you with an expression crossing between serious and disturbed.

“your face? does it itch? where?”

he leans over, and cups your chin in the palm of his hand. slowly, he moves your face to the left and right, until you meet his misty brown eyes in the middle.

“my mouth.”

“your mouth?”

“yeah,” you scrunch your lips in a pained expression, but smile. “i think a kiss would help.”

spencer raises his brows in surprise, and a coughy chuckle leaves the back of his throat.

he can’t fight the excitement bubbling in his heart when you say that, when you’re so adorably bold in front of him.

how could he ever deserve you?

“you asked for it,” he murmurs quietly, before leaning in and bringing his lips to yours. he caresses the side of your face as his soft lips give you a taste of his desperation, though it’s too short to quench your desire.

he pulls back and cocks his head to the side to stare at you with admiring eyes. “is that better?”

you return a contemplative look, pouting your lips slightly. “it’s still itchy.”

he shakes his head amusedly and places a hand on the cushioned mattress, before leaning in to make your heart flutter with another kiss. it’s deeper than before, but he still draws himself back to not deprive you of your air.

once again, he pulls back and graces your eyes with a shy smile. “how about now?”

you tut disapprovingly. “nope.”

a wide smile curves the corners of spencer’s mouth, and he reaches to hold your hand affectionately in his.

your feverish cheeks light up with a hot glow when your lips intertwine with his in a slow rhythm, when spencer slowly moves his hand behind your head to tousle your strands of hair flowing through his fingers.

he doesn’t ask any more questions.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x you

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cipheress-to-k-pop · 7 months ago

Text

bluetooth j.t.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: A little suggestive if you squint

Word Count: 1.2k words

You don't know how you allowed yourself to get manipulated into being a girlboss and moving out of your childhood home to live in your own apartment. While it was nice to have your own privacy and decorate your home however you liked, you realized just how many privileges you lost now that you weren't in the care of your parents.

There was no one there to make sure you woke up on time in the few cases where you slept through your alarm, no one that you could call on your way back from work to ask to switch on the water heater so you could take a steamy shower immediately.

You didn't have your mother's homecooked meals and you didn't have your father to pick you up snacks from the grocery store.

And one of the biggest thorns in your side was the reason you were dreading the entire day. Car maintenance. The auto shop was one of the most daunting places in your life as a girl who knew nothing about cars. Never once had you regretted not learning how to take care of your car or even the procedure required when you eventually take your car down to the auto shop.

But now standing in the hot and dusty garage, you were seriously rethinking your life choices. You should've scheduled these things for when your dad was visiting so you could ask him to take it instead. Or, even better, you should've gotten a boyfriend.

You were complaining in your head, dragging your feet about having to be here in the first place and whined about handing your car keys, with a bunch of adorable keychains attached to some rando.

But when Jason Todd, 6'2 man with biceps that were larger than your own head and a body that looked like he was shaped out of marble by Michelangelo himself walked out with a form for you to fill out, you were all too happy to be there.

Perhaps you'd be leaving here with a boyfriend after all.

"I have to admit, I don't really know much about cars so please don't scam me."

Jason chuckled, a deep, hoarse laugh that made you a little weak in the knees honestly and the boy-crazed fraction of your brain began to imagine how he would sound as soon as he woke up next to you, after a night of—

"A bit of advice, you probably don't want to let scammers know that you have no idea what they're talking about."

You giggled, scolding yourself mentally for finding that funny.

'Come on, (Y/N), pull yourself together it wasn't even that funny. His face is just great delivery.'

"Or I could keep coming here and have you check my car, since you're so trustworthy." You mused, sparing him a teasing smile.

Jason was completely picking up what you were putting down, giving you a coy smile of his own before responding, "Or perhaps this is just a tactic to get you to keep coming back."

You narrowed your eyes playfully, "Devious."

Looking back at his little clipboard, a thin metal rod of some kind tucked behind his ear instead of a pen, Jason asked, "When was the last time you got your car checked out? If your battery and brake pad was replaced recently, we could probably skip that and just do a routine check to make sure everything's running smoothly."

You winced, "I couldn't tell you, honestly. My dad usually handles this kinda stuff for me, I'm still kind of a new lamb when it comes to taking care of my car."

Jason raised his eyes from the clipboard for a second, "Your boyfriend can't do this kinda stuff for you instead?"

"I don't have a boyfriend."

He perked up immediately and you ducked your head to hide your smile, "I'm sure you probably have a record of it in your glovebox or something. Most places keep a little sticker with the date of your last service under the dash. I'll check it out for you, do you have somewhere to be, or do you have a couple minutes so I can make sure?"

You shook your head, shrugging your shoulders with a carefree smile, "It's my day off so I'm free as a bird."

He grinned, "Noted. Just give me a second."

You watched his back receding as he walked toward your car, shoulders looking like they could span the entire ocean and it was only when he was sat in the car and had turned on the engine did you whip out your phone at lightspeed.

"Ohmygosh Julie, I think I just met my future husband. Holy shit. He's so cute—gorgeous actually. He's working on my car right now and God, those arms, wow. And those eyes? God, I feel blessed just by looking at his face." The end of your message was interrupted by another mechanic running the engine.

You waited patiently for the sound of the engine to die before replaying the voice message so you could re-record the part that got cut off. Only you couldn't hear a thing.

Confused, you increased the volume, taking a sip from your coffee to soothe the inhumane squeal that you had let out while sending Julie the voice message. Once again you heard nothing.

You bit your lip at this, swiping down at the corner of your phone at access your control center and realizing the reason you couldn't hear anything was because it was connected to the Bluetooth on your car.

Wait.

THE CAR?!

You whipped around in horror only to find Jason smirking at you from the front seat of your car. If the world were fair, you'd be struck down with lightning right then and there. Or, since you were at an auto shop, a sentient car might run you over.

Alas, you continued to stand there in horror, completely unharmed no matter how badly you wished to be reduced to a puddle on the ground.

You called him your future husband. The ground should've swallowed you then and there. Instead, you just stood there in complete mortification and embarrassment while you stared at his amused expression.

Something startled him out of his gaze for a second and he pointed at your console, making a gesture like he was taking a call. Confused, you glanced at your phone.

'Incoming call: Julie'

Ah, saved by the bell.

"How much do I owe you?" You asked, quickly popping open your purse to fish out your credit card. You had stretched out the conversation with Julie as long as possible, begging her not to hang up and only interrupting her tangent when Jason finally came up to you, saying that your car was good to go.

"It's on the house." He gave you a charming grin, leaning an arm against the counter, "Can't have my future wife paying for anything, can I?"

Your cheeks flared red, still holding out your card for him to take, "O-Oh, I couldn't, really."

"If you insist, then you can always repay me with dinner. Today's your day off, right? Think you can pencil me in for 7?"

A shy smile grew on your face, your body so warm you had to resist fanning your burning cheeks, "Sounds like a plan."

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

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@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

DC Taglist:

@emmacata

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

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@evermoore580

@dumbbitchgalore

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@some-lovely-day

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brunchable · 15 days ago

Text

𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿

Pairings: PornStar!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Sexual Innuendo/humour,Guy next door, situational comedy? If you're not up for a few second-hand embarrassment sit this one out lol. Summary: Your coworker peer pressured you to look up SergeantBarnes in Pornhub, reason? Because apparently you're missing out. A/N: This would make a good mini series. . .but we'll see. I had a dream. . .that he was a guy next door, just wanted to-of course-add a twist to it asdfghjkl.

It was all Amy’s fault. And Trish’s. And okay, maybe you shared a little bit of the blame for caving to the intense peer pressure at work. But still.

You’d been minding your own business in the break room, scrolling through lunch menus, when Amy had sidled up, leaned in with that conspiratorial look on her face, and whispered, “Have you seen him yet?”

“Seen who?” your eyebrows creased as you asked, confused.

Trish popped up out of nowhere, clutching her latte in her hand. “Girl, SeargentBarnes. The guy is legendary—I mean, a literal internet icon.”

You shrugged, feigning indifference while they exchanged a look that practically screamed, amateur. They started talking all at once, dropping cryptic phrases like “too hot to handle,” “you’re gonna die,” and, “you’ll never look at men the same way again.”

So there you were that night, alone with your laptop, curled up in bed and biting your lip as you debated whether to type it in. It’s just curiosity, you reasoned. Research purposes.

Your eyes widened as the screen filled with… well, humanity, in all its naked, unfiltered glory. Your face heated up so fast you could’ve sworn it was the same shade as your throw pillow. Videos lined up like some weird buffet, titles more scandalous than anything you’d ever whispered in confession, and… was that a whole category devoted to delivery men? You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop from yelping, mortified at the intensity of it all.

“I need to go to church after this,” you muttered, squinting like that would somehow censor the thorough dedication people were showing in their, uh, procreation endeavors.

“SergeantBarnes,” you muttered to yourself as you typed, fingers hovering uncertainly over the Enter key. Then, with a sigh, you hit search, and… oh.

You nearly choked on oxygen. Because there he was, in HD glory, right on Pornhub, with that cocky grin and those blue eyes that looked like they’d been crafted in a lab. And he wasn’t just standing there looking smug—oh, no, he was on a mission, shirtless, flexing, and smirking at the camera like he was the world’s best-kept secret. The scene panned to him sitting on the edge of a bed, peeling off his belt with one hand, a glint in his eyes that seemed to say, this is what you came for.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, equal parts horrified and morbidly fascinated, as he proceeded to… well, get very familiar with his costar. SergeantBarnes was apparently an expert at multitasking, using every muscle, every inch of his well-equipped arsenal. And the way he was delivering lines? He was clearly treating the camera like it was his soulmate.

By minute two, your jaw had dropped. By minute five, you’d set the laptop on your nightstand to “watch responsibly.” By minute ten, you were convinced Amy and Trish had permanently ruined your life.

And the costar—she was practically putting on an Oscar-worthy performance, her reactions so intense you half expected her to start speaking in tongues. Every time SergeantBarnes’s… rod of justice plunges deep inside, she gasps like she was witnessing a miracle. You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Come on, is that really necessary?

As you watched, he gave a low, rumbling sound—half growl, half sigh—that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. His gaze burned through the screen with a confidence that was practically magnetic, and suddenly, you understood exactly why the costar was gasping. A new, unbidden heat pooled between your legs, making you shift uncomfortably, instinctively pressing your thighs together as if that could somehow stop the flush creeping up your face. Oh no, now I wish I were her, you thought, immediately cringing at yourself.

With a mix of half-laughter and half-horror, you reached over and slammed the laptop shut so fast it was like you were trying to save yourself from spontaneous combustion.

“Holy—oh, wow,” you whispered, pressing a hand to your face. “Okay. That was a one-time thing.”

Or so you thought.

Except now, every time you even glanced at your laptop, SergeantBarnes was right there in your mind, reminding you exactly why he was internet-famous. It was becoming a bit of a problem.

× × × ×

The next morning, you stumbled out of your apartment, looking like something that had been left out in the rain and dragged through a blender, mentally cursing last night’s “research” session. The world had no right to be this bright, and your regret levels were at an all-time high as you lugged the world’s heaviest box down the hallway.

You were so absorbed in avoiding a complete breakdown that you barely registered the deep, too-familiar voice beside you.

“Need help with that?”

“Thanks, but I got it,” you muttered automatically, barely sparing him a glance.

Except...then you did.

You looked up, squinting in confusion. Because, standing in front of you, in the perfectly mundane hallway of your perfectly mundane building, was him.

You froze, your brain spinning like a buffering screen. Okay, this guy’s insanely handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, stubbled jaw, eyes so blue they should have a health warning on them. You stared, mentally cataloging each feature, when—wait a minute... WAIT. A. MINUTE.

Your eyes narrowed, suspicion prickling as your brain finally fired up. Is that…? No, it can’t be.

But it was. Oh, it absolutely was.

SergeantBarnes, the very star of last night’s “educational” viewing, right here in the flesh. And suddenly, like a tractor beam had locked onto you, your gaze dropped right to his crotch, where you’d witnessed things you could never un-see.

This, of course, did not go unnoticed. His brows shot up as he followed your very obvious, very treacherous line of sight, glancing down at his jeans before looking back up at you with an infuriatingly smug grin.

“Uh… nice shoes?” you blurted out, your face feeling like it was on fire. You vaguely gestured to his boots, wishing you could vanish right into the walls.

“Thanks,” he replied smoothly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They’re pretty sturdy. But, you know…” He paused, his voice dropping just a hair. “I don’t think they’re what you were looking at.”

Your heart sank as you forced yourself to look up, his amused blue eyes practically laughing at you. Abort. Abort mission. Oh God, we are way past mission failure.

“Uh—no, I just… um…” You floundered, desperately trying to think of something, anything, that might save you from the hole you’d dug. But no words came. Not even the faintest semblance of a coherent thought. Just one long, silent scream echoing in your brain.

“Bucky,” he offered helpfully, sticking out his hand like he wasn’t SergeantBarnes from Pornhub, but just some guy offering to help with a box. “New neighbor, by the way.”

You stared at his hand like it was a booby trap, your brain short-circuiting as it reminded you exactly where those fingers had been. That hand had gripped… things. It had been places you’d only dreamed of, doing things you’d probably need a core workout just to survive. You could practically see the “viewer discretion advised” warning flashing in your head as you hesitated, still staring at his hand as if it might explode.

But, against your better judgment—and every shred of dignity—you slowly reached out and shook it, feeling your own fingers betray you by sweating as they made contact with his very… experienced ones.

“Uh… hi… I’m… yep.” you blurted, mentally cringing.

“‘Yep’? That’s a good name,” he said, smirking as he let go. “You sure you don’t need help? You seem… a little flustered.”

Flustered? Understatement of the century. If your dignity had been a cup, it was empty, bone-dry, and cracked. You forced yourself to focus, eyes straight forward, pointedly ignoring the very tempting crotch-level view.

“I’m fine! Totally fine!” you squeaked, cringing at your own voice. Oh God, calm down!

But he just chuckled, that same dangerously cocky smile from last night plastered all over his face. “Alright, Yep. Guess I’ll see you around.”

As he turned to leave, you stood there in the hallway, clutching the box like it was a life raft, heart racing a mile a minute. You’d just had a very public staring incident with SergeantBarnes, your new neighbor, and all you’d managed to say was nice shoes.

I’m gonna need new coworkers, you thought, practically burying your face in the box as you scurried to your apartment.

The door slammed shut with a bang that could probably be heard across state lines. You dropped the box unceremoniously, ignoring the loud thunk as it hit the floor, and whipped your phone out, fingers flying across the screen like you were composing a manifesto.

Guys, you’re NEVER gonna guess who my neighbor is—

You paused, staring at the screen as the rest of the text formed in your mind: THE SergeantBarnes. LIVE. IN. THE. FLESH.

But then another thought stopped you dead in your tracks. Oh no.

You could already picture it: Amy and Trish showing up like rabid fangirls in their “I Heart SergeantBarnes” merch, carrying suspiciously flimsy plates of brownies. Trish would have binoculars. Amy would be taking notes, probably trying to “accidentally” leave her phone number under his door. You shuddered, imagining them cornering him by the mailboxes, all of them acting like they were definitely not the type of women who had his entire catalog bookmarked on their phones.

A horrible realization hit you. If I tell them, this man’s gonna be living a nightmare right next door to me. Not just a nightmare, a Trish-and-Amy-sponsored fan club nightmare, where they might even break into song—probably chanting, “SergeantBarnes! SergeantBarnes!” while he tries to get his groceries.

You looked back at your unsent message and deleted it in one go, feeling weirdly proud of yourself. Yeah, no. I’m not letting them anywhere near him.

Totally altruistic, of course. It had nothing to do with keeping the eye candy to yourself.

You took a deep breath, looking around your empty apartment like you were expecting the FBI to burst through the door at any second. Sure, you’d just been in the hallway with the actual SergeantBarnes, but maybe… maybe you were imagining things. It had been a long day. Moving was stressful. Stranger things had happened, right?

With a surge of resolve (and denial), you dashed to your bedroom, practically sliding across the floor as you went. Your laptop was waiting innocently on the nightstand, and with a quick glance over your shoulder to ensure you were still alone, you opened it up, clicked incognito mode like you were hiding state secrets, and went straight to the website you’d sworn off only hours ago.

“Alright… just to confirm,” you muttered to yourself, feeling your cheeks burn as you typed SergeantBarnes into the search bar, mentally bracing yourself for the flood of results.

And there he was. The whole page filled with him, in various… positions. You swallowed, scrolling until one video caught your eye: “Sergeant Disciplines the Bratty Recruit.”

You snorted, almost slamming the laptop shut. “Oh, for heaven’s sake…”

But curiosity was a dangerous beast, and before you could talk yourself out of it, your finger had already clicked play.

The video started, with SergeantBarnes in all his glory, wearing what looked like the world’s tightest military uniform. His face was as smug as ever, that telltale glint of mischief in his eyes as he muttered something absurd like, “Think you can handle me, recruit?”

“Oh my god,” you whispered, cringing as you half-covered your eyes but peeked through your fingers anyway.

But there was no denying it—the face, the voice, the ridiculous, smoldering look into the camera. There was no escaping it now. It was 100% him. The same guy who was now living approximately ten feet away from your own front door.

As the video continued, your disbelief only grew. This man… this man is next door, could eating cereal right now, you thought, torn between horrified fascination and the urge to laugh. Because there he was, in full “disciplinary action” mode, doing things you could barely process, and here you were, watching it again, just to make sure it was really him.

“Oh, I’m doomed,” you muttered, slapping the laptop shut. You weren’t even sure if you were embarrassed, impressed, or maybe just a little terrified of your own neighbor.

× × × ×

Over the next few days, it was like living in a twisted sitcom. Everywhere you went, he was there, lurking like some kind of sexy, mildly inconvenient specter. It was uncanny. You’d turn a corner, and bam—there he’d be, giving you that polite nod and a smirk that clearly said, I know exactly what you’ve seen.

It started small. You’d step into the elevator, praying for a peaceful ride, and ding! in he’d stroll, flashing that devastating grin. Instantly, you’d stiffen, gluing yourself to the opposite wall, practically trying to meld with the buttons, heart pounding like you were about to pass out. You couldn’t even look him in the eye without flashes of his, uh, “filmography” playing in your mind. Every single time, without fail, you found yourself studying the very clean floor of the elevator as he leaned casually against the wall, the corners of his mouth tugging up.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” he’d ask, all smooth, innocent charm. Meanwhile, you were there like, Oh, totally, perfect day to run into my favorite Pornhub star.

You were in the laundry room, blissfully alone, humming to yourself as you separated your clothes like a responsible adult. Whites here, colors there, delicates—well, you were kind of just tossing them wherever at this point. Then, suddenly, you felt it: a shift in the air, a presence. You froze, the hair on the back of your neck standing up, a sock suspended mid-toss in your hand. Why do I feel like the music should be getting dramatic right about now?

Slowly, as if sensing his approach, you turned. And there he was—Bucky, striding in with a laundry basket filled with a suspiciously pristine pile of perfectly folded, incredibly manly clothing. It was as if he’d just stepped out of some kind of… laundry commercial. Or worse… one of his own videos.

You blinked, eyes widening as a thousand clichés suddenly flashed through your mind. Oh no, why does this feel like the start of a porn? you thought, biting your lip as you realized the two of you were, in fact, very alone, surrounded by washing machines and suspiciously warm lighting. You mentally kicked yourself. Snap out of it! This is laundry. Regular, boring laundry.

Bucky caught your eye, giving you an amused once-over. “Doing some laundry?” he asked, his voice low and casual, but somehow it felt like the most suggestive question in the world.

You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Uh-huh,” you managed, trying to sound like a normal human being. “Just, uh… laundry.”

Your face felt like it was on fire as you realized half of your load was underwear, strewn everywhere. Panties, bras, socks—they were all there in their mismatched glory, practically screaming, We’re personal items! Pay extra attention! You yanked your gaze away from the pile, mortified, and flung the sock into the washer like you were trying to disarm a bomb.

You slammed the washer lid down, feeling like you’d just revealed way too much. But Bucky only grinned, strolling over with that maddening swagger. He tossed a shirt into the washer beside you, leaning against it with a smirk.

“Nice sorting skills,” he commented, eyes flicking down to the very obvious pile of bras and lace that you’d tried to hide. “Very… thorough.”

“Yep!” you squeaked, feeling like you might explode. You fumbled with the detergent bottle, struggling to open it as your brain went into full-blown panic mode. Why does this feel like one of those videos? Don’t look at him. Just don’t look. Pretend you’re alone. Pretend this is fine.

But of course, he wasn’t making it any easier. He folded his arms, watching you with a raised brow, the picture of calm while you were desperately trying to load underwear without dying of embarrassment.

“You know,” he said, clearly holding back a laugh, “usually people try to separate colors from whites.”

“Oh, I do! I mean, I… it’s a system,” you stammered, feeling like you were caught in a lie by the laundry police. “Sometimes it’s… it’s an artistic choice.”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with that insufferable amusement. “Artistic laundry, huh? Didn’t take you for the experimental type.”

“Yep,” you said, forcing a laugh as you stuffed in the last sock, your hands moving at lightning speed, desperate to finish and escape.

But as you turned to leave, he held up a stray bra that had somehow escaped your grasp, dangling it between two fingers with a raised eyebrow.

“You forgot this,” he said, voice dripping with that same mischievous humor.

You stared at the bra in horror, feeling your face go molten.

“Uh… thanks,” you mumbled, practically ripping it out of his hand and stuffing it into the washer, slamming the lid down one last time before you spun on your heel and speed-walked out of there.

Behind you, you heard him chuckle softly, his voice echoing in the hallway. “See you around, neighbor.”

Yep, you thought, already halfway down the hall, never doing laundry again.

By day three, it got ridiculous. You’d ducked into the mailroom, hoping he was out doing normal human things—maybe mowing a lawn or whatever. But no, as soon as you opened your mailbox, there he was, standing by his own, sorting through a stack of letters. You froze, briefly considering whether you could just flee and come back later for your electric bill.

And then… the grocery bag incident.

You were in the hallway, arms overloaded with bags because, naturally, you’d ignored the cart right by the entrance and had instead decided to carry it all in one go. You were so close to your door when you heard footsteps behind you.

“Need help?” he asked, that voice making you nearly fumble every bag in your arms.

You turned, scrambling to say, “No, I’m good,” but of course, in your panic, one of your bags tipped, and a lone, horrifying item fell out and hit the floor. You watched, paralyzed, as the little bottle of lube rolled out with an audible clatter, spinning lazily to a stop right in front of him.

You could practically feel the heat exploding from your cheeks. No. Oh no. Not like this.

You looked up, meeting his amused, slightly raised eyebrows as his lips twitched, clearly fighting a smile.

“Uh,” you choked out, unable to form a single coherent sentence. Think fast, make it sound normal, you told yourself, even though every possible explanation was racing out of your head.

He bent down, picking up the bottle with a glint of pure mischief in his eyes, inspecting it like he’d just found evidence of some grand crime.

“Hey, everyone’s got needs,” he said, deadpan, but that twinkle in his eye was anything but innocent. “Don’t worry.” He tossed you a wink, handing the bottle back like it was no big deal.

Your mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as your brain scrambled to form a sentence. Finally, the words tumbled out like a train wreck, your dignity left somewhere back at the grocery store.

“It’s… it’s for my friend,” you squeaked, clutching the lube bottle with both hands like it was a sacred artifact. He raised an eyebrow, looking entirely too entertained for your liking. “She’s, uh, she’s constipated.”

A moment of silence.

“She needs it to… you know, help with a suppository.” You forced a grin that you were sure looked more like a grimace. “She, uh… can’t get things moving. Really jammed up in there.”

Bucky’s face twisted in barely suppressed laughter, and his shoulders shook as he struggled to keep a straight face.

“Right,” he drawled, nodding with an expression that was one part pity and two parts are you for real? “That’s… thoughtful of you.”

You felt like you were overheating, a human furnace on the verge of combustion.

“She’s desperate!” you blurted, doubling down on your ridiculous story, even though every fiber of your being was screaming to stop talking. “I’m just being a good friend, you know? Supportive. I mean, she’s the one who’s backed up.”

He nodded again, still fighting a smile, the look in his eyes a mix of amusement and something else that made your pulse race.

“Sure,” he said, “nothing like helping a friend in need.” He paused, that wicked smile growing as he added, “In my experience, though, there are plenty of other uses for it.”

Your soul left your body.

He held out his hands in mock innocence, chuckling as your eyes widened to saucers.

“Just saying,” he winked. “Versatile stuff.”

And with that, he turned, strolling down the hall with a casual wave, leaving you frozen and mortified, clutching the bottle to your chest like a lifeline.

“Gotta… go,” you managed, voice barely a whisper, stumbling the last few steps to your door as you fumbled with the keys, practically falling inside.

The second the door shut behind you, you pressed your back against it, staring at the ceiling and whispering, “I’m never leaving my apartment again.”

Just as you were about to bury your face in your hands and live in the sweet, silent embrace of shame, your phone buzzed. You pulled it out, still reeling from the lube disaster, and saw a text from your friend, Clara.

Clara: Hey!! Did you get the lube?? Need it ASAP, things are… not moving over here, if you catch my drift.

You groaned, staring at the message, letting it sink in that yes, this entire disaster had been real.

You: Yes. Got it. Never speaking of this again.

Clara: Bless you, you lifesaver. My digestive system owes you a standing ovation.

You rolled your eyes, still red-faced. Clara had no idea you’d just had to explain the entire situation to your painfully attractive neighbor—who now likely thought you were a walking sitcom.

× × × ×

It started subtly—just a little teasing, or so you thought. But it quickly spiraled into a game you could only describe as Bucky Barnes: Merciless Teasing—Extended Cut. Every time you crossed paths, he managed to twist the knife just a little deeper, making you sweat, stumble, and practically choke on your own words.

The first time it happened, you were hauling a huge box out of your car, trying to look capable and independent, when he strolled up beside you, leaning against the car with a smirk.

“You act like I’m a celebrity,” he said, eyebrow cocked. “Every time you see me, you look ready to run.”

You fumbled, nearly dropping the box.

“Nope! I’m just…uh, busy!” you squeaked, scrambling to walk away at top speed, box clutched to your chest like a shield. But you caught his laugh as you rushed off, making you want to evaporate on the spot.

The next time, you were in the stairwell, headphones in, desperately trying to avoid any more awkward run-ins. Naturally, the moment you looked up, there he was, lounging at the landing like some kind of paid actor in a commercial. You froze mid-step as he raised a brow.

“Look at that,” he said, giving you the once-over, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost every time you see me. Is it something I did?”

You stammered, turning pink.

“No! Just, uh… headphones! Music! Loud music!” you blurted, before speed-walking up the stairs, praying he didn’t hear the Spice Girls song you’d been blasting. Behind you, his chuckle echoed up the stairwell like the final taunt of a villain.

But the absolute worst came at the coffee shop.

You were in line, looking at your phone, hoping you could just breeze in and out. The moment you placed your order and turned to leave, there he was, standing right behind you, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Hey, neighbor,” he drawled, eyeing your coffee cup like it was some incriminating evidence. “Funny running into you here. Or… do you keep running into me?”

Your face flushed, and you tried to think of something clever, but it was like all your brain cells had gone on vacation.

“Nope! Definitely just getting coffee! I don’t even… live near here!” you babbled, immediately regretting everything.

“Oh, interesting,” he replied, his grin widening. “Because I could swear you live right next door. But hey, if you want to keep pretending you don’t know me, I’ll go along with it.” He handed you your coffee with a wink. “See you around… or not.”

But things took a turn for the mortifying when, one evening, you were pacing the hallway on the phone with Clara, trying to vent without actually collapsing in a pile of awkwardness.

“It’s him, Clara!” you hissed, oblivious to the fact that you were pacing right outside Bucky’s door. “I’m living next door to SergeantBarnes! Can you believe this? I’ve seen everything he has to offer! I’ve practically studied him!”

Clara was howling with laughter, but you were too wrapped up in your frustration to care.

“And he knows, Clara! He keeps showing up everywhere, saying stuff like, ‘You seem nervous’ and ‘You keep looking at me like you know something I don’t.’ I swear, he’s doing it on purpose!” You paused, sighing dramatically. “The man is basically torturing me!”

“Yeah?” Clara snorted. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing! I’m gonna hide in my apartment forever! I mean, the guy is—” You froze mid-sentence, sensing a presence that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Please, for the love of all that is holy, no.

You slowly turned, and there he was. Bucky. Leaning against his door, arms crossed, looking like he’d just won the freaking lottery.

“Oh… my god…” you whispered, feeling your soul leave your body. He was watching you with an expression of pure, unfiltered amusement, one eyebrow quirked, lips pulled into that infuriating, knowing smirk.

“Well,” he said, voice laced with mischief. “That makes one of us.” His eyes glinted with barely-contained laughter. “And here I thought you were just a fan of my boots.”

You could practically feel your brain cells going up in smoke.

“I… uh… well… I…” you stammered, cheeks burning. “Boots… are great,” you managed, wanting to sink into the earth.

“Yeah? Because I seem to remember you looking… elsewhere last time,” he teased, stepping a little closer, enjoying every second of your embarrassment.

“Oh, no! Just… boots!” you squeaked, backing up, practically tripping over yourself. “I really should go… water my… uh… plants!”

He chuckled, savoring every second of your panic. “Good luck with that,” he said, throwing in one last wink as he slipped back into his apartment, leaving you in the hallway, feeling like you’d just gone through a slow-motion car crash.

Back in your apartment, you slid down the door, hands over your face as Clara’s laughter erupted over the phone.

“Boots?” she howled. “THAT’S what you went with? Boots?”

You groaned, banging your head back against the door. “Shut up, Clara.”

× × × ×

Determined to reclaim a shred of your dignity, you strode into the local coffee shop, praying for a quiet morning with zero embarrassing encounters. But, as if on cue, the universe had other plans.

There, right at the counter, was Bucky. He spotted you instantly, his face lighting up with that all-too-familiar grin that had haunted your dreams. There was no escape.

He waved you over, and before you could even think of pretending you hadn’t seen him, he was calling out, “Morning, neighbor! What’s your coffee order again?” His voice was loud enough that half the shop turned to look.

“Oh, um… it’s…” you stammered, but he’d already waved to the barista.

“Got it covered,” he said, leaning casually against the counter, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ve got a feeling you like it with extra cream.”

You choked on your own saliva, feeling your face turn crimson as he handed you the cup with a wink.

“Unless I’m wrong?” he added with a smirk, feigning innocence.

“N-Nope, that’s right!” you managed, grabbing the cup like it was a shield. “Extra cream… perfect.”

He chuckled, gesturing to an empty booth in the corner. “Great. Then you won’t mind sitting down with me for breakfast.”

“Oh no, really, I should—”

He raised an eyebrow. “What, got somewhere better to be?”

You froze, helplessly aware that the entire coffee shop was listening in. You managed a nervous laugh, mumbling, “Well… no, I guess not…”

Before you knew it, you were sitting across from him, desperately trying to keep your eyes anywhere but his face, your cheeks burning as he sipped his coffee and watched you with a smug smile.

“So,” he said, leaning forward, “what’s a girl like you doing watching a guy like me online, anyway?”

Your jaw dropped, coffee cup halfway to your mouth. “I—I wasn’t watching—It was research!” you spluttered, already kicking yourself for falling right into his trap.

He chuckled, clearly reveling in your embarrassment.

“Oh, sure, ‘research,’” he said, nodding like he totally believed you. “I get it. You know, it’s important to be informed.”

You practically shrank into your seat, glancing around to see if anyone else had heard. “Could you not say that so loudly?”

He smirked, taking a long, deliberate sip of his coffee.

“Relax, I’m just curious,” he said, leaning in close enough that you could smell his aftershave. “Gotta say, it’s a little flattering to have a fan right next door.”

Your brain completely short-circuited. “Fan? I—no! I mean, not like that… I… I barely even…” You could feel the lie crumbling in your throat as his smirk deepened.

“Uh-huh. Then why did you look like you were about to sprint every time you saw me?” He tilted his head, studying you, eyes twinkling. “And I swear you turned pink the second you walked in here.”

Your hands shot up, covering your cheeks. “I did not! You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” he said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “Because it’s like clockwork. Every time I’m around, you look like you’ve been caught red-handed. I don’t mind, you know,” he added, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

You let out a strangled laugh, ready to crawl under the table.

“That’s… obvious,” you muttered, feeling as though you might combust at any second.

“Okay, so since we’re having breakfast together, how about you tell me: any favorite scenes?” He laughed, looking entirely too amused as he stirred his coffee.

You practically choked on your coffee, face flaming as you tried to hide behind your cup.

“I—I can’t believe you just asked that!” you squeaked, horrified and unable to meet his gaze.

“Oh, come on,” he grinned, clearly enjoying every second. “It’s just small talk. I mean, who better to ask than a neighbor?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can we please pretend this conversation never happened?”

“Nope. Can’t do that,” he replied, laughing. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

Just as you were starting to pray for an earthquake to swallow you whole, you glanced up at him, cheeks still flaming.

“Did you… did you know I recognized you this whole time?”

He leaned back, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

“Of course I did,” he said, laughing. “Figured it out the second I saw that look on your face. I just wanted to see if you’d ever bring it up.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, feeling mortification seep into your very bones. “And you kept messing with me?”

“Of course,” he said, raising an eyebrow with a wicked grin. “I was just waiting to see how long it would take for you to crack. Guess now the ice is broken, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re the worst.”

He winked, finishing his coffee. “Yeah, but I make breakfast interesting, don’t I?”

You laughed, feeling the last traces of embarrassment fade away—well, at least enough to breathe normally again. But just as you started to feel almost… comfortable, Bucky tilted his head, giving you a curious look.

“So, neighbor,” he said, smirking, “I’ve gotta ask… what’s your name?”

You blinked, realizing with a jolt that you’d never actually told him. In all your attempts to dodge, deflect, and survive the relentless teasing, you hadn’t even bothered to introduce yourself.

“Oh… right,” you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up again. “I, uh, guess I never actually said.”

“Nope,” he replied, leaning in with a grin. “I just assumed you wanted to keep a little mystery between us.”

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “Trust me, I’m not that mysterious.”

“Really?” he replied, eyebrows raised. “Because all this time I’ve been calling you ‘Yep.’”

Your face went red as you remembered the first time you’d stammered a barely coherent “yep” instead of an introduction. “Oh my god. You haven’t been calling me that in your head this whole time, have you?”

He shrugged, smirking. “It’s kind of cute. Suits you, actually.”

You groaned, but laughed despite yourself, finally holding out your hand across the table. “Alright. I’m Y/N. Officially.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, taking your hand, his grip warm and firm. His smirk softened into something a little more genuine. “Good to meet you, Y/N. Officially.”

His hand lingered in yours for a beat longer than necessary, and for a moment, there was no teasing, no innuendos—just the two of you, sitting across the table, smiling like two normal people who’d just met under… semi-normal circumstances.

Then, just as you were starting to think maybe, just maybe, you could get used to this weirdly charming neighbor situation, he leaned back, that mischievous glint creeping back into his eyes.

“Now that we’re on a first-name basis,” he said, winking, “you can tell me all about your favorite scenes. You know, for professional feedback.”

You burst out laughing, face in your hands as he watched you with a triumphant grin. Yep, you thought, already regretting nothing and everything.

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gyrlliar · 7 months ago

Text

Initiation pt.2

(football team x bttm cheerleader male/ftm reader)

(note: currently healing from pneumonia, but i'm back, i missed you sluts so much haha)

You gulped as you stared up at their musky cocks and sweaty faces. You thought initiations would be like drinking gross drinks or being pranked by the seniors...not...this. But who said you were complaining? You sucked on Ivan's cock as Gerald started going to town on your lower half. Gerald lightly prodded his tongue on your throbbing hole and started to eat you out.

You squeaked on Ivan's cock, the noise vibrating on his sensitive rod making him groan loudly. The twins looked over at you with devious grins on their faces, Luke slightly pushes Lucas to the side, making Lucas scoff and push Luke back. "Hey, I'm gonna get a handjob from him first!" Luke protested as Lucas stuck out his tongue at him.

The twins proceeded to bicker back and forth as Daniel stands in front of you, his face was red and embarassed. Ivan chuckles at his face, Ivan's blue eyes look down at you, groans bubbling from his throat whilst he's trying to speak. "This cutie has enough room in his mouth for the both of us, Danny. Get your knob slobbered over by this one."

Ivan's southern accent came out, his precum bursting in your mouth. Soft and lewd moans and whimpers came out muffled in your mouth as you felt Gerald lick a sensitive part of your hot, dripping sex. Ivan shoved more of his cock down your throat, the way that his cock curved over to the right scratched your throat...gosh, you won't be able to yell cheers for weeks after this.

Daniel shook his head at Ivan's offer, his hands over his boner as he refused to use you even though how enticing you looked right now...

Your mind was melting from the heat of the hot intimacy happening to your previously virgin body, you jerked your head back into Ivan's fat cock as Gerald's tongue prodded on your hole.

Daniel was going insane over your lewd expression as you were getting overstimulated. Ivan laughs at Daniel's unreadable face, "Too scared to fuck this cutie? C'mon, we gotta help him become the best cheerleader!" Ivan said with a deep laugh.

Gerald then pulled Daniel to his side, your aching and throbbing hole was presented to him lewdly. "C'mon Cap...relax for once and fuck this tight and delicious hole." Gerald offered to Daniel.

Daniel gulped heavily, his sweaty hands grabbed your soft yet muscular thighs which made his cock twitch. He pushed your legs apart easily, your flexibility made his cock twitch once more as he stared at your pretty hole that was winking at him.

"Cap, c'mon, fuck his little brains out! You starin' at his ass like you fallin' in love...I mean, shit I would too." Gerald stated jokingly whilst the others agreed. Daniel glared at him briefly as he felt his heart pump in jealousy.

He had to be honest. Ever since the first day of college, when he saw you dressed up like a stereotypical preppy cheerleader, he always used to scoff at those people, but you...you were just so...fucking cute and so nice.

The way you waved and smiled at him as he was just looking at you whilst he was walking in the campus, the way that you randomly gave him his favorite drink before a football match to 'boost your energy!'...why are you so fucking cute?

Daniel's hazel eyes shined as he grabbed your hips and the hot tip of his cock prodded against your throbbing hole. "I-I'm...gonna go in now." He said, his voice cracking in the process.

Your sex twitched cutely, it was like you saying 'go ahead, use me', Daniel's cock and heart throbbed as he accidentally roughly shoved his long and thick cock in your sex, making you moan loudly and your eyes tear up.

Ivan groaned as he felt the vibrations of your moans on his sensitive cock, making more precum ooze into your warm mouth. He laughed, "Woah there Cap'! I always knew you were a rough guy in the field, but I didn't know it was with sex too!" They all laughed as Daniel panicked slightly.

He soothingly rubbed the side of your hips with his rough hands as you relaxed around his cock. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you." Daniel said, panic and worry evident in his face. You grabbed his hand and placed it on your chest, almost like you saying that it was alright.

Daniel felt his face heat up even more as he started thrusting into you at a gentle pace, his hand started groping your pretty chest, tweaking your cute nipples, making your sex spasm around him. His eyes furrowed in frustration, 'Goddamnit...you're so cute.' He thought as he started thrusting faster.

The two twins finally ended their squawking and decided to let your two hands pleasure them both. Luke moaned softly as he felt your soft hand gently massage his cock, whilst Lucas used your other hand vigorously to pump his dripping cock.

Ivan pulled Gerald next to him and Gerald whipped out his thick and girthy cock, "I'm gonna pull out of your mouth for a sec' babe...'cuz you're gonna worship both our cocks." You nodded mindlessly as Ivan pulled his cock out of your mouth with a lewd pop.

You started licking Gerald's fat and musky cock and kissing Ivan's long rod. At this point, your mind has melted like butter. All of the football team was using you like a sex toy, whether or not if they were rough or not, they were so good at what they were doing...at football and sex.

Everyone started speeding up their pace as you slobbered onto Gerald's cock, making him groan. Ivan jerked off his cock on top of your face, his precum dripping onto your cute, fucked out face.

The two twins moaned loudly as they used your soft hands to jack off their cocks, Daniel started fucking you animalistically, making you moan loudly on the two cocks that were in your mouth now.

Everyone started moaning aggressively, as if they were doing the hardest and toughest of practices and drills...well...technically they were, just with you. You felt their cocks chub up as you felt an orgasm build up in your sex.

The final stretch, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as they all started spurting ropes of cum onto your body and into your mouth. You gulped down the cum in your mouth, your mind was working on autopilot at this point.

They all panted heavily as Daniel was still fucking you like an animal, your sticky hands went to his back as he adjusted your position for you to look at his face. Your cum stained face was so cute...Daniel hugged you whilst closing his eyes.

"Damnit...you're too cute!" He said whilst he came agressively into you, along with him, you also had your orgasm, making you moan lewdly and hug him back. You all panted heavily as Daniel pulled out of your used hole.

They all looked at each other and smiled in a smug way, telepathically saying to each other, 'Holy shit, we just fucked the cutest cheerleader.'

The two twins carried you to the showers where they cleaned your body. Gerald and Ivan brought you some clean clothes and snacks, you blushed a bright red as after they were fucking you like no tomorrow, they were now treating you like a prince.

The whole team made you relax as they cracked up jokes and silly stories as Gerald massaged your aching body. After a while, the whole team waved goodbye to you as they went home. Except Daniel.

Daniel sat next to you in silence, his face was flushed as he silently handed you his phone. "Please give me your number..." He said softly as you blushed. "O-okay...um...I can't believe you'd want to have sex with me again after absolutely wrecking me." You joked out with shy chuckle.

"N-No! I want to go on a date with you...that's why I asked for your number." Daniel said nervously. "Oh." You muttered out as you shakily typed in your phone number in his phone.

"T-Thank you!" He said quite loudly, he winced at himself as he stood up and suddenly kissed your soft lips. He pulled away with a shocked expression, as if he was shocked at himself for kissing you. "B-...Bye!" He blurted out as he left the locker room.

You placed your hand on your lips, and smiled slightly. You squealed softly. "Cute..."

(THIS IS SO BAD I'M SORRY GUYS.)

#male reader #x male reader #bottom male reader #sub male reader #male reader smut #uke male reader

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