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skyward-floored · 1 year ago

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Whumptober Day 20: Found family, Blanket

*shuffles feet*

...in my defense, I almost entirely finished this yesterday, I just wasn’t about to go trying to edit and post it at like 11:30 at night (though this note probably would have been a lot more interesting if I had lol).

Anyway. Continuation to day 17! I apologize for the delay and hope the wait was worth it 😓

Day 17

Read on ao3

Warnings: same as day 17, injuries, torture mentions, a short nightmare, just bad times for Twilight

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Getting out was a blur.

Link forced himself to stay awake as the leader of the heroes (had he even said his name? ...If he had he couldn’t remember) carried him, but focusing on much of anything was difficult. The ever-present pain weighed him down like a heavy load, old scars and new injuries adding endless layers of suffering, and even just being carried in someone’s arms was agony.

There was the leftover burn from the magic too— though the chains that had secured him were gone, the manacles were still on his wrists and the collar was still around his neck, and they ached, his whole body still shaking from the ordeal of removing the chains.

It was a struggle not to just pass out.

But the part of him that still screamed not to trust stay on alert be prepared for him to come back was stronger. It had been honed from countless jarring awakenings, pain ripping him back from already restless sleeps, and so he stayed awake, no matter how badly he wanted to rest.

The man holding him shifted his grip as he went up some stairs, and Link felt his breath hitch as some of his injuries were nudged. The man whispered an apology, and gently squeezed one of the few spots of skin that didn’t have an open wound on it.

Link flinched anyway.

The touch immediately retreated, and Link was torn between being relieved and crying at the loss of it.

Part of him still expected them to suddenly turn on him, the kind touches becoming bruising ones, gentle hands turned to claws and knives. But... he also craved it. He desperately wanted somebody to pat him on the shoulder and hug him and run their hand through his hair, but any of the touch he’d received so far had been like torture.

He truly couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a touch that didn’t involve pain in some way. He could barely stomach it now, no matter how well-meaning, and he hated it.

Was there anything left the Shadow hadn’t taken from him?

Voices suddenly rang down the hall, and Link stiffened, straining his ears to try and figure out who— or what they were.

One of the other heroes who’d gotten him out (the one with the Master Sword, he thought. He really needed names) called out, and soon there were unfamiliar faces and words being exchanged and questions directed at him and all he could do was close his eyes, overwhelmed by the sudden amount of people surrounding him.

How many were there?

“... got Legend pretty bad, but we beat him off and he disappeared,” a polished voice spoke, and Link twitched an ear his direction. What was he talking about? A legend?

“I’m fine,” a sharper voice cut in, and Link thought it seemed younger then the other one. “You didn’t need to use that fairy, that was our last one!”

“Well what was I supposed to do?”

“Save it for the reason we came here in the first place! He’s way more injured than I was!”

“Legend,” a softer voice spoke up, sounding exasperated, “...you were pretty bad. And you know we don’t take chances with injuries caused by the Shadow.”

A sick feeling abruptly surged over Link at the name, along with an intense hatred and fear and horror and too many emotions for his mind to handle at the moment. Link’s breath stuttered against his will, and the man holding him frowned.

“You don’t think the Shadow is still here, do you?” The small hero with the colorful tunic asked, and the voices paused.

“Probably... not,” Link croaked, and they all looked at him.

He swallowed.

“Do you know where he is?” a man in a deep blue scarf asked, and Link exhaled, gathering his strength.

“No,” Link managed to get out, and the voices stayed quiet. “Probably not. But he usually... usually powered ‘self before... fights.”

“...powered himself?” a younger voice asked in an anxious tone, and Link closed his eyes again. Hadn’t they known? Or at least figured it out based on what they’d seen?

All he was was a battery.

“Thank you Link, I’m sorry we brought it up,” the leader apologized, and Link made a noncommittal noise. “We’re almost out, hold on.”

They began moving again, and Link caught several people looking at him, though most of them stopped when they realized he’d noticed. A teenager with a stripe of pink in his hair didn’t though, and Link found himself staring, curious about the look of him. He gave him an awkward little nod, and Link tried to return it, though he wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

They were all so different, were these really heroes like him?

The Shadow had mentioned other heroes once or twice, but Link usually had no clue what he was talking about, or if he did, refused to say anything.

Besides, he was usually too busy screaming to listen anyhow.

Something bright shone out of the corner of his eye, and Link turned to look at it, his heart speeding up at the sight of a large entryway. The group hurriedly went through it, and Link was almost blinded from how bright it was after they walked through.

He blinked furiously, needing to see what was going on, and finally his eyes adjusted and he looked around in shock.

Sunlight.

Faint, barely-there, dim autumn sunlight that struggled to shine through the trees, but the sight of it nearly made Link sob.

He was outside.

He could see sunlight shining through yellow and orange leaves, eventually joined by the sound of birds and other creatures as they went along, air that wasn’t stale rushing past his face and making all his injuries hurt more but he didn’t care a bit.

He was out.

He was crying he realized, and he closed his eyes, overwhelmed by it all.

It wasn’t a trick. He’d never gotten this far the few times he’d been brought out, they were really who they said they were, they must be, and they’d gotten him out of the darkness.

Someone might’ve said something to him, but the overwhelming sensation of being outside had finally pushed Link to his limit, and he gave up on his fight to stay awake.

Darkness swept him away, it’s touch more gentle then he’d felt in a long time.

(...)

The heroes didn’t stop traveling until they were plenty far away from the oppressive ruins where they’d found Link, the trip passing in almost complete silence.

Link had passed out in Time’s arms not long after they’d finally exited, tears on his face, and Time couldn’t help but be somewhat relieved.

Watching Link remain in an almost stubborn state of alertness, ears twitching towards any sound, flinching when Time adjusted him, had been agonizing to watch. His body desperately needed rest, but he’d been stubbornly refusing it until they were out.

He’s certainly one of us, no doubt about that, Time thought with a sigh.

Sky grabbed a bedroll the moment they found a safe place to stop, and Time carefully lowered Link onto it, trying to avoid any injuries. He had several on his back, but they set him down as softly as possible, and Link didn’t wake.

“That’s really him?” Wind asked in a small voice as Warriors moved over to carefully look over all of Link’s injuries, cursing under his breath more than once.

“This is him,” Time replied quietly, trying to clean some of the blood and dirt out of Link’s hair. Now that they were out of the ruins, it was even more obvious how badly Link was in need of being cleaned up and cared for, and Time focused on not being overwhelmed by the task.

What all did he go through in there?

“What happened to him?” Legend said in a voice full of quiet horror, and Wild harshly kicked a rock into a tree.

“What didn’t?” he bit out in a fragile voice, and Sky put a hand on his arm, saying something that Time didn’t catch.

Warriors accidentally brushed a hand against Link’s collarbone then, and his eyes shot open, nearly throwing himself backwards away from the touch.

“Get away!” he snarled, voice hoarse, and Warriors immediately backed up.

“Whoa, easy,” Warriors quickly reassured, putting his hands up. “I’m only checking which of your injuries need to be cleaned so we can give you a potion. We don’t want anything healing inside them.”

Link glared at him in suspicion, but when Time moved into his line of sight, he relaxed a little.

“He’s helping, Link, I promise,” he reassured, and Link slowly relaxed, though he remained awake. Time glanced around at the other heroes as Warriors finished his examination, and saw that most of them were either looking at Link, or pointedly not looking at him as they worked on setting up camp.

It seemed none of them were quite certain how to deal with seeing one of their own in such a state.

Wild came over when he noticed Time watching them all, and he looked at Link, uncertainty on his face.

“Can I help at all?” he asked, voice stronger then it had been, and Time looked over at Warriors.

“These all need to be cleaned, and it’s not going to be easy for him,” the captain reported quietly, looking over his chest. “The faster we can get it done the better.”

“Link, we need to clean you up before we can heal you,” Time said as he knelt at his side, and Link gave him a bleary look. “It won’t be pleasant, but it needs to be done.”

Link breathed out and nodded, looking up at Time with shadows under his eyes.

“Go ahead,” he whispered.

Time gave him a faint smile, and Wild knelt beside him as they got to work.

It took a long time scrubbing all of the dirt out and disinfecting the injuries Link was coated in. They focused on cleaning the actual wounds, but Time knew Link would need the rest of himself cleaned up at some point, dirt and blood and all sorts of grime coated on his skin.

But that can wait.

Link was stiff throughout the entire process, trembling when they got to certain injuries, and trying not to cry out when they used the alcohol Warriors had provided to disinfect. The worst part was his face, which Time carefully washed up, but Link was nearly in tears by the time he finished cleaning the slice that cut right through the dark lines on his forehead.

But they finally finished, and Link sagged, his breathing shaking. Hyrule came forward then, and offered to heal him, and Link gave him a curious look.

“It’s a healing spell, it’ll be more thorough than a potion,” he explained. He faintly lit up his hands to demonstration, but Link immediately recoiled from the light.

“No, no n-no magic!” Link breathed, a flicker of terror in his eyes.

Hyrule immediately backed off, and Link’s cheeks flushed as he calmed down.

“I... I’m sorry, I-I...”

“No, I understand, that’s okay,” Hyrule said kindly, and Link swallowed and looked away, cheeks still red.

“Potions will be enough,” Time said peaceably, and Hyrule took out a few, handing them to Time. Though a fairy or healing spell would be preferable. “Take it slow, Link.”

Sky helped him carefully sit Link up, and Time helped him drink the entire red potion, slowly so as not to overwhelm his stomach. He eagerly sipped at it, and the most intense of his injuries began to knit closed, angry lines and deep gouges, and places that must be barely healed-over stab wounds—

Time exhaled, and lowered Link back to the ground as he finished, anger stirring in his chest.

The Shadow will pay for this.

“Try and get some more rest, Link. You’re safe with us,” Time said gently as he set the bottle aside, and rested a careful hand on Link’s.

He flinched, but after a long moment, slowly gripped it back. His hand shook as Time brushed his thumb over the dirtied triangles on the back, but he didn’t let go, even though Time knew holding on was hard.

You’re safe.

(...)

The next few days trickled by slowly, Link struggling to adjust to life not imprisoned in a hole being used as some sort of dark power source.

His injuries were healing, albeit slowly due to the sheer amount of them, but he was struggling more with the other scars his imprisonment had left him. He still couldn’t handle much touch, or large amounts of food, and he’d rarely sleep for long periods of time, waking up sweating and shaking from memories he hadn’t told the rest of them about yet.

Four made it his personal mission to remove the collar and bands from around his neck and wrists, since all they did was serve as a reminder for all them of the torture he’d endured.

Link wanted them off more than anyone, and he patiently sat through all of Four’s attempts at removal. The smithy finally succeeded with the help of some of Legend’s items and tools, Link nearly crying with relief at them gone, but the pale scars underneath the metal were almost worse.

They couldn’t be removed.

Time tried his best to help Link adjust, but it was hard when he could only give them the bare minimum of what he’d endured, and stubbornly tried to insist he was fine and they didn’t need to fuss over him. Even after he’d wake up gasping from a nightmare, Link would try to muffle his cries in order not to wake anyone, and couldn’t stand even a grounding hand on his shoulder.

It was at times like these Time wished Malon were here. She would know exactly how to comfort the traumatized boy they’d all found themselves with, better than Time ever could.

How do we help him, Malon? he thought one night as he studied Link’s slumbering face. His scars were harder to see in the dark, but Time knew they were there, slashed across his forehead, his chest... and his heart.

How did you ever handle me?

Time didn’t find any one answer, but as time slowly went by, Link did open up, at least a little. As they all explained more about themselves, he was willing to do so a bit too, explaining some of his journey, and telling the dark marks on his forehead actually weren’t a result of his imprisonment, though not exactly explaining what they were from.

His favorite thing to talk about was his home village though, and the longing in his voice was impossible to miss.

Time would have carried him there himself if it had been at all possible, but they were a long ways away from Ordon, and Link could barely walk across the clearing they were camped in without needing a rest. Taking him home would have to wait, as much as Time disliked it.

But in the meantime, the other heroes did their best to help Link as well, Wild figuring out what was easiest for him to eat, Warriors and Hyrule dutifully checking up on his injuries. Wind liked to tell him stories whenever he was struggling not to dwell on memories, sometimes getting Four to tell a few, and Legend even laid out his weapons and offered to let Link borrow one, until they could get him a sword of his own.

Sky often just let him hold the Master Sword, Link’s hands clutching the hilt as he sat in silence.

It seemed to comfort him, often when the rest of them couldn’t, and while Time couldn’t relate, he was glad it helped.

Time could also tell it was killing Sky not to be able to comfort Link with touch, at all, but Link was still working up to anything more then his hand being held. He would just have to do it at his own pace, as hard as it was to watch him struggle.

And things didn’t change in that regard, until all of a sudden they did.

(...)

Link closed his eyes as the tip of a blade pressed against his chin. He wouldn’t panic. This happened almost every day, and he wouldn’t panic. He wouldn’t give the Shadow the satisfaction of it.

“You’re not going to beg today?” he asked almost curiously, and Link licked his lips, tasting blood. “I might even listen, you never know.”

“I’ve never begged,” he said in a cold voice.

He wouldn’t stoop to that level, he’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t. It was one of the few ways he felt like he had a choice in the matter, and he knew it made the Shadow mad when when he remained silent.

He wouldn’t give his captor the satisfaction.

The Shadow leaned in so they were eye-to-eye, and Link stared at the crimson glow of his eyes, trying not to let his breath hitch.

“Well. Let’s see if we can change that, shall we?”

And then the blade flicked down, pain ripping across his chest. At at the same time the metal around his neck lit up like the lava on death mountain, burning into him, searing down the line where the sword had struck, and Link screamed as he felt magic bore into him and sap away every bit of his strength—

He woke up.

Link jerked upright, pain still blinding him, and he might’ve screamed but he wasn’t sure. Darkness was around him, lit only by the Shadow’s glowing eyes and he knew it had all been a dream, he hadn’t been rescued after all and he was never going to get out—

Link breathed heavily, clutching at his neck, certain he could still feel the collar, magic burning into him, feel his strength ripped away as injuries were torn into his chest—

“Link,” a soft voice said, and he heaved in another breath, hands still pressed to his neck. “Link, you’re out, you’re safe.”

He managed to raise his head, and saw Time kneeling carefully beside him, a hand outstretched in a calming gesture.

He swallowed, breathing in another shaky breath, and looked around, slowly recognizing the campsite they’d been at for the past several days. The light he’d seen was the campfire, not the Shadow’s eyes, and he felt relief start to soak through the terror.

He wasn’t there. He wasn’t back.

His breath hitched, and Time moved closer to him, offering him a hand to take if he wanted it.

Link stared at it, then began to shake, feeling suddenly overwhelmed at everything again.

He was out. He wasn’t a prisoner. He was out and safe and he’d been there for so long but he was out but he wasn’t home but he was home, brothers he never knew he had saving him and their kindness made his chest ache because he’d done nothing to deserve it and despite waking them up and slowing them down and pushing away their help they kept coming back and he’d done nothing—

A sob broke out of him as the sheer scale of everything suddenly crashed down onto him, and Time’s eye widened.

Then he leaned forward, and slowly, carefully, put an arm around him.

Link’s breath hitched with another sob, stiffening as the touch settled across his back, but as Time tried to move, he clutched at his arm, silently begging him not to let go. The touch was like fire on his back, but it soothed a part of him that he hadn’t even realized had been hurting so much.

Time hesitated as Link shuddered, then he lifted his other arm, pulling him into an actual hug, tight and warm.

That destroyed any composure Link had left, and he buried his face in Time’s shoulder, crying harder than he had in a long time. The touch all around him was awful and wonderful and agonizing and pure relief, and the sensation made him shake with how overwhelming it was.

“You’re okay,” Time whispered as Link fell to pieces in his arms. He ran a hand through his hair, and Link’s breath hitched on another sob. “You’re okay. I’ve got you, Link.”

Link had no clue as to the last time he’d received a hug, but this one, as messy and awful and painful as it was, was probably the best.

(...)

After that night, Link often found himself in a pile of heroes whenever he went to bed.

Wild would curl up at his side, Sky would end up with an arm flung out on top of him, Wind and Four by his head. Sometimes all of them would end up around him, and Link would nearly cry if he woke up and realized, falling back asleep more deeply then he had in months.

It was wonderful.

He was still struggling to get back on his own two feet, building his strength, still dealing with the fact that he’d always have the scars from his imprisonment, that he still sometimes woke up screaming in the middle of the night.

But he knew he’d have the others to support him, as hard as it was to let them. He still had moments where he’d push them away, when touch hurt instead of helped, when the thought of giving up crossed his mind, and didn’t seem like too bad of an option.

But he wouldn’t give up. Dark Link may have crushed him, but he wouldn’t be kept down, even though at times it seemed nearly impossible.

He would keep going.

And as Link leaned against Sky’s shoulder one night, Time’s arm over his shoulders, Wild and Four sitting leaned up against his feet while the others sat close by, it wasn’t nearly as hard to believe that he might be... okay.

Ordon would have to wait a bit longer, until he’d regained his strength, and could properly swing a sword, but until then...

A hand ran through his hair, and Link exhaled, the feeling of safety like a warm blanket around his shoulders.

...Link could wait.

#not pictured: dink being blown up by the FD next time Time sees him #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu twilight #lu time #linked universe fanfic #all the links #lu chain #whumptober 2023 #day 20 #fic #found family #blanket #writing from the floor #also not pictured: Link finding horse grass and giving epona many kisses #this is messy but I got emotional writing it and my writing gets messy when I’m emotional XD #plus a lot was written late last night haha...#anyway I hope you guys like it #I wanted to make it even even longer but I had to stop somewhere 😅

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xxxevilfilms · 2 months ago

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Bicurious Twenty-Somethings | Chapter 1

Info: Fuck buddies AU. Hwoarang and Jin attempt to see eye to eye after concluding that neither of them have anything to gain from their rivalry and decide to become friends...kinda. One thing leads to another when Hwoarang exposes Jin to recreational activities that colors Jin’s feelings about his former rival.

Kinks: Frottage, Dirty Talk, Mutual Masturbation, First Time Blow Jobs, Porn Watching

How High | Jin Kazama x Hwoarang

Ao3 Link

Their fight ended as soon as it began, culminating in another fruitless draw that left them panting, bloodied, and bruised.

Jin relaxes his stance, unclenches tightly balled fists while Hwoarang takes a knee, long legs trembling from exertion. Too exhausted to go on, Jin descends to the ground as well, sitting on his calves as he watches Hwoarang nurse a split lip, a sight that makes him hold his hand to a stinging gash on his temple. For a moment, they’re silent, unable to do much but sit there and glare at each other, but Jin has enough energy to open his mouth and voice his grievances.

“Why do we bother?”

Hwoarang sits back on the ground, assuming a position similar to Jin’s. He’s confused by Jin’s question, but decides to entertain him regardless.

“The hell--” He spits blood-tinged spittle from his mouth. “The hell are you on about?”

“With this.” Jin motions at his body and then Hwoarang's. “These squabbles.”

“Dumbass...” Hwoarang lays against a brick wall. “Ain't it obvious?”

“No.” Jin does the same. “Not really.”

Hwoarang is quiet for a moment.

“Shit,” He runs his hand through red-stained locks. “I must've cracked your head good if you're acting like this...”

“Perhaps, but that still doesn't answer my question.”

“What, you callin’ it quits?” Hwoarang helps himself to something in his pocket. “Afraid I'll kick your ass?”

“There is no point to any of this.” Jin declares. “Clearly we are equally matched.”

“Tsk...”

“Do you not agree?”

“I do.” He pulls out a cigarette and a lighter. “Don't like it, but I do.”

Jin watches Hwoarang place the cigarette in his mouth and set the tip alight, the stench of nicotine quickly filling the air between them. Jin doesn't say anything, just exchanges glances with Hwoarang, attempting to read him.

“So,” Hwoarang blows smoke from his nose. “What's on your mind, Kazama?”

Jin thinks for a moment.

“Let's make peace.”

“Eh?” Hwoarang raises a brow. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“Making peace. I think it would benefit us greatly.”

“Who the fuck says “making peace,” Kazama?” Hwoarang sniggers. “What are you, 80?”

“I don't know how else to explain myself then...”

Hwoarang takes another drag.

“You can just say you wanna chill with me. Is that what you're asking?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Why?”

“ Why? ”

“You heard me.”

“Well,” He clears his throat. “You are a little overbearing, but that doesn't mean I dislike you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Are you not interested?”

“Hm,” Hwoarang looks him dead in the eye. “Can't say I'm not.”

“So does that mean...?”

“Yeah, yeah,” He waves him off. “I'll fuck with ya, I don't care.”

Jin relaxes a little, the tension in his aching shoulders suddenly lifting at Hwoarang's words.

Jin and Hwoarang sat in that damp, dingy alleyway for the better part of an hour, making conversation with each other until the pain in their limbs became too great to bear. They stagger to their feet and hobble onto the sidewalk clutching weeping wounds and purple skin as they try ignoring the judgemental stares of oncoming bystanders.

“I need a drink...” Hwoarang grumbles under his breath. “Sleep this shit off.”

“I think I will do the same.” Jin replies.

“Sounds like a plan,” Hwoarang stumbles away, chewing on his cigarette as he waves his hand. “ Annyeong , Kazama.”

Jin watches Hwoarang walk off for a little longer before turning around and heading home himself.

Jin and Hwoarang were never truly friends and never truly enemies either. Their pride compelled them to fight, to engage in a rivalry that at this point had no reason to exist any more. Devil gene notwithstanding, Jin and Hwoarang were indeed equally matched, two sides of the same coin, really. Jin did not feel any joy or satisfaction from their fights, and although he would be hard pressed to admit to it, he can tell Hwoarang didn't see a reason for any of this anymore either. Jin honestly expected more push back from Hwoarang for even postulating such a relationship, but perhaps the blow he delivered to Hwoarang's head disoriented him enough to keep his yap shut for once.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Jin was out for a morning jog the next time he saw Hwoarang. He was squatting in an alleyway, counting ill-gotten gains as he chewed on another cigarette. Jin failed to notice him at first, but the shock of red hair and the stench of smoke is enough to stop Jin in his tracks.

Jin approaches him, lips held against a dripping water bottle.

“Working hard?”

Hwoarang barely acknowledges him.

“Hard enough.”

“Who'd you scam this time?”

He shot Jin a look.

“Fuck's it matter to you?”

“Just asking. Looks like a decent haul.”

“I didn't scam anyone,” Hwoarang pockets his cash before standing up. “Couple punks caught me on a bad day, so I ran their pockets.”

“What's bothering you?”

“Tsk,” He sucks his teeth. “You Kazamas are so fuckin’ nosy, you know that?”

“I try not to be, but I suppose I can't help myself. Asuka is rubbing off on me it seems.”

Hwoarang gives Jin a look, an unreadable one that the younger man raises a brow at.

“Is something wrong?”

“Nah, don't worry about it.” Hwoarang shook his head. “Guess this truce is starting to get to me.”

“I don't mind a spar. Beating each other until we're black and blue is what I don't want to do.”

“Better than beating these shit kicking brats.” He sucks his teeth again then looks him over. “What, you come back from the gym or somethin’?”

“I finished a jog. I usually have Asuka with me, but she is busy with school.”

“Hm,” Hwoarang nods before pulling his cigarette out of his mouth to ash it on the ground. “You hungry? I think those kids gave me enough for some lunch.”

“I could eat.” Jin wipes his wet hands on his shorts. “What did you have in mind?”

Hwoarang took Jin to a Ramen shop, a little hole in the wall with subpar atmosphere, but good food nonetheless. Jin ordered a conservative helping of miso ramen with shredded chicken while Hwoarang ordered tonkatsu ramen with extra pork belly.

“Not bad.” Jin says as he sips at his broth. “You know how to pick them.”

“Cheapest spot I could find around here. Never knew Tokyo could be so fuckin’ pricey.”

“...We are in Osaka.”

“Same shit.”

Hwoarang takes a bite of charred pork into his mouth before ripping into it with his teeth. Jin watches him briefly before taking a drink of his water, suddenly cognizant of the fact that he's never had a true “friend” before, or rather a true male friend. Every man he's met either wants to kill him, use him, or cheat him, but Hwoarang, despite his crudeness, has decent intentions. Jin never sensed any kind of malice or hatred from him, traits that prompted Jin to cherish the one masculine connection in his life that wasn't toxic.

“Can I have your phone number?”

Hwoarang sputters, half-chewed bits of pork and noodles flying from his mouth when he chokes on his food.

“Christ--” He coughs as he pounds his fist on his chest. “Laying it on kinda thick, aren't ya, Kazama?”

“Uh...” Jin blinks, confused. “Am I?”

Hwoarang glares at him, looking ready to argue, but just sighs and relaxes in his seat instead.

“God, you're hopeless...” He props his chin in his hand before drinking from a Coke can. “Like I'm talking to an old fuck sometimes...”

“It's okay if you don't want to.” Jin returns to his food. “Figured I'd ask.”

Hwoarang is staring at him with that unreadable expression on his face again.

“Fuck it,” Hwoarang reaches into his pocket for his phone. “Give me yours and I'll just send you a text.”

“Oh,” Jin's face lights up. “Okay.”

Jin gives him his phone number, the only mode of contact he had beyond an old fax number and an email. Hwoarang visibly scoffs at Jin's lack of social media presence, but doesn't make fun of him too much for it. After they finish their lunch, Hwoarang pays the bill with the cash he stole from those thugs before exiting the shop with Jin.

“I appreciate the meal.” Jin thanks him with a small smile. “I am more than happy to pay you back next time.”

“Don't mention it, I ain't a charity case.” Hwoarang folds his hands behind his head.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“Nah. You?”

“About the same.”

“I’ll text you if I can think of anything, I guess.”

“Sure,” Jin nods. “I’d like that.”

From that point on, Jin and Hwoarang hang out with each other at least once a week, engaging in whatever activity that came to mind. Hwoarang claims it was because he has nothing better to do, but Jin can tell that Hwoarang enjoys the company. Like him, he didn’t have very many friends either, at least in this country, and it became apparent that the more time they spent together, the less guarded Hwoarang became. Sure, he was a scheming punk, but he was still a good person; someone Jin can rely on if he ever needs anything from him. As days turn into weeks, Hwoarang becomes a fixture in Jin's life he's come to enjoy passing time with, even if Hwoarang's ways of “having a good time” was a little dangerous.

The next time he sees Hwoarang, it's in his motel room, a cramped little suite barely big enough for two people. It was clean, so Jin had no reason to complain, but he still makes his opinion known to him.

“It's small in here.”

“Not everyone has a gold card like you, Kazama.” Hwoarang sits on the bed, shrugging off his backpack. “Now sit down, I wanna show you something.”

Jin looks around, notices that there isn't a chair, and decides to sit on the floor cross legged. Hwoarang notices this and shakes his head.

“Up here, jackass,” He moves closer to the head of the bed to make space.

“Ah, right,” Jin scratches his head before joining Hwoarang on the bed, legs crossed again. “What's up?”

He's rummaging through his bag. “You're pretty straight-laced, yeah?”

“I mean...” Jin cocks his head. He certainly upheld himself to a certain standard, but he wasn't a stick in the mud. During his brief reign as head of the Zaibatsu, he imbibed in leisures he could've never afforded as a youth, but never overindulged himself if he could.

“I guess it depends.”

“You ever smoke?”

“I tried some cigars, but I never took to the habit.”

“You'll be fine then,” Hwoarang pulls something out from his bag that looks like cigarettes, but the shape of them alarms Jin.

“W-What is that...?” Jin looks closer. “Are those cigarettes?”

“Don't tell me you don't know what a joint is, Kazama.”

“A joint? You mean...?” Jin sits back and furrows his brows. “How'd you manage to get this?”

“I know a guy who knows a guy.”

“I don't think I want any.” Jin grimaces. “I've heard stories.”

“From what, your mom?”

“Maybe...”

“Well sorry to say this, guy, but weed doesn't make you kill for fun.” Hwoarang fetches a lighter as he holds his joint to his mouth. “It chills uptight motherfuckers like you down.”

“If you smoke it so much, why are you the way you are?”

“What?” He sets the tip alight and puffs on the part that's in his mouth. “Hot as fuck cuz I stay blazing?”

“You're crazy.” Jin moves away from him. “I'm not smoking that.”

“Aren't you part demon or some shit? What's the worst it can do?

“I don't know...” Jin's eyes shift to the sheets. “Isn't it dangerous? How long have you been smoking it for?”

“I dunno, five? Maybe six years?” Hwoarang sits back against the bed, pungent plumes of whirling smoke leaving his nose. “If eating and napping is what you call dangerous then sure, why the fuck not? I should've died ages ago.”

“Is that true or are you just messing with me?”

“I'm still here, aren't I?” Hwoarang pulls it out of his mouth and holds it out for Jin to take. “Go on, make my day. Ain't like you to puss out anyway.”

Jin stares apprehensively at the rolled joint, his mother's words in the back of his mind when he starts questioning himself. Marijuana is bad is what he was always told; a drug that degenerates use when they're down on their luck and have nothing else to live for. Hwoarang however is not a degenerate nor is he a junkie; he is a rowdy youth who wants to share something relatively innocuous with him. If he's been doing it for this long, surely it can't be too bad, right?

Jin takes the blunt from Hwoarang and examines it a little more before putting it to his mouth to breathe it in. He ignores Hwoarang's jeers in favor of focusing on his body, on the lungs in his chest that are quivering and shuddering at the queer smoke that inflates them to their limit. It gets too much to bear and Jin winds up coughing hard .

“Easy, easy ,” Hwoarang sits up to pat his back. “Don't gotta hit it so hard.”

“T-The--” Jin coughs some more. “The smell caught me...off guard...”

“You get used to it,” He reassures him. “Catch your breath and take small puffs this time. Don't need you hacking up a lung.”

“R-Right,” Jin sits upright, clearing his throat as he looks down at his hand. He's hesitant to take another hit, but he reasons that it's no different from smoking a cigar, and holds it up to his lips again, inhaling quickly before pulling away. He doesn't cough that time which prompts him to do it again and again until he gets used to the smell.

“Well?” Hwoarang looks him over. “How you feel?”

“About the same.” He shrugs. “Don't really feel too diff--”

Oh...

Oh fuck...

Jin blinks, gaze shifting between Hwoarang and the blunt he holds, heart beating like a drum. His head fills with fog that numbs him from the inside out, making him feel flighty like a bird.

Jin holds his head in his hand while Hwoarang snickers at him like a fool.

“Goddamn, you getting fucked up already?”

“Is that what this is...?”

“Fuck yeah, it is.”

“Ugh... I feel weightless,” Jin lays down on the bed, arm covering his shifting eyes. “Asleep and yet not asleep, like I'm teetering on a line between life and death.”

“That was really beautiful, Kazama.” Hwoarang laughs as he lights up the other joint he had. “Didn't know you'd be one of those artistic types.”

“Neither...” Jin laughs a little with him. “Neither did I...”

“Ha, ha, this is great~” Hwoarang blew a thick plume of smoke into the air. “Imma hot box this bitch.”

“We're gonna get in trouble...”

“Did you really just say that?”

“Yeah...”

“You ain't too high to fuck up some cops are you?”

“Uhh...” Jin wills his devil to the surface before lifting his arm from his face to watch his hand turn into a clawed visage of its former glory. “Nah... I think I'm good.”

“Then shut the fuck up and turn the TV on,” He kicks Jin’s side. “Bored as fuck over here watching you tweak out.”

“Mmph...” Jin does as he’s told, tries rolling off the bed to get to the television set but falls flat on his stomach when he misjudges how close he was to the edge.

“Ouch...”

Hwoarang busts a gut, a cackle that’s so contagious it makes Jin laugh, too.

For the rest of the night, Jin and Hwoarang vegetate on the floor, watching American movies as they, in Hwoarang's words, hot box his bedroom. Jin can't remember how many bags of snacks or how many boxes of takeout he went through, just knows that when he went to sleep, he felt full, tired, and most of all happy. He wasn't entirely sure where his head landed when he finally knocked out, just knows that when he did, he heard Hwoarang berating him for some reason.

“O-Oi, Kazama! Watch it!”

“Hm...?” Jin feels knuckles dig into his scalp but doesn't budge.

“Don't “hm” me, you asshole! Get yer head off my lap!”

“Sorry...” Jin apologizes but doesn't move. “I'm just resting my eyes.”

“Don't care, didn't ask! Get off, or I'll--”

“Hwoarang...”

“E-Eh...? What?”

Jin stretches his legs like a cat before nuzzling his cheek into Hwoarang's thigh.

“You're a good friend...”

Hwoarang is finally quiet, which Jin didn't mind at all. After a few moments of dead air, Jin is asleep and dreaming, too tired to question or even acknowledge the bump that pokes incessantly at the back of his head.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A tradition was born; an incredibly illegal tradition, but a tradition nonetheless.

Weekends were now dedicated to getting fucked up in Hwoarang's hotel room, rolling spliffs and devouring takeout as Jin and Hwoarang waste their night playing video games or watching television. Jin liked the latter more than the former since he wasn't terribly good at video games, but the weed in his lungs and the food in his stomach keeps him placid. Hwoarang could beat him at any game and he wouldn't care; he felt too good to care. To think Jin Kazama, the former warmongering half-demon emperor of the world would turn into a lackadaisical pothead. His mother would be proud.

After playing a few rounds of House of the Dead 2 on a virtual console, Hwoarang grows bored and pauses the game to stand up from the floor and change the input on the TV.

“I'm bored. Let's do something else.”

“Okay,” Jin swallows a handful of chocorooms. “What did you have in mind?”

“Dunno, something,” He picks up the remote control before sitting back down to surf through channels. “You can't aim for shit, you know that?”

“I aim good enough, my coordination is just off.”

“Maybe if you weren't stuffing your face, we could've at least beat the Strength--”

Suddenly, Hwoarang stops talking, attention taken away by what's on the screen. Jin looks up from his box of cookies to stare at Hwoarang who's smiling like a fox at what he sees before him.

“Oh shit, check it out,” Hwoarang sits back and crosses his arms. “Didn't know I had skin flicks on this thing.”

“H-Hm?” Jin glances at the TV, cheeks pinking when he sees a small Asian girl with brown coiffed hair bouncing in a taller, much larger man's lap. Jin's instinct is to look down at his cookies out of modesty while Hwoarang watches the crude display with little shame.

“Damn, she's gotta big ass,” Hwoarang grabs a beer and promptly pulls the tab. “I got somethin’ to look at when I get too bored here.”

“Mm.” Jin nods, steals some glances when a few moans grabs his attention. “I didn't know you liked this kinda stuff.”

“I'm a guy, why wouldn't I?” He looks at Jin who's still too shy to view the screen completely. “What, never seen titties before?”

“I have, it's not like I was raised in a barn,” Jin frowns.

“You a virgin?”

“N-No...” He nibbles apprehensively at the biscuit stem of his snack. “I've done some things before.”

“Who'd you fuck?”

“A friend.”

“Hold up,” Hwoarang turns his body towards him. “Is it that Chinese chick that hangs around you all the time?”

“Yeah,” Jin, bashful, rubs the back of his head. “We dated for a few months.”

“Why'd you break up?”

“We were friends for too long, I think.” Jin explains. “It felt strange, especially when we were intimate. I liked it when we had sex, but sometimes it felt like I was kissing my sister...”

“Hm, that's weird.” Hwoarang puffs on his joint. “A little scrawny for me, but she's cute. Shocked you let her go like that.”

“She understood.”

“What kinda girl do you like?”

“I never thought about it.” Jin sits back, now watching the TV when it became apparent that the scene was over. “I don't think I care about how she looks. So long as she's nice with a good personality.”

“Ughhh...”

“What? What did I do?”

“You're so fucking boring, man,” Hwoarang shakes his head. “Yeah, duh, you wanna chick who isn't crazy, but what about the body, Kazama?”

“I'd prefer it if she were fit and healthy.”

“...Are you fucking with me?”

“No. I guess I don't understand the question.”

“Ya know, do you like big tits? Little tits? Shit like that?”

Jin thinks about it for a moment. He's never had much of a preference so long as the girl was fit, healthy, and pretty, at least in his eyes. Xiaoyu wasn't the curviest girl in the world, but he liked her body fine.

“I never thought about it.” Jin shrugs.

“Jeez, you're so boring.”

“Well, what do you like?”

“Damn, what don't I like?” Hwoarang sighs as he sniggers deviously at the screen, at a bleached-haired, tanned skin AV starlet who sat on a suede sofa. She's wearing a small tank top and a micro skirt so short, Jin catches the briefest glimpse of an unshaven pubis.

Suffice to say, it catches his attention, reminds him of certain preferences he had when he was dating Xiaoyu.

“I like a girl with some meat on her,” Hwoarang takes a sip of his drink. “Nice big firm tits, fat ass, big thighs,” He smirks to himself. “Gotta have some nice legs, too, can’t forget about that.”

“Hm,” Jin takes a drag of his joint, lightheaded as he watches the idol on screen bring her legs up to spread slim thighs, exposing herself to the camera. The hair on her mound contrasts sharply with the hair on her head, black as ink and neatly trimmed compared to the long platinum hair that falls over her shoulders. Jin watches the screen intently when she slides manicured fingers over her navel and down her crotch, sparkling acrylics combing through a fuzzy pubis before descending to a pierced clit, plump from arousal. Jin swallows thickly and crosses his legs, cock twitching from anticipation when he sees the idol pinch her clit between her fingers.

“Hard to find bitches like that here though,” Hwoarang scoffs. “Gotta go to America for that shit.”

“Do you,” Jin shifts a little. “Do you like American women?”

“Fuck yeah,” He laughs. “Love me some yangki boji . Best sex I ever had was with American girls.”

“They're that curvy, huh?” Jin asks, voice distant. The idol was rubbing herself now, rolling her clit under the pad of her index and middle fingers, pink flesh and dark hair glistening under camera lights.

“Love riding black horses, white horses, brown,” He cackles like a fool, starts cursing in Korean. “Aw man, I'm getting bricked up just thinking about this one girl I brought home one night. Black as night, thick as fuck, man, almost lost my dick in her ass it was that big.”

“Do you like this girl here?” Jin asks.

“Ehhh...” Hwoarang scrutinizes the TV, clearly not as aroused by it as Jin. “She’s got nice tits, I guess. Would like her more if she were bald.”

“Oh...” Jin is bashful again, shifting when his cock pulls against his underwear. “I think she’s pretty.”

“Yeah?” Hwoarang asks, looking at his face. “What do you like about her?”

“Conventionally, she is attractive, but I mostly like...” He’s shy to reveal himself at first, but the marijuana in his system helps him. “I like that she’s natural.”

“You like hairy pussy?”

“If there’s one thing I asked of Xiaoyu was that she...remain unshaven.” Jin confesses. “She can groom and trim when needed, but generally I liked her all natural. I suppose that would be one of my preferences.”

“Interesting,” Hwoarang nods, taking a drag as he points at the screen. “She makin’ you hard?”

“W-What...” Jin shrinks back from Hwoarang’s gaze. “What kind of question is that?”

“Just a question, you don’t gotta be shy.” Hwoarang leans back, smiling wide. “I’m hard, too.”

Jin turns his head from the screen to regard Hwoarang, to look into the almond-depths that stare back at him and acknowledge the mighty erection that bulges through his shorts and pulses against a thickly built thigh. Jin clears his throat and scratches his head again, unsure of how to proceed.

“Did reminiscing turn you on?”

“Clearly.” He holds his joint between his teeth now. “Watching this chick play with herself turn you on?”

“M-Mm.” Jin nods.

“Figured.”

Both men are quiet for a time, silently listening to the sound of the AV idol’s squelching cunt that did little to calm down Jin’s loins.

“Bet you wanna jerk it, right?” Hwoarang asks.

“...In front of each other?”

“I’ve seen your dick before, I don’t care.”

“Flaccid, in a locker room, sure.” Jin frowns, feeling awkward. “I’ve never been...hard in front of another man before.”

“Neither have I, guy, but hey,” Hwoarang sits up from the floor a little to tug at the waistband of his shorts. The sight alarms Jin. “I think I’m too horny to care.”

“Hey, w-wait a sec--”

Hwoarang is already sliding his shorts over his thighs, thick cock slapping against his navel when he pulls them down to his ankles. Jin is taken aback by the sight, but doesn't move away; just watches the sway and bounce of Hwoarang's engorged member as he sits back down on the floor.

“Fuck, that's a lot better,” Hwoarang sighs in relief. He grabs himself by the base and shakes it this way and that way, working it to full mast as he looks at Jin, lips curled into a devious smirk.

“C’mon, Kazama,” He says, inviting Jin into his debauchery. “I ain't gonna bite.”

Jin looks between himself and the tanned prick that Hwoarang manipulates. He briefly wonders if it was a good idea to join him, but the ache in his loins at this point is too great to ignore.

Sighing deeply, Jin sits up as well to strip himself of his sweatpants and boxers, releasing a pale cock of equal length and girth to Hwoarang before sitting back down.

“Shit,” He whistles at him. “You got a big cock.”

“Thanks, I guess...” Jin grabs himself, tries just looking at the screen.” You’re...sizable, too.”

“Tsk, you flatter me,” He jolts upwards when his fist closes over the tip. “You look good enough to eat though.”

“T-Thanks,” Another twitch followed by a release of precome that dribbles over his knuckles. Jin tries smothering the urge to compliment Hwoarang as well given the circumstances, but his lips are too loose from weed and pleasure to keep them shut.

“You look...good, too.”

Hwoarang stops touching himself to ogle Jin which he is quick to notice.

He tries to apologize. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“What do you like about it?”

“U-Um,” That catches Jin off guard. He isn’t sure what to say, how to explain things to his friend without sounding like a creep. Just like the idol, Hwoarang's cock was aesthetically pleasing to look at, but Jin feared that the words he wanted to use to describe it would sound too crude.

Still, he thinks to himself; it doesn't hurt to try.

“I...I think it's thick and long,” Jin strokes himself as he talks. “I'm not surprised girls like you so much.”

“Oh yeah?” Hwoarang keeps a firm hold on the top of his length. “Like how hard it looks, too?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah I do.”

“Mmm, you certainly know how to talk, Kazama...” Hwoarang laughs, voice shaking as his lashes flutter. “You’re getting me super fuckin’ wet.”

Jin watches his friend's expressions intently, at the twitch in his brow and the tremble of his cock as Hwoarang's palm slides over the tip, wet with slippery essence that makes his shaft shine. Jin bites his lip at that, doing very little to repress the feelings suddenly brewing in his soul. Hwoarang looks good. Really good. It’s arousing as it was tantalizing, forbidden in so many ways and yet too hot to ignore.

Jin, despite his appreciation for the idol’s cunt, decides to pay more attention to Hwoarang's cock, unable to look away from it when he turns his body to face him properly. Hwoarang notices this and moves closer to Jin, knees carrying him along ash-stained carpeting until he's sitting over his legs. Jin doesn't move away or push Hwoarang off, just sits there, curious as to what he had in mind for him.

Hwoarang wipes some sweat off his brow as he lowers his hips, both men wincing when they're lengths touch. Their cocks briefly cross over one another before Hwoarang grabs them both to keep their members in line. Jin bucks his hips out of reflex while Hwoarang settles himself in his lap, grip firm and pace steady when he starts jerking both of them off with one hand.

“H-Hwoarang...” Jin watches them with bated breath, at the foreskin that glides up and over the tips of their cocks to the sticking precome that coats Hwoarang's hand.

“Do you like this, too?” Hwoarang leans down, rocking his hips into his grip. “Do you like it when I hump your cock?”

“ Yes ,” Jin closes his eyes. “You're making it feel really good...”

“I don't mind doing more with you...”

Jin doesn't have time to reflect on Hwoarang's words as Hwoarang is already pushing him to the floor, laying him down like a limp doll so he could sit in his lap and fuck up against Jin’s prick that way. God, Jin thinks to himself; to think he'd like this, to be humped on and played with by his own best friend. Jin was never insecure enough in his sexuality to not entertain the idea of sex with another man, especially after his break-up with Xiaoyu, but the weed and alcohol in his system is definitely encouraging him to act on his urges.

Jin let's Hwoarang suck along his jaw and chin, drawing noises from him that he isn't ashamed to hold back. His hand came to Hwoarang's scalp then to hold it there, to keep it occupied as he let him take the lead. Hwoarang apparently likes that and gives Jin a kiss on his neck that extends to the lobe of his ear.

“You're so fuckin’ hard for me, Kazama,” Hwoarang whispers into his ear before biting into it. “Like how I handle this dick?”

“You're very good at this...” Jin flinches when he nips his jugular. “Do you...do this often?”

“Nah,” Hwoarang lifts his head to meet his gaze, smiling again. “I don't like guys like that.”

“What's all this then?”

“Guess you're an exception to the rule,” He grabs his chin to hold his head steady. “Really gonna look a gift horse in the mouth like this, Kazama?”

“No, I'm just...” Jin can feel his heart beat at the back of his throat when Hwoarang lowers his head. “Curious.”

“I want you,” His breath tickles his skin. “And I want your cock.” A chaste kiss to his lips that starts as soon as it ends makes Jin's red face turn redder. “That answer your question?”

No, Jin wants to say, but Hwoarang is too damn impatient to let him talk still. He kisses him deeply, like a man would a woman, and works his mouth over Jin's trembling one to make him reciprocate. Jin groans in both surprise and ecstasy, still somewhat unsure of himself, but the slow methodical rock of Hwoarang's hips reassures him that he still wants this. Wanting nothing more than to indulge in his newfound lust for his friend, Jin ignores his conscience and meets Hwoarang's thrusts with ones of his own, completely bewitched by his lips and cock. He then returns Hwoarang's kiss with fervor, licking at white teeth and a plump bottom lip as he raked his fingers through his hair, which earns him a bite to the tongue and a firm thrust from the older man’s cock.

“ Hah ...” Jin separates from Hwoarang, eyes finding their way to the back of his head when he holds onto Hwoarang's shirt for dear life. “God, Hwoarang, that's it...”

“Mmm, that's right, get into it, Kazama...” Hwoarang props himself up on thick arms to watch Jin’s face, cock pulsing like a living being. “I like hearing you moan like a girl...”

“Nngh...” Jin's back arches off the carpet, tingles in his spine going straight down to his cock. “Oh fuck...”

“ Shit ...” Hwoarang smooths over locks that cling to his forehead before tucking his face into Jin’s neck, a hard thrust to Jin’s shaft making him shake. “Sound so fuckin’ good, baby, holy shit...”

Jin's blush extends to his ears and neck then. No one's ever called him “baby” before, not like that anyway. He's heard it in movies, shows, and porn especially, but to be called something so diminutive by a rough and rowdy punk felt good.

“Do I feel good...?” Jin brings his legs up to wrap them around Hwoarang's waist. “Do I turn you on? Make you...horny?”

“So fuckin’ horny, baby, goddamn ,” Hwoarang bites into his neck, panting like a dog. “I love fucking this big cock, can't wait to watch it shoot...”

“A-Ah...” Jin’s belly quivers at his words. “H-Hwoarang, I think I'm almost...”

“Hold on, hold on,” Hwoarang sits up suddenly. “I wanna do something.”

Hwoarang motions for Jin to sit up as well which Jin does with no complaints. He then watches Hwoarang climb off his lap so he could sit between Jin’s legs instead, gaze finally settling on the rigid, red hot organ standing at attention for him.

“I wanna suck you off, baby,” Hwoarang says as he bends himself over. “Can I do that for you?”

Before he could give Hwoarang the okay, the older redhead is already taking his cock in his hand and opening his mouth for it, slapping the blunt red tip against his tongue as he stared deeply into Jin’s eyes. Unable to handle it, Jin throws his head back and moans out his approval, a noise that Hwoarang takes as a sign to go further for his sake.

He takes him as deep as he can go as he jerks off his own cock with his free hand, moaning like a whore and choking like one, too when he manages to fit all of Jin’s meat down his throat. Jin curses to himself, low and deep, in hushed Japanese at that before touching Hwoarang’s head again to keep it steady. Xiaoyu, bless her soul, was never able to take him this deep without complaining, but this man, this beautiful, beautiful man was able to throat him no problem.

“Hwoarang...” Jin takes his head in both hands now, inhibitions gone when he starts fucking his face. “Yes, yes, right there, right there...”

“Mmph...” Hwoarang briefly fights against Jin’s grip to pull himself off his prick, quivering lines of slick and spittle clinging to his lips and chin when he wrenches himself free from Jin’s length. “Fuck yeah, lookit that. C’mon, Kazama, lemme see how good I make it feel,” He strokes him now, hard and fast like it was the last cock he’ll ever get the touch. “Show me the money, baby.”

“I can’t... I can’t hold--” Jin’s hips stutters and his eyes cross when it finally happens, hot seed leaving his cock and collecting in the palm of Hwoarang’s hand who shamelessly gets off to the sight like the pervert he was.

Without taking his hand off of Jin’s prick, Hwoarang sits up on his knees to stroke himself over Jin’s lap, beating off a big hard prick that trembles and twitches when Hwoarang brings himself over the edge. He shoots his load all over Jin’s cock and balls soon after, taking great care to add onto the mess he made of Jin by drencing his loins in hot white seed, a visual that Jin finds that he doesn’t mind. After a few weary strokes of Hwoarang’s hands that empties the last of their balls onto Jin’s navel, he sits back on his calves to catch his breath, panting like a dog. Jin, no better than the friend who seduced him, sits against his mattress, hand over his racing heart as he silently tries to come to terms with what just happened.

After a few moments of heavy panting, Jin looks over at Hwoarang who’s carelessly wiping his hands off on a discarded shirt that’s on the floor.

“W-What...” Jin clears his throat. “What...was that?”

“I jerked us off.” Hwoarang says matter-of-factly. “What else?”

“No, I mean, what was that ? All of that?” He reiterates and then frowns a little. “You still didn’t answer my question...”

“About what? Why I sucked you off?”

“Among other things...”

“Dumbass, can’t you read between the lines?” Hwoarang sneers at him. “I like you, what other reason do you need?”

“Again, I thought you liked...”

“I like pussy, but that doesn’t mean I can’t like you, too.”

“You like me that much...?”

“Well, I like you enough to chill with you,” He then starts crawling towards him. “And I like you enough to fuck you,” Jin squrims once Hwoarang’s in his face, suddenly losing his edge. “But do I like you enough to actually date you?”

Jin is quiet as a mouse, momentarily lost in black eyes that stare straight into the depths of his soul.

“Nah, I like your dick,” Hwoarang smirks as he shakes his head. “But I don’t think I like it enough to put a ring on it... At least in that way. Ever heard of a fuck buddy?”

“Y-You mean,” Jin tries to find the right words to say. “Friends with benefits?

“Yeah that,” He kisses him. “You old fuck, can’t you act your age for once?”

“Sorry,” Jin looks away. “Just...never did this with a man before. Still don’t know what to expect, I guess.”

“I’ll help you,” He kisses him again. “This is a first for me, too.”

“You seem so...” Another kiss, a press of flesh that lingers on his lips for a moment that Jin cannot help but groan a little at. “Experienced though.”

“Ever heard of the internet? It’s not hard to look up how to suck a cock.” He rolls his eyes and then chuckles. “You should count your blessings though, Kazama. You’re the only stud in the world who can even come close to seeing my cock. You should be proud.” Hwoarang kisses him deeply then. “Really proud...”

“Ah...” Jin flinches when Hwoarang bites and pulls on his lip, mindful of the mess they made on his crotch. “W-Wait, I’m still--”

“Who the fuck cares, I’ll lick it off, christ...” Hwoarang pushes him back down to the floor again. “Now shut the fuck up for a bit, yeah?”

Jin let’s Hwoarang take him to the floor so he could play with his mouth, licking at his tongue and teeth as he rubs his flaccid, wet cock against Jin’s messy one. Jin is quick to give in to him as he’s too addicted to his cock and tongue at this point to deny him. To go from rivals to friends and then to friends with benefits was not something Jin expected to get out of this relationship, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. They were making peace and that’s all that really matters in the end... Right?

#tekken #evilfics #jin kazama #hwoarang #hwoajin #smut #tekken fanfic #hwoarang x jin

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leonisdumbasallhell · 1 year ago

Note

I request 🔪 for my favorite 🔪 with Chris hehehehehe

🔪 Awake surgery - ooohohoho okay

(Addind a break because I would classify this as Things That Gross ME Out, Which is Hard To Do, So Good Job Me)

-------------------------------------------

"I'm really sorry Chris."

Rebecca really did sound it. Her quiet, somber voice almost a comfort as she prepped the bulging, vibrating sting on his leg. She really shouldn't have to be doing this, not at 18. Fuck, how was she here to start with? She was younger than Claire. Fuck, he can't die. What would happen to Claire? He snapped back to the present as Rebecca got started.

Chris grit his teeth as Rebecca slid the scalpel across his skin, gently peeling it away to reveal the abscess the wasp had left behind.

"Jesus, are those maggots?"

Chris knew he shouldn't be watching but he was horrifically transfixed on the pocket of dead flesh the wasps sting had left behind. He hadn't thought anything of it at first. Sure, it had hurt, but most wasp stings do, and he'd been stung by wasps before. Just. never ones quite that big. But he'd started to get worried a few hours later when the hole began to leak pus, then some other, brown liquid. A smelly, rotten, brown liquid.

When he'd rolled up his pant leg, the sting had been a horrific, mottled green and brown color, gangrene bruised. He'd nearly panicked looking at the necrotized flesh, certain he was infected with whatever had turned the people in this mansion into monsters.

After vomiting whatever was left of his dinner, he'd rushed back to the small medical supplies room he'd left Rebecca in, nearly babbling with how quickly he was trying to explain what had happened.

Now, here he was, Rebecca with a scalpel in hand, and not even a smidge of local anesthetic or a swig of whiskey to help smooth over the utter panic of seeing worms, tiny, white, segmented worms, burrowing in and out of the dead skin gouge in his leg.

He could hardly breath. This wasn't happening.

Rebecca made a concerned face, hesitating like she wasn't entirely sure what to do.

"Alright. Parasatoid wasps. Interesting."

Chris tore his eyes away from the still seeping, wriggling, stinking wound, looking desperately at Rebecca, trying to hold onto some shred of sanity. And because he felt if he kept looking at his leg he might pass out. Or vomit again. Or both.

"A What?" He asked, before he really thought through if he wanted to know or not.

Rebecca grabbed some other surgery tool, one that looked like very tiny tongs, and Chris could feel her start to pull away the dead skin to get a better look at the worms. "A parasatoid wasp. It's a sub category of wasps that lay their eggs in a host. The larvae then kill and eat the host. If it's a local species, it might be a cicada killer. The wasp normally paralyzes the host first, though.... You might have been too big for the venom to work on."

Chris swallowed, looking up at the dingy popcorn ceiling as Rebecca continued working to remove the fucking worms in his leg. "Lucky me."

#Jane Prentis Ass #resident evil #chris redfield #rebecca chambers #gore #parasites #🔪 fics #me: Hates when there's worms in people #Also me: puts worms in people #Beat the shit out of chris friday

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cyberrat · 2 years ago

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69th Batch Of Fics: 7th Fill

Hanzo/Cole – Trucker AU – Part 29 – Cole finally gets to have his way with Hanzo.

---

The guy didn’t look like he really believed Cole. He was a loser, though, and knew it too; so he just shuffled off with his shoulders hanging, leaving Cole and Hanzo to their own devices.

Hanzo has to grab a hold of Cole’s belt to pull himself up on his unsteady legs. His eyes are burning despite being still quite watery from gagging on cock. He tries to demand answers but Cole is not interested in discussions right now. He grabs Hanzo by the scruff and shakes him like a wet kitten until he finally snaps his mouth closed and just stares at him.

“Listen to me, kid,” Cole says in a low, rough voice. “I’ve been waitin’ long enough for that stingy little cunt o’ yours. I found a lead for your brother dearest, so you’re goin’ to put out now and spread your juicy thighs, you got that?”

He grabs Hanzo’s ass with the other hand, fingers digging against his ass crack. He can see his pupils dilate despite those almost black irises. Hanzo does not say a word for once. He just stares at him, a bit pale other than the hectic pink splotches that are quickly appearing on his cheeks.

“Get inside the truck. Get shit ready. I’ll be there soon.”

He slowly lets go of Hanzo. Part of him expects him to flee. To talk back. To start bitching him out and calling him a perverted old bastard because that is exactly what Cole has become since leaving the force.

He doesn’t do any of that, though. His pink little tongue flicks out to drag over his lips, leaving them glistening and swollen from sucking cock. He is all too pretty for his own damn good. Cole can only watch as he turns and makes his way around his truck on unsteady legs.

It feels like an eternity later until he hears the door on the driver side open, then close again. His whole body is thrumming. His dick is still out and still hard, brain preoccupied with trying to imagine that tight little cunt wrapped around him. Sucking him off even better than his mouth ever could.

He follows with a limp behind after making sure that the back is actually closed up properly.

He pulls himself up into the cabin with a grunt. There is little to no light going on but he can see Hanzo easily anyway. His pale skin is practically glowing in the darkness. There are large bruises here and there; all shaped like fingers. He’s got put through the wringer and yet when Cole reaches out and meanly presses into one bruise on his thigh, he just moans softly and curls his fingers in a tight grip into the thin blanket he put over the mattress.

The space is too tight for Cole’s fat ass but that’s alright. He can bend Hanzo any which way he damn well pleases. The little yakuza brat is like rubber and despite whining in protest he just takes it like a champ when Cole bends his legs up and up and up until his knees are framing his head and he is rolled up like a little ball.

His gorgeous cock is dragging against his own mouth like a damn lipstick.

Cole tells him in a barely intelligible grunt to stay like that so he has his hands free to undress himself.

Hanzo quietly uncurls his hands from the thin blanket and instead grabs the backs of his thighs.

His eyes never leave Cole. If it weren’t for the color on his cheeks and his soft, wheezing breaths, he would look like a particularly gorgeous doll.

Cole wants to get naked but he is impatient so it’s only enough to kick off his crusty old jeans before he crawls onto the mattress. Hanzo whines, a steep fold appearing between his brows.

He reaches for Cole and, to his surprise, actually unbuttons his flannel for him so it hangs open and shows off his hairy tits and beer gut. He wonders what is going on inside that pretty little head of his. Maybe it feels more romantic that way but in Cole’s mind he keeps thinking about his fat ass with socks and an open shirt bearing down on this beauty.

It’s alright. He doesn’t care. Not really. All he cares about is somehow cramming his ruddy beer can dick into the trembling little hole presented to him between Hanzo’s tight cheeks.

It looks untouched even after he played with it the other day, squeezing just the tip in and feeling it nearly strangle his dick off.

Cole licks his thumb and starts to rub over the little muscle. He can feel it twitching under his touch. He glances up briefly to stare at the kid’s face. Hanzo’s eyes are glassy as he stares at him, his face now flushed a fine rose color since he is curled up into a tiny ball.

There is still not enough space around the cabin. Cole is a big man and Hanzo is when he is not wearing his oversized clothes, damn broad and muscular.

Cole pushes his thumb into him impatiently. His dick is pulsing something fierce. He feels like he has to do some heinous shit if he were to shoot his load before getting to ream the slut.

Hanzo’s lips look pink and wet and damn kissable. He tries to turn himself off by thinking about how many dicks the guy has already sucked, but Cole is fucking depraved and it only gets him hotter.

He fucks his thumb into him a few times, then awkwardly twists his wrist and feeds him two fingers, scissoring them open and watching his face flush even redder, the crease between his brows reappearing and deepening.

Cole grunts and pulls back to search for his nearly depleted bottle of lube. Moments later he continues finger fucking him with more slick to ease the way. It smooths out the frown damn quick. Fuck. He’s so pretty.

It feels criminal that someone like him would get to stick his dick into Hanzo, but here he is, shuffling awkwardly and bracing himself on the wall of the driver cabin as he points his cock where it needs to go and then lets it do the rest.

He pushes for a bit, feeling the muscle stretching for him eagerly. He leans down, absolutely burying him under his bulk, and starts pressing biting kisses against his wet, stupidly eager mouth.

Cole can feel Hanzo’s hands on his chest, clawing at his pecs. It would feel like he is trying to get him off of him if he weren’t so clearly groping his hairy tits. Fuck if that isn’t humbling to get himself felt up like a chick. He really needs to start working out again or something…

Or not. His brain kind of oozes out of his ears as he finally pops his crown in and stops giving Hanzo a beard burn in favor of awkwardly bracing himself against the sides of the cabin and pushing deeper into him with a rattling thrust accompanied by a guttural grunt.

Finally.

#cyberratting writes stuff #hanzo/cassidy #trucker au

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j-graysonlibrary · 18 days ago

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His Transgressions Built It: Chapter 15

Title: His Transgressions Built It

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 51K

Genres: psychological horror, drama, LGBT+

Available on: my website and on Kobo

Synopsis: After living almost a decade estranged from his family because of his transition, Noah is called back to his hometown to take care of his young niece and nephew when their parents die suddenly. Because the children only know of their distant "aunt", Noah pretends to be his own husband in order to not explain himself or cause further issues. But, in doing so, he has to navigate the small town, filled to the brim with his childhood trauma, under the guise of a complete stranger.

Full chapter 15 under the cut

XV:

Noah’s pee sounds different when it hits the water under him. He wakes up a little more, from his previous groggy state, and he glances down as if he expects to find the cause right away.

He’s sore, in more places than one, and there are light purple bruises along his thighs. They’re shaped like finger prints. As if he’s been gripped and pulled. Over and over.

His mind warps and tilts.

It’s likely to fall completely to one side, the contents spilling over.

Of course, he remembers his dream but he’s realizing something monumental. He can’t say it was a dream, after all. The physical evidence is all there and, while he can’t currently feel any divinity throbbing through him, he can guess it’s still present too.

Perhaps he’s fully absorbed it already?

Noah moves to wipe, already cringing at what he suspects will be a sensitive spot. But, when he pulls through, there is no real tenderness to the area. Until he comes close to the front and he knocks against something foreign. Something entirely new.

He gasps and drops the tissue into the water. He parts his legs and cranes his neck downward as he inspects. His own shadow obscures the view but he sees what’s different instantly.

There was never much reason, before, to look at or investigate his own privates. A curiosity drove him, at the advent of his journey on testosterone but, once things stopped growing, he, too, stopped checking. He can’t recall the last time he’s really, truly gotten in close.

Noah grazes the skin with a finger and pulls back instantly. It’s not fleshy, whatever it is, but it’s certainly attached to him. He’s not as horrified as he should be.

It’s all interest and fascination at the forefront.

Whatever it is, between his legs, is dark and solid. A bit cold to the touch. Metal, perhaps? Noah does find it a little heavy, when he really focuses. It’s not all that large, or else it would have caught his attention immediately, but it is bigger than what was there before.

His clitoris is completely gone—replaced—by this thing.

Sauriel was right.

The divinity must be at work, Noah suspects, and it’s making his body change already. Before noon, even, he could have one quarter of a penis.

Why it’s a metallic texture and color, he’s unsure, but he calmly accepts it and pulls his pants back up. A jolt of anxiety—no, adrenaline—shoots through him. He’s worried about how this will go but not for the reasons most obvious.

In the kitchen, Kiki stands at the counter and whisks. Shaun is still absent, or, at least, not in any of the shared living spaces. His door is closed when Noah passes by. It’s always closed.

Kiki is wearing a thin robe over her pajamas and she hums to herself as she works. She’s making eggs…maybe pancakes. Noah can’t smell to confirm.

Somehow, she doesn’t hear him coming until he’s rounding the small dividing wall and stepping onto the linoleum. She stops humming abruptly and a laugh replaces the sound. Her nose scrunches and then she glances away, shy.

“You heard that, didn’t you?”

“…just a bit,” Noah admits and watches her with a growing smile of his own. “It was cute.”

Kiki laughs again, in an almost dismissive fashion this time. She turns around to the bowl on the counter and continues whisking. “I, ah, hope you like pancakes.”

“Of course.” Noah, for a second, steps forward. He reaches his arms down, to circle around her waist, and he kisses the back of her neck. It’s intimate, maybe too sudden.

Does she appreciate it or not? Does she reciprocate?

He can’t bring himself to follow through and actually do it so he just stands there, hovering.

He adds, “I’ll eat anything you make me.”

Her smile can be heard in her words, “That’s very sweet but I’m really not the best cook. I have few specialties.”

“More than me,” Noah says with confidence. He also takes one step backward, not wanting to loom over her too much.

He’s lived on his own for so long, yet he’s never gotten the hang of cooking. He can follow directions, on prepackaged things, but he can never make anything from scratch. Except eggs but eggs are easy. He could use Kiki’s home cooking. He’s eager to try it.

She carries out the process and starts humming again, periodically, as if she literally can’t help it. If she doesn’t hum the tune of the old 2000’s classic then she can’t flip the pancakes correctly. Or, so Noah likes to think. He’s wondering if she’d like an apron. Nothing too traditional or frilly but, perhaps, something related to one of her interests. An apron with a 70’s aesthetic or something bright and eye catching.

“Noah?” Kiki’s voice reaches him and she’s staring with her hand up, ready to wave it in front of his face.

He shakes his head. “Yeah?”

“Do you want syrup?”

“…Yeah.” Noah can’t believe he’s zoning out, over nothing in particular. He’s not really there and he feels the ground slipping away. With no obvious stressor, it’s hard—no—impossible to say what’s wrong.

He wants to sit and have breakfast with Kiki. He wants to make her smile and laugh, to really taste her cooking and compliment her on it.

If he’s falling in love with Kiki, he wants to enjoy it. Even if it’s not that deep, he’d like to be given the chance to sort it out by being present and taking note. But he’s losing focus, more and more, over breakfast.

The pancakes taste like nothing and the weight between his legs grows. He can feel the cool metal pressed along his thigh. It might even make sound against the chair if he’s not careful about how he sits.

Kiki will find out if he makes even one mistake. She’ll have questions too.

Noah’s at a crossroads again and, this time, he has almost no control of which direction he takes. Though, if he’s truthful, he’s not sure he made any choices before, either. He’s been tossed around by some unseen force and it’s only in this second he realizes he’s out of his depth.

He blurts out, “I have to tell you something.”

Kiki’s halfway through her pancakes, her mouth currently full. She blinks and nods a little, giving him nonverbal permission to continue.

“I haven’t been honest and I’m really sorry.” Noah taps the plate with his fork. Syrup catches and strings along. It’s already drying. “I don’t know why I agreed with some random statement when I first got here but I did. It was easy, I guess, and made explaining things unnecessary. Um…huh…I don’t know how to say this.”

The severity of his tone and his words makes Kiki stop eating. She’s watching him as if he’ll pull out a knife and kill her. “What did you, ugh, lie about…? …Exactly?”

His underwear tightens as the protrusion grows. If it continues, at this speed, it’ll shock Kiki. She has to understand it first or the sight will scare her. He doesn’t want to scare her.

“Mary isn’t, exactly, dead.”

The words aren’t absorbed entirely. Confusion comes first. “What?” Kiki asks. “What do you mean? Noah…”

“I had to say it to make everything make sense with the kids,” He carries on, just hoping to speed through the points. If he can get through the prophecy and the proof between his legs, he’s sure he can smooth everything else over after the fact. “Bryce asked if I was Mary’s husband and I said yes. I shouldn’t have but here we are and the truth is, Mary didn’t die or get married.”

Kiki says nothing. She just stares. The wires aren’t connecting. She doesn’t have enough information for them to.

“I’m Mary.”

The words echo through the apartment and return to Noah’s mouth. He sucks them back in. They’re bitter. They sting on the way down. His stomach sinks and turns on itself.

He must simply sit there and watch Kiki’s face as she, slowly, realizes what he’s said. The stages are distinct as everything settles in.

“…No…Noah, I don’t…” Her eyes dart over his face. She’s probably only seeing the signs, now, too late. “You…why didn’t you…?”

“Look, I know it’s a lot but with my family and the situation, I didn’t want to tell them. Kathleen still had all my old information on everything; I couldn’t deny it to the kids so I took the easy way out. But that’s not what’s important!” Noah insists on the last part. To him, it’s imperative. “Since I’ve come back, I’ve remembered a lot about my childhood. Especially stuff with the church.”

“What?” Kiki’s brow furrows. It’s a left turn, Noah is aware, but he must persevere.

“I never told you before about things that happened with the church. Most of it was before we even met but the old priest there, he always used to yammer on about this prophecy. That I would leave the town, change my body to be more masculine and then return as a different person. I thought he was just crazy but that’s exactly what happened! I can’t pretend like it didn’t come true so there’s the other part of the prophecy—”

“Noah, stop,” Kiki says and puts her hands up.

She’s not forceful but she’s clearly heard enough. She’s practically trembling and she closes her eyes in some fruitless attempt to calm herself down.

“Stop, please. I don’t understand what you’re saying and I can’t get past you telling me that you…you were Mary.” Her voice breaks, she’s holding herself together by sheer will alone. “Why did you tell me Mary died? Why did you tell me how she died? Why make so much up? I would have…Noah, I hope you know I would have…”

“I know, I know, it’s a lot to take in. Just keep listening, please.” Noah rattles out the rest, disregarding sense as well as Kiki’s reception. “I ran into a new priest, Christopher, and he’s been following me. Part of the reason I’ve been so anxious when I see you has been him. He kept trying to get me to talk about the prophecy and it’s got to do with the missing kids. Like Bryce! And, I’m the Finder. Literally, I am prophesized to find them all!

“Noah…”

“And, I wasn’t buying it, totally. I wanted nothing to do with it! But then, last night, I had a dream that I don’t think was really a dream.”

“Noah—!”

“An angel appeared and she spoke to me through her mind. She was sent by God and she said she was there to complete me—”

“ENOUGH!” Kiki’s never screamed like this. She’s shaking, from head to toe, and she’s got tears in her eyes. “Stop, just stop. Please stop!”

“Kiki…” Noah frowns. “I’m just trying to explain…”

She bites down on her lip and shakes her head. A few tears drop down and splash onto the floor. “You’re not well. I don’t know what’s going on with you but you…I can’t have you here. You need to leave. I’m sorry.”

Kiki steps away from the table and then rushes to the front door, pulling it open in one quick motion. She keeps her head bowed and she points to the outside world with her free hand.

“Go,” she says, leaving no room for argument.

Noah can’t dig his heels in any further as he knows it’ll just make things worse. He’s already made a bad decision, regardless of how in control of himself he really is.

It’s all part of the prophecy. He can hear Father Robert in his ear.

Everyone must be pushed away. Only then, can he find what’s been lost.

Noah walks out in silence. He makes no attempt to even look at Kiki as he passes her and he hears the door slam closed behind him. The stairs rattle with the force of it and, this time, they really do collapse.

He hears it first, the vibrating and clattering, like a subway is running directly below. His hands don’t even reach for the rails out of instinct, as if he already knows that it’s no use. The stairs fall first and Noah floats for a short moment before gravity takes him too.

In a heartbeat, he’s at the bottom, nestled into the cement and concrete with metal plates and beams all around him. The roof of the building groans and droops, caving toward him with intent. He accepts his fate and closes his eyes, knowing he’ll soon be buried.

Already, he can picture it. His body smashed under the weight of the rest of the building and his bones crushed into innumerable fragments. His blood seeps out around him, black instead of red.

Noah is shocked—that isn’t his life force at all. It’s something different, something distinctly human and once very vital to him.

While he can’t name what’s he’s lost, he does know what to call the essence that remains in him: Divinity.

#his transgressions built it #my writing #my novel #lgbt writers #lgbt writing #transmasc novel #transmasc protagonist

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sneks-n-bickles · 7 years ago

Photo

Was bored/ having another art block so I did this character sheet I saw here for Nima because it looked kinda fun and it it was.

The signature was hard only because I’m not an expert on Greek writing?? I looked up some old stuff from Greek notaries and it was very pretty. It all looks like english cursive from very far away, then you get up close and its most certainly not haha. Its interesting to see how its naturally written though, especially the backwards y for a m considering how totally unnatural it felt to write for me.

#snek says shit #snek arts #kinda?#moodboard #Nima #oc #my junk #complexion was the hardest thing to look for tbh #their skin is a lot more reddish tbh #but thats the tiefling in em #they are covered in scars and bruises tho so #i feel like bruises would turn really interesting colors on their skin too #idk #also ive always seen them as a firey being but #after thinking about it i think earth and dirt fit them better #gosh i could talk about nima for hours literally #i feel like i know them more than i know myself hahaha #gosh

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quindolyn · 4 years ago

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Yes, Sir || Remus Lupin

Request: If you’re comfortable writing it could you maybe write a Remus smut where he’s really playing into a size kink and just man handling and throwing you where he wants you? -anon

Word Count: 4410

Notes: Agh! This is my first time writing full fledged smut, I hope you enjoy it. @st0nesnglitter proof read it for me, I couldn’t bring myself to read it again so I attribute all errors to her

Warnings: Smut, degradtion, size kink, thigh riding, sir kink, professor/student relationship, poorly written, openended cop out

Masterlist

You were lying on your stomach, sprawled along Remus’ king size, four poster bed, face pressed up against a random book you’d plucked from his extensive collection, most of which appeared to have been swiped from the library during his time at Hogwarts. You were sure the book was interesting enough but you could barely focus on it, you’d been waiting for Remus in his bedroom for at least a few hours whilst he was downstairs in his office finishing up grading assignments from his 4th years.

But it was getting late, and you wanted Remmy. Not allowing yourself to talk yourself out of what you were about to do you pushed your body off the plush mattress, not bothering to straighten out the bedding, if things went your way it’d be in vain.

You took a double take as you passed the floor length mirror. Examining your appearance you noticed your hair was mussed from lounging about his bed trying to find a comfortable reading position. Your uniform shirt was rolled up to your elbows with the top couple of buttons undone to reveal a healthy amount of cleavage accompanied by a glimpse of the white lace of your bra. Your skirt had ridden up dangerously high, the white material of your panties peeking out from the hem of the pretty much useless piece of clothing. You’d already abandoned your thigh highs, leaving your legs enticingly bare. A smirk graced your face as you pulled your skirt up even higher before continuing out the door, down the spiral staircase to your boyfriend’s office.

“Remus?” You rapped your knuckles against the heavy oak of the door.

You were met by the deep, honey like voice of your boyfriend, “Come in.”

Pushing the door open you took in the visual of Remus hunched over at his desk, the sleeves of his button up rolled similarly to yours as he ran a calloused hand through his hair. His desk covered in papers, his hand fiddling with his quill as his lips moved silently as he read. He hadn’t realized who was at his door until he lifted his head, scratching one final note onto the paper.

“Puppy?” He quirked an eyebrow, “I thought you were upstairs, are you going back to your dorm already? M’almost done I promise, just a couple left.”

“Not going back, just wanted to see you. Been waiting too long.”

He motioned you over with a crook of his finger, pushing his chair out from the desk, patting his thigh for you to sit on, “There you go Puppy, get comfortable.” His hands found their place on your waist, helping you settle on his thigh, allowing them to wander up and down your sides, squeezing your waist and hips. “Was my Puppy getting impatient, waiting for me upstairs?”

You nodded in response, your breath hitching as his fingers found their way to the waistband of your skirt, “Are these not fitting you anymore Poppet? Do we need to get you new ones?”

“No Sir,” You mewled, shivering as one hand left your waist band, instead finding their way to the hem of the skirt, now resting on the uppermost part of your thighs.

Remus let out a disagreeing hum, resting his chin on your shoulder, looking over your shoulder to watch his fingers play with the material of your skirt. “You sure Puppy? Because I don’t think so, it's not covering anything, anyone could take a look at your pretty little arse in one of these.” He punctuated his remark by bringing his hand down against your thigh, with no skirt to soften the blow you tensed at the impact before he began massaging the sensitive area with the palm of his hand.

“Just came from upstairs Sir, no one saw me,” You reasoned in a pathetic whine causing him to grip your jaw in his hands.

“Did I ask for excuses Bunny?” He spat, turning your visage to face him, his usually bright, sparkling irises now dark, drowned in lust. You whined out, trying and failing to shake your head in his tight grip. “Can’t even answer me? Come on I know you can be a good girl for me, now did I ask for excuses?”

You gulped, “No.”

He tsked, “No who?”

“No Sir,” You corrected yourself, feeling your panties begin to flood at his mocking behavior.

Satisfied, he let go of your face, taking your hand in his so that your palms were pressed together highlighting the length of his fingers as they dwarfed yours. “Good girl, now was that so hard.”

“No, Sir,” You responded obediently.

His lack of response made you nervous, knowing he was plotting something probably devious. You knew you were right when you felt his lips on your neck, planting sloppy, open mouthed kisses on the delicate flesh that resided there. Your attempts to suppress your whimpers were in vain as he sunk his teeth into the side of your neck, leaving purple marks in his wake.

“Such pretty noises,” He murmured and from the sound of his voice you could tell he his lips were pulled into a gentle smile. Your breath hitched as his hands found their way to your thighs, gripping them tightly as he planted a kiss on one of the blossoming bruises on your neck. “Such pretty noises from such a pretty slut.”

You threw your head back onto his shoulder as small waves of pleasure rippled through your body, reveling in the feeling of his hands on your body.

“Alright pup, let’s get up okay?” It took you a second to truly digest his words resulting in him leaving a gentle, but firm tap against your hip to which you scrambled up to obey him, turning so that you were facing him where he was lounging in his chair. You couldn’t help but shift from foot to foot as his eyes roamed your body, taking in each detail of your appearance, grinning like an idiot when he went to the hem of your skirt, which really was useless now, completely bunched up at your waist.

“Can you take your shirt off for me?” He asked in a cloying tone of voice, almost as one would speak to a child when asking them to perform a difficult task.

Enthusiastically nodding your head you started on the button resting right between your cleavage, the work you made in your efforts was miniscule as it took more than a minute for you to undo the top button with your shaky hands and already cloudy mind not assisting in your efforts.

You felt yourself get increasingly frustrated as you failed to get a solid grip on the next button, the plastic evading your struggling fingertips. “You having trouble there bunny?” Remus’ deep baritone sounded from his chair, you lifted your face from staring intently at your shirt to Remus’, his amusement at your being unable to perform such a simple task evident on his face.

“S’not my fault,” You complained, “Buttons are just so fuckin slippery!” You were exasperated, this shouldn’t be taking you this long.

“What was that?” All signs of previous amusement vanished from his voice, nearly taking you out at the knees as your soft, pleading eyes met his. He was fuming and it wasn’t until he spoke next that you realized why. “Did I say you could fucking swear you slut?” His voice was cold as his posture straightened itself out.

“No,” He said, not giving you the opportunity to respond for yourself, “I didn’t. I expected you to be my good little girl, didn’t think that was unreasonable, usually so obedient for me.”

“M’sorry,” You pleaded, your hands continuing to struggle with the small buttons, “Didn’t mean to break the rules Sir, just frustrated.”

“Did I say you could talk at all?” He spat, “No, I didn’t now stop breaking the rules, don’t want you to apologize, just want you to be good for me. Now come over here and let me help you with your shirt, fucking pathetic aren’t you?”

Knowing the question was rhetorical you didn’t bother responding, instead just taking the invitation to inch yourself towards Remus until you were standing between his open legs, your fingers still shaking, not yet having abandoned the buttons you’d failed to undo.

“Your hands are so small,” Remus mused, lifting one of his to pry yours away from the material of your shirt, “How do you even get things done with these little things, oh right,” He tightened his grip on you, “You don’t. Need me to take care of everything for you, can’t even take off your shirt. S’that right baby?”

“Yes Sir,” You murmured.

“Let’s get this off of you,” It took him half the time to undo the rest of the buttons and get the shirt off you that it took you to undo one button. Remus’ pants got considerably tighter taking in your appearance, your breasts clad in his favorite color on you.

“I’d ask you to take off your skirt too but you need my help with that too don’t you puppy?”

You were quick to nod, desperately wanting to be naked as soon as possible knowing that the sooner Remus had access to your cunt the sooner you’d be feeling good.

Opposite to the civil, careful approach he took in ridding you of your shirt, Remus quite literally tore your skirt from your waist, leaving your skin stinging at the aggression of his act. A blush creeped up your neck as your cunt pulsed at his action, watching him inspect the ruined material.

“How can you even wear something this small? It's so small, so short. What does it even cover? I wouldn’t even fit one of my thighs.” Ironically he took the time to carefully fold the skirt and set it on his desk before pulling you even closer to his body by your waist as if you weighed nothing. He splayed his hand out against your lower stomach, frowning as he watched the skin of your belly disappear underneath it.

“So much prettier when I can see my cock inside of it, it's practically half your size puppy.”

“Want your cock Sir, please give me your cock,” You pleaded shamelessly, gripping at his forearms.

“Beg,” He ordered simply and unwaveringly.

Not missing a beat you did exactly as he asked, and you begged, “Please Sir, please give me your cock, I need your cock. Feel so empty without it. Please Sir, make me feel good. I’ve been a good girl I promise.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me would you bunny?”

“No Sir, I would never lie to you.”

“Good,” He nodded approvingly before swiftly pulling you down so that you were on your knees before him, “You look so pretty on your knees, so easy to get you there for me, so obedient,” He murmured affectionately brushing a finger delicately across your cheekbone which already felt warm erupted into flame at his touch.

Wordlessly he started on undoing his belt, the distinct clink of the metal sending shockwaves through your body, your mouth began watering as he undid his zipper, pulling both his trousers and boxers down slowly, allowing his hardening cock to spring out against his stomach.

You began to reach for his cock but quickly stopped yourself, looking up at him, blinking owlishly, “Sir, may I touch your cock?”

“Go ahead Puppy.”

As soon as he granted you permission you were on your calves, kneeling forward to take his cock in your hand which barely wrapped all the way around it, your fingertips only brushing each other as you pumped your hand up and down on his member.

“Maybe your hands are good for something,” Remus growled, “So tiny but they can still pump cock can’t they?” His harsh words were contrasted by his delicate touch as he brushed hair from your perspiring forehead. Then threading his long, slender fingers through your hair they anchored themselves at the back of your head, using his leverage he tilted your head upwards to make eye contact. “You gonna wrap those pretty lips around my cock Princess? Make me feel good?”

Your answer came as you leaned forward, his hand not even needing to guide you into motion. You peaked just the tip of your tongue out between your teeth to kitten lick the head of his cock, lapping over the slit feeling the grip on the back of your head tighten.

“Don’t tease me Puppy,” He warned lowly.

Taking his threat at face value you licked a broad stripe up the underside of his cock, tracing a distinct vein that thrummed under your oral muscle. Breathing in deeply you sucked the tip of his cock in between your lips, looking up at him you saw his eyes clenched closed as he tried to refrain from bucking his hips up into your mouth.

Working the entirety of his cock into your mouth you gagged as he hit the back of your throat, seeing that you were only half way down his now completely engorged member you willed your gag reflex to not get in the way of your mission as you forced him further down your throat. Feeling a few tears run down your face you wrapped your hands around the few inches that you couldn’t quite fit, working them up and down the sensitive, exposed skin.

“Such a good puppy,” He praised, “Taking my cock so far down your throat, can see it bulging in your throat. See,” He reached out, tracing his outline down your neck, “Right there, such a good little thing taking me in your mouth.”

As you bobbed your head up and down on his cock, hollowing your cheeks Remus let out a pornographic moan, god you loved when he was vocal. The sounds of his groans and grunts spurred you on, daring you to take him deeper into your mouth until your nose was finally nestled in his happy trail, brushing against his pubic bone, saliva making a mess of your lower face.

“Gonna cum Puppy, gonna cum down your throat, and you’re gonna swallow it all up for me like a good girl.”

He was right, he was about to cum and you could feel his balls starting to tighten, wanting to get him there you moaned around his cock which was still resting deep in your throat, his movements chafing your vocal cords.

The vibrations of your moan sent Remus over the edge, causing him to buck uncontrollably into your mouth, triggering the gag reflex you’d been able to keep dormant up until then. As he came he let out a string of curses, allowing his head to tip backwards and rest languidly against the back of his chair.

You kept his cock in your mouth, swallowing each strand of cum he shot down your throat until he removed himself from you and letting his dick hang lazily in between his legs as he leaned down, melding his lips with yours.

“Did I make you feel good Sir, did I satisfy you?”

He let out a dry laugh, nodding his head slowly as he already began to recover from his orgasm. “Yes, puppy, made me feel really good.” To your bewilderment he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head before turning his chair back towards his desk, leaving you, mouth agape, trying to figure out what to say. He wasn’t really going to leave you like this, was he?

You were too confused to notice the subtle smirk pulling at his lips, he knew exactly what he was doing. He really did want to make you feel good, you’d made him feel so amazing just moments earlier and he wanted to reward you for that. But he was going to make you ask, like the good girl he knew you were.

“Yes, bunny?” He lilted, picking up his quill and dipping it into his pot of ink.

“I-I thought you were going to make me feel good Sir?” You asked, rubbing your thighs together, desperate for release.

“Is that how we ask, bunny?”

“No, Sir, I’m sorry. Please make me feel good,” You corrected yourself.

“That’s better,” He murmured approvingly, pushing his chair back out from his desk where he abandoned his quill, smearing ink on a random paper.

With a flick of his wrist you were getting up off your knees, standing submissively before him, you could now feel your slick on the inside of your thighs.

“Over here Poppet, on my thigh.” He helped you straddle his bare thigh, causing you to gasp at the mere sensation of him between your legs.

“You wanna cum? Then you can cum on my thigh while I finish up these papers, then when I’m done, if you’ve been a good girl I’ll fuck your little pussy.”

“O-okay Sir,” You nodded, beginning to thrust yourself against his thigh, the ridges rubbing deliciously against your soaked clit. It practically killed you as he went back to his work, the sound of his quill scratching against parchment nothing compared to the sound of his grunts as he destroyed your cunt.

Remembering what was promised to you if you were a good girl and got yourself off on his thigh, you got back to work. Dragging your clit up and down his leg, you tortured yourself, not letting you go as fast as you desperately wanted to, knowing you’d get teased for being so needy and desperate.

Throwing your arms around his neck you picked up your pace and feeling pleasure boil in the pit of your belly you tried to suppress a moan, knowing that good girls wouldn’t distract their Sirs while they tried to do work while at the same time letting their sluts get off. But despite your best efforts a soft moan escaped your red, swollen lips.

“Keep quiet slut,” Remus scolded, the sound of quill to parchment not even pausing as he spoke to you, “Or you won’t get your reward.”

It was fate that you managed to remain quiet as you more closely approached your orgasm, you were so close the pleasure boiling in your stomach had you twitching as you shamelessly thrusted into Remus’ thigh, giving up on any pretenses of self control. You reached down to rub at your clit, desperate to tip over the edge of pleasure you were currently tip-toeing, but even while multitasking Remus was still the most observant person you’d ever met. Catching your hand before it ever made its way to your clit he squeezed it harshly.

“You know better than to touch what’s mine without asking Princess, come on slut, get yourself off on my thigh. You’re close, don’t even try to deny it.”

There was no correcting him as your climax washed over you at his command, sinking your teeth into his still clothed shoulder to muffle your scream as waves of pleasure crested through you, leaving you a shaking mess as cunt pulsed around nothing, still painfully empty.

You sighed, throwing your head onto Remus’ shoulder as he finally dropped his quill again and rested his hand on your back, rubbing it soothingly until coming to the clasp of your bra, expertly undoing it with one hand while the other anchored itself in your hair, pulling your head back to look you in the eyes.

“Aw, puppy don’t tell me you’re too fucked out already? Haven’t even given you my cock yet.”

“No, no Sir, m’not done, I can take more, I need more, please.” You begged unabashedly.

That was all Remus needed before hooking his hands underneath your thighs and lifting you up into his arms. Shifting your weight to one arm he used the other to swipe the contents of his desk onto the floor, paying the sound of shattering glass no mind as he dropped you onto the desk. Your clothed bum hitting the unforgiving wood.

“Look at you,” Remus murmured, leaning back to take in your appearance, bare tits on display for him, legs clenched together hiding your closed pussy from his view. Sliding his hands between your closed legs he forced them apart, you putting up no resistance making it an easy feat for the werewolf.

A simper graced his lips, now being able to take in the view of your clit, partially visible through the soaked material of your white panties.

“So wet,” He mocked, reaching out a single finger to gently massage your clit, “So wet and I haven’t even touched you. How pathetic.”

Without warning, just as he did with your skirt, he tore your panties off your body, slightly less impressive now that you’d already seen him do it with much more substantial fabric, but still enough to send another gush of wetness to your cunt.

Lifting your bum up from the desk you allowed him to slip the waste of fabric out from beneath you.

“You want me to fuck your cunt now puppy? You want my cock in you?” He taunted, pumping his hand up and down his cock, appraising your body, smiling as he took in his favorite sight in the world.

“Yes please Sir, need your cock, feel so empty without.”

“Course you do,” Quicker than you could comprehend what was happening Remus had abandoned his cock and instead had flipped you around so that your waist up pressed against the worn wood of the desk. You were forced to support yourself on your forearms as your legs dangled uselessly in the air, toes barely grazing the floor of his office. A chuckle in Remus’ low baritone sounded through the room, “So small your feet can’t even reach the floor, how adorable,” He accentuated his point with a slap to your arse, causing you to jolt forward.

“Sir,” You whined, “Please, I need you.”

“You think this little cunt can take my cock? So small, I might just break it.” He mused, pushing his index finger into you, smiling when your walls clenched around him.

“No Sir, I promise I can take it. I’ve taken it before.”

“That you have Poppet,” He agreed, positioning himself behind you, you gasped, feeling the head of his cock trace your clit before he pushed the entirety of his length into your quivering hole, watching as you greedily sucked in all 9 inches of him.

“Fuck!” You swore, Remus’ rule slipping your mind as you lost yourself in pleasure.

“Don’t be a naughty whore (Y/N),” He warned, “Told you not to swear, didn’t I?” He questioned as he began to thrust into you unforgivingly, gripping your hips to stabilize you on the desk as without it you were uselessly sliding against the desk.

“I’m sorry!” You screamed as pleasure began to overwhelm you, with so little break between your last orgasm and the current ministrations on your pussy you were a whimpering mess.

“You should be,” He growled, leaning over you, bracing himself on his forearms to whisper in your year, “M’so good to you, least you could do is follow my rules. They’re not that strict.”

“They’re not!” You agreed as the new position allowed him to hit a new place inside you, intensifying your pleasure tenfold, if that was even possible at this point.

Gripping your hips and lifting them up slightly Remus increased his bruising pace, the combined sensations of his cock inside of you, his balls slapping against your clit, and you upper body rubbing against the desk had your eyes rolling back in your head as the pleasure began to overwhelm you.

At this point you were being fucked so thoroughly and ruthlessly that your feet weren’t even grazing the floor anymore, instead they were limp, hitting against the front of Remus’ desk as he supported your weight in his hands.

Remus was able to stretch you out like no one ever had before, to the point where pleasure bordered pain and the line between the two blurred to the point where you weren’t even sure if you knew what day of the week it was.

“What a little slut, if anyone came in right now they’d see you getting fucked by your professor,” You moaned at Remus’ filthy words which went directly to your cunt. “You’d like that though, my little exhibitionist.” Another smack to your bum was delivered as Remus lifted your lips even further into the air to reach new depths inside you. “Always so hungry for my cock aren’t you? Can’t go a single day without me filling this cunt of yours, can you?”

Your response was swallowed by a moan as Remus sped up his thrusts as his cock started to twitch inside you, causing you to clench your pussy around him.

“I’m close Sir, may I cum?” You pleaded, your voice shaking with the effort it was taking you to keep your orgasm at bay.

“No,” He commanded through gritted teeth, “You’re not gonna cum until I say you can.”

“Ye-es, Sir.”

Remus growled as his thrusts stuttered, cumming inside you, rope after rope of thick cum painting your walls in his release. He stayed there inside you, leaning over you, your back pressed to his chest until he caught his breath.

Pulling out of you he smiled, watching his cum drip from your cunt, “So pretty,” he murmured pushing a finger inside you and with it his release.

“S-Sir?” You stuttered, not daring to move from your position until he said you could.

“Yes Puppy?”

“I didn’t cum.”

“You think I didn’t notice that? I’m not daft,” He shoved two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out viciously before completely pulling them out of your hole causing a pathetic whimper to escape your lips at the empty feeling that settled in the pit of your stomach where your pleasure still simmered.

“Feel so empty without something in there don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Get yourself up to my bedroom and when I get up there after I finish these last few papers I’ll make you cum over and over again Puppy.” With a light swat to your bum he zipped himself back into his pants but you were too desperate to move. “Now, before I change my mind.”

That got you up off his desk, darting up the stairs to his room where you laid dutifully on his bed, waiting for his arrival.

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin smut #remus lupin x student reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin golden trio era #marauders x reader #maraduers smut #marauders fanfiction #marauders fanfic #harry potter smut #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfic

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liriostigre · 3 years ago

Note

hey! I wanted to ask what your favorite poetry books are? I have a few but I want to read new and interesting stuff, and I trust your taste :D

hiii ♡

tbh i only started reading poetry collections like,, last year. i'm subscribed to poetryfoundation's newsletter (poem of the day) so i usually just read random poems

anyway, i'm not sure my recs could be considered new (cause i'm gonna start with Mary Oliver ♡) but feel free to message me if you want to know the themes, style, feeling (vibes, if you will) or anything you want to know about these collections. for now, i'm linking my favorite poems in each collection, i hope this helps you choose! ♡

here you go:

Dream Work —Mary Oliver (“Wild Geese.” “Dogfish.”)

Red Bird —Mary Oliver (“Summer Morning.” “Love Sorrow.”)

Blue Horses —Mary Oliver (“To Be Human Is to Sing Your Own Song.” “Loneliness.” “Little Crazy Love Song.”)

The Wild Iris —Louise Glück (“Sunset.” “Retreating Light.”)

Haruko/Love Poems —June Jordan (“On a New Year’s Eve.” “Mendocino Memory.” “Toward a City That Sings.” *under the cut)

Extracting the Stone of Madness —Alejandra Pizarnik (“Primitive Eyes.” “Summer Goodbyes.” *under the cut)

Ariel —Sylvia Plath (“Tulips.” “The Rival.”)

Prelude to Bruise —Saeed Jones (“Postapocalyptic Heartbeat.” *under the cut)

Absolute Trust in the Goodness of the Earth —Alice Walker (“Coming Back from Seeing Your People.” *under the cut)

I Must Be Living Twice —Eileen Myles (“Edward the Confessor.” *under the cut)

Teaching My Mother How To Give Birth —Warsan Shire (“Conversations About Home (at the Deportation Centre.”)

The Black Unicorn —Audre Lorde (“Hanging Fire.” “Sister Outsider.”)

Bright Dead Things —Ada Limón (“The Riveter.” “Glow.”)

Night Sky With Exit Wounds —Ocean Vuong (“Thanksgiving 2006.” “Logophobia.”)

Postcolonial Love Poem —Natalie Diaz (“Manhattan Is a Lenape Word.”)

Crush —Richard Siken (“Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out.”)

Once —Alice Walker (“So We've Come at Last to Freud.”)

“Toward a City That Sings” by June Jordan

Into the topaz the crystalline signals of Manhattan the nightplane lowers my body scintillate with longing to lie positive beside the electric waters of your flesh and I will never tell you the meaning of this poem: Just say, ‘She wrote it and I recognize the reference.’ Please let it go at that. Although it is all the willingness you lend the world as when you picked it up the garbage scattering the cool formalities of Madison Avenue after midnight (where we walked for miles as though we knew the woods well enough to ignore the darkness) although it is all the willingness you lend the world that makes me want to clean up everything in sight (myself included)

for your possible discovery

“Primitive Eyes” by Alejandra Pizarnik

Where fear neither speaks in stories or poems, nor gives shape to terrors or triumphs.

My name, my pronoun — a grey void.

I’m familiar with the full range of fear. I know what it’s like to start singing and to set off slowly through the narrow mountain pass that leads back to the stranger in me, to my own emigrant.

I write to ward off fear and the clawing wind that lodges in my throat.

And in the morning, when you are afraid of finding yourself dead (of there being no more images): the silence of compression, the silence of existence itself. This is how the years fly by. This is how we lost that beautiful animal happiness.

“Summer Goodbyes” by Alejandra Pizarnik

The soft rumor of spreading weeds. The sound of things ruined by the wind. They come to me as if I were the heart of all that exists. I would like to be dead, and also to go inside another heart.

“Postapocalyptic Heartbeat” by Saeed Jones

I. Drugged, I dreamed you a plume of ash, great rush of wrecked air through the towns of my stupor. And when the ocean in your blood went toxic, I thought fire was what we needed: serrated light through the skin, grenade in the chest—pulled linchpin. I saw us breathing on the other side of after. But a blackout is not night; orange-bottled dreams are not sleep. II. I was a cross-legged boy in the third lifetime, empire of blocks in my lap while you walked through the door of your silence, hunting knife in one hand, flask in the other. I waited for you until I forgot to breathe, my want turning me colors only tongues of amaryllis could answer for. It owned me, that hunger, tendriled its way into my name for you. III. In a city made of rain each door, a silence; each lock, a mouth, I walked daily through the spit-slick streets, harbingers on my hands in henna: there will be no after Black-and-blue-garbed strangers, they called me Cassandra. (I had such a body then.) Umbrellas in hand, they listened while they unlistened. there will be no no. after

the world will end no.

you are the reason it no. ends

you no. IV. I didn’t exactly mean to survive myself. Half this life I’ve spent falling out of fourth-story windows. Pigeons for hair, wind for feet. Sometimes I sing “Stormy Weather” on the way down. Today, “Strange Fruit.” Each time, strangers find me drawing my own chalk outline on the sidewalk, cursing with a mouth full of iron, furious at my pulse. V. After ruin, after shards of glass like misplaced stars, after dredge, after the black bite of frost: you are the after, you are the first hour in a life without clocks; the name of whatever falls from the clouds now is you (it is not rain), a song in a dead language, an unlit earth, a coast broken— how was I to know every word was your name?

“Coming Back from Seeing Your People” by Alice Walker

Coming back From seeing your people You were So wonderfully Full Of yourself.

But now You have supped With vampires They have fed Feasted On you.

They arise Bright-eyed Fit.

You alone have lost Not only Your sleep But also Your glow The luster of Affection Heart welcome Your people Sent home With you.

Beloved You must learn To walk alone To hold The precious Silence To bring home And keep the precious Little That is left Of yourself.

“Edward the Confessor” by Eileen Myles

I have a confession to make I wish there were some role in society I could fulfill I could be a confessor I have a confession to make I have this way when I step into the bakery on 2nd Ave. of wanting to be the only really nice person in the store so the harried sales woman with several toned hair will like me. I do this in all kinds of stores, coffee shops xerox shops, everywhere I go. And invariably I leave my keys, xeroxing, my coffee from the last place I am being so nice. I try so hard to make a great impression on these neutral strangers right down to the perfect warm smile I get entirely lost and stagger back out onto the street, bereft of something major. It’s really leaning too hard on the everyday. My mother was the kind of woman who dragging us into stores always seemed to charm the pants off the cashier. She was such a great person, so human though at home she was such a bitch, I mean really distant. I imitate her and I don’t do it well. She didn’t leave her wallet or us in a store. I’m just a pale imitation it is simply not my style to open the hearts of strangers to my true personhood. I hope you accept this tiny confession of what I am currently going through. And if you are experiencing something of a similar nature tell someone, not me, but tell someone. It’s the new human program to be in. It would be nice for at least these final moments if we could sigh with the relief of being in the same program with all the other humans whispering in school. I can’t quite locate the terror, but I am trying to be my mother or Edward the Confessor smiling down on you with up-praying hands. I am looking down at the tips of my boots as I step across the balcony of the church excited to be allowed to say these things. Outside my church is a relationship. On 11th street this guy and this woman are selling the woman so they can get more dope. All their things are there, rags and loaves of bread and make-up. And there was— this was incredible. Two men lying by the door of the church giving each other blow-jobs. They were sort of street guys, one black one white. I said hey you can’t do that here. They jumped up, one spit come out of his mouth. If you don’t get out of here I’ll call the cops. Don’t call the cops we’ll go, we’ll leave. That was a shock. That was more than I expected to see in a day. Something about seeing the guy spit come out of his mouth. He didn’t have to do that. I guess I scared him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was scared too.

#btw!!!! i'm sorry!!! SO SORRY it took me weeks to reply 🤕#hope you're having good days <3 #💌

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cherrykindness · 4 years ago

Text

wild tweets |

pairing: Harry Styles x Actress!Reader

summary: as newlyweds, you and harry read thirsty comments for buzzfeed.

warning: it's thirsty tweets, so below there is adult humor 😳

"It's a bright, sunny morning in Los Angeles, and there's nothing I want more than to be on BuzzFeed and read wild tweets alongside my husband."

"Thirsty tweets, babe." Harry corrected, laughing out loud with the producers behind the cameras.

"Thirsty Tweets." You said quickly, putting your hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle. "I'm terrible at that, I'm sorry. Can we start over?"

"Let's take a break for one to two minutes. You've given us a great introduction, Y/N."

You shook your head, smiling shyly before turning to Harry, who was already watching you with that easy smile at the corner of his lips. You liked how his hand remained firmly on yours, making those circular movements with the thumb that always served as a natural medice for your anxiety.

"You look so fucking beautiful."

The pleated dress with flounce sleeves fit you like a glove. You had made peace with the various shades of white since the wedding and knew that Harry liked to see you in that color too.

"Thank you, you're not too bad either, Styles."

You intimately suspected that Harry would always seem far beyond that "not bad" that came out as a euphemism from your mouth. He wore nothing but a pair of bell-bottom pants in a strong shade of blue and a soft vest printed with fluffy little sheep on a striped American collared shirt - in your opinion, no one could look better in farm animal clothing than Harry Styles and Princess Diana with her red "Black Sheep" sweater in the 1980s. In contrast, you knew your husband well enough to know that he was arrogant and knew exactly how hot he looked - you also made your thoughts clear enough when you kept him backstage beyond ten minutes in a rather heated kissing session.

"Are you anxious?" you asked curiously, remaining with downcast eyes fixed on the strokes that remained assiduous on your warm skin. "To read about how the whole internet dreams of fucking my wife?! Of course." Harry joked, leaning over to leave a small one on your cheek. "We agree on that, don't we? Although I'm a little nervous, I'm really interested to know all the crazy things they say about you. Everyone knows you're mine at the end of the day, that's enough."

At the end of the break, you and Harry made a silent agreement that you should be the first to pick up one of the scattered papers in the red pot. There were quite a significant amount of tweets, and as much as you were used to reading rather sordid things about your husband on the Internet, the excitement was there as if you were wading into uncharted territory.

"I would be a good girl all year round if Santa guaranteed me a threesome with Harry and Y/N Styles on Christmas Eve." You laughed, Harry staring at the camera with an expression close to the meme of the surprised Pikachu. "You guys are incredibly nasty, I love it."

"If that was the first one, I'm really worried about the next ones." Harry commented with a little corner smile, picking the next tweet out of the bucket. "I have an entire folder on Pinterest dedicated to Harry Styles' hands, and let me tell you why: those hands are art, and art needs to be recognized."

"What- Guys, you promised you wouldn't post my anonymous tweets here." You quipped with false reproach, laughing at your own stupid joke while everyone else in the studio did the same. "But I can't blame her, honestly." Shaking your shoulders, you opened another piece of paper. "Harry Styles finally confessed that he wrote Watermelon Sugar for Y/N!!!! Are you guys imagining the same thing as me?!!!!!! 🥵🍆💦"

"Exhausted emoji, eggplant emoji, and water emoji?" Harry frowned, staring at the tweet you held up. "I imagine you're in need of a vacation somewhere refreshing and you're craving a fruit that everyone eats like it's really a vegetable."

"That reminded me of that story-" You laughed, hiding your face on the table as Harry continued to offer a poker face to the camera, struggling not to keep up with you laughter. "I'm sorry, lovie, I have to share this with the rest of the world." You stated, wiping a few tears from the corner of your eyes. "Harry always wears those fancy suits to concerts, right?! Right! Turns out he looks really hot in some, like his ass molds perfectly into those tight pants and everything. I was home that night because I wasn't feeling well enough to face the big crowds, but I was still following everything on twitter. It was a concert in London, not so far from where we lived at the time, so it was obvious that he would come home after it was over. I follow some portals that do really fast updates of pictures, videos, etc; everything that happened at Harry's concert was on my timeline in a matter of seconds. When one of these profiles uploaded a picture of him with his back to the camera in a heavily accentuated black and white suit, I quickly sent him the image along with a peach emoji and then wrote "looks good tonight". He didn't reply to me until a few hours later, of course, but I obviously didn't expect a "ready for a Fifth Avenue peach salad for dinner?" and numerous cutlery emojis."

Harry rolled his eyes comically, indulging in laughter as did everyone else who occupied the backstage area.

"I'm against the eroticization of emojis." He said between uncompensated breaths, shaking his head negatively. "Let's go to the next ones, please, I'm already feeling exposed enough here."

"I like your old-fashioned spirit, baby." You assured him with a smile, laying on the sturdy shoulder hidden under the fluffy fabric.

Harry chuckled low, leaving a little kiss on the top of your head before selecting the next paper. The fans would die when that video aired, everyone was sure. You two easily forgot the cameras when you were side by side, and the public display of affection had never been a problem.

"My life mission is to look at someone the way Harry looks at Y/N and be reciprocated the way Y/N looks at Harry, then I could die happy." Harry read. "That was very good and healthy, thank you!" He smiled. "But don't settle for death in that case, please. Just make sure to keep that person around forever."

"Awn, we got so sweet now." You made a pout. "Thank you for sending us something so cute! I really hope you find the right person soon." Sending a kiss to the camera, you moved on to the next tweet. "I wouldn't want to get a golden ticket to visit Willy Wonka's factory, I would like to get a golden ticket to actively participate in Y/N and Harry Styles' Honeymoon.

"That was creative, so I will disregard the fact that you removed my last name from my wife's name." Harry joked.

"I will always be an Y/L/N." You flashed the tongue. "We had a great Honeymoon, but I know you guys already know all about it because there are pictures all over the internet of outings that I don't even remember existed."

"Even though we chose a rather reserved city, many paparazzi still managed to photograph some of our nights there." Harry agreed. "There was one particular day when we opted to have dinner at a restaurant near the beach. Y/N had found it even before the trip, it was pretty laid back and we could spend the evening at karaoke. I don't really remember what happened, but we woke up the next day with a terrible hangover, still wearing the clothes from the dinner and with several headlines saying that I was cheating on my wife in the middle of our Honeymoon with a blue-haired italian girl."

"That wig made me sexy, man." You blinked, laughing as you remembered the situation. "It's a shame the paparazzi only got low quality images, but I swear I looked really amazing that night. Italy, I miss you."

"We're coming to the end and I haven't had to ask production for a glass of water yet, thank you to whoever selected these tweets." Harry raised his thumb to the camera, smiling before turning his gaze back to the small paper he had chosen. "Y/N could literally punch me in the face and I would just bow down and thank them for it." He laughed. "She has heavy hands, so I would rethink that choice."

"It takes strong hands to be a superheroine." You blinked gracefully, referring to your works as a Marvel actress. "I move around a lot during the night, so I'll take this lovely opportunity to say that twitter can dismiss all the malicious theories about Harry always show up with a new bruise all over his body."

"Please stop making indecent assumptions while Y/N is aggressive with me at night only unconsciously, her father has access to social media."

You laughed, clearing your throat before reading the next obscenity aloud.

"I would sell all my possessions to have Y/N sitting on my lap for ten seconds."

"Oh my God." Harry laughed out loud, throwing his head back. "I should have said that in our wedding vows."

You shook your head, laughing low as you set the tweet aside.

"That was pretty funny and cheeky, I approve."

"Okay, looks like we finally got to the last one." Harry announced, waving the paper in the air dramatically before opening it. "Harry could literally crush me with those boots while fuc- I need that glass of water." He said dumbfounded, hiding his face between his hands after throwing the tweet over his shoulder. You laughed out loud next to the organizers, and meanwhile Harry leaned his head on your bust, staring at you still with wide eyes. "Please promise that we will be careful with our future children on the internet."

#harry styles imagine #imagine1d #imagine harry styles #harry x reader #harry styles x reader #harry imagine

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hollandsmushroom · 3 years ago

Note

sharing another thought i had about peter painting your nails and then kissing your palm when he’s done 🥺

Dote on You || P.P

Ashanti!(i desperately need to come up with a nickname for you babes) I always get carried away with your requests so here is like...

Word Count: 1246 words of soft Peter Parker fluff

Warnings: Suggestiveness and mentions of a boner and insane amounts of fluff!

Read more here and request/give feedback here

Peter was so much different out of the suit than he was in it, the weaponized spandex making him have a confidence that was unknown to him and you always found it so interesting to watch. You always revelled in the way that he would be fighting a criminal, someone holding the power to destroy a city and when he won, he always won, he would return to you, peel the mask from his soft features and melt into your arms, cuddling his often scraped up face into the crook of your neck, and you loved it, you loved how you made him soft and weak in the knees.

You always spent time together after missions, taking time to recover while in each others arms, because when you were like that, nothing else mattered, it was the two of you doing stupid things and laughing, compartmentalizing, being there for each other through tears and stitches if the mission was rough. In this case, it wasn't anything special, the mission that is, the time afterwards was heavenly. You came back from the mission exhausted, stumbling off the jet and up the stairs to your bedroom, collapsing on your soft sheets still dressed in your suit. Peter had stayed home from this mission in particular, there really wasn't any reason other than Tony's fear of Aunt May, who had said that if he kept Peter away from family dinner that she would have his head on a plate, and nothing scared Tony more than that.

There was a knock on your door, but you were too lazy to sit up, let anyone in, or really even form words.

"HNANGGG" You groaned loudly, rolling onto your side and turning away from the door, expecting for the person to go away but that wasn’t the case, the sound of your door swinging open made you roll back towards it. “What do you wa-Petey!” you couldn’t help the smile that overtook your cheeks at the sight of you soft looking boyfriend, he was wearing an oversized white shirt and his favorite worn down, nappy sweatpants, the ones that practically every teenage boy had, but he wore them best, at least in your opinion. You sat up excitedly, opening your arms to welcome your boyfriend into your hold but the movement pulled a groan from your lips as you strained your bruised ribs. Peter’s face soured at the sound, dropping to sit at your side, looking at you with worried eyes.

“Baby? Are you alright?” he asked, fingertips threatening to undo the zipper of your suit and expose your wound to him, even though nothing would be showing externally quite yet.

“Yeah, yeah, I am alright, baby” you chuckle, curling further into your side as your eyes dip down to where his fingers were about to tug down the toggle of your zipper, you look back at him incredulously “You trying to get me naked, buddy?” you tease, shouldering him slightly, your words made Peter flush, face going red as he retracted his hand.

“Wha-no, I-I um just, I know your suit isn’t very comfortable and I was thinking we could relax and cuddle and I um have a surprise for what we could do” tucking your chin back into your neck you look at him with furrowed brows.

“A surprise?” there was a sparkle in your eyes that Peter caught, loving how excited you were.

“Mhmm, but let's get you into your pajamas first, your suit smells terrible” You open your mouth in feigned offence, pushing him back at the shoulders and giggling childishly, an action that Peter joined in on as his fingers found your zipper, pulling it down and assisting you in peeling it off of your body, leaving you naked from a mere moment.

“You’re so pretty” Peter hummed softly, tracing fingers gently over you bare shoulders making you shiver, looking down to avoid his gaze, eyes catching on a bulge in his pants.

“Is that a rock in your pocket or are you just excited to get me naked?” you chuckle, jabbing a finger towards the bulge as he hands you one of his shirts that he kept in your room because he knows how much you like to wear his clothing.

“Oh, um, that's the surprise” Peter mumbles, looking down bashfully as you slip the shirt over your head, looking at him with a sly smirk once cotton was no longer obstructing your view.

“Petey, I know what your dick looks like, that is no surprise to me baby” you laugh only making him groan.

“It's not my dick, Y/n!” Peter voices as he falls back on your bed, pulling a bottle of nail polish from his pocket, and though you were intrigued by the item you still weren’t ready to move on, especially now that there was still a bulge in his sweatpants, even though he had removed the supposed culprit.

“Hmm, you have another bottle of nail polish in there or are you really just happy to see me?” you chuckle, reaching out and poking him in the thigh.

“Oh fuck off, Y/n! You were naked, it happens, can I paint your nails now?” Peter sounded exasperated, collapsing down onto the bed, cuddling into your side.

Turning to face him you let a chuckle escape your smiling mouth, poking him in the cheek and sighing as the skin squished beneath your touch, no matter what he was such a boy, he was your boy, even if he was grown, he was your boy. “Of course you can, Petey” the smile that took over his soft face was so pure, so kind it made you want to scream.

“Okay, sit up” Peter orders, snaking an arm underneath your waist and helping you up into a sitting position.

The scent of acetone filled your nose as you watched Peter carefully unscrew the bottle of polish. His hand was warm as it grasped yours, spreading your fingers across his palm and precisely flicking the bristles over your nail, leaving streaks of color perfectly in its wake.

“How did you learn to paint nails so well, Petey Baby”

“First off, you know how much that nickname effects me, it makes me feel all glowy and like I am butter and just melting and I am trying to keep a steady hand so if you could not, please” you can’t help but laugh at his antics, making sure your giggle doesn’t make your hands move and effect his painting abilities. “And secondly, May and I used to have spa nights and I would paint her nails and then whenever she would have a date I would paint her nails, so I guess May taught me” he explains, scraping off some of the excess paint that had seeped into your nail bed. “Ta dah! All done” Peter exclaims, tightening the top on the bottle and throwing it aside, flipping over your palms and placing soft kisses to your skin, looking up to find you with your eyes fluttering shut and mouth slightly parted in a soft sigh.

“Let's get you to bed, baby” Peter sighs, moving to exit your bed.

“Only if you stay with me” you growl, pressing your palm to his chest and pushing him down so you wouldn’t smear your newly painted nails.

“Of course baby, I will always stay with you.”

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#peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker blurb #soft peter parker #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader fluff #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker #tom holland blurb #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff

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lizbotw · 4 years ago

Text

impatient | itadori

you can’t decide if being left alone with him is a blessing or a curse half the time.

itadori yuuji x reader

word count: 2.2k

inspired by fushiguro being all pouty when he didn’t get to help itadori and kugisaki in that one episode :(

“This is so boring.”

“Yuuji, shut up.”

Shoe soles scrapping against the gravel, you didn’t even bother looking at him, although the burning gaze you already felt prickled the hairs on the back of your neck.

“You’re bored too.” It wasn’t a question.

“We’re supposed to wait for them out here.”

There was a flash of color in your peripheral and a side glance revealed that he was tapping the heel of his red sneakers on the ground—another thirty seconds of that and you’d probably end up threatening him to a life without legs (not that it’d work—Sukuna in all his stupid glory would just regenerate them for his precious vessel; speaking of which, if Sukuna decided to start complaining right now too, you were sure you would lose your mind).

Whistling wind was the only reply to your statement and, content your ears would be spared from the monologue of complaints Yuuji had been going through for who-knows-how-long-now, you crossed your arms and tilted your head back to lean against the brick wall. The stone was dusted with a rustic red—standard, yet somehow fitting for the scene around you. The building looming in front of you was dilapidated in appearance, but you admitted the sleepy residential neighborhood it was located in had some charm to it in a weary, tired sort of way. The splash of brightly colored flowers and houses on some corners really upped the appeal you had to say.

Caught up surveying the surrounding area in admiration, you were almost able to forget about the boy perched on top of the junction where the wall dipped in its height down to a low brick fence just short enough to climb on top of. Almost.

As soon as the sigh left him from beside you, your face reacted before your mind had even fully comprehended what it meant (what it meant was that there was no chance you’d get any peace and quiet around here at this rate), your features annoyed and frowning and everything in between as had become routine at this point. “Why can’t we go in?” he whined, nudging you with his knee. His gaze was expectant and weirdly innocent as he peered up at you, as though you were explaining to a child why they had to have patience. You supposed that comparison could be accurate most times when it came to Yuuji.

“Because Gojou said so.”

“He’s not even here!” That was true. He was off on some super secret mission, although the instructions he had given the group of you were specific—or... er, not too specific that you couldn’t take some... creative liberties in their interpretation, such as stopping for ice cream on the way there as per Kugisaki’s demand request—trusting the lot of you to take care of yourselves and follow them to a T. And by that, he of course meant Fushiguro keeping everyone in line.

There was another curse to take care of, yet Gojou had decided to have you two sit this one out and simply accompany Megumi and Nobara to the site—those two were to actually head inside and deal with the threat. In hindsight, it all made sense considering you, Yuuji, and Megumi had spent more time around each other prior to Nobara’s arrival at the school, no matter how minuscule the time difference was. Hell, you and Yuuji had both spent more time fighting alongside Nobara than Megumi had (they always seemed to keep getting separated from each other in some way or another during the early missions, a laughable observation now that you thought about it). Naturally, letting those two duke it out and come to a somewhat agreeable partnership was the best course of action, and what better way to do that than force them into an abandoned building together?

But even in spite of all that clear-minded reasoning, you couldn’t lie that you weren’t more than a little peeved that you weren’t getting in on any of the action. You scoffed. Team bonding, but at what cost? At the cost of your sanity, that’s what.

You rubbed your temples, squeezing your eyes shut. You no longer wanted to see. “Yuuji, we’re supposed to keep watch,” you huffed out, exasperated. Although truth be told, the title of “guards” just seemed like some fancy namesake Gojou had given you two in order to placate you and make you feel like you were actually doing something. Needless to say, it was not working.

The low section of the wall he sat upon was one half of the area that flanked the archway of the path that led up to the building, and Yuuji, stupid and silly and cute, peeked his head just around the corner to look out of the entrance at the (empty) street and then turned back to you with a shrug. “Nothing there. Job done.” Playfully adorable as he was, you cracked a smile at that, shaking your head.

“Guess you’re right—job done,” you conceded.

He beamed and then hopped off of the ledge, pacing now. You wanted to stretch your legs too and go exploring around the area, but you were trying to be the voice of reason here, knowing that if you gave up that control you were a goner for sure. It was painfully easy to get swept up in his antics.

You barely even registered him setting off on another tangent about how he wanted to go inside too, more so focused on his hands as he switched from swinging them at his side to putting them up in a mock thinking expression for his head to rest upon as he kept walking back and forth in front of you—you were wondering if (and if so, when was the perfect moment) you could reach out and grab ahold of his hand to still the restless energy... and also partially because you just wanted to.

“They’ve been in there a long time, haven’t they?” Yuuji mused, your mind actually picking up on the question now that it was directed at you and not at some vague imaginary spot in the distance. He was right. You noted the glow of the red of the bricks making up the wall as they shone brilliantly warm under the softer evening light, the silent ticking of time among the clouds your only indication of the day passing. The sky was in between the bright shades of blue of the sunny afternoon and the orange hues that were gradually creeping in and mixing with them.

“They have,” you confirmed. You wondered if you would be here until nightfall with how long it was taking them. You crossed your arms again and drummed your fingers against them. Come on already, I have things to do.

After a staring contest with one of the many dust-covered windows of the building as though you were mentally willing the two inside to come out, your narrowed gaze swung over to Yuuji to see what he was up to and promptly widened. You hadn’t noticed that he had stopped his pacing and was looking at you now, closer than you remembering him being moments before.

“And... we’ve been alone this entire time, haven’t we?” Another step forward, casual yet making you suspicious all the same.

“...yes,” you replied, wary of the grin he had—you would’ve thought it was Sukuna if not for the crinkle of his eyes into a smile that matched the one on his lips (oh yeah, that was Yuuji alright).

His steps were so easy, carefree, as though he were sauntering up to talk to you any other time, but you knew him and you knew when he was planning something. Sure, there were times you were downright confused by just about everything he did, but then there were others where his thoughts were just plain obvious.

“And what have we been doing?” In one swift movement he had trapped you against the wall—another step and your back would hit the surface—piercing look pinning you in place. It was a sudden development but you also had the notion that you should have seen this coming from a mile away. He didn’t even need to put an arm out to prevent you from side-stepping out of the spot, his mere presence enough (although you very much wanted to wipe that sweet smile off of his face).

Your mind scrambled for words, you glancing off to the side briefly—you could not maintain eye contact with him like this. “Talking?”

His eyes lit up and you had the feeling you’d just fallen right into his trap. The hand that came up to cup your face confirmed your suspicions. “Yeah, and that’s boring, isn’t it?”

You swallowed, trying to still your breathing. “It is...”

Yuuji tilted his face forward to lean his forehead against yours, skin warm. Both of you were silent aside from the quiet hitches of breath, scrutinizing one another. When you felt his thumb press against the full part of your bottom lip in interest, you just about lost it. His voice was smooth and low when he spoke, “I was going to wait until later but...” You felt him breath in.

Later was usually when anything happened, you two not yet entirely bold or confident enough when it came to most displays of affection in public—or at least in front of the others that was. Their teasing was enough to have your face burning in shame for days, even if you had to admit it was funny at times. You barely even held hands in front of them. Then again... following Yuuji’s train of thought... you had been out here alone for so long already... maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just...—you weren’t lost to contemplation for long though as he brought you back to reality.

A mere brush of his lips against yours stopped you from replying, your eyes falling closed, heart hammering. Your hand found a weak grip on the front of his shirt as you waited expectantly for the warm flush of his mouth.

“What are you two doing?”

You jolted at the familiar voice, heart hammering for an entirely different reason now, and pulled away from Yuuji’s face, although his grip on your head didn’t let you get far, the press of his ring finger and pinky into the back of your neck dizzying. Fushiguro and Kugisaki stood a few feet away, looking a little worse for wear with minor scrapes and bruises littered on their exposed skin, but thankfully all in one piece.

Eyes darting to them, mind reeling as you realized the compromising position you had been caught in, you thought up an excuse on the spot.

“Standing guard.”

“About to kiss.”

You and Yuuji both spoke at once. You slowly looked at each other, blinking.

A second passed and then— “Why are you lying?” he asked, genuinely confused.

You slapped a hand across his chest in horror at him blatantly blowing your cover like that. “Yuuji!” You were mortified (but also... he was still so close... it was almost easy to forget that the other two were still there).

“I...” Fushiguro looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it and shook his head. “I don’t want details. Let’s just go.”

A sigh of relief left you, but then Yuuji gave a chipper, “Okay!” and when he still didn’t release his hold, you had a vague feeling in your gut that something was wrong—

He leaned forward to close the gap at last and press his lips against yours, swallowing up your breath in the process—then he pulled away like it was nothing, off to go bother Fushiguro about the details of the curse.

You stood there, dumbfounded.

A gasp. “Gross!” Kugisaki shrieked, sounding like she wanted a break from everything that had occurred in the past five hours. She was sticking her tongue out, nose scrunched up and eyes screwed shut. “I cannot see anything cute after dealing with that thing inside.” A nose of discontentment, “Bleh.” But then she seemed to have a moment of clarity, clapping both hands on the side of her face and giving you a look that might as well have been an overexaggerated wink paired with her shouting every cliche couple trope from the rooftops. “But also... romantic.” Please someone save you.

Fushiguro was looking a little pale himself, caught off guard by the display of affection, staring at you, but then catching himself and looking away. He looked embarrassed and he didn’t even have anything to do with it.

Carefully, robotically, you brought a finger up to brush against your lips, still warm where Yuuji’s had molded between them, and subsequently noticed the teasing look he was giving you in the distance. It was a little too smug for your liking.

You stalked up to him and jabbed a finger into his chest, staring him down. “Yuuji, I swear-”

Kugisaki shoved the two of you towards the exit before you could get into a fist fight over a single surprise kiss, tsking while Fushiguro followed behind in her wake (you wondered if he would recover from... that any time soon—poor boy). “Okay, move it along, lovebirds. I want to go take a shower.”

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indianamoonshine · 3 years ago

Text

Girl Talk | Din Djarin x Reader | Oneshot

Summary: What does a gal do when she’s just been railed by the most notorious bounty hunter in The Galaxy? Call her best friend of course.

A/N: Just something to tide you over until the next installment of Strawberry! I have anxiety and I need to busy my hands without thinking too much! This takes place after season 2!

There’s a crackling on the other end of the receiver. The telegraph service majorly bites out here on Besiana, which has been dubbed “the trench of The Galaxy”. Getting connected to Gabriele at all is a miracle in itself, though not without exploiting a few (somewhat) illegal hacks by yours truly.

Hells, not even this shitty phoning service can put you in a sour mood.

When Gabriele’s voice sounds at the other end, it gives the air that he’s just awoken from a heavy sleep or he’s suffering a hangover. Probably both. “Now what the hell are you doing all the way out in butt-fucking-nowh…” he starts.

You’re quick to cut him off. “Take a guess.”

Gabriele groans and there’s a rummaging in the background. Something sounds as though it falls off a surface - his alarm clock, probably. He must be in the inner rim somewhere.

“Miss girl, I don’t have time to play these games with you. My head is pounding. Now tell me why you’re in the catacombs of The Galaxy’s ass and…”

Behind you, a body shuffles from outside the refresher door. Your heart thuds rambunctiously in your chest as you carefully peer through a crack of the opening. Din Djarin - The Galaxy’s most notorious Mandalorian- is taking a seat with his rifle in hand. You watch as he begins to disassemble it with great technical precision. Something about watching him take apart his weapon causes your stomach to flutter.

And your knees to weaken.

“I just had sex,” you tell him in a whisper.

Gabriele is silent on the other end for a moment and then lets out a sigh of great disappointment. “Congratulations. I’m going back to bed. Goodnight.”

“The best sex of my life.”

There’s another pause. “Oh?” His interest has piqued, voice more alert at the prospect of juicy gossip. After all, what were best friends for?

You let this linger in the air for a minute, just to marinate his curiosity, and then peek at Din again. He’s taking a rag and wiping the barrel of the rifle; if it weren’t for the helmet upon his head, you’d swear he was concentrating with furrowed and ascetic brow.

“Do you remember that Mandalorian who made a giant fuss a couple of years ago?” you inquire lowly, eyes unable to leave the steadiness of Din’s deft hands.

Those hands. You have to stop yourself from moaning at the recent memories. You swear you can still feel the ghostly sear they left in their wake. The naked skin upon your hips tingles at the sheer recollection, the slick still upon your thighs all-too prevalent.

“You’re lying,” is what Gabriele gasps, absolutely scandalized. You imagine him shooting up in bed and covering his mouth in awe. He was always so dramatic but you couldn’t blame him if he did. This was the exact reaction you were hoping for.

Din grabs another piece of his rifle and starts up again. You have to tear yourself away from looking at him and instead surmise yourself in the mirror. It isn’t very big in any sense of the word but it’ll do. You take a look at your face (blushed and bright) and then your eyes (dazed and dick-drunk). Hells, this man has ruined you.

“I know you have questions,” you reply, tapping at your cheeks. They feel softer somehow.

Gabriele squeaks a bit under his breath. “Did he take off his helmet?”

You shake your head, though he can’t see it. “No. And I think it awoken something in me.”

He tsks. “Damn. I wanna know what he looks like. Okay…”

“I know he’s a brunette,” you say slyly.

Gabriele shrieks at the other end and you have to angle the receiver away with a laugh. “Is it big?”

You recall the tactical consideration- albeit brief - it took to get his dick in your mouth. You did it though, ‘ole girl. You tap yourself on the shoulder with a proud grin.

“Oh, it is. It’s…it’s very nice.”

You find yourself looking out the door again. Din’s moved onto another gun - he’s already put together the last. You grow weary at the sight of his gloved hands alone, but when your eyes trail downwards you find yourself swallowing something thick in your throat. Which in turn, of course, reminds you of the tanginess still lingering upon your tongue.

“Gabriele,” you say seriously, voice so low you can barely hear yourself. “I came eight times.”

“Shut up. You did not.” Gabriele sounds more than just excited - now he sounds jealous. You can’t help but giggle.

You raise a hand to your chest in a show of honesty. “I mean it. Eight times. He went down on me for an hour.”

“I thought you said he didn’t take off his helmet?” Gabriele asks suspiciously.

You chuckle lowly. “Oh, that’s where it gets really good.”

Gabriele - one of the biggest sluts in The goddamned Galaxy - was no stranger to sex. So when you tell him that you were blindfolded during this portion of an absolute wild ride, you’re shocked to find him screeching once more.

You’re about to continue - to confide in him about the brutal rhythm of the ordeal - until a knock startles you. You press the receiver against your chest, still flushed and naked from the previous romp.

Din calls your name from the other side of the door. “Are you alright?”

You freeze, contemplating on everything you could say to this most bland of questions. “I’ll be out in a moment!” you decide, scolding yourself for being so timid. You were at the end of his dick a half-hour ago.

Din mumbles something and then departs. After he’s within a safe distance, you quickly raise the receiver and say, “I have to go. But I’ll tell you everything later.”

Gabriele gawks, “Was that him?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes. Now I really have to go.”

“Oh my gods, okay. Fine.”

You smile, clutching at the durasteel of the phone. “Promise. Love you.”

Your best friend sighs theatrically. “Love you too. Be safe, okay? I don’t even know who I’d call to go after him if something happened to you. No one would be stupid enough.”

The idea of Din doing anything to put you in harm’s way is inconceivable. You’ve only known him for a short amount of time - a couple of weeks at most - but you already trust him with your life.

“I’d die a happy woman,” you joke.

A short while later, you exit the refresher with sopping, clean hair and any traces of sex scrubbed away from between your legs. Din’s allowed you to wear one of his night shirts (an honor in itself) because your clothes had been soiled.

Din is placing his rifle upon its rack when you sneak by for the kitchen. You pour yourself a cup of Java - black, unfortunately, because of Din’s lack of sweet tooth. The liquid is steaming hot so you blow on it before bringing it to your lips.

“Do you want one?” you ask him, taking a sip. It burns. “Oof.”

Din turns, armor somehow so dexterous in its bulk. “No, thank you. But…”

In a surprising move, Din reaches for your hips and pulls you flush against him, ignoring the mug altogether. You shriek, worried it might spill, and set it upon the countertop, but he pays little to no mind.

“You took awhile,” he mumbles, hands grasping at the flesh of your hips. They’ve already been treated so roughly today, and now you were sure there’d be bruising. Good.

You chew at your bottom lip, desperate to know what his eyes might look like. You imagine he has dark eyes - like the color of the sky at nightfall. Maybe they became brighter in the light of the suns. Maybe they crinkled when he laughed - if he were capable of that, anyway. You’ve yet to hear such music.

“I didn’t realize you were waiting for me,” you confess, avoiding the steel gaze of his faceplate.

Din hums under his breath and taps your chin, lifting it just barely so that you can meet his stare. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You shrug, fluttering your lashes in a vain attempt to remain mysterious.

Din reaches for something behind you and reveals a scrap of fabric. “How about we try for nine?” The modulator of his helmet crackles a bit, causing his voice to sound more severe than what he may have liked.

But it does something to you.

You nod sweetly, a tiny grin threatening to sneak its way upon your face, before he takes you within his arms and lifts you upon the counter.

A shrieking, but playful, giggle bursts from your lips. “Din!” you chide, but tie the fabric around your eyes all the same.

The hiss of his helmet sounds, notifying you that he’s revealing himself to the elements now. You can hear his natural breath and feel the way it fans against your collarbones before he kisses you fiercely.

“Let me give you something to really talk about.”

#din djarin #din x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x reader #mw1 #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #din x you #the mandalorian x reader

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chanandlersstuff · 3 years ago

Text

The seasons pass and the heartbreak too

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader.

Summary: Life its a funny thing or maybe whats meant to be will find his way back together.

Word count: 1.927

Author’s note: This is the second part from this one and I was thinking that those two deserve some closure, so it will be one more part and that's it. Hope you like it. English is my second language so sorry for the misspellings. The song that inspired this part is "Nineteen" from Dylan, it's really good and some parts of it are on the story.

After leaving Charles at the airport that day, you didn't hear from him anymore until maybe the next year because having almost the same group of friends it was pretty hard not to know about him. One day while you were on a long call with Pierre he told you that he was dating a beautiful girl and that he seemed happy. That instead of breaking your heart completely made you happy because he was happy again. The love you had for him prevented you from being sad about it. Pierre also told you that Charles was having a great season and that also made you happy. Months passed and you didn't hear from him. You were getting better and better at your dream job, becoming more important in the business. The F1 life was little forgotten in your life but always alive in the back of your mind.

Summers, birthdays and seasons passed and Charles was achieving all his F1 goals. One night while having dinner with Pierre in some part of the world talking about life he told him that you were dating some guy and that you were happy. Charles’ fork stopped mid air when he heard the news and to Pierre surprise a smile appeared in his face, a genuine smile. He was happy for you, after all the last time he saw you was nearly three years ago and he didn't hate you, he had incredible affection towards you but that was it. Charles had no love interest in his life anymore but none of that had nothing to do with you.

Sometimes he wondered what were you doing with your life, if you achieved all your dream goals, if you were fine, all that kind of stuff. Even one time he almost dialled your number only to see if you had the same number and if you would answer him but that idea turn into a stupid one the second he almost tuch your contac name. You, on the other hand, while exploring new places or when you saw something that you thought would be fun for him, you couldn’t contain your brain from thinking about him and smiling. His name always on your phone but never used. Happy memories from the time you spend together, while being friends and lovers, no hold grudges.

One day while you were crossing the street, coffee in hand and sunglasses in your eyes, your mind deep down in work, someone shouting your name brought you back to reality and the voice was so familiar. You lowered your sunglasses to see better and when the window car next to you lowered too your heart seems to beat a little slower or everything happens in slow motion. He was there in his matt black Ferrari with the Monaco flag across the car and the 16 on one side. Charles Leclerc in the flesh, shouting your name in the red light of a street. With a smile on your face you walked to the passenger side of the car and you crouched a little to see him better.

-I wasn't entirely sure it was you.- Charles said smiling.

-So you took your chances shouting at me I see.- He nodded and you laughed. -How are you?

-Fine, fine. What about you?- The two of you were smiling like little kids on Christmas night.

-I’m fine too.- Looking at his face you notice that he hasn't changed that much. His face was more mature and his beard from a couple of days the same as you remembered. The honk of other cars brought you back to reality -It was fantastic to see you again but I'm going late to a meeting and those drivers are getting pissed.

He frowned a little and moved his head to see the cars behind him. -Oh. Yes, it was great seeing you again.- He smiled and you smiled back. You straightened and took two steps back. -WAIT.

-¿Yes?- Your voice was sweet.

-You ....eh....we….- You giggle because he was the same nervous Charles you remember when you were little.

-¿Yes Charles?.- He laughed and cleared his throat.

-I was thinking if you could give me your number.- You raised your eyebrows. -To stay in touch I mean, if you want of course.

You smile and from one of the pockets of your bag you pulled out your card. -Gimme a call whenever you want.- Your fingers touch and a familiar, not so forgotten, feeling travels through your bodys. -Bye Charles.

A week later you were walking towards him in whiteh trousers and shoes, a black tank top, sunglasses and hat. The “friendly lunch”, as he said, was in a restaurant in front of the water and the summer in the air made the day perfect. It wasn't a date at all, it was two friends who hadn't seen each other in a while catching up.

With a bottle of water in the middle, because he had to drive and you weren’t going to drink wine alone, the conversation flowed as easy as all those years ago. Laughs that made the stomach hurt and tears appeared in the corner of your eyes while the two of you remembered long time memories and funny histories.

The way he kept switching languages as easy as breathing and the sun that was coming down, illuminated your skin making you glow in his eyes and your smile, gosh it was the brightest smile he'd ever seen. Everything was so easy going and funny, like a picture perfect. As if the two of you have never walked away from your lives, as if you have talked every day for the past few years.

-Do you remember that night when we went to that awful party and we ended up drinking coffee in that spot we used to like so much?- He said when you came down from the laughter.

-It was the same day that your mum almost kill us because we were minor and we stunk at cigarettes?- The scene coming to your brain as it was yesterday and he nodded. -Oh yes, I remember. Some dude spilled his drink in my dress and it had a huge stain on it.

-Yes, that blue dress looked so beautiful on you.- You didn’t remember the color, but apparently Charles did.

-I was a mess Charles.- You tried to argue with him.

-A hot mess.- He said in a low tone hoping, praying that you didn’t hear him but you did and didn't say anything about it trying to not ruin the nice day you were having.

-Do you remember that day you called me late at night to pick you up at that random bar?- You said and he burst into laughter at the memory.

-Oh god yes. I almost came out of that bar crawling and you were there waiting for me in that empty street.- Charles said, scratching his head.

-Were only one streetlight worked properly.- You add in a funny tone.

-You were there with my jacket and two blankets and a worried face.

-Because it was freaking cold, like freezing.- You said laughing and he did too. -I don't remember why you were there and I could bet you don't remember either because you were so drunk that you forgot the reason.

-I remember that the next day I had the worst hangover of my life and I swore that I would never drink that way ever again.- Charles grabbed the glass from the table and drank.

-I remember that you were insufferable the next day, like I couldn't even look your way and you were already whining like a baby.- You said and he laughed.

-And the night you were so stressed about that exam and I told you to run away with me?- You frowned. -That I “kidnapped you” and took you to that little dinner and we stayed there for like 5 hours.- You were smiling but didn't say anything or move an inch. -The dinner that was like from the 70s or 80s, with neon signs and rock music.

You nodded with your head. -Can I be honest with you?- He nodded. -All I saw that night was you and how your eyes seem to change color with the neon lights. He didn't say anything but smiled brightly at you and blushed a little.

If you were honest you remember all too well the things you did together. The little lies to your friends telling you didn't like him when you clearly did, the big fights in those summer days where everything complicated and all the mistakes were made and how he always said “You and I, that’s all the matter. No one else, just you and I” and how he told you “You are the only one I want” when you were agreeing to that strange summer deal.

-Do you remember the day we spent in your granny’s garden looking at the stars in that white old sheet?- You said looking at water.

-Yes, we spent hours talking about our big dreams and desires.- A little silence fell between you two. -I really hope you achieve everything you told me that night.- The fact that he seemed to remember what you told him that night told everything that you needed to know.

-I did, most of them I did. I hope the same for you.

-I achieved some of them and I��m doing others this year.-

But the truth was that both of you made promises and dream things together, thinking that you would stay friends or lovers forever. Always by the other side, cheering their wins and being there when they lost but life wanted other things.

-It seems that we both remember a lot of things from years ago.- You said in a nervous tone trying to cover the inexistent awkward silence.

-Of course I remember. How could I ever forget it.- You tilted your head. -How quickly and hard I fell for you.- His tone was so tender and the smile he was giving you was something from another planet.

-Charles…- You played with the napkin in front of you.

-What? It's true, I was never capable of lying to you and you weren't capable either so tell me what's on your mind.- You stayed in silence for a couple of minutes trying to find sense about them.

-Loving you wasn't a waste. Yes hearts were bruised and mistakes were made but I will do it all the same.- You said and smiled at him.

-I don't.- The look on your face must be a hurt one because he rushed his next words. -Because at the end I lost you, everything we were. Friends, lovers, partners, everything lost for years.

-But we are here now.- You said in a slow tone.

-But for how long?- You opened your mouth to talk but he interrupted you. -A week? Ten days? You are going to get back to your job and I have to get back to race, it's the summer deal all over again. And I do not say this because I want to be your boyfriend again or whatever we have been years ago, I say it because I want my friend back. You know how many times I almost called you to tell you everything that was going on with my life, to tell you that I needed you when shit hit the fan? A thousand times. I do not want you in my life if you are going to be entering or leaving it as if it were a candy store. I want you permanently in it and I want to be in your life in the same way. Be there for you when your work is going well and when you cry from stress like all those years ago but this time physically. I want you here.- At this point he was moving his hands freneticaly and raising his voice a little but the only you could do was looked at him speechless absorving his statement and your stupid heart racing as fast as he drives his car in the weekends.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 x reader #Charles leclerc x y/n #Charles leclerc x you #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #formula one one shot #formula one x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 x you #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc f1 #charles leclerc one shot

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years ago

Text

Do It Twice - a Do It Universe rewrite with Bucky and Steve

The one where Bucky's your boyfriend and he has a cuckold kink. Good thing Steve has shown interest in you.

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, cursing, cuckold kink, creampie, oral (f), kind of a sharing kink again?, cum eating

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: This is my apology to Steve for all the shit I put him through in Graveyard. This time, he's the bull and Bucky's the cuckold. And yes, it is a rewrite of my do it universe, which was written with Jake Gyllenhaal as the bull and Tom Holland as the cuck. I may rewrite the other parts or divert from them completely, we'll see. Might leave it at this one, too.

I could still remember the moment this situation came into question. The way Bucky’s cheeks assumed a reddish undertone as he admitted his deepest secret: his desire to fuck me, knowing I had went out and fucked someone else.

I’d been beyond surprised, of course. I’d known what cuckold meant, but only in the context of bar jokes and silly conversations. I never really considered having a sexual relationship that entailed that.

But I loved Bucky. I wanted to make him happy, and I think I’d been doing a great job since becoming his girlfriend. It’d taken me months to carefully build the trust that he needed to admit his kink to me. What kind of a partner would I be if I didn’t at least try to fulfill his desires?

And, of course, there was the way Steve looked at me. I’d noticed the very first time we were introduced to each other, how he ran his blue eyes over my body with undeniable desire poorly hidden on the aqua hues, and the fact that he was so unashamed of the way he licked his lips in front of my boyfriend as he accepted my handshake made my body feel hotter than it probably should.

He was Captain America. The definition of a good boy, and still he had no problem wanting his best friend’s girlfriend. I knew he did, but I chose to ignore it because what else could I do? Entertain the idea of being attracted to the other supersoldier when I already had a perfect boyfriend who I was also extremely attracted to? It just didn’t make any sense.

“Tell me what he did, doll.” Bucky’s words were hot over my face as his hands roamed almost desperately over my practically naked body, until he managed to unwrap my dress and let the light fabric flow down to the floor. “Tell me where he touched you, I want to hear it,” he insisted, his hands taking notice of the bruises left on my skin, the clear signs of another man’s possession on what was once only his.

“Everywhere,” I admitted, barely over a whisper, and I saw his cock twitch under his boxers. I witnessed his mouth falling open, his tongue coming out to wet his lips before he delved to lick my collarbones, where I knew there was a litany of lovebites coloring them.

“Tell me more,” he begged. “Tell me how it felt.”

What could I say about the evening I’d just spent with my boyfriend’s best friend? A shiver went down my spine as I suddenly remembered what Steve had whispered in my ear before sending me back home to Bucky, just as my boyfriend’s talented mouth reached my throat.

“He asked me to tell you that he sent you a gift,” I breathed out, my words sounding raspy after spending a good part of the night being throatfucked. Bucky just hummed in acknowledgment against my skin, now reaching my jaw as I turned my face to the side to give him more room to work. “I have his cum inside of me.”

That had Bucky’s head snapping up to look me in the eyes, and for a second I was afraid Steve and I had taken this too far - that my boyfriend realized all the implications of what we’d done and that now he was disgusted with me.

But then he lunged at me, throwing me on the bed, his huge hands immediately prying my thighs open so I was spread out for his gaze to take. “Showed me,” he begged, and after only a moment of hesitation, I clenched my pussy, expelling the milky substance Steve had directed me to keep it inside after we were done.

“He’ll love it,” he had assured me. “Just like you loved to take me in your pretty little hole. Didn’t you?”

He’d been right, I realized as soon as Bucky plunged his tongue deep inside my cunt, scooping up his best friend’s release and relishing in it. “Fuck, this is everything I ever wanted,” he confessed, and I felt a new wave of wetness flow through me at the knowledge that this absolutely depraved activity was exactly what my boyfriend needed.

“I’m glad.” I ran my fingers through his locks, pulling slightly as he feasted on my used pussy. It was still sensitive from how thoroughly Steve had been, and if I closed my eyes, I could still feel his weight on top of me, his big muscles locking me under his control.

“What else did he say?” Bucky asked, his pretty pink lips sucking my clit, making me cry out loud over the sensitiveness. I could barely speak, too fucked out and somehow also too horny to remember something as simple as words. But I knew this would all have been for nothing if I didn’t tell my boyfriend about what I’d done before coming home to him.

“He…” I started, stopping only to moan out loud as Bucky’s fingers came into play, exploring the same place Steve had so brutally fucked only hours before. “He said he never had a better pussy in his life. And that he’d fucked a lot of women, so I should better believe him.”

Bucky chuckled against my cunt, making me cry out as the feeling reverberated through me, prompting a mini-orgasm that made my thighs quiver.

“He wasn’t lying, sweetheart. I can attest to the fact that ever since he’s gotten used to this century, he’s had a lot of flings. I can also confirm…” He continued, finally pulling away from my cunt to rub his cock on my clit, teasing me. I didn’t know how he found the control to do so, his cock was visibly throbbing in his fist, the red tip leaking precum all over me. “… that there’s no better pussy in the world than this one right here.”

I loved having Bucky inside of me. He filled me in a way that felt more than physical. It was almost like a spiritual experience. But today, something felt different, like our connection had been taken to another level, somehow.

“Tell me, my love… Was he… Was he gentle?” He was panting now, desperately searching for his release as he thrusted in and out of me. “Or was he rough? Did he pound your little pussy like I do when you’re being a bad girl? Did he make you scream his name as you came around his cock?”

God, Bucky’s dirty talk was getting to me. I was trembling in his hands now, clawing at his back as I begged him to speed up his movements. Desire broke my inhibitions, finally loosening my tongue as I gave my boyfriend what he so desperately asked of me.

“He… He was rough, so rough, Buck.” I admitted. “He fucked me like a whore.”

Bucky’s strangled moan echoed around our room, and I managed to find the strength to turn us over so I could ride him. Seeing just how much he was enjoying this gave me the courage to keep on sharing the details of my night with Steve.

“He asked me to tell him how much I liked him, how good I made him feel.” Panting, my heartbeat was racing, both from approaching my high and the anticipation to know what Bucky would think of it.

"And did you?” I watched as Bucky licked his lips, his eyes following the trail of lovebites Steve had left over my stomach and chest, until he found my eyes, nodding to signal me to keep going.

“Yes…” It came out more like a long moan than anything else, as I kept on grinding my body against his, his cock filling me up. “I told him how hot he was, how great his big cock felt inside of me.”

Just talking about it reminded me of how Steve had felt inside of me, which made me cry out, abandoning the slow roll of my hips for quicker movements.

“Was he bigger than me? Did he stretch you out, baby?” We’d talked about this previously, so I didn’t feel all that bad about saying, “Yes. He was so big, honey, so thick. He had to make me cum three times and open me up with his fingers so I could accept his cock inside of me.”

Stopping for a bit only to swallow around my dry throat, I realized what I could say to make Bucky cum. “He wanted to fuck my ass, James. But he said it’d take too much time to get his dick inside of me, and he was too horny to wait that long before cumming inside of me.”

Just as I expected, my words made Bucky finally reach his release, spilling inside of me and prompting another orgasm that drained my body of all its energy. The last thing I remembered hearing before I drifted off to sleep was his passionate thanks for giving him the best sex of his life.

#my fics #bucky barnes smut #steve rogers smut #bucky barnes #smut #steve rogers #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes reader #steve rogers reader

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