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00valentina-writes00 · 1 day ago

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Street racing reader x mechanic Ellie??

(I just got done binge watching the fast and thefurious movies)

Reader street races to make some extra cash on the side, Ellie works on the cars and also details them for other racers.

RAHAHHAHHHH IVE had this stuck in my head since you made the request five hours ago bby-

And I have delivered.

✞⛧ Racing Hearts ✞⛧

warnings: language, sexual tension, suggestive themes, reckless driving, bickering, teasing, angst, smut towards the end (as always)

Word count: 7.9k

The garage smells like oil, burnt rubber, and metal—sharp, heavy, and lingering in the back of your throat. The flickering fluorescent lights overhead cast a dim, yellowish glow on the concrete floor, stained with years of grease and engine spills. The space is cluttered but organized, the kind of chaos that only someone who knows exactly where everything is can navigate.

You lean against the hood of your car, arms crossed, eyes scanning the place. Word on the street is that this mechanic—Ellie—knows her shit. Works fast, doesn't overcharge, and can squeeze power out of an engine like nobody else. You're skeptical. Too many mechanics see street racers as cash cows, overpricing labor and tacking on fees like you're some rich kid playing pretend. You're not. You race to make extra cash, to keep your car running, to survive.

A loud clang echoes from the far side of the garage. Then—

"Yo, if you're just gonna stand there looking pretty, at least make yourself useful and hand me that wrench."

The voice is rough, low, tinged with something lazy and self-assured. You turn toward it

Ellie Williams.

She's half under a lifted car, only her legs and torso visible, grease-smudged jeans hugging lean, wiry muscle. When she slides out, dragging a rag over her oil-streaked hands, you get your first real look at her.

Maybe 5'5", lean but strong, built like someone who doesn't just lift tools but knows how to throw a punch. Her forearms are defined, her hands rough, calloused from years of work. A faded band tee clings to her frame, the sleeves haphazardly rolled up, revealing a fern tattoo winding down her arm, the dark ink stark against tanned skin. A streak of oil smudges across her cheekbone, and a faint scar cuts through one of her eyebrows. Her green eyes are sharp, glinting with a mix of amusement and mild impatience.

You arch a brow. "I don't work here."

Ellie snorts, tossing the rag onto a nearby tool chest. "No shit. You've got 'racer' written all over you." She eyes your car, then you. "That why you're here? What, engine light came on and now you're freaking out?"

You grit your teeth. "I need a tune-up. You free?"

Ellie sighs like you just asked her to rebuild the whole damn car from scratch. She jerks her chin toward the hood. "Pop it."

You reach in, pull the latch, and step back as she moves in. The way she moves is confident, easy—like this is second nature. She leans over, hands braced against the frame, eyes scanning the engine like she's reading a book only she understands.

She whistles low. "Damn. You push this thing way too hard," she mutters, hands already working, brushing over wires, testing the tension on belts. "Might as well start digging your own grave."

You cross your arms. "I win races. Winning means pushing limits."

Ellie huffs a laugh, shaking her head as she reaches for a wrench. "Winning also means knowing when your car's about to shit the bed."

She gets to work, sleeves pushed up past her elbows, the muscles in her forearms flexing with each movement. You watch as she moves efficiently—checking, adjusting, tightening. There's a rhythm to it, like muscle memory. The music blasting from an old radio in the corner doesn't distract her. In fact, she taps her foot to it while she works, muttering under her breath every now and then.

"You talk to cars a lot?" you ask.

Ellie shrugs, not looking up. "Only the ones with owners dumb enough to burn through their engines."

You smirk. "You flirting with my car?"

Ellie pauses just long enough to glance at you, lips curling. "Jealous?"

You roll your eyes but don't fight the grin tugging at your mouth.

She works fast. Every adjustment is precise, every flick of her wrist practiced. She knows what she's doing, and for the first time in a long time, you don't feel like someone's trying to hustle you.

After a while, she straightens, wiping her hands on the rag. "You're all set. Try not to kill yourself out there."

You slide into the driver's seat, start the engine, and immediately notice the difference. The hum is smoother, the response sharper. She fine-tuned it perfectly. You glance up at her.

"How much?"

Ellie leans against the door, tapping her fingers against the frame. "Two hundred."

You scoff. "That's it?"

She shrugs. "Could've charged you more. Might, next time, if you keep acting like a dick."

You can't tell if she's serious, but there's something about the way she says it that makes you smirk. You pull out a couple of bills, hand them over, and she tucks them into her pocket without counting.

As you shift into gear, Ellie knocks her knuckles against the window. "Hey."

You pause.

"If you win, bring it back," she says, her voice casual but firm. "I wanna see what I'm working with."

You meet her gaze, searching for the catch. There isn't one. Just a mechanic who gives a shit, even if she pretends not to.

You nod once. "Yeah. Alright."

And with that, you pull out of the garage, the tune-up carrying you toward the starting line.

——-

The first time you come back to Ellie's garage after a race, she looks up from under the hood of an old Chevy, eyes narrowing like she's already regretting seeing your face again.

"You back so soon?" she says, wiping grease off her hands with a rag. "What'd you do this time, blow a gasket?"

You smirk, leaning against the doorway. "Nah. Just figured you'd miss me."

Ellie snorts. "Yeah, like a hole in the head." But she still jerks her chin toward your car. "Pop the hood. Might as well check if you haven't completely fucked it since last time."

That's how it starts. One visit turns into two, then three. You come back after every race, whether you need work done or not. Ellie complains, rolls her eyes, mutters about "needy racers," but she never actually tells you to leave. And despite her grumbling, she always takes a minute to check under the hood, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her wrist, leaving a faint streak of oil along her temple.

She's all rough hands and sharp edges, but there's something about the way she moves—focused, deliberate—that makes it hard to look away. The way the overhead lights catch on the sheen of sweat along her collarbone, the way her forearms flex when she tightens a bolt, the way she bites the inside of her cheek when she's concentrating.

"You gonna keep staring, or are you actually gonna help?" she mutters one night, not looking up from where she's bent over your engine.

You shrug. "Just making sure you know what you're doing."

Ellie scoffs, tossing a wrench at your chest—not hard, just enough to make a point. You catch it, grinning. "Real funny."

It becomes a routine.

The races run late, sometimes past midnight, and more often than not, you find yourself back at Ellie's shop, the neon sign buzzing faintly in the darkness. Some nights, you're actually there for repairs. Other nights, you just lean against the hood of your car, watching her work.

Ellie pretends to hate it.

"You got nothing better to do?" she grumbles one night, wiping sweat from her forehead with her forearm.

“Not really."

She exhales through her nose, shaking her head, but you don't miss the way her lips twitch like she's fighting a smirk.

Your presence is easy now—familiar, even. She doesn't ask why you keep coming back, and you don't explain. But sometimes, when she's bent under the hood, sleeves shoved up past her elbows, you catch the slight pink on her cheeks when she realizes you've been watching.

"Seriously," she mutters, throwing a look over her shoulder. "What's with you?"

You shrug. "You're kinda cute when you're pissed off."

Ellie scoffs, turning back to the car, but you see the way her ears turn red.

One night, you show up with takeout.

Ellie raises a brow as you set the bag on the workbench. "The hell is this?"

"Food," you say. "Mechanics gotta eat, too."

Ellie hesitates, like she doesn't know what to do with the gesture. She's used to grease, to engine parts, to long hours with nothing but black coffee and maybe a gas station snack if she remembers. She's not used to people taking care of her.

Still, she grabs the bag, peeking inside. She mutters a quiet, almost reluctant, "Thanks," before digging in, perching on the edge of the workbench, one boot resting against the stool beneath her.

You sit across from her, eating in comfortable silence. The radio hums low in the background, some old rock song, and for a moment, the night doesn't feel so heavy.

After that, you bring food more often. Sometimes it's just coffee. Sometimes it's a burger or something she can eat with one hand while working. She never asks for it, but she never turns it down, either.

Another night, she leans against the counter, sipping the drink you brought her, eyes flicking over to you. "You keep doing this, people are gonna start thinking you like me."

You tilt your head, grinning. "Yeah? And what would you think?"

Ellie rolls her eyes, but you don't miss the way she licks her lips before looking away.

——

The dim light in the garage flickers overhead, casting long shadows that stretch across the concrete floor, mixing with the hum of the fan spinning lazily in the corner. The air is thick with the smell of motor oil, sweat, and something faintly metallic. It's the kind of scent that makes you think of late nights and a kind of gritty work you've come to associate with Ellie—who's currently hunched over the engine of your car, her body angled just so as she works. Her movements are fluid, practiced, confident. Each shift of her body reveals the lean, toned muscles of her back, flexing beneath her worn-out sports bra.

You lean against the hood of your car, arms crossed loosely over your chest. Your gaze, despite your best efforts, keeps wandering back to her. There's something magnetic about the way she works. It's like watching a well-rehearsed dance, only instead of a stage, it's a greasy engine bay and a pile of worn-out tools scattered around her.

You can't help but notice the way the sports bra clings to her back, the lines of her spine visible as she bends over to tighten something under the hood. It's a small thing—something fleeting—but it catches your attention in a way you don't want it to. The soft curve of her spine as she moves, the way her muscles contract and relax with each movement—it's mesmerizing.

You think about how she'd look if she were arching her back, the muscles in her spine stretching, the way her body would ripple beneath your touch. The way her muscles might tense if you shoved your strap- It's a thought that catches you off guard, unexpected and almost too much for your brain to process. You quickly look away, taking a breath, trying to shake the thought out of your head.

But then she shifts again, and you're back at it. She pulls herself out from under the car, brushing a strand of messy hair away from her forehead with the back of her hand. Her face is flushed with the effort, but her eyes—those green eyes—catch yours almost instantly. There's a challenge in her gaze, something you can't quite read, but it's there, lingering.

"You gonna keep staring or are you gonna help?" she grumbles, wiping her hand on a rag. She doesn't look annoyed—if anything, there's a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, like she's enjoying the attention, even if she won't admit it.

You raise an eyebrow, pushing off the hood of your car. "Maybe I'll just watch you do all the work. You're pretty good at it."

Ellie lets out an exaggerated sigh and stands up straight, stretching her back with a small grunt. The motion pulls your attention once again, the way her muscles ripple, how her spine arches as she stretches. You swallow, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, trying to hide how her physicality affects you. She notices, of course. She always does.

——

Ellie starts teaching you things.

At first, it's just little comments here and there. "If your car starts pulling left, check the tire pressure before assuming it's alignment." "Listen for knocking in the engine—means the timing's off." "Don't rev the shit out of it before a race, you're just burning fuel for no reason."

Eventually, though, she starts pulling you into the work itself. Hands you a tool instead of doing it herself. Makes you tighten a bolt, check a connection.

It's frustrating, at first. She's a tough teacher, blunt and sarcastic, but never careless. If she corrects you, it's because she wants you to get it right.

One night, as you're trying (and failing) to change out a spark plug, Ellie leans over, her arm brushing against yours, the warmth of her skin distracting in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

She smirks, voice low. "Need me to hold your hand?"

You huff, but your fingers slip on the plug, and Ellie laughs. Not mocking, just amused, something softer underneath.

"You're getting better," she admits, nudging your shoulder with hers. "Maybe I won't clown on you forever."

And then, that same evening, you challenge her.

"You ever actually gonna watch me race?" you ask, leaning against the counter as she works.

Ellie glances up. "I hear about it."

"Not the same."

She exhales, tossing the rag aside. "Racing's not really my thing."

You tilt your head. "Then why do you work on race cars?"

Ellie shrugs. "I like the work."

You step closer. "Come watch," you say, quieter this time. "You spend all this time making sure my car doesn't fall apart. Wouldn't hurt to see it in action."

Ellie hesitates. She's used to the garage, to oil and metal and machines she can fix with her hands. But people? Feelings? Those are harder.

Still, after a moment, she sighs, running a hand through her messy auburn hair. "Fine," she mutters. "One race."

You grin. "Try not to fall in love."

Ellie scoffs. "You wish." But her smirk lingers, and for the first time, you think she might actually be looking forward to it.

——-

Ellie's in your passenger seat, and she's already regretting it.

The neon lights of the city streak past, blurring into a rush of color as your tires screech against the asphalt. The engine roars beneath you, a perfect harmony of raw power and precision—the kind of balance only Ellie could've fine-tuned.

She grips the oh shit handle, knuckles white. "Jesus," she mutters. "You drive like a fucking maniac."

You grin, shifting gears as you weave between cars. "Told you to buckle up."

Ellie scoffs, but she yanks the strap tighter across her chest anyway.

The race is chaos—machines tearing through the night, engines screaming, rubber burning against the pavement. You're threading through the pack, cutting close, feeling the pulse of the road in your bones. Ellie's right there beside you, tense but locked in, green eyes darting between the dashboard and the road ahead.

She mutters under her breath—half curses, half prayers—as you take a sharp turn, the back tires kicking out before you correct with practiced ease. You feel the thrill in your veins, the sharp, electric rush of knowing you're inches from disaster but still in control.

Ellie exhales through her nose, stealing a glance at you. Your hands on the wheel, the gleam of sweat at your temple, the way your jaw tightens in focus. Something flickers in her expression, something she won't name.

"You're gonna get me killed," she grumbles.

You smirk. "Not tonight."

A straightaway opens ahead. The last stretch. The lead car is inches away, close enough that you can feel the tension radiating off the driver. You downshift, engine snarling, and Ellie leans forward instinctively, caught up despite herself.

"Come on, come on," she mutters, eyes flicking between the speedometer and the road.

You time it perfectly—cutting inside at the last second, just before the other driver can block. Ellie swears as you squeeze past, inches from scraping metal, the rush of air and neon swallowing you whole.

Then—

You cross the finish line first.

The world slows. The roar of the engine fades under the cheers, the flashing lights, the chaos of celebration. You exhale, chest rising and falling, heart pounding against your ribs.

Ellie is staring at you.

"You actually fucking did it," she says, like she can't quite believe it.

You turn to her, grinning. "Had to make sure you got a good show."

Ellie rolls her eyes, but there's something else there now—something deeper, something charged.

She huffs, shaking her head as she unbuckles her seatbelt. "You're insane."

You lean in, voice lower now, more deliberate. "You like it, though."

Ellie doesn't answer. She just looks at you for a long second, the hum of the engine still between you, the night thick with something neither of you want to name yet.

Then she smirks. "Drive me back to the shop, hotshot."

And just like that, you know this won't be the last time Ellie's in your car.

———

The garage hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights overhead, the scent of oil and metal thick in the air. Ellie's perched on the edge of your hood, wiping her hands clean with an already-filthy rag. Her coveralls are unzipped and tied around her waist, leaving her in a sweat-stained band tee that clings to her lean frame. There's a streak of grease on her cheek, just below her scarred eyebrow, and her green eyes flick up at you, sharp and knowing.

"You're an idiot," she says flatly.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "Good pep talk, Els."

"I'm serious." She tosses the rag onto the workbench behind her, arms crossing over her chest. Her forearms are streaked with oil, veins subtly pronounced beneath her lightly tanned skin. "This race? It's not like the other ones. These guys don't just want to win, they wanna make sure you lose. You think you're fast? They'll make sure speed doesn't matter when they're ramming you into a guardrail."

You lean against the car beside her, feeling the cold metal press into your back. The payout for this race is bigger than anything you've taken on before, the kind of money that could keep you steady for months. But it's not just about the cash. It's the thrill, the proof that you can run with the best.

"I'll be fine," you say. "I know what I'm doing."

Ellie exhales sharply, shaking her head. "Yeah, that's what they all say. Right before they end up in a ditch."

You smirk. "Didn't know you cared so much."

Ellie scoffs, shoving at your shoulder with enough force to make you stumble. "Shut the fuck up. I care about my work, and I just spent weeks making sure your car doesn't explode the second you push it past 100."

"Uh-huh." You watch her, taking in the way her fingers twitch at her sides, the way her jaw clenches just a little too tight. She's pissed, yeah, but there's something else under it—something like worry.

She huffs, hopping off the hood. "You're impossible."

"And you're hot when you're mad," you shoot back, just to see the way she rolls her eyes.

Ellie flips you off as she walks away, but she doesn't argue.

——

The city lights blur past, neon streaks cutting through the darkness. Your grip on the wheel is steady, fingers flexing against the worn leather. The engine hums beneath you, smooth, powerful—Ellie's work, through and through. You can feel it in every shift, every perfect response to your touch.

It starts like every other race. The line-up, the revving engines, the sharp crack of the signal to go. You take off clean, slipping into position, letting muscle memory take over. The world narrows down to asphalt and headlights, to the pulse of adrenaline in your veins.

But halfway through, you feel it.

Something's off.

The car behind you—too close, too deliberate. You know blocking moves, you know how to force an opening, but this? This isn't racing. This is something else.

Then it happens.

A sharp jolt from behind—metal slamming into metal, sending your car skidding sideways. The tires scream against the pavement as you fight for control, hands moving fast, instincts kicking in. You see the guardrail rushing up, see the way they're trying to send you straight into it.

Not happening.

You cut the wheel at the last second, using the momentum to spin out and straighten just before impact. The car shudders but holds. You don't even think before punching the gas, shoving forward with everything you've got.

The finish line is a blur.

You don't even register the cheers at first, only the sharp, exhilarating high of survival, of victory. You won.

But your car? Your car is wrecked.

Smoke curls from under the hood. The side panel is dented in, the alignment's fucked, and you can already hear Ellie's voice in your head, full of exasperation and fury.

And sure enough—

"What the fuck were you thinking?!"

Ellie's storming toward you before you even get out of the car, boots heavy against the pavement. Her hair is a mess, pulled loose from its bun, and her face is flushed with anger. She looks like she ran here, like she couldn't get to you fast enough.

You step out, wincing as pain flares in your ribs. Nothing broken, just bruised. The adrenaline is still riding high, and despite everything, despite the near disaster, you're grinning.

"I told you not to trust those assholes!" Ellie's voice is sharp, but her hands are shaking when she reaches for you. Not the car—you.

"I won," you say, like that makes it better.

Ellie stares at you, eyes burning. Then, suddenly, she shoves you. Hard.

"You could've gotten killed, dumbass." Her voice cracks, just slightly. That's what does it.

Your grin fades. She's scared.

Her hands hover at your sides, like she wants to check you over but doesn't know where to start.

"Ellie—"

"Shut up." She exhales harshly, rubbing a hand over her face. When she looks at you again, her jaw is set, but there's something vulnerable in her expression. Something raw.

You reach out, catching her wrist before she can pull away.

"You care, don't you?"

Ellie scoffs, but she doesn't move. Doesn't yank her hand back, doesn't look away.

"You're a pain in my ass," she mutters.

You squeeze her wrist gently, feeling the rapid pulse beneath her skin. "That's not a no."

Ellie swallows hard. Then, quietly—almost too quiet to hear—

"Yeah. I care."

The words settle between you, heavier than the weight of the race, heavier than anything else.

Ellie shakes her head, exhaling. Then, finally, she does what she's been itching to do—her hands move, checking you over, tracing along your arm, your ribs, making sure you're still in one piece.

Her fingers linger.

You don't stop her.

The wrecked car, the sabotage, the near-disaster—it all fades for a moment. It's just Ellie, frustrated, furious, and more worried than she'll ever admit.

And you, alive, grinning, and feeling something even riskier than the race itself.

———

The garage door rattles shut behind you, sealing in the thick scent of oil, rubber, and something distinctly Ellie—warm skin, faded cologne, the sharp tang of grease. The place is dimly lit, the overhead fluorescents casting long shadows, flickering slightly like they can feel the tension hanging in the air.

Ellie is already pacing. Still pissed.

Actually, pissed doesn't even begin to cover it.

"You are such a fucking dumbass," she snaps, voice sharp enough to cut through the thick air. Her hands are on her hips, fingers flexing like she's trying to resist the urge to throw something. Maybe a wrench. Maybe at your head.

She's pissed. But goddamn, she looks good.

Her white band tee is draped over the workbench, discarded in favor of a black sports bra. It clings to her, sweat-dampened from the heat of the shop, highlighting the toned lines of her stomach and the slight curve of her chest. Her arms—lean, wiry, strong—are still smudged with grease, her hands flexing as she talks, fingers twitching like she's desperate to take something apart just to burn off frustration.

You should be paying attention.

You should be apologizing.

Instead, your gaze drops—just for a second—watching the way her small swells sit perfectly in that sports bra, the subtle way they move when she breathes, the way sweat beads lightly on her collarbone.

"...Are you even fucking listening to me?"

Your head snaps back up immediately. "What?"

Ellie's staring at you now, arms crossed over her chest—which, unfortunately, just makes your problem worse.

She narrows her eyes. "Unbelievable."

You swallow hard, fighting the heat creeping up the back of your neck. "I—uh—what were you saying?"

Ellie scoffs, dragging a hand down her face. Her biceps flex when she does it, lean muscle shifting under grease-streaked skin, and you're absolutely going to hell.

"You almost fucking died," she says, voice lower now, frustration simmering into something quieter, something tighter. "You get that, right? Like, actually died."

You should say something. Should acknowledge the way her voice wavers, the way her fingers twitch at her sides like she wants to hit you or shake you or maybe just grab you and never let go.

But all you can think about is the way a drop of sweat rolls from her throat, down her sternum, disappearing beneath the band of her sports bra.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Ellie catches the way your eyes flicker downward again. Her brows furrow. Then, slowly, something shifts.

"...You're not even fucking listening," she realizes, voice edged with disbelief.

"I am," you lie.

Her gaze drops slightly, just a fraction, then flicks back up.

Ellie takes a step forward.

You don't move.

Her lips part, just slightly, and for a split second, you think she's going to call you out, absolutely tear you apart for checking her out while she's in the middle of being mad at you.

Instead, she tilts her head, voice dropping into something smoother. Something slower.

"...My face is up here, ma'am."

You blink.

Ellie's smirking now—just barely. Just enough to make your stomach flip. Still mad, but now she knows exactly what's going through your head.

You clear your throat, forcing your gaze back up. She doesn't make it easy.

Her green eyes flicker with something dangerous. Not anger. Not entirely.

"I'm still pissed at you," she says, quieter now.

You nod. "I know."

Ellie's arms drop from her chest, hands settling on her hips instead. "And you still need to make this up to me."

You inhale sharply, nodding again. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever you want."

That smirk deepens—just a little. Just enough to make your pulse jump.

"I'll hold you to that," Ellie murmurs.

And fuck.

You're so screwed.

——-

Ellie's been working on your car for hours, refusing to let anyone else even touch it. Her focus has never been more intense, not even during the times when she's been elbow-deep in engine parts or tuning something just right. Tonight, though, it feels different. More personal. You can't put your finger on it, but something's shifted in the way she's working.

You can't help but feel like it's your fault.

She's already told you, in every sharp and frustrated word she's muttered under her breath, that you're reckless. That you take risks without thinking. That you don't even care if you break the damn car—or worse, break yourself. But here she is, sweat-streaked and tired, still refusing to stop. She's determined to get it just right, to make sure everything's in perfect condition before you hit the streets again.

You watch her for a moment before stepping closer to the car. Her back is to you as she tightens a bolt beneath the hood, the faint glow from the overhead light making the edges of her shoulders and back stand out in sharp relief. Her movements are fluid but strained, the exhaustion in her posture showing despite her efforts to stay focused. Her black sports bra is soaked through with sweat, and her skin glistens under the shop's lights, the grease staining her arms and neck a stark contrast to the softness of her skin.

The sight of her, all intensity and grit, makes your chest tighten in a way you can't explain.

You open your mouth to speak, but the words are stuck. You don't know how to phrase it, how to ask for her forgiveness or make her understand just how much you appreciate the fact that she's here, fixing your car even when she has every right to just walk away.

She doesn't turn to look at you, but her voice cuts through the silence. "You're gonna fuck up again, you know that?"

You move around the hood of the car, leaning against the metal, just close enough that you can see the tiredness in her eyes. The deep lines of exhaustion around her eyes. "I don't plan on it."

Ellie scoffs, wiping a hand over her forehead, smearing more grease across her skin. "Yeah, well, your plans suck."

You lean a little closer. "You could always stop me."

She doesn't respond immediately. She's busy twisting a wrench, her brow furrowed in concentration, biting her bottom lip as she works. But when she speaks again, her voice is quieter, lower—like it's something she's only willing to admit to herself, and now to you.

"I can't fix you if you crash," she says softly, her gaze not meeting yours as she sets the wrench down, rubbing her hands against her jeans in frustration. The words hang between you, and for the first time tonight, the weight of what she's saying really hits you. It's not just the car she's worried about. It's you.

You swallow hard. It feels like a punch to the gut, but it's one you didn't realize you needed. You think about what she's said, how much it means, how much you've taken for granted her presence in your life. "Then keep me from crashing."

There's a moment of stillness, the only sound the soft hum of the lights and the faint clink of metal on metal. Ellie's eyes lift to meet yours, her face a mix of something unreadable—anger, concern, frustration, maybe even something deeper. She doesn't look away, and for a long second, you just stare at her. Neither of you says anything.

You step forward, slowly, careful to respect the invisible boundary that's always existed between you. Your hand lifts, fingers brushing gently against her cheek, the touch so soft it feels almost too intimate for the shop. But Ellie doesn't pull away. Instead, she leans into it, just slightly, her breath a little sharper.

Her skin is warm, the grease staining her face still doesn't detract from the softness of her cheek beneath your fingertips. You feel the tension in her, in her entire body, and something in your chest pulls tighter. You want to say something—anything—that will make this moment feel real.

But you don't need to. She beats you to it.

Without warning, her lips crash into yours. It's sudden, but not surprising. The force of it makes your heart stop for a beat, and then it kicks into overdrive. You taste spearmint gum, gasoline, and something deeper. Something that feels like desperation and heat. Her lips are soft, but there's a fierceness in her kiss, an urgency that matches the rapid beat of your heart. The tension that's been building for so long between the two of you finally explodes, and all you can think about is how the hell you haven't kissed her before now.

Your hands find their way to her back, pulling her closer, the warmth of her body pressing into yours. You can feel the way her breath hitches against your mouth as you deepen the kiss, as if she's not quite sure if she should pull away or just let go. But she doesn't pull back. She's there, with you, kissing you like there's no tomorrow, and you let her.

Your fingers dig into the small of her back, feeling the smooth curve of her spine under her sports bra. The heat of her body makes everything around you blur. Ellie's breath is coming faster now, and you can feel the tension in her muscles, the subtle tremor in her hands as she cups your face, like she's trying to ground herself. You can't tell if it's from the kiss or from the exhaustion in her body. Maybe it's both.

The kiss slows, and Ellie pulls back, her lips still just inches from yours, her breath ragged. She's breathing hard, her chest rising and falling quickly, her eyes glassy and intense. She doesn't say anything for a long moment, just looks at you like she's seeing you for the first time. Then, in a voice softer than you've ever heard her use, she says, "Don't make me worry about you."

It's almost a plea. Something fragile. Something human. And you feel it deep in your chest.

You press your forehead against hers, closing your eyes for a moment. "I won't."

Ellie's hand slides from your face to the back of your neck, her fingers threading into your hair, pulling you back down to her lips again. This time, it's gentler, softer, more deliberate. You can feel the warmth of her hands, the way she's holding onto you like you're the only thing keeping her grounded.

You kiss her back, slower this time, with more meaning. More tenderness.

The garage feels small now, even though the space is vast. The soft light overhead hums, flickering as you pull away from Ellie's lips. There's a moment of lingering, of breathing her in, both of you still caught in the tension of the kiss, the rush of adrenaline and desire flooding you like it's the only thing that matters right now. Her hands rest on your chest, fingers flexing against your shirt, and her breath is hot and quick against your skin.

You glance at the car—a mess of metal and grease, the body still a little dented from the race earlier, but it doesn't matter. None of it matters as much as the girl in front of you. You pull back slightly, catching her gaze, and something in her expression shifts—softens, just for a moment.

"Let's go," you mutter, the words thick in your throat, the heat between you almost unbearable now.

She quirks a brow, clearly amused by the sudden urgency. "Where?"

You can't help but smile, but there's a wickedness behind it now, the kind that only Ellie could bring out of you. "To the backseat."

Her eyes narrow, the playful glint there, but she doesn't fight it. She grabs her jacket off the workbench, then turns back to you with a look that holds both challenge and something softer, something that feels real and vulnerable. "You sure the car's up for it?" she asks, her voice low and teasing. "Seems like it's in worse shape than you are."

You flash her a grin, moving toward the car. "It'll hold up. But I'm not sure you can, Red." You tap the roof of the car, your heart pounding harder now, both the adrenaline of the race and the desire to see where this moment leads.

Ellie huffs in mock exasperation, shaking her head as she follows you toward the passenger door. Her eyes flick to the backseat as she slides inside, and she makes a show of eyeing the cramped space before slumping against the worn leather. "This is ridiculous."

"Not if you make it fun." You shut the door behind you, your fingers shaking slightly as you walk around to the other side of the car. But as soon as you slide in, the atmosphere shifts. Ellie's eyes don't leave you for a second, the intensity of her gaze sending a shiver down your spine.

You don't waste time. Not anymore.

You're already leaning across the seat, your hands on her shoulders, guiding her back until she's laying against the cushions. Ellie's eyes flicker with something between anticipation and amusement, but she lets you take control, lets you kiss her again, this time without hesitation.

The kiss is deeper this time. Her lips part easily for you, and you move closer, your body pressing into hers. Her hands find their way to the back of your neck, pulling you in, urging you to be closer, to make her feel everything. Your fingers are tangled in her hair, and you can feel the heat of her skin through the thin layer of her sports bra as you kiss her harder, deeper, like you're both trying to escape whatever exists outside of this moment.

Ellie's breath catches as you kiss her neck, trailing your lips down to the curve of her shoulder, tasting the salt of her skin. She's breathless, her hands roaming to your chest, tugging at your shirt in frustration, like she wants more, needs more.

"Damn, you're a tease," she mutters between breaths, though there's no real anger in her voice—just the kind of raw desire that's infectious. You smile against her skin, trailing your lips lower, hands working at the button of your jeans, just trying to take this to the next level, to see where the fire between the two of you can burn.

She gasps softly as you kiss her again, hands sliding down your chest to find your waistband. You feel the heat of her fingers on your skin, the way she moves with more urgency now, like the car isn't the only thing that's broken between you. It's her, too. She's been holding back all night, hiding beneath her sarcastic remarks and tough demeanor, but now, there's nothing left to hide behind.

You tug her closer, your lips never leaving hers, as she fits perfectly against you, the smell of grease and sweat still on her skin, the scent of spearmint gum lingering in your senses. You push her hair back from her face, brushing it behind her ear, watching her eyes flutter closed in the moment, her lips parted slightly as she exhales.

There's something about her like this—vulnerable, open, real—that takes your breath away.

"Ellie..." you whisper, your voice rougher now, but she stops you with a finger on your lips, a teasing smile on her face.

"Don't talk." Her voice is thick with desire, her hand moving lower to trace the outline of your chest, feeling the beat of your heart beneath her fingers. "Just kiss me."

You don't need to be told twice.

Your lips find hers again, the urgency mounting as you shift your weight, pressing her down into the seat. She groans softly against your lips, the sound driving you insane, and you pull her closer, hands tracing the contours of her body, feeling the heat radiating from her, the tremors in her hands as she tries to keep control. You've never seen her like this—so lost, so caught up in something more than just the moment.

You kiss her deeper, harder now, with everything you have, because you know, in this moment, you can't let go. You can't push her away. Ellie's the kind of girl who makes you lose yourself in the chaos of it all.

And when she pulls back, gasping for air, her hands in your hair, you can see it. The change in her eyes—the vulnerability they hold.

"You've got me wrapped around your finger," she admits quietly, her chest rising and falling with each breath.

You smile, brushing your thumb along her cheek, your heart racing as you look at her. "Yeah, I think I do."

Your hands slide up her sides, pushing the sports bra up and over her head, and then she's bare from the waist up, her small breasts on full display. Her skin is lightly tanned, with a few faint scars here and there—reminders of a lifetime of hard work. Her nipples are already hard, a soft rosy pink that darkens as you run your fingers over them.

"Oh..," she breathes, her head falling back against the seat as you lean down, taking one nipple into your mouth. She's sensitive—you can tell by the way she twitches, the way her hands grip your shoulders like she's trying to hold on. You flick your tongue over the bud, and she lets out a low moan, her hips rolling against yours.

"You like that?" you murmur against her skin, and she huffs out a laugh, even as her breath hitches.

"Shut up," she repeats, but there's no bite to it. Her hands are in your hair, pulling you closer, and you take that as permission to keep going. Your mouth moves to her other nipple, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and she lets out a whimper that goes straight to your core.

Her hands are fumbling with the button of her jeans now, her movements clumsy with need. "Help me," she mutters, and you don't need to be told twice. You slide her jeans down her thighs, leaving her in just her boxers, and the sight of her like this—flushed, breathless, and completely exposed—makes your mouth water.

You kneel in front of her, your hands sliding up her thighs, and she watches you with wide eyes as you hook your fingers in the waistband of her boxers, pulling them down to her knees. Her pussy is right there—petite and neat, just like the rest of her. Her outer lips are soft, slightly darker than the rest of her skin, and you can see the faint glisten of arousal already.

"God, Ellie," you breathe, and her cheeks flush even darker. "You're so wet."

"Shut up," she mutters again, but her breath catches as you slide a finger along her slit, feeling how slick she is. Her clit is already swollen, and when you press down gently, she lets out a strangled moan, her hips jerking forward.

You don't wait any longer. You lean in, your tongue flicking over her clit, and she swears under her breath, her hands tangling in your hair. "Fuck, yes," she gasps, her thighs trembling around your shoulders as you lick her in slow, deliberate strokes.

You can feel her pulse beneath your tongue, the way her body tenses with every touch, and you know she's close. So, you slide a finger inside her, and fuck, she's tight—warm and soft and so, so wet. Her walls grip your finger like she never wants to let go, and when you curl it just right, she lets out a noise that's half-moan, half-sob.

"Please," she gasps, her hips rocking against your hand. "Please, don't stop."

You don't. You keep going, your tongue and fingers working in perfect sync, until she's shaking, her thighs clamping around your head as she comes with a cry that echoes through the car.

Her body sags against the seats, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. "Holy shit," she mutters, her voice rough, and you can't help but smirk as you stand up, your hands resting on her hips.

"you're so easy to make cu-," you tease, and she huffs out a laugh, swatting at your arm.

"Shut up," she interrupts, but there's no real heat behind it. Her hands are on your waist, pulling you closer, and when she kisses you again, it's softer this time, more tender.

——-

It's a strange thing, becoming official with Ellie. It feels like there should be some big shift, some monumental moment where everything changes, but nothing really does. You're still you, she's still her, and the bickering and teasing that defined your dynamic before continues as it always has.

Except now, it's different. There's a quiet understanding between the two of you, a kind of soft intimacy that hangs in the air every time she grabs your hand or flashes that mischievous grin before dragging you into yet another playful argument. You still argue over the dumbest shit—like whether you're actually good at parallel parking or if you're "absolutely ruining the car's suspension with every sharp turn"—but now there's a deeper undercurrent to it. It's comfortable, easy. It's you and Ellie, in a world where nothing really changes, except maybe for the fact that now you get to kiss her whenever you want.

And you do. A lot.

One of those days, you find yourself in your car again, heading down a familiar stretch of road. Ellie's with you—of course she is. She's always there, usually sitting next to you with that trademark half-smile on her lips, like she knows something you don't. Her hands are resting casually in her lap, still smelling faintly of grease from working on cars all day, her flannel sleeves pushed up to her elbows. It's a simple look, but it suits her—rough around the edges, but effortlessly cool.

You make a sharp turn, your tires screeching slightly as the car swerves, and Ellie's hand shoots out instinctively, grabbing the door handle with a grip that's nearly white-knuckled.

"Jesus Christ, you trying to kill us?" she snaps, but there's a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She leans back against the seat, half-amused, half-annoyed as she watches you with narrowed eyes.

"You're always so dramatic," you say, grinning, your hands steady on the wheel. "It wasn't that bad."

"It's always 'not that bad' until we end up in a ditch somewhere, your blood on my hands."

You laugh, the sound of it filling the car, and despite the fact that she's still gripping the door handle like she's holding on for dear life, you can't help but enjoy the playful exchange. It's part of who you are now—the two of you together. The banter, the teasing, the way she'll roll her eyes at you but then steal a quick kiss when she thinks you're not paying attention.

"Admit it," you say, glancing at her for a second, "you like it when I drive fast."

Her lips curl into that familiar, knowing grin. "I like to live dangerously, but I also like not dying, so pick a lane, yeah?"

You chuckle, swerving slightly to avoid a pothole, and she groans, but this time, she's not as frantic in her reaction. She's used to you by now—used to the way you drive with that reckless abandon, like the world is a racetrack and the rules don't apply to you. Ellie knows you'll push the car until it can't take any more, but that's part of the thrill, isn't it? She might complain, she might grab the door handle and give you shit for your reckless driving, but deep down, you know she's not really scared.

#loser ellie #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie willams x reader #ellie smut #ellie willams smut #the last of us x you #the last of us angst #the last of us x reader #the last of us smut #the last of us headcanons #the last of us fic #the last of us

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italiangirlcoresblog · 14 hours ago

Text

main masterlist \\ carlos masterlist

-----------------••✩🥞🌶💋✩••----------------

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 (𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭) 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝

✩ : an unplanned skiing accident got you a twisted ankle and a date with a certain handsome driver...

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭. : carlos sainz

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : humor, fluff

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1,2k

✍︎ : this is vaguely inspired by @harrysfolklore's "little bitch" blurb, though i'm starting to think i imagined it because i can't find it anywhere now 🥲

-------------------------❦︎-------------------------

You really needed a holiday.

What you didn’t need was getting quite literally run over by some idiot who had cut your way on the slopes, sending you both tumbling in the snow.

You tripped over your own skis and landed not so gracefully on your face, your wrists and elbows hurting from trying to cushion the fall. For a moment, you just lay there, too shaken from the crash to get up despite the cold starting to bite into your skin.

That’s when you heard it, a pained groan coming from beside you.

“Mierda.”

Slowly turning your head, you were met with a sight that immediately made you jump up in your place: a man sprawled on his back, his hair tousled from the helmet that was now discarded a few feet away from him, blood trickling down his cheek from an injury right under his left eye.

And, to top it off, that man was none other than Carlos Sainz Jr.

Great.

“Shit. Are you alright?” You crawled towards him, probably looking ridiculous, but that wasn’t exactly your main concern at the moment. Also, you weren’t so sure you’d be able to stand up even if you tried.

“I think you stabbed me.” He didn’t sound… angry. He didn’t sound happy either, but hey, at least he was smiling.

Then his words settled in.

“What!?” You shrieked, looking down at the ski pole you were still holding on to and finding it — much to your horror — dripping with blood as well.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” You dropped the “weapon” to the ground like it had burned your hand, then rushed to Carlos’ side and started wiping his face with your glove. “I didn’t mean to–”

“Hey,” he stopped you, his grip on your arm gentle yet firm. “I’m fine, it’s just a scratch.” His eyes drifted down to where your leg was splayed, your ankle twisted at a clearly unnatural angle, before adding: “Are you okay?”

“I– yeah? Listen, we need to call someone. And you need a bandage. Or stitches. Maybe both.”

“Oi, calm down,” he interrupted you once again, sitting up to take a closer look at your ankle. He took it in his hand, giving it a careful squeeze that made you wince in pain as a burning sensation spread from there through your whole leg.

“Sorry. I think you broke it,” he flashed you an apologetic smile, a trace of guilt lacing his voice.

“I’ll live,” you shrugged it off, sounding a lot more nonchalant than how you actually felt. “But you–”

“Can you stop worrying about me? It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad? I almost blinded a Formula 1 driver!”

Carlos blinked a few times, taken aback by your sudden outburst, then an amused smirk lit up his wounded face.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, now starting to getting a little annoyed by the whole situation — and by how ridiculously hot he looked with messy hair and blood smeared all over his cheek.

No, stop it, you sick woman.

“Is that the problem? That I’m an F1 driver?”

“Yes! No– I don’t know! I mean, am I going to jail for this?” You didn’t like the way he was just staring at you like you were the funniest thing he’d ever seen, almost as if he was trying his best not to burst out laughing in your face.

“You could get a fine, actually…”

The handful of snow you’d taken hit him right on the nose, drawing a surprised and almost betrayed curse from him.

“Ay! You said you were sorry!”

“I am sorry. That was an early medication — ice heals everything, you know.”

“Right.” Carlos glanced at you with a half-smile before shaking his head like a wet dog to dust off all the snowflakes trapped in his brown locks, then jumped to his feet and leaned down towards you once more.

“What are you–” You didn’t get to finish as he scooped you up in his arms without hesitation, one hand hooked under your thighs while he sneaked the other one around your waist. You instinctively secured yours on the back of his neck for support, but mostly to have something to ground you to reality.

You couldn’t believe this was actually happening — Carlos Sainz, the Formula 1 driver, was carrying you bridal style down a ski slope.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just ask for help instead of… doing whatever this is?”

Not that you minded, of course. You could basically feel his muscles tensing with every step he took, his breath fanning over your face, tingling against your freezing skin as he panted softly from the effort.

“I prefer to do things fast,” he huffed, and you rolled your eyes at his attempted joke.

The walk to the ski patrol station felt almost surreal, your laughs echoing through the clear air together with the crisp crunch of the snow Carlos walked on.

It was like you’d known each other forever, and when you rested your head on his shoulder, snuggling closer into his chest — “It’s cold,” you’d muttered, more to yourself than to him — you realized just how right it felt.

Lying in his arms like this, holding on to his broad shoulders, the warmth of his body seeping through the layers between you despite the bitter cold. Now that his face was so close to yours, you let your gaze wander over his features: sharp jaw and strong nose, both a striking contrast to his sweet doe eyes. And those full lips– Okay, stop. No thirsting over your accidental victim.

Unfortunately, it was all over too soon. Once you reached the first-aid area, a bunch of rescuers immediately surrounded you and took care of your swollen — but luckily not broken — ankle, while others patched up Carlos’ wound with a few stitches.

You felt a pang of guilt every time he flinched because of the needle, but the way he looked at you whenever he noticed you staring, with a mix of reassurance and concern for your own condition, was enough to make you forget about everything else.

When they finally left you alone, the Spaniard slipped into the seat beside you, a conspiring grin plastered on his face.

“I was thinking…”

“I’m scared,” you chuckled, trying your best to ignore his hand brushing lightly against yours.

God, get a grip.

“I’m really sorry, and I want to make it up to you.”

Neither of you said anything as your gaze got lost in chocolate one, mesmerized by his — unfairly — long lashes and the golden flecks scattered around his pupils.

Before your eyes could fall to his lips, because you knew they were about to, you cleared your throat and pulled slightly back to prevent from giving in to any sort of temptation.

“And?”

“Maybe I can buy you dinner tonight. Sounds good, no?”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, not a single sound coming out as you processed his words.

Then, flashing him an amused smirk in a poor attempt to mask the blush that quickly painted your cheeks, you teased him.

“Are you asking me out?”

“I’m apologizing,” he insisted, leaning in closer with an intensity that made your head spin and your heart flutter. “So, what do you say?”

You jolted as his hand grazed yours again, definitely not by accident this time. You glanced down at where your fingers lay intertwined, then back up at his questioning eyes, your face probably redder than his old Ferrari as you smiled shyly.

“Smooth.”

-----------------••✩🥞🌶💋✩••----------------

©italiangirlcoresblog // do not copy, rewrite, or translate any of my work on any platforms

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marianasbored · 6 hours ago

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Jun-ho, Dae-ho, thanos (separate, like 3 mini stories, if you get it??? Otherwise do how you like it) fucking reader so good she gets problems with her asthma. Not like she needs medical attention but a five minute break to get/take her medicine and then she's ready to go again!!

TYYY FOR SENDING ME A REQUEST AAAAA

THIS CONCEPT IS SO FUNNY TO ME OFC ILL DO IT 😛😛 I HAVE BREATHING PROBLEMS TOO GIRLY 🙏

SORRY THIS TOOK A HOT MINUTE TO WRITE AND I FEEL LIKE IT COULD BE BETTER BUT I JUST WANTED TO POST IT ALREADY 💔

Note: I’ve never written mini stories like this before and I barely read any Thanos or Jun-ho stuff so this might suck 💔 I’ve also never had an asthma attack before 😭

Jun-ho, Dae-ho, and Thanos x asthmatic reader !!

୭ 🎬 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎱ྀིྀི

Jun-ho :

warning: I don’t think I’ve ever read anything Jun-ho related so sorry if this is out of character or something 😭

You woke up with Jun-ho in your bed, deciding to cuddle for a while before getting up. But one thing led to another…and now his cock is deep in your warm pussy >.< !!

I mean can you blame him? You sound so pretty when you’re sleepy, and the way the morning light fell on your face made you look like an angel.

You guys were still technically cuddling… just now with your panties pulled to the side…

“H-haah..Jun-ho..” you moan, trying to catch your breath as his cock bullied your insides

“You’re doing so good baby… so perfect all for me…” he moaned in your ear

You were being so loud, you couldn’t help it!! He was fucking you so good…your legs were literally shaking !!

“Jun-ho…!” You whined again, causing him to pick up the pace

Fuck, you really were breathing heavily now… I mean he was fucking you like it was the last time he’d be able to or something !!

He noticed pretty quickly there was something off, despite him being a little distracted by your pussy >.<

“You okay, pretty girl?” He asked softly, slowing down to help you catch your breath

“M-mhm..” you nodded, feeling dizzy “just…n-need…my…inhaler…” you panted

He reached behind him on the night stand and grabbed you your inhaler, handing it over to you gently and paying close attention to you

He gave you a moment to compose yourself before you smiled, chuckling softly, the sound making him relax

“Feeling better?” He asked, kissing your cheek with a little smirk

“Y-yeah..” you said “please..keep going now..” you whined

“That’s my girl” he said with a grin, starting to fuck you at the same pace again

Dae-ho:

Dae-ho had you in missionary, just so he could stare at your pretty face while he fucks you :3

“You look so perfect baby…” he moaned, delivering slow, deep thrusts.

All you could do was moan, watching as he moved his hands to squeeze and play with your tits. >.<

“Dae-Ho..” you whined as he fucked you faster, going impossibly deeper

“You feel so good baby..” he moaned “just so perfect..”

He kept squeezing your tits, the stimulation driving you crazy >.<

You close your eyes, tilting your head back due to the pleasure before he suddenly slows down “uh uh uh” he tsks at you

“look at me baby” he commanded softly, and you open your eyes once more

“Good girl” he smiled and kissed your neck before speeding up his thrusts, the sound of your moans increasing as you started to pant

“You sound so pretty..” he said softly, causing you to whimper

He kept speeding up, and the more he did, the worse your panting got

“Shit” you thought. You didn’t want him to stop, but you were starting to think that you needed your inhaler !!

“D-Dae-ho..” you whined, but the way you said it caused him to slow down a little in concern

“What is it baby?” He asked, tucking your hair behind your ear and kissing your forehead

“Need my . . .inhaler. . .” You panted

He wasted no time in pulling out and grabbing your inhaler, his instincts kicking in as he handed it to you, his eyebrows knitted together in concern.

“You okay baby?” He asked, handing you a cup of water as you nodded and drank it

He sat up and placed you on his lap. “You sure?” He asked

You put the water back on the nightstand “yeah I’m sure..”

He kissed you on the cheek and then started kissing your neck “wanna keep going?” He asked in between kisses

“Y-yes please..” you whined from the sensitivity of your neck, watching him continue to kiss you gently.

He then lifted you up and slowly pushed his cock into you, grabbing your hips and making his pretty girl ride him >.<

Thanos:

Warnings: Thanos calls reader “slut”, spanking, hair pulling, drug use, unprotected sex, Thanos is a little mean but nothing crazy

Thanos was fucking you from behind, your ass arched high in the air for him to see. His hands were gripping your hips tight enough to leave bruises and the sound of your moans filled the room.

You had both taken one of his pills just to hang out and watch a movie, but you know nothings ever “just a hangout” with Thanos.

“F-fuck..!” You moan as he picks up the pace, letting out a loud whimper as he lifts up a hand to slap your ass.

“Yeah you like that?” You could hear his grin “fucking slut..” he groans, watching how his cock slides in and out of you at a rough pace

He was fucking you so good, the drugs making it feel even better, and making you feel more sensitive than usual >.<

“Fuck..she’s drooling all over me..” he said with a low moan, referring to how your pussy was leaking on his cock.

He moved one of his hands from your hips to your hair, tugging at it just to hear you whine and get louder

“My perfect slut..” he moans “no one else gets to fuck you like I do..” he tugged on your hair a little harder as you murmur a little “mhm..”

“Fucking use your words” he grunts, spanking you again “Y-Yes sir..!” You managed to choke out “Good slut” he smirks, moving his hand to toy with your clit.

Fuck, he was making you see stars, making you pant, making you dizzy, making you hyperventilate-. . .-wait a minute! Hyperventilate? All of the sudden you realize you don’t remember how to breathe properly!! And the dizziness is getting worse !!

You start waving your arm at him weakly, trying to touch his hand to get him to stop, all while trying to steady your breathing. “Baby I can’t..-“

You try to speak, making him slow down a bit “what is it..?” He asks before he sees you point at your inhaler on your night stand “Ohh” he finally realizes and pulls out, causing you to whine.

He repositioned you so you were sitting up in bed and grabs your inhaler, watching you use it and start to relax

He chuckles at the realization of what happened, “was I fucking you that good, baby?” He grinned, watching you blush from embarrassment and nod.

He reached for a glass of water, handing it to you and watching you drink it.

You looked so pretty, panting, covered in a sheer layer of sweat, messy hair and tired eyes. You really were perfect to him

“Are you feeling better now?” He asked after a moment

“Yeah I think so..” you say, putting the water and inhaler on the night stand

“Good” he said, suddenly throwing your legs over his shoulders and fucking you at the same pace he was before >.<

୭ 🎬 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎱ྀིྀི

Additional note: guys I kinda hate my writing in this srry pls don’t judge I’m still learning 💔

#squid game smut #squid game #dae ho smut #dae ho x reader #thanos x reader smut #thanos squid game #thanos x reader #jun ho squid game #jun ho x reader #jun ho smut #thanos smut #kang dae ho #kang dae ho smut

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stormz369 · 3 days ago

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☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 37

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, NSFW, MDNI, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: some mild hurt/comfort, brief discussion mentioning and alluding to typical Crime Alley shit (drugs, prostitution, human trafficking, etc.)

wc: 2.2k

Chapter Selection

Gotham University stood tall and proud; the pinnacle of modern design, all sharp edges and floor to ceiling windows. Jason insisted on walking me to class for my first day, looking longingly at the library building as we passed.

“... You could take some classes too, you know.” I smiled softly. “I can just see you pouring over the Epic of Gilgamesh for some classic literature class while I'm memorizing the names of the bones or something. We could be GU's next power couple~”

He chuckled softly, smiling wistfully. “... It would be nice, … if only … I … I didn't even graduate high school … kinda died in the middle, and then …”

I gently squeezed his hand, stroking his knuckles. He smiled weakly, gently tugging me closer to press a soft kiss to my jaw; silently reassuring me that he was ok. I leaned in, smiling softly; “... You could get your GED, if you want it?”

“... Maybe, some day. But for now, I’m happy to cheer you on from the sidelines.”

I cupped his cheek gently; “if that's what you want.”

He nodded; “... For now.”

Other students streamed past us into the classroom. “Ok, … wish me luck!”

Jason smiled softly; “good luck, baby girl~ … you're incredible, you know that?”

I felt my face warm as he pulled me into a hug. “... Nah, not really…”

“Yes really. You're gonna knock their socks off…”

I giggled softly, kissing him one more time before heading into my class. Jason waved me off as the professor shut the door, starting class.

I changed, scribbled a quick note on the whiteboard on the fridge, in case Jason came home before I did, tossed Damian's helmet into my riding bag, and headed out. I found the restaurant easily enough, quickly spotting Damian at a little metal table out front. My heart ached at the sight; he looked so defeated, sitting there with his hands in his lap. Emma was nowhere to be seen. As I pulled in to a spot, he slid his backpack onto his shoulders and approached.

Damian: Sister, can you please come get me?

3:45pm

Me: Yeah, you at school?

3:46pm

Damian: No, the boba place down the block.

3:47pm

Me: Oh yeah, your date! How'd it go?

3:48pm

Damian: I'd rather not discuss it.

3:50pm

Me: Oh damn. Ok, I'll be there in 10

3:51pm

Damian: Thank you.

3:52pm

His cheeks were a bit flushed, and his usual self-assured smirk was replaced with a blank expression. I pulled his helmet out of the bag, offering it to him, and he immediately tugged it on. His arms wrapped tight around my waist as he settled into his seat.

I gently squeezed his hand and we took off. “You wanna ride for a bit, or go straight home?”

“... Ride.”

“Ok, we can do that.”

I turned down a road that led to some nicer neighborhoods, so he'd have pretty parks and historic architecture to look at. He sighed softly, hugging me tight, and we drove in silence for a while. Eventually a chime in my helmet headset let me know I was being called.

I pushed a button on my helmet to accept the call; “hello?”

“Hey Doll, you on your way back?”

Damian squeezed a bit tighter. He wasn't ready. “No, not yet, Jay. Damian wants to ride around for a bit.”

“Oh. Hey demon spawn!” Damian grunted softly in response. “... Woah. Ok then. Not a good day. Should I order dinner, or is Damian going back to the manor?”

“That sounds nice to me. Kiddo?”

“... Indian?” Damian mumbled.

“Sure, Indian. You both want your usuals?” Jason sounded a bit concerned. Damian wasn't usually this obviously affected by things…

“Yes please. Thanks Jay~”

Damian grunted a soft; “thanks…”

“Sure. See you in … what, maybe an hour? Two?”

“Something like that. I'll call you when we're on our way home.” I stroked the back of Damian's hand, hoping he'd find it reassuring.

“Ok. Be safe.”

“Always. Love ya!”

“Love you too, princess.” With a click the call disconnected, and Damian sighed softly.

“... You wanna talk, sweetie?”

“... She … she didn't even realize it was supposed to be a date. … She showed up with a group of people. … Everyone was ordering bobas, and laughing. I tried to talk to her, but she wasn't really paying attention … Suddenly they were all talking about going to the mall. I said I didn't want to go, … And she left with them anyway.”

I sighed softly, gently squeezing his hand. “I'm so sorry, Damian. That must have hurt a lot …”

“... Jon was right … I'm undateable.”

“Oh honey, Jon doesn't think that. I think he was just surprised that the first time you mentioned this girl to him was also the day you told him you had a date. That's all.”

“... So he thinks I'm indecisive? … That might be worse. What kind of leader can't make a simple decision?”

“... You're not indecisive, baby. No one thinks that. You're discerning. You choose your friends carefully, and Jon knows that.”

He sighed softly. “... Can I sleep at yours tonight?”

“Of course. Should we head to the manor for you to feed your pets first?”

“Yes. … Thank you.”

I nodded, and we made our way to the Wayne household. Damian was silent the whole way, sluggishly sliding off the bike when we got there.

Alfred frowned, watching us as we entered the house. I smiled weakly, and Damian hurried off to tend to his animals.

“He's asked to spend the night with me and Jason.”

Alfred nodded. “I see. Well, do you have time for a cup of tea? I'd like to hear about your first day at the university.”

I smiled softly, nodding. “It was good. My biochemistry teacher in particular seems really nice; he's a bit stern, but still warm if that makes sense?”

Alfred nodded, leading me into the kitchen. We had tea and discussed my classes for a while. Eventually, Bruce stood in the doorway and cleared his throat.

“May I speak with you for a moment?”

I nodded slowly, standing to follow him. Alfred wished me farewell, and Bruce led me to a sitting room. We sat in plush armchairs, watching the fire in the fireplace.

“... I have a favor to ask.”

“Ok?”

“... I'm worried about Jason … and, I've been thinking about it, and you might be the only person who could convince him …”

I frowned. “Convince him?”

“... He puts himself in unnecessary danger on patrol. And I-”

“Wait. Is Bruce asking me a favor, or Batman?” I leaned forward a bit. “Because you know that I will not help Batman. And I cannot imagine why Bruce would be bringing up patrol with me.”

He sighed; “... I'm worried about my son's safety. And it occured to me that you, as his girlfriend, are in a unique position to convince him not to take unnecessary risks.”

“I see … risks, such as going out on patrol at all?”

“... Risks, such as having a reputation among the Gotham underground for coldblooded murder.” Bruce grimaced.

“Ah. … See, here's the thing, Bruce; that ship has sailed. Red Hood is already known to kill when necessary. Changing that now will not protect him, it will make him appear to be going soft, and put him in more danger. And even if that weren't the case, … I still wouldn't help you with this.”

He clenched his jaw, narrowing his eyes at me. “... Do you like that he kills?”

“... Let me tell you a little story, Bruce. When I was in high school I walked to and from school. And every single day I walked past half a dozen dealers, all offering me the first taste for free. I saw dozens of my classmates give in, one by one. They sought stress relief, or party enhancers, or study aids, but the result was always the same. Everything they were eventually slipped away until they were entirely consumed by the drugs. … By the time I graduated, almost a third of my classmates were dead, missing, or dropped out, most of them because of drugs. Only two kids had gone to rehab and come back in time to graduate with the rest of us.

When I first got my job at the diner, I only worked day shifts. I made sure I was home by nightfall no matter what, because from dusk till dawn the dealers, pimps, and gangs owned the streets. Joker, Two-Face, Penguin, and even Batman and Robin had all pushed the ordinary criminals out of the rich neighborhoods, out of the middle class neighborhoods, and into mine. So I followed all the rules; keep your head down, stay inside at night, don't draw attention to yourself, carry pepper spray but not a knife.

One day I woke up, I made my way to work, and halfway into my shift a coworker called in. I was told I could stay late to cover, or not come in the next day. So I stayed. Late that night I finally went home. … And nothing happened. I didn't see one shady deal in a back alley, or hear one prostitute calling out to the folks on the street. I was alone. … It was unsettling, to say the least. In the morning all the headlines were reporting that there was a new crime boss in Gotham. That a dozen gang members had been executed in a single night, and the underground was in turmoil.

… Over the next several weeks more reports came out, all calling the Red Hood a murderer, a serial killer even. But you know what the people in my neighborhood said? They called him a hero. They said we were finally safe, that we could leave our homes after dark again. The high school dropout rate in my neighborhood plummeted that year. Our sisters and daughters actually came home after a night out. It became known - if you see a flash of red in the night, someone evil is about to die. Seeing Red Hood wasn't a guarantee of safety, of course; innocents still died. But they died knowing that their killer would be in hell soon, because the Red Hood takes no prisoners.”

Bruce watched me, a pained look in his eyes as he took in my story. “... So you will not discourage him from killing?”

“... When Jason Todd returned to Crime Alley, he single-handedly did more good for my neighbors than Batman ever has. He makes us safer; not just feel safer, we are safer. I am not going to tell him how to run his business. I trust him to make good choices. He knows I want him to come home, and I trust that he will always do his best to do so. I can't ask for more than that. He's a man, not a god.”

Bruce sighed, nodding slowly. “... With every life he ends, he takes another step down a path of darkness. … Someday he may find himself too far down that path; too far to turn back, too far to hide from the consequences. … It is a path I cannot follow, and if I cannot follow him, how can I protect him?”

“I understand, but ... He's making the choices he can live with. He's a good man, Bruce. You know that, don't you?” He nodded slowly. “Then maybe you should try to trust him.”

Bruce sighed and nodded slowly. “... I am so worried for him…”

“Good. You're his dad, it's your job to be worried about him. But that doesn't have to mean second guessing every choice he makes. You're allowed to have different moral codes.”

Damian cleared his throat from the doorway, changed into casual clothes and a bag slung over his shoulder. “I'm ready when you are…”

I nodded, smiling softly. “Ok, baby brother. I'll meet you downstairs. Will you tell Jay we're on the way?”

He nodded, smiling a little. Bruce frowned a bit. “He's spending the night with you then?”

“He asked to. I'll take him to school in the morning.”

Bruce nodded slowly, sighing. “... Fine. … Have a good evening.”

After dinner, Jason convinced Damian to tell him what happened on his date. The boy curled in on himself, mumbling, and I went to the kitchen to load the dishes. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jason pull Damian into a hug, and Damian hugged back, even leaning into it. I smiled softly, glad they were opening up to each other.

“... I think I'll take a shower.” Damian slowly pulled away.

I nodded. “Go ahead, kiddo. When you're done we can have dessert. Nothing soothes heartache like a brownie sundae, yeah?”

He smiled a little and nodded. “Yeah, ok. Thanks.”

“Of course, baby brother.”

He headed into the bathroom and Jason came up to wrap his arms around me. I kissed his cheek, smirking a bit, and whispered; “way to go, papa.”

He blinked a bit, groaning softly. “Dear god, no.”

“Oh yes~” I giggled.

He chuckled, pulling me closer. “Ugh, gross … don't let B hear that.”

“Are you kidding? Bruce already doesn't like my relationship with Damian, I'm not about to give him any reason to distrust yours too.”

Jason nodded, kissing my jaw. “Good …”

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Fanart in the header by: @crowkip

Taglist (always open):

@jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violet @superthoughts @wordsfromshona @mystic60 @iwannabealocalcryptid @morstuavitamea-a @frosty--giants @arisa191 @prized-jules @phoenix666stuff @dinonuggysandhuggus @anuttellaa @whore-of-many-hot-men @cottage-worm @v1ckycheesue @roastyyytoastyyy @sarakmec @thestarcatcher7297 @stupidlyunhinged @mishkapi @mermaidgirl-11 @bunniboo0015 @bibibusinessman @iimichie @nekotaetae @sofiafantasies @casgh0st @fandom-trash0116 @viliwi

#fanfic #fanfiction #jason todd #dc fanfic #jason todd x reader #dc #red hood x reader #wayne family adventures #first person pov #no y/n #chubby reader #x chubby reader #female reader #plus size reader #x reader #fem reader #damian wayne #Can I Get Your Number?#multichapter fic

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sheaabuttaababyy · 7 hours ago

Text

Sorry - Jey Uso

Warnings: slight smut, toxic couple, infidelity, dramaaa

"Babyyyy I’m home" Josh walked in the house rolling his suitcase with a bag of Chinese food in his hand. Unaware of the eerie silence and darkness in the house.

Turning the dim lights on for the living room he saw his wife Maya sitting there with a glass of wine in her hand. "Oh shit. Damn babe you scared the shit outta me" putting the stuff down he laughed walking towards her.

He leaned down to give her a kiss but she moved her head away. Making a confused face he stepped back. "Yo you good. What’s wrong ba-?"

"When were you gonna tell me you’ve been fucking your coworker. Leah" finally making eye contact with him she took a sip of her wine calmly. A little too calm.

Josh looked at her as the room began to feel hot, his throat starting to tighten "W-what? Whatchu talking about?"

"I’m talking about this" pulling out her phone she put it on the table in front of her as a video of a man. That you can clearly tell was Josh, was getting head from Leah.

"You still don’t know what I’m talking about?" She asked standing up as Josh sat on the couch with his head in his hands. Not knowing what to say.

"I’m sorry" he spoke softy as tears spilled from his eyes.

"Oh god. Give me a break" chugging her wine she went to go put the glass in the mirror sink. Josh immediately got up following her.

"I’m sorry Maya. I cut it off with her I-I promise I’m done with her, Fuckk I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I let you down like this, I’m so incredibly sorry for cheating on you after all these years. I know I've shattered your trust, and I would give anything to take it back. You mean the world to me, and I can't imagine my life without you.”

Tears built up in her eyes as she whipped her head around to him. "Why? Why did you cheat and I wanna know how it started and how long."

"I felt lonely and m-me being on the road I missed affection. Fuck" Josh squeezed his eyes shut trying not to let more tears spill. He had no right being heart broken and he knew telling her everything would break Maya apart.

Opening his eyes he brought them back to her before continuing. "One night while I was on the road I was missing you and the kids. I needed to rant and Leah was there" he took a breath before continuing. "I started ranting and telling her how I was sexually frustrated and how I missed you and need you. He choked on a sob not wanting to tell his wife what happened.

"Fucking say it. You pussy. You already fucking cheated you piece of shit so tell me!" She smacked his chest urging him to speak.

"She started rubbing on me and i let her. But when she kissed me I pulled away but she told me to close my eyes and imagine it was you. And I did"

Maya let the sob that was stuck in her throat come out as her body shook. 14 years of marriage and 3 kids for what? For this?

"How long?" she spoke in between her cries.

"2 months. I cut it off 1 month ago" his voice just barley above a whisper.

Maya was trying to walk away but Josh grabbed her getting on his knees. Hugging her waist he held her tight so she couldn’t move.

"Please. I’m on my knees asking for your forgiveness. I know I don’t deserve it Maya, but I promise to do whatever it takes to make things right. I’ll work hard to rebuild what I've broken and show you that I can be the husband you deserve. I love you more than I can express, and I’m begging you to let me prove that to you. I’m so so sorry baby"

There was a silence only the sound of their sniffles filling the air. Maya gripped his chin making him look up at her.

Forcefully she pushed him back making him fall back on his ass as she quickly went upstairs.

Josh got up chasing after her. Going into their master bedroom he saw Maya take out a suitcase, aggressively pack her clothes.

"I’ve been by your side 17 fucking years. I was there for you every step of the way. I supported you, cheered you on, believed in you when no one else did" zipping her suitcase she looked at him. "And this is the fucking thank you I got, cheating with some thirsty ran through girl."

"Do you know the fucking pain, I felt waiting for you to come home to me and the kids and then get a fucking video sent to me of you getting your dick sucked by some bitch."

"I’m sorr-"

"stop fucking saying that. Your not fucking sorry your sorry cause your stupid ass got caught. You weren’t sorry when you fucking around with her so please. Just shut the fuck up" she didn’t even feel sadness anymore just straight up anger.

Grabbing her suitcase she walked towards the door but Joshua quickly blocked it.

"Please stay. W-we can talk this out."

"Get out my way.”

"Maya please I’m begging you, can we please jus-"

"Joshua I’m telling you right now to get the fuck out my way"

"May-" he was cut off as Maya slapped his face as hard as she could. Josh felt his ears ringing, his face getting hot from the harsh slap he just got.

Going downstairs she grabbed the car keys before leaving the house.

"Hello, hello Mayaaaa" Maya snapped back into reality as her best friend Gina waved her hand in her face.

"Baby girl you good? You zoned out for a minute. I was calling your name for awhile."

He tryna roll me up

I ain’t picking up

Heading to the club

Her and Gina were currently in the back of an Uber on their way to the club. And all Maya could think about it what happened 2 weeks ago. Since then Josh has been calling her none stop, sending her flowers and other random gifts. She sent everything back each time.

"Yeah yeah. Just thinking" Maya shot her friend a smile but Gina could tell it wasn’t genuine.

"Aww don’t be sad girllll. Tonight I’m gonna make sure you have fun and let loose. Fuck that Yeet Yeet ass Negro" she said with a mug making Maya laugh.

Once they arrived at the club Maya could already feel the stares coming her way. She’ll admit she did look good as fuck. Her latex brown jumpsuit clung tightly against her body. And her hair and makeup was perfect.

They went towards the bar as Gina started ordering shots right away. "Yes can we please get 12 tequila shots pleaseee" Maya looked towards her friend as if she was insane. Which she was.

"Girl who tf drinking all those shots"

"Bitch us. Now here" passing her a shot as she raised her own. "To having fun and letting loose"

Me and my ladies sip my D'USSÉ cup

"Wooooo" Maya cheered "and finding Maya new dick" Gina quickly snuck in before downing her shot.

Maya and Gina made their way to the dance floor once the liquor had their bodies buzzing.

Soco by StarBoy started playing loudly through the club as Maya put her hands around Gina’s neck grinding the front of their bodies against each other slowly.

Almost everyone’s eyes were set on the two girls as they didn’t give a care in the world.

"Ayy Jon ain’t that Maya" Jacob slapped his cousins chest trying get his attention.

"The fuck. Yeah it is." He spoke watching his sister in law grind on her friend.

"Why she acting as if she’s single. And wasn’t Josh supposed to come to the club as well?" Zilla asked sipping his drink.

"Yeah I tried to get him to come but he’s been bed rotting for 2 weeks now. And honestly I’m happy sis is out here feeling herself again she deserves it." Jon spoke nodding his head approvingly.

And he meant what he said yeah he’ll always he there for Josh of course that’s his brother. But Maya was also like his sister so when he found out that Josh’s dumbass cheated. He cussed his ass out. Maya was really a one of a kind type girl, and Their whole family has been shitting on him since the word spread out.

As Maya continued to dance on her friend she turned around and began twerking and whining against her until a tall figure approached them.

"Hey beautiful is it okay if I can come take your friends place?" The fine tatted up man asked Maya as Gina nodded her head pushing Maya towards him a bit so she could go dance on him.

Maya hesitantly grabbed his hand that he put out for her. As she grabbed it she took in his appearance. And Damn he was fine. He did look a little bit younger though but she didn’t mind he was fine as fuck.

She turned around slowly grinding her ass against him feeling his bulge that was pressing into her backside. "What’s your name pretty" he spoke huskily into ear his right hand rubbing up and down her right thigh as they continued to grind on each other.

Turning her head slightly she looked up at him smiling. "Maya. What’s yours?"

"Tyrique" he smiled down at her flashing his diamond grills.

Across the room Jacob, Jon and Zilla had their mouths wide open. This was some teaaa for them.

"Nahhhhh that’s wild" Jacob laughed.

Jon eyes were wide as he quickly texted Trinity the "☕️" emoji.

Zillas messy ass, recorded Maya and the dude dancing on each other. He was bored and wanted a little more drama.

Josh was currently in bed scrolling through Mayas instagram seeing that she posted a new picture.

Mayaaa_Jones✔️

Liked by Trinity_fatu, Biancabelairwwe, CM Punk and others

Mayaaa_Jones looking too good it make his chest hurt💋

Uceyjucey717 bodyyyy teaaa

Tina_818 wait did anyone else peep that her last name in her insta isn’t fatu anymore!?!?

WWE_OTC_USO replied to Tina_818 Girl yeah twitter saying he cheated on her but I’m not 100% sure

Rebeccaflowers NOOOOO MY SHAYLAAA WHY TWITTER SAYING JEY CHEATED?

Brentfaiyaz✔️ looking edible

Rachel_woods replied to Brentfaiyaz✔️ TF. NIGGA WHAT U DOING HERE???

Badgalkayla replied to Brentfaiyaz✔️ Oooh I’m here for it. Get her Brent 😝

Josh frowned seeing Brentfaiyaz in her comments. The fuck he in there for? He always hated how people were starting to put two and two together about his and Mayas personal life.

He sighed rubbing his head as his phone dinged seeing he got a notification from his cousin Zilla.

Lil Cuzzo yo ass should’ve came to the club

Lil cuzzo sent 1 attachment

Josh clicked on the video. He saw that it was a club. The camera zoomed in focusing on two figures dancing on eachother sexually. He squinted his eyes quickly recognizing the clothing the girl was wearing it was the same jumpsuit Maya was wearing in her picture.

"What the fuck" tears burned in his eyes as his chest began to feel heavy. He continued to watch the video seeing how the guy started nuzzling his face into his wife’s neck as she laughed turning her head to the side, giving him more access.

"No, no, no, no" Josh quickly took the covers off him. Going to the closet he put on a pair of pants along with a zip up hoodie. Grabbing his phone and keys he jogged down the stairs slipping his shoes on, running to the car.

Getting in he quickly turned it on pulling out the driveway speeding to the club.

Meanwhile at the club Maya and Tyrique were still dancing their hands became more touchy overtime. her hands grazing over his hard dick. His hands slightly rubbing her titties, some kisses to her neck. They were basically fucking on the dancefloor.

"Well, well, well. If it isn’t the fatu boys" Gina walked over to where Jon and them were smiling. "Sup Gina" they all greeted. "Whatchu guys doing here? She asked sitting on the couch in their lounge.

"It’s a Friday night decide to come here and vibe" Jacob spoke shrugging his shoulders.

"What about you I see you and my sister in law came but she looks a little busy at the moment" Jon said looking over at Maya who was clearly enjoying her self with ole dude.

Gina looked over in her direction smiling like a proud mom. "I know look at her go. She deserves to have fun after the shit your brother put her through"

"I’m not disagreeing, but I think if she continues what’s she’s doing she’s gonna regret it."

"Mhmm I don’t think so. Your brother was literally at work fucking your guys coworker. While Maya was at home taking care of their kids waiting for his calls, texts and him coming back home. He complained about not feeling loved and getting affection when he literally could’ve expressed to his wife how he felt. But no he used a lame ass excuse and cheated. You don’t think Maya was missing him as well?"

Gina snarled in disgust thinking about everything Maya told her. She truly hated Joshua right now. She just wanted to make sure her best friend was happy and having fun at the moment.

In the car Joshua tried calling Maya for the 7th time but again. It went straight to voicemail. He was almost at the club which should’ve been a 20 minute drive but he made it 10. Calling again it went to voicemail. Again.

"MAYA I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DO ANYTHING WITH THAT MOTHERFUCKER ILL BURN THE WHOLE FUCKING CLUB DOWN." Calming down a bit he continued. "Please I’m sorry I’m sorry for everything just please come back to me. I can’t stand seeing you with anyone else" he cried as he drove.

Now you wanna say you're sorry

Now you wanna call me crying

Now you gotta see me wilding

Now I'm the one that's lying

And I don't feel bad about it

It's exactly what you get

Stop interrupting my grinding

At the club Mayas phone repeatedly buzzed it her tiny purse, that was around her wrist. "You tryna get outta here mama" Tyrique asked nibbling her ear.

Maya turned around facing him biting her lip she nodded her head. Grabbing her hand Tyrique led her towards the exit as Maya turned around trying to spot Gina.

Finding her she gave her a look noticing she was sitting with Josh’s cousins and his brother. Gina mouthed "good luck" giving her a thumbs up.

Tyrique led her outside calling over a taxi. As he led her into it. Playfully smacking Mayas ass making her giggle.

Josh finally made it to the club not bothering to find a parking spot. Parking in front of the entrance he turned his hazards on running inside not caring about the security guard trying to stop him. Going in he spotted his brother, cousins and his wife best friend sitting at a lounge.

"Yo Watchu you doing her-"

"Where she at?" Josh quickly cut his brother off too focused to find his wife.

"How you even know she was here?" Gina asked confused.

"His ass sent a video of my wife dancing with some dude. I’m not gonna ask again where the fuck is she?!" He felt himself getting heated ready to crash out.

They all looked towards Zilla who looked away avoiding eye contact.

"Oh welp Maya left with fine shyt" Gina smiled up at him sipping her drink.

"AND YOU LET HER?" Josh yelled starting to attract others attention.

"Ayy man don’t yell at her" Jon quickly came in defence. Josh looked towards him stepping to him.

"You! Your my fucking brother and you didn’t even try to stop her from leaving. What kind of brother are you? You supposed to be on my side! Zilla was the one who had to text me. Not yo ass"

Jon stood up real quick. He wasn’t about to get bashed on when all of this was his own brothers fault.

"First of all. Don’t question about what kind of brother I am. When yo ass couldn’t even be a good husband." A look of hurt flashed Josh’s eyes, but it quickly got masked with anger.

"Shut yo ass up" he pushed his older twin back as the same security guard from the entrance of the club snatched his ass up real quick, before Jon could even react.

In the taxi Maya was flushed against Tyriques side as she got to know about him a little more. She found out he was 27 which meant she was 7 years older than him.

Which wasn’t too bad to her. She usually went older not younger, but this man carried himself so maturely that she was gonna give him a try.

Arriving they got out as Tryique greeted the security guard of the building. Going into the elevator they both went in as he pressed the floor to his penthouse.

Going to the opposite wall from her, his eyes trailing up and down Mayas body making her smirk looking down.

Once the doors opened up her jaw dropped looking at the penthouse. Maya turned around to compliment his place, but was met with Tyriques lips on hers.

She moaned at the softness of his lips. Crouching down he lifted her up carrying her over to his couch. Laying her down he grabbed the straps of her latex jumpsuit. Pulling them down her arms exposing her breasts.

Eagerly he slipped the rest of the clothing down her legs taking her panties off as well.

Slowly he opened her legs seeing her glistening pussy. Kissing up her thighs his mouth finally met her heated center, French kissing it as Maya gripped his braids throwing her head back in ecstasy.

The tea is hot 😝☕️

🏷 Taglist: @usoinked @mselenalovebug @theusotwinzcom @bloodlineslut @urbeez @luvrsluxe @trippinsorrows @catxo @whowrotethenote @uceyliyahh

#jey uso x black oc #jey uso x black reader #wwe x black oc #jey uso fanfiction #Jey uso x reader #spotify #jey uso #black reader #black oc

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dameronology · 10 hours ago

Text

recovery (bucky barnes)

summary: bucky's life has gone to shit. there's only one person who can help. (x)

warnings: this is kinda raw?? and mentions of drinking!! plus swearing.

thank you to @retrosabers for listening to my waffling as i wrote this

enjoy!!

jazz xx

Read, 11:32PM.

Bucky Barnes missed the days when you didn’t know if someone had read your message.

He’d never had that problem when pigeon mail was a thing.

Now, he knew that you’d seen his message. He knew that you had read his lovelorn paragraph and chosen to ignore it. Even worse, you could have just swiped on the message and not taken in a word at all. If this had been the old days, he could have told himself that your lack of response because it had got lost in the mail, or delivered to someone else, or was just taking a while to get there. Now, thanks to Mark Zuckerberg, he knew exactly what happened. And when. And how.

That was six weeks ago, and Bucky wasn’t entirely sure he had moved from his mattress since he’d seen those two blue ticks. It didn’t feel like six weeks. That was a long time. There were days when his phone ran out of charge purely because he was staring at your profile picture for so long. You’d changed it now, from one of you and him, to a selfie you took with Steve and Sam at last year’s Christmas Party. It had been cropped every so slightly to remove Bucky from the picture. You could still see the edge of the jaw, but nobody would have known he was there, save for him.

That left a heavy feeling on his chest. Not just cropping him out the picture, but out of your entire fucking life. Even with his face removed from the picture, Bucky still remembered that night - kissing you at midnight, telling you he loved you at midnight, keeping a strong arm wrapped around your waist the entire time. If he squeezed his eyes shut long enough, he could pretend you were still there. But, he would open them again a few minutes later and realise you were actually just a pile of pillows with eyeliner stains on them.

(He was experimenting with his style post-break up).

The worst part of it all was that Bucky knew it was his fault. It was his choice to get bad again; his choice to ignore all the warning signs and instead, dive head first back into his old ways. You’d begged and cried and bartered - left the numbers of therapists on the fridge and self helplines on his laptop - and still, he’d not only gone down a slippery slope, but he’d chosen to throw himself. Now, he was at the bottom. You’d peered over the edge for a little while but soon enough, you had no choice but to walk away.

“Buck!”

There was a thump on the apartment door, but Bucky didn’t answer.

“Bucky, I know you’re in there,” Steve continued.

“I don’t wanna talk!” Bucky yelled back.

True to form, Steve Rogers never listened - the door came crashing down a few seconds later, the super soldier landing in an ungraceful pile on top of it. Fucking brilliant, Bucky thought.

“What part of I don’t want to talk is hard for you to understand?”

Steve let out a sigh, looking at his best friend. Bucky was strewn across the sofa, six or seven empty bottles of Jack Daniels littered on the coffee and table and an eighth in his hand. The whole place smelt like a fucking bar. It was clear that he hadn’t cleaned since you’d left, or maybe even showered. Bucky’s stubble was forming a beard now and his hair was unkempt. Steve hadn’t seen him looking that tired and messy since his first days out of Hydra.

“Buck, you’re a mess,” Steve said.

“I made my bed, now I’m lying in it.”

“Actually, you’re on the sofa,” he quipped, but his goofy tone soon dropped. “C’mon, buddy. This has been going on for too long.”

Bucky groaned. “I don’t know what else to do. I lost the only one good thing in my life-”

“- and whose fault was that?” Steve cut him off.

“What?”

“Whose fault was that?” he repeated himself. “I’m not tryna be mean, Buck, but you pushed them away, remember? They tried, and you refused the help.”

“Did you come over here to help me to feel better, or to make me feel worse?” Bucky snapped.

“Man, I came over here to check you were alive,” Steve replied. “Because no one is sure these days.”

“Just leave me be, Steve.”

—

Bucky rotted in peace undisturbed for a few more days.

That was until Saturday, when there was a violent knock on his (now repaired, post-Steve) door. He lifted his head from the pillow like a confused puppy, pausing for a moment. He glanced at the time - who would be knocking at 11:32PM on a Saturday night. Did people not have hobbies?

“Pizza!”

“I didn’t order pizza!” Bucky called back. “You have the wrong address.”

“You’re J. Barnes, no?”

“Wrong address, buddy! Go away!”

Another second passed, and before Bucky could even blink, his front door came crashing down again. Seriously, why the fuck did people keep doing that?

He was about to lose his absolute shit, but instead Bucky froze when he saw you. Apparently it was snowing outside, cos there were a few flecks caught in the front of your hair and on your jacket - his actually, that you’d stolen years ago - and boots. And, to be fair, you were also holding a pizza.

“I said pizza,” you announced yourself. “Also, Steve sent me to help get your head out your ass.”

“W-what?” Bucky stuttered. “You’re back? You came back-”

“ - I never left, Bucky,” you cut him off. “I just needed to take some time. I couldn’t sit here and watch you throw yourself back into oblivion, which you have done a very good job of, by the way.”

There was a brief pause before you spoke again.

“You look like shit and smell like a distillery, by the way.”

Bucky grimaced. “Yeah.”

“Let me help you…please?”

You opened your arms and in a second, he’d fallen forward and let you envelope him completely. You had always planned on coming back, but you’d had to deal with yourself first; Steve calling had been your sign, though. If he couldn’t help Bucky, then things really were dire. And, without sounding twisted, you’d hoped that actually up and leaving like you’d promised would be a wake up call for Bucky.

It had been. He just needed a kick up the ass - and that’s why you were here.

Bucky nor you spoke for a while after that.

He didn’t say a word as you sat on the edge of the bathtub, rinsing shampoo into his hair, although he did let out a little laugh when you used the bubbles to fashion his hair into one long spike. There was a quiet stay still whenever he tried to move when a razor was near his face, or scissors near his hair, but within the hour, you had Bucky looking like Bucky and less like The Winter Soldier. He looked tired still, of course, but this was the first baby step.

“Do you hate me?”

The question caught you off guard. You were sitting on the end of the bed whilst Bucky was drying himself off with a towel; you’d seen his butt enough times, so leaving the room didn’t feel necessary. It did hurt your heart a little to see that he’d lost weight, though,

You shook your head. “Buck, I could never hate you, and I didn’t stop loving you either.”

His eyes lit up for the first time in weeks. “Really?”

“Are you stupid, Barnes? Of course I didn’t stop,” you shot back. “Like I said, I just couldn’t stand around watching you do that to yourself. I’m sorry for leaving, I really am, but I just wanted you to get better. I still do.”

Bucky took a seat beside you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’ll try. I promise. I’ll call one of Stark’s therapists in the morning, and I’ll go for a run, and-”

“- Buck, don’t push yourself,” you cut him off. “Baby steps, okay? And I’m there for every one of them.”

tags: @adelinesmedia

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #marvel imagines #avengers imagines

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chvoswxtch · 3 days ago

Note

Hiii!! can i request a bodyguard thriller- request a deleted scene from any of my one shots/series? up yo the director what she wishes to share :)

thank you so much nonnie!

I thought it'd be fun to see what these two were up to the morning after their first date 😌

blurb below the cut

woman of the hour starring frank castle

For the first time in a while, you didn’t wake up to the incessant disruption of an alarm clock. When your eyes began to flutter open, you stretched your body beneath the covers and inhaled deeply, feeling content and well rested instead of groggy and sluggish. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gotten such good sleep. Turning your head, you saw that the bed was empty, but as your fingertips brushed against the wrinkled sheets, they weren’t quite cold.

Frank’s scent was still on them, but after a moment, your nose picked up another scent.

Coffee.

When you sat up in bed, you noticed that Frank’s clothes were still strewn across your bedroom floor. Knowing that he was still here, that he hadn’t slipped out, made your stomach flutter, and it left you feeling a childlike sense of giddiness. Slipping on a pair of panties, you picked up Frank’s shirt from last night, slipping it on. It was ridiculously large on you, and it made you let out a quiet amused chuckle. Buttoning a few of the buttons, you made your way down the hall, and when you reached the kitchen, you paused.

Frank was sitting at the dining table, in just his briefs, his hair messy from sleep, sipping coffee from one of your mugs while reading a book. You could tell it was one he’d pulled from your shelf. The entire scene felt so…domestic. It wasn’t the first time Frank had ever sat at your dining table reading and sipping coffee, but it was the first time he’d done it half naked in his underwear. The morning after your first date. As your boyfriend.

“Morning.”

Your voice immediately caught Frank’s attention, his expression of pure concentration melting into something softer, which quickly turned into a look of hunger seeing what you were wearing. He leaned back in the chair, which creaked under his weight, his brown eyes savoring your appearance from head to toe.

“Mornin’.”

Walking over towards him, you caught the title of what he was reading and let out a soft laugh.

“What made you pick that one?”

Frank glanced down at it and casually shrugged before looking back up at you.

“It’s one of your favorites.”

You hadn’t even remembered telling him that, but you must have, because he remembered. Frank remembered everything. It made your heart feel like it was too big for your ribcage. Before you could respond, his dark thick brows knit together and he cocked his head to the side.

“You own a concernin’ amount of books ‘bout murder, you know that?”

The laugh that bubbled up in your chest and escaped your lips filled the kitchen.

“Why is it concerning?”

“Baby, it’s like…all of ‘em. It's easier to count how many of ‘em ain’t ‘bout murder.”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you smirked as you moved to sit on his lap, which he happily obliged to.

“And yet you picked one that was, which you seem to be enjoying.”

Frank’s soft lips formed a line, and you ached one of your brows with a playful smirk. Letting out a quiet scoff, he shook his head and gave your hips a faint squeeze, an amused grin gracing his mouth.

“Alright, let me caffeine you before I end up buried in the backyard or some shit.”

#court's 5k followers celebration #court's 5k friends celebration #movie night at mine #frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #frank castle request #frank castle blurb #the punisher #the punisher request #the punisher blurb

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darl-ingfics · 24 hours ago

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Feveruary Day 5: "Could you just hold me?"

Fandom: Seventeen

Sickie: Seungkwan, Vernon, Dino (food poisoning)

Caregiver(s): Seventeen

Word Count: 1,362

Notes: A prequel-esque to Come Lean Your Back on Me. It's mentioned in passing in that fic.

It was a good idea, they said. It was going to be fun, they said. It was good for morale, they said.

Well. It was three in the morning. And Hansol was curled up on the bathroom floor, waiting for death. He’d woken up over an hour ago to stabbing pain in his stomach, giving his sleep-addled brain about three seconds before he threw up the late night snacks Seungkwan and Chan had talked him into earlier. There were few things Hansol hated as much as throwing up, and throwing up in his own bed? Every time Hansol had a moment of peace on the bathroom floor, that exact thought shot back through his head, causing equal pain to whatever vengeance his stomach was currently pulling.

Speaking of vengeance, just as Hansol felt the tell-tale signs of bile creeping up his throat, he heard the door open. He didn’t get the chance to see who it was before he was leaning over the toilet again, completely floored that there was anything left in his stomach to vomit up.

“Oh no…” A warm hand settled on his back, rubbing his spine soothingly. Hansol tensed slightly, but the spasm of his muscles from another wave of vomiting hid it well. Or the mystery member didn’t much care.

The hand didn’t leave Hansol’s back until he coughing up a mouthful of spit, clearing his mouth of the disgustingness therein. He took a deep breath, let it go, and then let himself fall back against his caretaker.

The hands enveloped him, one hand wrapping up to scratch at his bangs. “How you feeling, bud?” Wonwoo.

Hansol groaned, rubbing at his cramping abdomen. “Like shit.”

“I can see that. How long have you felt like shit?”

“About an hour.” Hansol swallowed thickly, wincing at the unfortunate, lingering taste of sick in his mouth. “I’ve thrown up about four times already.”

“Four? In an hour?” Wonwoo asked. He hadn’t stopped scratching Hansol’s head, and the younger man was thankful for that. “And you just started feeling like this?”

Hansol nodded. “Kwannie and Channie and I… we got some late night snacks and… I don’t think they agreed with me…”

Wonwoo moaned. “Please tell me you didn’t go to…”

“You know we did,” Hansol whined, tipping his head back in regret.

“Oh, Sollie…” Wonwoo rested his cheek against Hansol’s head. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too…” Hansol sniffled, eyes filling with tears against his will. He shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I hate this.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” Wonwoo gave him a gentle squeeze, so as not to upset his body any more than it already was. Hansol would have to thank him for that later. “What’re the odds Kwannie and Chan are gonna wake up in this same situation?”

“High. We all ate the same things.”

“Fuck.”

“Fuck is right.”

Carats had often joked that Jeonghan was the ‘mom’ of Seventeen. Jeonghan usually took it in stride, playing into the fans’ role for him, because he did find it so easy to care for his members. Being an older brother was second nature to him. And he loved messing with Seungcheol and gettin him all flustered calling him ‘dad.’

Never had he felt more like a mom then when a very sheepish Chan slunk into his bedroom at four am and simply said, “Hyung, I threw up.”

Jeonghan groaned, sniffled roughly (he’d been fighting a cold,) before sitting up. “Where?”

“My room…”

“In your bed?”

Chan shook his head. “No, I made it to the garbage can. But I don’t feel well…”

Jeonghan sighed, pushing himself up from his bed. “Think you’re gonna throw up again?”

“Probably?” Chan pressed his hands against his abdomen. “My stomach feels really… angry.”

“Any other symptoms?” Jeonghan frowned as he pressed his wrist against Chan’s forehead. “You feel sweaty, but not hot.”

“Yeah, it’s just the stomach pain,” Chan replied. “I think…” He paused, swallowing. Jeonghan’s frown deepened. That wasn’t a swallow of nausea. No, he knew that kind of swallow; that was guilt. “I think it might be food poisoning.”

“And where, pray tell, did you contract food poisoning?”

Chan sighed, shoulders deflating. “I had snacks from the bad place.”

“Channie…” Jeonghan whined, running his hands through his hair. He cleared his throat. “You know you can’t trust that convenience store!”

“I know, but it’s so close, and we were hungry…”

“We?!” Chan froze, eyes blown wide. It was as if he’d slapped a hand over his mouth. He’d been caught a second time, and even with a stuffy nose, Jeonghan could smell a lie like a bloodhound. “Lee Chan, who is we?”

“Um… me and…” Suddenly, Chan gagged, now actually slapping a hand over his mouth. Jeonghan instinctively dove for the garbage can next to his bed, shoving it under the younger man’s chin just in time for him to vomit again. Jeonghan carefully guided Chan to the floor, kneeling with him until he finally stopped gagging. Chan sobbed, and Jeonghan pulled the can from him before pulling the maknae against his chest.

“It’s okay, honey, it’s okay,” Jeonghan soothed gently. “Hyung’s got you now.”

By morning it was obvious to the whole group that their two youngest were unwell. Wonwoo had texted Seungcheol about Hansol, sheepishly admitted that someone would need to handle some unpleasant laundry. Seungcheol had then texted the whole group to be mindful that Hansol wasn’t feeling good. That message was followed with Jeonghan sharing that Chan was also under the weather.

At that moment, Seokmin sighed, knowing exactly where this was going. He jumped out of bed, and hurried to Seungkwan’s room. He found his dear friend fighting for his life, tears streaked down his face as he held onto his stomach as if it were falling apart.

Seokmin pouted sympathetically. “The convenience store curse?”

Seungkwan’s eyes filled with fresh tears. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m not.” Seokmin hurried over to the bed, sweeping Seungkwan’s hair back. “Have you been sick?”

Seungkwan shook his head. “But it’s only a matter of time, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Seokmin knew it meant nothing; it was only a matter of time until Seungkwan’s body turned on him. The older vocalist rubbed at his friend’s shoulder. “Can I do anything for you?”

The look on Seungkwan’s face when he peered up at him was pure puppy dog. “Could you just hold me?”

How could Seokmin say no to that?

It took 48 hours for them to be even remotely human again. 48 hours of tears, puking, and dehydration, all supervised by the careful eyes of their hyungs.

Seungcheol got them out of schedules for two days, offering to cancel the third as well to give them another day of recovery. But all three had refused on account of their big concert coming up in a few days. Seungcheol also took the brunt of responsibility for carrying all three of them back to bed when they’d ended up somewhere else and too weak to get back. Wonwoo and Mingyu often stepped in too, providing the cuddles the sick member so desperately needed.

Jeonghan spent the majority of those 48 hours orchestrating the rest of the team around the task of caring for their youngest brothers. He was never more efficient than when he was caring for his members, and everyone was happier for it. He seemed to know what was needed even before the sick members knew. Jun and Woozi were also very adept at providing for their brothers, always ready to grab medicine or water or anything that they could think of to help their friends.

Joshua had been a big help too, soothing the worst post-fever dream ramblings and singing the youngest members to sleep, helping them ignore the pain for a while. Seokmin and Minghao were also go-to soothers, whispering sweet nothings during the stomach cramps and fever tears.

It was a grueling 48 hours. But it was worth it to prove to their maknaes how much they were loved. And how stupid they were for trusting the convenience store snacks against their better judgement.

#seventeen sickfic #seventeen sick #feveruary #feveruary day 5 #kpop sickfic #kpop sick #svt sickfic #svt sick #sickie seungkwan #sickie vernon #sickie dino #caretakter seventeen #darlingfics

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electricneonvalkyrie · 3 days ago

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Two things. I made the colossal mistake of turning all my gym buddies into fans of TLOU.

Now, my phone is blowing up with “IVES! Can you believe this? No WAY they have this tiny actress playing Abby. Tell me it’s not true.”

I thought maybe I’d share my opinions on this, but for now, let’s just dive straight into some Abby Anderson WLF GYM RAT headcanons because you know what? Our girl, without a doubt, is too busy lifting heavy ass iron plates to come to the phone right now.

Gonna have to leave her a message after the beep.

Manny lifted a shitty MP3 player from some wide-eyed recruit who badmouthed Abby when she wasn’t around.

If you've met Manny, you know he's not cool with people dissing his best friend. He proudly wrenched the device from their shaking hands and immediately hunted Abby down to present it to her.

The thing is, she never remembers to charge it.

Does she leave her earbuds in long after the battery has died, and the music stops playing? Yes. This keeps overly talkative soldiers away and blocks out the worst of their chatter, which is her intention.

She doesn’t totally hate the silent barrier, since it creates an aura of unapproachability.

She does, however, hate that Manny is the only one who never falls for it.

“You know… I went through a lot of trouble to get you that thing,” Manny says, giving Abby’s sneaker a generous kick as she repositions herself on the bench.

Abby glares up at him with a slow, deliberate roll of her eyes. “You stole it.”

“Semantics. Don’t change the subject, hermana.”

“From a recruit who was shitting his pants,” Abby snorts, shaking her head at his attempt at gallantry. She lets out a smug puff of air and lifts the barbell off the rack. “Spot me or move.”

Manny throws a hand to his chest, a theatrical sigh escaping his lips, before smoothly shifting into position behind her. “He was talking shit. I defended your honour!”

“By bullying a kid,” Abby hisses, the barbell rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm above her chest. Her knuckles turn white from the pressure, her arms starting to shake as fatigue sets in. Her veins press against her freckled skin as she battles the urge to quit. “You want a medal for being a dick? Real noble, Manny.”

The weight strains her muscles as she lowers the bar slowly, her jaw a rigid line, teeth gritted in fierce concentration.

“For you, I do these things,” Manny gasps dramatically, his hands hovering nearby as she squeezes her eyes shut for the final rep. “And this is how you repay me?”

The bench groans under Abby's final push, the bar clanging harshly as the weight settles back onto the rack, a metallic shriek echoing through the quiet gym.

“If you spent half as much time training as you do running your mouth, you’d be dangerous,” Abby smirks.

With a sharp suck of his teeth, Manny tosses a tattered, damp towel at her head. “Next time, I’m letting it crush you.”

Speaking of things that crush, Abby exclusively carries stainless steel water bottles because they can also be used as weapons in emergencies. She doesn’t fuck with plastic. She also despises anything that condensates because it’s a sensory ick. The only time she likes her hands all slippery and wet is when—

She has multiple items in her gym bag that double as weapons, but you'll have to brave the overwhelming stench of sweat and old gym socks to find them. Despite her neat habits, Isaac's sudden assignments leave her flustered, and she occasionally neglects to empty her duffel bag. (Reason #57 that she desperately needs a girlfriend!)

Always vigilant, Abby never takes a bench or machine where someone can creep up on her. She strategically positions herself in the gym with her back to a wall, allowing her a clear view of the comings and goings of everyone around her.

If it allows her to sneak glances at you while you're deep in a squat, you’ll probably never know because you make her so nervous.

She’s in and out of the barracks showers. But when she gets the rare opportunity to shower alone, she takes her time. She loves the way her favourite pine soap lathers into a rich, creamy foam that feels cool and refreshing as it runs down her powerful body.

Also, a little birdie introduced her to the different settings on the showerhead in her apartment and with that post-workout high, her skin all flushed and dappled with sweat, she likes to… explore them.

What? Her muscles are sore. 😏

As you can probably imagine, I have about three thousand headcanons for Abby in the gym. If you dig this one, I'll happily share more. Cheers!

#abby the last of us #abby x fem!reader #abby x masc!reader #abby x reader #abby x you #abby tlou #tlou2 #abby anderson #abby anderson tlou2 #tlou #the last of us #the last of us part 2

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tonycries · 6 months ago

Text

I'm A BIG Stepper!

Synopsis. Too big? There’s no such thing as “too big”.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, saying it’s “too big”, FÉRAL boys, spítting, chokíng, them being big like REALLY big, cúmplay, oraI (male + fem), Choso’s rings, breéding, víbrators, creampíe, again - REALLY big, kinda mean Choso hehe, true form! Sukuna, dp, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.7k

A/N. When you accidentally choose “thought daughter” and half your synopses are questions WHOOPS.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - “That? M’bigger.”

“Yer killin’ me, doll.” Toji huffs out in ragged jealousy at those slow, sultry noises. “Look at you- just look at how she’s just begging f’me.”

Such cute lil’ whines leave your pretty lips as he works your puffy cunt open with that hot pink vibrator of yours. Soaked, thick - customized to the exact measurements of the achingly hard cock sat between his legs right now.

“B-but-” you gasp, eyeing down at the way your puffy folds were bulging around the toy. “S’barely even ngh- all the way in, Toji.”

“So?” he rolls his eyes. And Toji knows he’s being ridiculous, he knows it’s for his own good to stretch out your gummy walls so that you can take his massive size. But all it takes is another hard caress of that buzzing length against your poor g-spot for him to snap.

Eyes becoming crazed when your jaw falls slack, back arching up like such a slut up against his hard abs as you squeal, “Toji! Oh my god m’close—”

Close?

Suddenly, Toji can’t take it anymore - he needs to feel you wrapped around himself.

Now.

“M’gonna- wait what- ngh!” You’re batting your dewy eyes up at him when he drags the vibrator out with a loud squelch! All at once. Still reeling from disappointment, “Baby, why’d you-”

“Because.” he interrupts, and you keen when you feel the urgent throb! of Toji’s fat tip kissing at your swollen folds. Red and angry, leaking thick precum over your pussy lips in a pretty gloss. So mesmerizing that you almost miss the familiar flex of his thighs, the way his dark brows furrow in concentration. “-this pussy of yours says s’time for the real deal.”

It’s all that’s said before he’s suddenly dipping his girthy head just barely past your first ring of resistance. Difficult.

“Relax.” he hisses. Pushing in lingering, determined little grinds past each clench, still easy - still patient. For now. “Breathe f’me. Breathe f’me come on, She can do hah- do it, right, my girl?”

Shit, a part of him thinks he should’ve almost waited longer with the vibrator. Because Toji knows he’s big. He knows your cunt is so tight so heavenly he might just pass out right now. Until-

“Hngh! Toji!” you scramble onto your elbows when you feel his fat head finally bullies past to brush up against your hidden sweet spots. That little divot squeezing past to mark your walls inside. “You promised you’d hah- last longer with the oh vibrator tonight.”

Honestly, a part of Toji was impressed you were still able to form coherent sentences with the way you were being split apart on his monster cock.

He leans down to nuzzle your neck, “Awww, did I?” Hiking your limp legs further and further up his broad shoulders where he had you folded in half. “I don’t remember, maybe your pussy was jus’ c-calling t’me.”

“You- you liar!” you cry out, and he can’t help but grow impossibly harder. Fighting off that dangerous, feral part of himself that just wants to ram into you like some animal already. Because oh how he loved when you act like you weren’t bucking up mindlessly into the smooth staccato of his hips as he eases his way in. “Hngh- fuck you jus’ got- oh!”

The stretch - fuck the stretch. You never got used to it, no matter how many times he used that damn vibrator on you. Pushing you to your limits. It’s like he was nudging at your lungs already.

“F-fuuuck-” you can’t hold back your desperate moans, nails dragging reg marks down his biceps almost the size of your head. “Are you- ngh are you at least halfway in, Toji?”

“Nope.” he hums smugly, popping the p. “Though…”

And in a split second, he’s sitting up, with you splayed out so prettily on his fat length. Lips quirking into a mean little grin when two big arms of his help gravity pull you down, down, down onto his thick cock. Inch by fucking inch.

Turning his head to lick a long, languid stripe up his wrist. Groaning at the sweet sweet taste of your juices forming a sheen on his skin from the little “preparation” before. And fuck you think you feel him grow thicker - angry veins pulsing against every nook and cranny of your cunt.

Full. So full - and he wasn’t even all the way in yet.

“Oh- oh my god- fuck you’re so deep.” you mewl, body jolting with the inability to decide between wanting to run away or slam your hips down for more.

Toji notices - of course, he does - it was always like this, a few tears, a few whines, a few strokes with that pathetic “replica” of his swollen cock to stretch you out. He splays a hand out over your lower stomach, pressing down. Hard. Twitching wildly at that familiar bulge inside you, “M’so much deeper than that stupid toy.”

It’s all you can do to whimper, strained and utterly fucked out already. “Wh-what?”

“Heh, ya wanna know a secret, doll?” He’s leaning down to chuckle darkly in your ear - sending shivers down your neck, your arched spine, all the way to where he gives harsh thrust. Calculated. Once. Twice.

This time, not stopping until he was bottoming out.

Your puffy folds meeting his pelvis in a lewd kiss, his heavy balls smacking against your ass, thick cock settled deep - right where Toji’s been dying to be all night. Toji coos at the way your poor cunt was stuttering and bulging with the greedy effort to take him.

He plants a sloppy kiss right on your lips, “That vibrator’s made smaller than me.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Gentleman.

Now, Nanami Kento has always been told he looked like a gentleman - everything from his neatly styled hair, to his perfect suits, to the stern reading glasses always at his nose. Nanami Kento was a gentleman - both inside and out.

Well, except for that massive cock he hid away behind dapper dress pants, of course.

The one that always got so girthy and angry at the mere thought of not being stuffed inside your pretty pussy. The one that was currently beading hot precum at your pussy lips, forming a lewd little pool from where he was spooning you from behind.

The perfect remedy after a long, hard day at work - you, his cute lil’ wife.

“Bad day?” you whisper over your shoulder, Nanami’s nods coming out in feverish little puffs against your heated skin. “Then, I want you to put it in, Ken. All of it, don’ wanna waste time on preparation.”

And Nanami was never one to deny his wife - never one to doubt anything you wanted. But at this very moment, he’s loosening that speckled yellow tie he didn’t have the patience - nor the sanity to remove. Sliding the divot on his fat tip across your clit with a hushed, “Can’t, my love. I promised to not overwork you.”

You huff, “S’not overworking- just ngh- Ken-”

“Don’t.” he warns, hips rutting up lewdly at the mere sound of your voice. Sliding the mess of his glisteningly swollen cock right between your puffy folds. “Fuck- don’t. Jus’ had a bad day n’ this naughty pussy’s gonna make me lose control, darling. Have you calling out of work tomorrow.” He kisses down your neck left hand snaking down to give your cunt a gentle smack! The cool band of his wedding ring burning against your clit, “S’that really what you want?”

And it was meant to be a question to himself more than anything, really. A reminder that you weren’t even prepared yet - not stretched and teased to his heart’s content like usual. A reminder to fucking reel his sanity back before he breaks you.

But, alas, maybe you’re a genius - maybe you’re just stupid. Because you whine stubbornly, “Well, I hear it’s the best solution for a bad day, so why don’t you?”

In an instant, that’s all it takes for your leg to be stretched up in the air. The cozy bedroom chill hitting your bare cunt - only for a split-second, before Nanami’s achy tip is filling you up. Everywhere. Anywhere.

“Hold onto this.” his free hand presses his tie onto your shaky one, hip still pushing. Still rutting up in a steady pressure on your snug cunt. “Pull on it if m’going too rough- fuck- fuckin’ choke me I don’t care. Jus’ let me know because from now on…” he trails off dangerously.

But you’re not left to wonder what the end of his sentence will gift you. No, because you feel it.

He’s pushing in - nothing like the slow, languid strokes you were used to. No, barely even giving you the time to adjust while your husband just keeps pressing and pressing and-

“Ah! Ken!” you involuntarily tug on his tie when his sensitive slit massages at those syrupy sweet spots insides. “You’re so deep- fuck just fuck me how you want to.”

Nanami’s head feels light, vision getting spottier with each heaving breath he’s taking - maybe from your tightening grip around his tie, maybe from the way you’re squeezing him so fucking tight. But it takes him a few seconds to pull himself together enough to grit out, “Fuck- I want to. Oh, how I want to.” As if to confirm his statement, he’s thumbing apart your sopping slit, groaning at the sight of you drooling eagerly down his cock. “But you’re so fuckin’ tight I can’t ngh- s’this how you feel- fuck! I think m’gonna hafta take y’like this all the time, my love.”

Each word has him speeding up in jagged little pistons. Feeling so mean with the way he was bullying those cute moans out of you.

“I don’t care- ngh-” you babble, when his fingers roll over your clit. Squirming your hips down to meet his, trying to press up against those neat tufts of blond at his hilt. “-just want you all inside me.”

Shaping your cunt to this shape of him, losing his breath with each and every dense push inside your sloppy entrance. Still stuck not even halfway in yet - but you feel like you’re losing your goddamn mind.

“You’re so fuckin’ hah- hold on.” And then, your beloved Nanami pushes your leg up even further, craning his neck over to spit. A steady, sinful stream of saliva right onto the bulging mound of where he was sheeting himself in your pussy. Circling your clit, he hums in satisfaction at the mess he’s made, “Now I can ruin you exactly how I want.”

You open up so pliant for him, massaging every bump and ridge along his long, long length while you let him skim past. Being split open so well. So maddeningly.

Like you wanted to be ruined.

And just the thought of it is enough to push Nanami over the edge of his sanity - and to push the entirety of his raw, needy cock inside your tight pussy. Finally. Finally bottoming out.

“Ngh- shit-” he lets out a long breath, sharp canines puncturing at the sensitive skin on your neck. Hips stuttering and getting sloppy with each jittery push deeper inside. Even when Nanami feels your hips fucking back into his to meet the brick wall of his toned abs. His twitching balls sensitive against your ass. “Now, lemme tell ya how how it’s been a-” Just slamming his hips into yours, a ruthless depraved cadence. Fingers ruthless on your clit. “-long fuckin’ day without you.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Till m’stupid!

“P-please!” you try - and fail - to pull off his need mouth from your poor, overstimulated cunt. Fingers clasping desperately onto his long, inky hair. “I jus’ wan’ you in me- hah-”

It’s around your fourth orgasm that night when you’re finally crying out in surrender, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks with each high, legs spasming and trying to run away from Geto Suguru’s mean mouth. Your breath catching in your chest when he only hums around your ravaged clit in answer.

“I dunno, gorgeous.” Geto teases, sloppy tongue darting around your pulsing hole. Stretching. Lapping up each and every drop of your syrupy cunt. “Don’ think she’s ready to take me, yet.”

Fuck, you knew what that meant.

You knew that meant another few sweet rolls of Geto’s tongue against your clit, another few bullying praises spat into your sensitive cunt while he dragged you through another high - another orgasm that wasn’t on his swollen cock.

And despite how much you loved the way your boyfriend teased and toyed your needy cunt with his mouth - you needed more.

So you tug once again on his dark locks, tongue getting loose with delirium, “You’re so mean, Sugu. So what if I j-jus’ wan’ your cock.”

Oh how he loved to have you begging.

At this, his glassy eyes meet yours right from where Geto was still making out with your pretty pussy in a slow, languid kiss. The squelches and suckles ringing in your ears over your own words. His brow quirks, already with the nickname, huh? Interesting.

“Can’t cum a-as good if it’s not on your cock.” you plow on. Oh, now it’s flattery? How cute. You manage to sputter out while your words don’t even slow him down, “And! And if you don’t-” Ah, Geto muses, this one’s probably the threat. What will it be? Last time it was making him do all the dishes. The time before that it was buying you that handbag you really loved- “-m’gonna go on a sex ban!”

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Now, if there’s one thing you know to never threaten Geto Suguru with, it’s a sex ban. But, alas, desperate times call for desperate measures.

So here he was - face wrenching away from the honeypot of your sweet cunt like it hurt to leave. Eyes wide as he scrambles to meet you, your slick glistening down his gaping lips, his burning cheeks - fuck, he’s never looked prettier.

“My baby…” Geto purrs into your ear, coming up to graze his lips against your in a messy crash of teeth and tongue. “Gorgeous, you never thought I’d be serious- right? Hah- sex ban my ass. You’re funny, real fucking funny.” But for all how confident he was, Geto was soothing out his words with the slightest tremor. Hastily sliding his furiously leaking tip between your sopping slit. Up and down up and down up and- “-cuz who said I could live another second without being in this cute pussy?”

As if to prove his point, Geto’s sliding his fat head past your puffy folds, stretching out your entrance so taut around his thick cock.

A big hand of his finds its way onto the small of your waist, and in a split-second Geto has your position flipped so that he’s splayed out on the mattress instead. Your limp body now toppling precariously where you were sat on his swollen cock.

“Oh.” his pretty mouth falls slack when his hazy eyes lock down at where the two of you were connected. Your pussy lips spread and sucking him up so well. He marvels, “Oh shit look at you. You always take it so well when you’re cockdrunk like this.”

And it’s true - Geto could barely feel that familiar little resistance of muscle. Instead, you’re letting his vein poke at your cunt welcomingly. Bullying himself inside.

You’re keening when an experimental thrust has Geto plunging in even deeper, throbbing veins massaging every nook and cranny of your gummy walls. You could feel him everywhere. And it’s like he could see the strain to take him. To milk him even greedier.

“S-Sugu-”

“Shhh, this is what y’wanted, right?” he’s breathing, strained - like he’s at the end of his sanity with each inch you’re bouncing down his length. “To be fucked on my cock? No matter how big?”

You don’t even have the ability to respond at this point - just the way he liked it. That smart mouth of yours too drunk to think of anything other than him. To only whine when he pools your salty tears on his tongue, murmuring into your skin, “Now now, ‘nough with the cryin’ hah- you wanted to be fucked stupid- n’that’s exactly what m’gonna do.”

Ah, he loved this part.

Loved how all those previous orgasms were crashing together to render you barely lucid when he’s shoving his entire cock up into your slutty hole. Glossy lips trembling when he hits the back of your cunt- already? Shit, that last orgasm must’ve hit you harder than he thought.

That slightly upwards curve of his dick was driving you wild now buried to his hilt. And only shoving himself deeper with each grind that Geto was bucking up to. Until his heavy balls rested behind your ass, neat black happy trail rubbing up against your skin. Until it was impossible to go any deeper.

Your drunken eyes are snapping up in surprise when feeling him grow even thicker inside you, the rough girth shaping out your sloppy hole. He rasps out a chuckle, “Wonder how loose you’ll be after a fifth one, hm?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Make him break!

Now, Choso knew your dirty lil’ tricks, he knew not to trust that sultry curl of your lips when you called out to him. That dangerous little glint in your eyes when you begged him to go deeper, one he almost misses with the way your heavenly cunt was trying to suck him up greedily. Almost.

Always playing with his sanity.

Always asking for more.

“But, baby.” he whines, pressing a concerned little peck to that adorable pout on your lips. Breath catching in his chest when you tug stubbornly on his bottom lip. “I don’t wanna- hah- don’ wanna hurt you, y’know?”

In response, you’re only wrapping your legs around his toned waist tighter, sure to leave sinful little marks at those dimples at the bottom of his spine. “I know what I want- n’ what I want is-” your elastic walls squeeze around his girth. Hard. “-more.”

Choso can’t help but let out a slow, hoarse drag of your name. Dark strands of his hair sticking to his forehead when he throws his head back, hips grinding down, down, down-

“Hah! You- oh-” his hazy eyes are flying open when he realizes he’s playing right into your evil hands. Biting his sharp canines down on your pulse - a little warning. “You know what happens when I go all the way, baby. M’not gonna fit- m’gonna lose control. M’gonna-”

“Please?” you hum sweetly.

He was about halfway in now - mouth watering at the way your pussy was spread open so shamefully for him. Already bulging and leaking onto the drenched silky sheets below with the struggle to take him - and you wanted more?

“Tha’s right.” you hum, and it takes his saturated mind a second to realize he said that out loud. And even longer to blink up and meet your hungry gaze, “I want more, Cho.”

Fuck, and it was so unfair. Maybe it’s the nickname, maybe it’s the way you buck your hips up sloppily, lewd squelches ringing in his ear when you bully his swollen cock just an inch more.

Maybe it’s just you. .

But that’s all it takes for him to gasp, eyes snapping wider - crazed even - hips stuttering so messily forwards before-

“Fuck, you’re such a little slut, baby.” And before you know it, Choso’s ramming his hips forwards. Letting the loud smack of skin-on-skin sound across the heady air, bruising. Painful, even. “Such a greedy little bitch-” Watching his throbbing length disappear, he’s sure it’ll leave marks - his heavy balls on your ass, toned pelvis against your thighs, fat cockhead hitting at your cervix. “-N’ s’what you’re gonna be treated like.”

It only takes one kiss of Choso’s leaky tip right against the bottom of your snug pussy before he’s cumming and cumming so hard you can almost feel him twitch at your lungs.

Not waiting for you to adjust, not even waiting for his high to bate. no, don’t make him laugh. Just spearing you on his long length, barely even easing your poor, quivering cunt into it before he’s fucking you into the mattress.

Fully bottomed out now - exactly as you knew would happen.

“No- no no no hold on.” Choso holds both your thrashing legs still with one of his, pushing past that feeble resistance while he finds his rhythm at your gaping hole. “This is- hah-” he groans, voice shot over your wrecked ah! ah! ah! Plunging inside you like he was molding your pliant walls to his shape. “Told you m’gonna break ngh-”

He was massive already - barely even managing to squeeze past and massage your dripping cunt. But oh the sweet overfill of his seed had you keening, scrambling to grab onto the sheets, the headboard, his shoulders to keep even an ounce of your sanity.

“Ngh- fuck!” you whine at the feeling of rope after rope of his thick cum sloshing around inside your plush walls. His veins throb! throb! throbbing! against your sensitive spots to make such a mess of you below. “Fuck- jus’ like that, Cho- keep- hah- keep goin’”

And you didn’t even have to ask. As expected, your boyfriend’s brows after knitting together, pushing your legs so far apart it burned. Abs flexing as his hips moved in jagged, desperate pistons to massage your gummy walls.

This was what you wanted so badly - the way he always breaks like this.

Always.

“Y’asked for more n’ you’re gonna get it.” his voice stutters, cracking ever so slightly with each smash into that spongy bundle of nerves. “More- hah!” Letting out a humorless, almost-shrill laugh, “You knew this would happen, huh?”

You’re just batting your lashes deceivingly innocently, pressing a honeyed peck to Choso’s snarl, “I highly hah- doubt-”

“Look at you.” he spits at your bumbling retort, “Can’t even speak.” Two thick fingers coming up to circle the thick globs of seed pooled at your ravaged clit, purposefully grazing against the sensitive nub. “Fuckin’ wanted more and you’re gonna- get it.”

Slamming into you fast. Out of control.

You open your mouth - no doubt to spit out some other taunt - but before the words leave your lips, he’s shoving his now-sloppy mess of his index and middle finger inside. Forcing the salty taste of his cum spilling out with each thrust, and the cool metal of his thick metal rings. You wanted to break him - and that’s what you’re gonna get.

“So you hah- better shut up that pretty mouth of yours unless I break the bed again and you along with it”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Twin bitches, twin bitches

“Enough admirin’ me.” Sukuna chuckles darkly from above you, reaching down to cradle your dazed head with a large, clawed hand of his. “The faster ya get back to doing yer lil’ job, the sooner that pretty cunt can take me.”

And it’s all you can do to heave for air, looking up defiantly at the two massive cocks kissing at your mouth. Barely getting a few breaths in before Sukuna’s hips thrust forwards once again to spear your heavenly mouth one of his swollen lengths. Smirking at the way your glossy lips bulge around him, “Yeah yeah, what? Got somethin’ to say, brat?”

You’re squeezing your soft palm up and down the drenched hilt of his other cock. Managing to gasp out, “I- want you-” Before your mouth is being fucked again like some little fucktoy - by both of them. Over and over. Taunting, “I want- you- now.”

“Now?” And Sukuna sounds genuinely surprised, baring his sharp canines in a shocked grin. “Y’think you can hah- already take me now?” Hissing as he drags your sloppy mouth up and off his sensitive lengths, only to question. “You sure about that?”

This angle gives you the perfect view of his intimidating cocks - massive, painfully hard. Fat tips flushed the same shade of pretty pink, angry and weeping all over your swollen lips. Twin veins throbbing urgently at your hot breath, both swollen lengths twitch so animalistically when you spit. Once. Twice.

“Heh- you always do surprise me, lil’ human.”

And shit you were goading him into it - toying with him.

But you didn’t expect that in all of two seconds, Sukuna would be lifting you easily off the ground with two big arms, wrapping your boneless legs around his waist to fit you snugly like a puzzle piece against his muscled body.

“Wh-what-”

“Y’asked, my girl.” he whispers, ragged at what a needy lil’ slut you were being for him right now. His other two free arms aligning both leaky tips at your quivering cunt. “N’ since you’re so fuckin’ spoiled, guess I gotta always hah- give ya what you want, huh?”

“You mean- oh-” It’s right around this time that you can’t think - you can’t even breathe. Can’t do anything but surrender to the two massive lengths bullying past your stretchy ring of muscle. Molding the entrance of your cunt to the shape of his cocks.

“Mmm fuck m’never gonna get tired of this stretch.” he’s groaning throatily, humming with each little half-thrust inside you. Just barely a push and pull. “So wet n- how the fuck hah- are you this tight?”

You scoff, mouth sharp even when it feels like he’s splitting you in half, “I can think of ngh- t-two reasons.”

And then Sukuna has the audacity to throw his head back and laugh - laugh - loud and baritone, the force of his chest rumbling having you slipping deeper and deeper down his massive cock. Losing your barely-there footing with each inch he’s feeding into your needy cunt.

You sputter, “Ngh- f-fuck you’re in so deep.”

“F-f-fuck you’re in so deep.” Sukuna mimics your moans in a pitch much higher than his own. Giving the fat of your ass a sharp smack! as he massages your way down. “M’not even hah- halfway in yet so ya better buckle up, brat.”

And it was true - he was still pushing in desperate, purposeful ruts upwards of his hips. Short strokes that you’d never have the king of curses do - unless he was feeling particularly nice.

Your legs dangle in midair, nails digging into his tan skin with each smack of his heavy set balls with each movement, leaving a smear of precum and spit. Sliding you down so much easier than he thought it would. Down, down, down…

“Ya feel me in here?” you’re gasping at the pressure of one of his sharp nails. Dangerous. Trailing down, down, down to draw an imaginary line on your stomach. One. And another one not too long aways, “And here?” At your cockdrunk little nod, he smiles - dark and wild. “Use your words if you ah- want what’s comin’.”

He feels you milk his cocks even harder at that, like you’re trying to drag out something delicious when you squeal, “Can feel you- can’t feel anything but you-”

The tip of his thick finger dances higher and higher. And he gruffs out, “Well, soon enough m’gonna be- hah here!”

That deep promise is all that runs through your oversaturated mind before Sukuna’s ramming into you - no mercy. Just shoving you down his throbbing cock until he could see them bulge outwards from your supple skin, leaving a lewd little mark right where he predicted it would be.

Bullseye.

“Oh fuuuuck, so nice n’ tight f’me.” Sukuna whimpers - he whimpers. Fuck, the feeling of your walls trying desperately to take shape to his cocks so addictive. So dizzying the way he can feel himself rubbing against one another, bulbous veins throbbing in time to an erratic staccato. “So nice and- and-” he’s losing his words now, slurring with each languid half-thrust up into your cervix. “-mine.”

The word seemed to have made something so feral and dark poke its head out of Sukuna’s exterior. Because then he’s dragging you sloppy cunt like he owned her, all the way from his weeping tips down until your clit was scratching against those tufts of pink at his hilt.

Slamming into you promisingly until you see stars, until you’re cumming. Electricity running through your veins just at the feeling of being so full.

Fucking you through your high, Sukuna only taunts, “Now this is where the real fun starts.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - NO CONTROL

“Why the- why the fuck-” your gasp is drowned out by the sharp rip! of fabric echoing across your boyfriend’s luxurious childhood bedroom. Pieces of your poor panties currently laying in tatters on its hardwood floor, “-do they make these things so easy access?”

As if they could be anything but easy access.

Not with the way Gojo had you bent over the nearest desk he could find, your wrists pinned, skirt bunched up, cunt slobbering and already struggling around where he was just dipping his fat head inside.

Yet, you still manage to hiss over your shoulder, “If- if it’s so ‘easy access’ then why the fuck did you hah- rip it, you fool?”

But ah you should’ve known better than to give Gojo Satoru one of your glares. Because that along with your honeyed insults have him twitching ferally inside you, the curve of his cock jolting perfectly against your hidden sweet spot. Of course.

“Because.” he gives you a sly chuckle, the very tip of his aching cock dragging along your gummy walls. “You should know this by now.” Nipping at the shell of your ear, “M’so big that even those panties are a problem, sweetheart.”

And oh the smug bastard, he’s pushing into your heavenly cunt in languid grinds. Savoring. Hypnotic.

You’re gasping when one of his calculated thrusts mashes against your sensitive areas, the slow push and pull having your nails almost digging into the wooden desk. Scrambling onto your very tip-toes to glide your gummy walls against his thick length.

“Toru…” you moan, hissing in warning. “Y-you better be quiet or else your hah- your parents are gonna hear us.”

“Hah! Me? Me?” he cackles, drinking in your bleary gaze, the way your mouth was falling slack with each tempo of his hips. “Think you should be more ngh- worried about yourself, sweetheart.” He’s pressing a hot mess of a kiss one your swollen lips, your shoulders. Down, down, down wherever he could reach down your arched spine, “Besides. We’ll be s-sneaky, m’jus’ puttin’ in the-”

And perhaps for the first time in his life, the great Gojo Satoru is utterly speechless. Words catching in his chest at the sinful sight right below him.

Your legs spread, shaking. Inner thighs smeared with the glossy sheen of the mess he’s making of your poor cunt. And you pussy- oh fuck, your pussy. With your puffy folds spread, bulging even with the effort to take it just past his fat head. Quivering and struggling with each experimental grind.

Fuck, it was hard to look at it, too. It made him throb so painfully - it made him grow bigger.

“Ngh! What the fuck-” you spit at the feeling of that familiar burn, your syrupy walls being stretched to their absolute limits.

“Shhh shhh- change of plans, sweetheart.” Is all Gojo grunts in response, bending his long, long legs at the knees to bully himself inside easier. Two big arms wrapping around your middle, reaching over to give your clit a determined swivel of his fingers. “M’gonna go about- halfway? Yeah, halfway.”

And yet, he sounds unsure himself. Voice just a pitch higher, breathy, like he was losing more and more of his sanity with each little half-thrust he’s gifting your poor cunt with.

Just quick, methodical little kisses of his hips to yours, heavy balls smacking against your thighs with each inch your greedy cunt is swallowing up. Milking the absolute fucking soul out of him.

“F-fuck!” you keen when that thick vein of his down the middle massages your good spot. The adorable sound making Gojo’s eyes light up, smirking as he hikes his knee up higher to piston deep into your dripping pussy. Heady with the squelches from below. “Th-this is hah more than- half Toru-”

Fuck, was it?

Gojo hadn’t even noticed - too drunk on the way you were squeezing his poor, overworked cock so tight. Until it was almost difficult to plunge into your dripping cunt - to split you apart on it exactly the way he wanted.

But, well, now that he was taking a long, hard look - he was just a bit more than halfway through. Brows raising in delight at the way your hips are pushing back in mindless little swivels for more.

“Then, I guess-” he trails off, two large hands of his coming to rest at your waist. A disappointed whine rips from the back of your throat when his ruthless hips slow down to a still, pulsing with anticipation. “-might as well finish the job.”

“Oh- what- you fuckin’-” The rest of your sentence is swallowed up in the way he rolls his hips forwards - fully. Inch by fucking inch. Catching in your ring of resistance less than all the way through, but still pushing. Still rutting forwards so animalistically. “Toru—” You whine at the stretch, the pure dizzying feeling of him shaping your cunt to the thick girth of his swollen cock. “S’too big- I can’t ngh-”

Pretty pink lips shut up your babbling mouth, murmuring deeply, “No no no no- no you can take it- you can oh.” Long, slender fingers coming up to roll against your poor clit, loosening your feeble reisstance, “Look at the- fuck jus’ look at the way you want me.” And you’re barely registering the hand smushing your cheeks together in an embarrassing pout, forcing you to look down at the steady, lazy torture of him splitting you apart on his massive cock. “This isn’t even fuck- me. Look at how you’re fucking back. How you want me so badly.”

And, usually, you’d snap at Gojo - tell him he’s too cocky for his own good.

But it was true.

You were meeting his sloppy, untimed bounced halfway through. Helping yourself be fucked into that expensive desk. And he’s pushing - so persistent.

So utterly wrecked when his leaky tip nudges against your spongy cervix, stars behind his eyes when his heavy balls smack your thighs. Unstopping - not until your ass was settled snugly against those tufts of white at his base. Finally, all the way in.

Through it all, he manages to rasp out, “Hey, did ya know the walls in his house are soundproofed?”

“...”

“So why don’t we go a proper round, sweetheart? Or five?”

A/N. I did NOT expect these to get so long but yk what I’m not upset.

Plagiarism not authorized.

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