#marketing did this movie so fucking dirty

[ifwebefriends]

Happy anniversary Elemental!

Song: Taroko by August Greenwood

[Video ID. A fan edit of Ember Lumen and Wade Ripple from Elemental with a portion of the song Taroko by August Greenwood. Various clips of the two of them are shown in time with the song. The lyrics are “oh the blue blue water makes you look so pretty, next to jellyfishes swimming in captivity. I know you’re far more focused on the deep blue scenery, but I can’t focus when you’re next to me. Oh, Taroko. Oh, I love you so. Oh, Taroko. Oh, I love you so.” The lyrics are shown on screen as they come up but “Taroko” is replaced with “Ember.” The first couple lines in the video are specifically played with the scene where Wade takes Ember to see the Vivisteria flower in the station. The final shot is of their kiss at the end of the film. End ID]

[the-irrelevant-trumpeter]

if i see ONE MORE rude comment about renée rapp in the mean girls musical movie i am going to SNAP

[dev1lm4n]

lesson two: tease

ko-fi | series masterlist (5 out of 7)

pairing: porn star!joel miller x f!reader

summary: tension is on the rise between you and mr. miller. wicked fantasies hadn't posted for an entire month! desperate, you decided to get even more bold with your requests and he had no difficulty in complying.

word count: 4.8k

warnings: explicit (18+), set in 2013, pre-outbreak, age gap (joel in mid 30's and reader in early 20's), inexperienced but not dumb reader, blowjob, f masturbation, check umbrella warning on series masterlist

notes: tension is literally on the rise! the vase is about to crack, but tonight he decides to indulge. fellas if you enjoyed this do COMMENT, REBLOG or buy me a KO-FI ;) love y'all

Broad shoulders.

During the time when you simply saw Mr. Miller as a figure in your lewd fantasies, you knew that it was the roughness of his build that attracted you. There’s a certain market for it; for women and men alike who enjoyed those who're built like burly vikings straight out of a movie. Those who enjoy men with a slight plumpness on their front, those who salivate over their strong and reliable arms, those who strive to caress their calloused fingers and press kisses onto their rigid knuckles. You’ve never confessed this to anyone - mostly terrified for their reserved judgment over the topic - but you fit perfectly in that box. Time after time, you wonder if it’d feel nice, if you could just press your nifty fingers into the coils of his muscles, if he’d let out a groan.. a moan perhaps from the sensation.

Rough fingers.

After spending two minutes staring intensely at his sturdy, slightly hunched build, you finally gathered enough courage to summon yourself into the kitchen. God, he looked so good just washing the dishes. His already calloused fingers didn’t have to worry about the damage those cheap dish soap does, because if anything, it’d just make it better. More ridges means more texture and more texture feels better. Two of his fingers entered the soapy lining of his mug, spreading the cleaning product into every crack and crevice. It looks a little erotic, you decided. Your filthy mind conjured up altered scenarios which implemented the same motion. You’d be on top of the cold countertop, various kitchen gadgets set aside as his fingers delved into your cunt. He’d spread your wetness the same way he did to the mug.

Thick mustache.

He took notice of your presence. He watched you and you allowed him, even if he did so wordlessly. Water continued to spill out of the faucet. It hit the empty bottom of the sink and sprouted upwards in a gauche manner, effectively wetting his gray shirt in blotches and dots. You breathed out what could pass as a dry chuckle and in return, he quirked his lips. A grin. A youthful one that almost made you forget of his crow’s feet and faint lines. His thin upper lip almost disappeared as it was tugged on both sides, but the dark hair on top remained pristine. It was thick, you concluded. Not as thick as Uncle Tommy’s, but thick enough that he’d get marinara sauce on it every pasta night. Thick enough that you wonder what it’d be like to have it graze your sensitive pelvis.

Fuck, he’s hot and you’re unreasonably horny.

“Hey.”

“Hey, kiddo,” he parroted back, only with the help of that damned nickname he’s stamped onto you.

Crunch

You bit into the red apple you found during your little scavenging trip into his refrigerator. The sound broke whatever trance he had placed you under. With those eyes of yours, pupils rounded and lashes batted, it was a dangerous game you’re playing. When had you gotten so shameless towards Mr. Miller? Perhaps it’s when he touched you in an irrevocably pleasurable way, or perhaps it’s when he hadn’t posted a video for an entire month. He missed his posting schedule, two whole weeks post-’Dirty Fridays’, and it’s severely messing with your head. You’ve always been a good viewer. Always being content with what he had put out and would never harass him for more, but it’s been a long month repeating the same 13 minute long video.

You’re bound to get restless.

“Didn’t see you come home yesterday.”

“I was busy.”

Crunch

With other girls? In that trailer studio of yours? The question sat on the tip of your tongue. A breath away from being exposed into the dense air. You turned to lean your lower back onto the edge of the countertop, eyes still trained on his as you hitched yourself atop the smooth surface. Your fingers grazed the squared edges, just to keep you occupied while you dug under the surface of his browns. You wondered what he was so busy with - wondered what’s going on behind the tightly knitted cloak of guise he wore, wondered what he thought of you after his little lesson. He wasn’t a shy one. Mr. Miller stared back into your pupils. His chest raised and lowered with every blink he took.

You swallowed nervously.

“Workin’ doubles,” he cracked. “I ain’t sharin’ the job with anyone other than Tommy.”

“Is that so?”

“You think I’m lyin’?”

Crunch

You couldn’t read him. You’ve never been able to. There’s just a huge boulder sitting behind those irises, one that’s blocking you from understanding him even further. It’s not like it’s your business anyway. You’re content with spending your downtime with Sarah; screaming your hearts out to Taylor Swift’s I Knew You Were Trouble on the radio, painting each others’ nails, and making the ultimate pancake with chicken. You’re content with just watching him through his videos, reimagining those situations with the new knowledge you’ve acquired from him. You’re content with standing at a distance from him. So, it wouldn’t be logical to get all protective over him. What are you? His crazy ex-girlfriend?

“How’s Sarah?”

“Great,” you mumbled, mouth still half full. “Taught her fractions yesterday. Swear she’s getting smarter than me.”

“How’s Simon?”

Crunch

Things with Simon, surprisingly, went on smoothly. After that mediocre dinner, where you proceed to let Mr. Miller finger you afterwards in order to introduce you to the new world of sex, you’ve exchanged a few messages and a few perfectly appropriate photos. It’s been awhile since you actually put any effort into trying to get into a relationship, due to work loads and a special dependance towards a pornstar, but it’s much better than you expected. He’s a nice boy. He would treat you right if you gave him the chance to, but you couldn’t help but think that you’re doing all this out of spite. Doing this to show off how capable you are to Mr. Miller, to busy yourself off those plaguing thoughts of him.

“Simon’s doing okay. Fine. He took me for ice cream after my classes yesterday.”

“Offered you a ride, right?”

“Yup.”

He taught you well.

“You’ve done it with him then?”

Your heart clenched.

“Done what?”

“What I taught you.”

Why is he so candid about the entire ordeal?

It was like being held at gunpoint. You watched his eyes, then found it to be too oppressive so you looked down to meet his wet hands. He had finished washing all the plates and cutleries from the breakfast you and Sarah made, though his thick fingers still gripped onto the edge of the metal sink, wet and dripping. You looked up once again, trying to find a part of him that doesn’t make you all jittery and awkward.

“Yes.”

Your lie must’ve been undetectable since you quickly caught on to how his brows tangled and unraveled, a habit of his you’ve picked up recently, signaling that he’s processing the information and giving it a good thought.

“Was it as good?”

Crunch

You nodded surely with a mouthful of tangy apple. There’s no way you could get away with lying so blatantly the second time so you decide the nod would affirm your position better instead of scramble it. He cocked his head to the side, arrogant as always, with some sort of interest in his eyes. You could just tell something foul was about to come out of those sharp tongue of his, when all of a sudden, a clatter sounded out from beyond the window. Both of you turned your heads in sync, following after where the presumable source was. There he was. Tommy in all of his youthful glory. One of his jean legs drenched and beside him was a metal bucket, laying pitifully with its contents poured out onto the sidewalk. He was cursing. A garbled mess of English, while he soothed his pained arse.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

He let out a sigh as he finally tore his gaze away from you to wipe his hands onto a kitchen rag.

“Gotta get goin’,” he whispered hurriedly, fingers running down his messy hair to smooth them down. “You need anything, sweetheart?”

You shook your head no and he took it as a cue to leave the premises. He rushed to pick up his phone from the dining room table, eyes fleeting to find his wallet right after.

“Hey, Mr. Miller.”

He turned his head to meet your eyes.

“You busy tonight?”

Dinner had always been a lonesome affair for you.

Back when you still live in your parents’ cluttered mishmash of a house, you’d always opt out of family dinner. Not because you weren’t particularly fond of your mother’s cooking, her one pot recipes will still remain nostalgic in your head despite time, but more because you’d rather not indulge in petty arguments. They’d always argue. Your mother would flash you that look of hers, silently demanding you to stay on her side when it comes to dealing with your father’s frequent misdemeanors. He’d complain about the tiniest bits of things. If the lettuce was too wilted or if you were wearing too much makeup. He’s an ass, sure, but it’s not like your mother’s planning to abandon him anytime soon. They’re conjoined at this point. Even when it’s massively unhealthy, especially for spectators like you.

In Mr. Miller’s home, oftentimes, you’d put together an edible meal for the entire family. Mr. Miller was a hard worker, according to the accounts that he made, so it’s not rare that you’d have to fry up sausages and whip mashed potatoes together for Sarah. It’s not as if he made it your responsibility. He’d encourage the two of you to order take outs or phone in the pizza place, but that couldn’t be good for Sarah’s growth or his own pocket. And as much as you’d like to deny it, you’re growing way too fond of the Millers.

But it’s been far too long since you crossed path with Mr. Miller. Far too long that you might’ve forgotten what his natural musk after a long day smelt like. Far too long that you might’ve forgotten how heavy his boots were as it dragged across the tiles. Far too long that you surely misses him.

You’re nervous.

Unreasonably so when the promise you’ve made with him was simply for dinner. Nothing less or more. Just dinner. Was the invitation you gave him.. too much? Was it too flirty? Was it silly to think that he might’ve entertained the little show you put out? The desperate stares and chewed lips, you’re undeniably begging for attention. Begging for him to pay attention to you, see what you’re made out of, doesn’t he want to unravel you more? The audacity you have was laughable.

How pathetic, you thought. 

Just like clockwork, Mr. Miller showed up right after your self-deprecating cycle. Right after all that flirty and playful energy got brutally murdered by common sense. Right after they were buried in a graveyard of mistakes and what was left was simply the putrid scent of shame. Your head perked up expectantly. As if the mere sight of him in his work uniform,  a combo of worn-out flannel shirts and dark-washed jeans, would cure you of exhaustion. Mr. Miller came barging into the hallway. His thumb and index finger diligently massaged the tall bridge of his nose, eyes closed and nose flared from breathing too hard. Your eyes finally made its rounds to where his free arm was propped up on his waist. Sleeves rolled to where it was physically impossible to roll them higher.

He didn’t look like he was in the best of moods.

And somehow.. somehow it excites you.

“Hi, how are you?” you spoke stiffly as if you’re one of those supermarket cashiers, posture straightening upon his arrival.

“Not good,” he replied gruffly.

Mr. Miller made his way to you. He appeared to be the same height and stature as he’s always been, but for whatever reason, he looked a lot larger. As if he could bite and tear you into chunks of flesh if he truly desired to. His movements were staggered. Each step seemed to be more and more of a hassle to him. He had this.. frown on his face. You could even call it a scowl. Forehead waved with folds of worries, lips tightened into an irritated pull as he finally settled down across from you. This new side to him made your limbs limp and your heart spasm. A squeeze each time his narrowed eyes met yours.

“Everything.. okay?” you mused out.

“Just a bunch of shit piling up,” he reasoned, looking down to meet the plate you carefully crafted for him. “Nothin’ to worry your pretty little head.”

The plate’s cold, boiled asparagus hardened and packaged chicken dried, but he didn’t even consider complaining. His brown eyes took in the effort you gave, a brief sheen of guilt glazing those pretty eyes of his before he picked up his fork and spoon. You watched him with care. His every move calculated and drilled deep into your head.

“Sarah asleep?”

“Mhm. I bored her to death with trigonometry,” you chuckled lightly. “She’s okay. Just.. she’s been asking for you. Asking me why you’re always home late.”

Joel’s eyes perked up from the plate. He met your eyes, but it almost felt like he’s looking right through you, over your head to where he could contemplate his decisions. You knew this just from looking, but Joel Miller had a fear of not being a good parental figure. Sarah only had one and he’s barely ever home. That sort of thought festered over him and took over any sort of inhibition. Any sort of clear thinking, that he’s doing all these side jobs to help support her further in life, that it was all for her. Mr. Miller beats himself up too much, but it’s not like you had any right to intervene. You watched as he indulged in the asparagus, seeing how it’s grown cold enough to feel like metal rods when bitten into. He chewed on it with a solemn expression, a curl between his brows.

“Sorry for putting you through this, sweetheart,” he hummed. “I could.. should actually hire help.”

You waited a beat.

“You’ve been doing me too much favor. It’s not.. right.”

“Don’t need to.”

“Why?”

“Always happy to help.”

“But-”

“It’ll cost you too much for help. You’d be sleeping at your job if that happens.”

He could easily earn up to thousands if he gave into the temptations and started working for a mainstream adult film company. One that’s easily recognized from its corny storylines and cringy high-pitched over-the-top moans. Mr. Miller would be a hit, you’re sure of that. Mainstream porn only requires two things when it comes to male actors: a pretty reasonably-sized cock and charisma. Both in which he had under his belt. If he weren’t so particular with the actresses he chose, the angles in which he filmed, and the routine in which he performed in, perhaps he wouldn’t have to beat himself up to skin and bones. You leaned your cheeks onto the palm of your hands as you watched him devour his dinner.

“I need a favor.”

His fork paused.

“But you- well, you’ll laugh.”

He looked up. The crinkles beside his eyes seemed a lot more prominent, as if he’s thoroughly entertained by your youthful silliness.

“What is it? Somethin’ for Simon is it?”

He’s spot on and it’s making you shrink.

“What?” he chuckled gruffly. “You gonna ask me to teach ya how to blow a guy? Oh.. or how to hang him up in ribbons?”

You looked away, awkwardly scratching your elbow.

“Fuck. I’m spot on, am I? Didn’t take you for a kinky gal.”

“No! God, no,” you looked at him, horrified. “Not the latter.”

“The former then?”

“The former.”

The former. You couldn’t bear to wait for his delayed answer. It’s shameless for you to be asking a second time, but you couldn’t help yourself. You’re pent-up, desperate, and he’s your porn star crush forfuckssake. You stood up from where you’re seated. Your gaze was averted completely, to the point where it’s tilted at an uncomfortable angle to shuffle away from his attention. It’s better to sleep it off. Then maybe you’d act like all this didn’t happen the next day. Sarah’s going to be around for breakfast, so he’d surely keep his mouth in check and draw his way out of this. Wouldn’t he.. would he-

“Hey, hey slow down.”

You felt a hand stop you. His grip was tight, possibly bruising if you were to retaliate any other way. It was still hard to meet his eyes, especially when you had to make the special effort to tilt your head up in order to meet his searing gaze. You waited instead, letting him hinder you of any movements as you stared intensely into his flannel-cladded chest. What was he going to say? Is he going to call you up for your perverseness? Was he-

“I’ll do it.”

“What?”

“I said I’ll do it.”

His voice clambered in the chambers of your heart. Masculine, thick with an inch of Southern bass, he took hold of your other hand with those thick fingers of his. This was different from your first lesson. He looked much more.. impatient. A bit of a rough edge when it comes to handling you, a pretty little thing that’s too brave and forward for your own good. His scent, fragments of wood and a taste of clean laundry, permeated the thick air around you. You inhaled him. All of him for the first time in a very very long week. He released the steel grip he had around your wrists and traced it over the rough outline of your body. Up, up, up, until he reached the span of your shoulder. Your breath hitched. All you could feel in your heart was a repeating desire for himhimhim.

He pushed you down slowly, guiding you to lower yourself before him. Right until your knees hit the freezing linoleum tiles beneath his feet. What were you doing? Is it the right decision to fall back into the same old mistake?

“Have you ever practiced on anything before?” he chuckled, almost demeaning in a sense. “A banana or a hairbrush perhaps?”

You shook your head no. All you could see was his dirty jeans, stained of dry concrete and paint.

He brought his rough fingers down to graze against your chin, tilting it upwards so that you’d face him. His eyes were dark, hooded, and trying its best to conceal its obvious amusement. Your chest heaved up and down. Nervous of what he’s about to do next.

“Let’s practice first, ‘kay, sweetheart?” he muttered.

Mr. Miller brought his other pair of fingers next to your face, cradling it with such reverence. He swiped your lips. Bottom then top, only to delve inside your mouth to wet it with enough lubricant. He’s initiating it. His little routine. The older man brought two of his fingers, his index and middle, before he inserted it slowly into your wet cavity. Slowly. Achingly slow. He made sure that you’re comfortable with just a knuckle deep before he proceeded to push in further until the tips sat at the very beginning of your tongue. It wasn’t a familiar feeling like rubbing your clit. You struggle not to gag, or to whimper at the sheer lewdness of the scene unfolding.

“Ah, what a smart girl,” he mused. “Lay your tongue flat for me.”

Your clammy palms fell helplessly atop your smooth pajama pants, gripping on the cotton everytime it felt like too much. His thick fingers separated to make the girth much larger, preparing you for what’s to come. It’s almost as if you could taste him. Taste the natural scent Mr. Miller has around him at all times, taste the carnal desire he held for this. You knew he wouldn’t openly admit it, but this time, it truly looked like he’s looking forward to ripping your innocence away. All his feigned affection stretched thin as you obeyed him perfectly. Tongue flat on the base of your mouth, you breathed in through your nose as best as you can.

“That boy wouldn’t like it if you’re sharp with your teeth,” he muttered as he pulled his fingers away. A string of saliva connected the tip of his wet fingers to your slacked jaw. Oh, how vulgar. Your tight entrance twitched and throbbed inside your panties. Arousal started to wet the thin material, painting dark circles that contrast with the bright color. You were heaving, panting from the sudden increase of oxygen. “So no teeth, keep your tongue flat, and breathe through your nose.”

“You got that, sweetheart?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, who?”

“Yes, Mr. Miller.”

“Alright. Would you like me to take my pants off or do you wanna try it yourself?”

You looked up at the tempting prospect. He gave you a little nod, affirming that you indeed had the upper hand to the situation. And just like that your hands were quick to get on the perimeter of his belt. You loosened the leather from its metal confines, slowly pulling it away from the hook before leaving it. The leather hung from where his two front loops were located. Meekly, you looked up once more as your soft fingers felt his buttons up. He hissed through his pursed lips, a good reaction you assume, as you slowly unbuttoned the main button. You were confident enough now to tug away at his zippers. Step one was completed, you’ve successfully opened him up like a Christmas present.

But.. what’s next?

“What do I do next?”

“What do you think you do?”

You reached out for the waistband of his briefs, but you were quickly met with a little slap on the back of your hand. Not a hurtful one. Just a little reminder.

“It’s best if you get him worked up first so he’s fully hard when you’re ready,” he whispered. “Why don’t you press some gentle kisses on it?”

You hummed in agreement, before you did as you’re told. Even with the dim lighting of the dining room, you could see clearly where the outline of his cock is. It’s semi-erected, you deduced. You’ve seen him in all his glory to the point where you could calculate how much more he could grow. Gently, you closed the gap between you and those pair of briefs he’s wearing. Your mouth was hot and warm in contrast to the cold air, so when you finally pressed a kiss on top of his clothed shaft, his cock twitched immediately. You could feel it and see it too in certain lighting. Encouraged, you press even more kisses on each and every spot, slowly building up the desire until you reach the leaking tip. You nuzzled your nose close. It smelled like him, salty with a tinge of masculine musk.

This turned you on so much that you inevitably grinded your bottom towards the cold tile. Nothing was there to satiate your throbbing core, just a short term burst of pleasure.

“Shit, sweetie,” he hissed. “I think you’re ready.”

With haste, you quickly tugged on his waistband. You didn’t expect for his length to pop out that quickly, the startled reaction you had was proof of that. He looked.. pretty. Blushed beige with a ruddy tip that's covered. It’s a little silly that that’s the first thing that came to your mind, but it’s the truth. You’d never guess that you could get this up close. Eye level to the cock you’ve been fantasizing about, where you could practically see each and every one of his veins. You didn’t say one word. Instead, you settled on observing the new interest. Your one finger went up curiously to touch the white substance that’s pooling up top. Sticky, you thought. Out of curiosity, you stuck the lone finger down your throat. Salty was the next thought in line.

“Didn’t expect you to taste it,” he chuckled.

You simmered in the sudden embarrassment.

“What’s next? Should I just put it in my mouth?”

“You could.”

“There’s another way?” you peered up curiously.

“Well,” he hummed. You watched as his finger pried your lips open once more, urging you to stick out your wet tongue. “You could make a show out of it. Look me in the eye and lick me slowly.”

You quirked your eyebrows as if unsure if this will work. You’ve never taken yourself as a ‘sexy’ person. Will this even work? To get rid of those plaguing thoughts, you decided to take a leap of faith. You stuck your tongue out more and slowwwwly dragged it along his salty length. You made sure to keep your eyes on his, watching his every micro reaction to decide which one pleased him more. This is supposed to be about Simon! Why are you.. seeking for his validation? On instinct, you pulled the hooded skin back to reveal his furiously red tip. You laughed nervously before you experimentally sucked on it. The wet warmth instantly had him buck up into you, a strained groan following suit. 

“Oh shit,” he cursed. “You’re doing good.”

Getting confident, you decided to suckle on it a little more. It tasted a lot more intense than what you’ve tasted of him, but it wasn’t bad at all.

“You think you could take more, sweetheart?”

You nodded before letting his length infiltrate your mouth even more. The end touched the back of your throat ambitiously before you had to pull back and set yourself onto his sensitive tip once more. It wasn’t as easy as his co-stars are making it seem. There was a rhythm in which you have to master, a balance of push and pull so that you don’t gag at the intrusion. His soft groans were heavenly. You didn’t get to hear much of it the first time around, but now it’s all you could think of. You can’t take it anymore! You just had to touch yourself.

“Shit, you’re a dirty gal, are ya?” he chuckled. “Had to touch yourself to this?”

You cried out a muffled moan. It was all too familiar. The way in which you slipped your hand into your pants, shuffling between the layers of panties to rub at your clit. You were already drenched with need. Strings of arousal webbed between your fingers as you rubbed figure eights all across the sensitive patch of nerves. You’re losing track of the rhythm and Mr. Miller took notice of that. He was kind enough to lead you. His fingers slotted perfectly behind the crown of your head, guiding you in a pace you could tolerate.

“Perfect mouth for little Simon,” he degraded.

Mr. Miller’s large hands continued to move you at a certain pace. The time slot left for you to gather your breath tightened and it’s almost like you could pass out from the lack of oxygen. But it felt too good. He tasted too nice. You’ve got his cock in your mouth and it’s spurting out tangy liquid goodness onto your tongue, what else can you ask for? 

You continued to grind onto the palm of your hand, desperate enough to not think of how shameless you looked. So slick, your fingers let out a lewd pop everytime it dipped inside of you. Usually you weren’t fond of vaginal penetration by yourself, but the thought of having his cock inside of you left you rabid. This was supposed to be about Simon, is it not?

“You wanna know what a real man tastes like?” he mused out lazily.

You nodded desperately. Mr. Miller held your head tight against his pelvis. Your nose grazed against the coarse dark curls he had as he twitched inside of you. You continued to slick the pads of your fingers against yourself. An entire week of masturbation being combined into one as you felt that familiar pressure build in your stomach. A coil waiting to be snapped.

“Sh- shit.”

Mr. Miller broke first. He hunched slightly as he rode his orgasm out. You could see how his legs trembled and his hips bucked himself even further down your throat. 

There it was. The salty trace you tried earlier came in big spurts down your throat, only when you couldn’t fit more did it start seeping out your mouth. It dribbled down the gaps between his softened cock and your aching mouth, stripes of white just trickling down vulgarly. You moaned into his cock, wetting the flimsy material of your panties. A combination of the scent his cock gave to the familiar rubs to your clit had you seeing stars. You knew for a fact that the linoleum tiles would be soaked with your juices when you come up to your feets. 

This isn’t a problem anymore, it’s a catastrophe.

[hollybell51]

If I don't have you

Navigation

Ethan Hunt x AFAB!Reader

Mission Impossible (around MI3)

Word count: 6.6K

Summary: your mind won't let go of a close call, or all the things that remain unsaid between you and Ethan.

Content: gratuitous smut, angst, light blood/wounds (canon typical), swearing, angst with a happy ending, some mildly dubious moments (ie., sneaking into people's beds), but there's explicit consent so dw about that. Friends to lovers, first kisses (like between people), oral (f receiving), handjobs, making out, missionary, unprotected sex, bit of dirty talk, sappy love confessions (I'm a sap myself, give me a break). I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything.

Notes: hey guys I'm back with another terrible title and porn nobody asked for! I've recently been consumed by Mission Impossible and was devastated by the lack of Ethan Hunt content, and I may or may not be starting down the Tom Cruise rabbit hole, so I did the natural thing and wrote some good old smut. This man makes me absolutely feral in every film (sixty fucking one and he's still got it! What the fuck!) but the long hair really gets me (you all know this already) so I chose to go with somewhere around the MI3 mark. I'm also somehow convinced that he just gets hotter with each film but that's another issue.

Mandatory disclaimer, I don't really care what Tom Cruise does in his own free time with his money and energy but I personally don't fuck with scientology, so yeah. Anyways, enjoy!

The door to the hotel room banged shut behind you, loud and sudden in the cool stillness of the evening. Your face felt hot, and not just because of the heat outside or the fact that you’d just effectively undertaken a high-speed parkour course, blood rushing in your ears, heart pounding. 

“What the hell, Ethan?” you hissed as you spun to face him, jerking your arm out of his grip. 

He ignored you, stepping closer in the narrow entryway. “Are you hurt?” 

Were you hurt? God, it never failed to amaze you just how little regard this man had for his own safety. First he’d quite literally jumped off the roof of a building (albeit a low building, and he’d slid down the tented roof of one of the market stalls first), then raced head-first into what had nearly ended up an all-out fire fight, despite you and Luther both yelling across the comms at him to stop, go around and cut them off! Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t listened. 

“That was fucking insane!” you burst. 

“Are you ok?” 

You were being pursued, first at a walk and then a run. Ethan had seen, you’d told him and Luther both over the comms, and had been receiving directions from the latter. But there were three men chasing you – working for the man you were stalking, most likely, although you weren’t sure – and the streets were unfamiliar, the heat of the evening oppressive, the crush of bodies at the market stifling and the air dusty and thick. You knew, even as your feet pounded on the uneven ground, that you were not going to outlast these men – locals, larger and more numerous than you. 

“You’re fucking insane, you know that?” 

Ethan had barrelled into you from the side just as the first gunshot had gone off, rolling with a grunt and a curse over some poor stallholder’s display and behind a wall of crates. The rush of relief his presence unfailingly conjured was short-lived as he dragged you to your feet, a quick “alright?” and that goddamn movie-star grin before he was pushing you out from behind the makeshift shelter and back into the crowd. You hadn’t even noticed the substantial tear in his shirt or the rough hatching of a graze high on his cheek until you’d been leaning against a wall, panting and a little shaky, but alive and free of your pursuers. 

You’d almost ripped him a (another) new one then and there, but then he’d shaken his head at you and held up his hand, panting, “let’s just get back,” before you could even open your mouth. So you’d held your tongue. Until you’d gotten back. 

Now, both his hands were on your shoulders, firm and warm, holding you still. “(Y/N),” he was saying, his eyes searching your face. “Are you hurt?” 

“No,” you sighed after a moment, half tempted to jerk out of his grasp again. You didn’t. “I’m fine. Are you?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He nodded, his hands sliding down to grip your arms. The graze wasn’t too bad up close, but as your eyes flicked to the cut on his arm, your anger reared its head again. God, if that had been twenty centimetres to the right…

“No you’re fuckin not,” you said, breathing deeply. It was late, and you didn’t want to disturb anyone more than you already had. “Let me see that.” 

His hands dropped from you altogether, and he stepped back. “It’s fine, (Y/N), just a graze.” 

“A bullet graze!” 

“It’s fine.” 

You shook your head, closing what little distance had opened up between you to point your finger into his chest. “Don’t ever pull shit like that again.” 

“No promises,” he shrugged.

Jesus fucking Christ! You had half a mind to grab his gun off him and finish the job right there, see how fine he’d be with his brains blown onto the wall behind him. Even then he’d brush it off as a bruise, maybe a light concussion. You swallowed. “Ethan, you could have been killed !” 

“But I wasn’t. All that matters is that you’re alright.” He’d taken your hand, folding your accusing finger back towards your palm gently – so gently it made your heart ache – and enclosing your fist in his much larger one. Your stupid, traitorous stomach did a flip to rival his acrobatics. 

“No,” you gritted, “that’s not all that matters! You fucking–” matter. You matter to me. You pressed your lips firmly together, the words boiling in the back of your throat, spiralling into a hard, painful lump. You matter, Ethan, more than any fucking mission. None of it would mean shit if you didn’t make it, if I didn’t have you. You matter and I fucking love you, you idiot!

He was looking at you oddly, you realised, the silence hanging between you so thickly you’d need a damn chainsaw to cut it. His hand still cradled yours, but as you watched, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly and the ready-for-anything gleam you were so painfully familiar with faded from his eyes. 

You both turned as someone – Luther – cleared his throat, a sharp silhouette against the glow of twilight through the window behind him. 

“Are you alright?” your friend asked, looking between the two of you. 

“Yeah,” you huffed, pulling back and running both your now-free hands through your hair. 

“Ethan?” 

“Yeah.” 

Another silence, though less tense. 

“Taking a shower,” you muttered, feeling your own body slouch as the adrenaline drained from you. You were sweaty, hot, dusty, shaky and too strung out for any more of this shit. Nobody stopped you as you trudged past first Ethan, then Luther, down the narrow hallway and into the small hotel bathroom. You thought you could hear Luther’s rumbling voice over the stream of shower water, Ethan’s higher-pitched response, but couldn’t make out any words. Maybe that was for the better.

In your dream, Ethan wasn’t fine. In your dream, he hadn’t moved as fast and wasn’t stumbling to his feet, pulling you with him. In your dream, he went down and stayed down, breath coming fast and short, and instead of a rip in his sleeve there was a dark stain spreading over his chest. 

“Ethan?” you said, watching yourself scramble across the rough dirt of the street to his side, your hands flitting uselessly over his torso. 

He cursed, taking your hand as he had so many times before, big and warm and more comforting than it had any right to be. “You alright?” he asked, teeth gritted. 

“Yeah, fine. Fuck, Ethan hold on–” 

“No, (Y/N)–” 

“Hold on , dammit!” It was amazing how viscerally you could feel the pain, sharp and hot like a gunshot wound of your own. You fumbled at your pockets with one hand, pressing down on his chest with the other, but your phone was nowhere to be found. When you shouted for an ambulance or help or anything at all, nobody was listening. The market bustled on around you, the people no more real than shadows on a wall. 

Ethan was saying your name again, his blood hot and wet against your palm. Too much, too much too fast. 

“All that matters is that you’re alright,” he was telling you, and half your mind was seeing him as he had been in the hallway – serious, sweaty, patch of pink skin over his cheekbone hatched with where the dirt had caught and cut it as he’d rolled. 

In your dream, you told the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth, words spilling from you in a sick waterfall. “You matter, Ethan. You matter to me, I love you, do you know how much you matter to me?” 

You’d seen people die before. It was part and parcel of your job, so you knew what it looked like. This was no different. Ethan’s eyes were hazy, unfocussed, and he was too pale. There was a light sheen of sweat beading his face and neck. His chest was soaked with his blood and your hands were slick with it. His fingers were loosening around your own. 

“Ethan?” you asked, your own grip slackening as his head lolled. “Ethan, come on, just hold on–” 

No one’s coming. 

“Hold on, Ethan. Don’t go. Don’t go, I can’t do this without you.” 

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. 

“Please, just– listen to me. You don’t know. You have no idea how much you matter to me, how much I need you. Ethan, come on, I love you!” 

In your dream, Ethan was dead and you woke shivering despite the warmth of the room. You lay stock-still, counting to ten again and again until your breathing finally slowed and your heart rate returned to normal. You wriggled down under the sheet you’d draped over yourself, curling inwards and wishing for something more substantial than the loose t-shirt – once Ethan’s – and your underwear. 

You’d watched Ethan die a thousand times, in a thousand different ways. Nobody would ever torture it out of you, but these – when he didn’t know, when it was too late before you told him – were the worst. It left you with a sick feeling in your gut, a hollow emptiness in your chest where your heart and lungs should have been, and limbs so heavy you were always surprised you managed to get up the next morning. And, of course, the inevitable wave of loathing at how fucking pathetic you were dreaming about telling your partner – friend , probably your best friend, because you were long past being coworkers – that you loved him. 

You sighed, turning over. It was close to the full moon, the open window casting a rectangle of silver over the lump that was your legs, the light breeze moving the curtains gently. You could get up and close it. You should. 

You’d been too pissed off and tired after your shower to do much more than grunt thanks to Luther when he handed you a cold doner kebab, eat it, then fall onto your bed and close your eyes. Usually, you’d have forced Ethan to take a shower too, waited until he emerged in fresh clothes and smelling like cheap soap, hair damp and curling around his ears, and patted the spot on the couch or bed or floor beside you. He’d always roll his eyes but sit anyway, and he’d stay sitting as you cleaned and dressed – sometimes stitched – whatever injuries he’d acquired with only minimal complaining. He’d give you the same treatment afterwards. 

You hadn’t done any of that before, and now you missed the little ritual. You’d been mentally cataloguing the first aid kit for antiseptic cream, bandages, wound pads, suture needles and sterile thread as soon as it had even clocked in your mind that he had more than just the graze to his cheek, the uncomfortable weight of your dream growing heavier with the realisation that you’d left it all to him. And Luther, you supposed. 

It was such a little thing, but in the moment it seemed to loom over you, blocking out the moon’s rectangle. 

You sighed again, your feet hitting the floor before you’d even fully realised that you were getting up. 2.28 AM glowed sickly green from the digital clock on the nightstand. Maybe if you hadn’t had that specific dream, you thought, you would have given this more consideration. Turned over and closed your eyes, decided to wait until morning proper, dismissed your guilt and concern as remnants of a stressful evening. But you had had that dream, and now that you’d eased the door open and were slipping down the hallway towards the room Ethan occupied, there was no way you could have turned back. 

His door was ajar, and didn’t squeal or protest when you eased it open. The set-up, like most hotel bedrooms, was exactly the same as your own. Cupboard on one wall (open, with a duffle bag resting half in and half out of it), dresser next to the door (two guns and a few spare magazines next to them), and a double bed by the window. The orientation of the room meant that the moonlight fell on the floor instead of the bed, but you could still clearly make out Ethan’s prone form, sheet wrinkled and twisted under him, one arm dangling over the side of the mattress, a few strands of hair over his face fluttering with each breath. 

You’d seen him asleep before, of course you had. There hadn’t always been hotel rooms with two bedrooms and a pull-out couch to rotate through, nice as that was. There hadn’t even always been separate beds or mattresses – or any at all. Sometimes you ended up side by side in a queen that was supposed to be two singles, slumped on top of him in the back of a van or on a rooftop, curled against his back in a sleeping bag that was only really meant for one person. You didn’t mind, not really, but seeing him like that – totally relaxed, peaceful – tugged at something deep inside you. 

You hesitated, one hand on the doorframe, shivering once more in the breeze from his open window. The curtains billowed inwards, floated suspended for a moment, then receded back to brush at the thick sill. The bed rustled as Ethan turned over, and you froze. He’d said something, you thought he’d said something that sounded like your name. Then he did it again, and you were sure. 

“(Y/N).” 

You crossed the room silently, kneeling then lying smoothly on the bed and against his back like you were made to fit there. He hummed softly as your arm slid over his ribs, your fingers splayed over his heart. Still beating, strong and even and alive. 

He sighed, shifting ever so slightly back towards you, his own hand finding yours, larger fingers lacing with your own. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathed. The dressing on his arm where the bullet had clipped him seemed to glow, taunting you. He did this himself, it said. You left, he almost took a fucking bullet for you and you didn’t even fix it for him .

The slow expansion and contraction of his torso paused for a moment. Neither of you were heavy sleepers, your job had seen to that. “(Y/N)?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What’re you sorry for?” he asked, voice thick with sleep. 

Everything. “Yelling at you. I just…” You paused, no longer cold in the shadow of your dream, but still aware of its presence. “I don’t wanna see you get hurt.” 

There was a beat of silence, then he was turning over again to face you, his hand slipping from your own to run up over your forearm, your elbow, your upper arm, catching momentarily on the sleeve of your shirt before coming to rest on your shoulder. “You’re here,” he whispered. “Thought I was dreaming…” 

You smiled, reaching out to run your fingers around the neck of his wifebeater singlet. Even just waking up, he looked good in the damn thing. “You were.” 

He frowned, the patch of rough red hashing standing out in the silvery dimness. Up this close, you could see every minute crease between his brows that hadn’t been there a minute ago, every tiny line of tension around his eyes. “What’re you doing here?” he asked. 

 You shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. I felt bad.” I couldn’t help you. I couldn’t help you and I couldn’t tell you, and you still don’t know. 

“For yelling at me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I don’t wanna see you get hurt, either. That’s–” 

“All that matters. You said.” 

You were at a crossroads. You felt it as if someone had infused your every cell with the knowledge that you had two options, and you could only take one, and it would change things. How, you weren’t sure, but the sticky warmth of Ethan’s blood between your fingers and the rough dirt digging into your knees still made your skin tingle. 

“You’re wrong,” you continued. “That’s not all that matters.” 

The frown deepened. “Hm?” 

“You matter, Ethan. To me. If I don’t have you…” You shrugged, once again counting your breaths. How was it that you were more highly strung now than you had been while you were quite literally being chased through a market and shot at? It was so far away now, a distant memory of someone else. This, here, the gap barely wider than ten centimetres between your face and Ethan’s, the warm air and the pale moonlight, the warmer weight of his hand still on your shoulder… That was real. 

But bravery – a strange word, you realised, even as you had the thought – only went so far. “Don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” you finished lamely. 

He knew it wasn’t what you’d been going to say, that it barely went half way to getting across what you wanted to. But still, he just smiled and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You won’t ever have to find out.” 

Maybe you weren’t really awake. Maybe you’d wandered into his dream instead of his room, or maybe (and more likely) he’d found his way into yours. Maybe you really had turned over and gone back to sleep instead of padding down the hall and sliding in next to him, and this was your mind’s way of apologising to you for the earlier horror show. It must be, you reasoned, because somewhere you’d ended up pressed against his front – something that hadn’t happened before; you always found yourself curled around him from behind. Your skin felt like it was on fire as his hand slid across your collar, up your neck to rest on your cheek. 

The kiss, when it came, hardly registered as something new. After all, how many times had this played out in your mind? How many times had you wondered what it would be like to move those last few centimetres, lean across that last gap, shove the two of you over that line like he’d shoved you out of the way of that bullet. It was an extension of where you were right now, of where you’d been for the last however long, of where you’d somehow known you were eventually going to end up. 

He was as gentle with you as he’d always been, soft and so painfully careful. He held you like you might break, as if you were something precious and delicate, his hand warm where he cradled your face. You felt the last sticky residue of tension and fear drain from your body as you slid the hand that had been resting on his chest down, over his ribs, around his back, pressing between his shoulder blades. 

“Ethan,” you whispered as he pulled away, still close enough that you could feel his breath on your face. You weren’t shivering anymore. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he replied, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face. 

You smiled, every cell in your body tingling with warmth. “So’re you.” 

“Mm-mm,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Not like you. You have no idea how beautiful you are.” 

There wasn’t much your kiss-addled, Ethan-filled brain could say to that. You closed the gap once more, his mouth impossibly soft, the faint hint of his toothpaste clinging to his tongue when it slid against your own. Someone – you or him, you weren’t sure – made a tiny noise somewhere in the realm of a sigh as you shifted even closer to him, hooking your leg over his. 

He was almost on top of you now, leaning over you, suspended carefully on one arm. You’d been here before, pressed into the floor of wherever you were sparring, sweaty and determined to do whatever it took to gain the upper hand again. Secretly, though, you’d wondered what that would feel like like this, and now you wondered if he had, too. 

Just as you had all those other times, you pushed your hips up off the mattress and flipped him smoothly. He huffed as you straddled him, blinking up at you in surprise before a smile spread over his face and he sat up, kissing you once more, his hands settling on your hips. You were half aware of your body curving towards his as your hands tangled in his hair, the rapid deterioration of your kisses into something that probably wouldn’t fit the word under any stringent definition. 

“Can I?” he asked, fingers flitting around the hem of your shirt. 

You just nodded, pulling the garment over your head quicker than you ever had before and casting it aside. If Ethan recognised it, he didn’t say anything. 

“You too,” you whispered when he didn’t show any signs of copying you, pulling at the thin cotton of his own shirt. 

“Huh?” 

“Shirt, dummy,” you smiled. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one who’s naked.” 

“All’s fair in love and war.” 

Love. Your heart sped up at the word. This could be love. Or war, you supposed.

“I don’t think that’s what that means,” you said, wrinkling your nose. 

“Sure it is,” he shrugged. But his hands were at the hem of the stupid thing, and before you could say anything else he was easing it over his head – mindful of his arm – and tossing it to join yours. “Fair now?” 

“Yeah.” You’d seen him without a shirt before. Changing in the back of a van, bandaging a cracked rib or disinfecting a patch of tiny cuts where he’d rolled through broken glass (which happened far too frequently, in your opinion), passing him on his way out of the bathroom. Every time made your stomach flip over and your mind race, but you’d never been able to touch him like this before; run your hands down over his shoulders and arms, across his stomach, up again over his chest, around his ribcage, down the curve of his spine. 

He was in the same boat, you supposed, smiling as his hand slid appreciatively up your side, thumb skimming the soft underside of your breast. You moaned as he bent to kiss down the column of your throat, sucking at the flesh over your jugular and where your neck met your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin occasionally, tongue soothing the blossoming marks left behind. 

“Can I ask you something?” you sighed as he mouthed at the hollow of your collar bone. 

“Yeah.” 

“You said my name before. Were you dreaming about me?” 

Again, “Yeah.” 

You smiled. “What about me?” 

“That you were here.” He broke away from your skin, stretching to place a soft kiss on your lips. “And you were safe.” 

“Well I am.” There was more to it, you could feel it. 

“You are.” Another kiss, almost chaste in its brevity. 

“What else?” you asked. 

He paused, hesitant, then, “You had your legs around my neck.” 

Oh. Oh. 

“Fuck, Ethan,” you whispered. That image wasn’t a new one. The fact that he dreamed about you was news enough, but that… That sent a veritable deluge of heat and desire down through your body, pooling wetly between your thighs. You had to consciously stop yourself from grinding on him right then and there.  

You wouldn’t have been able to, anyway. He was pushing you backwards now, his kisses trailing down over your sternum, between your breasts – he paused here to mouth at one, kneading the other gently, making you moan again – and on to your stomach. He slowed when he reached the waistband of your underwear, kissing across the bridge between your hip bones, leaving you a belt of faint hickeys. 

“Can–” 

“Yes,” you answered.

He looked up at you from where he’d slid between your legs, one hand on your hip and the other pushing at your thigh. His hair hung over his forehead and almost into his eyes (you’d been trying to get him to let you trim it for weeks now), lips pink and kiss-swollen and so pretty. “Ok,” he smiled, pulling your underwear down over your legs shockingly easily, considering they were still wrapped around his waist. You cursed softly as he bent his head again, kissing the inside of your thigh. 

“Wondered what this’d be like,” he whispered, sucking at a spot beside it.

“Fuck, Ethan,” you gasped, your hand sliding down to rest on his head, fingers carding through his hair. 

He hummed softly into your skin. “What you’d taste like.” 

You cursed again as he licked over the mark, fingers skirting where you wanted him most, your skin on fire with every kiss.

“What you’d sound like.”

You pressed your lips together firmly, stifling any sound as he slid a finger over your wetness. You raised your head, meeting his eyes directly. “Do you wanna find out?” 

“Yes,” he breathed. His breath hitched in his chest, and there was that perfect movie-star grin. “Fuck, yes.” 

You opened your mouth to say something to that, but before the words had formed in your mind Ethan was licking up your cunt and the only thing that came out of your mouth was an embarrassingly loud moan. You felt him smile, his own soft noise of pleasure muffled against your flesh as he licked again, then sucked determinedly at your clit. 

“Oh, fuck , Ethan–” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, legs locked around his shoulders. 

“Hm?” 

“That’s fucking– You’re– Holy shit that’s good.” 

Ethan just grinned again, his tongue flicking over you, one finger circling your entrance. A suggestion. “Is this alright?” 

You nodded frantically, pressing your lips together as he pushed it inside you. “Yes,” you whined as he licked you again, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress as the hand not gripping his hair twisted in the sheets. He groaned softly, the sound reverberating over you as he sucked your clit, his finger working your hole. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–” you panted, practically grinding on his face. 

A soft hum, then he was adding a second finger, lapping up everything you were giving him as you squirmed , your breath coming in ragged gasps. You could feel the orgasm coming now, coiling in your stomach like a spring, hot and tight and Ethan was the one building it up. Every curl of his fingers, every brush of his tongue and lips, every little grunt or hum, and his free hand gripping your thigh like a vice. You hoped you’d have bruises. 

“Oh, oh, Ethan, oh my God–” 

Close, you were so damn close. You were aware of your hips jutting up against his face, and the tiny part of your brain that wasn’t consumed with pleasure and want might have felt bad. 

“I’m gonna– fuck – holy shit , Ethan– Ethan I’m gonna–” 

Then everything was crashing around you and you were crying his name, your legs spasming and your spine arching, electricity fizzing through you. Ethan continued fucking you with his hand, slower and gentler now, his mouth soft on your sensitive clit. Maybe it was gradual, maybe not, but eventually your body transitioned from roiling static to a gentle buzz and your grip on his hair slackened, your legs relaxing around his shoulders. 

He sat calmly between your legs, licking his fingers. The entire lower half of his face shone silver in the moonlight with your slick, his lips pink and swollen, eyes fixed keenly on you. You thought if he looked at you like that a second longer, you were going to cum all over again. 

You smiled at him, your hand finding his where it still rested on your hip. Gently (though maybe it was because your limbs still felt so heavy and floppy), you pulled him up the bed and down on top of yourself, stretching up to kiss him hard. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue when it slid into your mouth, and his hand on your skin was slightly sticky. It slid around your waist, pushing against the small of your back, pressing your chest to his. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to get enough of it.

You whispered his name against his lips, your own hands settled firmly around his shoulders, holding on for dear life. The fabric of his underwear – why the hell was he still wearing anything? – seemed to burn where it brushed over your hip, pressing hot and hard against you. 

“(Y/N),” he breathed, pulling back enough to study your face carefully, as if he were memorising every detail. 

You felt the air catch in your lungs, your heart skip a beat. “You’re so…” Pretty. Lovely. Gorgeous. Hot. Handsome. Beautiful. You’re everything, Ethan. “God, I love you.”

He froze, and it was only then that you realised you’d said it. You’d actually said the goddamn words, aloud, to him. 

“Are you serious?” he asked. Not incredulous, not judgemental, simply seeking clarification. 

And how the hell were you supposed to lie? You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry. 

“Say it again.” 

“I love you,” you repeated numbly. Then, swallowing, “Is that ok?” 

Another beat passed in silence, then he laughed. “Yes, dammit, I love you too.” 

“You… love me too.” Had you heard him right? Had you somehow wandered back to your dream, fallen into an orgasm-dulled sleep and imagined the last few minutes? But no, Ethan’s lips felt real enough when they brushed yours again, his fingers felt real enough on your back. 

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” 

“Say it again.” 

“I love you. And you love me, don’t you?” 

You nodded, an absurd bubble of laughter swelling in your chest. “Yes,” you grinned. “I love you, Ethan.”

This kiss was different. A kiss has to taste different after something like that, you supposed, and you were both still smiling. You reached down, your fingers skirting the waistband of his underwear, then further still to press your hand against his hard bulge. He moaned into your mouth, breaking the kiss to glance down, up again. 

“Off,” you whispered, already pulling at the fabric. He obliged, quickly and smoothly as he’d rid himself of his shirt, and in a moment his lips were back against your own, hot and hungry. You took his cock in your hand, your own lips moving away from his across his jaw, the hollow where it met his neck, his skin clean and smooth and tasting faintly of hotel soap. 

His dick was hot to the touch, thick and long and roped with veins. You’d wondered, sometimes, what this would feel like. You’d imagined the sound he’d make when you touched him like this (it couldn’t ever have come close to the real thing, you knew that now), how that hot weight would feel against your tongue. He groaned in earnest as you stroked your hand along his length, your thumb swiping around the leaking head. He cursed softly, your name hissing between his teeth, hips moving gently in tandem with your hand. 

“I wanted you for so long, Ethan,” you murmured into his neck. “You have no idea.” 

“Yeah?” 

You smiled. “I dream about you too, you know.” 

He faltered, just for a moment, then, “What about me?” 

You felt your smile widen and you frantically suppressed the urge to laugh again at the echo of your own earlier words. “I dream about fucking you six ways into next week,” you said simply. “Sucking your cock till I’m choking on it and making you cum in my mouth. Or in my pussy, I don’t care.”

“Oh fuck, (Y/N), Jesus,” he groaned, the sound sending another bolt of heat to your still sensitive pussy. “You think about that when we’re out there?” 

“Mhm.” This time you did laugh, nothing more than a soft exhale, not stopping your hand’s movements. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to jerk you off when you’re tryna aim a gun.” 

His cock twitched in your grasp, a low moan pressed back behind his lips. “God, (Y/N) that’s–” 

“Insane?” 

“So fucking hot. You’re so fucking hot.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Wanna feel you, all of you. Can I?” 

Now it was your turn to curse. “Yes,” you breathed, wriggling to wrap your legs around his waist, your hand leaving its place to grip his shoulder, run down his arm, guide his hand to your hip. “Please, Ethan.”

“Here?” 

“Yeah. Here.” You ground your hips against his, already tingling as his cock slid against your slick centre. “I want you inside me. Need you.” 

“Shit, ok, just let me–” He broke off as he sank into you, his hum of pleasure mingling with your own breathy moan. Maybe it was the after effects of your earlier orgasm, the dream state you still weren’t entirely sure you’d broken out of, or a combination of both, but you swore that nothing would ever top this feeling. It was like he was made for you, slow and soft as he pulled out and pushed back in, did it again, then again and again. 

“Shit, Ethan,” you whispered, your hand coming up to run over the back of his head, fingers carding through his mussed-up hair as he bent his head to kiss your chest. You were glad it was still long enough for this, that you hadn’t managed to get him to cut it. He groaned against you and you smiled to yourself, stroking his scalp again and coaxing another wonderful little moan. You curled your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, lifting your hips off the mattress in time with his thrusts. His breath fanned over your neck, the muscles of his arm taut. 

“Harder?” you murmured. “Don’t have to be so gentle.” 

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he replied, his breath warm against your skin. 

“You won’t, don’t worry. Please?” 

He raised his head, eyes searching your face. “Ok,” he said, dipping down to kiss your lips quickly and softly before he was drawing away and sitting back between your legs, lifting your hips with one hand and sliding a pillow under your lower back with the other. 

Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies swirling alongside the magma in your stomach. This time he pushed hard into you, his cock stroking every inch of your insides, the hand that had been on your hip sliding to press down on your pelvis. “Yes,” you gasped, “yes, just like that.” 

“Like this?” Another thrust, even and determined. 

“Yeah, oh fuck that’s so good.” You reached up over your head, one hand gripping the headboard of the bed as the other twisted in the sheets, eyes fixed on Ethan. He was so beautiful in the moonlight, shining as though he was cast in silver. He was a fucking masterpiece. 

“You’re so good,” he said. “You look so perfect like that, feel like Heaven, (Y/N), I swear.” 

Oh, did he know what he was doing to you? Every jolt of his hips against yours building low inside you, his barely restrained little sounds and the heaving of his chest. You weren’t going to last much longer. 

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, “ fuck, Ethan, you feel so good. Making me feel so fucking good, so good , you have no idea.” 

“Hm?” 

“So hot. You’re so goddamn hot, you know that?” 

“(Y/N)–” 

You were close. You were so fucking close, wound tight and ready to snap at any moment. You whined his name, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts, legs tight around his waist. 

“Fuck, (Y/N), I’m– I’m gonna–” He broke off, pressing his lips together, his eyes fixed on you. 

“Yeah? You gonna cum?”

“Yeah, fuck, where do I–” 

“In me.” 

“You sure?” 

Were you sure? You’d been sure for way too long now. “Yeah, dammit, wanna feel you cum in my pussy, fucking filling me up so good–” 

That did it. His thrusts stuttered and slowed as he spilled inside you, his chest heaving and his head tilted back, eyes closed, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. God, he was just too much, and you’d made him look like that. It had been you, all you, and it was you he was still buried deep inside. Your own climax rolled over you with that, your body squeezing tight and hot around him, your grip on the bed hard enough that you were sure your knuckles were white, spine arching as bliss flooded your body. You might have said his name, he might have said yours again, but it didn’t matter. 

You lay there, warm all over and shaking, watching him. After a moment, his eyes opened and he smiled at you, gingerly pulling out to flop beside you on the mattress. 

“Clean up?” he asked, already reaching over the side of the bed. 

“Yeah.” You were too heavy to do anything but let him gently run the towel he’d found between your legs, thighs and stomach twitching when the rough cotton came into contact with your oversensitive clit. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, cursorily wiping at his own crotch before tossing the piece of fabric away. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” you sighed again, wriggling off the pillow and kicking it aside. You shifted closer to him, his arm sliding around your shoulders and pulling you against his side, his heart beating strong next to your own. Your eyes were drawn to the darker, rougher patch on his cheek, and you frowned. 

“What?” he asked. 

“This.” You ran your fingers over it gently, barely even touching the skin, doing the same to the dressing on his arm. “And this. Can I have a look tomorrow?” 

“It is tomorrow.” He nodded to the clock. Right, yeah. After midnight. “I thought I did an ok job,” he went on before you could say anything. 

“Ethan, there’s nothing even on this one,” you protested. “It’s just… there.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna kiss it better?” 

“I never said that.” You smiled, dipping to brush the spot with your lips. Featherlight, barely there. “Better?” 

He nodded. 

“I still want to check them.” 

“Ok,” he relented, squeezing your shoulder gently.  

You shifted closer, your face inches from his own. Up this close, you could see the baby hairs stuck to his forehead with sweat, every eyelash shining iridescent white under the moon. “I meant it,” you whispered.

“What?” 

“That you matter to me. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.” 

His breath rushed through his lungs and back out again as he stretched to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’re the most important thing to me, too. I love you.” 

You tilted your face to his, this time meeting his lips with your own. It was slow, unhurried, relaxed and tender, and everything you adored in Ethan. “I love you, too,” you whispered into it. Then, grinning as you drew back, “And I meant all the other stuff, too.” 

He raised an eyebrow, “All of it?” 

“Yeah.” 

His chest shook with faint laughter under you, his hand stroking over your shoulder. “I didn’t know you thought like that. Didn’t know you thought about me like that.” 

“Yeah, well…” You trailed off, shrugging, your cheeks warm. “Sorry if it was a bit much.” 

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, “it wasn’t. I liked it.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You know,” you said as you lay down, “anyone else couldn’t waterboard that out of me.” 

“Guess I’m just that special.” 

“You are, Ethan.” You weren’t shivering anymore, the only weight in you was the pleasant kind of exhaustion that came with finally being safe, being home. Ethan was alive and he knew, he knew you loved him, and he knew what he meant to you, and he loved you too. If this was a dream, it was the best one you’d ever had.

[holylulusworld]

Double the trouble

Summary: Two for the price of one.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader, Mafia!Nick Fowler x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, betrayal, lies, secrets, kinda of stalking

Catch up here: Fool me twice

That night you get to know the truth about your boyfriend. He and his twin brother are the head of the mob in town. In an attempt to keep you safe, they agreed to hide the fact that Bucky has a brother.

Nick took his place whenever Bucky had to attend one of their not-so-legal business meetings. In the beginning, Nick saw protecting you as his duty. He was loyal to his brother. Until. One day. He felt something else for you.

A connection. Love maybe.

He didn’t know and tried to hide his feelings from you and his brother. Every time you tried to get intimate, he found an excuse to not touch you. Nick even refused to kiss you to not betray his brother.

But this morning, he just couldn’t hold back any longer. You sweetly fell apart in his arms, and he admitted his sin.

His brother didn’t take Nick’s betrayal well. The confession led to a fight. The first one between the brothers since they were kids.

“How could you do this to me?” You step away when Bucky tries to reach out for you. “Don’t touch me.” You visibly shudder. “I believed he’s you. He made me believe it. I sleep with a man I don’t even know.”

Bucky winces as you start to cry. “Baby doll, I’m so fucking sorry. It never was in my plans that he touched you. I almost killed Nick for touching you.”

“Y/N, I’m not a stranger to you,” Nick sounds almost hurt. “We know each other almost as long as you know Bucky. We went to that junk market, and we had dinner at that awful restaurant you wanted to try. I let you cry into my chest when after you watched this ridiculous rom-com movie.”

“Yeah!” You shake your head. “Because I believed you are Bucky. I didn’t even know your name until tonight. When we had sex, you…you kinda…” You sniffle and look away. “I feel dirty and used.”

“Y/N,” Bucky steps toward you, but you step away. “I won’t hurt your, doll. God, I would kill myself before hurting you.”

“And yet, you let your brother take your place and—” you bite your tongue. “Even if I initiated what happened this morning, he should’ve stopped me. But no. He took advantage of me, and the fact that I didn’t know it wasn’t you.”

“His face doesn’t look like that because I went easy on him,” Bucky tries to calm you but it’s useless. Anytime he gets close to you, you step away and shake your head. “I broke his face, and more than one rib. I’m not done with him yet for what he did this morning. But it’s not completely his fault. I shouldn’t have asked him to keep an eye on you.”

“Exactly,” you point out. “You’re as guilty as he is. I ended up sleeping with a stranger because you let him into my life. Bucky, how can you say that you wanted to protect me from getting hurt, but you let your brother do this to me?”

“Baby, I—” Bucky sniffs as you start to cry again. “Please. I’ll do anything. Y/N, please don’t cry.”

“Colibri,” Nick slowly steps toward you. “Hi.” He softly says as you. “Please let us explain. We never wanted things to get so complicated. It’s my fault that I fell for you so easily.”

“You make it sound like you didn’t abuse me this morning,” you snap at Nick. “Yes, I asked you to join me in the showers, but I believed you are the man I love.”

“I am the man you love,” he raises his voice and regrets it in an instant. You flinch and take a step toward the door. “We spend as much time together as you spend with Bucky. I made you laugh, and giggle. You fell asleep in my arms. I won that ugly bear for you at the fair.”

“Nick, you’re not helpful,” Bucky tries to calm his aching heart. Nick is not wrong. You got to know his brother over the months you spent with him too. “We need to calm her first.”

“I’m trying to calm her,” Nick argues. “All you did was hit me, instead of respecting my feelings for Y/N.”

“Well, I see this is all about the two of you,” you sneer. “I’m not needed here any longer. Whatever is wrong with you, you should get your shit figured out. And please don’t do this to another woman.”

“Doll! Wait!” Bucky gasps as you leave the room and slam the door shut. He wants to run after you, wants to chase you and bring you into his arms but he knows, he cannot face you again before he and Nick settle their score…”

Five months later the dust settled. You left town that night, never looking back. It was hard to leave your job, home, and the town you learned to love.

But Bucky Barnes and his brother are dangerous men. Or so you heard. 

If you wanted to start a new life, far away from the men breaking your heart and betraying you, it was necessary to leave and never look back.

This is how you ended up in the sleepiest town you can imagine. 

It’s a nice one, with friendly people and not much crime. The perfect environment to start a new life, or at least get a break from your former life.

“Morning, Y/N,” Carol, the waitress at your favorite diner chirps as you sit down at the diner counter. Well, it’s the only diner in town, and the food is not too bad. “The usual.”

“You know me,” you wink at her and chuckle. “I’m a simple girl, and I love your breakfast.”

“How are the eggs?” Someone plops down on the diner stool to your right. “What can you recommend, Colibri?”

Your body goes stiff. “No…”

“Doll, is the bacon good at this diner?” Bucky plops down on the diner stool to your left. You’re trapped between the mobsters. Again.

“How’d you find me?” You sniff and look around the diner. “Why now?”

“We found you right after you left.” Nick shrugs. “Bucky decided it’s for the best to leave you alone and keep an eye on you.”

“You stalked me?” You glare at Bucky. “Seriously?”

“We kept you safe, doll. That’s a difference.”

“No. It’s not!”

“It is,” Nick winks at the waitress. “I’ll take the pancakes, eggs, and coffee. Black.”

“Like his soul,” you grunt. “Carol don’t give them anything. They won’t stay.”

“Miss, I’m having what she’s having,” Bucky says. He points at your plate, filled with all the things you wanted to eat this morning. Now you have lost your appetite.

“Why are you here?” You sigh and hide your face in the palms of your hands. “I told the last time we saw each other that I never want to see you again.”

“The last time we saw each other you sneaked out of the house and left in the dead of the night. That’s what happened.”

“Who asked you, imposer,” you glare at Nick. “I left because you both lied to me for months! I had sex with you.”

“I remember,” he dares to smirk. “You didn’t moan my brother’s name, Colibri. You called me your strong bear because I won the plushie at the fair for you. In that moment, you fucked me, not Bucky.”

“Nick don’t,” Bucky warns. “Y/N, we need to talk.” He looks around the diner. “Not here, though. Please give us a chance to explain why we cannot let you go.”

Part 3

Tags in reblog.

[94blazed]

OBSESSION

PART 2

WC: 13.5K

Genre: smut. fluff. crack. angst. (switch pov)

Rating: M (minors dni)

Warnings: dom jk, rough sex, detailed smut, oral, toxicity, cursing, choking, slapping, spitting, nipple play, hickeys, unprotected, fingering, multiple orgasms, cock warming, simps, obsession, slight yandere, dirty talk, depression, alcohol; consumption.

Summary: Seven wednesday jungkook. You and Jungkook have been delusional about each other your whole lives, but when Jungkook is off the market, you start to wonder if it was all just one-sided. After the break-up with sohee, you became friends with benefits right after a simple hookup, but when he receives a text from his ex..

a/n: final part of the two part series! - no hate to sohee this is fiction! enjoy ! :D

TAGLIST : sign up here

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Jungkook received a notification.

- unknown: Do you like her?

- JK: who is this?

- unknown: Sohee.

- sohee: Y/N, do you like her?

- JK: why are you asking me this?

- sohee: because I still want us.

Jungkook pauses for a moment to glance at you, but you were too busy looking at the movie.

- JK: how did you get my number?

- sohee: how about you?

- JK: what?

- sohee: do you still want us?

- sohee: come outside.

Jungkook looks at you for a moment before he opens his mouth. "hey, I'll be right back. The pizza got here." you furrow your brows a bit, you could've sworn there wasn't a knock at the door, but he must have used the app, so you shrugged it off.

jungkook's pov:

Unlocking the door, you made sure no water got inside from the pouring rain. As you closed the door, you heard her speak up, "You don't want to come under my umbrella?"  "No. what are you doing here, Sohee?"  "I just wanted to see y-"  "cut the bullshit. what did you actually come here for?"  "Jungkook, do you actually like her?" After a brief pause, you replied, "Yeah, I do. why is it your concern?" she retorted "It's just...she's such a groupie whore. I mean, remember the way she used to look at you when we were together," she laughed.

"Remember how she would always be all up on Namjoon and Jimin? It's like she was attempting to keep track of who was the next fuck on her schedule" With a clenched jaw, you responded, "Sohee, you're so obsessed it's concerning. You do know those are her best friends, right? and me? we were a thing before you came along." you laugh "I'm honestly glad you were the one who fucked up" Sohee rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. so make up your mind, Jeon. Who's it going to be?"

y/n pov :

"Did he go help deliver the pizza? what is taking so long?" You get up and make your way to the front door. peeking from the blinds, you withdraw yourself from the window, opening the door, you ask, "What's going on?" Jungkook snaps his head towards your direction, while sohee smirks. "Oh, he didn't tell you? He wants to get back together. said you were only temporary." Before you look at him for any reaction, you slam the door as you begin to search for your keys. Tears on edge, but you refuse to let them fall, thinking that this was all going down the drain once again.

Hearing the door slam, the creaking of the floorboards grew louder with each step. "y/n, whatever she said, it isn't true," he says. pausing, you met his gaze, tears threatening to spill. "No, she's right. I felt like this was only to please our pleasures once again. temporary."  "y/n" he says grabbing onto your arms "this isn't temporary. It never felt temporary. Yeah, maybe before, maybe. but this moment to me right now feels endless. I don't know if you feel the same way about this, but I don't want this to end. not again" You didn't want to entertain your hopes, because when you did, it only led to disappointment. but this time, at this moment, it felt different. "Sohee wants me back after everything, but she was in the wrong, yet I know my worth. You showed me my worth."

Pausing, he looks into your eyes, never losing focus. "You've been my worth since the first time we met. I came to the realization that these aren't feelings of pleasure. They're more than just pleasing, and every time I would see you, be around you, hear your voice. I would feel this warm, bubbly feeling every time, and it never failed to come upon me." As he confesses his feelings, you felt the same way, yet a question lingered.. "why didn't you tell me about Sohee?"  "Because I was scared, y/n. I overanalyzed the situation and feared rejection, so I needed a distraction. a distraction from you." Although his response stings, you couldn't suppress your response any longer.

"It hurt, Jungkook, seeing you with her, especially after all that we have done together. You had the opportunity to prevent this situation, but you made it even more difficult than it already was. that night you introduced us to Sohee? was the night I intended to confess my feelings for you. I liked you a lot, Jeon, but then you and Sohee happened, and I had to know my place."

As the two of us sat in silence, the sound of the rain grew louder by the second.

He swallowed thickly before speaking. "You're right, and I admit it I feel like an absolute idiot an asshole at that for not putting more effort into us. I thought finding a distraction would help my situation, but it only made it worse. for you and me." tilting your head in confusion, he continued, "You know, ever since I got with Sohee, it didn't feel the same as what we had. It's like I had a void in my heart that has only grown with each passing day, month, and year. I believe it was the guilt that I had for not taking responsibility for our relationship."

"So, yeah, Sohee and I have been over since New Year's. She left me for her ex the same night before the final countdown. I've been emotionally drained since that night and looking back on what I had before, It was you who filled the voids. You made me feel needed back then and now. So, yes, this is a confession, and right now, in this moment, I'm hoping you feel the same." Looking into your eyes for confirmation.

The tears from before finally broke through. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this moment," you said, reflecting the same smile. He embraced you by the waist. Enjoying the moment he gradually released his grip around your waist.

With a gentle gesture, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, as he finally whispers the words you've been waiting for since the beginning, "so, does this mean you'll be my girlfriend?" You withdrew slightly, allowing yourself to meet his gaze with a smile. Latching your hand around his neck, you pulled him into a kiss. "Does that answer your question?"

Throwing you that bunny smile, he replied "No but I'll take it" he said jokingly, latched back onto your lips, melting into your embrace, not caring about how drenched he was from the rain. He lifted his thumb and gently pulled down on your lower lip, slipping his tongue past your lips, tongue against yours. As he tapped your leg, you eagerly jumped up and wrapped your legs around his waist, cupping the curve of your ass. He then proceeded to guide you to the edge of the bed, where he lowered you onto the plush mattress.

Jungkook pulled back for a moment to remove his drenched sweater, revealing his black compression shirt. loving the way the wet fabric clung to his abs that you admired so much. Resuming, he placed his hand under your chin to kiss you at a better angle. With his other hand, he smoothly slid it under your shirt, caressing your belly before cupping your breast.

Letting go of your lips, he slowly lifts up your top, revealing your girls. Officially you were wearing a lace bra with the detachable hook between the valley of your breasts. Detaching the clip he watches them bounce as they were held together. without wasting any time, he dives into them, starting with your left nipple, the contact never fails to make you moan. Of course, he didn't forget the right one, and with a pinch and pull, you were sent over the edge.

With a pop, he resumed cleaning up his left over saliva, tongue collecting every drop, tongue not leaving your chest he dragged it down between your breasts, over your belly, and arrived at the button on your pants. On his knees, he tugged on the material with his teeth, looking up through hooded eyes. "May I?" giggling, you land your hand on the top of his head. "You may." he undid your pants and flung them behind him. Now, looking at his favorite pair of panties that he loves so much. He honestly didn't want to rip through them, so he gently hooked them under his fingers and slowly pulled them down over your knees. Dropping them to your ankles, he picked them up and put them on the nightstand next to him. He slowly spreads your legs wide enough to observe the arousal you've accumulated down your folds, without noticing how he licked his lips—making him want to devour you whole. He lowers himself to suck on your inner thigh, biting in chunks and nibbles. Finally getting close to your pussy, you jolt when you feel a glob of spit trickle down your folds, you can't help but moan. Kook takes his fingers to his mouth, taking out his tongue to stroke in between his V-shaped fingers to demonstrate your pussy. putting them into his mouth, collecting all the saliva he can, and places them on your clit, as you whine at the feeling, slipping them down and inside your hole.

Squirming a bit he grabs your thigh securely, preventing you from moving. Sucking in a breath, you feel his tongue toying with your clit, the coldness of his lip ring swiping against your folds making it even more difficult to be still; "Baby stop moving," you're trying, really trying. Plunging his fingers deeper, he adds another to watch you struggle. With the way he's impacting your pussy, you instinctively tangle your fingers through his hair. Now imagine when he's in balls deep,  interrupting your train of thought he nibbles on your clit. His tongue now has taken the place of his fingers, hand coming around your thighs to rub at your clit "god this fucken pussy" whimpering you feel that familiar burning sensation in your belly building by the second "ju-jungkook im gonna cum" letting go of your clit, he looks up into your gaze, "then cum my pretty girl" and that fucken name has you coming undone, “so wet.. all for me yeah?”  jungkook drank up your arousal like he hadn't drank in years.

stabilizing yourself, you look up to see Jungkook already in his boxers, simply by the contour of his cock has your climax developing once more, walking up against you, pussy now against his clothed cock, he speaks "Tell me y/n. what exactly is it that you want, hmm?"  "You jungkook" slapping your pussy, he answers. "You're going to have to be more specific than that my love?. I'm going to ask you once more." Leaning down, he swipes his tongue along your earlobe, "what specifically do you want y/n?" not hesitating you answer, "your cock jungkook. your big fucken cock,"  heart now hammering at the thought of his cock tearing every last bit of your sanity, "you got it baby."

He finally dropped his boxers to the ground, the sound of his dick smacking against his abdomen echo's around the room. positioning himself, he finally sinks into you, both letting out a synchronized moan. Slipping through your core Jungkook let's out a groan, "f-fuck this pussy never ceases to amaze me." sucking in a breath at the burning sensation you composed yourself knowing this would only last for a moment. Pussy clenching Jungkook hisses at the feeling, "oh, fuckkk do that again". "Go faster and I'll do it," Jungkook cracked open an eye. "Oh really?" he stated "Yes, pleasee" you added. Jungkook complied, but instead, he wrapped his tatted hand around your throat, applying slight pressure on your airway. "alright then, answer this. who does this pussy belong to?" he asked. "Yours, Jungkook, '' you responded. As the pace picked up, he tightened his grip, making it difficult to breathe. "Do you desire this cock? or do you want me to stop?" he asked. "NO, no, I'm sorry," you replied. "Then I'll ask again. who does this pussy belong to? Who do YOU belong to?" he says in a firm tone, tightening his grip on your throat, "YOU JUNGKOOK, it has always been you. I belong to you completely, every inch and every breath in my body." you responded, "That's right baby, you belong to me and no one else. every inch." He released his grip, allowing you to catch your breath, as he increased the pace. Jungkook then leaned in to bite the salty skin of your neck, leaving a few territorial marks. Slowly pulling you flush against his chest, as an instinct you wrapped your legs around his waist, as he positions himself against the headboard.

"Jungkook, faster," you commanded. He complied, proceeding to deliver a rapid speed that consistently aimed at your g-spot. Instinctively, you dug your nails into his back, eliciting a pleasurable groan from jungkook, He gradually released your hips, allowing you to take control and ride him. As you tighten your grip on his length, obscene noises uncontrollably spill from his lips, struggling to articulate his pleasure. "shit y/n just like that baby" He gently raises your hips, grinding thickly into your walls making sure he can see his bulge plunging through your belly. “fuck fuckk kook just like that”  “yeah?”  you couldn’t even speak at that point. Drunk on his cock. 

Clenching tighter, he utters, "fuck it's the way that you can ride." You sense the pressure building, "kook I'm close, please." he leans in for a reassuring kiss. "Hold on a little longer, my love. I'm ngh-almost there." you reach a point where your entire body is stuttering. Despite the strain, you feel his cock twitch, knowing that his climax is near. With a few more strokes, he reaches, "now ruin me baby" releasing the pressure you smear his abdomen while he simultaneously paints your walls. Exhausted, he collapses on top of you, cock still inside, as you both pant in unison.

After both of you have stabilized your breathing, you gently brushed his hair away from his eyes, lifting his head to meet your gaze. chin resting on your chest, you maintain eye contact and offer a smile before bringing him in for a kiss. "How was it?" he asked. "as always, my love, perfect," you respond with a smile. "hmm good," he replies as he pecks your nose as he slowly withdraws from you, hissing at the feeling of emptiness. He proceeds to the bathroom to prepare a warm rag to clean you with, and although you are still sensitive, you comply. As you sometimes spend the night, you have clothes stored in the dresser next to his. After dressing, you help change the sheets while he cleans himself.

After cleaning up the mess you two created, both of you slide into bed. Allowing him to hold you, with his arms encircling your waist, tracing circles beneath the soft material of your shirt. He plants a kiss on your hair uttering, "I have loved you since day one." You smile at this heartwarming sensation, holding onto his arm until you drift off to sleep. From that day forward, the routine has remained unchanged.

PRESENT

July ‘23

You two moved into your apartment, sohee was nowhere to be seen since that day. This year, you all graduated from university and celebrated with a party for the occasion, alongside other colleagues. You and Jungkook are content to be together. "I fetched you a smirnoff screwdriver. sorry, it was the only one they had left," you smile kissing his cheek. "kook, it's okay. I appreciate it a lot thank you" but before he can respond, Jimin inserts himself by sitting between the two of you. “so what are you two love birds talking about?” Jungkook rolls his eyes while you chuckle at the remark. “nothing jimin what do you want” “Nothing I'm just curious about what you got my best friend for her graduation gift” jungkook raises an eyebrow "Well, I was just about to mention it-"  "Do not hesitate, Jungkook. please share" namjoon interrupts "I was just-" "well go on" jin inserts “I WAS JUST GETTING THERE” everyone laughs at jungkooks outburst, "someone offer him a tequila shot," taehyung yells "even tequila can't help that," Hobi responds.

“well, I just wanna say I’m happy for you two, as always jungkook. you better not break her heart or I’ll kick your ass”  “Yeah yeah like that’s gonna happen”  “Keep it that way” jimin replies, blowing a kiss to you farewell as he returns to the kitchen. “I’m sorry he’s a little overprotective”  "It’s okay I understand, I wouldn’t want anyone to hurt you either. but on another note, I do have a gift for you though" he grins, lending you his hand, taking it, together you made your way through the group of individuals that occupied the living room and into the neon uv-lit hallway. This is Jin's residence, which he rents out seven rooms, all of which are occupied by the other boys except for one that was reserved for the two of you; and that’s where you two were headed. opening the door, you spot a small white piece of paper resting on the bed before you. approaching, you grasp the paper. only to see the bold lettering 'SURPRISE' curious about this surprise, you turn around but were directed to take a seat on the bed. you observe jungkook removing his shirt, of course, you can’t complain, but questioned, “babe what are you doing?”

“It's Saturday baby, 7 days a week, remember?” 

“fuck”

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a/n: obviously she was still sore from yesterday lol . but thank you sm for reading this little series of mine! I hope you enjoyed ! all feedback is appreciated <3

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taglist: @jjklves @ane102 @moonbinniehappy @caro134340lina @bbtsficrecs @heartjiminie @ta3bae @hyunjinswifeee @sherituhhh @myabae @whoa-jo @jiminsthings @1uvjeons @junecat18 @capital-koreasofia @tatamicc @goldenhopeworld @ahsluva @starbrightday @psykvo

for those who I couldn’t tag i’m sorry ! :(

[colorful-white-ideas]

I'm really scared cause Nosferatu is getting hates now because of Bill, people say he's not a leading man and his movies are all bombs at the box office. They also say his career is over cause of The Crow and that's why till now we didn't get any update of him being involved in anything cause noone wants to work with him. They say Nosferatu is gonna be the next box office bomb remake cause Bill destroys anything he's in. Some said Bill's filmography is awful and he has to chage his agent and his team, even some people said he's a nepo baby and his dad helps him to get roles.

I want to cry. Pls send help 😭😭😭😭😭

My best answer to that is they all can go to FUCK THEMSELVES.

And I say this not as a Bill fan but as someone who likes good movies , he is a good damn actor. People who hate the new crow movie and criticize Bill are only whining about his look , they don't say anything else besides that so blinded by hate , they dont see how good his body language was , the control of his eyes , the good voice control he had for the emotional scenes... Just for example the scene where he finally puts the make up on . It's so powerful how he transmits the self hate , pain and agony for what he has become.

The box office issue is not because people decided not to go to see it , those die hard crow fans are giving themselves too much credit. Their fandom is minuscule. It was the terrible lack of promotion from Lionsgate that caused this. That company played dirty to BKW and did the bare minimum for The Crow , the amount of comments I've seen of people saying they didn't know the movie was out ... Is frankly upsetting.

It didn't reach all the cinemas either , and as with BKW , they are withdrawing the movie from small cinemas after the first weekend. The marketing around these movies was horrible. Promoting The Crow as a remake was the first nail in the coffin and it took them TOO DAMN LONG RELEASE THE PROMOTIONAL INTERVIEWS.

Lastly what is wrong with all the movies he participated in ? They all look good to me. The best of all ( for me) was The devil all the time and people SLEPT on him , his work there was 10 times better than Pattinson. ( Sorry not sorry)

His career will do more than fine. Locked will be shown in the TiFF in September, Nosferatu in December ( we are like 4 months away, almost nothing)

Haters can suck a dick and shut up for once.

I won't even say sorry for being this aggressive. All the hate The Crow 2024 is getting , out of pocket, got me in my last nerve. Fuck them all.

[pinguwrites]

Black Heart | Chapter One: Evening Cigarettes

Pairing -> Thomas Shelby x fem!poc!reader

Summary -> The year is 1920, and you have no idea how you got here. One moment, you were in your bed, and the next, you were lying in a field of grass, thousands of miles away from home. All you know is that you're in a small town called Birmingham, and you need money. Fortunately, the local gangster is in the market for an accountant, and you're in the market for a job.

Warnings -> swearing, mentions of racism, suicide joke, reader kinda has a dark sense of humor, tommy being a bit of an ass, sorry for the short chapter

REWRITTEN 9/29/23 - CURRENTLY ON HOLD

Word count: 1.8k

Disclaimer: Peaky Blinders characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

Series Masterlist

There wasn’t much to be said about Birmingham. It was a small city, located somewhere in England, filled with dirty streets and coal-stained men and nothing of any interest at all. For the past few days, you had been walking around the place in an almost dream-like haze, searching for food scraps and pieces of suitable clothing, wondering why the fuck you were here and how.

It’s all those movies you’ve been watching, your mom’s voice rings in your head. Too much fantasy and not enough reality. 

A part of you wondered if you should have listened to her words, if this world you were now a part of was the result of an overactive imagination and a desperate desire to escape reality. Maybe this was some cruel trick the universe decided to play on you, maybe you had passed out and all of this was a sort of long-term coma. Perhaps it was a mass prank and everyone here was just actors — but you thought that to be highly unlikely, given, you know, common sense. 

The only other possibility you could come up with was time travel. Even if it was probable, there were so many questions: Why you? Why this time? 

No, you’d just stick to the most simple and likely answer: you were fucking insane. Right now, in the real world, you were being locked up in some mental facility, strapped to a bed, and being monitored by doctors and nurses. Your mom was in tears, wondering where she had gone wrong with raising her daughter, and you were oblivious, wandering around in the year 1920, with no way to get back.

You kicked a pebble, watching it roll across the dirt ground. While that was the going theory, you still didn’t know what to do. Your instinct to survive was just as strong as any other day, and you were still plagued with hunger, pain, and fear.

So far, you had no proper shelter, no stable source of food and water (though the nearby well and some restaurant scraps were doing just fine for now), and you had nothing acceptable to wear except a dirty gray dress you found in some dumpster-like area. You had actually cleaned the damn thing yesterday, but it still had this nasty stench like foul body odor, and a couple of ripped holes. It was at least better than the clothes you were wearing beforehand — a white, loose, crop top and some fuzzy shorts, which had garnered nothing but stares of disgust and pity when you walked around in them. I’m naked to them, you realized, and that was when you made the endeavor to search for new clothing; as well as the fact that your modern outfit was doing nothing to protect you from the bitter chill. 

Not that this dress was doing any better. You predicted that you would die soon from the weather. Probably in your sleep. While you hadn’t found any shelter, you did find a little corner by the side of an apartment building. That’s where your body would be found, all frozen to death like meat in a fridge. But what else were you supposed to do? It was the best place you had.

You continued walking down the road, kicking that same pebble again. Your toes and fingers were numb and you were sure that you were going to get a cold, though that was the least of your worries.

The sky was a dark gray and it seemed like it was going to rain soon. You looked up from the ground and glanced over the area, a habit you picked up ever since you saw someone getting mugged here. The entire city of Birmingham felt like a small town, with its little businesses and shops along the side of the unpaved road. Occasionally a few people would walk past you. They would either ignore you and mind their own business, or stare at you like you were some exotic specimen. Fucking racist pricks.

You reached into your bag — thank god you had a bag on you when you were transported here — and pulled out your phone. It was dead, but you kept checking it out of habit. Not like you could call anyone even if it was charged, but it would have been nice to spend your last moments watching a good movie or scrolling through old pictures to reminisce about the past. 

Everything else in the bag was just hand sanitizer, a mask from COVID days (oh, God, what if I’m carrying COVID and spread it?), lip balm, and a small pocket knife. All things you were glad to have, but not particularly useful. It would have been nice to have a book on survival in the wilderness, or a lighter. 

You sighed, your breath coming out in a white smoke in the bitter air. You wanted to crawl into a ball and collapse. You wanted your mom to hold you, or your friends to lighten the mood with silly jokes. Why did this have to happen? Why me?

When you arrived at the apartment you were ready to curl up and sleep, but you noticed a flickering sound, and turned around to see a man, leaning against the wall of the opposite building. 

He was handsome, with a gray cap and a dusty black coat on. He seemed to be stopping only for a moment, lighting the cigarette between his fingers before moving on, but he noticed your stare and gave you a cold look.

“You need something?” he asked, in that same, strong British accent you heard everyone around here speak in.

“No.” You shook your head, feeling a little bad for blatantly staring. “My bad.”

The man took a puff of his cigarette. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so, I’ve never seen you before.”

His facial expression didn’t change. It was in that same cold stare. “Do you know who I am?”

“Well, I’ve never seen you before,” you repeated yourself, getting a little irritated. Your day was already going bad — scratch that, your whole week had been a fucking roller coaster, and now you had to deal with an arrogant prick who thought he was shit. “Are you some kind of celebrity?”

“You’re American,” he stated, ignoring your question. “Tell me, Miss . . .?”

“[Y/N],” you said.

“Miss [Y/N]. Tell me what a girl like you is doing in Birmingham?”

“I’m not quite sure,” you responded honestly. “What are you doing here?” you asked, not enjoying his attitude. “What’s your name?”

“You’re a cheeky lass, sweetheart.” He grinned a little, amused, like this was all funny to him. “My name is Thomas Shelby. And this is my town.” He paused, his grin dropping. A horrible feeling sunk in your gut. “I ought to know who lives in my town, eh?”

He took a puff of his cigarette. “Come here, sweetheart.” 

You hesitated but walked forward a little, ready to run at a moment’s notice. He had that dumb hairstyle every man here was rocking, but it fit him. It made him look nice.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he. But then the man called Thomas Shelby offered you a cigarette and asked, “Are you a whore?”

You stood there, stunned, not accepting his offer. “No.”

He looked you up and down again. “How old are you? Twenty-three? Twenty-four?”

“Eighteen.”

He didn’t say anything to that or indicate that he was surprised.

“You have family ‘round here?”

You shook your head, thoughts running wild.

He must be a gangster. Like Al Capone, only British, you thought, feeling nervous. What was he going to do to you? He wouldn’t harm you, would he?

Of course he’s going to harm you. That’s what men like him do.

“Ran away, eh? Nice story.”

“I never said I ran away,” you said, thinking you ought to stop this conversation right now and bolt in the opposite direction out of this town.

“Then what happened?” He walked closer to you. His face was neutral, but you could tell he was suspicious, otherwise he wouldn’t be asking all these questions. “I’m not going to ask again.”

“Good. Now, will you leave me alone?” Your voice dropped to a more quiet tone. “Please?”

Mr. Shelby looked like he was thinking. “This isn’t a safe place for young girls like you,” he finally said. “You shouldn’t be out here,” he gestured to the streets, “alone, with no one to protect you.”

“I’m doing just fine” you retorted, but made an effort to sound as polite as you could. 

“Fine?” He took a look at your clothing. “Yes, very suitable. I’m sure you enjoy being homeless.”

“I’m not homeless,” you defended, even though you were, indeed, homeless. 

Being reminded of your hopeless situation made tears pricked at your eyes, and you felt silly for wanting to cry, especially in front of him, but it was all just so hard. You didn’t feel right getting upset, other people had and were facing worse, but all you could think about was how much you wanted to eat a hot home-cooked meal and a nice bed to sleep in.

“Are you going to cry?” he asked.

“Do you like it when people cry?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then you should leave me alone, because I probably will.”

You averted your eyes, feeling ashamed for admitting that to a random stranger, a stranger who was probably judging you right now, a stranger who was probably a fucking criminal.

Mr. Shelby walked even closer, to the point where you were now just a feet apart. You could see the freckles scattered across his face.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out some paper money, handing it over to you. “You see that building?” He pointed to the one beside you, the one you’d been sleeping behind. “This should be enough to get you a few day’s stay.”

You were stunned, hesitantly taking the pounds and blinking the tears away. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged. “Just doing a decent man’s work, sweetheart.” He looked into your eyes. “Last I remember, the landlady of this building is hiring a maid. Ask her about it, tell her that Thomas Shelby referred you here.”

You agreed, not wanting to say anything that would make him change his mind, but you were still wondering why he changed his mind. Did he like it when girls cried? Did it make him feel like a hero? Was he planning to use you later for something? You didn’t know, and no matter how many times you tried to guess, it was useless, because you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. 

“Thank you, sir,” you breathed out, feeling a little bad for your snippiness. 

He nodded his head at you, lingering for a moment before walking in the opposite direction. You watched him until he was out of sight, a warm feeling in your tummy.

You walked into the apartment, finally inside a building for the first time in a while. You told the landlady, an old Asian woman, that Mr. Shelby had referred you to this place and the job. She took the money and eagerly offered you a room to stay, though you noticed a fearful hint in her eyes.

She got you a warm bath, saying that you must tell Mr. Shelby that she was very happy to take you in — subtlety, of course, and lead you to your new room.

You laid down on the bed, taking in the comfort of the sheets. Very quickly, you fell asleep, drifting off into a slumber after a long day.

[waynes-multiverse]

Mercilessly

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Summary: Once upon a time, there was a heroic, green-eyed hunter, but now, not much of him and his emerald eyes are left after he made a grave mistake and broke the wrong girl’s heart, leaving her empty behind. Y/N, however, is dressed for revenge and ready to take back what once belonged to her...

Warnings: +18!, language, smut (fingering, p in v, dirty talk & slight degrading), canon-level violence, a lot of evil scheming & some dark fluff

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: First time I’m daring to write Demon!Dean. This has been on my writer’s wish list for goddamn ages. Written for my wonderful bestie’s @avanatural‘s 1,000 followers celebration & antagonist challenge. 😈 You and your stories completely amaze me, so here’s to 1,000 more! Collect ‘em like Pokemon, babe! The crown truly belongs to you! 🥳🥂🖤 My prompts were Billie Eilish’s You Should See Me In A Crown 👑 and a quote, which you’ll find in bold. I also based parts of it on The Bravery’s Hatefuck 🔥 because it certainly is a fitting song for Demon!Dean. Enjoy, my loves!

Feedback is highly appreciated! Get me drunk on it and fill my writer’s juice 🤓🥃

Main Masterlist | Dean Winchster Masterlist

High noon. The bar was virtually deserted, tranquil, and almost peaceful, cradling every new arrival in a false sense of security if they weren’t smart enough and came equipped with a sixth sense for peril. After all, some dangers lurked in bright daylight and weren’t as easily identified by the naked eye.

Luckily, Y/N was smarter than most and knew exactly what kind of threat was waiting for her there as her black heels on fiery red soles stormed through the doors of the rundown tavern. The remaining guests of the establishment consisted of drunkard patrons lingering around dirty tables and halfway falling asleep in front of their glasses. Her determined and vibrant eyes, however, immediately landed on a tuft of sandy-blond and disheveled locks.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing. A beautiful, flesh-eating flower. A blazing hot mess. Dean fucking Winchester.

Y/N was a big girl, though. She knew better than to get lost in something shiny, the glitter and glamour, the cheap thrill. Fuck diamonds. They were just a marketing scheme, and she already fell for good packaging once in her life and got severely burned like a child touching the hot plate of a stove. And while the cold emptiness in her chest prevented her from feeling anything, not even a tingle, her heart still pounded a few beats faster once her eyes caught sight of the main prize.

Her mind flooded with memories, vivid images of a life she once possessed. The endless movie nights, the laughs and talks, the tears and touches, the love that was lost. Lost because of him and his selfishness. And while none of it mattered anymore, she swore a long time ago, she wouldn’t let him get away with it. No, he still had to pay for what he did, suffer the same fate she had. She was deadly set on making her vision a reality. 

So, you could say Y/N came prepared, came with a plan. After all, the perfect revenge wasn’t something you could whip up in an hour and implement haphazardly. It took years – years of executing moves, forming questionable relationships, and conducting the most boring research in dusty libraries and tombs. Y/N was absolutely playing the long game, a strategy that’d certainly make every grand master of chess blush.

Of course, the asshole of all assholes didn’t even reward her with a meek glance over his broad shoulder, the bang of a door apparently not thrilling enough for him to spin around. The clicking of high heels on sticky floorboards as she stalked closer to the bar counter, however, seemed to do the trick, her target intrigued enough to finally face her.

The promise of a willing woman, of his next potential prey, naturally forced a predatory smirk onto his plush and sinful lips. A smile, which dropped quite abruptly once her former lover realized who truly stood before his acid green eyes. Oh, she was definitely not the corruptible angel he’d hoped for in his wettest dreams. And while he might be anything but human these days, the shock was big enough to let the black-eyed mask slip, and for a moment, she was reminded of the person he used to be. The good, kind, and selfless hero, full of shame, guilt, and regrets.

God, she hated that fucking guy.

“Remember me, Winchester?” A smirk played across her lips when his instinctive first answer was a light swallow, still subtle enough to pretend he didn’t care. The longer he stared at her, the more it became a scathing glare until the shock had subsided enough, and his defined jaw began to clench under the rough layer of scruff.

“Y/N.” Her name rolled off his wicked lips and nearly caused her to sink to her knees in front of him. It had been too long since he’d last said it, and she almost forgot the sound of it, the deep, shuddering timbre of his voice. The strength it took for him to utter her name in the first place was hidden behind a stoic exterior, however. He’d never thought he’d say it again, either, and it showed. “What the hell are you fucking doing here?”

Her head tilted like a lost puppy’s, brow puckering as her gaze innocently drifted to Crowley next to him, who’d been suspiciously quiet this whole time. “Aw, you didn’t tell him?”

Y/N wasn’t in the least bit surprised that A, the demon tried to cross her, and B, tried to make a run for it with his new bestie. It was what demons, especially Crowley, did best, after all. They couldn’t be trusted. And although she warned the scumbag several times, she naturally expected her peasant’s next move. No one beat the queen of chess.

“Tell me what?” Dean gritted through his pearly white teeth, his glare quickly swerving to his new partner in crime, who swallowed the enormous and craven lump in his throat.

“Crowley, Crowley, Crowley…,” Y/N tsked and casually crossed her arms. “You know, I’ve waited.” She took a step closer to the demon king, the flames in her eyes speaking volumes. “I bid my time. I paid my dues. Don’t you think I deserve credit?”

“Of course, of course,” Crowley scrambled for words, the coward in him ducking so much that even a woman of her small stature practically towered over him. “I couldn’t have done it without your extraordinary genius, my dear.”

“What the fuck is she talking about?” Dean’s patience had dried up like a raisin as he demanded an answer, swiftly pulling out the First Blade. He forcefully slammed it into the wooden countertop of the bar, piercing straight through Crowley’s palm and pinning the demon in place before the slippery bastard could pull a Houdini act on him again.  

“Ow! Bloody–!” Crowley hissed in pain and anger at the former hunter, who, in return, smirked quite complacently at the achievement.

“Tell him,” Y/N prompted with an unsympathetic look toward the demon in agony. “Tell him who found Cain in the first place and came up with the idea. Tell him who told you what the mark would do to him. Tell him you truly did nothing because you’re worth nothing. Tell him who made him into what he is. Tell him who cursed him.”

“You did,” Crowley croaked out while his hand soaked the countertop and painted it crimson red. “And may I add, your Majesty looks incredibly pretty today.”

With a scoff, Y/N rolled her eyes at the demon’s obvious attempt of flattery before she snapped her fingers and painfully forced his meat suit to his knees, his palm still nailed to the bar top as he let out a loud scream. She smirked when she noted Dean’s look of surprise at her little trick show. She certainly had leveled up since the last time he’d seen her. It scratched the little tingle in her belly.

“Yeah? If you think I’m pretty, you should see me in a crown. Don’t make me come for your job, too. Let’s face it, Crowley – you’d make a better servant than a king. Cross me again, and I’ll end you, demon scum,” she threatened, her jaw tightening and nostrils flaring. “Did you pathetic weasel really think I wouldn’t find you, slurping chick drinks in some dive bar no less? Do I really need to wear a warning sign next time I make a deal with you? You were supposed to deliver him on a silver platter for me. Did you really think I wouldn’t hunt you down?”

When the reigning king submissively ducked his head and swallowed like a beaten dog, her lips curled into a satisfied smirk. Cheerily, she leaned over the hunter’s lap and the mahogany counter, her hands going through several liquor bottles till she found one to her liking. She purposely stuck her butt out, wiggling and swaying it in front of the former hunter, still remembering a few preferences from the good ol’ days. It didn’t take long before she felt Dean’s long, thick fingers crawl down her spine and smooth over the leather-clad globes of her ass.

“Wanna take this somewhere more quiet, princess?”

Y/N gleefully hugged the chosen bottle of bourbon and pressed the cool, amber glass to her tits, nodding quite eagerly before placing a contrastingly soft kiss on his cheek. “One step ahead of you, my love. It’s time to celebrate!”

As Dean closed the door behind them, he watched as Y/N stalked through the motel room he’d called his home for the past months, curious Y/E/C eyes observing the remnants of his meaningless existence. It had been two years since he’d last seen her, since he kicked her out of the bunker and broke his own useless heart with it. She still looked the same. Stunning and breathtaking like the day he’d met her and bitter, cold, and angry like the day he’d lost her.

“You might’ve acquired those pretty new eyes, but your preferences are still the same, Winchester,” she teased, spinning to him with a grin that reached her ears. “Still picking the shady dive bars and gross motels over the five-star hotels. What’s wrong with a little luxury and a comfortable mattress, huh?”

Dean only rolled his juniper eyes, not in the mood for chit-chat or amusing banter, and prompted, “Why did you do this? Apparently, I owe those pretty new eyes to you.”

“Oh, c’mon, don’t play dumb,” Y/N huffed, annoyed with his act of innocence. “You know why I’m here. Contrary to popular belief, you’ve never been stupid, Dean.” A smirk spread across her face and lit up her dimples as she swayed closer. Her index finger hooked into the waistband of his jeans, pulling him flush against her small body, pointed teeth denting her bottom lip. “You’ve never been-,” her hungry gaze wandered down, palming the growing erection behind the denim, “-disappointing, either. At least not in that regard. You know, I fell for these eyes once before, and they’re even prettier now...”

Her teeth sunk into his pulse point as she left her first mark there, the tip of her tongue licking the salt from his skin. His hands didn’t deny themselves the pleasure of roaming her frame, her perfect curves, and her taut skin either, before one hand found rest on her exquisitely rounded ass, her cheek a perfect fit for his large palm as he cupped and groped it, pushing her against his bulging crotch that achingly pressed against the tight fabric of his jeans and begged for release and a warm, wet hole to fill.

While he hadn’t come to a clear decision about her yet, he knew he could postpone any thinking for later. After all, he did whatever the fuck he wanted, no consequences, and right now, he wanted to shove his cock inside her tight cunt and fuck her like there was no tomorrow. Albeit feelings and past attachments didn’t really play a role for him, he still remembered enough of their time together to know she’d always been a good fuck and certainly the best time. The things she’d do for him, say for him, and let him do, had always been wicked, way before his heart was corrupted, and Dean was all about celebrating the good times these days.

Craving the feeling of a blissful high, his mind flooded with images of the bruises and bites he’d left behind on her skin in the past and filled with thoughts of how much he’d missed her taste and smell. He certainly wouldn’t turn down her irresistible offer. So, throwing his resolve out the window, his mouth roughly claimed hers, tongue slipping inside, teeth biting flesh until it drew sweet, scarlet nectar.

His wet lips trailed along her jawline and down to her delicate neck as she became soft and bendable in his hold. “How did you do that to Crowley?” His question reverberated against her throat before he drew and lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “Last time I checked, you were soulless, not magic, princess.”

He at least had to ensure she couldn’t butcher him before he had a chance to do the same. It didn’t help, though, that their little stand-off was part of the turn-on. Who’d snap first? After all, they’d both been hunters once and knew the game all too well.

Amused, his former lover chuckled with a devilish twinkle in her gorgeous eyes that lit up her entire face. “God, don’t you just love it when they scream? It’s the best sound after cutting someone’s tongue out.”

Dean’s hands then wrapped around her throat, pushing her back into the next wall as he pinned her there and fixed her with a deathly glare, feeling her swallow harshly in his grip. He squeezed a little harder, his jaw tightening with his hold on her. A smirk played across his lips, practically smelling her arousal trickle into her panties.

Dean then pulled the blade from his back and thrust it into the papered wall dangerously close to her head, even drawing a little blood from the tip of her ear. He knew she was smart enough to understand it as a warning. Collecting a scarlet drop on his thumb, he licked his pad and relished in the metallic taste on his tongue.

“You better start answering some questions before I do what I shoulda done a long time ago, sweetheart,” he growled, his nose running along hers as she inhaled his scent like life-supplying oxygen.

But Y/N only smiled mysteriously, puckishly shrugging her shoulders. “Things change. Learned a thing or two after you exiled me. Made some friends in high places.”

“So, what? You did all this for revenge? Little pathetic, don’t you think? All over a good lay…,” he taunted her and scoffed.

Her greedy hands clasped his cheeks, sharp nails piercing his skin as she dragged him back to her addicting lips. “No, baby, I did all this for you, for me, for us. Don’t you see? After everything that happened, after what you’ve done to me… you can finally make it right. I know that’s what you wanted the most, even now with that little curse on your arm. And now, we’re the same without all those icky feelings getting in our way. We can just fuck and make the world ours. One by one.”

“There’s no more us, sweetheart,” Dean bit, flashing her a set of onyx orbs.

“Cute. There’s always an us,” she replied like his answer didn’t even matter to her, leaving no room for further discussions. “Do you still feel guilty about it, hm? You were so, so selfish. At least now, you’re honest about it and not hiding behind feigned heroics anymore.”

“Old me felt guilty, yeah,” he admitted and let out a dark chuckle. “But that’s kinda one of the perks of the new me. Now, I just think those people we used to be were pathetic and weak... I was weak. I sent you away when I shoulda just fucking killed you.”

“Or maybe you should’ve just let me die the way I was supposed to in the first place,” Y/N gritted bitterly. “Maybe you shouldn’t have been so fucking self-serving and let me go. But you couldn’t do that, could you? You had to save me because that was what the great hero Dean Winchester did, right? But the other thing you did so well was fucking things up, and boy, did you fuck this up, didn’t you?” she mocked and smirked when his look darkened and his upper lip twitched in shameful admittance, teeth grinding down. “Do you like my plan so far? You know, not having a soul is almost like already being dead. No dreams, no future... There’s nothing alive inside of me. Might as well sleep in a damn coffin. And because you showed me no mercy, I made sure I showed you none either, my sweet baby boy.”

It was true. It was all his fault she had lost goddamn everything. Her love, her family, her home. As weak as he was, Dean couldn’t let her go when she got hurt during a run-of-the-mill hunt. He brought her back to life, a spell that chipped away her soul till there was nothing left of it. And still, as foolishly smitten and in love as he was, he thought he could goddamn fix it, fix her, fix them. But there was nothing left for him to love and nothing that was capable of loving him back. Yet, he still didn’t have the guts to kill her in the bitter end.

“Want me to correct my past mistake, huh? Is that why you’re fucking here? ‘Cause I’d be happy to do just that,” he growled warningly into her ear as he leaned closer, hearing how her heart rate accelerated as his hot breath fanned against her delicate neck.

“You might be a demon, but I know you still don’t have the fucking heart to kill me,” she giggled in amusement and placed her palm on his chest where the miserable muscle pounded underneath. “Who’s pathetic now, huh?”

“Don’t fucking test me, Y/N. It won’t end well for you, honey,” he threatened, far from admitting that she’d seen right through him and called his bluff. “But then, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve always been a slut for me.”

While Y/N’s little plan, apparently forged in hellfire itself, certainly made them more alike, the difference between them was that he still had a soul. His was just blackened, clouded by darkness, and disfigured over time by an abundance of pain and anger and, well, one little curse. Hers, on the other hand, wasn’t there at all. She was just an empty vessel, no feelings and emotions inside.

Old him couldn’t trust her; new him didn’t care, though. The new and improved version of him even recognized her worth. Y/N had always been cunningly smart, certainly smarter than him and even smarter than Sam. Dean could recall memories of vivid discussions with Bobby, the two of them rattling off weird trivia facts almost to a competitive degree.

Dean needed her. He could use her to his advantage. She was valuable.

Plus, Crowley had started to become annoying fairly quickly. The only reason the former hunter hadn’t stabbed the demon’s meat suit yet was that Dean really didn’t want to take over the duties of kingship. He could care less about Hell. All he wanted was to fuck around, drink excessively, and do a little karaoke.

Y/N, on the other hand, would make a good queen. Smart, driven, just. She’d make fair decisions and reign with an iron fist and a fucking brain. In fact, Dean thought she’d make an excellent ruler of Hell even. She was right from the start: This was what he’d wanted since the day she left him – a way to have her back in his life, didn’t matter if the plan was perfect, good, or straight-up evil. Being a demon, freed from all the chains of humanity, was the best fucking thing that ever happened to him – and he owed it all to her.

“Yeah?” She provokingly nudged his nose as her hand slid under his waistband and inside his boxer briefs, her palm rubbing along his throbbingly hard dick, causing him to growl lowly. “Show me, baby. Show me what a bad guy you can be,” she purred and tore into his plump bottom lip before letting it pop back in its place. “Show me how much you used to love me, how much I meant to you. Show me by fucking me like you hate me now... I wanna be your favorite toy again. Play with me, baby. Love me mercilessly.”

Effortlessly, he twirled her in his hold, pressing her tits against the wall. With one motion, he roughly pried the tight leather leggings over her asscheeks, his hand slipping to her front and cupping her bare and leaking pussy, her arousal trickling onto his finger pads.

“So fucking wet, hm? Did my slut miss me this badly, huh? You missed this cock, baby girl?” he breathed against the nape of her neck and inhaled her intoxicating scent once more before his teeth tore into her smooth flesh, making her cry out. His dick twitched in delight when her moans filled his ears as his digits rubbed at her clit and set the sensitive nerve endings on fire, her nails clawing away at the grimy motel room wall.

One hand then gripped her upper arm tightly and pinned her writhing body in place, his broad chest pressing against her back as his mouth marked her shoulders and spine.

“Cum once now, and I’ll fuck you into the next life, my little plaything,” he husked challengingly into her ear, and just as he thrust his first thick digit inside her waiting, hot center, she came undone and trembled in his hold.

That was one.

Kissing the salty drops from the slope of her neck, his chuckles vibrated against her heated skin. “Still a good girl after all this time. Impressive. You were almost fucking polite. Some things really don’t change, huh?”

Breathlessly, Y/N spun around to face him, the swell of her breasts that spilled out of the revealing top heaving with each erratic intake of air. She grinned crookedly up at him and locked her fingers behind his neck. “Well, haven’t you heard? All the good girls go to Hell. And I believe you promised me something,” she sang like the prettiest, most innocent damsel.

“Don’t be a brat, baby girl. Impatience is a vice,” Dean reminded her, eyes as dark as midnight while his thumb traced her kiss-swollen lips before stuffing his wet fingers into her mouth. Hungrily, he watched her suck them clean as she tasted the mess she’d made, the tip of her tongue provoking his pads and desiring something with more girth.

“Thought we were all about those vices now, my love,” she giggled darkly and kissed his open palm on her cheek before chasing his lips in a drunk delirium, clashing with pointed teeth and tongue.

His hand traveled to the back to cup her head, fingers weaving into her hair and tugging a fistful. Her knees were becoming wobbly, bending and giving in slightly, pulled down by his gravity on her planet, an instant reflex that only came from years of orbiting around each other.

“I want you so badly, De,” she breathed needily against his lips and caressed his cheek with a gentle touch, almost treating him as breakable, whispering, “I might not be able to love you anymore, but I still remember what it felt like, you know? It was so… pure.”

A smile graced his lips, one corner of his mouth rising higher than the other. “Yeah, I know what you mean, sweetheart.”

“You don’t have to worry anymore, baby. I’ll take care of you again. I’ll turn us into something great, amazing even,” Y/N vowed pantingly, the excitement sparkling in her eyes before she desperately claimed his pillowy lips like an addict chasing their next high.

Swiftly, the zipper of his jeans opened, the denim and cotton boxers pooling around his ankles before he gripped his rock-hard cock. Y/N rid herself of her leggings, her hand wrapping around the grip of the First Blade, still firmly stuck in the blood-stained wall. His hand quickly curled around hers on the weapon, a distrustful look glazing his dark green eyes.

“Trust me, okay? I’m not here to cramp your style, baby,” she assured him, a smile playing across her pink lips, and something in her vicious eyes told him that he could confide in her.

Dropping his hand from the blade, he smoothed his palms down her curves and gripped her hips tightly instead as she hoisted herself up on the blade and wrapped her legs around his waist, ankles crossing behind his back. His lips crashed against hers in a scorching kiss, teeth tearing and biting before he lined himself up with her entrance and violently thrust inside her dripping pussy to the hilt. She gasped a loud moan that surely could be heard all through the motel as he bottomed out completely, his dickhead slamming harshly against her cervix. He groaned and closed his eyes for a heartbeat as her warmth enveloped his entire cock. She’d always been the perfect fit for him.

“Missed this, huh?” Y/N teased him, grinning smugly, and watched his brow form furious creases.

“Shut the fuck up,” he grunted and pulled out enough to slam back into her with full force, one hand finding its way back to her throat.

“Oooh, bossy. I like the new you. So raw,” she smirked and gasped anew when he hammered into her again. “F-fuck, baby... That’s it.”

This time, it seemed to do the trick as Y/N’s voice stumped, and she fell silent, her head thumping back against the wall in pleasure as his hips snapped against hers, pounding into her at a furious and relentless speed, the motel room wall shaking with her body.

“You know, by the end of the night, I’ll make sure my cum’s leaking out of every pretty little hole of yours, baby girl. How would you like that, huh?”

With one deafening scream at his next hard and deep thrust, Y/N sinfully smirked at him and nodded eagerly. “Oh, I’d fucking love that, baby.”

Dean tenderly kissed the burning red scratches on her bare back, soothing the bittersweet pain a little as his fingertips traced his marks along her spine. He made good on his promise, fucked her into oblivion without showing her any mercy, so much so that they both lost their sense of time and the meaning of life and love. In the end, it all just trickled down to meaningless, random shit. Pleasure and power were all that truly mattered in this deranged world, after all.

Y/N giggled sweetly as he found another ticklish spot before she turned in his embrace and caught his lips. “So, morning light is here, baby boy. Time to make a choice,” she prompted, smirking broadly. “Wanna team up for a little destruction?”

Dean sent her a smile, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of her face as he gently caressed the rosy apples of her cheeks. Finally, he sealed their deal with a sacrilegious kiss.

“Alright, glad you made the right decision, baby,” Y/N teased, her wicked smile almost splitting her face in half. “You know what we have to do first, though, right?”

“Yeah, we need to kill Sammy, Cas, and Crowley before they ruin our fucking fun,” he replied and kissed a path down to her tits, sucking a hardened nipple into his mouth.

“Ding, ding, ding,” Y/N grinned happily upon his correct answer and wiggled her eyebrows before pushing his head further down between her legs to her abused cunt. “But first, make me scream for mercy again, my love.”

Dear Chuck, you better hide from this toxic af couple 😂 Hope you enjoyed this, babes! There’s another smutty one-shot coming tomorrow for V-Day and then I’m done harassing you 💖😉

Everything Jensen Tags: @extraterrestriali @this-is-me19 @writercole @awkward-and-indecisive @eevvvaa @panicking-outside-the-disco @globetrotter28 @imherefordeanandbones @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @xlynnbbyx @jassackles @maggiegirl17 @perpetualabsurdity @deans-spinster-witch @deandreamernp @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373​ @lyarr24​ @deanwanddamons​ @deanwithscissors​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @justrealizedimmascifygurl​ @akshi8278​ @flamencodiva​ @chriszgirl92​ @lhymer1995 @wittyboldsoul​ @djs8891​ @leigh70​ @snowlovespie​ @b3autyfuldisast3r​ @recoveringpastaaddict @ladysparkles78​ @muhahaha303​ @mimaria420​ @creepzeyecandy​

Dean Tags: @parinarain​ @hobby27​ @fromcaintodean​

[musevinnie]

ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ - ᴠɪɴɴɪᴇ ʜᴀᴄᴋᴇʀ

Description : Vinnie is your best friend's brother but other than that he is also your secret boyfriend. During a sleepover at your best friend's house, you and Vinnie share a steamy moment in the kitchen.

Warning: smut, established relationship, oral fem! receiving, mention of "slut"

A/N- FIRST FIC

You were over at your best friend's Alexis place for your monthly sleepover. You both have been having the best time but now that the night has comes everything as settled down and you guys decide to watch a movie.

But you can't watch a movie without any popcorn. So while she is scrolling through Netflix finding a movie you went into the kitchen to get the popcorn.

As you are rummaging through the cabinet you feel a pair of arms around your waist. You bite your lip and giggle knowing who it is.

You turn around and are faced with your best friend's older brother and more importantly your boyfriend.

"Hi baby." you lean up and give him a kiss. He pulls you in closer and starts to leave small kissing of your neck. You try to hold in a moan but finding it very difficult.

He chuckles and smiles against your skin. He slowly moves his hand down to your wait and then places his hands on your bum giving it a light squeeze.

'You are wearing this just to be a little tease aren't you baby girl." he said referring to what you are wearing, an oversized shirt and some booty shorts.

As more kisses and suggestive touches kept going Vinnie began to pull down your shorts.

You quickly stop him. "Baby what are you doing anyone could come down and see.

He groans and keeps playing with the shorts. "Baby my parents are dead asleep, Reggie is not even home and come on Alexis won't come down."

Without a warning, he quickly and easily lifts you up on the counter. He goes between your legs and pulls down both your shorts and panties.

"Fuck baby, you look so sexy. I cant wait to make you feel so good"

Your breath got heavy and threw your head back.

He bit his lip and chuckled. "Look at you baby girl, already getting we for me, my pretty needy princess."

"Oh god Vinnie!" you moan

He kisses your lip. "Baby I haven't even done anything and you are already getting so desperate. "Tell me baby what do you want?"

At this point you couldn't hold it in anymore. "I need you baby please, I need you to take me right here right now"

Vinnie drops to his knees and without any hesitation he buries his face between your thighs and dives in. He places both of your legs on his shoulders.

"Mmm, such a dirty little slut baby, letting me eat you out in my kitchen. Where anyone can just walk in and see"

Your moans keep getting louder and vinnie smirks and picks up your panties and places them in your mouth.

That was your breaking point, you moaned into your panties and came all over vinnie face and mouth.

Vinnie let out one more chuckle before taking your panties and wiping his face with them. After a few more kisses, he helped you put back your shorts and panties back on.

He gave you one more kiss and slapped your ass. "Come into my room once my sister falls asleep"

You head back into the Alexis room.

"Damn girl what took you forever did you go to the damn market to get the popcorn" she laughed and joked

"The popcorn?" your eyes widen realizing you completely forgot about the popcorn.

[basketsys]

We're sick so I wrote a stand up comedy script about being a system called "Late night insomnia (and fever) driven system themed stand up comedy" or just "Dudes Inside Disorder"

[Sources from some jokes are in the bottom of the post, if you click any of the little numbers they will send you to the original Google document I used for writing]

Hello and welcome to this mess of a show, my legal name is unimportant since you are not the government to be concerned about it but you guys can call this sack of meat and bones “Basket” or “Basket System” if you want to quote on quote full name us. A little background about that name, it is supposed to be more like one of those baskets that you often find in farmer markets full of fruits and berries and stuff, but you can kinda also see it as a dirty laundry basket too because, to be fair, these clothes? They stink a bit now, you just can't smell from your chairs which is probably better for the sake of both of us.

You didn't need to know that but, oh well, I'm already over sharing tonight, what a little more to throw at the mix.

If you don't know what a system is, don't worry, I will explain, a system is a little silly thing the human brain does where it gives you silly guys to live with inside your brain alongside you. And if you're already thinking “I never met a system before nor heard about one ever” then it might be because of 1 out of 3 reasons: Either a. You must really live along with people without trauma or problems which, good for you, b. We only tell very close friends or partners about this kind of stuff so someone might not want to cause problems in the relationship or something along those lines, or c. Damn, you might be the problem. Like sincerely, you must be the reason why we don't talk about it so openly and only so secretly and we have to be like the LGBTQ community almost getting out of the closet and all that.

And honestly if you are the type of guy that heard about the people in your head stuff and immediately thought “Oh like that one movie, Shattered” then yes you are the problem so me and my other 50 friends are coming for you, except that when I mean my other 50 friends I really mean 1 body with 50 people in their frontal lobe.

Because really, get that movie out of the way, the people who did it are hated so much by thousands of people who actually suffer from this, including us. So let's clear up what a system really is like.

Being a system is more like living in a house with so many roommates you lost count and also almost never see and then one day you go to the fridge to get that one snack that you were saving for later, and then going to said fridge and not finding it and immediately screaming “WHO THE FUCK ATE MY SNACK?!” except you scream it internally and not out loud in front of your parents who are already disappointed in the fact that you either keep saying that you can't remember your childhood, which I'm sure they worked so fucking hard to give you a memorable one (/s, shaking head, dead stare), or the fact that you are a little too fruity for them and you don't want them to know so soon how mentally ill you actually are. And after that you just start planning murder and then suddenly and without any notice you just hear someone behind you saying “Calm down, it's fine, we can get it later, it's no worry” and you're just there mid planning going “When the fuck did you fucking appear? Like dude, at least make a little sound. Also this is my problem, it doesn't concern you.” and the guy just responds with “It does concern me because in fact you're planning on murdering my son. You're planning the murder of 6-year-old Timmy here over a snack.” and then you just don't know how to feel, either you feel like an asshole or you still keep going on with your plans because technically they can't put you in jail for beating the shit out of a child that resides inside your frontal lobe.

Yeah, just to be safe, never ask a system what crimes have been committed inside that brain, because in fact, it might be a lot. Some might even say arson and you'll be so glad that the fire 10-year-old Sarah did was in a safe space and not in a forest unlike a middle-aged singlet woman making a baby shower.

Oh, right yeah I haven't talked about how we call you guys, right. Systems refers to normal people as “singlets”, comes from the word “singular”. Yeah we have to pretend we are singlets a lot. Either it's school, a job, social media even, Thanksgiving, Christmas, for government papers like a birth certificate, imagine if the government creates a law for systems where we have to update the birth certificate everytime we get a new silly guy in the headband they just attach the list of names and date of splitting to the already 1 page long certificate using tape or staples, the list would be fucking endless and we would contribute a fucking lot to global warming. It's not like we even care about the headcount a lot, we also sometimes don't keep count of how many people are in this sack of bones and meat. Also it's hilarious when you start talking about introjects because you might as well be committing either illegal cloning or identity theft in the eyes of the government, so. Yeah better to not keep track of the infinite amounts of Wilbur Soot's in every system and how many each body has as well, they would end each shift like “How many Wilbur's did you count today?” “Today was a chill day, only 22. Like 5 different bodies, it was cool. One of them was trans I think.” like it's no longer ‘How much did they pay you this week?’ it's ‘How many times did you have to press ctrl+v this evening?’.

The government would be like “You wouldn't download a movie” or even “You wouldn't download a car”, well, guess what bitch, I fucking downloaded a car and his fucking name is Lighting McQueen.[1]

Honesty sometimes I feel like introjects are like Rule 34 even, if there's a character there's an introject, especially if there's a lot of attention on that media, oh boy. I'm just gonna say, the quantity of Marvel introjects I've seen, even worse than when DSMP was popularized. For you who are not zoomers, that's something off the internet which was basically a theater club to say the least, don't ask, you don't wanna know, you don't ask more questions about it nor say why did Dream actually needed to stay in jail forever because if you do you're gonna get doxxed. And it's not fun, look at us we change identity every random amount of time because of this exact same thing. Just kidding it is not because of that, it's because someone was mean to us at the ripe age of 8, so now we're fucked up mentally[2] (with an up-beat voice). Now, we're 15 fuckers in a trench coat with one goal, taking a nap, and also trying to figure out who ate the last of the fettuccine Alfredo. I'm looking at you, Alejandro. (looking at nothing) You could've just left a note. I won't be mad for eating my leftovers (nodding at audience while mouthing “Yes, I will” )

What's also fun about this (whisper: “it is not, not really”) is that, you don't only get DID, the “Dudes Inside” Disorder, you also get a fun little combo of other mental illnesses so you don't miss out on the offer, like a McDonald's promotion where you just pay $2 extra and get something else, the same here, you get a little bit more fucked up and you get a new guy and a mental disorder, like ADHD, autism, OCD, BPD, Bipolar, PTSD, anxiety, the whole DSM-5 diagnosis criteria. Like yeah they can come free with your new guy, even bundle up and the newbie could also be like “Oh my God, I wanna front and experience life like I have never been more alive” a then when they experience life and also with the several other disorders and even sometimes disabilities that the body can have they're just like “…I don't want to be here anymore, I wanna go home” and then there's the one alter who's been there for the last 5 years just looking from afar and saying “You must be new here, welcome to hell” like an old war veteran while they're just, what, 17?

And then you do the math and realize “Goddamn that 17-year-old was 12 when they appeared” and to that I say, and in complete honesty, the people that can appear can already come pre-traumatized like a pre-cooked meal that you just pop into the microwave. It's no longer “I can fix him” now it's “I will get him so he goes to therapy himself”.[3] I got that one off system Tumblr, it's fine the amnesia will make them forget they ever did that joke. Also, you're not even the one checking what's available in the alter market, the brain just looks and analyzes the world like a menu like “What do I need at this moment, a medium ugly half dead man? No, too fruity. Boy failure male wife wet cat? Too pathetic. An intergalactic teenager from another species, a completely different civilization with completely different culture, skin colour, inhumane features and an asshole personality? (Gasp) Yeah I'll get that. Excuse me, I'll get the Karkat Vantas, directly from Homestuck, don't do any of those fancy AU stuff, I'll get the original. Can I make that a combo? Yeah, give me the social anxiety, extra shake. Want this to get called a nervous system[4] instead of whatever name they made up for themselves, thanks”

Another thing that also changes a lot is how you consume content, either a song, a series, movie, you name it. You guys are just out there saying “I want to watch this movie” let's take Penguins of Madagascar as an example, and you just get through the movie, silly movie, funny even, you enjoyed it and then never think about it again until that one night you're scrolling Netflix, great. But as a system? Oh boy.

As a system, you have to pray to finish the movie sometimes. Either someone else wanted to see the movie too and can be a child or an adult so now either they kicked you or you're getting a friend to chat with during the movie, sometimes even babysit but everything cool, you finish the movie and mission accomplished, you survived.

Or also what can happen is a secret third thing which we all just sweat cold at night. If you get through the movie, amazing, you made it, now pray so Riko doesn't follow you home like a demon attached to you, don't matter which fucking God you have to pray to, even if it's the angel inside your brain you got from reading the fucking Bible back when you were on Sunday school or fucking Zeus, you just do. You're atheist? Not anymore, you need all celestial help you can get so he doesn't appear ever. You heard his voice? No you fucking didn't. Just keep walking. You don't wanna hear it from the host, or the system manager, asking when and how did we get an arsonist terrorist spy penguin that can puke bombs at will and also doesn't communicate very well. Anyways, just smile and wave…wait, NO.

One last thing I want to talk about is how diverse sometimes the alters in systems can get, they can be transgender, cisgender, human, non-human, straight up animals, demons, angels, a fucked up drawing you did when you were 12, anything. And also leaves the room for them to be part of the LGBTQ community and also form families and relationships in the same system.

For example, remember Timmy? The 7-year-old about to be murdered? And how this guy just said “That's my child?” yeah, we just, start saying shit like that, sometimes is because of the memories that they have before forming or it can be just because they saw a child and said “Yoink, now you're my son” like there's a 50/50. But a lot of systems consider each other family and that's actually very nice. Even internal dating happens, genuinely. Which yeah, it is already pretty fruity to have silly little guys inside you, now they're actually gay?[5] Damn, okay box of fruit loops, we get it, calm down. That's actually what one of our singlet friends told us when I explained my relationship with my fucking husband which lives with me in the same frontal lobe, and to be fair, he's right, if we actually bought each one of them their own pride flag we would be broke in no time, like. It was to pick a single struggle, not to grab a handful of them. It said it on the sign “Take one”.

Moving on, you know, hopefully I live long enough to see a system meeting expo-like event, I want to see the posting of the event saying something like "Thank you for coming to our meeting! We had a thousand attendees in this event" and then someone as an outsider just saw like 6 different bodies in front of a Starbucks.

Some references:

[1] Came with this one with a friend system

[2] Sysblr

[3] Sysblr

[4] Sysblr

[5] Close singlet friend

[halfberry]

Just finished watching Kung Fu Panda 4 and it was...interesting. I don't wanna be too critical because I've seen kids talk about how they liked it and I'm in my thirties and haven't been the target market for this movie in 20+ years so what I think of it doesn't really matter but I still think they're solid, fun movies.

I liked the story for the most part and it seemed like a good natural progression for Po and his journey and I like how Zhen has become who Po was in the first movie, Po has become Shifu and Shifu has become Oogway. Oh, and I'll always enjoy seeing Mr. Ping on screen. I thought the Chameleon was kinda cool even though it did just seem like a re-hash of the third movie with the whole stealing power thing and Tai Lung? Fuck yeah Tai Lung is rad I wish he had more of a presence. I liked Zhen the Fox, she was pretty fun and I liked how she was kinda cheeky.

I didn't like the Five not being in it for whatever reason and I hated that Lord Shen, imo the best character in the whole franchise, was done dirty and cut down to a non-speaking cameo bit part and I feel like they missed a trick not having Oogway and Kai having a moment in the spirit realm. If it was me I wouldn't of had the Chameleon just make a portal and then summon the Masters, I would of had a scene of them in the spirit realm doing something and showing them being summoned from their side as well. But yeah I thought it was a fine film and not as bad as some folk lead me to believe. I'd give it a solid 6 or 7 outta 10

[kitcat992]

The WGA strike is delaying the next MCU Spiderman movie. If only it would get cancelled completely! No Way Home ruined MCU Spiderman. And how can Peter go on anyway? Did the spell erase memories, photographs, documents, etc, but somehow leave him with a birth certificate and social security number? Sorry but that just adds a layer of absurdity to an already terrible ending. Plus I'm sick of seeing the hate MCU Peter gets. I found out about the movie delay on the "anti mcu" tag and I saw people were still calling him "Iron Boy Jr." That was always a misnomer to begin with, but it's all the more so now considering the NWH ending erased his connection to Tony. I just wish the MCU would end once and for all so that old wounds wouldn't keep getting reopened.

Listen, I'll ALWAYS love superheroes and Marvel. But I'm so thankful we're seeing the death of superhero movies. And that's okay, every era comes to an end eventually. Westerns, romcons, etc. They all have their time and then fade away.

And as someone who adores superheroes, the saturation to the market has just been too much and the quantity over quality has left a terrible taste in my mouth. I dunno what the fuck they even think they can do with the next Holland Spider-Man movie but I assure you I have zero interest after No Way Home 🤷‍♀️ NWH was the only MCU movie I watched after Endgame and that hasn't changed, either. The MCU has been long since dead to me and I'm glad to finally reach a point where hearing this news makes no difference in my life.

It's a shame. I loved Tom Holland in Spider-Man Homecoming but goddamn did they do him dirty with everything that followed.

[kinocomix]

untitled project devlog #5: Murder mystery and the art of 50 cent plushies from the sunday market 

A common thread among people who watch shows like NCIS or similar formulaic police shows -where the protagonist is a stoic wall of muscle surrounded by their coworkers who end up being more friends than coworkers- is to predict what’s happening. You frequently hear people go “I knew it was [blank] all along!” Which makes sense, that’s part of the appeal of these shows and how they’re written. You’re MEANT to be hooked in by the incomplete information, that’s the crux of ARGs like the mandela catalogue and marble hornets, lonelygirl15 before Austin Mcconel took over (his words not mine)

sidenote, Sarah from the mandela catalogue is an alternate I’M CALLING IT NOW, this bitch is sus as fuck.

Back to my point, mystery in fiction is a promise made by the author, that promise being that once it’s cemented itself in the logic of the world it inhabits (think how in the mandela catalogue the first few installments were introducing you to the idea of the demons that try to copy people) it’ll slowly unravel itself to the point where its cards are eventually there on the table, and it’s up to you to go back and see how you could have read them better. a good mystery makes the act of solving it equally as fascinating as the solution -that’s why agatha christie tends to be timeless whereas the appeal of shows like NCIS is eventually delegated to the character arcs and set pieces.

In the documentary free solo, Alex Honnold is on a mission to climb El Capitan, in Yosemite National Park with no safety equipment. The actual bit in the documentary where he does the climbing is around 5 to 10 minutes of the 100 minute long runtime of the film. the argument could be made that they could just upload the 5 minute montage of the climb to youtube, and for the extra vicarious thrillseekers low key on the autism spectrum like me, the unedited 3.5 hour long footage of him raw dogging the mountain. But that’s not what documentaries are the same way detective movies aren’t 20 minute podcasts of someone dryly reciting a police file. Documentaries aim to use the language and vocabulary of cinema to discuss everyday ideas. that’s why free solo spends 80 minutes teaching you about climbing as an art, showing you Alex the human, his friends, the shortcomings of other free soloists who died climbing and THEN shows you the 5 minute montage… because at that point the stakes are so high -appropriately so- that the shots of the camera man not being able to look in his viewfinder out of fear of filming someone’s death become intensely real. Alex becomes more than just the visualized idea of the climber, he’s THE climber Alex. The madman who wants to see something done. The friend, the human. It's about narrative delivery, the balance between tension and release. 

This is interesting to consider because the information here is essentially the same, but one feels much more interesting. This same idea is why some science communicators like Hank Green and Bill Nye do a much better job at making you interested in science than most articles on google scholar, it’s the same information but more approachable and digestible. what i”m getting at here is that most things can be very interesting if you put this twist on them, even removed from the context of media: you’re not just talking to your racist boomer uncle, you’re privy to a front row seat into what makes someone grow up to be a racist shithead, which is significantly more interesting. When you shift your thinking into wanting to understand what’s behind the information, life becomes as thrilling and mysterious as a murder novel.

Now let’s apply this paradigm to something like this plushie I bought for 50 cents from the sunday market, and as you’ll see it’s going to raise a very interesting question regarding naturalistic storytelling. 

I did not take a picture of it when I found it but it was very dirty, I had to wash it twice, and you can see how damaged it was, there were tears on the front as well and half the stitches connecting the head to the body were gone.

Here it is after it was fully sewed back up, I opted to highlight the patches because I think it shows the history behind the plush, and because I’ve been watching a lot of Baumgartner restoration videos lately and Julian would take away my fabric privileges if I covered up more than is needed.

also yes, it’s being propped up with an empty jar of tahini, it is delicious and I will not be taking feedback at this time. I want to direct your attention at this Logo here:

now if you search for “Herz’l plush” you get a bunch of disconcerting anatomically correct heart plushies that are sure to stab me in my sleep that are wildly unrelated to the brand. Unsurprising, it’s german for “my heart”

a bit of extra digging and you might come across this german reseller website with some plushies with the same tag, but nothing useful to our search is mentioned…

https://www.kleinanzeigen.de/s-anzeige/spiralplueschtier-schlange-herz-l-pluesch-kuscheltier/1850047318-23-4712

so… that’s a bust. What about the other side of the tag?

okay… not too sure of what to make of that. But that’s what search engines are for, let’s try “seneca”:

Oh it’s… a Stoic philosopher. Okay what about “seneca Hamburg?” 

https://www.ebay.de/itm/125112346754

more ebay listings. great. okay fine, let’s ask the internet for help

I see. surely someone knows SOMETHING.

ok wow this thing is… old.

of course! The german trademark register. I feel dumb. let’s see what’s in there:

oh god oh jesus what is all this why is there a giant block of text is THAT-

okay so they made the plushie but why is it so FUCKING obscure? At this point I remembered I have a German lawyer friend. Everyone needs to have a German lawyer friend.

okay! now we know what to actually search for.

https://www.northdata.com/Terrex+Handels-AG,+Oststeinbek/Amtsgericht+L%C3%BCbeck+HRB+1610+RE

liquidation? so… they never renewed the trademark cause there was no more company. seems like they weren’t doing too well either. looks like at some point they did a merger with another company. Then not too soon later liquidated it… thanks to my dear lawyer friend here, I can tell you this:

“Every company is owned by a larger company, which is the shell company of a different company. At the end, you figure out all companies are owned by like 3-5 companies”

To recap, here’s what we learned about the tag on our plushie:

The plushie is exactly 30 years old as of 2023. This is not to mention that I learned about how companies buy each other like stocks, how there’s something called forensic accounting because of that, that the “China export” thing is just a myth*, and more…

*https://www.europarl.europa.eu/doceo/document/P-6-2007-5938-ASW_EN.html?redirect

so this is where we ended up:

It’s possible I may have gotten carried away. Setting that aside for a moment, this is what I mean when I say mysteries are good because they make you learn and explore. Sometimes, connections and breakthroughs are made because of things like a plushie that you would have otherwise completely ignored. 

What this has to do with naturalistic storytelling is how it highlights the fact that life is messy. Despite the fact that I hyper fixated on this plush for hours, there’s a lot I still don’t know about it. I have a general overview of the situation for sure, I know it was made in Germany in 1993, and stuff about the company that made it but that’s about it. Good mysteries stay puzzling even after you solve them because LIFE is mysterious. The balance here is how much do you show the reader, and how much do you leave unanswered? The way I’ve personally found that deals with this has to do with format and layered storytelling.

There's one thing that comics do that will always be superior to other media and that is layered storytelling. Not to be confused with how films have a plots and b plots, or how books can choose to switch the focus of the scene onto something different: layered storytelling is when multiple pieces of information are being conveyed at once.

a very straight forward example oh what i mean is how in this section in my comic “Almost home” when Graham is having a conversation with a mysterious person who randomly shows up to see them:

In addition to the conversation being had, there’s this cypher in the background that you would have found the key to prior in the comic. The existence of a parallel piece of information that you can switch your attention to if you so desire is what makes this parallel storytelling. The reason I don’t think this could work in film is because in a comic, you dictate the speed at which the media is occurring. If you stop reading a speech bubble, that doesn’t mean the story is paused, it just means you’re focusing on the moment the panel is trying to show you; and different people do this differently.

In this panel, you’re free to choose whether or not the ciphered text is being narrated or not because focusing on it is optional and doesn't take away from your ability to understand what’s happening immediately in front of you. You’re free to read all of my comics without engaging with a single thing I put in the background and it will still provide a satisfying and emotional experience. Games also do this when done right, an excellent example is “Night in the woods” and how you’re free to ignore most of the town, or sidequests for example. 

Another example is an unreleased project of mine still in early development called “the ice cream men”. The story follows two aliens who get stuck on earth and set about trying to make ice cream, shenanigans and existentialism ensue. In the book there’s an entire second narrative told in the form of writings on walls and random journal entries that they find that they just can’t read because… they’re aliens. To them this is just a big abandoned planet with a single cat on it, but to the reader with the ability to see everything… HOO BOY.

This is something I love incorporating into fiction. I think it gives things more depth if done right, and can act like the mystery of a detective novel or an ARG. Obviously this doesn't always work, sometimes the beauty of a story is its simplicity, or by how in your face it is about being analyzed. Not every idea needs or can even handle the additional weight of parallel storytelling.  And that’s where dogs come in.

but I can’t talk about that now, we’ll have to leave it until next week.

Devlog updates on tuesdays.

[spiders-hth-is-an-outlier]

I really do understand what posts/tweets like this are fundamentally getting at, but I also think they're kind of -- not stupid, that's too harsh, but something like dunderheaded (a good term, underappreciated, let's bring it back).

I think people should consume thoughtful and passionately felt queer art! But how detached are you from normal human behavior if you really think Thoughtful and Passionate Queer Art is filling the same niche for people as franchise entertainment, emotionally or culturally? Watching Velvet Goldmine and My Own Private Idaho changed my life, shaped my sense of who I am and how I exist in the world, are priceless experiences that helped me understand my bisexuality and masculinity, but like -- I am not sitting down to watch fucking My Own Private Idaho when I want to watch Star Wars. And I don't want the price of sometimes enjoying Star Wars content to be stepping into a universe where apparently I couldn't possibly exist. That sucks and feels bad and is not fun, and I want to have fun watching Star Wars, in addition to the Art I consume.

All of which is not to mention the fact that Harry Potter and Disney are accessible to lots of people, children and adults, who never will or are unable to seek out fuckin pre-Code film or whatever. And just as someone who actually remembers when just the idea that "queer people exist in the real world and should reasonably be expected to exist in all fictional worlds as well" was a bonkers, radical thing to say out loud, I'm not jazzed about rolling that back and saying oh, well, I guess Marvel movies or whatever is the universe where queer people just won't exist, or maybe only barely so people don't have to notice or be annoyed by it. Seek out queer novels from independent publishers instead! No, I don't think we do have to pick one of those things. I never did think we should have to pick. I like both, and they're different, and I want both.

Obviously corporations just see queer people as a demographic that can be marketed to: that's how they see everyone, that's what an audience is. I'm an audience! I don't have a relationship with these companies, but I do have an entertainment budget, and it's deeply degrading to be told that the product I'd like to buy from them is too dirty to exist for any amount of money, which is the message I grew up hearing from the corporate entertainment industry, so like -- yeah, now I want them to make me a fuckin Star War, sorry.

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary2

today we did errands and i did hate it like i thought. i don't know why i hate it so much. like okay hate it's too strong a way to put it but it wigs me out totally.

i guess probably, i hate going outside lately, and partly being around my gf and her mom puts me on edge, they're both anxious people who dawdle or i feel like they dawdle and i just want to go back home because it's hot out because we live in the dumbest desert ever and even if they're both having a good time basically it's made up of 100 mini arguments that no one has any stake in until one of the decides that something was really actually transgressed and that makes me feel catty and irritable but also i'm stupid and lazy, or i don't know. i feel kind of like i have to do most of the important stuff, but what is that really, that's not true, i just watch the laundry in the laundromat, i sit and listen to orchid, i feel people stare at me and then i watch my girlfriend fold the laundry because she doesn't like/need my help, and then we go to the store and she wanders around, she used to be a lot worse, and she also randomly decides rather than having us go look for something in the direction we're going maybe she should ask her mom to do that, and then get disappointed with what her mom brings her, so we go look. i don't know. it's annoying, is all, and i feel bad about that because it's so dumb to be annoyed, it should be funny it feels like but it makes me a little miserable to be dragged around places that make me feel totally dirty to be inside of, like, have you looked at the floors of every super market/market/wherever you buy your vegetables like god it's so gross and i'm transfixed by that because i'm like, also that gross too basically, right.

or i think that way a little. otherwise today was fine except for i came home and went crazy. when i go crazy i just say the same thing over and over, and i don't know why, it's not mean stuff it's just all stupid, i feel a clot in my throat talking about it/typing it, because like, what is it, i'm always convinced i know exactly what i'm saying when i'm saying it, but i can hardly remember, and like, there's almost no intention, i just start doing things and i can't help it, i just do it. when i'm super stressed i guess i just become way stupid.

definitely.

n e wayzzz, yesterday i think i fucked up a number, it wasn't 22 i stopped crying right, it was earlier, like, 21-20-ish probably. i don't know why correcting that feels so important. it makes me look way more pathetic, which is fine, i've made peace with that. everything that's ever happened to me means way too much for way too long. i don't think i hold grudges, at least.

last night i saw this print in the towel from last time i wore makeup, it happens every time so next time, which will be soon cuz i'll put makeup on when i go see melt banana cuz i want to serve cunt i guess, anyways it was my eyes closed drawn w/ mascara, when i washed my face and i couldn't get all the stuff off my face because i'm really lazy with the micellar pads or actually it's mostly because i like waking up and seeing some on my face still. i think it's actually when eyeliner looks best on me.

that's like, true.

tomorrow is gonna be weird because i have to meet with someone for semi-professional reasons after not having a job forever because i'm honestly terrible at being employed and it makes wanna die, but this is me probably getting paid to make music for someone's movie, and he likes a demo i did for him so that's #cool right. it's scary because i don't know what he'll say and how much he'll want from me, and i'm scared about not being perfect at it, and i'm scared it'll sap my ability to make what i normally make anyways but that fear is really stupid. if anything i think it'd make me want to go the other direction more, right.

i did work on music today but no vox, i just took some drums off grid on a song, which is fun, or not really but it's rewarding to go through and think about how another human would be dealing with a song/interpreting it in a live way almost, but the hits being so clearly from a drum machine of some kind, it makes it a little uncanny.

tomorrow i need to wake up early, so i can warm up and do some vocals somewhere, probably work on the song that i want to be another single a little bit, some parts need a little improvement i feel like. i didn't listen to the songs i did yesterday yet, too freaked out i guess.

today i ate, like, i forgot what i started with. i woke up in pain, my stomach was a gravity pit and it made getting up hard, i was just falling into myself and my body was distantly sore, i woke up, and i took too long in the shower so my gf's mom got here while i was drying my hair which probably is part of what put me in a stressed out place today already. anyways i think the first thing i ate after 2-3 hours of being awake was chicken tenders. i'm not saying where from because it makes me feel sort of ridiculous i guess, i dunno why. i should just say because it is ridiculous and it's really funny, for some reason shaq owns some kind of chicken chain, and we ate it today. it's fine, i like the french fries, they're crazy thin and i think i can still taste the salt at the back of my throat. we ate in the car because laundry had to happen. i didn't have water so i was dying a little bit. i have water now which is nice. uhhhhhhhhhhhh

trying to think, the next time i ate was at home, i ate a cinnamon roll that i think my girlfriend wanted but also doesn't care about too much and a blueberry muffin. i keep saying i'm going to eat the other one because it makes me look psycho, which is funny i think. what else.

in the shower, today, i thought about living with my aunt a lot, i hope my cousin who moved out around the same time i was moving out of there is well, i hope my cousin who moved in as i moved in there and is presumably still there, there being vague because maybe my aunt moved and took her kid with her, is doing better than he was, but i don't know. i sort of developed the fear that he maybe did something awful, i don't know why he would though.

makes me think about my other cousins, on my dad's side. they both turned out to have awful lives, they were normal for a while until they were adults, and switches came on in their heads maybe, around the same time each were arrested for domestic violence, both in jail. i remember vividly the time one picked up their cat and threw her in the pool and we three watched her run out, long hair all wet, she looked like a rat from a sewer. they were in highschool, i was way younger. another time, one showed me a glass bluebird, translucent, he talked about how it represented jesus, and then in that same stretch of time, i played ocarina of time on their n64.

i also ate some pretzel rods, i forgot, they were from the 99 cent store, i tried to get some in the smiths but my gf said: i got those exact ones in the 99 cent store. and then her mom showed up and she told that to her mom twice because her mom was not listening at all the first time.

friday we are seeing melt banana which i am excited about but i am not excited about hanging out downtown potentially cuz it's so fucking windy in the summer i don't want to have my bangs get fucked up in the wind that's so annoyinggg and also last time we were there i became inconsolable because i tried a dress on and it didn't fit and i was unhappy for at least 2 days. i think i sound really unfun in these posts. whatever.