#on my knees for more people to draw him T T

[rqsie63]

the claim has been made ; yuki tsunoda.

Of course Yuki in his navy Red Bull tee goes viral. And of course you get a little jealous of those thirsty comments. But he makes sure you know you're the only one whose attention he needs.

🏁: yuki tsunoda x jealous girlfriend! reader.

🏁: SMUT. (nothing too crazy bc I suck at writing smut). smau ending. english is not my first language. i think that's it.

🪻: who else cried after yukierre crashed?, anyways let's forget about that and appreciate how good yuki looks in the red bull t-shirt. a whole snack. sorry if this is kinda bad or feels rushed , I'm trying my best to exercise the written fanfic more😭. enjoy 💙.

Mónaco, late afternoon. The sun's casting golden lights trough the windows.

You're scrolling on the couch, phone in hand, biting the inside of your cheek.

"You've gone viral again", you say.

He raises a brow. "Yeah?"

You turn your phone towards him, and sure enough is that photo - him in the navy Red Bull tee, sleeves hugging his arms like a second skin. The comments are chaos.

"Wait, when did Yuki get HOT-hot?"

"Staring at those biceps like it's my full time job"

He grins. "I mean... I do look kinda good."

You roll your eyes, tossing the phone down. "I'm very aware, those comments make sure I know everyone wants a piece of you now."

Yuki's smirks widens as he padd over to you. Towel slug around his neck. "Wait... are you jealous?"

You cross your arms, but the way your eyes rake down his chest says yes, absolutely. "I'm not jealous, I just - some of those comments were a lot, okay?"

Yuki steps between your legs, hands resting on your thighs. “Baby…”

“Don’t.”

“I only want one person’s attention,” he murmurs, leaning in, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Yours.”

You´re still pouting, just a little. He trails kisses down your jaw.

“I don’t care how many people zoom in on my photos,” he says, hands sliding under your hoodie, “because no one else gets this.”

Your breath hitches. “Gets what?”

“This mouth,” he whispers, lips ghosting over yours. “These hands.” He grabs your thighs, squeezing. “And all the things I want to do to you.”

Your legs wrap around his waist like instinct. “You’re cocky today.”

“Mm.” He grinds against you just enough for you to feel him. “Wonder why.”

“Tell me what they said again.”, He continued.

Yuki’s voice is low, closer to a growl than a question—as he kneels in front of you, pulling your panties down your thighs at an excruciatingly slow pace. His hands are warm, steady.

You exhale sharply, back arching as he leans in to kiss the inside of your knee.

“They said… your arms looked good.”

He hums. “Just my arms?”

Your back shivers. “Your jaw. Your neck. Your thighs. Your everything.”

He chuckles, kisses higher. “But they don’t get to touch, do they?”

You shake your head, eyes already glassy. “No.”

His mouth is so close now, breath hot against you. “They don’t know what you taste like.”

Then he finally drags his tongue through your folds; slow, deliberate. You gasp, hips jerking, and he locks his arms around your thighs, anchoring you in place.

“I do,” he murmurs against you, voice ragged. “I know.”

He eats you out like he has something to prove—like every flick of his tongue is a love letter, every moan he draws out of you is a trophy. One hand slides up to your stomach, grounding you, the other tangled in yours—fingers laced tight.

When you come, it’s with his name on your lips, thighs shaking around his head. But he’s not done.

Yuki stands, mouth slick, eyes dark with devotion and heat. “You think I’m gonna let anyone else even imagine making you feel like that?”

You barely catch your breath before he’s kissing you—deep and messy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He lifts you, carries you to the bedroom like you weigh nothing, and lays you down on the bed.

“I love you,” he says, lining himself up, voice wrecked. “So much it scares me sometimes.”

You cup his face, eyes soft even as your legs pull him closer. “Then show me.”

He pushes in slowly—so slowly, savoring every inch, forehead pressed to yours. You both moan, breathing each other in.

The rhythm builds—deep and unhurried. It’s about claiming. About connection.

He keeps whispering to you as he moves: “You’re the only one I want.”, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

And when you finally fall apart together, it’s quiet—no screaming, no chaos. Just trembling limbs, whispered names, hands never letting go. Afterward, you lie tangled in each other, skin flushed and hearts racing.

Yuki brushes your hair from your face, eyes searching yours like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

“You know they can thirst all they want,” he murmurs. “But I’m already taken.”

You smile lazily, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“Damn right you are.”

liked by yukitsunoda0511, pierregasly, carlossainz55 and others.

yourusername he's hot. he's perfect. he's mine. stay hydrated babes.

view all comments...

yukitsunoda0511: i bet the person who took these is even hotter and perfect 🤭

username1: no way she saw those thirsty comments about yuki and now she's giving us more material

pierregasly: miss possessive

yourusername: no seriously, get your eyes off my man

© rqsie63 | 2025.

[sadlad03]

heres a little poster thingy (｡o_o｡)""

[amdiriel]

lonely

Azriel x fem!Archeron!reader

SUMMARY: Reader, the second Archeron sister, finds herself overwhelmed by the sight of her sisters in their respective happinesses one day. Luckily Azriel stops by her room in time to comfort her.

WARNINGS: feelings of loneliness (real), fluff, Azriel being hot (that’s a given), slight suggestiveness at the end, first time writing

NOTE: hey, i’m diri! been sort of a silent spectator on this tag for a while but then i wrote this and thought hell why not!!

WORDS: 2.5k

main masterlist PART 2

•••

The emptiness of loneliness burned hollowly in my chest, blooming when I entered my room at last, stumbled onto my bed.

Pathetically, I just wanted what my sisters had. I didn't dare show it, but I ached to be held, loved, to love fiercely and be happily, healthily devoted to someone.

I wanted to be touched and adored. I wanted to build a life with someone. To not have to look, wish, hope, or dream about it anymore.

My knees curled up under my chin as I sat there in the nest of my bedding, looking blankly at the wall as the tears came.

I hadn't realized that I had been softly weeping until the knock came to my door. Fuck. I heard his soft, beautiful voice announcing himself, asking to come in.

When I don't reply, frozen in terror that he'll come in and see me in this state, Azriel calls my name again in question. I know he can sense me behind the door, and when I sniff, he calls lowly, "I'm coming in."

Panic sweeps through me as he pushes open the door, eyes falling on me in concern as I wipe at my face. The book he borrowed from me goes from his hand to a side table as he comes to me, forgotten. "Hey. Hey, what's going on?" he asks with the softest tenderness I've ever heard him speak. To know that it was reserved for me makes my chest ache for it even more, and another little sob slips from me. He sits on my bed and reaches for me, hands going to my arms and rubbing up and down.

“I’m sorry,” I croak, shaking my head and trying to draw back and wipe my face. He doesn’t release me.

“No,” he says firmly, squeezing my arms. “No, you’ve done nothing wrong. Let me help you.”

I shake my head again, can’t seem to stop, trying to wave him off. “It’s not something you can help with,” I rasp. “It’s my own shit, I’ll deal with it—“

“Tell me what’s going on.” His tone brooks no argument.

I can’t speak for a long moment, for several long moments. The words are embarrassing, stuck like molasses on my tongue. To say them would be to humiliate myself. But he isn’t relenting. I realize that five hundred years of extracting information from people as spymaster had made him patient in a way I could never outpace.

“It’s just hard,” I finally settle on, not quite processing my own words. “It’s hard seeing them—my sisters, I mean. Sorry, I think I’m just tired, out of it—“ He shakes his head with a squeeze of my arms.

“Stop trying to excuse your feelings. It’s merely how you feel,” he murmurs, watching me carefully. A breath puffs uncomfortably in my chest, but I go on.

“I’ve always made myself content in the fact that something like that didn’t really happen to people like me. I’ve never known why,” I rasp, the color finally rising in my cheeks as I gear up to admit, “But I’m—“ I choke. “I just see them and I feel so lonely.”

His expression shutters and his eyes soften. “Sweetheart,” he whispers, stroking my arms. To hear that word from his lips is already a shock, but knowing it’s directed at me makes me fall apart more.

“I’m not one for self pity, ever,” I get out as another cry raises the pitch of my voice. “I just feel so alone.”

A huff of a sigh leaves Azriel’s lips and he draws me forward. “Come here.”

My breath shudders in my chest as I try not to lose it, try to calm myself as the tears stream hotly down my face. “I’m sorry,” I whisper again. “I feel ridiculous. It just hurts sometimes. Right here.” I rub my chest where the hollow ache is.

He hums and soon I’m in his arms. He gently scoops me onto his lap and tucks my head into the crook of his neck. He’s so warm, so strong, and smells so good that I shudder again and let myself break in his embrace.

His hushing and stroking over my hair lulls me as every bad feeling seeps out of my body. He holds me quietly until my crying ceases, until my shaking stills. Until I am merely breathing tiredly against him.

I could fall asleep like this, could die peacefully here. His hand strokes my hair again. “Feel better?” he asks, his voice a quiet rumble that rumbles in his chest, therefore mine.

I blush profusely at how ridiculous I’m being, but make no move. I nod. I can’t move, can’t look at him. I must be the silliest, most ridiculous woman—female, I correct mentally—at my age that he’s ever seen. He’s centuries old and has a better grip on things than I do. I know he feels bad for me, but any respect he had before must have loosened considerably in the minutes he’s seen me in this state.

As I’m trying to overcome my embarrassment, he strokes my hair softly and begins on a murmur, “I get this way too. I feel it right in my chest, like you said. I have for a long time.” I don’t dare breathe or move. He’s revealing very vulnerable feelings and I fear one move will scare him off. He sighs. “It is difficult—seeing everyone pair off and be happy. Just as difficult to see my brothers as it is for you to see your sisters that way. But you aren’t alone. You’re never alone.”

I sigh, whispering haltingly, “I know. But—it isn’t the same, is it?”

He shakes his head. “It isn’t,” he concedes, “But you shouldn’t doubt that you’ll find that. You’re more than deserving of it.”

A little flutter in my chest, and of all things, a smile blooms on my face. “You are too, Azriel.”

I feel his smile against my hair.

I sigh and draw away even as my body screams in argument, not looking him completely in the eye. “I really am sorry. For—this.” I gesture nonsensically between us, eyeing the wet stain at the collar of his shirt with a small wince. “I really am not usually like this,” I grumble.

His soft chuckle draws my eyes to his face, and I find him looking down at me softly, amusedly. “I know. You’re usually very formidable, self-assured. It was a surprise to see you so…” I raise my brows as he searches for the word, something he usually never has to. “Weighed down,” he settles on.

I don’t know what to say. I settle on a small shrug of my shoulder as I take my sleeve and wipe my face again, sighing as a calm settles over me again.

When I glance back over at him, he’s still observing me quietly. “What?” I croak.

“Nothing,” he says softly with a shrewd yet not unkind look in his eye. “It’s just funny.” I frown, but he continues on before I can interrupt. “You give yourself a private moment to let it out, then you reset. Like nothing happened.”

I feel a heat in my face at the accuracy.

“It’s funny because, well,” he shrugs, “It reminds me of myself.”

I glance warily over him with questioning tilt of my head. “You don’t seem like the type to deal in self-pity. Or crying at all for that matter,” I reply wryly.

His lip curls in amusement, and something hot curls in my stomach at the sight of it. My expression remains carefully composed, as it always is. “I have my moments,” is all he says.

I roll my eyes, shifting on the bed and sniffing. “Cryptic as always too.”

His laugh is quiet yet rumbling, and even though we don’t touch anymore, I feel the sound tumble deliciously through my muscles and bones, all over my body. “There she is,” he practically drawls, mirth lighting his hazel eyes. Cauldron bloody boil me.

Then he softens again. “But know that anytime you feel like this, you don’t need to wait for a private moment to yourself. Come talk to me,” he offers. Tingling warmth blooms in my chest. In my handful of years since turning fae and finding my place in Velaris, he’s been a kind but somewhat infrequent friend due to his busy nature. “What you feel isn’t anything to be ashamed of, and I’d rather you not bottle it all up.”

I eye the impenetrable Spymaster again, brow raised. “Bit of the pot calling the kettle black, aren’t you?”

He laughs in earnest now, and I watch in wonder as it lightens his features. And again that sound—

I’d been careful not to let my foolish mind not delve too deep in daydreaming about the silent, beautiful specter I had met in my house in the human lands those years ago. Everything about the fae then and even now had just seemed so elevated above my little life. And as hard as I worked, as skilled as I had become with my new body and abilities, I still felt like a complete novice, like a schoolgirl amongst grown men and women most days.

So no. I would not be the fool that fell for the male way above her very modest level, not when I knew he’d be too nice about it, and make me feel even more like the fool.

“What are you thinking about?” his voice breaks through my reverie. He’s eyeing me with amusement now, and a hint of fondness.

I force the heat creeping to my cheeks way down within the depths of myself, determined not to make more of a fool of myself than I already have. “Just wondering why you came in here. I wasn’t—“ A blush rises to my cheeks in earnest now. “You couldn’t hear me crying from the hall, could you?”

He shakes his head, hands creeping forward over my bedspread as though to placate me. “No, no. I just came to return the book you let me borrow,” he replies gently, and again my eyes fall to the book he had dropped on the table near my door as he came in to comfort me. Oh. Right. “You were right. I did like it.”

A small smile creeps up on my lips. “Of course I was right.” He chuckles again, and I relish that I can make him do so.

“Will it inflate your ego terribly if I tell you that you have surprisingly good taste?” he drawls. I let out a playfully indignant noise and gently shove his shoulder.

“Says you. You may be quiet, Shadowsinger, but don’t think I haven’t noticed you peacocking more than once,” I toss back. He draws closer with a little grin. Holy fuck.

“Well when I’m as talented as I am, why shouldn’t I?” he purrs, the most Rhys-like I’d ever seen him. I hold onto my composure for dear life.

“Yeah, well, you can take your peacocking and incredible talent off my bed and out of my room,” I retort with a scowl, shooing him as I fight blushing like a schoolgirl. He laughs, but slides smoothly off my bed and stands, hands raised in mock surrender.

I realize then that he had taken me from my depressive state, comforted me until I calmed, then goaded me until I smiled and bantered with him again.

His eyes go from mirthful to soft, and a beat passes where he’s looking down at me still sitting on my bed, and me at him. His lips quirk. “I’m glad you’re alright. Come to me with anything. I mean it,” he reiterates with gentle firmness. I nod my head.

He begins to leave, but I blurt his name and he halts. As soon as he looks at me again, I murmur, “Thank you.” He nods his head once, eyes kind.

I expect him to turn, to leave. But he steps toward me. I still as his hands gently hold the sides of my head, and he drops a single kiss to my hairline. I don’t move or breathe until he leaves the room with one last look at me over his shoulder.

My door snicks shut and a rush of breath leaves my mouth as my hands fly up to my face. My back finds the duvet.

I was fucked.

—

Azriel walks leisurely down the hall from her room back to his once more, musing on the hour that had just passed in her room.

He’d always found the second Archeron sister to be the most interesting female he’d ever met.

Clever, strong, funny. Beautiful, absolutely, in her own way. She was interesting to look at—that counted far more than conventionally beautiful.

The kind of person you don’t let get away.

He’d have to play this carefully. Had he had thoughts these past two-three years about the fact that they were both the remaining unmated ones of their respective sibling units? Yes. But he knew that even as it drew the two of them together in a careful dance around the line, it could also end very poorly if that was the only assumed reason that he wanted her.

Which it wasn’t.

Sometimes he curses that of his brothers, he hadn’t met her first. He could have, should have wooed her. Then, at least he could be enjoying the same felicity his damned brothers were currently enjoying with two of her sisters.

But she’s proving to be a tough one to crack.

It was no matter, he decides. He hadn’t failed to notice at least some attraction on her part. But she brushes off most things with a clever joke, much to his frustration.

Tonight had been a step forward. Even as it had killed him to see her in such a state, he thanked every bit of fate that led him to her room as she had been breaking.

So he could be the one to hold her, put her pieces back together.

He could have held her in his arms, in his lap until the day he died.

But he knew getting her to come back out, to grin and tease him again was more important than his selfish desires. And gods, what a sight she was when she did.

It was no matter, he thinks to himself again. He’d be patient. He’d be the person she’d lean on until he could make her want him. Maybe she’d allow him to touch her in the way he envisioned in his most needy moments in the dark of night. He enters his bedroom and sighs.

Fuck. It might be another one of those nights after all.

•••

NOTE: hey so uhhh if literally anyone cares i’ll make a part 2

[redwinelew]

KNEE SOCKS

type written fic (one shot)

pairing lewis hamilton x singer!reader

summary you released a song which exposes lewis' lack of attention toward you in your relationship and he isn't too pleased with it.

warnings 18+. smut. oral (f receiving), orgasm denial, vaginal sex, dirty talk, lewis being a little mean, english is not my first language, pls lmk what else i missed

author's note i have nothing to post rn and this has been sitting in my drafts so weeks so here you go. lmk if u guys enjoy this and if u want me to write more written fics.

lewis is a private man, he made that clear all throughout his life, since the first world championship trophy was handed to him, the moments everybody's eyes in the world started to set on him, following his every move, to this day. he doesn't like channeling his personal matters to the public. sure there are a lot of people who'd be interested to know, journalists who would sell their souls for an exclusive interview with him, but nothing can make him give up his peace anymore. he had his moments when he was younger. everything was open to interpretation for the media and fans. but as he gets older, things changed. private life should stay private.

you are a musician. and it's risky, dating a musician. he's seen it. he's been with one, and he is one. he thought he already knew, he thought he understood what he was getting himself back into. you are different from his ex. you make your own music, write your own songs, not afraid to be vulnerable through your art, never care however fans and media are going to interpret them. they'll never know the truth. it's none of their business anyway. he doesn't regret dating you, though. nothing could make him regret being with you. he wouldn't trade it even for his 8th championship.

but deep down, lewis knows this day will come. where a little inconvenience happens in your relationship was enough to set you off completely. the day where you stopped listening to the logical part of your brain and follow your heart instead. the day you pissed off enough to finally say fuck it.

in your defense, you were so caught up in your feelings. part of you also honestly didn't care. you are a singer, a musician, as much as he is. this is how you express yourself. he should have known that by now. if he didn't want the whole world to know how fucking busy he is with the race season to the point where he never spent time with you anymore, he should have pay more attention to you.

you would have argued with that if only you could form a single coherent sentence right now. but all you could say was—

"please...."

do not ask how long has this been going on. he could lie and say hours and you'll believe it. he could ask you to do anything and you'll obey. it's not like you have a choice. if it pleases him, if it will somehow get you the release you have been desperately craving, fucking hell, you'll do it. that's how it is right now. you, half naked on the bed. pants discarded somewhere on the carpeted bedroom floor. panties gone to fuck knows where. his old band t-shirt that you're wearing is pushed up, exposing your belly and almost your chest.

him? in between your legs. inked hands holding your thighs open for his tongue to explore your folds in every way he knows, drawing all kinds of sounds out of you, pushing you to the edge again and again but not quite giving you the release you've been desperately needing. not after what you said about him in the song, no.

a whine escapes your lips yet again when he pulls himself off of you just as you're about to reach another peak. he looks up, a smirk decorating his face as his tongue licks your arousal from his thick lips.

bastard.

"i didn't ask you to beg." he replies calmly, caressing your inner thigh all the way up to your knee, making you almost jerk up at the slightest of his touch.

of course he is calm. he's enjoying this. torturing you. driving you insane. god how you wish the tables are turn right now. how you wish that you have the energy to flip the two of you and get your revenge on him, showing him how it feels to be in your shoes. he'd be worse than you are right now. you can say that confidently because you've seen it. some rare moments where he handed over the control to you, letting you take charge in bed and do whatever you wanted to him. easiest way to say, he was a mess.

"you're not being fair—" was instead all you could say in such a pathetic tone that even you did not recognize yourself.

"i wasn't planning to be."

your pussy clenches around nothing at the casualness of his reply. your mind is pissed at him for ruining your orgasms but your body couldn't help but craving for his touch. you've seen the dominance side of him almost every night and yet the calmness that he's radiating right now even though you know how angry he is at you and your song is enough to send shivers down your spine.

there's something about lewis being angry and yet not completely showing it.

it turns you on even more.

"tell me what i want to hear first." he demands, his thick digits rubbing your bundle of nerves. your back arches into his touch. your eyelids flutter, broken moans fall from your lips.

the pleasure didn't last long. a soft, frustrated sigh leaves you as do his fingers from your clit. just when you were going to try catching your breath, he plunges two fingers inside without warning.

"fuck— oh my god—"

he hovers above you, eyes never leaving your face, watching your every reaction, the way your jaw hangs low. the thickness of his digits makes you feel so full already, you couldn't form neither words nor sounds.

"fuck, fuck—" and when he moves his fingers, you already saw heaven. the wet squelching sound from your arousal is so sinful it almost made you feel embarrassed at how wet you still are even after having your pleasure punished by him. your hand reaches up to his free arm near your head, clinging to him for support. your nails dig deep into his inked skin, drawing a silent hiss from him.

"come on," he says again. "tell me what i want to hear."

this might be it. he's fingering you with passion, hitting that sweet spot over and over again, making your legs tremble. he never half-assed anything in his life, especially when it comes to your pleasure but something tells you that maybe this is when he thinks that you have had your lesson and it's time you give you that release. he just loves you that much. and you always get what you want.

"n-no." you stutter in defiance.

he smirks again. your denial only makes this more fun for him, which is apparent in the way his fingers move rougher and faster right now. and you notice how his other digits are avoiding your clit, making it a little harder for you to reach another peak.

"four orgasms denied and you still wanna be stubborn?"

only four? it felt like hundreds, you manage to think to yourself despite how hazy your mind feels right now.

"please...." you croak out, and that's how far you'll beg for his forgiveness.

but he's not satisfied. he pulls out his fingers, and you would have groaned if you could even speak right now.

"no...."

"don't worry, sweetie," he cuts you off surprisingly, sitting up straight again. you prop yourself up on your elbows and watch as he lines up the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing your folds slightly. you feel as if air has been knocked out of your lungs. you didn't even think that this was a possibility tonight, to be fucked by him. to feel his thick cock inside you. genuinely you thought he would leave you high and dry, though it's very unlikely for him. but still. he could truly be that cruel when he wants to.

"i'll make you come if that's what you wanted so badly. but only on my cock. and i'll make you come again and again until i finally get my apology."

you swallow thickly.

that is certainly a promise.

[elysianstarfall]

miscellaneous phantom busters hcs

(pre-dating or dating, i have no clue so read however you want)

summary: the title, basically—this is also a chapter on wattpad so check it out (same name as tumblr)

characters: shishikuno mogari, korekishi eugene, kanzaki kaoru, tamon kotaro

s. mogari

✧ randomly sends you the stupidest memes/insta reels/youtube shorts/tiktoks he can find

- he is DEEP into the brainrot (korekishi has no idea what he's talking about)

- considers it part of the "youth experience"

✧ begs you to try weird food combos with him

- "pickles... and nutella."

- "what the fuck?"

- "it's good, trust."

✧ lowkey has a sleeper build

- once you were bored in class and wanted to see his biceps (real)

- "mogari, can you flex—WHOAAA?!"

- he loves when you compliment him because it feeds his ego like crazy

✧ does the thing where he taps you on the shoulder and then looks away and pretends it wasn't him

- fails every time because he cannot keep a straight face

- "there is literally no one else around. who, besides you, could have possibly done that?"

- "...a ghost?"

✧ has, multiple times, handed you his phone and told you to record him doing something "really cool" only to eat shit or wipe out

- "first try!"

- "more like eighth. also, you scraped your knee. come here."

- at least you take care of him when he gets hurt (maybe that's his plan?!)

- when he actually succeeds he expects you to glaze him

- "THAT WAS SICK AS FUCK! RIGHT?!"

- "it was pretty cool, i guess."

- "YESSS!"

k. eugene

✧ stays up on call with you if you need help with schoolwork

- explains topics really well (chatgpt who?)

- is super patient and wants to make sure you understand everything

- somehow never oversleeps even if you both stay up really late

✧ randomly fixes your uniform for you

- adjusts your collar and stuff

- "what are you doing?"

- "making sure you don't get in trouble."

✧ has insanely pretty handwriting

- it actually looks printed

- "can i see your notes, korekishi?"

- "of course. but, i thought you took your own notes?"

- "yours look nicer..."

✧ lets you do whatever you want with his hair

- it's so silky and smooth

- sometimes you braid it during class and he just leaves it like that for the rest of the day

- he carries hair ties around and lets you use them

✧ knows there are dating rumors about you two but purposely doesn't correct people

- defends you with his life if anyone talks shit about you though

- "korekishi, why do people from class c think you're my boyfriend?"

- "blimey, i wonder why."

k. kaoru

✧ sends you out of context manga panels, and when you ask what's going on he just tells you to read the manga to find out

- "wait, that's so funny... what the hell is happening, though?"

- "here's the link. it's chapter 239."

- "fuck off."

- you still read all 239 chapters and beyond

- he's gotten you into like 15 new series this way

✧ sometimes you just watch anime while video calling

- he has to rewatch episodes by himself afterwards because he just zones out staring at you instead of watching with you

- infodumps randomly but makes sure you don't get spoiled

- straight up lies to you if you come across spoilers so you don't believe them

- "he DIES?!"

- "no, what are you talking about? someone totally made that up."

✧ has really long eyelashes and lets you stare into his eyes for however long you want

- you love having "staring contests" with him (totally not an excuse to look into his eyes)

- he definitely knows but just lets you do it so he can stare at you more

✧ talks about you to his sister way too much

- she's sick of hearing about you but still wants you to come over

- you make him happy, so why wouldn't she like you?

✧ lets you trace over his scars and draw on him

- still avoids getting touched by the other guys though

- comes to your classroom during break or lunch just to sit with you so you can use pens to draw stuff on his hands

- he likes how focused you look while drawing

t. kotaro

✧ texts you sometimes but mostly prefers voice calling since he likes how you sound

- occasionally tries to do video calls but starts tweaking after a while from the eye contact

- "y/n, please, please, please turn off your camera."

- "damn, am i that ugly?"

- "what—no!"

✧ speaking of calling, calls you late at night when he can't sleep

- you're literally his asmr

- you don't mind because his sleepy voice is so, so nice

- likes it when you ramble so he can just close his eyes and listen

✧ has a spotify blend with you

- listens to every single music rec you give him but is way too scared to recommend you anything

- made you a playlist, sent it to you, didn't check his phone for the next 12 hours in case you didn't like it

✧ most used apps are the weather and calculator apps

- uses them to look busy and get out of talking to people

- "we're literally outside, you do not need to check the weather right now."

- "...yes, i do."

- "and why are you putting random numbers into the calculator?!"

- "i just... really like math."

✧ has no idea how to start a conversation so he just sends you cat pictures

- wants you to say something so he can talk to you

- every time, it's a different cat... you have no idea where he gets all those pics from

- "tamon, you know you can just say 'hi' or 'hello'?"

- "my bad."

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Transferrable Skills Part 9

Transferrable Skills Masterlist

Read on AO3

CW: Smut, 18+/MDNI, praise, kissing, manual stimulation, oral sex (Reader receiving), premature ejaculation, dirty talk, power exchange, hand on neck (no breath restriction), face-sitting, breath restriction (Simon receiving)

Notes: Happy Valentine's Day and anniversary of the death of the colonizer James Cook at the hands of the people of Hawai'i.

Simon pulls his thumb free and swipes it over your lips. You chase it, then gasp when his whole hand wraps around your neck. He meets your eyes, then uses his thumb to rock your head from one side to the other, slow. Your arms feel a bit weak as he examines your face.

“Color,” he rumbles.

“Green.”

“Wan’ you t’ sit on my face,” he says. “Color.”

You lick your lips, think for a moment. “Yellow-green.”

“Good girl.” Simon’s eyes crinkle in the corners when he smiles. “Talk to me.”

It would be silly to say “I’m a bit heavy,” since you’re pretty sure he could bench you as a warm up. “I don’t want to hurt your neck.”

“Won’t let you,” Simon answers, like it’s that easy. Maybe it is.

Still, you’re a bit nervous. “I haven’t had a shower.”

He uses his light grip on your neck to hold your gaze. “You trust me?”

You can’t help but nod. “I do.”

“Then trust me when I say I wan’ to. We c’n shower, later, if you wan’.” He shrugs. “Don’ mind eatin’ twice. C’n let you know the difference, if you like.”

“Simon!”

His laugh shakes the bed, and then the hand behind his neck comes down to grab your hip. He draws you up his body, until one of your hands is braced on his shoulder. You can’t help the way you shiver when he settles your legs on either side of his ribs, spread so wide there’s no way to avoid pleasant pressure where you’re already sensitive.

“Color, sweet girl.”

God, you want to do what he’s asking, but... “Are you sure?”

The grip on your hip goes just a little tighter. “I’m not gonna let you hurt me. An’ ‘m not hurtin’ you. This is only fun if we’re both ‘avin’ fun. Acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged.” It’s amazing how much the familiar idea calms you. “You’re not going to ask me for anything you don’t really want. I don’t have to agree to anything I don’t want. It’s supposed to be fun.” You take a deep breath and let it out. “Green.”

Simon hums as his hand comes down from your neck to sit against your collar bones and sternum. And then you’re yelping when he suddenly lifts you. You try to freeze, because of course you do, but he does something to get your legs around his arms and then your knees are up by his temples.

He only waits long enough for your hands to smack against the wall above the headboard before both of his are pulling you down against his mouth. You’re suddenly struck by the almost fearful realization that he’s made you tell him, many times, exactly how you like to be touched.

His lips and tongue immediately find your clit. But instead of the bombardment that you expect, Simon’s mouth is soft against you. He braces his big hands under your hips, and you can’t help but start to relax into his hold. The self-consciousness eases away as he drags the flat of his tongue over you, slow and indulgent. He makes a pleased sound from between your thighs and you can’t help but giggle as you let yourself sink closer to that fuzzy place your mind was in before.

It doesn’t take long for your hips to protest the position. You shift more of your weight onto your knees and let your forehead rest against your forearms. Apparently, that’s what Simon’s been waiting on, because his lips purse around your clit and suck. The moan that shivers out of you is echoed by his groan. And that’s all the warning you get before he really gets going.

Simon pulls you even more firmly against his mouth, and you know he can’t breathe, that his nose is surrounded by the fat around your mound. He doesn’t seem to give a damn, alternating between sucking kisses and spearing his tongue into your pussy with abandon. Something he does makes you clench and twitch against his face, a not-quite ticklish sensation that shoots up your spine. He does it again, again, again, until you’re grinding against his jaw with punched out moans.

You don’t even have time to worry about his lack of air. All of a sudden, his palms push you up, taking all of your weight for just a second, before you’re sat right back down. That casual show of strength would make you weak in the knees if you were standing. As it is, you can only moan and shiver as his hands shift, until his thumbs can hold your lips apart to give his tongue even more access to you.

The noises between you are obscene. You can bury your face in your arms to avoid seeing the blissful expression on his face, but there’s no way to avoid the wet sound of his mouth working. You can’t ignore how slick the entire lower half of his face feels against your pussy, your thighs, the underside of your ass. And then he uses his hand to shift your thigh and spread you even more open.

Jesus, you’re going to come like this. You can feel it fluttering through you, feel yourself getting wetter by the moment.

“S-Simon,” you whimper. You reach down with one hand to run your fingers through his short hair. “I’m - Simon, you’re gonna -”

His hands press you up again, just long enough for him to growl, “Give it to me.”

“Simon!” You accidentally yank at him when his tongue sweeps over your clit again. It’s hard to feel bad about it when he moans his approval into you. When he squeezes at your thighs, just this side of painful, you squeak, pulling again. “Si-!”

As you look down, his eyes are already fixed on your face, pupils blown wide. His right hand shifts, and then the tip of one of his fingers is inside of you again. The awkward angle makes you arch your hips back, chasing the sensation right into rutting against his tongue in an overwhelming wave of sensation.

You barely make a sound as your pussy clenches against his fingers, suddenly and totally breathless. The orgasm that rolls through you isn’t as devastating as the first one, but it’s strong enough to make your legs shake. You almost lose your balance, but he’s there, holding you up. His groans easily drown out your whimpering.

When he just doesn’t stop, you give his arm two desperate taps. “Si-imon!”

The prickle of his stubble startles half a yelp from you as he lets you slide unceremoniously off of his face and onto his chest. He looks debauched, smirk shining with evidence of your pleasure.

“Tha’ weren’t so bad, eh?” he rumbles up at you. He coos when all you can do is cover your face with one hand and shiver. “Feelin’ good, pretty girl?”

You hum, then look down at him from between your fingers. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. Did good trustin’ me,” He pets over your legs, equal parts gentle and firm. He looks contemplative for a moment, before asking, “Wanna cuddle?”

That’s exactly what you want. You swing one leg over so you’re not straddling him anymore. And then there’s a confused moment of getting your bodies aligned. The queen sized bed feels so much smaller with him in it. And then you realize that his face is still wet. You’re still wet against the thigh he’s put between your own.

You cringe when he uses the edge of the flat sheet to swipe half-heartedly at his mouth and chest. He laughs at your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead. When he lets you go to look into your eyes, you can’t help but press your lips to his.

He opens his mouth to yours immediately, and the kiss becomes filthy. His mouth tastes like you, like you’ve seeped into his skin.

So much for cuddling, you giggle to yourself as he rolls you onto your back and pins you under his bulk.

[luvrrszn]

know no bounds

STANFORD!ART DONALDSON x STANDFORD! FEM READER x STANDFORD!PATRICK ZWEIG (18+)

summary your two best friends have zero boundaries—especially when it comes to you

warnings slight nsfw (smut), erm probably a shit ton of challengers inaccuracies, art and patrick r not in love !!!!!!!!!!@#!@#!@

a/n art and patrick are not in love !! there's nothing wrong with two hot people kissing and doing the hankypanky every now and then...right... also there is like little to no mention of tashi for my sanity while writing this also i'm trying out writing with proper capitalisation let's see how it goes lolsies ALSO plzzzz send requests loveya

masterlist

You spend most of your free time with your best friends.

Hanging out in their dorm, or doing your homework in the stands while they had tennis practice.

Wherever they were, you were never far. (more like wherever YOU were, they weren't far......)

There are traces of you everywhere and traces of them everywhere. In your dorm room, your corkboard frame has several pictures of the three of you, and half of your clothes drawers are comprised of Art and Patrick's t-shirts. For some reason, you even have some of Art's textbooks at your table. In their dorm room, your hair ties are everywhere. On the bathroom sink counter, on Art's nightstand, even on Patrick's wrist.

Because the three of you were so close, your bond knew no bounds. or no boundaries.

—

It wasn't unusual for you to hang out in Art and Patrick's dorm room even when they weren't there.

So, it was only natural that when the AC in your dorm room was busted, and the heat was unbearable, you used the spare key they had given you to let yourself into their room. You were sprawled on Art's bed, books open as you finished up your assignment due that week.

At some point, you got stuck on your work. You groaned in frustration, deciding to take a shower and hope that you'd be able to continue once you were done.

And that's exactly what you did. You rifled around Art's drawers of clothes, looking for the comfiest-looking shirt. You beelined towards the bathroom once you finally decided what shirt to wear. You strip, leaving your clothes in a messy, yet neat, pile on the floor.

Humming, you draw the shower curtain shut, and as soon as the hot water hits your back, your entire body relaxes. You reach for your shampoo on your shelf (yes!! you have a shelf!!), but clumsily drop the bottle on the floor with a loud smack. That's why you don't hear the jingle of keys as Art (or Patrick,...but probably Art) opens the door, or the two consecutive thuds as both Patrick and Art drop their tennis duffels on the floor.

So just imagine your surprise when the shower curtain gets pulled open and Patrick steps in behind you. You squeak and your hands immediately move to cover yourself as you exclaim "What the fuck!"

Patrick is smirking as he replies, "Aw c'mon, I need to shower. Plus, it's nothing I haven't seen before." (another story for another time)

You start to move aside so Patrick can get under the water, but he stops you by wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in the curve of your neck. You're used to something like this coming from Art, but Patrick?

"Hey, you okay? Bad day?" You ask, voice soft.

"Real bad," He whispered back, pressing soft kisses against your neck.

"Well, maybe I can help." You whisper as you turn to face him, and slowly drop to your knees.

With zero hesitation, Patrick's fingers tangle in your hair, his thumb pressed against the side of your cheek. He's already hard, beads of precum dripping out of his tip. No matter how many times you've seen little Patrick Jr., which is in fact anything but little, you always have to take a moment to even adjust to the sight of it.

Outside the bathroom, Art groans in annoyance, mumbling something under his breath about "noisy friends" and "not sharing the joy".

Oops.

—

"the fucking ac in my room is busted again !!! i'm coming over :')"

You sent Art a quick text before making your way over to their room. You curse under your breath, why on earth was your room always in shambles?

You made a mental note to feedback to maintenance as you let yourself into the boys' room. Art and Patrick are sitting on Art's bed, backs against the wall as they watch a movie on Patrick's laptop. Patrick's in nothing but his boxers, and Art is shirtless in shorts.

"Hey, I just saw your text. Our AC's busted too." Art says, offering a sympathetic smile. You notice two fans blowing in their direction and decide you just have to enjoy the breeze too.

Art scooches over to make room for you, and you rest your back against his chest, with one of his arms around your shoulder and the other splayed across your stomach.

After a while, the heat becomes almost unbearable, so you decide to just take off your shirt.

You don't miss the way both boys' eyes dart to your chest, but it's truly just too hot to care.

[alienseasfanfics]

Friction - Part 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: When you're targeted by a violent stalker, Sam Wilson hires Bucky Barnes to guard you in an isolated safe house. This causes tension as you both get on each others nerves in an increasingly dangerous situation. But, you slowly come to realize you're more alike than you thought. Will it be too late when you finally let yourself trust him?

Word Count (for Part 1): 2.3k

Tags: Slowburn, reluctant attraction, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, bodyguard, hired to protect, fluff and angst, nightmares and comfort, eventual smut, reluctant attraction.

T/W: Some non-graphic depictions of violence, guns, eventual smut.

A/N: Hello. This will be just a few parts. I'm envisioning 5. Who knows though. Will be posted on my AO3 as well (linked here). Also, feel free to send short one-shot requests. I may not answer them all but if one inspires me, I'll write. Enjoy!

“If you keep staring at me, I’m going to sprint down the hill into oncoming traffic.”

“There is no oncoming traffic.”

“I’ll keep running until I find some.”

“Good luck.”

“Shut up.” You mutter, taking another swig of your coffee. Bucky Dumbass Barnes leans against the porch railing, watching you. You flip him off and he rolls his eyes, looking instead at the dirt road ahead.

The day is calm and cicadas are buzzing loudly. You draw your knees up to your chest as you watch the wind play with the grass, making it flatten and swirl into ever-changing circles.

It’s so incredibly boring out here, away from the city. There’s no coffee shops, or long walks down busy streets, or movie theatres. The lack of movie theatres hurts the most. All you want to do is sit with people, too many people, anonymously sharing a laugh or a cry in a dark room. Free people don’t appreciate the amount of community that is shared within the walls of a theatre. The insight gleaned from hearing their murmurs to their friends about the attractiveness of the actors or the stupidity of the dialogue. You miss connecting with them and feeling, finally, like one of them. Anonymously. With the ability to leave afterwards, free to go about your business.

But now, all you do is watch the grass as Bucky watches you. Solely because of one stupid person with an obsession.

You chug the rest of your coffee and get up, limping past Bucky and letting the screen door slam behind you. He huffs, but you couldn’t care less.

The safe house has a rudimentary kitchen. Though, fancier than your own due to the coffee machine Sam brought as an apology for forcing you here. As you start another cup of coffee, you tap the counter with a finger. Sam said this would only be for a month. Just until they found out how He was tracking you. Then you could go back to your blissful anonymity in New York.

That is, if they could even find who He is.

That’s the flip side of the coin. You can disappear, until someone wants to find you. Then, it’s all that much easier for them to never appear to you at all, except when they want to. The little voice in the back of your head whispers his name to you, but you close your eyes and silence it. He’s gone. He must be.

The coffee drips from the machine. It’s been overworked the past two weeks, both from you trying to cling on to whatever sense of normalcy you’ve cultivated outside of this house, and from Bucky trying to stay awake.

How long did Bucky say he was going to stay here for? Couldn’t have been more than a month. He’s always been sick of you within the hour in past missions. It’s a miracle he’s still around two weeks in. Once he’s decided he’s done, you can go back. Or when whatever Sam bribed him with is gone. And then, who else does Sam trust enough to know where the safe house is? He barely let you know. You’ll be going back in no time.

Sure, there’s a homicidal maniac after you, leaving traps that have caught you twice already and broken your leg both times, but now that you know his M.O. you can catch him. You’ve handled yourself before, who’s to say you can’t again?

The coffee machine beeps, and you take a sip from the cup. Your bad leg twinges, angry at supporting you for this long, and you grit your teeth. Your own body doesn’t believe in you. That’s a tough pill to swallow.

The screen door slams again as Bucky comes inside.

“There’s no more coffee.” You mutter, and he reaches into the cupboard by the door and pulls out a bag. Opening it, he comes over to the machine to refill, and you move gingerly out of the way. He doesn’t notice, or care, and continues.

“This is the last bag, though. We’ll have to go into town to get more.” He says to the coffee machine.

“I don’t think it’ll answer you.” You say.

“You don’t want me looking at you. I’m happy to grant that request.”

“I don’t want you watching me. That’s very different.”

“You’ll have to get used to me doing that.”

“Not for much longer.”

“Thank god. You’re the most irritating woman I’ve ever met. I don’t know who’s stalking you, but it must be the only person in the world who could put up with your bullshit.”

“At least someone can put up with mine. I don’t think anyone can handle this long with you.”

“I’m okay with not having a psycho leaving bombs on my doorstep.”

“My balcony. He left them on my balcony.”

“Touchey. Or however the fuck you say it.”

“Touché.”

He rolls his eyes, not answering you and instead methodically glancing over the sparse living room. After two weeks you know what he looks at. The boarded up back door, the windows with trip-wires stretched across the sills, the cameras blinking red and pointed at every egress point. If he wasn’t such an ass, you’d be impressed by the level of care he’s putting into his job. You know it’s just about the money, though. Money that’s quickly running out.

“How much did Sam pay for?”

“Coffee? Two months supply. You’ve been drinking it like the damned Energizer bunny, though.”

“No, your money. For your ‘services’, or whatever you call the peeping tom bullshit.”

He closes his eyes and sets his jaw. His neck muscle flexes beneath his collar. You’d think it was attractive if it wasn’t his jaw.

“That was one time. I knocked, and you didn’t answer. I told you to always answer. I didn’t ‘peep’ at anything, anyway.” He finally says after a minute of counting.

“You’re not my keeper.”

“For the next two weeks, I am. And then it some other poor idiots job to watch you.”

That makes you freeze, putting your coffee down.

“What?” You say, and he glances over at you.

“What, you want me to stay now?”

“No! What do you mean someone else will be watching me?”

“Well, if Sam and them don’t find Him, you’ll still need to stay here.” He’s talking slowly, as if talking to a particularly dumb child.

“That wasn’t the agreement. Sam said a month.”

“You’ll have to take that up with Sam. Besides, you want to go back there? Back to your apartment, that He knows about? Hell, He knows the security camera blindspots. And you want to waltz back in like everything is fine?” Now, he’s looking at you. You really hate it when he does that. He seems to always be studying you, picking you apart with his ice-cold eyes. It makes your heart jump into your throat.

You break the eye contact by looking into your coffee.

“I just want to go home.” You finally say into its dregs. You swallow the rest of it, putting it on the counter harder than you meant to. “I’m taking a shower. Try not to come in, weirdo.”

“Easy enough.” He mutters as you walk up the stairs.

- - -

That night, you’re running.

You don’t need to look behind you to know He’s there. You’re barefoot again, running on the rough cement of the lab, scraping your bare skin against the walls as you round the corners of the never-ending basement prison. The burn from your wounds is nothing to the one in your head. It’s making your vision blurry and your eyes red-hot, and you know he’s closing in on you.

Sprinting now, the lights behind you close one by one with an electric thud, like a giants footsteps getting closer to stomping on you by the second.

Thud. You’re blinking back fire. Thud. Your heart is giving out.

Thud. You can feel his breath on the back of your neck, sending chills down your spine as he finally-

Crash. You startle awake, a scream still ripping through your throat. You grab the closest thing to you -another coffee cup- and throw it towards the door that just smashed open. It narrowly misses a barely clothed Bucky as he ducks backward.

“Fuck!” He shouts, “Don’t surprise the guy with a gun! Gun safety 101!”

You notice now that he is holding one, its metal nose glinting off the moonlight coming through the bent blinds. His steel fingers share the same gleam.

“Don’t break into a sleeping woman’s room!” Is the only thing you can manage to yell back, turning away from him to wipe hot tears from your face quickly.

“I think the fact you were screaming loud enough to wake the dead is reason enough to come in here! I told you to not lock this door, by the way, so the whole breaking and entering thing is your fault.” He barks.

“Shut up, Bucky.” You whisper.

“Is someone in here? Why were you screaming?” The floor creaks under him as he steps into the room, looking around the corners.

“No one is in here, just go back to bed.” You’re gripping the mattress now, trying to calm down. He’s not making it any easier as he stops to stand behind you. There’s a soft ting of a bullet hitting the ground as he uncocks the gun, but he doesn’t leave.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes I did.”

“There were two questions.”

“I’m glad you know how to count.” You need to breathe. 1, 2, 3- shit. 1, 2- shit! Do you know how to count?

He’s quiet for a moment, and you almost think he’s left until he speaks again.

“Why do you insist on being so difficult?”

“Because I need to be.” You say breathlessly. Running a hand through your hair you stand up shakily, moving around the bed and going to the door. He’s standing in front of the doorway, not moving. In the dim light of the moon, the only part of him not shrouded in shadow is his metal arm. You try to avoid looking at it, knowing somewhere deep down that he hides it from you for a reason, with long sleeves even in the harshest sunlight. But the only other place to look is his chest or his face, which makes your cheeks feel hot even now. You settle on looking down at the bullet on the ground between you both.

“I need some water.” You murmur after a moment of him staring down at you.

“You need to answer me.”

“Please, Bucky.” You plead. Your defences fall for just a moment, but your lungs are starting to collapse. The world is starting to swim, and you’re not sure if its panic, tears, or the pain in your leg screaming at you to sit back down. Whichever one, you really don’t want Bucky to see it.

“Go back in bed. I’ll get it for you.” His voice is calm now. Quieter. Exhausted, the only answer you can manage is a nod, doing as you’re told and laying back down. You stare at the crack in the blinds and try to blink away tears as you listen to him rummaging in the kitchen.

He comes back too soon. He sets the glass on the nightstand behind you, but you don’t hear him leave. Sighing, you turn around, and finally look at him in the face.

His eyebrows are knit together, and as he looks at you, you can feel him studying you again. This time your stomach flutters.

You break eye contact again, sitting up and sipping the water quietly.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

“Sorry for crashing in.”

“Sorry for screaming.”

“Not for the coffee mug?”

“I’ve been wanting to do that.”

You flick your eyes up at him, and you think for a moment you see a smile, but it quickly falls away once he looks in your eyes. You both look at each other for a second, two, three, before its his turn to break contact. He runs his metal hand through his tousled hair, glancing down at his gun, the bed, the window, anywhere but you.

“When I, hmm.” He takes a deep breath. “When I have a bad night, I have to ground myself.”

“Ground yourself? Like a naughty kid?”

“No.” He pinches the skin between his eyes. “My senses. Y’know. Five things I see, three things I hear, one thing I feel. Until I calm down.”

“Oh.”

“Are you still on edge?” He glances down at your free hand gripping the mattress. You loosen it.

“I guess.”

“Do you want me to stay in here?”

“What?”

“Do you want me to stay in here. To...watch over you.” He’s still looking away from you.

“Aren’t you already doing that? Hence the gun?”

He rolls his eyes.

“If you don’t want me to, I’ll just-”

“Yeah. If you can. Stay here, that is.” The permission comes from a part of you that you’ve shoved down. Or thought you shoved down. Now, it’s speaking from the middle of your throat, stealing any breath you have with it.

He finally looks at you again, then slowly nods.

“Okay. I can. Let me grab a blanket.” He walks out of the room, and you’re finally able to breathe again.

Laying back down, you try to ground yourself. You see the armchair across from the foot of your bed, the window, the bent blinds, the broken patch of ceiling above you, the barely touched glass of water on the nightstand. You hear the croon of an owl outside, the orchestra of a grasshopper, the creak of the floorboards as Bucky comes back in. Closing your eyes, you try to focus on sleep.

You feel Bucky’s warm hand brushing against your skin as he pulls your blanket up to cover you, leaving you cold when he moves away.

Your muscles relax as you hear him settle into the armchair. Inexcusably, your brain tells you, he calms you. Happily, your heart slows, letting you fall into a dreamless sleep.

[notyetneedcoffee]

May I?

Kinktober - Consent NSFW - Adults Only

Summary: You are careful to get Bucky's permission.

Bucky Barnes normally did not allow people into his apartment. It’s not like there was anything to see. A chair. A TV. A bed he never slept in. The light above the stove in the little kitchen was the only thing to illuminate the emptiness of his space.

“So, you’re a hoarder.” You said, deadpanned, as you stepped into the living room.

Bucky huffed a laugh as he turned on the small side table lamp. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I, ah, I wasn’t really planning on bringing you back here tonight.”

“It’s okay.” You dropped your purse and jacket on the floor by the little counter separating the kitchen and living room. As you toed off your shoes, you made sure to gauge his reaction. Bucky’s shoulders lowered just a little.

“Do you want a drink or something? I think I have a few beers left.”

“Naw. I’m good.” You came closer to him, taking his gloved hand in yours. “I’d really like to kiss you again.”

His eyes brightened as he leaned forward. You rose on your toes to meet him halfway. For such a hard man, his lips were impossibly soft. His tongue touched your lips and you eagerly opened for him, matching his enthusiasm.

Pulling away a bit you tugged at his jacket. “Are you going to get comfortable?” He stilled. You smiled. “Bucky, you can be comfortable with me. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

His eyes closed and he tipped his head forward. “I want to.”

You slowly removed his gloves, tossing them beside your coat. You ran your fingers over his metallic palm, entwined your fingers with his. “I know you have complete control, but can you really feel my touch.”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s different, but yeah.”

You brought his hand to your mouth and kissed his palm. Bucky stared, transfixed. You kissed the tip of his fingers. His breath increased. You lightly sucked on his forefinger. Bucky’s eyes closed and nearly imperceptible whine escaped his throat.

Bucky cupped your face with both of his hands and kissed you again. You slid your hands under his jacket, along his t-shirt. He let go of you just long enough to shed his jacket. The gleaming metal of his arm didn’t bother you. Neither did the solid pressure of it as he wrapped his arms around your waist to kiss you more.

“Doll,” He sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. “It’s been a while.”

“I know.” You toyed with the bottom of his shirt where it was tucked into his jeans. “Bucky. May I take this off?” He nodded. You pulled it up, grazing your fingertips along his flat stomach, over his powerful chest, until he lifted his arms and pulled the shirt off the rest of the way himself. Your fingers lingered on his chest. “Damn, you’re gorgeous.”

You reached behind you and unclipped your bra before drawing it along with your shirt over your head. Bucky panted, mouth slightly open. You took a half a step closer. “Will you touch me?”

He nodded. His right hand slid up your side to cup your breast. You drew his left hand to your skin, showing him you wanted him to touch you every way he could. Bucky sighed and wrapped his arms around you. His kiss became more demanding.  His hands explored your back.

“Doll,” Bucky sighed. “Damn, you feel so good.”

“Can I feel more of you?” You nipped at his jaw. He breathed a quiet ‘yes’ as you unfasted his belt.

He stared as you slipped from your pants, standing before him in just tiny white cotton underwear.

When you lowered yourself to your knees, Bucky face expressed so many emotions at once. Excitement, fear, adoration, nervousness. It went decidedly soft when you took your time unlacing his boots and removing them one at a time.

He went still as you unzip his jeans. His erection twitched as you barely brushed against it as you pushed his jeans over his hips. Jeans tossed aside, looking up at him, your hands ran up his thighs. Bucky’s eyes were wide, he chewed on his lower lip.

“Bucky,” You moved closer, so close you could smell his skin. “May I touch you?”

“Yes.” He breathed.

You lowered his boxer briefs and wrapped your hand around his cock. He let go of a shuttered breath. Thick and long. You stroked the silky skin covering the steel of his cock.

“May I,” You ran your nose along the underside of him. “taste you?”

“Oh god,” He groaned. “Yes.”

As your wet mouth wrapped around him, your felt his body twitch. His fingers stroked through your hair. You could feel his tight control beginning to wane. His hips rocked. His thighs locked.

“Fuck, Doll.” He clutched at you. “Stop. Stop. I can’t. . . Stop or this is over too soon.” You stood. Bucky’s thumb slid along your wet, swollen lower lip. “Damn, you’re beautiful.”

“Can we go to bed?”

He nodded, leading you to the other room. It was as sparse as the living room. You kissed him again before crawling to the middle of the mattress. Bucky leaned over you, looping his fingers in your underwear and pulled them down. Your legs fell open. He inhaled deeply through his nose.

“Please, Bucky.”

He slid his hands along your thighs, stroking slowly, moving slowly closer to your core. Long fingers stroked through your folds, gathering your wetness, teasing your clit. Bucky leaned forward with his weight on his free hand to kiss your breasts. His mouth sucked on your hard nipples, making your back arch.

Warmth pooled in your core. Still, you wanted this to be about him.

“Bucky.” You pulled him up and kissed him deeply. Giving a light shove, you pushed him over onto his back. Straddling his hips, you kissed his jaw. Nibbled at his neck. You whispered in his ear. “I want to make you feel good.”

Strong emotion swirled in his eyes. You stroked his chest, sitting back more. His hands came up to cup your breasts. You took his right hand in yours and sucked upon his finger, kissed his palm. “May I do that, Bucky?”

He nodded, visibly shaking at your words.

You reached down, stroking him, rubbing him along your wetness. His hands moved up and down your thighs. As you lowered yourself onto him, impaling yourself, Bucky moaned loudly. You rocked, loving his reaction, lost in the intensity.

“Oh god, Bucky.” You panted. “You feel so good.”

His fingers dug into the cheeks of your ass, rocking you as his hip pushed up. You braced your weight on your hands. You kissed his chest, his neck, his full beautiful mouth. Tension grew, swirling in your belly. Your eyes locked.

“Doll, ah, I’m gonna…”

“Yes,” You breathed. “Me too.”

“God, you’re amazing. Make me feel…wanted.” His gaze held you captive. “Feel so good.”

You moved faster. The coil tightened. You wanted to say things, confess things. The emotion nearly bringing tears to your eyes. His breath grew harsher, hips snapped faster. You began to quiver.

“Please, oh, fuck.” Bucky’s clutched at you. “Come for me.”

You came undone. Eyes locking closed and body shaking. Bucky wrapped his arms around you tight, pushing up into you fast and hard until the moan of his release filled your ears.

You lay atop him, limp and sated. His fingers drew lazy circles along your back. “Doll,” He sighed. “You’re too good for me.”

“No,” You kissed his chest.

He smiled. “Then may I call you my girl?”   

Want more? Check out my Master List.

[sweetpascal]

omg looove this idea!! hmm, perhaps prompt 7 from list 3? with our boy frankie?? 🥵 only if such a pairing tickles your fancy, of course!

main prompts post

#7 from prompt list no. 3

⤷ finding a somewhat private area at a fancy party to fuck (coat closet, empty office, secluded corner on the big balcony, hedge maze if we wanna get dramatic, etc) 

oh absoLUTELY this tickles my fancy. call me a pescatarian cause i love me some Catfish (ew that was such a bad joke, i even made myself cringe. please ignore that dad joke.) 😭

pairing: frankie morales x fem!reader

— summary: when dancing on your husband accidentally makes him pop a boner, frankie takes it upon himself to drag the two of you away to relieve that stress.

— warnings: husband + wife trope. hatless frankie. frisky dancing. groping. heavy make out session. no foreplay. spit as lube. standing doggy. size kink. brief daddy kink. sprinkle of mirror sex too hehe.

— wc: 3.2k (i'm surprised i kept it below 5k tbh)

this boink part is inspired by this spicy twitter video ;)

follow @sweetpascal-notifs for future fic updates.

The idea to host a New Year's party was Benny's. Often referred to as the group's golden retriever, he has an innate charm that draws people to him, enabling him to make friends effortlessly. As the youngest among his three friends and blessed with boyish, attractive features, it's no wonder he has numerous friends beyond Santiago, Frankie, and his older brother, Will. He's made acquaintances at the gym, dive bars, and even grocery stores. Benny has a knack for talking his way into and out of situations, often avoiding parking fines and more serious troubles. However, that's not the focus. When Benny organizes a gathering, he spares no expense on food, beverages, music, and decor. New Year's, after all, is a celebration of new beginnings.

There you and your husband, Frankie, were, at the black-and-white masquerade party. You donned a sleek, black silk dress that hugged your figure, featuring a deep back and slender straps, complemented by a delicate pearl necklace resting on your collarbones. Frankie was dressed in his finest black trousers, a snug black t-shirt tucked into them with a belt, and a black blazer. His outfit struck the perfect balance for Benny's theme, being neither too ostentatious nor too simple. Fortunately, masks were provided at the party, so that was one less thing to consider.

The music was loud, and the atmosphere was lively. You had lost track of the others some time ago, but Frankie remained by your side, steadfast as glue to paper. Aware that parties weren't really his scene, especially considering his age and dislike for crowded spaces, you found a quiet corner. Gently pulling on his hand, you guided him to stand against the wall. The bass pulsed through you, a constant presence. Your mask concealed your forehead, eyes, and nose, leaving only your lips and chin visible. Frankie's mask was a different hue but similar to yours. Despite the strobe lights, it was clear his gaze hadn't strayed from you, not since you left home.

"Are you doing okay?" you asked, loud enough for him to hear, your hands gently gripping his shoulders for balance. Frankie leaned into you, his large hands settling on your hips as he nodded in response to your question and gave a thumbs up. You returned the nod and placed a soft kiss on the bald spot along his jaw.

The sensation of alcohol settling in your body is unmistakable. The buzzing in your veins, the warmth spreading through your chest, and the tingling sensation all over become increasingly pronounced. As the music shifts to a rhythm that's easy to dance to, you find yourself easily moving to the beat. Frankie's hands were still on your hips as you turned in his hold with your back now pressed into his chest. Your eyes closed as you felt yourself getting lost in the music. His crotch was pressed into your backside, and so you leaned forward to put your hands on your knees, arched your back, and began to grind your ass against him to the beat of the music.

You obviously can't hear his reaction, but you can definitely feel it. His hardness is thick against your ass, and you feel it slotting between your cheeks each time you bump and grind against him. It got to a point where a small crowd gathered around you both to cheer you on, even going as far as to record you twerking on your husband. People hooted and hollered. With a beaming, embarrassed smile, you stood up straight and wrapped your arms around Frankie's neck, giggling into his neck as he gave your ass a hearty swat.

"You're fucking killing me," he groans in your ear, the heat of his breath causing goosebumps to raise on your arms. "Let's go."

With a startled yelp, Frankie grabs your wrist and pulls you through the crowd. You focus on his tall figure and broad shoulders as he makes his way to an unknown destination, deliberately bumping into people blocking his path. Keeping up with his quick pace is a struggle. As he bounds up the stairs two at a time to reach the second floor, your heels come off in the haste.

"Frankie! Slow down, you big lug!" you shout, but it's no use. Whether he's ignoring you on purpose or the music drowns out your voice, he doesn't slow down.

The music had become distant and muffled. As Frankie reached the third floor, the Miller Residence felt almost like a mansion, enveloped in near silence. His large hand remained clamped around your wrist as he frantically opened every door he came across, yet none seemed suitable to enter. The question burning on your lips faded away when he swung open the fifth door, revealing a spotless bathroom. Casting a glance over your shoulder, he guided you inside with a hand at your waist.

"Frankie, what're we doing--"

You're immediately silenced when he yanks off his mask and takes yours off as well, followed by his plump lips frantically kissing your own. Moans are muffled as Frankie pushes you against the sink and starts tugging the straps of your dress down your shoulders until it pools at your feet. Confused and extremely aroused, you realize what exactly he wants and why he wants it. He lets out a husky moan and pulls away from your lips as though he was forced to. A thin string of saliva connecting your lips is wiped away with his thumb. As you glance down at his lips, you can see your lipstick smudged all over him.

"I'm going to fuck you right here, right now," he tells you, and his tone holds no room left for discussion. When Frankie is pleasure-drunk, all coherent thoughts leave his mind. When he's horny horny, the man will fuck you regardless of where you are or what you're doing. Even at his age, your husband's stamina is quite impressive.

He kisses you again as you struggle with his belt. His tongue, warm and so wet, invades your mouth and licks you all over. His teeth bite, nibble, and suck on your tongue and lips. Lewd smacking sounds fill the empty space of the bathroom. It's so wet and frantic and dirty. Spit slides down your chin and Frankie groans huskily as it smears on his own chin.

With fumbling hands, you successfully open his belt and pop open the button of his slacks, frantically sliding down the zipper and shoving your hand inside to stroke his hard cock through his boxers. Frankie moans deeply, hot air puffing across your kiss-swollen lips. Your thumb circles around the tip and you can feel a wet spot through the fabric. The throbbing in your core is nearly painful, so you squeeze your thighs together to try to provide some relief.

"You feel that? You feel what you did to me? Grinding that ass all over my dick and expecting me not to do something," he grits, his eyes black with lust and jaw clenching as your hand tightens around the base of his thickness, stroking up and down and twisting your wrist when you reach the tip.

You have no time to respond as he pulls your hand away from inside his slacks and spins you around with such force that you stumble and catch yourself on the bathroom counter. As you look in the mirror, you realize the extent of your disheveled appearance. Your lipstick is smeared all over your chin, your eyes are half-lidded and glazed over, saliva shining all over your lips. You're a hot mess, all thanks to your horndog of a husband.

One of Frankie's large hands settles into the middle of your back, right between the shoulder blades, and he pushes you down so that you're now bent over the counter. Your body slouches so your left shoulder and the side of your head rests along the wall. Frankie's other hand cups the back of your right thigh, and he grips the meat before lifting your leg up to prop your knee on the edge of the counter. With that same hand, he pulls down his undone slacks and boxers, allowing his cock to spring up. It bobs up and down for a second. Your eyes follow the movement, and you let out a needy little sound that you try to muffle by biting on your thumb. It's no lie that he's well endowed; a delicious eight inches, three fingers thick, veiny with a slight curve, and nicely cut. A dark dusting of hair lays across his pelvis and you crave to lick up the happy trail.

"You're gonna get it, baby, don't worry," Frankie breathes out. He strokes his cock for a few seconds, feeling the throbbing intensify when he glances down and sees your wetness shining in the dim lighting. Your cunt flutters so prettily at him, almost begging for him to stuff it full and make the emptiness go away.

You watch through the mirror as Frankie spits into his palm and uses that to coat his cock. You can see his arm moving up and down as he strokes from base to tip; the wet sounds cause your cheeks to warm. There are only just a few seconds before he slides himself home. He makes eye contact with you through the mirror and steps closer to your backside. He guides himself into your leaking pussy with one slow thrust, allowing you to feel each and every inch he has to offer. Your breath gets caught in your throat and your eyes threaten to roll back into your skull. The positioning of you bent over the counter with your knee hiked up to rest on the edge has him reaching a lot deeper than usual.

"Fuck," Frankie shakily whispers as he looks down between your bodies to watch as your pussy eagerly swallows him up. He positions his left hand at the back of your neck, gripping gently and keeping you pinned against the wall. His other hand grabs onto the crease of your hip, and then he starts to really fuck you.

The first couple of thrusts were slow and deep. The added tightness of no prep beforehand has heat pooling heavily in the pit of both of your stomachs. Desperately trying to hold in your moans, you bite down harder on your thumb. Your hair is no doubt mess from the motions of your body rocking in time with his hips. You look into the mirror and finally let out a wanton moan when you see Frankie completely transfixed on his cock going in and out of your messy pussy. His heavy balls slap against your clit--the position with your leg hiked up causes your pussy lips to spread further apart, which then exposes your swollen clit completely.

"I-I... ohmygod," your words are slurred as you try to speak coherently. Frankie lets out a pleasure hum in your direction, his hips now moving a tad bit faster. Your ass cheeks jiggle from his pelvis smacking against them. The hand on your hip smacks down onto the meat, his thick fingers gripping and grabbing eagerly. "Jus' like that!!"

"Yeah?" he grunts and leans over your slouched body, his lips pressed into the shell of your ear and his hot breath spewing across. "Daddy's hitting it good, isn't he? You take this dick so good, baby. Tell me you love it." He hikes your leg higher until your knee is practically inside the sink bowl. "Tell me how much you love this fuckin' dick." It's like a dam break as he growls the last sentence in your ear and nips your earlobe, being mindful of your dangly pearl earrings.

"Yesyesyes, I-I love it s-so much!!" You whined breathlessly, trying your hardest to tell him clearly just how much your love his cock and how good he's fucking you. As he repositions his stance and widens his legs, he starts to fuck you so hard and so deep that you lose your train of thought. Matter of fact, all thoughts are non-existent, and your brain is just a puddle of mush.

Frankie's breathing stutters when your pussy flutters around his cock. He hunches over and bites down on your shoulder before turning his head to bury his nose right below your ear. His hand around the back of your neck presses you further down as he plows faster into your body. The wet sounds of your dripping cunt, literally leaking all over him, are the only sounds filling the bathroom, aside from his heavy breathing and your squeaks.

"You take it so good, baby," he grunts like an animal, teeth bared, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. He stands up to his full height and yanks your hips a few inches away from the sink, only hiking your leg higher on the counter, your knee nearly pressed into your chest.

"Fuck!" You managed to choke out, no longer able to swallow down your moans as the pressure in your gut tightens more and more. Eyes crossing and toes curling, your free hand--the one not trapped between your head and the wall--reaches out to hold onto the sink faucet. Frankie's cock is hitting you so good, his tip repeatedly punching that one spot that makes you go fucking crazy. "Kee-p go-ing... aaahhh!!... fuuuuuuck!" Your moans have now turned into groaning wails as your husband fucks you faster, harder, deeper, no longer holding back his brute strength.

"I know, baby, I know," Frankie huffs out a laugh that blends into a drawn-out moan. Both hands are now gripping onto your shoulders to pull you back in time with his forceful thrusts. The sopping sounds of his balls slapping against your clit, splattering wetness all over your inner thighs and his, makes his head fall back and his eyes clench shut.

Then, the countdown starts.

From all the way down to the first floor, you can faintly hear the crowd of people yelling out the numbers 45, 44, 43, 42...

Your bleary eyes open and you let out a choked sob when Frankie looks back at you through the mirror. He grinds his cock slow and deep to make your eyes roll right back into your skull. With one hand, he fists a chunk of your hair and towers over your slouched body, resuming the brutal pace he previously set. He tips your head up and uses the hand gripping your hair to shake you back and forth.

"Look at me," he orders, finally using his other hand to reach down and slide beneath your stomach to rub his middle and ring fingers around your clit in tight circles. "You better cum when they get to 1."

Half-lidded eyes meet his own through the mirror. Frankie's neatly styled hair was now a curly mess and falling across his forehead. His kiss-swollen lips were parted and he looks like he's about to fall apart any second.

The crowd chants 33, 32, 31, 30...

"All right, baby, c'mon," he rasps in your ear, grinning in drunken pleasure when your eyebrows tilt upward and you start letting out stuttered gasps. The rhythmic flutter of your pussy starts increasing when he rubs your needy clit up and down rather than in a circular motion. "Almost there..."

25, 24, 23, 22...

Frankie stands up straight for the last time and finally plows in and out of your soaking cunt, completely ravishing you and taking what you have no other choice but to give him in your pleasure-drunk state. The coiling gets tighter, damn near unbearable. It starts in the pit of your stomach and travels in opposite directions, going all the way to your inner thighs and to the tips of your toes and traveling up to the hardened nubs of your nipples.

18, 17, 16, 15...

"Give it to me, honey," Frankie is starting to lose control, his pace sloppy and his cock throbbing relentlessly as his heavy balls start to tighten. "You can do it, baby. Oooohh shit!! C'mon now. Do it for--fuucckk--me."

The hand at the back of your neck travels down your sweaty spine and clamps down on your hip to fuck into you. He smacks your ass and grunts heavily at the jiggle. He smacks your ass again, forcing a breathy wail from your bitten lips. He looks into the mirror and sees the expression on your face that tells him you're right on the edge. Your face is prettily scrunched up, eyebrows furrowed and lips forming a perfect O. Your hand desperately clings onto his wrist at your hip as you get onto your tiptoes. Your thighs begin to shake on their own and your vision becomes blurry.

9, 8, 7, 6...

"Ohmygod... ohmygod... ri-ight there!! Frankieee!!" Tongue feeling so thick in your mouth, you bite down on your bottom lip and fall completely flat with your chest firmly pressed onto the counter. Your hand smacks onto the mirror, sweaty fingerprints smudging the clean glass. "Ahh!! Aaahhh!!"

3, 2, 1...

"FUUUUUCK!!" You and Frankie simultaneously shouted at the top of your lungs as you came at the same time. Your swollen, ribbed walls contracted around his cock, sucking his cum straight from the tip and having him shoot it so deep in your cervix. The power of your orgasm has you spasming uncontrollably, your hand sliding down the mirror and frantically grabbing onto the faucet again. Wetness leaks down your inner thighs, no doubt being a mixture of yours and Frankie's combined cum. You can still feel his cock throbbing as his cock weakly shoots out the last bit of his seed.

There are a few seconds of silence as the two of you try to catch your breath. Your hair is a disheveled mess and covers the side of your face as you rest your head on the counter, still trying to keep your tremors under control. Your body is sticky with sweat and other bodily fluids. Frankie's still clothed body is hunched over your back, his warmth burning through his clothes and layering onto your exposed skin. It was comforting, his natural heat and the weight of his body.

He stays inside of you, allowing himself to get soft as he finds comfort in the wetness and warmth of your pussy. There are still small flutters from the aftermath of your intense orgasm. Frankie lets out a deep chuckle and kisses your bare shoulder gently, trailing his kisses up your neck and finally laying one on your earlobe.

"Happy New Year," he murmurs, gently brushing your hair aside. A weary smile graces your lips, and a soft giggle escapes you. Below, the party picks up again, ringing in the new year with jubilation.

With a slight turn of your head, you plant a sweet kiss on his lips, followed by a light peck on the tip of his nose. "Happy New Year, Francisco," you whisper. Your gazes lock for a moment before he leans in for another gentle, lingering kiss.

A knock at the door breaks you two apart before Benny's voice echos through the wood, "When you two are done fucking in the guest bathroom, come downstairs and have some cake."

[jjmbbg]

"Such a good girl"

cw: russell shaw x fem!reader, domestic little intro, oral sex (m!receiving), hair pulling, slight degradation, pubic hair ?? (in case someone whines about it lol)

(pics from pinterest)

Russell always has rough days, going around doing his own thing, helping people, sometimes annoying his not-so-little brother and such. Deal with the bills and such is also a problem —or rather, a pain in the ass.

But at least you were there to ease all of his problems. A light touch on his hand, a kiss on the cheek or your pretty ass on his lap were enough to make all his tensions fade away, at least momentarily.

Today, more than ever, he needed what only you knew how to give him. He dropped the keys of his car on the hall table, hanging his jacket on the coat rack by the door. With a heavy sigh, he walked into the living room, seeing you sitting on the couch with a steaming cup of green tea in your hands.

"Is that my t-shirt?" he asked you, walking towards you and sitting next to you. Then, he gathered you carefully on his arms and made you sit on his lap, kissing your cheek briefly.

"Yeah" you replied, adjusting yourself on his lap, taking a sip of your tea, then you brought the cup to Russell's lips.

"Y'know I ain't a tea fan" he chuckled, caressing your thigh with his calloused hand, leaving a tingly feeling on your skin.

"I'm in your lap, the least you can do is drink some of my tea" you protested, smiling as he gave in and took a sip of it, making a face of disgust. "It has sugar"

"I see"

Russell turned his head towards the TV, wondering what the hell were you watching, but all he saw was just naked people, then a little bit of violence and stuff.

"What's this?" he decided to ask, but when you murmured you didn't know he chuckled. "That's what was on TV, huh?"

You two stayed like that for a while, you sipping your tea, comforting him from his rough day with a small talk and a few kisses. He kept a hand on your thigh, drawing lazy patterns on your bare skin. At some point, you turned your head and looked at him affectionately, your hand leaving the cup on the coffee table and you turned at him to look at his face better.

Silently, your finger traced gently the lines of his face, the outline of his features: forehead, nose, lips and his beard. He smiled at you, leaning to give you a small kiss, his beard tickling your lips and chin, making you smile. Then you gave him another small kiss, and he gave another one.

But what was just little pecks, turned into hungry kisses, his hands cupping your face roughly, lips and teeth crashing into the heated dance of the kiss. He broke apart the kiss, both of you gasping for air. With choked in pleasure, he whispered, his hot breath fanning your face

"On your knees, sweetheart"

A thrill ran down your spine, it wasn't a question but an order. You felt yourself throb in your panties as you got on your knees between his thighs, your hands reaching the button and zipper of his jeans, undoing them and sliding them along his boxers to his ankles. His thick, hard cock sprang free, standing at attention, making you lick your lips in anticipation.

"Go on, baby. I know you want it. Put it deep in that pretty mouth of yours" Russell instructed, seeing you eagerly lean on his crotch, lips hovering the hard-rock length. "Don't be shy, honey. We know you wanna be my little cocksleve, or am I wrong?"

You nodded, your hands reaching out, fingers wrapping around the base of Russell's shaft. It's hot and hard, pulsing against your palm. Eagerly, you parted your soft, pink lips opening your mouth. You extended your tongue, giving the tip a teasing lick, moaning at the salty-sweetness of his pre-cum. You looked up through your lashes, straight at his face, and smiled coyly.

"I'll make you feel good, Russ" you said to him, almost a soft purr from your throat.

Then, you leaned further and wrapped your lips around the head of Russell's pink cock, sealing your mouth on it, your lips forming a tight seal as you started to slid it deeper into your mouth. You can feel the hard length gliding over your tongue, filling your warm mouth in the way you loved like crazy. Your throat relaxed, taking Russell even deeper and feelinf the head hitting the back of your throat, and you swallowed around it, the muscles of your throat fluttering and massaging the sensitive flesh.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, humming in approval. He didn't pushed your head and didn't guide you, he just kept his hand there, enjoying the feel of your warm mouth bobbing up and down.

"That's my good little slut, huh? You're doing it so fucking well" he growled lowly, his hand twitching with the urge to push your head down and make you choke on him, but he held back.* "Don't stop. Mhm, just like that, babygirl"

You moaned against his cock, a mix of drool and his pre-cum sliding down your throat as you pumped his dick with your mouth. You took him deep, your nose brushing against the wiry hair at the base of his shaft. The musky scent of his arousal fills your nostrils, making your head spin with desire, making your cunt dampening your panties.

"Fuck, you're doing it amazing, honey. You were made to take my cock in that pretty mouth" he groaned, fingers tightening in your hair. "My good little girl, taking me so well like a slut, gagging on me"

Your tongue swirled around the head, tracing the thick vein on the underside, teasing the sensitive spot just below the crown. His moans and the slurpy sound of your mouth made his cock twitch with need of release, the sight of your cheeks hollowing... God, he was gonna bust right here and there if you kept using your mouth like that.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you don't let up. You want his hot seed flooding your mouth, swallow every last drop of his cum.

You glanced up at Russell, his cock deep in your abused throat. The heat of his green gaze sends shivers down your body, redoubling your efforts, determined to make him come undone. You want to be the reason for his pleasure, the cause of his ectasy.

"Yeah, keep sucking me like that. I'm so close, baby" his voice was thick with pleasure, his lips parted letting his precious moans and head on the backrest of the couch, enjoying the way your mouth engulfed him, the wet heat enveloping his dick like a vice. "Take it all, baby. Love to see you choking on my cock"

Then again, Russell listened to the slurping sounds filling the room, mingling with his harsh breaths and your muffled moans and his choked ones. It was filthy, it was good, so fucking good.

His balls drew up tight as your tongue worked over and over the sensitive spot under the head. The pressure building, the coil pleasure winding tighter and tighter in his gut.

"Gonna cum," he warned, voice strained. "Gonna fucking come down your tight throat, and you're gonna swallow it like the good little slut you are"

You nodded as you bobbed your head up and down, moaning on his length, wanting him to finish in your mouth, needing him to. You shut your eyes close tightly as Russell held your head against his throbbing cock, a hoarse cry from the deep of his throat as he flooded your mouth and throat. His orgasm ripping through him like a tidal wave.

Russell's body shuddered with the force of his release, his grip on your hair almost painful. He rode out the waves of pleasure, grinding against your face until he was spent, until he had nothing left to give.

You slipped his cock out from your mouth with a wet pop, a thread of saliva and cum still joining you two. He smiled at you as you swallowed his cum and hummed with need, rubbing your thighs each other, seeking some kind of relief.

"Looks like someone needs a little bit of touch, huh?" Russell teased you, pulling you into his lap. "Huh? What's this?" he teased, palming your clothed pussy, feeling the dampness of your panties. "Uh oh, looks like we have some problem here"

And with a guttural force, he teared off your panties.

"Russell!" you yelped amused and surprised, feeling his fingers sank into you.

"We ain't done yet"

[shroomerr]

My Fashion HCs for Teenage/YA Stan Marsh

Disclaimer: These are just my design notes that I consider when designing/drawing Stan and my personal interpretation of how I think he would dress and present himself! You're free to disagree or even take inspo from this. I don't own clothes nor your opinion. 🫶 Please also feel free to let me know your personal fashion HCs through the comments or tags as well. I'd love to hear other people's interpretations of these characters and I'm always collecting new HCs!!

Starting off strong:

A loser

Alt/grunge/punk kind of style.

He likes to think he’s well dressed, and he wouldn’t be too wrong, but that’s if we’re assuming he has the energy to put in effort in his fit. If he’s depressed, it’s whatever’s the cleanest in his room. 

Typa guy to wear his undies inside out (thanks @mantequillamcwhoremick)

He’s got some DIY piercings.

One earlobe piercing, one eyebrow piercing, and one lip piercing. He got them in that order. Was a wuss for each one, and stopped getting more after the lip piercing.

Definitely cried the first time around, lol. Kenny helped him walk through the process.

Not like he knew any more than him though. Stan just assumed Kenny would be familiar with this type of stuff.

He was not.

They ended up looking up a tutorial on youtube and prayed for the best

He’s also got small DIY tattoos

Not exactly sure what kind? Something small and generic, like a star. Or a music note. Somewhere inconspicuous like on his wrist or his ankle.

He also got help from Kenny for that one. And once again, he’s just as clueless as Stan.

OVERSIZED EVERYTHING. Idk I'm projecting my NB-ism onto him but I like to think it gives him gender euphoria for when he doesn’t want to feel particularly masc. 

Will occasionally wear eyeliner (got this hc from the bitchless au author)

Only when they're feeling comfy though.

He wishes he was sooo punk and sooo alt, but he is a fast fashion king (thanks @alottodix). He does not customize, DIY or add studs to his clothes. He gets that shit straight from Hot Topic that was probably made by some child in China working in an industrial factory, being paid pennies.

Colors

Reds and blues. Colors like burgundy, carmine, and vermillion for the reds. For the blues, he’ll wear navys and denims the most.

The usual neutrals of course, like black, white, sometimes beige. But his go to is brown that he uses for accent colors.

I don’t think he’d really incorporate a lot of patterns. The most he’d go is big stripes. He prefers more graphic elements.

In terms of actual clothes:

Tops

Band. T-Shirts. This should be self explanatory.

Sometimes ripped. Alterations were either already included when he bought it or someone did it for him (either Henrietta or Kenny).

Green Day, My Chemical Romance, Deftones, Arctic Monkeys, Linkin Park, Radiohead, etc. etc. The list goes on. 

He’s tried bleaching some dark t-shirts to give it a cool design. It didn’t go too well. Now he just has t-shirts with bleach marks on them.

He’d probably wear his Tegridy shirt out of convenience occasionally, but he’d wear it inside out, or he’d find a way to cross out the Tegridy logo.

Hoodies. Oversized ones, too.

Sometimes some shorter sleeved hoodies that he layers on top of longer sleeve stuff.

Oversized dress shirts, but it’s not his go-to. Has one pair of long sleeves and one pair of short sleeves and that’s it.

Pants

Baggy jeans. 

Baggy cargo pants. 

The baggy pants are all frayed at the ends because keep getting caught under his shoe and dragging against the concrete, but also he has no normal belts. All he has are studded belts and sometimes that’s too edgy for the occasion. 

Oversized jorts that reach his knees. 

Cargo shorts. Esp those with the little belts/strings hanging down.

Normal jeans too. Ripped. Probably bought them ripped and didn’t rip them up himself.

Jackets/Coats

Flannel but he wears it well. Specifically a red flannel. 

Oversized jackets. Specifically this one brown leather/aviator kind of jacket he got from Jimbo that just swallows him whole. 

And normal leather jackets too, of course. 

Denim jackets with patches on it (Kenny sewed it for him)

Letterman/varsity jackets from his quarterback days (he doesn’t play anymore, but they still fit).

Bomber jackets

Barn coats

For winter, just a regular old winter jacket or a puffer jacket.

Shoes

Thickkkk boots, like Doc Martens. He thinks he’s soooo fashionable for wearing them (he’s not). The tall soles give him the extra height he wants.

Incredibly worn red sneakers with frayed shoelaces from years or not tying them properly.

Oh and high-top converse shoes too, lol.

Accessories

Some alt/punk-ish jewelry he got from the goth kids and the occasional outings they’d do at Hot Topic. Jewelry includes: 

Rings (specifically the kinds that are chunky and/or have some kind of cool engravings on them)

Earrings + piercings. Some have crosses on them

Wallet chains.

Studded leather bracelets.

All silver.

Arm sweatbands. He started wearing them while working at Tegridy but ended up thinking he looked good with it, so he sometimes uses it to accessorize.

There’s a point where he’s embarrassed about his goth phase and doesn’t wear it as often, but when the trend resurfaces and becomes “cool” again he starts testing the waters again and wearing his stuff more.

Wears Jimbo’s dog tag, esp to piss off Randy. Almost as a “fuck you, Jimbo’s a better dad than you’ll ever be.” 

Studded belts. The only belts he has. If he needs some normal ones, he’ll raid Randy’s closet.

Leather bangles, specifically a thick one. He likes to use that whenever he’s cosplaying or LARPing.

Leather rope bracelets that he wraps around his wrist (like the kind you have to wrap around your arm yourself, not the kind that's already weaved)

And also this piece of loose leather string that he just wraps around his wrist as a makeshift bracelet (that he also uses for cosplaying and LARPing).

Occasionally he has to wear an arm brace for wrist/hand pain because of his carpal tunnel (from playing League too much) 

Oh and residual pain from when he got shot ig

One time he wore some ripped up arm warmers and got called gay for it. Never wore them again.

Wool mittens when he’s younger, wool gloves when he’s older.

Fingerless gloves when he wants to be edgy

Band button pins and whatever thing he wants to virtue signal

Oh and glasses. Lol.

Hats

All of the hats are to hide his greasy hair

Such as:

Beanies

His stupid puffball hat/toque (im canadian we call them toques here)

Caps

Other miscellaneous stuff:

Bro is NOT well groomed:

It’s hard to shower when you’re depressed and working on a weed farm.

Speaking of weed, he has the faintest scent of it lingering on him, even if he doesn’t smoke it.

He doesn’t smell horrible, but he certainly doesn’t smell like daisies and roses either.

Definitely leaning more towards bad.

He’s at the very least self-aware when he does smell bad and feels bad for it.

Tries to put on deodorant. If he can remember it.

Definitely wrinkly clothes. All of his clothes are on a pile and he just picks one from it.

Hair

His iconic overgrown, badly bleached hair, of course.

Or just his regular black hair.

Either regular length or getting near shoulder length.

He’d rock a mullet well.

Leaves it hanging or ties it with a hair tie. 

He tries not to let it get too long because he gets sick of Cartman calling him a hippie.

His outfit combos:

I didn’t include this section in Kyle’s HC, but that’s because he’s the exception. That ginger has no outfit combos to be had.

Anyways! Stan’s pretty good at layering, so these are some of the ways he’d layer his clothes:

Oversized t-shirt on top of anything: long sleeve dress shirt, short sleeve dress shirt, turtleneck, etc. 

Jacket over hoodie.

Jacket on jacket on whatever’s underneath (t-shirt or whatever)

He wears his flannels buttoned up (not all the way, of course), open, wrapped around his waist, and wrapped around his neck. It's more of an accessory than anything.

Diagnosis: Kinda queer. But passable 👍

[1nk-ling]

Sooooo, what if I told you that (having exhausted the pittifuly small amount of tmnt content in all our state libraries + Dailymotion) my sister and I made up a fan itteration together? Yay? Nay?

Okay, prepare for a full two day's worth incoherent concept sketches and ideas.

Firstly Leo:

I know, I know who he looks like. But don't worry, I stole from all itteraions equally. You'll see.

2012 shaped limbs, 2003 white void eyes, Rise shapes and patterns, 1987-esque knee socks on Leo, the lot.

He's a Spotted turtle. They like the cold more than most turtles, so I'm adding that to him, along with being quick with words and also a scrawny stick boy. Next to Mikey, Leon likes wearing clothes the best, and has this gigantic T-shirt that he belts up and feels like a Japanese warrior in.

Raph was a little harder than Leon.

He's a seaturtle, so he likes swimming even more than his brothers. He'll sneak out to the nearest sewer outlet at night and swim in the ocean whenever he can. But unlike Leon he hates being cold, so his swimming season is short and precious.

Mikey was...a nightmare.

I really wanted 'big Mikey', and I had a pretty clear vibe in my head, but putting it down was nearly impossible. He just never looked like a little brother who was actually huge. He looked like a big brother.

Then I got the vibe. Also, look up Western Painted Turtles. They are gorgeous.

Mikey is fascinated by humanity, collecting and wearing bits and pieces of "human Stuff" all the time.

Now Donnie:

Ooooh boy! This guy! The little alien! This is the immage that lept into my mind and started this whole thing. You may be thinking he doesn't look much like a teenager. And you'd be right. You see... >:}

Donnie wasn't mutated at the same time as Splinter and the others. They were the result of an early Kraang esperiment, but Splinter excaped with three little sons. A few years later, the Kraang mutated another turtle with a new mutigin recipy. Donnie was raised by the Kraang untill he was five, being trained and studied in Kraang-y things and ways.

We haven't worked out quite how the whole thing happens, but basically Splinter was out scrounging for food, and accidentally incountered some Kraang talking about moving the mutant turtle to a new lab. Absolutely panicked, he completely wrecked the entire convoy and broke into the truck, only to find that the child inside was NOT one of his sons at all. But of course, he wasn't about to just leave him there for the Kraang to find, so he brought him back and introduced him to his boys. Raph was skeptical at first, and Leon was cautious, but Mikey addopted him instantly and the others quickly followed suit.

Proportions chart. I love shapes.

Okay, turns out I can't draw rats. This Splinter is an artist, though. He makes it out of whatever he can find and sneaks out to sell it with more layers on than the average homeless New Englander. It makes him enough to buy food and some art supplies, but most of it he keeps in case of some emergency.

This ▲ This is the reason I wanted big Mikey. Big enough to purch on. Big enough to give Rise Raph cuddles. Big enough to be awesome big!

Little Donnie can speak fine, but he's generally silent. He has, however, trained himself to read in French and Japanese as well as English. Wouldn't understand a word of spoken French, but reads fluently. (You know the feeling of realizing you're a creator and can do whatever you want, so you make someone a fan of your childhood comics even though only 1 in every 12,000 people even know what they are, let alone liked them? It's great.)

Guy's hear me out. We all love the responsible/stressed/anxiety ridden Leos. But what about a chill Leo? Just a thought.

Congradulations! You just looked at all that. If you made it through the first five inches you're awesome!

We have so many more lore tidbits and so much more to work out and so much more to think about. I haven't even said half the things she and I were giggling about yesterday. But I will probably be thinking abut these guys for a while, so maybe I'll ramble again sometime.

[ebongawk]

gimme kiss #41 😎

41. A kiss out of spite

"Chrissy will you–– Hey, man move it–– Will you please just talk to me? Chrissy! Babe, wait up!"

Chrissy was resolute in her marching through the party, red solo cup held above her head to avoid knocking into the swaying bodies. Avoiding the possibility of covering either herself or someone else in wet.

Though she'd swapped her vodka soda out for a water as soon as she saw Jason walk through the doors of the house party they were apparently both attending. She'd have to be sober if she wanted to remain resolute in this breakup.

Her defenses never failed to fall when she got tipsy, and she absolutely refused to take Jason back again. No way, no how, no sir. He was an asshole, and yeah, it had unfortunately taken her most of high school and half of college to realize it, but she couldn't exactly un-realize it now.

Of course, he would just happen to be at the one party she decided to attend this semester since the breakup. After vetting his calls for the past three months and being conveniently out of her apartment whenever he came around (she sent a silent thank you to Heather and Robin for playing up how busy she was as she hid in her bedroom while he was at the door), of course he was doing his absolute best to grab her attention here, of all places.

In public.

It would be mortifying if it wasn't so sad.

Dipping into the basement, Chrissy made her way through yet another throng of bodies before shoving herself into a small clearing. A deep inhale and an exasperated exhale ignited a chuckle from across the way, and Chrissy glanced up.

Oh.

What a pretty boy.

Blinking some of the haze out of her eyes, Chrissy watched the way he tilted his head to one side in curiosity as his eyes darted from her feet to her face. Then, making the trek again but far, far more slowly, Chrissy felt something heated curling dangerously in her stomach.

"All good, toots?" he asked, his voice just loud enough to carry over the din of noise. "Seems like you just ran a marathon. Not all that to find little ol' me, I assume?"

Those dark eyes were alight with some unnamed mischief Chrissy suddenly found herself desperate to identify. He was alone, sitting in the corner of the basement with a cigarette between his lips and a half-beaten lunchbox at his feet. Like some nefarious prince on a deserted island, there was a strange berth of space around him. People milling about but never daring to get too close.

But his question was like a welcoming hand stretching the distance. He'd lowered a moat over crocodile-infested waters and was waiting for her to cross.

She didn't hesitate his extension of refuge.

Plopping wearily down on the small stool he had cleared for her next to his armchair, Chrissy groaned as she rubbed her temples. Setting the red cup at her feet and taking yet another deep, slow breath.

"So, uh," the guy began, sitting forward until he could catch her eye before she let her head droop between her knees. "You come here often?"

Snorting, Chrissy rolled her eyes.

"What, dingy basements at parties?"

"Dingy basements in general." He sat back, crossing his arms over his chest and drawing Chrissy's attention to the stretch of his t-shirt beneath the leather jacket he wore. "Not to, y'know, toot my own horn, but they're kinda my domain, and I've never seen you around."

Once more looking her up and down and igniting that same detrimental heat in her gut, he winked at her. Chrissy almost swooned, cheeks growing warm under his obvious appreciation.

"I'd remember," he finished.

Clearing her throat, Chrissy crossed her legs and smoothed her skirt down.

"I'm not a frequent flyer, no," she admitted. "I don't often even come to these parties, to be honest, but––"

"Ah," the boy said, grinning. "Knew it. You looked like more of an upstairs gal. Never deigned these poor basement dwellers worthy of your presence."

That wasn't necessarily a lie, and Chrissy pursed her lips to quell her indignation. Basements had reputations at parties like this. It was where dark corners lit up with the haze of marijuana and various other substances.

"I don't hold myself to that high of a standard," she muttered instead, making the boy laugh.

"Well, color me lucky, I guess," he chuckled. "That your first foray into the dark might've put you in my path, I mean." Waggling his eyebrows, he let his gaze dip down, then back up. "Maybe having a pretty thing like you on my arm will drum up some business."

"Business?" Chrissy questioned just as her eyes, for the first time, glanced away from the boy and toward the stairs. Pulled by peripheral motion, Chrissy watched from her perch as a familiar head of blond hair came flouncing down each step. Half-hidden by the crowd, he hadn't yet seen her, but she had the vantage point to see him searching for her.

"Oh, nuggets," Chrissy whispered, glancing frantically around for a better hiding spot before Jason found her. The boy at her side seemed to clock her sudden spike of anxiety, his eyes following hers to the new arrival and narrowing.

"Hey, princess, you alright?" he asked, leaning toward her. "You, uh, need me to, y'know, take care of anything?"

His insinuation went entirely over her head as the panic set in, but a different idea somehow managed to infiltrate the static mess of her thoughts.

"Would you kiss me?" she asked, her voice pitched with desperation. The guy's eyes widened impossibly, drawing attention to the thick, unfair ring of eyelashes that framed them. Eyes darting toward Jason, who was facing the other direction, then back again, Chrissy punctuated her question with a little, "Please?"

"Fuck," the boy muttered, ashing his mostly-ignored cigarette in a nearby tray and tangling his fingers in her hair. "Yeah, uh, yeah, sure, whatever the lady doth request."

He tried to pull her in, but the distance between his chair and her stool was too great. Chrissy scrabbled to her knees, hitching a leg over the arm of the chair and half-landing on his lap. The boy chuckled, the sound mingling with Chrissy's giggle as he rested his free hand on her waist and drew her in properly.

"This alright?" he asked, his lips centimeters from hers. Making her heart drum violently in her chest. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the exact moment Jason noticed her, picking his way through the room with demands that people move out of his way.

"This is perfect," she responded, letting her eyes linger just long enough to grab Jason's attention before she was turning back and closing the gap between her lips and the boy's.

And she forgot, all at once, that she was trying to get back at her ex-boyfriend.

He was a flavor she was unaccustomed to, but suddenly craved. Cigarette, yeah, but it was more than that. It was a deep earthiness melded with something minty, like he'd been chewing gum, maybe. Chrissy moaned, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling herself closer. Sliding from her awkward perch on the arm of the chair and completely into his lap, Chrissy lost herself entirely in his kiss.

He felt so incredibly solid. The hand in her hair pulsed slightly, fingertips gently scrubbing against her scalp with every breathy sound she made. His other hand on her waist squeezed slightly, his palm warm and pleasant on the slight amount of skin she had showing between her top and her skirt. His thighs were sturdy beneath hers, muscle hidden beneath all that black denim.

Someone said her name, she was pretty sure. Yelled it, actually, making the boy growl as he pulled away from her dazed, bee-stung lips.

"Hey, man, fuck off," the boy demanded. "I'm trying to have some quality time with my girl."

Without the hush of the boy's kiss calming her mind, she could hear Jason behind her positively seething.

"Your girl?" he asked, his voice pitched with anger. "She's my girl, dick!"

Still, he dared not intervene. The guilt of his own actions outweighing his apparent claim over their dead relationship. Trying to resuscitate one half of a heart that had happily flatlined months ago.

Looking at her, then over her shoulder with a little smirk, the boy shrugged. Every gesture he made was so incredibly close, and Chrissy cataloged them all in her mind. Filing them away for later dissection.

"Really doesn't seem to be the case, my guy. Why don't you run along home to your little jock itch teammates and try to circle jerk the infection away, huh?"

Jason said something else, but Chrissy didn't hear it. Because the boy was pulling her back in, the heavy rings on his fingers tangling in her hair as he angled her head in just the right way to slip his tongue past her teeth. Chrissy moaned, her body going fully molten in his hands as he drew her in and drank her down, sip by sip by sip.

Far, far too soon, he was gently easing himself from her embrace again. Eyes on her for a long moment before darting away ever so briefly to scan the room.

"Pretty sure he's gone," the boy murmured, his lips nearly close enough that she could feel every syllable. Or maybe it was just the vibration of him, the way he'd somehow, miraculously, already tuned her boy to feel it. "Christ, toots. That fucker an ex of yours, I'm assuming?"

"Unfortunately," she sighed, forcing her fingers to untangle where they'd come to rest on the nape of his neck and slide down his chest. She gently smoothed out the lapels of his jacket. "For, like, months now, but he doesn't seem to take the hint."

"Oh, I think the hint was definitely taken this time, sweetness," the boy smiled, his thumb tucking beneath her chin for a brief moment. "And if not, I mean. I'm always open for a round two, y'know?"

"Yeah?" she asked. "You gonna be in every dingy basement of the party I happen to attend every four-to-six months?"

"Maybe," he shrugged, his eyes glinting with that same unnamed mischief. "Wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility. These assholes are paying for my college education, after all."

"And if, um," she began, her hands curling around his shoulders. "If I said I wanted round two... despite an audience." Dropping her head, Chrissy looked at him from under her lashes. Attempting to appear as coquettish as possible. "Or, maybe, regardless of an audience?"

The curl of his grin was echoed in her stomach, her insides twisting and morphing until they were the exact same shape as his teeth.

He was going to eat her alive, and the only thing she'd be able to say at the end was thank you.

"Yeah?" he asked. "You, uh, thinking now, or you thinking four-to-six months from now?"

"We can start with now," she shrugged, "and see where we're at in four-to-six months."

The boy threw his head back, letting out a long, loud cackle that had Chrissy clinging to him through her own laughter.

"Eddie, by the way," he said, sticking his hand in the scant space between their torsos. Sporting a wide, feral grin that made Chrissy forget all about her discomfort of the night.

Curling her fingers around his, Chrissy shook his hand.

"Chrissy," she introduced herself.

"Chrissy," he repeated, and she was fascinated by the way his tongue curled around her name. The way his lips parted on the second syllable, accentuating the second 's' in a way no one ever had. "Gorgeous."

"I bet you say that to all the girls that fall into your lap and beg you to kiss them to chase away their exes."

"Only the especially gorgeous ones," he shot back easily. "Hey, uh, not to be, like, too forward, but can I kiss you again?"

Her smile tasted sweet on her own lips. She wondered if Eddie would say it tasted the same.

"Not too forward," she soothed. "You can, um. You can kiss me anytime you want, Eddie."

"Shit, baby, don't threaten me with a good time."

kiss roulette!

[sinsoji]

Sun Roof

Touya x f!Reader

Word Count 2.3k

Disclaimer! What you are about to read contains the following: flirting, fluff, and mildly annoyed Tenko.

& what I have to say is… I’m gonna be so honest as to why I wound up kinda pausing this little blurb fic, and it was because I was playing Baldurs Gate. I KNOW. I know, but I also started a new run as a paladin and I already broke my oath, to which again… I KNOW, I KNOW, MY BAD… Anywho, Touya and you work an motel/hotel desk job eheheh

“They’re gonna fire us.”

“I know.” Your pace quickened as the cold morning air numbed your cheeks and nose. “Well, no actually. I think they need us.”

Touya rolled his eyes, leading the way down a steep concrete path to the entrance of a dead-end desk job. “Sure, they need us,” past his visible voice in the cold he began to jog. “As if we don’t do meaningless part time work.”

The air cut inside your lungs as you pushed yourself to catch up to him, patting the back of his arm as he opened the door for you despite the rush. “But nobody does meaningless work like we do.”

Touya shook his head as the wind closed the door behind you both. The running seemed to do you two some good as you had two minutes to spare. It was just enough time for the computer to wake up, and if nothing lagged, you’d clock-in uncomfortably close to your starting times. It was more often than not that you had to race to clock-in and open the doors. So much so that you had Touya’s log-ins etched in your brain and were curious to see if you could enter both your log ins simultaneously.

No one had immediately followed behind him which felt like a good start to your shifts, and as he sat beside you feint smell of smoke and a warm woody cologne bled into the air. That was the nice thing about Touya, he always smelled the same, looked the same, and sounded the same as long as you ignored his attitude to the people checking-in or out of their rooms. You usually knew what to expect from him, but as shifts turned into days, into weeks, into months, the little things began to stick out between all the blurred time spent. The little things appeared in the form of morning coffee, a warm ride home, an out of place pet name, and a text asking if you needed a ride to or from work. Today he was playing music out loud, something with an acoustic guitar and blurred drumming as he leaned back and faced you.

“When are you off?” A pen twirled between his fingers.

One leg crossed over the other as you thought about it. “It’s Tuesday, right?”

Touya hummed as he dropped his unclicked-pen to draw circles on the knee of his slacks, occasionally bunching the fabric as he sighed. “It is.”

“I’ll be out around three or four.”

“Ah, I’m out at two-thirty. Unless you needed to be somewhere, then I can consider covering for you.”

Consider. “No, I’m good. Why do you ask?”

The drawing stopped as he brought the pen to his chin. “Why do I ever ask?” He dropped his head and watched you through his lashes.

“I’ve never said no to a free ride, Touya. You know that.” The keyboard slid under your computer stand as you lay in your folded arms for a pillow. “But you don’t have to wait for me if you don’t want to.”

Touya pushed out an amused one syllable laugh, grinning before turning to his computer.

Mornings on the weekend were when things picked up. Someone else would come in to help get calls while you and Touya dealt with the people coming in and out, and unless you were missing something, Touya seemed to only chat with you, or bring you coffee.

But it was Tuesday, and nobody cared to check in on Tuesdays. At least not anyone on vacation. The weekday shifts were mainly for dealing with missing keycards, sending the cleanup crew to vacant rooms, or answering phone calls. There was an unspoken process between you two where you would answer phone calls in a syrupy sweet voice, and if someone difficult was on the other side of that call, Touya would take over. The phones were cheap, so you two could always hear who the other was talking to, what the person on the line was saying and how quickly they lightened up to the bored attitude of Touya Todoroki. Anytime he had to take over a call it often ended with his rolling his eyes which would’ve been taken personally if he didn’t murmur insults at the phone once it clicked.

Noon rolled around and not a soul had physically entered check-in. Calls were quiet besides people mainly confirmed office hours, their reserved rooms and dates. Touya had been tapping on your desk in vain until he used his knuckle to knock on the cool marble surface beside your mouse. The thud caught your attention as a man over the phone raised his voice about his check-out time. Without looking, Touya began to reach for your phone, scooting over to you so you wouldn’t have to transfer.

With your hand over the microphone, you pouted in a whisper. “Wait but he’s not done yelling at me.”

“Hand it over.” He whispered back.

“Don’t be rude. Besides, I think that’d piss him off more if you just cut him off and-”

The phone was out of your hands as soon as Touya stood up. Looming over your chair he reached for your keyboard to look at the caller's check-in date. He waited until the man was done speaking to read off their reservation. It was clear the change in tone wasn’t welcome as the man demanded to have both of your names, a demand that Touya ignored as he began to speak.

“We can’t adjust the check-out time, even if you’re booking for someone else.” He leaned in and groaned, the smell of cigarettes and mint felt alluring. “The times to check in and out pop up before you confirm your room... They are also in the FAQ tab of the website- No... When you confirm you agree to that policy-... no, you don’t get to talk to her again.”

Touya completely surrounded you with a hand on your keyboard, the other on the back of your chair as he pinched the phone between his cheek and shoulder. When he finally let go of your seat to hold the phone, Touya was hovering still. You thought that he might as well have rested his chin atop your head. The creeping question reared its head from the fog of an angry call, and you couldn’t help but wonder just when he decided to be so close.

“No, no sir. You get to talk to me now.” Your gaze met Touya’s as he looked down right as you looked up. With a deep breath in, he blinked hard and slow. The person on the other side of the phone demanded to speak to a manager and without a second thought Touya lied. “Lucky you, you're speaking to ‘em.” He gave a quick smile before sucking on his teeth “Well, if you want someone higher than me you can try thoroughly reading through our website next time. A number should be listed in the FAQ tab and-" There was a feint click in the call as Touya’s forehead gently butted yours, and for just a moment you could feel his shoulders bounce in unamused laughter.

“Guess he didn’t like that one.” Touya set the phone face down beside your keyboard, then set the tips on his fingers on the back of your chair as he reached back in a big stretch, groaning a little as he relaxed.

“Listen,” his bored tone carried more mint and tobacco, “don’t let old shits speak to you like that. Just hand them over to me.” With his back to the entrance, he leaned on your desk, practically sitting on it to cross one leg over the other as he watched your hands.

The warm sun through the glass made everything hazy along with Touya stretching the collar of his mock-neck long sleeve. “Got it, boss.”

He raised a brow and grinned.

“What?” You leaned on your elbow beside his hand and hip.

“If we’re lucky, you think ‘old shit’ will make an appearance?”

“If you’re lucky,” you tested the waters with your free hand and lazily traced over his knuckles, “he’ll come in after you leave and I have those solid thirty minutes to an hour all to myself.” you quickly withdrew your hand as another call came in.

Touya made a face, where his eyes looked up to nothing in particular and his grin smoothed into a thoughtful frown. He gently placed his hand on the desk, motioning you to put whoever you were talking to on hold.

“Yeah?”

“Actually, never mind.” He lifted away back to his chair only to pull out his phone and text away.

An hour or so of phone calls and idle chatter passed. In-between that and sending off automated reminder emails, you couldn’t help but watch his hands and wrists as he worked. You watched the veins protrude as he grew bored and heavy handed until a soft vibration caught your collective attention as he unlocked his phone.

“Sweet.” He cooly hummed to himself. Touya was facing the clock in front of you both before he eyed you. “Good news, we're both off at two-thirty.”

“What?” You turned to him with wide-eyes and a tilted grin. “You’re kidding, right?”

Touya gave a lazily, and warm smile to the clock before handing it to you. “One half of the afternoon duo wanted to come in early.”

“I feel like they didn’t really want to, so much as you, oh I don’t know, asked them to...” Pushing yourself back, you folded your arms and smiled back. “Is this about that one guy earlier?”

“Well, I can always let them know that you wanna stay-” He swiftly deflected.

“Woah, hey,” with your hands in the air you took a deep breath in. “Now I never said I didn’t want to leave early.”

“Thought so.” Touya moved his attention to his computer, eyeing the clock every so often before picking up another call.

When the small bell attached to the door chimed, Tenko dead eyed Touya and leaned into his desk. “Dinners on you,” Tomura hissed before heading to the back, curtly waving your way as he turned a corner.

Touya ignored your all-knowing smirk as he pulled out his car keys from a drawer, “I’ll bring the car around.”

Before you could say anything, Touya was headed out the back door as Tenko took his place. Tenko wasn’t very talkative, but he was cordial when he needed to be. Out of the front doors you waved to Tenko who nodded in acknowledgment and hopped into the passenger side of Touya’s kempt car.

You were swimming in his cologne and newly lit cigarette as he drove off, blowing smoke out of his open window. From the sounds of it the same bit of acoustic and soft drumming was playing on the stereo as he approached your exit and the hum of the engine disappeared as he rolled up his window and hit the gas.

Touya’s hands spoke when he didn’t. Sometimes he’d drum his thumbs on the steering wheel behind slow goers, pet the gear stick at a red light, or turn down the music when you’d talk, even if he had nothing to say. In fact, his whole body spoke when he didn’t, and you were sure he wasn’t completely aware of this fact, and hoped that he never would be.

“Hey, Touya.”

The music died. “Yeah?”

That empty feeling swept you up inside as you glanced over his relaxed figure. “Are you hungry at all?”

Touya hummed like he was finally paying attention to his stomach. “I could eat.”

“Well, what exactly could you eat?” That moment of hunger was fleeting when anticipation filled your stomach.

“Me?” Touya turned into a small parking lot between a couple of small stores, given it was barely three in the afternoon, it wasn’t busy but it was certainly lively. “It kinda sounded like you were the one who wanted to eat.”

The car turned into a small spot under a tree. The sun cast patterns on the hood and crept onto the middle console as he opened the screen to the sunroof. Decidedly you turned to face him with a leg to your chest.

“You don’t know, do you?” Touya also turned to you in his seat and gave you this easy but annoyed look. With a bent elbow Touya leaned against his hand before he reached out to hold the back of your headrest, as if he were cradling your head while he unknowingly watched all the hunger leave your body.

“You know, I think I just want something to drink.”

Touya closed his eyes and grinned. The leaves shook in the wind as the sun felt over his open arm and the tips of his black box dyed hair. The sun just missed the grown in white of his natural hair, and the bright saturated blue in his eyes, despite him leaning closer. You could hear his thumb brush against the fabric of your headrest. Subconsciously you leaned into the sound and he raised his brows, still grinning.

“You have to know.” He carefully watched you, nearly whispering as if he’d scare you away.

“Know?” You shifted, stiffened with anticipation swirling in your gut. “What do I know, Touya?”

Touya scoffed. The back of his hand from the headrest to his face, hiding a warm blush. “God, quit looking at me doll.”

“Oh, doll...” you teased, inching closer as he lied back against the glass. “I haven’t heard that one in a while. Is something wrong?” You grinned back.

Touya rolled his eyes and gazed at his back seats. “Not a thing.” Gentle but nervous laughter trickled from in your ears down your spine.

“You’re not calling me doll to get me to cover you or something, are you?”

“No cause that’s fucking lame.”

“Yeah, especially because you’ve done it before.”

“What?” Touya sang out, “No way. I just said that’s fucking lame, so I would never do that because I’m-”

“Not fucking lame?”

“Exactly.”

The three pm on his dash came to both of your attentions as he went to turn up the music. “You would’ve just gotten off.” Touya watched you from the corner of his eye.

“And you would’ve been waiting.”

“Just for you, darlin’.”

© 2024 sinsoji

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Crossroads

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 9

Prompt: Icy Roads

Rated: T

Tags: Fantasy AU; Demons; Deal with a devil; Slight blood and gore; Blood drinking

The full moon is almost at its zenith by the time Eddie reaches the crossroads outside the village. It's a few days until the solstice, and even though there's no wind, the air has that unforgiving bite to it that comes with clear, starry winter nights. His toes are aching in his threadbare boots - that dull, throbbing pain that means they're going to go numb soon. He grits his teeth and ignores them, stiff fingers fumbling in his bag for the supplies. 

He didn't account for how difficult it would be, etching the runes into the ground. The earth and mud are frozen solid, covered in a thin sheen of glittering ice. He casts his stick aside after the first futile attempt, opting to use his dagger instead, and even so, it's agonizingly slow work. Eddie swears under his breath, casting nervous glances at the moon overhead. The witching hour will be over soon. When his circle is finally complete, his neck is drenched in sweat and his breath fogs around him in puffy clouds. He doesn’t waste any time, scrambling up and standing by the side of the circle. His hands are so numb he hardly feels the pain of the blade slicing through his palm. He waits impatiently for the blood to well up, then holds his hand out. 

“What are you doing?” 

Eddie yelps and whirls. The precious red droplets burst outside the circle. 

There's a boy standing behind him, watching him curiously. He must've come from the village, even though Eddie is sure he's never seen him around. He'd remember if he had. 

He's striking. More beautiful than anyone else Eddie has seen in his sixteen winters. Smooth, soft skin with dark moles scattered all over it, like the stars in the sky above. His clothes are unlike anything Eddie has ever seen, rippling around him like water turned fabric. Shiny and precious and way too thin for a night like this. Some merchant's or nobleman's son, probably, passing through on his way to wherever it is that rich people go. 

“Fuck off,” he snaps, clenching and unclenching his hand in an attempt to draw more blood. “Can't you see I'm busy?” 

The boy doesn't fuck off. His footsteps crunch in the frozen mud as he walks closer. Eddie tries to ignore him, even though he can feel his breath on his neck. 

“Are you trying to summon a demon?” 

Eddie groans. 

“No,” he grits out. A thin red rivulet is trickling down his shaking fingers. Not enough. Not nearly enough. “I'm not trying, I am summoning a demon, so get outta here before-” 

“No, you're not.” 

Eddie whips around. The boy doesn't flinch, even though the burst of movement almost knocks their noses together. 

“What the hell would you know about that?” 

The boy shrugs, meeting his glare with an infuriatingly bright smile. “I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure that rune is upside down.” 

“It’s not-” Eddie starts to say, but then he follows the boy's gaze and his stomach lurches. “Shit!” 

He drops to his knees, frantically trying to smooth out the earth and redo his work, but the ground is rock hard and his bloodied fingers keep slipping on the hilt of the dagger and his nose is stinging and the rune is starting to blur in front of his eyes. 

“It's no use,” says the boy, not unkindly. “You'll never fix it on time. You can always come back next month, or in spring even, when the ground is-” 

“No, I can't!” Eddie yells. His voice cracks. In the shrubbery by the roadside, a tiny animal takes off in flight. “I can't wait because he'll be dead by next month, so shut the fuck up and leave me alone!” 

Silence drops. Somewhere in the night, an owl hoots, long and mournful. 

“Dead?” asks the boy. He had crouched down so that his face is level with Eddie’s, peering at him with the same calm curiosity as before. “Who'll be dead?” 

Eddie wipes his eyes, smearing tears and blood all over his face. 

“My uncle. He's sick, and it's been getting worse, he doesn't have time-”

The boy snorts, disbelieving and bewildered. “What, you don't have healers in your village?”

And Eddie doesn’t know why, but he almost tells him. About how they're too poor to afford one. About how, even if they could, nobody would come and help them. How it's all his fault. He, who killed his own mother in childbirth, who seems to be followed by bad luck wherever he goes. No way any of the superstitious townspeople would mess with that. 

“This is pretty serious business, what you're attempting here. It's no joke, entering a contract with a demon.”  

“Yeah, no shit,” Eddie snivels, watching his hand in his lap. Now it's bleeding, of course. Now that it's too late. “You think I don't know that?” 

“You're willing to accept the consequences, then? Sign over your body and soul? Obey their every order? Serve them in this life and beyond, and swear allegiance to no other master?” 

“Fuck, yeah, whatever,” Eddie growls. “All of that, if that's what it takes. What's it to-” 

And then he looks up and his voice fails. 

The boy is smiling, wide and satisfied. His eyes are gold, glowing with an inner light that puts the moon to shame. His pupils are thin slits. 

“I've stated my terms and you’ve accepted,” the boy says. In spite of the frost, his hand is warm as it closes around Eddie’s wrist. His nails are sharp. “Just as I accept your offering.” 

His tongue tickles Eddie’s skin as he drags it over the cut in his palm, lapping up the blood. 

“The contract is valid, and your wish shall be granted. From this night, you're mine.” 

More holiday drabbles

It's not how Eddie expected to sell his soul, but he'll take all he can get.