#stick countertop

[jamesandcolors]

9 Wallpaper Ideas That Will Fill Your Room With Color And Texture

Wallpaper is one of the most versatile home decor elements you can have. You can use them to decorate every single room in your house. To read more about the blog click here

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

ohhhhmygod im gonna be sick. actually nauseous and i did it to myself - there was a spider on the countertop and i Panicked, grabbing the first distance-killer i could grab. it was a grease cleaner spray. i buried it in the stuff, walked away to recover mentally, came back

it fucking fell apart and dissolved into the cleaner. i both feel horrible and im disgusted beyond words. how the fuck do i get rid of it

[shrimpmandan]

you're a weaselly little freak.

:3

[pioneertapes]

Call 9822619307 OR Get it here- https://www.pioneertapes.com/contact-us

[queenerdloser]

i picked an apartment (NOT the church remodel one lmao) and signed my lease and i have a car now so most of what was stressing me out this month is now wrapped up, which explains why my body decided i had Done Enough and gave me a head cold to force me to rest in bed.

[lolacouldnotcareless]

i love baking, unless it goes wrong, then i absolutely loathe it

[desourire]

Asian Home Office - Library Inspiration for a huge asian bamboo floor and beige floor home office library remodel with white walls

[peaktora]

𝐂 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘 ˚◞♡ ⃗ satoru gojo

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ your husband is unbearably clingy.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊0.9k words. no pronouns used or specified gender for the reader. intended lowercase. established relationship (#married).

a/n. — i’m warning u guys right now that this is not proofread 😭 .. i literally just typed this up rq and posted it bc it’s been too long since i’ve last posted something on here

p.s. the prompt was in my notes from a longgg time ago, but i believe it’s from @/creativepromptsforwriting .. if not please lmk !!

"c'mere, hold my hand," satoru pleads for what has to be the third time. he pouts at you, who’s sitting on the countertop.

your brows furrow as you look up from your phone, "but, you're washing the dishes?”

he twists the faucet handle, and a steady stream of water flows down. after a brief glance at you, he places the plate beneath the water and says, "i know how to multitask, baby."

clinginess is defined as “the tendency to stay near someone for emotional support, protection, ect.” but there has to be another term for what satoru is, because you can't give any of those things while holding his hand right now.

you let out a deep breath and turn off your phone, watching as the screen fades to black. "satoru, there's no way i'm sticking my hand in that dirty dishwater," you say, sliding your phone into your pocket.

he practically shoves the plate into the drying rack. "i can't believe this," he huffs. "we literally had vows."

“what are y—“

“we had vows that said you’d love me in sickness and in health.”

"well…are you sick?" you ask, crossing your arms across your chest.

he pauses his task of washing dishes, leaving them untouched. leaning over the sink, he rests his arms against its edge. he steals a furtive glance at you, only to find your gaze locked onto him. with a hint of hesitation, he softly mumbles, "no..." before you can respond, he interrupts, "but i’m in health, and the vows said that you have to love and cherish me in this state too."

you lean back, searching your mind for what the alternative of holding his hand would be. because in no world would you hold his hand in dishwasher. then, it hits you. "for now, would a hug make you feel better?"

he answers your question with a hum, and you can't believe he's debating whether or not to accept your offer after all that drama over holding hands in dishwater. even so, he adds, "i'll have to give it some thought."

two can play that game.

“it’s okay,” you say, gracefully hopping down from the counter. a smirk spreads across your face. “i could just go—sit on the couch?” slowly, you start to walk in his direction and make your way over to the living room.

he doesn’t say anything, letting you do as you please. it’s not until you start to pass by him, that you get the reaction you wanted.

or atleast, somewhat similar to what you wanted.

"on second thought—" he exclaims, and the dishwater swirls around him as he turns around, his hands still wet and dripping.

you cringe as small puddles gather on the tiles. "hey—" but he interrupts you as he reaches out to grab your wrist. “ew—I—what the hell?”

you instinctively try to pull back, but he slips his wet hand in yours; sealing your fate.

“satoru—”

“what happened to nicknames?”

“satoru.”

"’m not sure who that is. i go by a lot of names, but not that one. lets go down the list, yeah?” he clears his throat. “i go by "babe, baby, swe—"

"you should consider adding "gojo" to that list."

"now, when have you ever called me gojo?”

"right now, in exactly ten seconds.” your husband gasps, hanging his mouth open. “satoru go—"

“woah woah woah—what’d i do to deserve this treatment?”

“you put your dirty dishwater hand in mine.” you jerk your hand back, struggling to escape free of his grip.

his grip tightens on your hand, “if you’re feeling like not loving me today then just say that.”

“hey—don’t discredit me. i offered you a hug and you said you had to “think” about it.”

“cause holding your hand ‘s better.”

you sigh, “after you’re done with the dishes, you can hold my hand as long as you want.“

he lets out a soft, thoughtful hum—the same hum that got you both into this situation in the first place. at the same time you shake your head, a mischievous twinkle appears in his eyes, and a smile twists onto the edges of his lips. "deal" he says, shaking your hand. “but before-“

you tsk, making him drop his excuse.

“wh—“

"the quicker these dishes get done, the quicker you’ll be able to hold my hand. so get on with it—go," you playfully command, and his grip loosens in response. seizing the opportunity, you slide your hand out of his grasp. you look down at it, seeing bits of food that’ve stuck to your palm. gross.

you walk over to the sink, feeling the cool water flow over your hand, washing away the food and dirt that clung to your skin. as you stand there, you hear satoru's voice grumbling from behind, "i hate doing dishes,” and you can’t help but snort.

before you know it, you feel his presence close behind you, his body pressing against yours. his arms encircle you, creating a cozy pocket of space between the counter and his body. satoru leans over your shoulder, gets a sponge from the soapy water, and starts washing a bowl. you simply lean back and look at his features.

the sight almost makes you want to stay in his arms forever. that is, until you realize the predicament you're in.

“you did not,” you whine. you desperately try to break free from the cage he’s trapped you in, but your attempts prove more and more pointless.

"oh, yes, i did," he declares with a smile. “what did you say earlier?" he clears his throat before proceeding. "the faster these dishes are done, the sooner you'll be able to hold my hand," he says, mockingly imitating your tone. "so, the faster these dishes are done, the sooner you can leave and do anything you want."

you sulk and moan while you reluctantly grab a dish and a spare sponge from the sink. “i hate you.”

“i love you more.”

[appocalipse]

the same thing ・❥・b. barnes

summary: during a mission, you put yourself in harm's way to protect bucky. back at the avengers compound, he wants to know why. | 1.4k words, angst with a happy ending

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

"You should be resting."

You don't turn your head as the familiar voice comes from behind you, too focused on the delicate art of making the perfect sandwich to look away. You are a woman on a mission. "I was hungry."

A few seconds later, he's standing next to you, leaning back against the countertop with arms folded across his broad chest. "It's been less than twelve hours since they patched you up."

He's not going to stop hovering, you realize, because that's what Bucky does when he's worried.

"Want half?" Maybe you can distract him with food.

He regards the towering monstrosity on the cutting board and the chaotic layers of meat, cheese, and veggies sticking out at all angles.

You can't help but grin as you slap another slice of bread on top. "A quarter, then?"

Bucky has the audacity to look offended. "I'm not eating that thing."

You cradle the plate in your left hand, holding the sandwich with your right, and give him a pointed look. "Your loss."

Bucky just watches, arms still crossed, as you take a huge bite. His blue eyes remain narrowed, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He's like a one-man intervention waiting to happen. You shrug and wander over to the kitchen table.

Sitting down is a bit of an effort. The wound on your side pulls as you slowly lower yourself onto the chair, but if you can keep from grimacing too hard, Bucky won't be able to tell, will he?

Your smile probably gives you away. He narrows his eyes further. "Why did you do that?"

"Because I'm hungry?"

"No." Bucky takes a step forward. "I meant why did you get between me and that shot?"

Good question. The answer is embarrassing and you'd sooner walk barefoot over hot coals than tell him the truth.

"Hm?"

Another step. "I have superhuman healing powers."

"I'll live."

"It was stupid."

"You're ruining my—ow," you mutter, dropping the sandwich as you instinctively put your hand over your bandage. There goes the carefully maintained poker face. You force yourself to remove your hand and look up at Bucky with what you hope is an innocent expression, even as your side throbs in protest. "My sandwich. You're ruining my sandwich. Are you sure you don't want a bite?"

Bucky is too smart to take the bait. He moves around the table, coming to stand in front of you. The whole 'arms-crossed-stern-glare' thing again. It would be intimidating if you didn't know him so well.

"You could've been killed," he's like a dog with a bone, you swear.

"But I wasn't," you say pointedly. "I'm fine."

"Fine? You were shot."

"Will you just let it go? It doesn't even...hurt...that much," you lie.

It will take a while for the super-soldier serum in your blood — a weaker variation of the same stuff that runs through Bucky's veins — to kick in and accelerate your healing.

Bucky exhales. He looks about ready to give you an earful, but then his gaze shifts and he notices the way you're holding your side, how stiffly you're sitting.

You move your traitorous hand away like you've been burned.

"How bad is it?"

"Huh?" you say in a deliberately casual tone. "It's...totally fine. Not bad, really. Don't worry. I don't even feel it."

There's the reason why you've never been a spy. You can't lie to save your life, apparently.

Or maybe just not to Bucky.

"Okay. It hurts, like, just a little bit...like—like not even hurts hurts, just..." you trail off with a grimace as he comes closer. "More of an itch?"

"An itch?" Bucky sounds dubious.

"More of a burn," you concede. "A...mildly annoying but totally manageable sort of a burn."

"You are a terrible liar."

"Okay, so it hurts," you snap, the last vestiges of your patience vanishing. "I have an extensive hole in my side, I get it. It's not—I don't want you to feel bad about it. It's really not terrible, I can take it."

Bucky shakes his head. "What if it had been worse? What if they'd shot you somewhere vital?"

"They didn't."

"But what if they had?"

"Then I would have died!"

Bucky looks at you like you just kicked him. "Yeah. That's what I'm trying to say."

You open your mouth, then close it.

"You think I want that?" he asks softly.

"No." You suddenly feel very small. "Of course not, I just...just..."

"Just what?"

"I don't know," you admit with a sigh. "It's just that you are...people need you, you know? And you have a life, people who care about you, but I'm just..."

A nobody. A girl with no past, who can barely make sense of her present.

"...it would be better if it was me. That's all."

"It would never be better if you were hurt."

"Bucky—"

"You don't get it, do you?" he asks in a low voice. "People need you too."

You roll your eyes. "Please. You mean the team?"

"Me," Bucky says pointedly. "You think it's easy for me? When you get hurt? It kills me."

The sandwich lays forgotten on the table, squashed flat under your clasped hands. "It...kills you?"

He just looks at you for a long moment.

Your heart flutters in your chest. You have a sudden, intense urge to break the silence with a terrible joke, a quip, something light and witty to dispel the heaviness in the air and make this moment go away. But before you can open your mouth, Bucky shakes his head.

"You kill me."

Okay, that's not where you thought this was going. "What?"

"When you say stuff like that. When you make it sound like you don't matter, like it's okay for you to get hurt. Or worse. It's not."

Oh.

"Bucky," you try again, with a more serious tone. "I don't—"

"Stop saying that," he cuts you off.

You realize your mouth is still hanging open and snap it shut.

"You want to know what I think?" Bucky is so close now you could reach out and touch him, if you were brave enough. "I think that you got this...thing in your head, that you're not good enough, or strong enough, or that you're broken somehow. I think that you forget that it's okay to want things. I think that maybe you think nobody needs you. That no one wants you."

You swallow. You're afraid to say anything, to move, because your heart is hammering against your ribs and Bucky is looking at you like he can see straight into your soul.

"But I do."

"Do...what?" you whisper.

"Want you."

It's the last thing you expect to hear. "Bucky, you don't mean that."

His voice drops an octave. "Don't tell me what I mean."

Your cheeks are burning. You feel pinned under his gaze. Your side is throbbing again and you have a mouthful of butterflies and it's all just too much.

You move to get up but only make it halfway before the wound pulls again and you wince. "Shit."

"Where do you think you're going?" Bucky reaches out to help you, one hand braced against your shoulder as you sink back down into the chair. His expression has softened. "You need to rest."

You really want to kiss him right now.

It's the closest he's ever been to you, perhaps. You can feel his breath on your face.

"I need to...? You really confuse me, Barnes."

"How so?"

"Well, first you tell me that I kill you, and then you say you want me. It's kind of a mixed message—"

"I'm not interested in being just friends with you," Bucky cuts you off abruptly. "Is that clear enough?"

Your lips part but nothing comes out. There's a warm, tingling sensation in your chest and you suddenly can't breathe properly. "That's—you—"

Bucky smirks, just a little. He looks almost...proud of himself? Like he's happy he's rendered you speechless for once.

You decide to take a page from his book and put him on the spot. "And what do you think I want?"

"I don't know," he murmurs, leaning even closer. "But I hope it's the same thing."

His lips brush against yours, soft and gentle. He pulls away and you want to chase after him but then he's back again and kissing you harder this time, all teeth and tongue and ragged breathing and heat.

You close your eyes. Your head is spinning and you can't get enough air but you're kissing him back now, both hands coming up to fist in his shirt, holding on for dear life.

His mouth trails down your neck, leaving hot kisses along your jawline. You let out a breathy sigh.

"Is that...supposed to help me heal faster, mhm?"

Bucky just smiles against your skin.

[mcmansionhell]

pre-recession, post-taste

Hello, everyone. I hope this blog can bring some well-needed laughs in really trying times. That's why I've gone back into the archives of that precipitous year 2007, a year where the McMansion was sleepwalking into being a symbol of the financial calamity to follow. We return to the Chicago suburbs once more because they remain the highest concentration of houses in their original conditions. Thanks to our flipping predilection, these houses become rarer and rarer and I have to admit even I have developed a fondness for them as a result.

Our present house is ostensibly "French Provincial" in style, which is McMansion for "Chateaux designed by Carmela Soprano". It boasts 7 bedrooms, 8.5 bathrooms, and comes in at a completely reasonable 15,000 square feet. It can be yours for an equally reasonable $1.5 million.

Every 2007 McMansion needed two things: a plethora of sitting rooms and those dark wood floors. This house actually has around five or six sitting rooms (depending if you count the tiled sunroom) but for brevity's sake, I'll only provide two of them.

With regards to the second sitting room, I'm really not one to talk statuary here because beside me there is a bust of Dante where the sculptor made him look simultaneously sickly and lowkey hot.

Technically, if we are devising a dichotomy between sitting and not sitting (yes, I know about the song), the dining room also counts as a sitting room. The more chairs in your McMansion dining room, the more people allegedly like you enough to travel 2.5 hours in traffic to see you twice a year.

Here's the thing about nostalgia: the world as we knew it then is never coming back. In some ways this is sad (kitchens are entirely white now and marble countertops will look terrible in about 3 years) but in other ways this is very good (guys in manhattan have switched to private equity instead of betting the farm on credit default swaps made from junk mortgages proffered to America's most vulnerable and exploited populations.) Progress!

Okay I really don't understand the 50 bed pillows thing. Every night my parents tossed their gazillion decorative pillows on the floor just to put them back on the bed the next morning. Like, for WHAT? Who was going in there? The Pope?

Here's a fun one for your liminal spaces moodboards. (Speaking for myself.)

Yes, I know about skibidi toilet. And sticking out your gyatt for the rizzler. I wish I didn't. I wish I couldn't read. Literacy is like a mirror in which I only see the aging contours of my face.

When your kids move out every room becomes a guest room.

Anyway, let's see what the rear of this house has to offer.

The migratory birds will not forgive them for their crimes. But also seriously, not even a garden?

Anyway, that does it for this round of McMansion Hell. Happy Halloween!

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar! Student loans just started back up!

[rinkmason]

Betty Crocker Countertop Pizza Maker BC-2958CR Review

Are you a pizza lover who wants to enjoy restaurant-style pizzas at home? The BettyCrocker Countertop Pizza Maker BC-2958CR is an excellent solution to your problem. This pizza maker lets you create delicious and crispy pizzas at home within minutes. It’s easy to use and doesn’t require any special skills or knowledge. Whether you want to make a cheese pizza or pepperoni pizza, this machine can…

[morgluvsconnie]

We really need to be slutted out by connie. Please??????

meat to meat , wall to wall .ᐟ

conniexreader, smut, minors DNI ! language, mild degrading, praising, no protection, mentions of spit, finger sucking, etc.

you’re not sure how you got there, from being buggy and desperate for connie, to completely begging him to “slow down”

of course he wasn’t gonna listen to what you were saying but it was just a suggestion. a really, really, desperate suggestion.

“hell nah, this what you wanted, right? this what you been whining about and, fuck…” he breathed out, holding your waist tightly while thrusting into you. “complaining about.” he finished.

he had you bent over the kitchen counter, the house just dimly lit as you scratched over the marble, throwing your head back at the sensation shooting through your pussy, stomach, and legs.

“f-uck, slow down connieee!” you reached back to at least try to make him slow down a little, but he just grabbed your arm and pushed it back in front of you.

“if i slow down ian speeding back up. that orgasm gon’ take forever.” he leaned down to whisper against your ear.

your legs shook, him having to lift you back up as your knees hit the bottom cabinets. hitting your g-spot with every thrust, you moaning and slurring meaningless, and unidentifiable words as connie’s hand went towards your jaw, pulling your head back a little.

“come on, you can take dick better than this, pretty.” he groaned, throwing his head back and moving his hand down to your stomach, softly pressing against it with each trust.

“you feel that? i know you like that.” connie laughed a little, the banging of the counters almost blanking out his words.

“mhm.. i do… slow down..” you slurred out, whining softly, slowly feeling your legs give in, but trying your best to keep yourself up.

connie put his hand over your mouth, sticking two fingers in. “hush, you complaining too much ma.” he said, you slobbering against his fingers, making him smile a little. “come on, you not that dick dumb. suck.”

you softly sucked connie’s fingers as he slowly slid them further in your mouth, making your eyes water a little. he bit his lip and dragged his hand back down to your neck, leaving a trail of your saliva.

“i can’t t-take it” you whined. connie leaned up, tilting your head back. “shut up.” he mumbled, his lips connecting with your wet ones.

that’s when you felt his thrusts get harder, making you moan louder and struggle to keep your lips on his. “fuck me back, you got it..” connie mumbled, slipping his tongue in your mouth and continuing to kiss you, your brows furrowing and your nails desperately trying to dig into the countertop.

you moved your lips back against him, the feeling of him deepening in your stomach almost sending you over the edge.

he could feel you tightening around him by the second, him letting out a groan before tightening his hand around your neck.

“co-nnieee” you whined, hitting the counter. “i give up, fuck..” you said between chopped breaths. “nah, can’t tap outta this one. you can cum mama, all over me.” connie bit his lip, his thrusts getting deeper and deeper by the second.

your legs started to go numb, your knees giving out. now it seemed like you didn’t even have control over your own body anymore, he was holding you up completely by your waist.

“ah! fuck!” your eyes shut as you felt an orgasm building up. connie pushed your back further down, making you arch again, his breathing getting heavier. “fuck, this pussy all mines, i swear.” he breathed out as you felt yourself finally being sent over the edge.

your legs started to shake as your hand slammed against the counter, you laying your head on your arm while you whined continuously, feeling connie’s warmth almost in your stomach.

your legs continued to shake, even after connie slowed down, even after you heard the dripping of cum hit the floor.

“fuh..” you couldn’t even finish your word before connie pulled out of you, groaning and laughing a little at the way you trembled, even when he wasn’t fucking you anymore.

“look at you. all that begging and can’t even handle dick. slob running all down that pretty ass mouth.” he grabbed your jaw and made you look at him, staring at your mouth with a cocky grin.

your words wouldn’t even come out, you, still trying to catch your breath. you looked at him with glossy eyes, still throbbing and panting over nothing.

as connie pat your pussy softly, you jumped a little, your legs nearly giving out again at the numbing sensation that never left. “like a pretty ass slut.” connie pat your cheek before letting your face go with a chuckle.

“just make sure you can handle what i got next time.”

[moondirti]

daddy kink. inspections. female reader. mean price. fluffy ending. mention of cunt slapping.

latching on to price’s forearm when he anchors it between your legs. he has the soaked gusset of your panties yanked to the side, fingers prodding for purchase along your doughy folds. callouses slipping, slicked. prying for something — what, you don’t know, though you bite your lip to settle through the pain. his touch isn’t as placatory as it would be if was trying to arouse pleasure. sturdy, rather. a little forceful.

similarly, the kitchen countertop is unrelenting below. cool marble digs into your behind, edge cutting into the soft flesh of your thighs. it makes you wish you wore bottoms this morning — before acknowledging how short-lived that would be. there’s a multi-purpose tool on every flat surface available (gifts, from those who don’t know that all he wants, on every occasion, is a tight thing wriggling atop his lap and a bottle of glen scotia), and you’ve suffered enough torn shorts at their doing to have found that the most you can get away with is a pair of cotton briefs and a loose shirt. easy access, he calls it.

like now. you focus on anything but the intrusive ministrations he doles to your poor pussy, whimpering quietly behind bitten lips. though it’s ritual, you have yet to get used to his morning inspections. they alway feel a little cruel in a way you don’t deserve. you’ve been good in the time since you’ve seen him last — sitting on your hands, declining every invitation to a night out, locking your toys in the safe he keeps in the closet — but no amount of pleading your case will get you out of this. he has to see it for himself. feel the undisturbed skin around your hole, the ripe fruit of your clit, plump as it has yet to be unpicked.

“daddy,” you breath, leaning into the strength his shoulder affords when he shoves a finger in dry. it’s hard to keep still as he searches your insides, probing through velvet walls like they’re his own. at this point, all of you might as well be.

“wiggle again ‘n’ i’ll slap this stupid cunt silly.”

your tongue notches itself between your teeth, struggling when you bite down to stifle further complaint. he’s so mean; never as indulgent in the mornings as he is in tipsy afternoons, when he’ll place you down onto his thigh, and let you suck on his fingers to sate the oral fixation that had you mouthing at his groin.

what you find, in your new effort to stay silent, is his arm serves as a better distraction than the metallic wash of blood around your gums. your nails trace it delicately, drifting through the tufts of dark hair that veil old tattoos. the way it will comb to your direction, going one direction when you pave the way, is so unlike the man currently pulling your clit hood back, watching it twitch in cool air. price is fixed, mulish in a manner you’ve learnt is best to let go. rooted in the disciplinarian logic taught to him by his father, and his father before him — tradition sticks, tacky in his marrow. trying to scour it out of him, urge him to see differently, is like taking trouble with the one thing that makes him… him.

you say nothing when he spreads either lip apart.

the muscles creaking from elbow to wrist are more analogous to his character. they twist, writhe, sinew stretching in a way that seems impossible to you. if you squeeze hard enough, you swear you can feel each individual fibre working minutely beneath the surface of his skin. his body is ignited, emanating a dry heat always — which serves your purposes nicely on frigid winter nights, tucked into the expansive furnace of his back. when your fingertips tap the crease of his arm, they sap feverish warmth, along with the elastic efforts that keep you pinned in place.

“legs.” he demands, knuckles rapping on one knee to complete his demand. you’re a little dumb, pleasure slowly bleeding into your veins, making the best of the rough attention your cunt receives, so all you do is blink. once, twice. “wider, now.”

but he doesn’t give you another chance. instead, he shoves them apart himself, his watch scratching the thin skin of your inner thighs.

his watch. black dial and brown leather strap, worn a little with use. though he’s told you the specifics of its make and model, most you remember is that it can also be used as a stopwatch. tactical, utilitarian, as things tend to be with him, but inflated at such a cost that you blanched upon hearing he uses it on the field. don’t you worry about it?

there are far more important things to worry about.

you’ve tried it on your wrist, once, and found that it hung uselessly, several sizes too big. he fills in that extra space so well, veins branching from where it hugs his carpal, adding dimension to the hand that disappears into your pussy.

you wish you would worm your way into his skin, nestle there with all the things that paint this portrait you love so dearly. it would do a great deal for the anxiety that plagues you while he’s away, stressing about loss of mind or limb, or the loss of your daddy in his entirety, out there somewhere where you cannot reach him.

(you wonder, briefly — ridiculously — whether he feels the same about you. but those suspicions are eased when he pulls away from the bracket of your hips, proud smile warping the moustache atop his lip, and places a scratchy kiss to your temple.)

“that’s a good girl.”

[sugarstainzz]

IMPATIENCE KILLS - HAN JISUNG // warnings beneath break 

genre. smut pairing. han jisung x gn!afab reader  sum. your poor, needy boyfriend is desperate for a bit of relief, and it’s impossible to ignore him word count. 1.3k

tags. kinda sub!jisung, soft dom!reader, needy sex, unprotected sex (wrap before u tap), ruined orgasm, implied oral at the end, a bit of biting, “mama” is used quite a bit, pt.2

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

han jisung is a needy little bitch. 

obviously you know this. you’ve known it for a while. even before you were dating you could tell. the way he stared at you for a bit too long, how he never even joked about attempting nnn, how he hated sleepovers because he “needs privacy at night.” and this neediness only became more obvious after you got with him. 

the stares escalated to groping, squeezes and caresses instead of gazes and knuckle brushing. the ass grabbing, the voice notes begging you to come home faster, jumping between your thighs when he was so sure- and dead wrong - that you were sleeping. 

it’s not that he wants to cum all the time. he just kinda needs to. his thick cock has a mind of its own, always hard and leaking over anything and everything. 

this is especially obvious right now. 

you were working on making some dinner for the two of you. nothing fancy, it’s movie night food. instant noodles with a bit of bacon and egg to liven it up. the alcoholic horse on your screen is the most important thing. or at least, you thought it was. 

jisung coming up behind you wasn’t anything to pay attention to. neither were his arms around your waist or the gentle brush of his lips on your neck. but as the gentle kisses deepen and you feel his groin press against the soft form of your ass, it becomes a bit clearer. 

the hard-on rubbing against you makes it quite obvious. 

“you want something?” you ask him, your voice a quiet hum. he doesn’t say anything back. he just whines and grinds into you. his dick is getting harder in his sweats and it’s even harder not to fantasize about it. 

“sungie.” you start again, managing to keep your composure. “do you want something, baby?”

“wan’ you…” he whines. “wanna put it in. needa put it in.”

“you gotta wait a bit.” you say, patting his hand. “i’m still cooking.” he shakes his head, nose brushing against the back of your neck. 

“don’t make me waittttt.” he cries. “please y/nnnn. i’m so hard it hurts i need it so bad please.”

you sigh, setting the noodles to the side. they need to steep for a couple more minutes anyways.

“you need it?” you ask him.

“mhm~”

“you neeeeed it?”

“so bad. please~”

you can’t help but giggle. he’s so whiny, it’s perfect. damn near crying and you haven’t even done anything. it’s already getting you wet.

“please what?” you whisper. 

he squirms a little bit behind you, desperate for relief. you can feel where the head of his cock poking his thigh- the fabric before it is already soaked in precum. you shiver a bit, your sopping cunt clenching around nothing. god, he’s so leaky. 

“please lemme put it in~” he starts. “i want you so badly, y/n. i promise i’ll make you feel good too. just lemme fuck you please.” fuck, he’s so good at begging. 

you don’t say anything, afraid your tone will give away your own desperation. instead, you gently break out of his hug and bend over, resting your torso on the cool countertop. 

jisung immediately drops down behind you, fingertips rubbing against your cloth-covered pussy. the black fabric of your panties is soaked with arousal, sticking uncomfortably to your skin. 

“so pretty…” he whines to himself. he gently peels your underwear off, letting it fall down your thighs and pool at your ankles. he plants a kiss on your entrance, licking a fat stripe up the length of your cunt. you lock your knees, ready to get some needy, pussy-drunk head, but he pulls away. you’ve hardly a second to think before he pushes his cock in, bottoming out inside of you. 

white stars of shock twinkle across your vision for a split second. he isn’t the largest in the world, but his long enough that you like a bit of warning beforehand. and even though it’s nothing special you feel so full. Ugh…

“jisung- ugh- what the fu-”

“i’m sorry,” he apologizes. “i’m sorry i know i should’ve eaten you out but you’re so wet and i want- needed- i- i- i’ll- i’ll just wait a moment, ‘kay?” it’s a generous offer. he’s already twitching inside of you. you can feel his cock in your stomach, pressed between your plush walls and the marble countertops. it takes a moment of heavy breathing, but eventually you give him the okay to start thrusting.

and start thrusting he does.

he bunny-fucks into you, each thrust making your brain go a bit fuzzier. each snap of his hips is punctuated with the head of his cock kissing a deeper spot inside of you. even though you’re wet and relaxed, you still normally need prep, and because you didn’t get any, his cock feels even bigger than normal. it’s pressing against your g-spot so hard, and every stroke past it makes you feel ready to cum. 

“m’sorry i didn’t eat you out,” he whines again. “I know I messed up m’sorry,”

“it’s okay, baby-” you sigh between moans. “fuck- feels s’good.”

“feels good? ‘m doin’ good?”

“so- fuck- just keep fucking me sungie oh my god…” 

somewhere in his mindless haze, he remembers to give your throbbing clit a bit of attention. his slender fingers tease you, your slick making his hand slide around sloppily. he rests against your back, whining in frustration as he tries to make you cum. 

“y’needa cum, baby…” he mutters. “please cum i know this pretty pussy can come for me please cum…” he’s not even teasing or coaxing. so soon he’s desperate for you to climax so he can feel the spasming of your cunt around him. he needs to feel the rush of it, hear the moaning when your orgasm hits you. and you need it even more. it’s as though his desperation has rubbed off on you. each whine, each moan, each spasm of his fingers and stutter of his hips behind you pushes you further into madness. 

you’re so close. so so close to the edge. you’re shuddering with it, with the tightness building in your belly. your skin tingles and burns in the best way, his slick-coated fingers pushing you to the abyss. but his movements are becoming erratic and choppy again. he just can’t hold on any longer.

“fuck- ‘m gonna cum~!” he whines loudly. 

“ya g’na cum?” you ask him. “sungie’s gon-gonna cum?”

“mhm~”

“you sure you can’t hold on a sec-second longer?”

“no mama ‘m sorry sung-sungie’s gotta cum i can’t hold it ‘nymore i jus’ gotta please-” 

your mind goes so fuzzy. you wanna be mean so bad. you wanna tell him to hold on, to cum before him, to have him fuck into you until he’s crying and begging but he just sounds so so sweet…

“mama?”

“you can cum, sungie,” you pant

he keens.

he unloads inside of you and bites into your shoulder so damn hard you think it’s bleeding. jisung finishes hard, and his warm cum is building up inside of you, coating your walls. he pants against your body, teeth still clamped on as his softening cock slips out with a wet pop. semen spatters against the tile floor, sticky against your thighs and ankles. your elbows shake with pleasure and your ruined orgasm. he’s mumbling nothing into your skin, you can’t understand a single thing he says.

gingerly, he grabs your shoulder and turns you around. you’re still trying to catch your breath and don’t fully register him sinking to his knees until his fingers are squeezing your thighs, beckoning them to open. 

“jisung?” you ask, going a bit rigid as he kisses your throbbing clit, ignoring the cum dripping onto his chin.

“‘m not g’na jus’ let you not cum..."

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

a/n. helloooo my loves! thanks sm for reading- i haven't written anything in a super long time, so soz for anything choppy or nonsensical. stick around if u wanna see more, and always feel free to shoot me a req or drabble or what have you. mwah mwah mwah -sugar🤍

[pioneertapes]

Call 9822619307 OR Get it here- https://www.pioneertapes.com/contact-us

[ennabear]

gas station!ellie giving you a stick and poke tattoo after she notices you ogling her knuckle tattoos. getting the words “lets fuck” tattooed on her fingers was a spontaneous decision she made when she turned twenty, but she’s oh-so proud of it.

you’re proud of it too, the way they’re usually complimented by the cutest light red indents or copper smudges from the rings she wears to cover them up, especially in front of her boss.

she’s gently holding your arm in her hands, a blue ballpoint pen scribbling pretty constellations that trail from your wrist to your elbow. she slides her hands lower until your fingers intertwine with hers, sketching the letters E and W on your middle and ring fingers.

you giggle, your cheeks heating up. “i wish it was permanent.”

“it could be…” she says.

so now she’s got a needle resting in between her fingers, a half full ink cup next to you on the countertop, and an idiotic grin on her face.

“it might hurt,” she warns. “but i’ll kiss it better when i’m done.”

“ellie, just do it already.” you smile.

she dips the needle into the ink, bringing it up to your knuckles and gently etching her initials into your skin. although it’s not the most comfortable, the pain isn’t too unbearable. or maybe it’s because you have the sweetest, most lovestruck tattoo artist in the world.

once she’s done, she takes a paper towel and douses in rubbing alcohol, gently swiping it over your knuckles.

“sorry, baby.” ellie frowns as you wince at the sting.

you smile down at her, “this is even better than a wedding ring.”