#the fucking lead up to the end GRIPPED me

[screaminglygay]

Hop on.

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: when your brother’s bike breaks down, you turn to natasha´s shop for help, what starts as a simple repair leads to a whirlwind of teasing banter. sometimes, fixing a bike can lead to mending more than just machinery.

warnings: bike accident, but nothing horrible, then just FLUFF!!, mild teasing, brother being an ass hehe

word count: 8.9k

an: i wrote this a while ago, but i still really like this one a lot, so i hope you´ll do too:) also yes, i don´t know anything about bikes:D

"What can I help you with?" The receptionist asks, but noticing you´re worried look right away.

"Um… my brother, he- had an accident," you mumble out to her.

"Can you tell me your name, miss?" She looks down at her computer.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N)," you show her your ID.

The lady gives you the ID back, makes a few clicks and looks back at you, "he is in the room number seven."

You basically sprint there, slamming the door open, thankfully your brother was the only person in there. But the sight of him made you confused, he was sitting on the bed, smiling as usual, just few bruises on his face and a bandage oh his leg.

"Hey, sis," he makes the peace sign, while your heartbeat is going milions per seconds.

"Hey, sis?! Hey, sis?! What the hell?!" You walk up to him and smack him.

"Ouch! What was that for?" He scratches his head.

"What was- are you kidding me?" You pull out your phone, "25 minutes ago, I got this message from your friend: 'hey, don´t freak out, but your brother is going to the hospital, bike accident.' I rush here, committing like thirty-seven crimes…and you´re here smiling and saying 'hey, sis?!'"

"Oh… Kevin´s idiot," he shakes his head.

"No, you are! What the hell happened?!" You move your hands around.

"Can you just chill for a second? Jeez." He stratches, "We were riding, normally, but then one of the cars cut me off and I slipped. I´m fine, but bike was pretty fucked up." As he tells you the story of what´ve happened, you scan his face, obivously you´re glad he is okay, but deep down you´re angry that he still rides that thing.

"Are you sure you´re okay? You look down on his leg.

"Yeah, nothing that didn´t happened before. But uh… I need ride back home." He shifts in his position, even when he tries to mask it, he is still in some visible pain.

"I figured. Stay here, I´ll get someone…"

After two hours he is finally let out of the hospital, you help him into the passenger seat, careful not to jar his injured leg. As you close the door, you mutter, “I swear, one day that bike is going to be the death of you.”

He rolls his eyes as you start the car. “You worry too much. It’s not like I haven’t crashed before.”

“Yeah, and you’re still riding that death trap.” You grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary. “Why do you even keep that thing? It’s not like you can ride it anytime soon.”

He winces as he shifts in his seat, not meeting your gaze. “I just… I need it fixed, okay? I’ll be careful next time. Can you help me with that… pleaseee?

You let out a sigh. “You’re lucky you didn’t end up worse. Fine, I’ll take care of it, but you’re not driving that bike again until I’m sure it won’t fall apart under you.”

“Thanks, (Y/N),” he says, softer than before, like he knows you mean well even when you’re pissed. He’s quiet for a moment, then adds, “You know, there’s a mechanic not far from here, Red Guardian.”

You nod, making a mental note. “I’ll check it out. But you, mister, are on bed rest.”

"Aren´t you three years younger than me?"

You glance at him, "and yet I´m the smarter one, so bed it is."

“Whatever you say, mom.”

...

Two days later you finally arrive at Red Guardin, a place that looks far more organized than you expected for a bike shop. The sign is simple, but the place has a charm, just like you’d heard. You park your car and walk inside, the smell of oil and metal hitting you as you step through the door.

A woman with fiery red braided hair is leaning over a motorcycle, hands deep in the engine. She doesn’t look up as she says, “Be with you in a sec.”

You clear your throat, trying not to be too obvious as you check her out. “Uh, take your time.”

She straightens up, wiping her hands on a rag before turning to face you. Her green eyes meet yours, and she gives you a small, confident smirk. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here about my brother’s bike,” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Your brother? The guy who got cut off and ended up in the hospital?” She chuckles lightly, shaking her head. “Yeah, I heard about him. Of what I´ve heard that bike’s a mess, but there is nothing I can´t fix.”

You blink, a little taken aback. “You already know about it?”

“Word travels fast in this town,” Natasha replies, that teasing smile still on her lips. “Plus, your brother’s been in here before. He’s not exactly subtle.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course. He didn’t tell me that part.”

“So, where’s the patient?” Natasha smiles as she takes some gloves.

You fumble with your words for a moment, feeling a little awkward. “Uh, it’s in my car. Or, well, in the truck bed."

You lead her outside to where you´re parked. Natasha walks around it, examining the damage with a critical eye. She’s quiet for a moment, then looks over at you. “Well, the frame’s a little bent, and the engine’s definitely seen better days. But it’s not totaled. I can fix this.”

You nod, relieved. “Thank God. I had no idea what to do. I mean, I know a bike has wheels, an engine, and all that, but that’s where my knowledge ends.”

Natasha gives you a teasing smile. “Good thing you came to the right place. I’ll need to take it inside and get a closer look. Mind helping me unload it?”

You quickly agree, and the two of you start unstrapping the bike. Natasha shows you where to hold it and how to carefully lower it down. As you work together, she starts explaining what she’s looking for.

“See this here?” she says, pointing to a section of the frame. “It’s bent, but not too badly. I’ll have to realign it, though. And this,” she taps the engine, “will need a rebuild. Your brother’s lucky it didn’t crack.”

You listen intently, trying to follow along even though most of what she’s saying goes over your head. Natasha notices your blank expression and laughs softly. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. By the time I’m done, it’ll be good as new.”

You can’t help but smile at how confident she is. “Thanks," you look down for a name tag, but there isn´t one,

"It´s Natasha," she smiles.

You nod, "Natasha, I really appreciate it. My brother would lose his mind if he thought he couldn’t ride again.”

She gives you a quick wink. “No problem. I’m used to fixing things, especially when they mean a lot to someone.”

There’s a warmth in her voice that makes your heart skip a beat. You swallow nervously, trying to focus on the bike and not the way Natasha is looking at you with that confident, playful smirk.

You´re glad that you found the right place.

…

As you pull up to your house, the sun already dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the yard. As you step inside, your brother is lounging on the couch, leg propped up on a stack of pillows, flipping through channels on the TV. He looks up as you walk in, his eyes narrowing in concern.

“Well?” he asks, cutting straight to the point. “Is it fixable? Am I ever going to ride again?”

You set your bag down and kick off your shoes, feeling the day’s tension start to melt away. “Natasha said it’s fixable, but it’ll take some time. The frame’s bent, and the engine needs a rebuild. But she’s confident she can get it back in shape.” You repeat what she told you earlier.

He visibly relaxes, “Natasha is fixing it? Good. I was worried it’d be a total loss."

“Yeah, well, you got lucky,” you say, crossing your arms as you lean against the doorway. “You’re not exactly gentle on that thing.”

He scoffs. “It’s a bike, not a porcelain doll. It’s meant to be ridden hard.”

You roll your eyes. “And that’s why you’re here, with a busted leg, instead of out riding. You should really be more careful.”

He shoots you a teasing grin. “You sound like mom agan.”

“Someone has to, since you clearly don’t listen at all.”

He chuckles, then winces as he adjusts his leg. “Okay, okay, point taken. But when it will be ready?”

Your expression softening. “Natasha said she’ll have it back to you in no time. She knows what she’s doing. It’ll be like new—maybe even better.”

He sighs, relief washing over his features. “Great-" you cut him off.

"You´ll take it easy when you get back on the road. No more stunts, no more pushing your luck. You got off easy this time, but next time you might not be so lucky.”

He rolls his eyes but nods. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be careful.”

“I mean it!” you say, your tone firm but caring. “I don’t want to get another call like that.”

His teasing expression fades, and he nods more seriously. “I know. I’ll be careful. Promise.”

You give him a small smile, reaching over to mess up his hair. “Good. Now, get some rest."

"I will, but can you promise you will check on the bike, when you can?" He gives you the best innocent look he possibly can.

"I will check it out tomorrow after work." You nod.

“Thanks, sis. I owe you one.”

“Yeah, you do,” you reply, “and don’t forget it.”

As you walk away, you hear him mutter, “I won’t!”

…

The next day, you find yourself back at the shop, unable to shake the feeling of curiosity or maybe it’s something else entirely, that pulls you there. The familiar scent of motor oil and metal greets you as you step inside. Natasha is already hard at work, leaning over a bike with her back to you, her hands moving expertly as she adjusts something under the engine. You can´t help, but stare. Her toned hands are someting you can definetly look at forever.

She glances up as you approach, a smirk playing on her lips when she sees you basically drooling. “Back again? You know, most people don’t check in this often. Are you here to make sure I’m actually working?”

You snap back out of your thoughts, shaking your head. “No, nothing like that. My brother’s just obsessed with that bike. He’s convinced it needs constant check-ups or it’ll fall apart. Honestly, he probably cares about it more than is healthy.”

Natasha straightens up, wiping her hands on a rag as she walks over to you, a teasing glint in her eye. “Sounds like a lot of work, keeping up with all those concerns. You know, I could make it easier for you…”

“Oh?” you reply, raising an eyebrow. “And how exactly would you do that?”

She leans casually against the counter, that familiar smirk tugging at her lips. “I could give you my number. That way, you can check in on the bike whenever you or your brother want. Get updates straight from the source.”

You laugh, feeling a little flustered by how smooth she is. “Right, for the bike.”

“Of course, for the bike,” Natasha says, her voice dripping with playful innocence, though the mischievous sparkle in her eyes tells you she’s enjoying this. She pulls her phone from her pocket, handing it to you. “Here, you can add your number.”

You take her phone, typing in your contact details, and then you pause. Instead of handing it back, you grin and ring yourself right away.

Natasha chuckles, clearly impressed. She takes her phone back and glances at the screen. Her expression shifts into one of amused surprise when she sees what you’ve entered. “Finally, I get to know your name. Pleasure to meet you officially, (Y/N).”

You feel your cheeks warm slightly as she says your name, her voice low and smooth.

She grins, leaning in just a bit closer, her voice dropping to a softer tone. “Well, I like to take my time with the important things. So tell you brother it will take some time, just to make sure his bike is ready for his awful riding."

You swallow, trying not to get too flustered under her gaze. “I´ll tell him that." You nod.

With one last shared look, you turn to leave, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nerves. As you step out of the shop, your phone buzzes. You glance down to see a new text from Natasha: “Just in case you need another excuse to visit. See you soon, (Y/N).”

You can’t help but smile as you tuck your phone back into your pocket, already looking forward to the next visit.

...

Over the next few days, you find yourself returning to the shop more often than you’d care to admit. At first, it’s just to check on the bike, of course, but then you don´t even care to hide, that there is one more, bigger reason to come into the shop.

One afternoon, she catches you watching her as she tightens a bolt on the engine. “You know, you’re here enough that I should put you to work.”

You laugh. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

She gives you her usual smirk. “I could show you. How about a crash course in motorcycle basics?” Before you can protest, she’s grabbing a helmet off the wall and tossing it to you. “Here, put this on.”

“Wait, what? I don’t even know how to ride.”

“Don’t worry,” she says, her voice low and teasing. “I’ll take care of you.”

"I- won´t this get you into a trouble?" You frown a bit.

"My dad owns the shop, I think I´ll be fine." You feel your cheeks heat up as you put on the helmet. Natasha swings a leg over the bike, patting the seat behind her. “Hop on.”

You hesitate for just a moment before climbing on, wrapping your arms around her waist. She revs the engine, the sound vibrating through you as she takes off, the wind whipping past your face. She’s almost intoxicating at everything she does.

When she finally stops back in the parking lot next to the shop, your heart is racing for more reasons than one. Natasha turns to look at you over her shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Not bad for a first ride, huh?”

You can’t help but smile. “Not bad at all.”

Natasha swings her leg over the bike, smoothly dismounting and turning to face you. Ugh the stupid smirk on her pretty face. “You handled yourself pretty well back there. I think you’ve got some natural talent.” She helps you take off the helmet.

You laugh, still feeling the rush of the wind and the hum of the engine. “I was just trying not to fall off. But I’ll take the compliment.”

She steps closer, close enough that you can feel her parfume mixed with oil from the repairs. “You know, riding isn’t just about holding on. It’s about trust. Trusting the bike, trusting yourself… and maybe trusting the person in front of you.”

Your breath catches slightly at her words, and you realize she’s no longer just talking about riding. You meet her eyes, and there’s a tension between you, a pull that’s hard to ignore. “I guess I did trust you back there.”

Natasha’s smirk widens, and she tilts her head, studying you with a gaze that feels like it’s seeing right through you. “Good. I like that.”

You try to steady your breathing, but it’s difficult with her standing so close. “Do you do this with all your clients?”

She chuckles, a low, rich sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “I don’t take just anyone for a ride, (Y/N). Consider yourself special.”

The way she says your name makes your heart skip a beat. There’s a moment of a silence between you, making you aware of how close she is, how her eyes seem to linger on yours, searching for something.

Natasha’s gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment, and your breath hitches. “You know,” she says softly, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “there’s a lot more I could show you. If you’re interested.”

Your pulse quickens, a mix of nerves and anticipation coursing through you. The air between you feels charged, every second stretching out as you weigh her words. You know she’s definetly not just talking about bikes anymore, and the realization sends a thrill through you.

“I think I’m interested,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha’s smile deepens, her eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. “Good.” She steps even closer, her presence almost overwhelming now. “Because I don’t do half-measures, (Y/N). If you’re in, you’re all in.”

You feel a nervous flutter in your stomach, but it’s not enough to hold you back. “I think I can handle that.”

Her eyes darken slightly, her voice taking on a more serious note. “Are you sure? Because once we start, I don’t plan on stopping.”

The intensity of her words makes your heart race, but you don’t back down. Instead, you meet her gaze head-on, the challenge in her eyes only spurring you on. “I’m sure, Natasha.”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves, the tension between you almost unbearable. Then, as if making a decision, Natasha leans in, her hand brushing lightly against your arm. The touch is brief but electric, sending a jolt through you.

“Glad to hear it,” she murmurs, her breath warm against your skin

Before you can respond, Natasha finally pulls back, though the look in her eyes tells you that this is far from over. She glances at the bike, then back at you, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You should head home. I wouldn’t want to keep you out too late… this time.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, nodding. “Right. I should… probably get going.”

“Probably,” she agrees, though there’s a teasing edge to her voice that makes it clear she wouldn’t mind if you stayed longer.

As you walk back to your car, Natasha watches you with that same unreadable expression, like she’s already planning the next move. You reach your car door, pausing to glance back at her. “So… I’ll come check on the bike tomorrow same time?”

Natasha crosses her arms, leaning against the doorframe of the shop, her smile turning into something almost predatory. “I´m counting on it, (Y/N).”

You give her a small smile in return, feeling that same mixture of excitement and nerves bubbling up inside you. As you start the car and pull away, you can’t help but glance at her going inside the shop once more.

The cool night air feels refreshing on your flushed cheeks as you step out of the car going back home, the smile on your face almost impossible to hide. As you approach the front door, you take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. But the excitement from the evening is still buzzing inside you, making it hard to calm the butterflies in your stomach.

When you walk inside, your brother is sprawled out on the couch again, a half-empty bag of chips beside him and a game paused on the TV. He looks up as you close the door behind you, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “You’re home late,” he remarks, his voice dripping with curiosity. “What’s got you all smiley?”

You pause, trying to wipe the grin off your face, but it’s no use. “Oh, nothing,” you say, attempting nonchalance as you shrug out of your jacket and hang it up. “Just, you know… checking on your bike.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying your casual tone. “Uh-huh. And since when does checking on my bike make you look like you just won the lottery?”

You shoot him a look, but it’s playful, and he knows it. “Since today, apparently.”

He narrows his eyes at you, sitting up a bit straighter. “Okay, spill. What happened?”

You hesitate for a moment, debating how much to tell him. But then you decide it’s harmless enough. “Well… I rode it, you know a test ride I assume.”

He blinks, clearly not expecting that. “Wait, what? You rode my bike? The same bike you’ve always refused to even sit on?”

You nod, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah. Natasha let me try it out.”

His expression shifts, realization dawning as a smirk spreads across his face. “Natasha, huh? So, you finally decided to take the plunge… because she asked?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no hiding the blush that creeps up your neck. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, sure it’s not,” he says, leaning back with a smug grin. “You always said no to me, no matter how many times I tried to get you on that bike. But one pretty redhead asks, and suddenly you’re Evel Knievel.”

You try to play it cool, but you can’t help the smile that slips out. “Well, she made a good case. And besides, you know how scared I am.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, so scared until Natasha Romanoff turns on the charm. I see how it is.”

You grab a throw pillow and toss it at him, but he catches it easily, still grinning. “Shut up.”

He throws the pillow back, missing you by an inch. “Hey, no judgment here. I’m just saying, I knew something was up when you walked in all smiley. I didn’t expect it to be this, though.”

You shake your head, trying to suppress your own laughter. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yep,” he says proudly, then adds with a wink, “So, when’s the next ‘check-up’ on my bike?”

You roll your eyes again, but you can’t help the small smile that lingers on your lips. “Goodnight, dork,” you say, turning to head toward your room.

“Goodnight, bike thief,” he calls after you, his voice filled with playful teasing.

As you close your bedroom door behind you, you lean against it for a moment, your smile growing even wider. Just as you’re about to lay in bed and snuggle with your blanket, your phone buzzes on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a notification.

You reach over and grab it, your heart skipping a beat when you see who the message is from.

Natasha: Hope you didn’t get into trouble for coming home so late. Wouldn’t want to get you grounded ;)

You can’t help but smile at the playful tone in her text.

You quickly type out a reply: No, just had to endure a bit of teasing. My brother thinks he’s hilarious.

You hit send, still smiling as you stare at your phone, waiting to see if she’ll reply. It doesn’t take long before your phone buzzes again.

Natasha: Sounds like he’s got a good sense of humor. He’s probably just jealous you rode his bike.

Your smile widens as you think about her words, and the memory of the ride flashes in your mind. The wind, the speed, the way Natasha’s laughter had echoed in the air, it had been more fun than you ever expected. You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks as you type your response.

You type out: Maybe. But I think it was more because of the company than the ride.

There’s a pause, and for a moment, you wonder if you were too forward. But then your phone buzzes again, and Natasha’s reply makes your heart flutter.

Natasha: I was hoping you’d say that. Maybe next time, we can make the ride even more interesting.

You bite your lip, trying to keep your giddy excitement in check. There’s something intoxicating about the way she flirts, the way she effortlessly mixes teasing with sincerity. You decide to match her energy, your fingers dancing across the screen as you craft your response.

You: I’m all for interesting;)

A few seconds pass before her next message arrives.

Natasha: Challenge accepted, (Y/N). Sweet dreams.

You grin at the screen, feeling a warm, fuzzy sensation spread through your chest.

You: Goodnight, Natasha.

You set your phone down and curl up under the covers, still smiling as you think about her last text. The excitement from the evening lingers as you drift off to sleep. Whatever happens next, you’re ready for it.

…

A couple of days have passed since you lastly check up on the bike, some work got stuck up and you weren´t able to see Natasha as much as you´d like. Thanfuly the texting between you and Natasha has only gotten more frequent, filled with light-hearted banter, playful teasing, and the occasional flirty remark.

Then, one evening, just as you’re settling down after dinner, your phone buzzes with a new message. You pick it up, your heart doing that now familiar little flip when you see Natasha’s name on the screen.

Natasha: So, I was thinking… how about we do something that doesn’t involve bikes this weekend?

You blink at the screen, your pulse quickening. It’s not exactly a date invitation, but it’s close enough that your mind immediately starts racing.

You: What do you have in mind?

Her reply comes almost instantly.

Natasha: I know a nice spot for dinner. How does Friday sound?

Your stomach flips with excitement. This is definitely a date. You type back before you can overthink it.

You: Friday sounds perfect.

Natasha: Great. I’ll pick you up at 7.

You stare at the screen, a grin spreading across your face. A date. With Natasha. Suddenly, Friday can’t come fast enough.

…

When Friday finally arrives, you’re a bundle of nerves and excitement. By late afternoon, you’re standing in front of your closet, pulling out outfits and discarding them almost as quickly. Nothing seems right - too casual, too dressy, not “you” enough. You groan in frustration, tossing yet another dress onto the bed.

“Uh… what’s going on in here?” your brother’s voice cuts through your frantic search, and you turn to see him leaning in the doorway, arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

"Shouldn´t you be in bed?" You look at his leg.

He shakes his head, "what´s all of this?" Your brother nods towards the mess in your room.

“Nothing,” you mutter, but your flushed cheeks and the mess of clothes around you betray the truth.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he says, hopping into the room and picking up a discarded top. “Who are you getting all dressed up for?”

You hesitate, then sigh, realizing there’s no use hiding it. “Natasha invited me to dinner. She’s picking me up in an hour.”

His eyes widen in surprise, then narrow as a grin spreads across his face. “Natasha? Oooo (Y/N) has a date, (Y/N) has a date!"

You nod, biting your lip as you rifle through your clothes again. “Yeah. So, I need to find something that says ‘date,’ but not ‘trying too hard.’”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying this. “Wow, you must really like her if you’re this worked up.”

You huff, grabbing a simple but flattering top that you haven’t worn in a while. “Maybe I do. But it’s just… I don’t know, I want it to be perfect, you know?”

He watches you for a moment, then his teasing demeanor softens. “You’ll look great, no matter what you wear. Just be yourself, and she’ll be into it.”

You pause, then smile gratefully at him. “Thanks.”

"But don´t wear that," he points at the top you´re holding, "take the black shirt over there." He chuckles.

You roll your eyes, but to be honest you´re really glad, that you have your brother there, to ease your nerves. When you look in the mirror, you feel a little more confident. You can do this.

Right on time, there´s a buzz from your phone. You grab your purse, take a deep breath, and head downstairs. Your brother, ever the nosy one, is already at the window, peeking through the curtains. “Your ride’s here,” he says, smirking. “And I gotta say, she cleans up nice.”

You roll your eyes at him but feel your pulse quicken as you reach the door. Sure enough, when you step outside, Natasha is waiting for you, leaning casually against a car. But tonight, she’s swapped out her usual work clothes for something a little more polished - dark jeans, a fitted leather jacket over a crisp shirt, and boots that complete the look. The sight of her takes your breath away.

“Wow,” you manage to say as you walk up to her. “It’s nice to see you in something other than grease-stained coveralls.”

Natasha grins, her eyes sweeping over you appreciatively. “You look pretty well yourself. But don’t get too used to this, I’m usually more comfortable getting my hands dirty.”

You chuckle, feeling the tension ease a bit. “I like both looks.”

She steps closer, her gaze warm as it meets yours. “Good to know. Ready for dinner?”

“Definitely,” you reply nervously.

As she opens the passenger door for you, she suddenly glances over your shoulder and smirks. “Looks like we have an audience.”

You glance back to see your brother peeking out from behind the curtains, grinning like an idiot. He gives you a thumbs up, then waves cheekily at Natasha, who waves back with a teasing smile.

“Sorry about him,” you say, feeling your cheeks heat up as you climb into the car. “He’s… enthusiastic.”

Natasha just laughs as she slides into the driver’s seat. “He’s alright. At least he approves.”

“Yeah, well, he’s probably just happy I’m not yelling at him for riding that bike,” you reply with a grin.

As Natasha starts the car and pulls away from the house, she glances over at you, her voice taking on a playful tone. “Guess I’ll just have to make sure this date is worth the teasing you’re going to get when you get home.”

You meet her gaze, feeling the spark between you light up again. “I’m sure it will be.”

Natasha drives you to a cozy restaurant that you’ve never been to before. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t try too hard but still manages to be effortlessly charming. She leads you to a table by the window, where the view of the city lights adds a romantic touch to the evening. After you’re both seated, Natasha gives the server a nod, clearly a regular here, and within moments, two glasses of wine are placed in front of you.

“Do you come here often?” you ask, taking a sip.

“Every now and then,” Natasha replies with a shrug. “It’s one of those hidden gems. Not too crowded, good food, great wine. Figured it’d be a good spot to… get to know each other better.”

You smile, appreciating her thoughtfulness. “It’s perfect. And I agree, it’s definitely got a vibe.”

Natasha leans back in her chair, her gaze settling on you. “So, what else should I know about you, besides the fact that you’re fiercely protective of your brother and apparently a quick learner when it comes to riding bikes?”

You laugh, feeling a little more at ease. “Well, I don’t usually make a habit of riding bikes. That was… a first for me.”

Her eyes glint with amusement. “I’m honored to be your first, then.”

You feel a blush creep up your neck but decide to match her playful tone. “What about you? I know you’re amazing with bikes, but what else is there to know about Natasha Romanoff?”

She takes a sip of her wine, her expression thoughtful. “Well, I wasn’t always a mechanic. I’ve had a few different jobs over the years, but I’ve always liked working with my hands. There’s something satisfying about taking something broken and making it whole again.”

“Did you grow up around bikes?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Sort of,” she says, a small smile playing on her lips, "my father worked on bikes since I can remeber, but I learned a lot on my own, picked up skills along the way and after some years I was kinda stuck with it in his shop."

You nod, sensing there’s more to her story than she’s letting on, but you don’t push. “I get that. I’ve never been big into them, but I can see the appeal. The way you talked about them, showed me around your shop… it made me see them differently.”

Natasha’s gaze softens, and for a moment, the teasing edge in her eyes fades. “Less scary? I’m glad I could share that with you. I don’t usually open up about that stuff with just anyone.”

You nod, feeling comfortable and curious about discovering who Natasha really is, beyond the confident, flirty exterior.

“So,” Natasha says, breaking the silence with a smirk, “I have to ask… what made you say yes to this? I mean, I know I’m irresistible, but still…”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re definitely confident, I’ll give you that. But honestly? It’s because you’re… different. Not what I expected, in a good way.”

Her smirk softens into a genuine smile. “I’m glad to hear that. I was hoping I didn’t scare you off with the whole ‘let’s ride a bike together’ thing.”

“Not at all,” you say, meeting her gaze. “In fact, I think that’s what intrigued me the most. You challenge me, in a way that’s exciting. And I like that.”

Natasha holds your gaze, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away. “Good,” she says quietly. “Because I like it too.”

As the evening progresses, with ordered food, the conversation flows effortlessly. You talk about your lives, your families, your dreams - sharing stories that are both funny and revealing. Natasha opens up about her past, hinting at the difficulties she faced growing up, while you share some of your own challenges. There’s a comfort in the way you can both be honest with each other, even if not every detail is fully revealed.

At one point, the conversation turns to your brother, and Natasha leans in, clearly curious. “So, what’s the deal with you and your brother? You two seem pretty close.”

You smile fondly. “We are. He’s a pain sometimes, but he’s my best friend. We’ve been through a lot together, and he’s always had my back.”

Natasha nods, her expression softening. “Sounds like you’ve got a good thing going. Not everyone’s lucky enough to have that kind of bond.”

You nod. “Yeah, I’m grateful for him. And it looks like he likes you, so."

Natasha grins, the playful spark returning to her eyes. 'Well, that’s a relief. I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side, though I think a 50% voucher to the shop might earn me some bonus points with him.

You laugh, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Don´t worry, you’re in his good books. You ride a bike and you know everything about it, plus the voucher sounds amazing. Trust me, I´m the one who is on thin line here. He’s already convinced I’ve got a crush on you anyways, so…” You talk faster than you think.

Natasha arches an eyebrow, leaning closer. “And do you?”

You hesitate, but only for a second. “Maybe I do.”

Her smile widens, a mixture of satisfaction and warmth. “I´ll take a maybe." You take another sip of wine, your heart racing in the best way possible.

Eventually, the dinner plates are cleared, and the conversation winds down. Natasha pays the bill, despite your protests, and then you’re back in the car, driving through the quiet streets. The tension that filled the air earlier has softened into something more comfortable, more familiar.

When she pulls up to your house, she turns to you with that mischievous smile that makes your pulse quicken. “So, did I live up to your expectations?”

You smile back, unbuckling your seatbelt. “More than that.”

She chuckles, clearly pleased. “Glad to hear it. I’ll see you soon?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Definitely. And I´m paying next time!”

"I don´t think you will, but it´s cute that you´re figting for it." Natasha chuckles.

Before you can overthink it, you lean in and kiss her cheek, lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of her skin. When you pull back, her eyes are sparkling, and there’s a pleased smile on her lips.

“Goodnight, Natasha,” you say softly, stepping out of the car. Even though the inside of your brain is just a big mess and your body is full of butterlfies that are buzzing through your body.

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” she replies, watching every step of yours. You walk up to your front door, you glance back and see your brother peeking through the window again, grinning like a fool. You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling as you give him a little wave before stepping inside. As soon as you close the front door your brother is standing in the hallway, arms crossed, with a grin that can only be described as infuriatingly smug.

“So…” he starts, drawing out the word with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “How was it?”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool as you kick off your shoes. “How was what?”

He snorts, clearly not buying your act. “The date. You know, the one you spent an hour agonizing over an outfit for? The one with the gorgeous redhead who just dropped you off?”

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you maintain a casual tone. “It was fine. We had dinner, talked… no big deal.”

“Oh, sure,” he says, nodding along in exaggerated agreement. “No big deal at all. That’s why you’ve got that goofy smile plastered on your face.”

You try to suppress your grin, but it’s no use. “Okay, fine. It was… great. Happy?”

“Very,” he says with a smirk. “But I need details. What did you guys talk about? Did she kiss you? Are you two going on another date?”

You laugh, shaking your head at his barrage of questions. “Slow down, detective. We just had a nice dinner and got to know each other better. And yes, we’re definitely going to see each other again.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No kiss, though?”

You pause, remembering the kiss you gave Natasha on the cheek before you got out of the car. “I´m not gonna discuss that with you."

“So that´s a yes. Ha! I knew it!” He points at you triumphantly. “So you like her. Like, really like her.”

“Okay, okay, yes, I do,” you finally admit, exasperated but still smiling. “But you don’t have to make a big deal out of it.”

“Oh, but it is a big deal,” he says, leaning against the wall with a grin.

“You’ve never looked this happy after a date. I’m telling you, this Natasha is something special.”

You bite your lip, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah… she really is.”

He watches you for a moment, his teasing grin softening into something more sincere. “I’m glad, you know. You deserve someone who makes you smile like that.”

You blink, a little taken aback by his unexpected seriousness. “Thanks, that means a lot.”

“Don’t get too mushy on me now,” he teases, but there’s warmth in his eyes. “Just… if she hurts you, I’ll break her bike.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I think she’d rather face anything else than that.”

“Damn right,” he says with a chuckle. “But seriously, I’m happy for you, sis. Just remember, I still expect you to help me with my bike.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply, waving him off. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed.”

“Sure, go dream about your redhead,” he calls after you as you head up the stairs.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you think about Natasha.

…

It’s early, the sun barely peeking over the horizon as you arrive at Natasha’s shop. The garage door is partially open, you push it up and step inside, where you find Natasha already at work on a different bike. She’s focused, her hands busy, but when she sees you, her expression brightens instantly.

“Hey, didn’t expect you so early,” she says, wiping her hands on a rag before tossing it aside as always. There’s a faint grease stain on her cheek, adding to her usual rugged charm.

You shrug, trying to appear casual despite the flutter in your chest. “I figured I’d take you up on your offer. Plus, I wanted to see how the bike’s coming along, of course.”

Natasha grins, nodding toward your brother’s bike. “Your brother’s baby is coming together nicely. A few more tweaks, and it’ll be as good as new.”

You walk over to examine the bike, but your attention keeps drifting back to Natasha. The shop is quieter than usual. As Natasha finishes up what she’s doing, you lean against the workbench, watching her with a mix of admiration and something deeper. She catches your gaze and raises an eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”

You bite your lip, then decide to be bold. “You know, I’ve been thinking about that ride we took… and how you said you don’t take just anyone out.”

She steps closer, intrigued. “Oh yeah? What about it?”

You smile, heart pounding. “I was wondering if that’s still true.”

Natasha chuckles, the sound low and warm, as she moves closer still. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were special, (Y/N). But what’s really on your mind?”

There’s a pause, a moment where you´re trying to calm your thoughts. You look up at her, realizing how close she’s standing, close enough that you can smell the faint scent of oil.

Then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you say quietly, “I think you know.”

For a split second, Natasha’s confident facade wavers, replaced by something more vulnerable. But then she smirks, closing the distance between you with a deliberate slowness that sends a thrill through you. “You sure about this?” she asks softly, her voice a low murmur that makes your breath catch.

You nod, eyes locked on hers. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

And with that, Natasha leans in, her lips brushing yours in a soft, tentative kiss. It’s gentle at first, testing the waters, but the moment your lips meet, it’s like a spark ignites. The kiss deepens, turning into something more intense, filled with all the unspoken tension and longing that’s been building between you this whole time.

Natasha lingers close, her forehead resting gently against yours, a smile playing on her lips. But then she pulls back just slightly, glancing down at her hands still resting on your waist. “I should stop before I get grease on you,” she murmurs, her voice teasing but with a hint of genuine concern.

You glance down at her hands, noticing the faint smudges of oil and grease, and can’t help but laugh softly. “A little grease never hurt anyone,” you reply, feeling warm all over, both from the kiss and from the way she’s looking at you.

Natasha chuckles, giving you a playful grin. “True, but I don’t want to mess up your clothes. You look too good for that.”

You roll your eyes affectionately, feeling a flutter in your chest at the compliment. “So do you, grease and all.”

She smiles wider, the expression softening into something tender as she gently brushes a thumb along your jaw, careful not to smudge any grease. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Is that a good thing?” you tease, leaning into her touch

“Definitely a good thing,” she replies, her voice low and warm. There’s a comfortable silence, where the weight of the moment sinks in. But Natasha, being who she is, breaks it with a playful grin. “So, does this mean I get to take you on another ride?”

You laugh, leaning up to kiss her cheek. “As long as we make some more stops like this one.”

She chuckles, pulling you in for another quick kiss, this one softer, sweeter. “Deal.”

Just as you’re savoring the warmth of the moment, the shop bell jingles, signaling the arrival of a customer. Natasha glances over her shoulder, then back at you with a smirk. “Looks like I’ve got work to do.”

Before she steps away, she gives your waist a quick, playful squeeze, leaning in close to murmur, “I’ll be with you in a second, (Y/N). Don’t go anywhere.” Her tone is teasing, but there’s an underlying softness that makes your heart flutter.

With one last lingering look, she turns to greet the customer, her demeanor shifting effortlessly into professional mode. The customer, a man who looks like he’s in his mid-40s, nods at Natasha, holding a small bike that clearly needs some work. “Morning. Got a bit of a problem with my kid’s bike here.”

“No problem,” Natasha says, flashing him that easy smile. “Let me take a look.”

As she moves to inspect the bike, you can’t help but notice how her muscles flex with every movement, her toned arms and back on full display as she lifts the bike onto the workbench. She handles the machine with practiced ease, her focus entirely on diagnosing the issue. You watch, a little mesmerized by the way she works—effortless, strong, and undeniably attractive.

It’s only when Natasha finishes up with the customer that you realize you’ve been staring the entire time. She thanks the man and sees him off, then turns back to you, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Catching the look on your face, she strides over, a teasing grin spreading across her lips. “Need me to grab you a rag for that drool?” she asks, leaning against the workbench with her arms crossed, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

You feel your cheeks flush with heat, but you manage to keep your composure. “I wasn’t drooling,” you protest, though the smile tugging at your lips gives you away.

Natasha steps closer, her voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Sure you weren’t.” She reaches out to gently tap your chin with her finger, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “But just in case, I’ll keep a rag handy for next time.”

You laugh, swatting her hand away lightly. "Ha ha ha, funny."

Natasha grins, clearly pleased with herself. “What can I say? I’m good at observing poeple.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face doesn’t fade. “You’re also good at being a tease.”

“Guilty as charged,” she admits, her gaze never leaving yours. There’s a moment where the teasing drops, replaced by something softer, more sincere. “But seriously, I like seeing you here.”

Your heart skips a beat at the sudden shift in her tone. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, her voice quieter now, more intimate. “Makes my day a little better.”

You frown playfully, "just a little better?"

She makes your chest tighten in the best way, "maybe a lot more than a little actually." Before you can respond, Natasha leans in, her breath warm against your cheek as she says, “You know, if you keep looking at me like that, I might have to kiss you again.”

Your breath catches, and you look up at her, eyes wide. “Is that a threat?”

“More like a promise,” she whispers back, her lips curving into a slow smile.

You feel a rush of warmth flood through you, and without thinking, you close the gap, pressing your lips to hers in a kiss that’s tender, sweet. Natasha responds immediately, pulling you closer, her hands firm on your waist.

When you finally break apart, you’re both a little breathless, and Natasha’s smile is brighter than ever. “Now that’s how you shut me up,” she jokes, her voice still soft, tinged with affection.

You laugh, feeling light, like you’re floating. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out to see a message from your brother: “Hey, need a hand with something. SOS!" You can’t help the small sigh that escapes you, your excitement tempered by responsibility.

Natasha notices the change in your expression and raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

You nod, a little reluctantly. “Yeah, just my brother. He needs help with something. Guess I should head out.”

She offers a soft smile, understanding but with a hint of disappointment in her eyes. “Duty calls, huh?”

“Yeah,” you say with a small laugh. “Sorry to bail on you.”

“No worries,” she replies, her voice warm and reassuring. “Family first.” Natasha gives you one last quick kiss, her hands squeezing your waist, before stepping back. “Take care of your brother. I’ll see you around.”

“See you,” you say softly, and with one last shared glance, you head out of the shop, already missing her presence.

When you get home, you find your brother lounging on the couch, his leg propped up with a couple of pillows. He grins when he sees you, clearly not in any dire situation.

“Sorry for interrupting your fun time with the redhead,” he teases, his tone light and playful, “but I really could use some help with this stupid remote.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “Really? I rushed home for this?”

“Hey, don’t blame me,” he says with a chuckle, holding up his hands in mock defense. “You’re the one who insisted on being so overprotective.”

“I-” you say, grabbing the remote and throwing it at him. He raises an eyebrow, smirking. “So I assume I ruined something nice, huh? Sounds like things are getting serious with Mrs. Redhead.”

You feel a blush creep up your neck, but you just shrug. “And you ruined it.”

He laughs, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Oh please, don´t tell me this is the last time you´re seeing her.”

It´s not, he knows it´s not. You do too. Everyone knows it is not.

“Now behave yourself, or I’ll leave you stranded next time.”

"Are you really just going to see her again?" He raises his eyebrows.

"No, I´m going to buy us some dinner, since you ate everything we had here!" He can´t help but chuckle a bit at your words.

…

It’s been a few days since your brother started walking without much pain, and he’s eager to visit Natasha’s shop to finally see his bike. You agree to take him, sensing that he’s also curious about the woman you’ve been spending so much time with.

When you arrive at the shop, Natasha greets you both with a warm smile. “Look who’s finally back on his feet,” she says, nodding at your brother.

“Yeah, feels good to walk again,” he replies, trying to sound casual, though you can tell he’s excited. “And to finally check on my bike.”

“Come on, I’ll show you what I did,” Natasha says, leading him to the back where the bike is stored. As they walk, you hang back slightly, watching them interact.

As they approach the bike, your brother takes in the sight of it, clearly impressed. “Wow, it looks brand new.”

Natasha grins. “Took some work, but it’s as good as ever. You’ll be back on the road in no time.”

He looks over at you for a moment, then back at Natasha, his expression turning a bit more serious. “Listen, Natasha, I like you. You seem like a good person, and it’s obvious my sister likes you too. But, I still have to do this.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, curious. “Do what?”

“The talk,” he says, crossing his arms. “If you hurt her, I will come and get you.”

There’s a brief pause as Natasha considers his words, then she glances down at his still slightly injured leg and smirks. “Sure you will,” she says with just the right amount of sarcasm.

Your brother chuckles, appreciating the banter. “Okay, fair point. But seriously, she’s my little sister. I’ve gotta look out for her.”

Natasha’s playful expression softens, and she nods. “I get it. And for what it’s worth, I care about her a lot. I’d never hurt her.”

Your brother studies her for a moment, then finally gives a nod of approval. “Good. Because I’d hate to have to hobble after you.” You laugh, stepping forward to join them. “You two done with your little standoff?”

Natasha chuckles, “I think we’ve come to an understanding.”

Your brother nods, "sooo when can I take my bike back home?"

"You can take it today if you´d like," this sentence makes you groan.

"Hell yeah!" Your brother states.

"Oh my god-" you exhale deeply.

"I´ll get it for you," Natasha smirks at you and goes to the back for the bike.

He winks at you, completely unfazed by your glare. “You should thank me for falling off the bike. Seems like it led to something good.”

Natasha chuckles softly as she overhear the conversation, clearly enjoying this. You resist the urge to smack your brother’s arm. “Don’t push your luck.”

He shrugs, leaning back against the counter. “You’re welcome, sis. I guess we are even now.”

Hehe thank you for reading!

[arcanewhoosh]

The Bolter

2.2k words

Proofread? Y/N

TW: Minor descriptions of injuries

Arcane Series Finale spoilers

In the aftermath of the Battle of Piltover, you find yourself desperately clinging to a toy monkey head with nails hammered into it.

If you were to ask the regular citizens of Piltover and Zaun, the regular duration of a search and rescue mission is around seven days. While this was, in a way, correct, but it would only reach that many days if there was enough proof that the missing person was alive.

Standard operating procedure only allows a max of fifty-one hours.

You've been searching for nine days, fifteen hours, and twenty-seven minutes.

We don't have the resources right now, there's been too many casualties.

Alone.

There’re too many places to look through. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have put the thought in your head-

Through every single cooling duct leading into the Hex Gate.

-the fuse assembly could've survived by other means.

"I have to try, Cait." You say as you put on your pack, loaded with first aid supplies and recovery equipment. Caitlyn moves to grab your arm. Her grip firm, but she's not holding you in any way that could actually prevent you from leaving. You still stop and wait for her to finish what she wants to say.

"It's been over a week. You've barely slept the entire time, and I can't keep changing the subject when Vi asks me where you've gone." She tugs at your arm lightly, willing you to sit down on a nearby chair.

It had been ten days since the end of the battle. Ten days since Piltover and Zaun almost met their demise. Ten days since so many lives were lost; all for power.

Vi was -is- a mess. She could barely pull herself up from the ledge you fished her out of back at the top of the tower. Dread had already begun to creep its way across your body as you made your way up to where Jinx and Ekko's balloon had crashed. The feeling only got worse as you climbed higher, seeing no signs of its three occupants. You started running faster up steps, climbing ladders with speed you never thought possible for you. For a moment the dread had ceded, your adrenaline taking over. But then there was the explosion. And then... And then eventually you heard Vi's cries.

Your body stiffens as you shut your eyes, willing the memory away. "You're gonna have to cover for me a bit longer, Cait." You say as you softly pry your arm free of her grasp. "With how loud that explosion was, there's no way the assembly could've just survived."

"If it was anyone else, maybe I would've stopped searching already. But you and I both know this isn't just anyone else, no matter which side you're on." Caitlyn looks at you for a few moments, you know we'll enough that she's already wavering in her previous attempt to dissuade you.

"You wouldn't have mentioned it at all if you didn't think-"

"I know, I know." She finally says. "I wouldn't have given you the schematics for the structure either."

She sighs, an all too familiar indicator that you've won. "Just... Don't push yourself too much. I know I'm the one that gave you hope that she survived, but at some point..." She trails off. You know she wants to say that she doesn't want you to have your hopes crushed, or to put yourself in unnecessary danger. Especially since the inner ducts have been unstable since the explosion.

"I promise, I'll be careful, Cait. You know me." You shrug and smile at her, hoping that the nonchalant display is enough to convince her that you aren't fatigued out of your mind.

The look on her face says she doesn't buy it. But she says nothing about her doubts, instead nodding your way. "Be careful, I'm holding you to that."

"I will."

"Fucking air vents." You curse as you drop your pack by the wall of the duct. The thump it makes echoing around the cavernous tunnel. You've been walking uphill to get back up to the entrance, but the strain from working non-stop for over a week, the sleep deprivation, and the mental exhaustion was bound to catch up. Maybe Cait was onto something with the whole resting thing.

You let out a huff at the thought. You didn't have time to rest, what if Jinx was somewhere hurt, with no one around- she'd find a way to pull herself out of here and escape-- or what if she was trapped somewhere -this is my second sweep of the vents and all the obstructed entrances have been cleared- You lean against the tunnel wall before slumping gingerly to the ground. Your ankle hadn't fully healed from the battle, and you still had bandages all over your midsection from injuries you sustained.

You take a few steadying breaths before pulling out a map of the vents, marking the sections you've done your sweep of. Your vision swims for a moment, and it's enough for you to shut the map and lean you head against the wall. You close your eyes and steady your breathing, willing yourself to hold it together.

You're no use to me dead. She would say right about now. I'm still alive and you still say I'm useless. You'd reply.

"Yeah, but I say it lovingly." She harks back from her chair, tinkering away at her robot bug thing that she and Isha were using for their little fight club. You turn from the pin board you were making- places in Zaun where new checkpoints had been placed. You drop the purple pen you were using-Isha had stolen the red marker you usually use-- to write and make your way over to Jinx.

"Lovingly?" You ask as you turn her chair around, a grin plastered on your face. She rolls her eyes, but her own smile betrays her attempt at brushing you off. "Don't think too hard about it, you might hurt yourself."

"Looks like you've been the one thinking about it." She scoffs at you, turning her chair back to face her work station. Though she doesn't turn fast enough for the pink dusting her cheeks to escape your notice. "I said don't think too much about it."

"Hey." You say softly, turning her chair around again and pulling up a chair for yourself so you were eye-level. She's pouting, so you know you're not in trouble. "I'm sorry for teasing." You take her left hand and place a kiss on her knuckles. She makes a face.

"Ew, don't kiss my hands, they're covered in grease."

"When are they not covered in grease?"

"Didn't you just apologize for teasing?"

"I'm sorry for teasing, again."

"You're lucky-" She clamps her mouth shut. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from grinning again. The last thing you want is for her to close herself off. You know she's being careful. For someone known to be completely reckless at spontaneous times, she could be just as calculating and reserved. She's slipped a few times already, not explicitly saying I love you, but accidentally implying it or using some variation of the word during a casual conversation. You're no better, but so far, you've been able to avoid slipping.

Maybe you both thought it was too soon to say. Three or four months of you acknowledging that there was something between the two of you might be too soon, but there was a revolution going on, and revolutions are rarely peaceful and without casualties. Who knows what might happen in a few months, weeks, days, or hours. But you don't know what the next few weeks have in store for you.

"I know I'm lucky." You say. Hoping that the implication of, I know I'm lucky you love me, is enough.

But it wasn't, and now I'm here.

You jolt forward, blinking a few times to clear your blurry vision. Had you dozed off? For how long?

You sigh and rub your face with your hands. You do need rest, just for a little bit, then you'd get back to searching for her. You're no use to her dead, after all.

The walk back to your apartment is agonizing. The second you decided that it was time to take a break, your whole body decided that it was the best time for you to feel your exhaustion in its entirety. Your pack was suddenly heavier, your ankle decided to start swelling, and the wound on your side thought it was the perfect time to start bleeding again. Despite your body's attempt to suddenly render you immobile, you're able to meander back to your door after a horrible confrontation with five flights of stairs. Damn that faulty elevator.

You decide that having a view from your balcony isn't really all that worth it as you jam your keys into the lock and make your way inside. You stop dead in your tracks as soon as you pass through the door. The lock never clicked open.

You draw your pistol quietly, and scan the open living room and kitchen area of your home. Deeming the areas clear, you start making your way towards the hallway leading to your bedroom, pistol aimed and ready. Who on the Runeterra's green earth would be targeting you? Leftover Noxians? No. Turn coats like Maddie? Unlikely. Someone from the Undercity with a grudge? Unless they figured out who I am, I doubt it.

You hear a creaking sound from a door to your left, and you quickly kick it open and aim your pistol at the intruder.

"Jeez, you'd think a girl would get a warmer welcome after coming back from the dead." The intruder says, leaning back on a chair and idly scanning a vinyl.

You stare, dumbfounded. A part of you fully believing you've started hallucinating from the exhaustion, or the blood loss, you're not sure anymore. Your intruder, however, seemed to find your predicament funny.

"What, got nothing to say to me?" She asks. She finally turns to look at you, but the grin she puts on quickly falters when she notices the blood from your reopened wound seeping through your uniform. And then she's in front of you, one hand cupping the side of your face, the other hovering just above spots of blood on your shirt.

She asks if you're okay, but you're not sure. You still haven't confirmed whether on not you're hallucinating. So you do the only logical thing in the world and wrap your arms around her.

"Jinx?" Your voice cracks as you utter her name, and you wait. Wait for her to disappear, for your tired mind to catch up and be able to distinguish what is real and what isn't, because a part of you was only ever really using the tunnel search as a coping mechanism and that-

"I'm here, it's okay." She says as she wraps her arms around you and returns your embrace. If it were any other day, it would be you comforting her, offering her words of reassurance, support, affirmation. But this isn't any other day. Because you thought for the last ten days, twenty-three hours, and eight minutes, that she had died in an explosion.

But she didn't, and now you're sure that she's alive, that she's here, and alive, and breathing and-

"I love you." The words spill out of your mouth before you can think of anything else. How could you think of anything else? When those words, you realize now, have been long overdue.

She laughs. You realize how much you've missed hearing her laugh once your tears start falling. "I'm sorry." You say. "I thought, you died."

You stop yourself from hissing as her hug tightens and pain shoots up from your side. You could stomach the discomfort for this. You wouldn't let her go for anything, not again. "I'm sorry I took so long, bubs."-Your heart soars at the nickname- "There were a few... loose ends I had to take care of before coming to find you." She wipes away your tears as she says this, her hands carefully brushing your hair out of your face.

"It's okay, nothing else matters now." Just you you wanted to add, but refrain from speaking any further. You pull away just far enough to look at her, still not letting her go. It's her, alright. Her hair is different, and she doesn't have her pants that that one enforcer described as a half-eaten circus tent, but it's her.

"You're not upset?" She has the audacity to ask.

"I spent the last week and a half thinking you were dead, upset is the last thing I'm feeling.” A pause. “Wait no, actually, I spent nine days wandering around the cooling vents to look for greasy ass hand prints on walls."

"Hey."

"And I couldn't find any so you must've washed your hands for once-"

"Okay, smart ass, I get it." She says, rolling her eyes before pulling you in for a kiss. Suddenly all the exhaustion and pain you're feeling is gone, and your mind blanks. The only thought running through your head is Jinx and I missed you, and I love you, I love you, I love you as you pull her closer to you.

"Easy, tiger." She puts a hand on your chest to stop you from chasing after her when she pulls away. You let out a huff. She laughs. "You're bleeding, I need to take a look at that first."

"Since when has me being injured ever stopped you?"

She grins at you. "Being away from me that long has you down bad, huh?"  You grumble something about her being unappreciative, and she responds by pulling your face down and placing a kiss on your nose.

"You're lucky I love you." 

[vault81]

just finished veilguard...

[seiwas]

@soumies

Megumi for knife to the throat but the blade can't seem to cut this weird sexual tension we've got going on

you're the only one that's holding me down, megumi fushiguro ;

pairing megumi fushiguro x f!reader word count 1.3k synopsis pressing a blade to your ex-fiance's throat, and other loving, tender moments content contains exes still in love, slight angst

Staring directly into someone’s face is such an intimate act. 

You don’t realize this fact until you’re straddling Megumi’s annoyingly slim waist, the glint of your blade against his throat causing the sunlight to beam right into your eye. 

Everyone claims that Megumi Fushiguro is the ultimate pretty boy. Mai claims that his bone structure is undefeated and that any sane girl would commit atrocious crimes against humanity to get lashes as nice as his natural ones. Momo says that she’s never seen a shade of blue eyes as pretty as Megumi’s (her only frame of reference, by the way, happen to be her own bug-eyes and Satoru Gojo’s, whose eyes are so freakishly, eerily icy blue that you’re thankful he wears the blindfold twenty-four/seven). Even Miwa, who is too busy trying to earn a living, can take the time to admit that Megumi Fushiguro is the exact type of person the ancient Greeks model gods after. 

You want to blame their admiration of Megumi on the fact that thanks to their attendance at the Kyoto school, interactions with cute boys were few and far between. Todo’s fine, if you’re into loudmouths who could also pose as the poster boy for steroids — or, even better, those clickbait ads on shady websites that tell you if you take this magical pill, in three days, you can be as shredded as him! Noritoshi is so stiff and aloof that no one can view him as hot. Mechamaru is a fucking robot. 

So, the bar for the Kyoto girls’ rating of attractiveness is damn near hell. You examine Megumi’s face and eagerly search for a flaw to hold against him. There’s a faint, barely noticeable scar above his lips. It blends into his skin seamlessly, and you think your eyes could be tricking you. However, you latch onto this scar. Megumi Fushiguro is not the perfect specimen, you think smugly. 

“Let me go,” he snaps. “If anyone’s acting under the effects of the curse, it’s you.”

“You’re not exactly in the position to be ordering me around,” you point out. You have one hand pressed against his chest to steady yourself, the other gripping the knife. 

“Clearly you still consider me a threat.” His eyes flicker downwards, even though he can’t possibly see his hands. They’re bound behind his back, his cursed energy sealed from the specialized handcuffs you managed to lock on him. The last thing you needed was for him to sic his wild animals on you. 

“Maybe I just like this position.” 

A momentary truce forms when you don’t tease him for his cheeks turning pink, and he pretends not to notice that when you realize your accidental underlying innuendo, your grip on the dagger loosens considerably. 

Megumi is fully aware that your bark and your bite are on the same level of batshit insane. He figures this is just how all women sorcerers have to be in order to survive this environment. If you say you’re going to slit his throat at the first sign of him being compromised by a curse, he can trust that you would keep your word. 

You didn’t threaten him, though. Instead, when the curse nearly got a good touch on him, you had screamed out his name. You let the curse get away in favor of tackling him to the ground, and the frenzied look on your face as you searched him for any sign of possession makes his insides twist and heat rise to his cheeks and paint the tips of his ears a flushed pink. 

For a second, it still felt like you cared about him. 

Then, you slapped those restrictive cuffs on him and got on top, as a means to restrain him. He had frozen up when he realized how close your bodies are, how he can feel the warmth from you traveling and enveloping his own body. 

This is bad, Megumi realizes. Not because the curse got to him — it didn’t. It’s bad that his heart still goes pitter-patter every time you’re near, and that he’s hyper aware of the way your body fits nicely and neatly against his own. He knows that it’s wrong to be feeling this way, to want to savor every last scrap of you that he can get. The jujutsu world is small. Nearly everyone knows about the broken engagement between you two. Having the both of you paired up for a mission, especially since your territories are so far from each other, is a sick and twisted joke. 

The curse thrives on couples, intertwining itself with its victim and twisting their host’s love into hatred. There’s been a recurring theme of lovers murdering their significant others. The more love in their heart, the stronger the curse’s manipulation. 

It just goes to show that too much love is a fucking burden, a curse in and of itself. You know that it is, because if it came down to it, if Megumi were truly compromised and wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t have it in you to kill him first. 

“I told you, I haven’t been hit by the curse.” 

“How can I know that this isn't just a trick? You’ve always been good at self-restraint and hiding yourself from me.” The comment is petty, all things considered. In the end, when Megumi asked you if breaking off the engagement was what you truly wanted, you remained expressionless and impassive. We can’t ever go back to the way things were. There’s no point in not breaking it off. 

He scoffs. “Don’t you think I’d kill myself the minute I felt something in me shift?”

You know Megumi. He doesn’t say things just to say them. He means it, every word, and you don’t know why, but it makes the part of you that longs for him — the part of you that is always in a constant state of wanting him, needing him — intensify. Multiply. Takes over your whole entire system until you are reduced to a being whose hunger can only be satiated by Megumi. 

“Idiot. You always go to the extremes.” You opt for saying this, instead of commenting on the fact that Megumi is very much implying that he would rather end his own life rather than take yours. 

“Do you really think I’d ever want to hurt you?” And suddenly, you realize that the two of you are no longer discussing the current matter at hand. Like with all things that involve the both of you, the root of the problem always leads back to your engagement. He was meant to be the one you married, and then he refused the Zenin name, refused most of the traditional jujutsu society, and when it came down to his freedom or you, he—

—gave you the option to choose. 

Him or comfort. Him or safety. Him or family. 

You didn’t realize it at the time, but all choices lead to him. He is the one you are most comfortable with, he is the one who would die to keep you safe, he is the one who you could see yourself creating a happy family with. As happy as a family can be in this fucked up society. 

He hurt you, but it was you who handed him the blade. You, who took his wrist and guided it straight to your heart. Just looking at him right now reopens that old wound. 

“The curse can only change you if there’s love to destroy.” You point out.

“I know.” He says. “Lucky that it didn’t get to me. It would have ended badly for the both of us.”

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

I don't think his (or mine) understanding of "playin nice" is rly up to standard though

[slttygeto]

tags: pure filth, fem! reader, established relationship, use of a vibrator, squirting, dirty talk.

word count: 1k

sex with suguru could only be described as unpredictable. sure, you were able to detect hints of lust thrown your way by the tall man, thick and rough pads of his fingers skimming over your smooth skin underneath your shirt as he passes behind you, hands gripping your sides and squeezing. your body reacts to his teasing and it’s easy to follow him to the bedroom. he feels in control, likes that sweet words and soft touches can make you end up on top of him, riding his dick like the sweet girl that you are.

however, when the two of you are…excessively needier than usual, sex can turn into something sort of animalistic. the carnal desire to devour one another, bring as many orgasms out of each other and the sounds—the sounds should embarrass both of you.

suguru doesn’t consider himself to be extremely vocal. he groans, moans and shows his appreciation for your ministration on his body but right now—his mouth won’t stop.

“yeah baby, yeaaah,” his words are straight up filth as he presses the vibrator to your clit. his pace is unforgiving, strong hips driving into yours with the force of a predator hunting. your hands are on the headboard, trying to protect your head from the contact but it’s all hazy.

“suguru!” you cry out, eyes staring down at where your boyfriend is pressing the pink vibrator against your clit. your legs try to close from the overstimulation, but a strong hand keeps them open and your head turns to the side with a loud cry.

“keep em open for me, fuck—don’t run away from it, I know you want it.”

your hand grips at the pillow beneath you whilst the other makes a failed attempt at gripping suguru’s forearm. choked sobs and whines are the only sounds you can manage as he starts rubbing the vibrator over your clit, your thighs shaking and twitching at the unbearable yet delicious stimulation.

“yeah? pussy wants a fat cock ruining her and a vibrator, a lil greedy, don’t ya think?”

as he says that, his free comes to your stomach and traces the skin with his thumb, very gentle at first and your brain feels like mush at the contrast between his brutal fucking, the vibrator and his gentle touch. but you should’ve known that suguru is the type to softly lead you into his territory, only to jump you the moment he notices that you let your guards down.

the hand on your stomach presses down and you hear several clicks on the pink device, and when your body jolts up—you realize that he set the level higher.

the gasp that escapes your body sounds inhuman, and your body tries to run away from suguru despite being caged between his strong thighs. he is fucking you with a purpose, needing to prove something—he towers over you and presses his forehead against yours.

“look at me, come on baby look up—theere she is,” he grins at your fucked out expression, half lidded eyes glossed over with tears that had already fallen a couple of minutes ago. “feels good, huh? should’ve done this sooner,” he leans down and kisses your pulse and then travels back up to your cheek and finally your ear.

when he starts fucking you at a different angle, your hands fly down to his hips and your nails dig into his skin. you can’t talk, you don’t trust yourself with words now—but suguru always thought you were like an open book to him. especially when naked and vulnerable beneath him.

“oh here?”

“fuck! fuck fuck fuck—“ you choke out a sob. “suguru—oh baby, I’m close, I’m so so close,” you’re blabbering, barely breathing and suguru’s self control is slowly dissipating. up until this point, he’s been able to control himself and not explode inside you. your cunt was squeezing him deliciously, your cries, the way you said his name or how you held onto him—suguru needed to cum inside you.

“yeah you are,” he breathes out, any hint of playfulness overshadowed by the sudden lust washing over him. his orgasm crept up on him fast, and he needed to make sure you fell over the edge first. “come on, I know you can cum for me,” he says while rubbing the vibrator over your clit.

when you finally cum, the added pressure of his hand on your stomach makes something snap in your stomach and you feel wet. you don’t have time to register, everything is like white noise for a while before your brain leisurely takes control again. your breathing slows down, yet your hands hold onto suguru’s shoulders as he throws the vibrator somewhere in the corner of your bedroom to grab onto your hips properly.

his eyebrows are pinched, a sheen layer of sweat coating his forehead as his bangs stick to the skin. he looks magical, even more so when you start to fuck up into him, help him reach his own orgasm.

“fuck baby—“

“mmm sugu,” you whine at how his dick keeps abusing that one spot inside you. “cum baby, please,” your arms wrap around his neck to pull him down into a hug. “fill me up, I want all of it,”

when being the one talked dirty to, suguru malfunctions. his brain short circuits and his body seizes up as he drops his head on your shoulder. he empties himself inside you with a few more stuttered thrusts, thick and hot ropes of cum serving as the reward of his hard and incessant fucking.

running your fingers through his hair, both of you take the time to catch your breath, enjoy the intimacy and the nakedness of it all. moments like these are precious, suguru’s body nuzzles against yours like a cat trying to live in your skin— and you giggle when his nose nuzzles against your pulse.

“ya liked the vibrator?” he mumbles against your skin.

“oh fuck—“ the realization hits you that were all messy from squirting on him. “I…came messy,” the shyness that washes over you, preventing you from saying “squirt” makes suguru laugh into your neck.

“you mean you squirted?”

“not the point!”

note: another self indulgent piece. will i ever stop? no.

2023: all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

[kisseobie]

car sex w/ piwon? them dropping you off to your house after hanging out at the dorms at night, and you start staring at their hands gripping the wheel for a bit long.. and things just develop (im a car girl don't blame me 🙏)

car sex with p1harmony

pairings: ot6 p1harmony x reader

warnings: nsfw (mdni)

a/n: car sex is one of my biggest kinks so i’m def not judging girl :P oh also i’m dedicating this to my new bff @whimperly go support bella’s blog

listening to: diet pepsi by addison rae ♪

✶ keeho

kyo would look soooo delectable driving, especially late at night. you’re fighting sleep, the streetlights bright and hazy. he’s on aux, blasting sensual songs and humming along, reversing with his arm draped on your headrest for support, leaning his head back and driving with one hand. your window is down, your head peeking out slightly to bask in the cool air hitting your face, getting drunk on the feeling. you glance at your boyfriend and he catches it, smirking at you before turning his attention back to the road—but you can’t focus on anything but him. the air in the car is different now, you both already know where this is heading. when he eventually pulls into your driveway and halts the car, you’re wasting no time and pulling him into a needy kiss, whimpering out a crazed “i need you, kyo”, to which he just replies “bet” and gets to fucking work.

fucks you deep in the backseat of his fancy car, gives no care in the world for the mess you both are making, just wants to pound into your pussy until you’re whining out his name. the music is still on, ac on full blast, but it does nothing to prevent his sweat dripping onto your bare chest with every deep thrust of his practiced hips. after a few rounds of lovemaking i’d imagine he’d just lay with you, pulling your back to meet his chest, playing with your hair and stroking your tummy so sweetly <33 you two would quite literally get lost in each other

✶ theo

for yangie i’d imagine you both would be at a drive inn theatre date, the movie long forgotten as you’d be more preoccupied in swapping spit in his backseat. he’s wearing that leather jacket you oh so love, hair long and groomed and simple studs adorning his ears… tl:dr—he looks fine. at first it would start innocent, theo kissing your cheek as you got lost in the plot of the film, but he’d eventually grow bored and start sucking into the nape of your neck, not missing the way you’d rub your thighs together at the contact. after an impromptu makeout session, he’d whisper some shit into your ear about finding you much more interesting than the movie, and you couldn’t help but agree, wanting to see where this would lead the two of you.

so where did you both end up? fucking like rabbits in the back of his car of course! the movie had already ended, parking lot of the outdoor theatre now completely vacant, but the two of you don’t really notice, not when theo has your legs draped over his shoulders as he slams into your puffy cunt, thumb circling against your clit so harshly you feel lightheaded. he’s grunting so fucking loud, pupils blown out with lust as he just thrusts and thrusts, despite already cumming a few times. the car is foggy with the stench of sex, cherry cola slurpees, and theo’s cologne. you’re sobbing, tears drooping down the sides of your face and puddling against your ears, hair, and of course, his car seats. it’s just soooooo gross and so animalistic but he can’t stop :(

✶ jiung

eats you out, knee deep.. in the passenger seat (thank u chappell roan). i feel like he’d be all horny at the dorms, but wouldn’t do anything about it because he knows you two aren’t alone in the space (def is uncharacteristically handsy though). it doesn’t help that he hasn’t fucked you in weeks because of how hectic group promotions have been, and that you came over to the dorms wearing the tiniest little skirt he’s ever seen. when it’s time for you to leave, he doesn’t turn the car on, doesn’t pull out of the dorm driveway before occupying your space, kissing you deep and descending down to your legs. the tight space is cramped for sure, but he doesn’t really give a fuck, not when he has you above him, panties wet and in his line of vision. presses little kisses onto your clothed pussy, loving the way you’re already pulling at his hair and mewling at such little contact.

eats you out so slowly it makes you insane, no amount of you begging him to “just fuck me already!” halting the lazy way he devours your cunt like it’s his last meal. after all, he deserves this after working so hard, so just shut up and take it :( isn’t mean enough to not fuck you though, he’s not strong enough to dismiss your begging forever. doesn’t bring you to the backseat like you’d expect, he just towers over you and fucks you right into the passenger seat. complains cutely the next day that he’s cramped and sore, but it was worth it ^_^

✶ intak

lovesssss car sex to the point where you’re already anticipating it everytime you two are on a drive alone. it just makes him feel so dirty in the best of ways, the way he can’t control himself around you, the way your pussy squeezes his dick in a vice grip with every thrust, how his cum drips out of you onto his leather seats. i also imagine intak would want to film himself fucking you in his backseat, giving you the nastiest backshots known to man as he makes eye contact with the camera, smirking at how you attempt to hide your face in embarrassment. definitely talks you through it, especially when you ask so kindly to ride him in the backseat :P praises you for taking his dick so well, for letting him fuck you somewhere where anyone could find you both.

his favorite sight though? definitely the image of your bare tits pressed against his windows when he’s pounding into your sloppy cunny. makes him feel like the man, for sure. and on the rare occasion that you’re the one asking to fuck in his car? he’s so giddy, knowing that he’s corrupted his little princess and turned her into a cockwhore :D

✶ soul

i can’t write this prompt for soul and not include the reader giving him head! you’d just be sooo appreciative and full of love for your boyfriend sho, he was so nice to you today, bought your entire saved cart on your favorite online shopping site, purposely let you win when playing smash bros with you, ordered takeout to his dorm and hand fed you :( you feel the need to thank him, to reward him for being such a sweetie pie, and what says thank you better than some sloppy toppy? he’d be sososo shy, begging you to let him park before you unbuckle his pants but you’re too desperate to make him feel good!! when he parks into your driveway he lets go of his coy attitude, fully fists your hair and pushes your head against the base of his cock to the point where you’re loudly gagging against his shaft. when you pull up for some much-needed air you’re beaming at him, giving him the widest smile and wasting no time in dropping back down to your previous position.

i can practically hear shota praising you with a satisfied “atta girl, suck this fucking cock”, cumming into your mouth, and roughly fingering you afterwards as thanks for being such a thoughtful girlfriend :O

✶ jongseob

this def isn’t for everyone but i’m so obsessed with the idea of jongseob being your dealer and boyfriend all in one. he’d drive you to some empty park late at night, would smoke a few pre-rolls with you on the abandoned swings, and get horny and lead you back to his car. the pair of you are stumbling into the backseat, dizzy and giggly, making out with urgency (and some sloppiness) and peeling off each others clothes until you’re both fully naked. ride him while he lights up another joint, it’d be sooo sexy. oh and of course he’d let you take the first puff, would gladly let you grab at his face afterwards and push the smoke into his mouth before crashing your plump lips against his. the effects of the weed has your hips slightly uncoordinated, but none of you really care. seob would smack your ass as encouragement too :3

like keeho, i think afterwards you’d both just lay there, fully bare, cuddling, kissing, and smoking in a comfortable silence. maybe even nap until seob is okay to drive you back home <3 and like i always say, i’m convinced he’d take some polaroid of you, sat on his cock, smoking a joint and staring at the camera all slutty ..

taglist: @woozixo @hearts4chanhee @kyokopi @astro-doll-the-star @soobiary @kyaaramello @angelcbf @idontknow-1s-world @dprvivi @elissasimp @imjustayapper @ihatewreckingballmains @sosaverse @seobing @www90kitsch @khfviq @barbiekh86t @bbyjjunie @taeyangi @fullsunstrawberry @jihnyah @intheemptymirror @watamotee33 @dreamer1299 @jixnnsie @wonootnoot @yukx-x047 @sundancearchives @chuuswifereal @seisyiss @fishsquishh @sunnyyangie @asianpenguin04 @lunepoesie @haku-s0ultrain @tkooooop @taehyux

© kisseobie, please do not repost my writing!

✶ <3

[usedtobecooler]

eddie ‘monstercock’ munson, who is painfully unaware of the sheer size of his dick.

tw: sexual content 18+ minors dni, size kink, oral m receiving, piv sex, praise kink, dirty talk, general debauchery. for my love @raccoonboywrites

and, listen, you’re not a size queen at all. don’t care much for how big or small a cock is so long as whoever it’s attached to knows how to use it. but you gasp out loud once you get your fingers dig under eddie’s waistband, pulling the offending material down to let his length spring out.

it’s enough to shock you back into the room, watching as the thick weight of it slaps against eddie’s tummy, the way it curves into his navel. he’s wet, leaking at the head and matting down the pretty swirls of black hair that lead a trail down, down, down.

he’s rumpled against your bed frame, slumped down with his shirt rucked up his tummy. the prettiest pink flush spreading across his cheeks, tinging his ears and dipping as low as his collar. you’re willing to bet his chest is blotched with the lovely rosy colour, too. he grips aimlessly at your comforter, wide eyes watching your every move; tracing every hitch of your breath.

you wrap your hand around the base — purposely ignoring the pathetic little whine eddie makes, because jesus now isn’t the time to think too much about that — and you moan despite yourself when your hand doesn’t even wrap fully around the girth of it, dwarfing your fingers and palm.

“you— you’re so big, oh my god,” your voice catches at the end, desperate and dampened by your own desire for it. you lean forward, hot breath ghosting over him, tugging his foreskin back just enough for the head to pop out, shiny and reddening with need, “you could’ve at least warned me you were packing a python down there, fuck.”

“oh shit, really? i thought it was aver— holy fuck, you don’t have to—“ he’s bug eyed, eyebrows shooting under his fringe as you mouth at the head, determined and eager to get a taste of him. uncut, heavy on your tongue, the heady splash of precum blurting out to coat your tastebuds.

eddie’s knees kick up a little as you mouth greedily at his tip, pointing your tongue to run in circles around the glans on the underside. you smirk despite yourself, getting a kick out of it when eddie goes a little cross eyed, burying a ringed hand into your hair.

you indulge yourself, feeling the weight of him in your mouth as you sink lower, just far back enough as to not trigger your gag reflex. your lips wrapping around his hot flesh, suckling softly, reveling in each blurt of pearlescent release that drips onto your tongue.

“baby, sweetheart — fuck,” eddie gasps, breath shuddery, lightly pulling at your tresses to test the water. his mouth falling open into a quiet moan when your eyes flutter at the feeling, “y’can- y’can take more, right? s’not… s’not that big.”

your jaw cracks under what of him you’ve fit in, which truthfully isn’t much. despite your efforts, there’s still a good three inches of eddie’s cock left untouched by hand or mouth, and you really have to wonder if he’s that clueless of his size. you pull off with a wet pop, strings of saliva keeping you connected to him as you stare up with wet orbs.

“eddie, you’re huge.” your voice is wrecked, butterflies swirling in your tummy as you make eye contact with him once again. you flush under his debauched gaze, "i— shit. nobody's ever told you before?"

eddie shrugs, considers for a moment. you don't think he's aware of the fact he's holding you in place with his hand, gripping your hair just enough to keep you still, hovering over his dick just close enough that if he wanted to, he could push you back down, get your mouth back on him.

though, that’s clearly not what he wants. because, he’s slipping the hand from your hair, doing this kind of awkward dance as he lays you out where he wants you.

you end up on your back, thighs spread wide as eddie slots between them, mouthing hotly at your neck. his fingers graze along your flushed skin, dance on your hipbone, across your pelvis. dips those godforsaken fingers into your panties, carelessly fumbling over your sopping wet pussy.

“this is okay, right?”

“it’s all okay, eddie. anything you want.”

"not— not even touched you yet and you're already this wet?" eddie's voice is a low timbre against your skin, has you arching up into his touch with a soft little moan. he sounds shocked, no heat or teasing in his words.

"can't help it," you gasp, exhaling shakily when eddie swipes two fingers over your clit deftly, unable to hide his smile at how receptive you are, "feeling the size of you in my hand — my mouth, god. would've let you choke me with it, would've thanked you."

eddie buries his face into your cleavage, poorly concealing a choked whine. he's skillful with his fingers, working you over fast despite how much your words are clearly affecting him.

your hips rock in short little circles, fingers sinking into eddie's hair, tugging lightly at the nape of his neck. you whine, body set alight with the feeling of calloused fingers grazing the small bundle of nerves.

he's biting you, brandishing you with little blooming bruises, and with the noise he makes against your damp skin you'd think it was him getting touched like this, him hurtling towards the edge.

you're so wet that the slick noises of eddie's fingers on your pussy are deafening in your ears, causing your back to prickle with heat, tummy winding tight.

the hot, heavy flesh of his cock presses against your inner thigh, shocking loud moans from you both at the same time. you arch up into his touch, ears ringing as pleasure takes over your body.

"i— you're making me cum," you gasp breathily, a static feeling warming your body, eyes rolling into the back of your head. you grapple for eddie's hair once more, tugging with a ferocity as your release washes over you.

it's. something. you feel like you're fucking floating, and eddie keeps swirling his fingers perfectly, whispering little shocked praises and keening into your rough pulling as he wrings you out.

once eddie's sure you're done with the aftershocks of your orgasm, he hazards pushing two fingers into your soaked cunt, and you're practically shooting away with overstimulation. crying out, somehow swivelling your hips and pushing down onto his fingers further once the shock wears off.

"you're a shit," you gasp, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, "god, might've known your dick was gonna be big, fuckin' size of your fingers."

"was— was that good for you? can i, shit can i?" eddie's desperate, rutting the thick outline of his cock against your thigh. he's never stopped fucking leaking, soaking your leg in milky precum and allowing the slip and slide to feel good.

you nod, shaky hands tilting his head up so you can finally, finally, get your mouth on his. eddie's whole body presses flush against yours, his hand coming out to stabilise himself so he doesn't crush you, and fuck.

it's so charged, like he can't stilt his emotions as he snakes his tongue into your mouth, lapping at your own wetly. it's probably disgusting, doesn't feel like it though — you'd swallow his spit happily, whenever he wanted, if it meant he kept making you feel like this.

eddie's shaky hand fumbles for the base of his cock as you continue kissing, positioning himself so that he's nestled prettily between your legs. the kisses turn languid, and he almost sounds pained when he next speaks, "s-sorry. if it, if it hurts."

"let it hurt, i want it to," your demeanor falters a little, turning doe eyed and pleading as eddie slides the ruddy head of his cock up and down the seam of your cunt, flirts with the idea of pushing the tip in just to watch you gasp and keen.

"would never," eddie promises, finally — fucking, finally — pushing the first few inches into the sopping wet heat of your pussy. he cries out when you clench around him unwittingly, and you mumble out a small sorry as you adjust.

it's. not good. it's not bad, either, but fuck. you feel like you're being split from the inside, the thick tip pushing you wider than you anticipated. your fingers grapple for eddie's biceps, nails digging in tightly, "so fucking big, oh my god, you're gonna split me in half."

you're breathless and eddie catches on, panics a little, "you're okay? you're okay, right? i can sto—"

"if you stop, i swear to god," you seethe, looking at eddie with a fierce spark in your eyes, "keep going. fuck. keep going."

before long and with a little bit of resistance, eddie's buried deep inside of you. your bodies roll against one anothers, shallow, slow breaths

it starts slow, the catch and drag of eddie's cock shocking you both into silence. but, before long, your pussy catches up with the programme, gushing wet and allowing eddie to push in further with each thrust.

it's intimate, erotic.

"you're so tight," eddie all-out whimpers, head falling and shoulders shaking as he fucks you at a lazy pace, clearly trying his best to hold out for as long as he can.

"fuck, you’re so gentle,” you try, knees squeezing eddie’s narrow waist, thighs encapsulating him, “you can go quicker. not gonna break me.”

eddie shakes his head, almost like he’s bewildered. looks at you all fucking soft, clearly can’t help the rut of his hips as he buries in deep, biting his inner lips to muffle his noises.

you grasp a hold of eddie's hand with nimble fingers, guide his hand over the softness of your tummy, let him push down where his cock is buried deep inside of you. his whole body shudders, and you can feel where he kicks up.

"practically in my guts," you wheeze, unable to shake the full feeling despite how your pussy gushes for him, so full you swear you feel him in your throat with every deep thrust he can muster, "you're s-so big, eddie."

"oh— jesus, can't do shit like that. can't say shit like that," eddie grunts desperately, rutting into you and gripping for your waist tightly, other hand still pushed down on the pudge of your belly, "gonna make me cum so, so quick."

"can feel every ridge of you, you're splitting me apart," you keen, "i can't— god, you've ruined me f-for anyone else. yours, yours, m'yours."

eddie's forehead slumps against your own, and you're panting into each others mouths more than anything else, lips barely brushing, "mine, you're mine." he agrees, though he sounds pained and submissive as he says it.

your hand snakes around eddie's neck, holding him in place as he fucks you so desperately, so rough you're rattling the stupid bedframe, and you don't think you've ever felt anything like this before. it's all-consuming, the tug between sore and soul-crushingly sensual.

your second orgasm hits you like a freight train, the constant press against your spot causing a quicker build up than you could've anticipated. you both make eye contact as you come with a muted gasp, nails scraping harshly at the soft skin on eddie's neck as you rock it out.

"didn't think you could get any tighter, god," eddie whimpers, eyes squeezing shut, finger-shaped bruises sure to be left on your hips as he fucks you in some sort of reckless abandon, "fuck, i'm so close. i'm so sorry, fuck, fuck."

you nod, understanding, the wet clap of skin on skin deafening as your release allows an even smoother glide. he's fucking ethereal above you, covered in a light sheen of sweat, mouth open in a constant stream of steady moans.

you reach between where both of your bodies meet, where the final few inches don't quite fit, spreading your fingers either side of his cock to allow friction as he fucks in and out rapidly, chasing his high.

eddie looks at you with a wild expression, eyebrows shooting up into his fringe. he grunts like a fucking animal, eyes drifting down to where your hand is, "you— you— i'm cumming, holy fuck—!"

he's loud when he comes, full body wracked with it. you feel his cock pulse and kick inside of you, painting your insides deep. the moan you let out at the feeling is hardly voluntary, so pathetic you flush hot when you realise just how loud you are.

"thank you, thank you," eddie's mumbling against your skin, kissing the side of your neck softly as he comes down, "god, you're perfect. so perfect."

you shudder, overcome with this sappy fucking fond feeling, allowing eddie to collapse on top of you once he's done. it's soft, domestic, even.

you both end up in some sort of gross, body fluid covered cuddle as you calm down. blissed out in the post-orgasmic haze, and fuck.

maybe you're in love with him.

[starboye]

Kinktober Day 7

starring: simon "ghost" riley x male reader

request: Simon Riley breeding male reader over and over till you're filled with his delicious cum

warnings: smut, overstimulation, mention of male pregnancy, rough sex, breeding, stomach bulge, cumfilation, simon being a softy, big dick!simon, dub con if you kinda squint, butt plug, aftercare

simon had been fucking you for hours at this point, dumping load after load into your still tight hole, and it didn't seem like he was going to stop anytime soon, you were just so addicting and seeing you at the teams dinner tonight with that handsome suit on made him want you so much more than he already did.

but for you it was becoming unbearable every passing minute, your ass bruised and sore from the rough plaps of skin on skin contact making you more and more sensitive and you cock now gone limp after simon fucked each load out of you, face littered with tears and sweat from over stimulation.

no matter how hard you tried to push him off of you he pulled himself back into you and continued his assault on you plump ass "please simon just give me a break" you plead feeling you mind melt by the second "i promise this is the last one pup" he huffed gripping your thighs tighter against his chest as he stared down at you with hazy vision.

"you said that hours ago" you retort trying to push him off but he just keeps going, not even a little bothered by your attempt to stop him, he just wanted to fill up your tummy nice and big with his cum like you were pregnant with his babies that he always dream of you having.

"this is the last time okay love i fuckin' swear on my life" he groaned throwing his head back as he fucked you on his cock like a toy, did you believe that this was gonna be his last time? no but hopefully it was because it felt like one to many more loads and you were going to pop.

"y'know i love you so much right lovie, so fucking much, i wanna start a family with you and move to the middle of the woods where you can moan my name as loud as you want" simon cooed running his hand up and down your inflated cum filled stomach while occasionally squeezing your bruised hips from his over bearing grip.

but this usually did happen when simon would fuck you for hours on end, his thoughts running crazy as he feels this tightness of your hole he'll start spewing his thoughts about how he wants to make you a baby daddy and give you triplets, he knows you can't have babies but who says he can't challenge the laws of human anatomy and you know damn well he would if it came to you.

"mhm si i want all you babies, pump this pussy full of your cum" you moaned out leading to his doing one more deep thrust before cumming in you, his cum pushing out your belly even more making you whine at the sight and feel of his cock pulsing in you.

when he pulls out it's a fucking mess dripping out of you, cum pushing out like a fountain but how could you get pregnant if it doesn't all stay in to ferment into a little baby so he plugs you up with his favorite pretty butt plug before crawling into the bed to cuddle next to you.

for you the room was spinning and you were to tired to do anything but you still cuddled into his warm chest "i love you y/n" simon deeply spoke rubbing your back to comfort you and before you could speak you were fast asleep after being tuckered out with his cock.

taglist:@mailmango@spermeboy@ghostking4m@gayaristocrat@addictedtomalepits@staarb0y@crispysoup318@its-ares@gargoylesworld09@kadenvatsune@fuckshft@wompwomp-1mh3re

[gutsby]

Cowboy Killers

Pairing: Cowboy!Joel x Reader

Summary: On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.

Warnings: 18+. Drunk-Assholes-to-Enemies-to-Lovers. Oral (m!receiving). Road head. Age gap. Daddy kink.

Note: My favorite sub-genre of country music is ‘I’m Gonna Fucking Kill My Husband,’ and I think Miranda Lambert’s ‘Gunpowder & Lead’ is a perfect representation of that.

Word count: 4.1k

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and—

“I’m about to lay this motherfucker out,” you announced.

Across the line, your friend laughed.

“Yeah? You see him?”

Of course you saw him. Who else would be wearing a Carhartt flannel and jeans in ninety-four degree heat? Not a soul in this world but your friend’s own lying, piece of shit, hopefully-soon-to-be-ex boyfriend, you guessed.

The game that Old Fuckstick Miller had decided to play tonight was a dangerous one—he was dumb as shit, and you were drunker than a skunk. He was dating your best friend, and she was not present at the Tipsy Bison to see the barefaced clusterfuck taking place before you now.

She was home, over thirty minutes away. He had told her that morning he would be working late, and not to wait up. You were here, at the bar, approaching one A.M. with a Redbull Vodka clenched in either fist and a Texas-sized frown on your face, seeing the very same man with his hands all over a woman that wasn’t your friend. You’d wanted to puke as soon as you saw them. You knew you could never trust a man who claimed to be an Austin native and couldn’t name a single George Strait song.

Your friend had only been dating the guy for a month, and you’d just seen his face in pictures up until now, but from what you could see less than twenty feet in front of you—slightly blurred from all the drinks you’d had—this guy was him. A dick. There, cheating on your best friend.

And no man would get to do that and walk out unscathed if you had anything to say about it.

Your grip tightened on either one of your fizzy drinks and, barely managing to cradle the phone between your head and your shoulder, you gestured over to another friend.

“Dave. Take it,” you said, words slurring a little.

Dave York cocked an eyebrow but said nothing as you passed him one of your RBVs and shimmied off the barstool. By the time he was able to pose his question, your ass, your phone, and your one remaining drink were already wobbling the other way. Vaguely, you heard him:

“Where ya headed, hon?”

You turned and raised your drink, then seriously doubted he would be able to hear you over the blare of the music, but yelled back anyway, ‘I’M GONNA KILL SOMEONE!’

The age-old pro-forgiveness aphorism continued to thump in your brain as you made your way over and began to contemplate every feasible method of murder.

A gun in the face would’ve been too simple—and besides, you’d never owned or shot a firearm in your life.

Poison could be fun, but from the way you were approaching the man now, you seriously doubted he’d ever let you get within a mile of his drink. You nudged the phone closer to your ear and took a sip from your own.

“Closing in,” you told your friend simply.

She’d already given you the go-ahead to execute the confrontation and beat his ass any way you pleased after the fact. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ you’d finally get to encroach on this little loved up scene at the other end of the bar. The man had had his back turned to you, and the stunning redhead hanging off his neck, likewise, had no idea what was coming. You smiled.

“Promise you won’t go to jail this time?” your friend said.

“Will you bail me out again if I do?” Your grin got bigger.

“Well, duh.”

“Good deal. I’ll be the shitfaced inmate with ‘Fuck Men’ tattooed on her forehead. Wait for Travis County to call.”

“I love you, psycho.”

“Love you more.”

You ended the call.

And you were fully ready to end this man’s life when you saw him lean in to kiss the woman’s neck—that was sick.

You weren’t thinking straight. You weren’t seeing straight

You yelled out, ‘He-e-e-ey, honey!’ without blinking.

The couple turned.

As soon as the man had done a full 180, you flung your drink in his face and made sure the cup struck his nose.

“You cheatin’ FUCK!”

He flinched, sprayed by your vodka-infused energy juice.

The music overhead was loud, but not so deafening as to prevent the bar from hearing your shriek. From the front of the room, a band was playing ‘Gunpowder & Lead,’ and you couldn’t help but feel the song had been fate.

“What the f—” the adulterer started, evidently stunned.

You knocked the Shiner Bock out of his hand and spat:

“Working late, are we?!”

And spilled another patron’s beer reeling back.

“Got a little caught up on the way home?”

Gesturing toward the green-eyed beauty to his left. At first, the girl fixed her stare on you as if you’d sprouted another head, but then, by turns, she was tilting it to him.

“You have a girlfriend?” she hissed.

Cheater McFuckstick was wiping his beard with his hand

Shaking his head.

“Hell no, I ain’t never—”

“LIAR!”

Channeling your inner Representative Wilson circa 2009, you let your mouth fall open and stared at the big, burly man like the Congressman had once done to President Obama all those years ago. The semi-stranger in front of you was far less composed than his political counterpart.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” he snapped.

You felt your cheeks heat up.

“Is she your girlfriend?” would-be mistress said, shrill.

“NO!” you and been-knew asshole yelled together.

You saw the man’s nostrils flare, and at the same time, the woman beside him departed. Quickly. A few people around you cleared the way, while others still stared, gawked, and murmured amongst themselves. The Miranda Lambert cover band continued on without a hitch, though you could tell there had been a stir in the crowd. They probably thought the worst of it was over.

They thought wrong.

“You’re a dick,” you seethed, unrelenting.

You almost expected the man to turn and leave.

You thought wrong.

“You’re a cunt.”

And the man chucked a stray whiskey sour in your face.

The $15 spirits splattered on your skin like the meanest insult of all. His aim was better. Though he didn’t let go of the cup, as you had with him, he did make sure to coat the whole of your twisted look with the liquor, and once it landed, he had had the nerve to do something else, too.

He brought the glass to his lips then drank what was left.

“How’s it feel?” he sneered.

You stood in wet, sticky silence for half a second; arguably, you’d earned that cocktail to the face.

On the other hand, who the fuck did he think he was?

You grabbed a random can of Keystone Light and flung it at his chest to give him a hint—and catch him off-guard.

“You’re a bitch, Tommy Miller!”

“Wh—”

“Maria’s my best friend, you absolute f—”

“What—”

“—and you cheated on her for what? All so she—”

“What did you just call me?!”

“A BITCH!”

“No, the NAME!”

“TOMMY MILLER!”

“I’M JOEL!”

Oh.

Oh.

You and Joel were shortly escorted out of the bar.

Joel’s name, and a trace of bourbon, were still fresh on your tongue when you found yourself stranded in the middle of the Tipsy Bison parking lot two minutes later. You leaned into a car beside you and held your stomach.

“Someone drop you on the head as a baby?” Joel barked.

Presently, for you, the world was tilting sideways, and your head was throbbing at a nauseating tempo.

“Go around slingin’ drinks at any old man you—”

Green. Green must’ve been the color of your face as you braced your hands on your knees and assumed a stance as if to scream at the ground. Rather than expecting any noise to ring out, though, you had only to squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto a hunch for something much less pleasant. And viscous.

Reeking mostly of Red Bull and regret, if you had to guess.

Joel took a big step back, and then he took another.

“Da-a-adgummit, girl, what the—”

He turned away just in time to miss the sight of you emptying your guts on the ground, but not quite fast enough to be spared the sounds of you retching. They were loud. Joel Miller was known to be a largely imperturbable force around these parts, but even he was made to feel queasy hearing that. Out of habit, he clapped his hand to his own gut and stumbled off. He stared at the bar, then at his car, then at the gravel crushed under his feet for what felt like the longest time. Then his gaze lingered to his lower half, and he thought:

‘Please, please don’t gimme no daughters. Please.’

He was forty-five. The time for making babies and raising daughters to be anything like a woman of your ilk was probably long past him. All the same, he kept his gaze on his crotch and sighed. Balls, you better not betray me.

When he heard the crunch of rocks, he turned around.

“HEY!”

Oh, no. No. Not tonight.

You were staggering to your car, keys in hand.

“Hey!” Joel called again, jogging after you.

It seemed the second shout had done him no more favors than the first. You were fumbling to get the key inside the door, and you looked as determined as ever.

Over your shoulder, you tossed back, careless:

“You ain’t the boss of me, Tommy Miller.”

You got the key to turn. You opened the door. You were just about to climb inside what looked to Joel to be the ugliest Dodge Ram pickup he’d seen in his life, when he grabbed your arm.

“It’s Joel,” he growled. Pinching your elbow tight as he tugged it back, “And you ain’t driving anywhere tonight.”

Somewhere in front of him, tilted away from his line of vision, you must’ve been grinning, because the next thing he heard from you was the scoff of a laugh.

“Oh yeah?”

Joel flipped you around to face him.

“Yeah,” he snapped.

Feeling a bit like a kid for mimicking your tone.

What were you, twenty-two? Twenty-three? You couldn’t have been a patron of a place like Tipsy Bison for very long, or else he would’ve recognized you tonight.

Then again, you struck him as the type to have had a fake ID since you were fifteen, so he really couldn’t know.

“I’m twenny-wuh-un,” you slurred up at him, exaggerated, once he’d made you step down from the running board and onto the ground. Answering his last unspoken question with the same, sleepy grin as before. Then lifting one of your hands to wag a finger in his face, “I can drink legal anywhere I want to in this country.”

“Not there,” Joel nodded to the interstate.

You looked to where he’d gestured and whistled. Standing and staring, like he had done to his crotch.

“Well fuck me-e!” you said next, dragging out the sound a childish amount, “You the law or somethin’, Mr. Joel?”

“Ain’t no cop.” Joel rolled his eyes.

You kept smiling. Then you turned on your heels.

And instead of trying to climb back into your truck, you sauntered off—in what direction, Joel couldn’t tell. You were more so bumbling about, turning in circles like the world’s most scantily-clad, semi-intoxicated ballerina. And then you stopped. You put your hands on your hips.

“‘Cause I’m the law,” you resumed in a slow, deliberate drawl. The twang you used was mostly feigned, “And you cain’t beat the law. Don’t nobody get away with that, not even a bunch’a Alabama smart alecks, believe you me.”

Joel didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about. The man was Texas born and bred, and you knew it.

He communicated as much by pinning you with a wide, bewildered stare, and something in that seemed to amuse. You stared back, making your eyes bug out too.

“It’s a quote from a movie,” you said, after a beat, “You’ve never seen Fried Green Tomatoes before?”

Joel couldn’t say that he had.

Joel reckoned there was a lot more than just movies he didn’t share in common with you. Miss Twenty-One. Barely a year past the age he’d been when he’d moved out of the house and tried to make a living on his own.

This woman, this girl he saw twirling out in front of him now probably couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with the instructions written on the heel if he’d asked you to. Joel shook his head and moved his feet, frown etching deep.

“Alright, princess. Up.”

You didn’t seem to understand, until he’d lifted you. Up.

You were thrown over his shoulder and carried to a truck much nicer than yours in less than fifteen seconds or so.

“Stinks in here,” you said as soon as he’d set you down.

Then, sniffing the air—and grinning:

“Aw, hell, Miller…you smoke?”

Joel wished he’d said no.

Wished he’d rolled his eyes and told you to pipe down, stop asking him questions. It would’ve made the drive a whole lot easier, and more peaceful. Nowhere near as painful, either, if he were being perfectly honest—the strain in his jeans had already gotten to be more than he could bear, and all you’d asked for was a pack of smokes.

“They call ‘em Cowboy Killers,” you said, matter-of-fact.

“I know what they’re called,” Joel grumbled in reply. Flicking the radio on and hoping to find a tune that would drown out the too-lovely, cloying voice you’d assumed as soon as you thought you might win a cigarette off of him. More chatty now than ever.

And for one, blissful moment, Toby Keith had you beat. The calm was fleeting. As soon as ‘Who’s Your Daddy’ started to drift through the car’s old speakers, you reached across and turned the knob to the left.

“Gross,” you muttered.

“What?”

“Got a light?”

“Blow me.”

Joel’s harsh, clipped tone was deliberate. The way he’d made himself mean—meaner than he’d been around a woman in a long, long time—was a choice. He couldn’t let your faux sweetness win him now. Not after you’d thrown two drinks in his face, mocked his truck, and foreclosed any possibility of getting laid by way of all your publicized infidelity philippics and shit-talking. Giving in to your charms from where you sat in the passenger seat now would only sink him further in his own esteem. Simply put, Joel’s ego couldn’t take it.

“Okie doke,” you said presently. Shrugging.

“Now keep your—HEY!”

Joel nearly swerved his truck off the road and into a ditch. Your deft little hands had slipped into his lap—and started palming his crotch through the denim.

He’d just managed to right the vehicle before jerking a look your way, staring at your hand, then your face:

“What the fuck was that?!”

“You said ‘blow me,’ Joel!” you huffed, and you seriously appeared as distraught as he was, “Sorry for listening!”

Joel grit his teeth with all the force of a cold steel trap.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts.” He gripped the wheel even tighter.

“I’m aware.”

“Where the hell do you live, anyway?”

You told him.

Your hand slipped down to the seat beside him.

And just as Joel let out what felt like the tiniest sigh of relief—he knew where that was, and the address sounded vaguely familiar—he yelped again. This time, he managed to keep control of his truck, but it was hard.

Your fingers had returned, and they were kneading the bulge under his jeans. Joel flushed from head to toe.

He didn’t have so much as half a mind to make you stop. He didn’t want to see you slink back over to your side of the car. But you were twenty-one, and he was forty-five. And you were both under the influence to some degree. And he was driving, for fuck’s sake. Shit like that only worked in dreams—not on a highway in a town like this.

He turned the radio dial to 75. At length, he heard it loud:

‘WHO’S YOUR DADDY? WHO’S YOUR BA-A-A-ABY?’

He saw you cringe.

“C’mon, Joel,” you groaned, “That’s…yuck.”

The fingers of the one hand kept digging, rubbing, but the other reached out and turned the music down again.

Joel shifted in his seat, feeling the pleasure start to bloom from the pit of his stomach, but not wanting to let you off that easy. Briefly, he looked from the road to you.

“What? You got a problem with Toby Keith?”

“I got a problem with anyone sayin’ ‘daddy’ like that.”

You unzipped his fly. Popped the button of his jeans from underneath the soft shelf of belly hanging over it, and held him, finally. You could only cup his erection through his boxers at that point, but the friction was enough to send a shiver through the whole of the old man’s body. He hadn’t been touched like that by a hand that wasn’t his own in…he couldn’t remember how long. He sighed.

“That why you’ve got your hand down the pants of a man old enough to be your father?” Joel quipped.

He couldn’t help it.

Your hand only gripped him tighter. From the passenger seat, you’d leaned over and started crawling. Scowling.

Your knees swiftly planted themselves on the old, upholstered cushion of the bucket seat, and you slipped a touch beneath the waistband of his underwear. With a hand that was smooth and soft and eager to please, you wrapped your fingers around that base and leaned in.

“You sound like you want me to say it,” you whispered.

Under your hand, he pulsed. His gaze stayed on the road.

“Don’t make no difference to me, sweet pea,” he said, and was amazed how even he was able to keep his tone:

“But those ‘Cowboy Killers’ you wanted…”

Your fingers curled tighter. Your head sank lower.

“…they don’t come cheap, y’know.”

Oh, you knew. He saw a smile snag at the corners of your lips as you brought them to his lap, and he had to force himself to look at the road again. It was empty and dark.

The tarmac stretched out for days. The fields rolling past warned sternly, ‘Don’t let her win,’ and something more in between each tree seemed to invite deliberation—remembrance, maybe. Joel was far too focused on the feel of your mouth to give the woods a second thought.

You’d worked the first inch between your lips in a slick, obscene sort of kiss; you made room for just the head and then toyed with a bead of precum leaking out of his slit. You licked it, squeezed the shaft in your hand, and hummed while the first real moan rumbled through him.

Joel turned to putty with just that flick of your tongue. He didn’t have to see your face to know he was losing.

On the wheel, his grip grew tighter, and he choked out:

“Ain’t your fuckin’ lollypop, kid.”

Then, dropping one hand to push down on your head—make you take him to the back of your throat in one go.

“Daddy wants you to suck him like a big girl, hear?”

At the base of his cock, he felt you gag. From the bottom of his heart, Joel knew there was no sound sweeter than that. He ran his fingers over your skull and tapped gently.

“If you want those smokes,” he told you—and really, with all the warmth and moisture of your mouth enveloping him now, he’d had to try to sound rougher than he was, “You’re gonna do what daddy says and suck him right.”

You gagged again, then squeezed his denim-clad leg with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his member.

Joel yanked you by your hair and made you look up.

Your cheeks were already smeared with spit and tears. Much to his surprise, he found your eyes alight and soft.

Suffused with desire, too, from what he could see.

“Yes, daddy.” You grinned up at him.

Joel knew if he let your gaze stay on his a second longer now he’d either crash his car, blow his load, or fall in love—and he simply refused to let you succeed on any of those fronts, so he shoved your face back down.

You sucked him obediently. Greedily. Mouth growing more pliant and wet by the second, as if your jaw and salivary glands had contrived to get him as close to release as possible, as quickly as they were able.

Joel took a left onto a road he had only a dim recognition as being connected to yours, and he got that feeling again. You were bobbing your head, taking him further, flattening your tongue along the bottom of his member when his pleasure swelled inside him. At the same time, he felt a sense of dread. His hands were shaking on the wheel. He didn’t dare steal a look down to the sweet, soaked, perfect little mouth sucking him dry, because he knew that feeling would only strike twice as hard. He had to cum, or make you stop, or bring his truck to a halt.

As it was, he felt five tiny crescents sink into his thigh as you gripped him tighter, and a noise bubbled up in your mouth. Your breathing went shallow, and your lips stretched wide—you were trying, and succeeding, in deep-throating his thick, throbbing, much-too-old-for-a-girl-her-age member down close to your windpipe, and Joel could feel it. He hit his blinker, not thinking, and saw a sign that marked your street. Trepidation hit him again.

Fully, this time, in a feeling that was more like terror.

He didn’t have another second to question it, either. By the time he had the old, lone farmhouse in his sights and his heart nearly halfway up his throat with fear, your own throat pulsed, and opened the last two inches to him in. Your nose found their home in the rough, grey, wiry hairs at the base of his belly, having swallowed him whole, and Joel quickly sensed the start of what he knew too well.

He came down your throat in one, two, three, four, five long spurts, and didn’t let his foot off the gas even once.

He saw your house, approaching closer now, and paled.

No fucking way.

You’d wanted to skip the whole way up your drive.

Spit still drying on your cheeks, cum resting comfortably in your belly, and a smile as bright as the sun on your face as you waved to the F-150 pulling off toward the road, you’d never felt more alive—or smug—in your life.

“Is your dad…Lucien Flores?” Joel had asked no more than a second after his dick slipped out of your mouth.

“The one and only.”

Somehow, his face got even paler. His jaw visibly clenched, and his palm hit the top of the wheel. Hard.

It was then that you’d learned your father had hired Joel Miller on as a full-time ranch hand sometime last week.

He’d remembered the address, vaguely, but didn’t connect the dots until he’d pulled up in front of your house and damn near punctured your windpipe with his pulsing dick from how fast he’d jumped up—and cum.

His spend had almost shot through your nose with the force of it, but you didn’t mind. Once he’d revealed the wild, gory, and admittedly hilarious details of his newfound employment, you were too busy laughing your ass off to care if he’d torn your throat in two with his dick.

“So you really are a cowboy, then,” you’d said, giggling.

Joel had scowled. Rolled his eyes. Practically turned the color of a tomato when you leaned in and kissed him.

Now you were waving to him from your front door.

Joel’s truck was slow to go. The taste of him was fresh.

And there, weighing light in your back pocket while you said goodbye was a brand new pack of Marlboro Reds.

2:21 AM

You were safely in bed. You checked your phone.

Aside from fourteen missed calls, you saw:

1:09 AM – Maria

DUDE

1:09 AM

TOMMY JUST CAME HOME

1:09 AM

THAT’S NOT HIM AT THE BAR

1:13 AM

IT’S JUST JOEL!! HIS BROTHER!!!

1:13 AM

ABORT ABORT ABORT

1:42 AM

DAVE SAID YOU BEAT JOEL UP???? CALL ME

1:54 AM – Dave York

Ur gonna fuck that old dude aren’t u

[anantaru]

⚝ DAY 2 — POWER IMBALANCE

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — blade, jing yuan, aventurine

— warnings. — fem! reader, power imbalance, oral (fem! receiving), toxic & manipulation, hard syx, dom/sub

⚝ — BLADE

blade feels to you like a storm, his grip on you endlessly overwhelming yet not because he's forcing it on you, no, but because his dependence on you was suffocating.

the stellaron hunter was dangerous, you were very much aware of it, although never pondering on the fact that you were playing with fire here.

his cock slides in between your folds before slipping to your hole, right then, you can feel the hot push of his tip, slow at first, but persistent, burning and stretching you. blade opens you up as you clutch at his shoulders each time, you're certain you can take him, you can't— it won't fit—such always crosses your mind but, you see, your skin was burning and hungry, submitting to him, to his cock sliding in fully— so smooth on your walls, thick inside, searing.

blade clings to you like you’re the only thing tethering him to sanity, and well— maybe you were, he certainly looks at you with an intensity that borders on desperation, a string he needed to hold on to if he wanted to keep at least a little bit of humanity inside himself or else, he’d fall apart.

"you ground me," he murmurs, voice low, his hand searching for your own as he grips it a little too tightly— his neediness haunting as he slumps forward, still thrusting hungry shoves of his cock into you as the rhythm changes just a little, but the pressure was increasing, becoming more meaningful.

in this rare moments, the way his hands tremble slightly when he brushes your hair behind your ear, there’s a tenderness, yes, but you cannot shake off the feeling of being scared of him— were his words the truth? did he mean what he said? would he hurt you in the end or are you really the one to put a light in his dark, twisted world?

⚝ — JING YUAN

jing yuan was always in control, his charm making each and every friend or foe bend to his will effortlessly— and well, you’re no exception. 

frankly, he's used to people following his lead without question, without turning on their own brains, his words were so fittingly persuasive that you barely even notice when you started agreeing with everything he said.

you whine out a breathy, "fuck, more—" as he laps at your clit, the vibrations of his hums and groans making you arch your back into him— you're so sensitive, jing yuan makes you feel all of it with his tongue, all the nerves down there and how muscle slurped and licked a stripe along your slit to tease you, shamelessly moaning against your pussy right after.

"i’m only looking out for you," he lazily mumbles into your cunt, "I know what's ugh—, what's best for you," his fucked out grin disarms you completely as you look down, admiring the view of his hands, big hands, clutching at your trembling thighs before he gives your stomach an anticipatory twist.

he's not forceful though, don't misunderstand, yeah? because simply, jing yuan doesn’t need to be, his self assured confidence made it feel like any resistance would be literally ridiculous. 

after all, his charisma pulls you in, his beauty and face being chocolate box pretty, ethereal and powerful, leaving you wanting to please him too, so badly yeah, to stay on his good side.

⚝ — AVENTURINE

from the outside, aventurine was unable to be read— and even once you got close to him, you found yourself having more difficulties reading him.

his standards were impossibly high, that's for sure, and he never hesitates to point out when you fall short. for some reason he critiques everything you do, from the way you handle the tasks he's given you to your smallest habits, never failing in exhaustedly rolling his eyes with an edge of frustration.

however, wasn't it just amazing how he was always there to clean up the "mess" you made in getting all the tasks wrong, or anything really.

something unmistakable random could happen in your life, even just a favorite item you suddenly lost and aventurine would always be there to help you— like a white knight.

of course, you cannot question him on anything, he was your superior and losing your job would be the last thing you wanted, next to losing the little relationship you've built over the last couple of months with him.

you feels it in your legs, your stomach, your hands, your soul when he touches you— pleasures you.

it's the desire overtaking you first, making you give yourself up entirely to the harsh rhythm of his hips displaying no mercy. aventurine hisses as you squeeze him, the faintness in his head almost making him swoon as your leg tremble and his cock throbs hard in you, the tremulous thrill inside your belly building to a merciless dance.

"i’ll be here, buried right here—" he hums and grinds his hips, his fingers drawing a line on your stomach, up and down, "feel that? you feel me there?"

"not that you, fuck— deserve it," he grunts, cupping your cheeks and brushing a thumb over your lips, "you made so many mistakes today," he breathes while staring down at his cock splitting your puffy cunt.

he adds, "you should be thankful i was there,"

an embarrassed, little sorry was all you managed to get out in return and ugh— the friction of him rubbing against your walls felt absolutely sickening, like you're about to cum and scream any second now.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[cyber333angel]

logan fucking you for the first time in your hyper girlie room and he’s enamoured by you when he’s railing into you and you unconsciously grab a plushie that’s close by to hold on to it 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

you and logan typically hang out and do “stuff” at his house, for no specific reason other than it’s just easier for the two of you to be there. although he does have a larger house than your comfy little apartment, you spend most nights at his house making use of the kitchen that he never used until the two of your started dating — his house was simply a house until you came along, making it a home filled with good memories. you suggested a sleepover at your apartment one day, straddling his hips as you talk to him, playing with his hair. “you want me to stay at your house?” he ask and you nod your head smiling, “mhm! we are always at your house, you never get to really see mine other than when you drop me off.” and logan agrees, it’s not like it’s a big deal or anything plus he gets to stay in a house that’s filled with smells like you so it’s a win-win.

when it’s the day that logan comes over your apartment is all clean, candles lit and a tidy space. you get up from the couch gleefully as you answer the door, giving him a hug and a kiss when you see him, leading him further into your apartment. the day is filled with a lot of fun where you cook dinner together, force logan to do face masks with you and bake cookies. so as the older man is washing up the last of the dishes you come up behind him, hugging at his waist. “when your done come play with me lo..” you whine, all day has been filled with kisses and teasing but you haven’t gotten to do what you really craved from him. “ive been playing with you all day bub, you gonna tell me what you really want?” logan says looking back at you, your already looking up at him pouting on his back— he knows exactly what you want, he just thinks it’s so cute when you struggle to say it. “don’t be mean.” and you hesitate to say it, almost embarrassed as if you guys haven’t already done everything together. “want you to make me feel good, want you to fuck me logan..” you say the end at a whisper as he dries his hands from the sink and turns around, taking your jaw and kissing you. “see how easy that was, hm? don’t worry ill make you feel good.” he says picking you up and playing you on the island of the kitchen, sucking and biting at your lips like he hadn’t eaten for days. he lifts off the baggy shirt you had on throwing it on the floor as he travels to your neck giving them pecks with his hands traveling down your spine.

he picks you up again and you giggle as he almost speed walks to your trinket, plushie filled bedroom. logan always knew your fondness for stuffed animals, he even got you a lot of them to add to your collection but when you sleep over at his house you don’t really need a bed full of plushies, you only need him. so as he throws you on the bed, he’s slides down your shorts and panties, kneeling in the carpet next to the bed as your legs rest on your shoulders. he chuckles when he glides a finger up your slick folds, “all this for me huh baby?” and you whine at his touch, nodding your head swiftly. “yes s’all for you daddy..!” with that he lowers his head to your cunt licking up a stripe to your clit, sucking on the bud of nerves. he takes two fingers prodding them at your hole before sliding them in, preparing you for his dick. after a couple minutes of him stretching you out and a lot of gripping at the sheets, he decides your ready to take him. standing up and pulling your body to face him, he unbuckles his pants taking his cock out his boxers. he spits in his hand rubbing it all over his cock, jerking at it until it’s fully hard and takes your thighs pulling them around his waist. “im gonna put it in now alright bub?” and you nod in approval, watching him as his positions it at your entrance slowly pushing it in. you wince and logan shushes you, assuring you that your doing so good for him. “atta girl, look its all in..y’re okay.” he says rubbing your rubbing your lower stomach as he starts thrusting slowly, giving you a little more pressure and fast pace each time. eventually you get more relaxed and logan gets rougher, thrusting into faster and harder and you just get so stimulated, grabbing at everything next to you to get some relief since he’s fucking you so hard your mind is starting to go blank. you grab the plushie that closest to you and bring it to your chest— holding it so tightly as logan holds your thighs apart pounding into you. he sees this, chuckling at your little furry assistance. “am I going too hard on you bubba? hmm, need daddy to slow down a bit?” he says rubbing at you knees and you shake your head no, “no s’good lo, just trying to keep u-up..” and he gets what you mean, he knows you feel good but sometimes he forgets how much stronger and how much more stamina he has than you. “oh I see, ill help you cum then sweetheart, not that little plushie.” he says smiling and you giggle throwing it at him. he rest some of his body weight down on you as he holds you in his arms, kissing you and thrusting at a rough pace but a bit slower at the same time. he reaches his hand down to your pussy, finding your clit and rubbing it in circles, you start to get close to your orgasm blabbering in his hold. “hngh..” you cry out as your eyes go half lidded. logan watches your face as you almost come undone, “m’gonna cum lo-logan!” and he just nods, whispering little nothings to you on your way to your orgasm. “oh I know baby, give it to me c’mon. thaaats it good girl.” he says as you shake underneath him, nails scratching at his back as you pant out of breath leaving red marks across his skin. healing immediately of course but the sting still feels good to him, and as you come back to your senses you see that logan didn’t cum yet. “mm lo’ you didn’t cum yet?” and he laughs at you for a moment, leaving you a little confused. “we aren’t done yet bub, might wanna get one of your little plushies ready.”

[cherrynflowergarden]

quiet || matt sturniolo

an; tysm my lovies for participating in the 500 celebration!! i saw your asks but unfortunately tumblr is acting up and now i can't see them:( smut alert!!! minors dni

the lewd sound of skin slapping filled the room as matt pounds into her tight hole. he leans over her, intensely watching her become a drooling babbling mess. eyes rolled back, drooling from the mouth and moans leaving her mouth like a broken record, she looked like heaven to him.

"shh sweetheart" he coos, griping her chin with a hand forcing her to make an eye contact with him, while his other arm supported his weight. lips nibbling and sucking on her pulse point he whispers, "be quiet f'me, yeah?"

he generally enjoys listening to her moans. makes his ego sky rocket knowing he makes her feel so good. but today his brothers were home and very much awake. the chances of getting caught are high and he can't risk it. if his brothers find him in such a compromising position, he would never hear the end of it. but that didn't stop him from taking her to the bed. the thrill of getting caught just made him hornier, his cock throbbing in her warm cunt — coating him with her juices.

she could barely hold her moans in. feeling the drag of his thick cock, in her walls, dick hitting her spots roughly and so easily made her loose her mind.

"i— fuck i can't icanticanticant" she babbles incoherently. whimpers escaped her mouth, cheeks wet with tears, back arched and hips moving upwards to match his thrusts. she looked beautiful like this, under him — at his mercy. a slow smirk made it's way to his face at her response. his fingers which were groping her tits, went to her neck. roughly pressing his palm around her neck, he violently slammed into her.

"you can't, huh?" his hand left her neck to grip her hips — in order to keep her in place. "you can't keep fucking quiet, huh? making you feel so good?"

a loud moan left her throat, despite her attempts to be quiet. it's not her fault though, he makes her feel sooo good. the tingling feeling in cunt was too overpowering to remain quiet, all she could do is nod her head, a silent answer to his previous question.

apparently matt didn't seem to like her silence because a loud smack was heard in the room. he had slapped her breast. he needed to listen to his girl say that. "answer me princess or did i fuck you too dumb to form a sentence?" his condescending tone only brought her to the edge, the coil in her belly tightening.

"feels—... feels so good, matt" she whimpered out, eyes rolling back in pleasure. her hand went to his hairs to tug on them. the pull on his hairs did it for him as reached down to rub against her poor abused clit.

brows knitting together, that finally snapped the coil in her belly. following her lead, matt pulled out to cum on her belly.

gasping for air, they just hoped they weren't loud enough for his brothers to hear.

[sonarspace]

PARTY FEVER (FT. CHOSO)

synopsis. feeling hot and sticky? good for you, one partygoer is eager to help! content. college au. dirty talk. kinda döm choso. ëxhibitionism. slight vøyeurism. mirror sẽx. semi–public. multiple ôrgasms. wc. 2.8k

the party’s louder than you expected, the thumping bass shaking the walls, the air lingering with a mix of sweat and alcohol. you're wearing a dress that clings to your body in all the right places, short enough to show off your legs and low enough to turn a few heads. it was a last-minute choice, but you knew you'd end up running into him tonight—you could feel it.

and right on cue, you spot choso across the room, casually leaning against the wall, a red solo cup in hand. his dark eyes lock onto you instantly, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. it's like he's waiting for you, expecting you.

you try to play it cool, but the way his gaze tracks your every move sends a rush of heat through your body. he takes a slow sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact, and you can feel the tension simmering between you two, unspoken but electric. after what happened last week, you're not sure what to expect tonight, but the memory of how he had you bent over his desk still lingers—how he "thanked" you for helping him pass his test by fucking you so thoroughly, you couldn't walk straight the next day.

you bite your lip and turn to head toward the kitchen, but you barely make it two steps before a firm hand grips your wrist. “going somewhere?” his voice is smooth, low, and it sends a jolt through you. you glance back at him, trying to suppress the shiver creeping up your spine.

“didn’t think i’d see you here,” you mutter, trying to play it off, but the intensity in his stare has you faltering.

he leans in close, his lips brushing your ear. “thought i made it clear last time,” he murmurs, his voice dark and filled with something more than just desire. “one time wasn’t enough.”

your heart races. you shouldn’t want this again—shouldn’t want him again. but the way his fingers trail down your arm, the heat of his body pressing against yours, you know there’s no way you’re walking away.

“you sore?” he asks, a teasing smirk pulling at his lips. “could barely walk last time.”

you swallow, heat pooling low in your belly. “i’m fine,” you manage, though your body betrays you, already responding to his presence.

he chuckles, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly as he tugs you through the crowd. the music fades behind you as he leads you down the dim hallway, until he shoves you into the nearest bathroom. the door clicks shut, and before you can catch your breath, his lips are on yours, messy and hungry, the taste of him intoxicating as he swallows your soft gasp.

his tongue slides into your mouth, hot and insistent, tasting you as if he’s been craving you all week. you moan softly, fingers tangling in his hair as your back hits the cool surface of the sink, his hips grinding into yours. the heat between you is electric, and you can’t help the way your body arches into him, desperate for more.

“hold on,” he breathes, hoisting you up on the sink. your skimpy dress rides up, as you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

he parts your legs, exposing your thighs as he kneels before you. he hooks his fingers under the hem, teasingly pulling it up further before slipping off your panties.

“purple, huh?” he chuckles, glancing at the fabric with a playful smile before tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans. “that’s for me.”

dropping to his knees, he dives in, kissing a trail up your inner thighs, his breath hot against your skin. “fuck,” you whimper, your head falling back as he flicks his tongue against your clit, teasing you with soft, delicate strokes.

as the warmth of his mouth wraps around your throbbing clit, you let out a loud moan, instinctively placing a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. your walls clench around his tongue, slick and eager, as if begging for more.

“it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry, sending shivers down your spine. “let them hear how good you feel.” he tugs your hands down, placing his own atop them, pinning them against the counter.

he buries his tongue deeper, the pressure building inside you, coaxing out those desperate little cries you can’t hold back. your heart races, every flick of his tongue sending electric jolts through your body. you can’t help but moan louder, arching into him as you’re chasing that high.

the sweet sounds tumbling from your lips bounce off the bathroom walls, raw and unfiltered. “you taste so fucking good,” he mutters, diving his tongue back into your snug walls, savoring every inch of you. he could live off your taste forever, but right now, he craves more than just that—he wants to be deep inside you. so, he pulls away reluctantly.

standing tall, he flips you around, and you grip the counter, your legs still shaking from his earlier ministrations. he wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you as he leans in, pressing soft kisses along your neck and under your jaw. his hands tangle in your hair, tugging gently as he pushes his pants down, revealing the outline of his boxers he grinds his growing hardness against you, a low hum escaping his lips. “see what you do to me?” he breathes watching you in the mirror, his tongue teasing the shell of your ear.

when you reach back, your fingers brushing against him, he lets out a deep groan that sends a thrill through you. your eyes meet in the mirror, and he gives you a sweet, playful smile, his pearly whites glinting in the light as he bites down softly on your neck, leaving his mark. you narrow your eyes at him in mock frustration, but the way your heart races betrays you.

“can you fuck me already?” you whine pressing your ass into his hips, your voice dripping with need. he chuckles lowly. “so fuckin’ needy,” he whispers, biting your shoulder with just enough pressure to make you shiver. he pulls down his boxers, freeing his cock—gorgeous and thick, flushed pink, just like the color of his lips. he catches you staring and smirks, leaning in closer. “not today,” he whispers with a teasing grin.

bringing his hand up to your mouth, he commands you to spit, and you oblige, letting your saliva pool in his palm. your watching him in the mirror and your eyes drop to where he pumps himself a couple of times, his cock now slick with a mix of your saliva and his precum. a low whine escapes him as he grips your ass, squeezing it firmly. “god, it fits so perfectly in my hand,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

he nudges your back down slightly, pushing a leg between yours, coaxing you wider apart. he aligns himself with your slick, eager cunt, hissing at the contact as he pushes inside in one smooth thrust. a loud moan escapes your lips at the stretch. “HOLY FUCK!” you cry out, the sound echoing in the small space as he gives you a moment to adjust. but it’s not long before he pulls out slowly, then slams back in, your hips colliding with the counter. you were sure you’d end up with a bruise but you couldn’t really care in the moment.

he wraps an arm around your throat, holding you close, and you can feel him deep inside you, your warm, gummy walls squeezing him tightly. your breaths come out in desperate gasps as he starts off slow, letting you adjust to the way he is stretching you open. however, he picks up the pace, each thrust becoming more frantic, more desperate. “look how well you take me,” he growls. your eyes drop to your reflection, your lips parted as you watch him drive in and out of you.

the mirror fogs up with the heat radiating from your bodies, breaths mingling as you gasp for air. maddened moans tumble from your lips, raw and unfiltered, each one echoing off the tiled walls as he thrusts into you deep and hard. you’re utterly lost in the pleasure, feeling yourself stretching around him, your walls clenching and squeezing him just right.

“fuuuuck,” he grunts, his voice low and husky, and the way he grips your hips makes you tremble. his fingers dig into your flesh, pulling you back agaisnt him, every thrust igniting a fire inside you that you can’t quench. “look at you, so fucking perfect for me,” he growls, his breath hot against your neck as he nips at your skin.

you can barely think, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the small space. your heart races as you feel the familiar coil tightening deep in your belly. with every thrust, your body meets his, the sweet friction making you dizzy.

the door creaks open, and your heart races as geto stops in his tracks, shock painted across his face. it’s a split second of panic, but the way choso keeps driving into you, deep and relentless, makes it hard to care. you bite your lip, stifling a moan, but it slips out anyway, echoing against the tiled walls.

he glances over his shoulder, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “show him just how good I make you feel,” he urges.

the thrill of being exposed only adds fuel to the fire, and you feel your body responding in ways that make you gasp. “choso—” you gasp, as he drives into you, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge.

“good girl,” he praises, his voice low and sultry. “scream for me.”

“oh god,” you gasp, your walls clenching around him, pulling him deeper.

“can you believe this?” he chuckles, glancing back at his roommate briefly. “she loves it,” he growls, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust that makes you cry out, your nails digging into the counter for support as waves of pleasure crash over you.

“please,” you manage to whimper, your voice thick with desperation and need. “don’t stop.”

he locks eyes with you in the mirror, the heat of his gaze almost makes you cum. he pulls you closer, forcing you to feel every inch of him. “get out,” he tells geto, his voice low and commanding, without glancing back. his focus is entirely on you, on the way you’re gripping his hand on your stomach, your body quivering with desire.

geto hesitates for just a moment longer, his eyes darting between you two before he finally steps back, the door swinging closed behind him.

“you just got wetter with him watching us, didn’t you?” choso purrs, his voice filled with sinful mischief. “want me to invite him back in here and watch us all night? want him to see just how your greedy cunt grips my cock?”

his words send a shiver down your spine, your pulse racing. “you like that thought, huh?” he teases, leaning in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear. “knowing anyone could walk in and see how good you feel? how desperate you are for me?”

your head spins as the idea and all you can do is nod, overwhelmed by the sensations your head spins as the idea fuels the fire inside you, making your walls clamp down on him even tighter. your breath hitches, heart pounding as your body surrenders completely. all you can do is nod, overwhelmed by the sensations he’s pulling from you. “yes, god, yes.”

“good,” he growls, his voice thick with desire as he picks up the pace, each thrust harder, deeper, your body melting into him. “then let’s give them a show. scream my name when you come.”

the sound of your skin slapping grows louder fills the room, mixing with your desperate moans and the heavy, heated breaths you both share. he drives into you with a relentless rhythm, deeper and faster, pushing you right to the brink.

you can feel yourself unraveling, that familiar tension building higher and higher with each powerful stroke. “choso,” you cry out, your body arching back against him as the pleasure overwhelms you. his one hand moves to your chin tipping your head back so he can lean down and press a messy kiss to your lips. his grip tightens on your hips, holding you in place as you cum around him, your walls squeezing him as you scream his name, just like he wanted.

choso doesn’t stop, though—his pace is unforgiving, his thrusts sharp and deliberate, milking every ounce of your climax. your sensitive body begs for mercy, but at the same time, craves more.

“look at you, falling apart on my cock,” he groans, his breath ragged as he watches your trembling form, mesmerized by how perfectly you take him. “so fucking beautiful when you’re like this. can’t get enough of you.”

your legs quiver, barely able to support yourself as his hands tighten on your waist, keeping you anchored against him his hands snake around your front, one of them sliding down to circle your swollen clit, making your body jolt with the sharp, overwhelming pleasure.

“fuck, that’s it. just like that,” he groans, the sound of his voice rough and strained as your body trembles against him. you’re practically shaking, overwhelmed by how his touch burns into you, his fingers circling your clit with maddening precision. his thrusts become messier, more desperate, and you can feel his need growing by the second. every stroke seems to push him closer to the edge, just as it does you.

the pressure in your core builds again, unbearably fast, and you know you won’t last much longer. choso’s low grunts mix with your whimpers, the obscene sound of his cock sliding in and out of you filling the air. his fingers dig into your skin with every thrust, anchoring you to him as you both spiral out of control.

"choso—" you whimper, the plea spilling from your lips as your vision blurs with the force of your pleasure, your head spinning.

his hips snap forward harshly, each thrust hitting deeper, rougher, and you feel the tension coil impossibly tight inside you. “i can feel you, baby,” he growls, the term of endearment making your heart flutter. “cum for me again. let me feel you, baby.”

and that’s all it takes. your body tightens around him, the rush of your orgasm slamming into you with brutal force. you cry out, his name tumbling from your lips like a broken mantra as you come. your walls flutter and clench around his cock, milking him as he keeps moving, every thrust driving you further into bliss.

choso lets out a choked groan, his pace growing erratic as your cunt squeezes him so perfectly that he can barely hold on. his fingers move faster on your clit, drawing out your release, pushing you past the point of no return.

“so tight, so fucking tight,” he groans, his own release just within reach as he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, black bangs sticking to his forehead, your body trembling and writhing beneath his touch.

with a few more sharp thrusts, choso finally cums. he pulls out quickly, groaning loudly as his white seed spills onto the flesh of your ass, painting your skin in hot, slick ribbons.

for a few long moments, the only sound is your heavy, ragged breathing as you both come down from the euphoria. he presses his forehead to your shoulder, his warm breath ghosting over your skin, and you can feel the slight tremor in his hands as he finally stills inside you.

“you’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice tender, as he kisses the back of your neck gently. but then, a playful smirk spreads across his face, and he leans back slightly, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

“now,” he whispers teasingly, “we do it without all these clothes and interruptions.” he effortlessly scoops you up over his shoulder, a playful squeal escaping your lips as you bury your face into his neck. he steps out into the hallway, the crowd of people glancing at you both, and you can’t help but hide your face deeper into his warm skin as his heat rises to your cheeks.

he chuckles in return, the sound deep and rich, echoing against your ear. “don’t be shy now,” he teases.

an. kinda demotivated but i hope this is still readable and enjoyable! this may or may not be a prequel to another fic on the kinktober masterlist 🤭. more kinktober fics -> here! ⸝⸝ reblogs, likes & comments are appreciated

[bunnyrafe]

continuation / part two to this post

“can’t believe i finally get to do this.”

rafe mumbles against your skin— his grip on you is almost painful when he presses your chest to his, but it only makes you want him more whilst you’re sat in his lap all pretty. you can feel his bulge in his jeans, rubbing up on your cunt through your panties and making your heavy head dizzy. but no matter how worked up you already are, the hand at the back of your neck is firm and holds you there, so he can see your eyes become hazier and your lashes flutter in bliss. everything he imagined & more.

in the limited amount of time you’ve known him, he’s been nothing but sweet. a little needy even. he’s a gentleman; he promised your trip to see him would be worth it. showed up to your hotel room with a gorgeous arrangement of flowers, took you out to a nice dinner with a view, surprised you with some custom lingerie as he promised in your messages to really have you weak for him.

maybe that’s why you let him sweep you away so early… maybe it’s why you two are messing around without any cameras.

a chemistry test is always a good idea you suppose.

“you’re gonna be a good girl f’me, right?” his words are cooed, “spoiled the hell out of you, it’s the least you can do.”

“yeah…” you sigh out in reply, growing more dumb by the second.

and you’re not entirely sure how it all happens, so caught up in kissing and grinding that you barely register the moments that lead up to you ending up on your back. dress bunched all the way up around your waist and your messy panties pulled to the side so rafe can slide his thick cock right in your drooling cunt that he thinks is the cutest thing he’s ever seen—

“slipped in so easy, sweetheart,” he grunts out, feeling the head of his cock kiss your cervix juuust right, fucking a mewl directly out of you, “knew you were fuckin’ made for me.”

you claw at his forearms. your manicured nails dig into his suntanned skin until they leave behind indents that he’d proudly wear any day. his name falls off of your tongue, and he leans down to kiss you in such a way that you never would expect from one of your costars. so much passion and something bordering on love. it’s messy and lewd and it makes your pussy tighten up around him which he thought was impossible with how snug you already are— his chest vibrates with a groan, and you look up at him with starry eyes and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth.

it hits you then... you think you’ll have to extend your trip. for strictly business purposes, of course.

[depresssant]

Shades Of Cool

NEGLECTFUL!PLATONIC!YAN!batfam x GN!reader

synopsis : growing up with a shit mom and constant step-dads and mom's boyfriends, your view on life has grown pretty bleak. you just want to die, since it doesn't seem to get better than this. things can't get any worse, can they?

so reader is very flawed ppl. i’m trying to make this as gn as possible for pls bear with me. asks and requests r open. reblogs are also much appreciated. now that i’ve gotten my e-begging out of the way, enjoy this pathetic excuse of a story

warnings : child abuse, past sexual abuse, yandere, etc

you want to die.

you always do.

staring at the wanna be thug pointing a gun at you, you sigh and roll your eyes in exasperation. perhaps pissing him off will the best way to get him to curl a finger around the trigger. or judging by his temperament, you won't have to do much.

"you? i should give my money to you?"

"who the fuck do you think you are, bitch?" the thug screams at you angrily. his grip gets tighter and clammier. he's not experienced with this. he's probably ganged up with a bunch of thugs to pull shit like this. it wouldn't take much to disarm him. "give me the fucking money before i blow your head off!"

"to a junkie like you?" you are a junkie, too, so you're not too sure about making fun of him for that. "i don't give money to hobos."

that is wrong, too. but you want to piss him off.

"that's it, you stupid bitch!" the thug's stances becomes defensive. his hateful glare is pointed at you while he musters the courage to actually press the trigger. he doesn't look like he'll do it. you've seen countless like him roaming the streets, holding you at gunpoint. he probably won't do it. then again, this is gotham. you don't expect much. either he'll shoot you dead, forcibly take your stuff, flee the scene out of fear, or be dismantled by one of the city's vigilantes. perhaps he'd shoo—

"stop right there!"

damn it.

you think too soon.

a young robin is quick to have the wanna be thug tied up and beat down. you would've questioned why a kid who seemingly looked twelve can do such a thing, but you've learned to not question most things in your life. you merely sigh in disappoint and pick up your dropped backpack before beginning the journey to hell.

"excuse me? wait! where are you headed?"

gosh, his boy-ish voice grates your nerves. makes you clench your teeth. your gaze narrows, but you know better than to react. reaction gains a reaction—one that will never be in your favor. it'll lead to a fight—one that will never be in your favor. you'll end up broken, bleeding, and bruised. now that isn't something in your favor. now you're thinking of favor too much. forcing a smile, you turn around to face the pre-teen vigilante. "yes?"

"are you alright?" he asks with practiced concern. he doesn't actually care. it's probably just protocol.

"a-okay!" the words are hollow. they lack depth. like you. "thank you for your help. i don't know what would've happened to me if you weren't there."

you do know. you wish you wouldn't.

"you're welcome," robin replies with polished words like he's not exactly convinced. "would you like for me to walk you? the city hasn't been safe for some time now."

"when is it ever safe? but that's okay. i live just around the corner, so i think i'll be fine."

"are you sure—"

"completely."

please. why won't he just leave you alone? there goes your plan spoiled by him again. every time you've been in an attempted robbing, he's been there to destroy your chances of getting shot. of escaping. he always does this. this is a repeated cycle between the two of you. he's a flying bird until you shoot him down. your name clearly wants to escape from his lips, but robin nods his head in understanding.

"this seems to happen to you all the time. my wish is for you to be safe."

"this is gotham." the grip on the straps on your backpack tighten. "everyone's gotta go through this. anyways, i gotta go, you know. thanks for savin' me."

"of course."

you don't spare him a single glance. the sky is wrapped up in black clouds heavy with the burden of rain. icy cold wind sings a melancholy tune through the stiff air. the door to your apartment looks like the gates of hell. it's all futile. no matter how many sighs you sigh, how many wishes you wish, and how many curses you curse, you'll still land up in the same fate. without escape.

that is the summary of your life.

taking a few seconds to prepare yourself for the incoming session, you open the door to be met with radio silence. silence is never good. half the time, it means something is brewing for you, and they're taking their sweet time to scare you into thinking nothing will happen. sometimes. not all the time. the other time, it just means he need to rise from his pile of misery first.

the hand of your mother's boyfriend is instantly wrapped around your neck before you can even register why the hell the apartment looks like a tornado hit it. he squeezes so tightly you feel like blood is gushing out of your ears with how loudly they ring. white spots dot along your blurry sight as you struggle to breathe. you can hear a frantic voice telling him to let you go, but you're pushed up more against the wall. this is the norm. doesn't mean it hurts any less. he'll let you go, give you some time to regain your breath, and then rain down bullets upon you.

that's exactly what happens.

your hand goes straight to your neck as your raspy and shaky coughs wreck your chest. he squeezes hard enough for it to hurt but it not show. and then the kicks and punches come. with how much your chest and ribs are struck, you're a bit surprised at how you haven't broken a bone yet. your potential step-father screams at you, but you can barely hear it over the repetition of words in your head. he grabs your bloody face and shout something incoherent before letting you go to kick you.

leaving you in your own pile of misery.

it's normal. yes, it's completely normal. you're used to this. it'll get better. it always does. but you've got the crushing idea it never will.

gotham heights high school—the school you're forced to attend.

the class division is insane to look at, because it's there even from a short and near prospective. how the richest kids got put in a school with the poorest—you'll never know. the only thing you do know is that every one of these kids are pieces of shit. even the ones that pretend to be nice.

tim drake—or shall you say tim wayne—is no different.

even as he helps up the girl who just got roughly pushed to the floor, causing all her textbooks to scatter, you can only eye him with disdain. if he really cares, then he would've beat the shit out of those athletes. but he doesn't. they're all the same—privileged and all. sympathy shouldn't be given to them. not to drake or the wealthy yet somehow bullied girl.

"but y'know what i heard?" your friend drags your attention back to him. zarian leans against a locker lazily, but excitement practically buzzes off of him. "the bruce wayne is coming to our track meet today!"

your other friend, jaylene, rolls her eyes as she applies her eyeliner using the mirror hanging up on the inside door of her locker. she speaks exactly what you're thinking. "only because his beloved son is gonna be there."

"well, still. think about the connections we can make! all the famous people that'll be there."

"keep dreaming. asshat. i put all my money on the attention being on rich the kid. i don't even know why he joined track. varsity, at that, too. there has to be some sort of bribery going on."

an incoming argument is clearly brewing up, so you take in a deep breath to say something, but a new voice beats you to it.

"excuse me?"

you and your two friends turn to face the guy standing in front of you. charismatic, intelligent,  and optimistic—he's an enigma that shines on everyone. tim drake. his black, messy yet somehow in place hair does no justice for his good looks. he's the complete package. rich, good looking, tall, and empathetic. the mere sight of him annoys you.

zarian is the first to speak up. he quirks a brow and offers tim a grin. "what's up, man?"

"you're leaning against my locker." tim rubs the back of his neck. he smiles awkwardly in the presence of the three of you, and it takes your friend a beat to understand what he's saying before moving away.

"oh yeah. my fault," he says as he moved to stand next to you.

the school's very own bruce wayne only shakes his head and tells him it's okay while opening his locker and grabbing a few things. people flock around, waiting for him to be done with whatever the hell he's doing, so they can be back to his side like leeches sucking on blood. he surely can't be this dumb, no? these people don't want to be his friend...

well, it's not as if it's your problem. you wish it is. you and your friends turn to make way to first period, but drake clearly has other plans. he sandwiches himself between you and zarian with a grin of his own plastered on an unblemished face. one carefree of any worry or pain. "so," tim begins. "first track meet of the year, huh? aren't you guys nervous?"

jaylene merely hums in amusement and shrugs. "it gets better. when you've spent four years in track—in front of all those judging people—it wears off. hopefully, you'll get used to it soon."

that is jab, though, rich the kid doesn't seem to catch on. he laughs casually, but even you can sense the anxiety like it was radioactive. ""i hope so. i've sprinted so much i feel like i'll get shin splits again."

you zone out while he has a conversation with your friends. as if drake has ever had experience with track. it took you all of freshman year to just prove that you can actually be a part of the track team, and here tim drake is, parading around about getting on varsity without a single grain of hard work. he's a naturally talented person. good at everything. that's what makes you hate him so much. people like him get everything handed to them just because they're good at it first hand and leave behind people that actually work for it. you want to tell him to buzz off—that he can't talk about how much he's practiced and how nervous he is, but you keep your mouth shut. that is, until he directly addresses you.

tim's eyes narrow at you with comedic suspicion. "you know, you look like someone i know. a lot. the resemblance is crazy."

"eight billion people out there. you never know." your tone is flat, stoic, lacking any bit of emotion.

"gosh, you even sound like him! that's really terrifying."

"well, whoever, it is, i hope i never meet him," you murmur.

your two friends leave for their classes soon, and you and drake find your seats at the back of high school economics. exhaustingly so, you sit together in one of the many desk pairs, and drake uses this opportunity to annoy you any chance he gets. you give off the vibe that you don't want to talk to him. he doesn't get the hint. you don't tell him, though. maybe that's the problems. his shit-eating grin ticks you off when you look in his direction. "what?"

"let's be friends!"

"no."

"what? come on! don't be so cold!" he whines like a petulant child being told no.

"no."

"too bad! you're my friend now."

"tim," you sigh. it's wrong to scream. it's bad to scream. screaming leads to fights. fights lead to you laying in a pool of your own blood. laying in blood leads to missing practice. missing practice leads to less skill. less skill leads to less of a chance of getting the hell out of here. just smile. forgive and forget. know your persona. know who you are. kind. happy. funny. "fine." so you smile with gritted teeth. you smile like you played a cruel joke on him. "we can be friends... i guess."

his face brightens at your fake words like he is just given the the world.

tim drake wiggles his eyebrows playfully and nudges you with his elbow. "you know, i've been trying to get you to say that since school started?"

"really now?"

"really. i'm glad we're going to be friends. oh! should we go out to eat with zarian and jaylene after the meet?"

... there's a chance your mom's boyfriend will get pissed off. he'll probably beat the shit out of you since the track meet would have happened, and you wouldn't need to have an unblemished body for meets. he'd scream, yell, and punch... like his life depended on it... fuck it.

"yeah," you reply shortly after with a firm nod of your head. "we can go to this diner near the theater. i'm sure you'll love the food."

this doesn't mean you hate him any less. he's still rich scum⏤how you're poor scum. he's stuck up, pretentious, and sickeningly sweet. exactly what you hate. you just hope you can have a good time after the track meet. the mischievous glint in his eyes told you otherwise.

"and this is my dad, bruce wayne."

what the hell are you doing?

the sun is setting along the horizon, the air is getting cooler again, and you want to sink into the floor. the plan was to head straight to the diner after this, but rich the kid somehow roped you into meeting his dad?

nausea pools in your stomach from both hunger and the feeling of thousands of eyes staring at you. cameras are flashing at gotham's billionaire as he smiles and firmly shakes your hand. confidence drips off of him disgustingly. his high-tailored suit radiates wealth and money. his stoic demeanor gives off an aura of mystery. you want to lay on a railroad track with an incoming train speeding along the way.

"it's nice to meet you. tim has ranted about his track teammates quite a lot."

there's an eleven year old standing next to him. his eyes are on you like that of an owl's but you neither glance at him or bother to acknowledge him. you just want to eat some food before meeting your doom at that apartment for not placing first like your mom's boyfriend wanted you to. like a goat getting stuffed before slaughter. it always leads down to that. no matter how many times you try to wish it was different. no matter how many times you imagine it to be different. no matter how many times you try to make it different.

"nice to meet you too." you shake his hand as well with a polite smile on your face. polite. calm. gentle. proper. "and yeah, he seems very eager to be on the team."

"of course, of course. well, it is getting late. why don't you come over for dinner some time?"

"maybe tonight?" tim suddenly adds in. at your hesitant expression, he groans in exasperation. "who do you think we are? blood-sucking bats? come on, we can go to the diner some other time!"

you have just met him... you've just accepted being his friend... you aren't the most social person. you've never had much friends, but even you can understand that dinner with the family doesn't happen until the friend and person have come close in a long period of time. jaylene and zarian have other matters to tend to, so it's going to be just you and tim at a diner. not⏤

ding!

your phone's notification's alarm chimes, and when you check who has sent you a message, you feel like getting on the ground to pray to whatever deity for letting you have a moment of peace.

mom: ⏤he's heavily drunk. don't come home.

a part of you is hit with a strong current full of guilt. this is your mother. you're supposed to be there for her through thick and thin. you're supposed to protect her and be her wall of defense against monsters like him. family look out for each other. you have to take care of her... but she doesn't take care of you. this makes you a terrible person. you know that. she'll probably get beaten to an inch of her life and hide her heavy bruises under makeup that was terribly done in a rush. and then, she'll throw whatever object is in sight at you in a fury of anger.

telling you she made too many sacrifices for you. telling you that you're ruined her life. telling you that she should've aborted you like your father had told her to. telling you exactly what you believe yourself. a curse that should've never been born... she'll be beaten within an inch of her life. but you have already lost yours.

after pretending to text her and sliding your phone into the pocket of your sweatpants, you nod with a sigh of joking resignation. "sure. i asked my mom, and she said it's okay."

"wonderful." mr. wayne nods and gestures to the limo you can see in the parking lot. a bit of overkill, perhaps.

honestly, you're still surprised that gotham's billionaire is inviting you to dinner. this man is the topic of magazines, and you're about to take a ride in his limo. how the hell have you ended up in a situation like this? fate is still fucking with you, isn't it?

you find yourself seated next to tim while mr. wayne and his youngest son, damian, sit on the seats to your right. they're talking about something, but once again, you find yourself half listening and zoning out, staring at nothing until mr. wayne's questions pulls you back to reality.

"so how has school been faring for you?" mr. wayne asks in a cool and collected tone.

you laugh lightly and smile as politely as ever. "pretty good. i hope to leave gotham after graduation to study somewhere else."

"who would want to stay in gotham?" tim rolled his eyes, rolling the first place medal between his fingers. "by the way, remember when i said you looked like someone i know? i was talking about my dad?"

your brows rise in both exasperation and annoyance at his claims. now he's just plain, out right trying to make fun of you in front of a billionaire. your shoulders tense, ready to refute his claims, but mr. wayne surprisingly chuckles and rubs his chin while taking a good look at your face. "well, i can see it, but there's eight billion people out there in the world. i'm bound to look like someone. though, i didn't expect for it to be someone as talented as [name] here."

you force a quiet laugh along at the sound of his tone. foreboding. you know tones like this. like he's hiding something that they all know except for you. it means you've made a mistake in even giving in to tim drake's constant begging. why the hell was he so eager to have you become his friend? why is he so eager to maintain a friendship with you? why the hell has mr. wayne invited you to dinner when he's rumored to be mysterious, secretive, and a literal brick wall that nobody can get past?

"you've achieved so much for a child your age." mr. wayne sets his gaze dead on you. "your father must be so proud."

and his eyes glimmer with that same shine you saw in tim's.

ewwww

this was not proofread so forgive me and uh, i will be turning this into a series

um also making a tag list if anyone wants to be a part of it