#the hand on the wheel still makes my wrists hurt

[simpingforcys]

You are so strong for sticking with candy in his flop era(horrible speedstorm model)

LISTEN HE LOOKS SO UNCANNEY BUT HE MAKES UP FOR IT WITH THAT SIZE

THEY LEGIT STILL RIPPED OFF HIS DEFAULT PNG POSE HE NEVER USES IN THE MOVIE ANYWAY WHAT CAN YOU EXPECT, ITS A PAY TO PLAY.

“The fee to compete is one gold coin! And your rendering!”

They brought him back from the dead but at what cost

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 3

part 1 | part 2

(tw: guns, accidental death)

Robin’s already in full panic mode by the time Steve pulls up to her place, flinging the passenger door open and throwing herself into the car with so much force that the car bounces on its wheels a little. “Drive!!”

“Jesus Christ, good morning to you, too.”

“Steve!”

Steve starts to drive.

Beside him, Robin flips the visor down to look at her reflection; groans and scrubs her hands down her face in misery at whatever she sees. Steve doesn’t really get it. He thinks she looks beautiful, with her hair gently moving in the breeze from the open window, with her freckles lit up by the early morning sun.

“Ugh,” she says, turning to look at him, “I can’t believe I look like a zombie and you’re gonna make me late to the first day of school.”

“Wow.” Fuckin’ ingrate. And when he was just being so nice to her in his head. “How about a thank you, huh? ‘Thanks for picking me up, Steve. Thanks for bringing my backpack, Steve. Sorry you almost got shanked by your neighbor, Steve.’”

“You what???”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Um, yes it very much does matter, what the—”

“—I’m just saying, a little gratitude? Wouldn’t hurt you.”

He licks at the corner of his mouth, spritzes wiper fluid to clear the bugs off the windshield. Robin’s eyes are bulging out of her head, but he really doesn’t want to talk about how he still feels the ghost press of steel against his throat, so: “You’re not even right, by the way; I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

“Huh?”

“School started yesterday. I’m making you late for the second day of school.”

“Yesss,” she draws the word out like he’s stupid, rolling her wrist in a hurry up and get it motion, “but everyone knows that syllabus day doesn’t count. The first pep rally is the real first day of school.”

Ah, there it is.

Steve steals another peek at his best friend while they’re on a straightaway, notes the nervous twitch of her hands as she goes back to fussing at her reflection; the way she’s clumping her lashes together with seven coats too many of some drugstore brand mascara. She’s wearing lipstick. “This is about Vick—”

“—Don’t talk about—”

“—It’s about Vickie, isn’t it?”

“Ughhhhh.” Robin folds forward and thunks her head against the dash. “Fine, okay? Fine! Yes! This may have something to do with a distressingly cute fellow marching band member. Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Oooh, big word for you, Steven.” She swats him on the shoulder, face all twisted up in offense. “Stop laughing!”

“Stop hitting me,” he laughs. “I’ll dump your ass out on this highway.”

She gasps and narrows her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Steve eases his foot onto the brake.

“Okay, okay! Mercy! I’m being an asshole, alright? I’m sorry. I’m just— I’m stressed! Being gay is very stressful.”

The knife incident pops back into his mind. “Yeah,” he mutters, “I imagine it is.”

—

He catches himself slouching down into his seat a bit when they pull up to the school. Has to force himself to sit upright, hears his mother’s tutting in his ear about bad posture and the message it projects to the world.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed to be here; really, he isn’t. He’s just hoping to avoid being spotted by the nuggets now that they go here, too, lest he be accosted for evading his chauffeur duties.

God.

Dustin’s nerd shit is infecting his brain.

Robin grabs her bag out of the back seat, plants a parting peck on Steve’s cheek as she gets out of the car. “See you later?”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up for work.”

“Love you, dingus.”

And then he’s alone again.

With Robin gone, Steve finds himself driving. Wandering and aimless, like a ghost who doesn’t know he’s gone. It’s not like he has nothing to do — he’s supposed to be out finding a second job, finding a way to support himself and his mom, because he’s the man of the house now. Because his life has turned into one of those shitty, overcomplicated word problems from math class.

If a recently widowed mother works no hours and her minimum-wage son works as many as Family Video will allow, how much mold-riddled dogshit housing can they afford?

Not much.

Inevitably, he finds himself circling the scorched bones of Starcourt, driving tired loops around the barbed wire perimeter. His ghost likes to guide him here; can’t shake the place where he shook off the mortal coil.

He didn’t know it at the time, but Steve Harrington died the day the mall burned down. Embarrassing, to not hear the death knell as his family name went up in smoke.

It was hard to hear much at all that night, between the concussion and the fireworks and the shrieking of a monster being torn apart, but the memory caresses his mind now in cruel whispers: the headrush of victory; the blood and the sweat; the relief that they’d won, they’d done it, it’s over, they won.

Steve tugs at his bad ear ‘til the ringing subsides.

Some fucking grand prize.

The thing is, you can’t go around exploding an eldritch horror without alerting the US government, and the US government can’t go around letting major investors in a hostile commie invasion keep their assets once they find out about their treasonous schemes. It happened fast: the arrest, the bail, the impending trial and the seizure of property. Richard Harrington was once a small town god on an invisible throne, making deals with devils in shadowy boardrooms, and suddenly he was looking at life in a cell.

Maybe it was a blessing he died before his reckoning was due. Maybe it was no accident at all.

The second, and perhaps more important, thing is: stray bullets don’t care about your looming court date.

Dad had a habit of cleaning his guns while he was drunk, nursing a whiskey in one hand while he polished the gleaming barrels with the other. Pointless, really, because the guns were always pristine to begin with. Dick Harrington didn’t hunt. Didn’t shoot. Claimed the pistol was for home defense, that he kept it loaded in case anyone ever tried to hurt his family, but Steve knew the truth.

His dad just liked to flirt with death. Liked to handle pretty, deadly things, stroke his fingers over ruthless metal and feel the rush of power when he walked away unscathed.

He didn’t walk away that night.

Didn’t even face death standing.

Sliced through his femoral artery and rolled right out of his chair.

They found him lying on the ground in a dark, sticky puddle, gasping like a fish as blood spurted from his thigh. Crazy how fast it happened. Steve had been in his room when the shot rang out, and he barely managed to reach the bottom of the stairs before the gurgling noises stopped. Just boom! whizz! bang! and Dick Harrington was gone.

Maybe it’s a good thing, too, that they lost the house.

The image of his mother in the hallway that night — shellshocked in the doorway, one pale hand shaking in front of her open mouth, features wide and wet with waking horror as she stared into the room — was enough to make him never want to step foot in the place again.

So now they live in a rundown piece of shit on the wrong side of town, with hideous burnt orange carpet and wood paneled walls, with cracks in the ceiling and cigarette burns in the walls, some parting gifts from whatever feral hick lived there before them, and it feels like another cruel, cosmic joke. Like the universe is delighting in the Harringtons’ comeuppance; like the blackened beams and brick rubble of Starcourt are all twisting to form one great, mocking mouth; the better to smile and laugh at their misfortune.

You bought your bed, now you have to lie in it.

He didn’t even know that the Harringtons owned Forest Hills until it was the only asset left to their name.

He’s pretty sure his dad bought it more as a joke than a genuine investment. Meant to teach Steve a lesson, like how he used to bring home Waffle House applications whenever Steve got a C on a report card. This is your future if you don’t straighten up, son.

Kill yourself, dad.

Oh, wait.

You already did.

—

part 4

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Too Hot To Argue

masterlist

summary: dean’s mad you were reckless during a hunt, but your lips just look so damn kissable!

paring: dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 1.1k

warnings: just funny fluff really, language, talk of sex, mention of death/injury

The ride back home to the bunker was awkward to say the least. Dean was furious at you, but you didn’t understand why. You had saved his life a mere two hours ago! He should be grateful!

“Want any music?” Sam asked, hoping to break the tension. He turned on the radio but Dean instantly shut it off.

“No music,” he grumbled, Sam rolling his eyes and letting out a frustrated huff.

“You understand this is fucking stupid, right?” Sam laughed a little.

“Thank you!” you chipped in.

“Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts their fucking pie holes!” Dean exclaimed, his grip on the wheel tightening with anger.

“It’s cake hole, dumbass,” you muttered.

“What’d you say?” Dean whipped his head around as Sam reached for the wheel.

“Eyes on the road, this shotgun is precious cargo!” Sam exclaimed.

“Y/n what you did was stupid and dangerous.” Dean turned back around and focused on the road. “You will sit back there quietly and really think about just how fucking stupid it was.”

“Stupid?” you scoffed. “Fuck you, Dean, I just saved your life and this is how you repay me?”

“I said shut your god damn mouth before I stop the fucking car and make you walk home!” he shouted.

You didn’t dare say anything else. You knew he was bluffing, but he was furious; so there was a small possibility he’d stop the car and walk home himself just to get away from you.

Sam awkwardly glanced at you in the rear view mirror, a compassionate look behind his stoic face. Every so often, Dean looked at you through the same mirror, just to be sure you were still alive and your stupid move back there hadn’t gotten you killed.

When Dean parked Baby in the garage and you all stepped out, he gripped your upper arm gently and pulled you with him to your shared bedroom.

“If you wanted to have angry sex, all you had to do was ask.” You smirked, but your expression changed when you saw his face. He was still angry. Furious, outraged, all the synonyms.

“Y/n I am so unbelievably mad at you right now stop trying to weasel out of having this very serious fight!”

“Dean-”

“No!” He pointed a finger at you. “What you did back there was stupid, reckless, and downright idiotic! You could’ve been killed trying to stop me from getting barely injured!”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not gonna apologize, Dean. What I did was make a quick decision about risking my own life to save yours. I didn’t even end up getting hurt for fucks sake! Calm down!”

“You don’t even see what you did was wrong!” he yelled. He put his hands in front of him and tried emphasizing his point. “You could’ve fucking died back there and it would’ve been my fucking fault!”

“No, if I died it would’ve been one-hundred-percent my own fault, Dean. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know that now, but if things had gone differently you know damn well I would’ve blamed myself!” he said, his voice still raised and his hands in front of his chest, his palms facing you.

“Can you stop doing that with your fucking hands, please?” you exclaimed with anger.

“The hell are you talking about? I’m not doing anything with my hands?”

You gripped both of his wrists and brought his hands about six inches forward, colliding them with your boobs. His angered expression instantly became one of pure shock.

“When you put your hands like that all I can think about is what you’re doing right now,” you told him. You shoved his hands off of your chest. “Put them behind your back or something.”

He put his hands behind his back, “That’s not fair,” he scoffed.

“Why not?”

“Well cause when you pout your lips all angrily all I can think about is this!” He bent down and kissed you, pulling back after a moment. “Now keep those gorgeous lips between your teeth or something so I can stay mad at you!” You did as he asked and sucked your lips in to form a thin line.

“Your lips are kissable too you know,” you said, distorted due to the fact you couldn’t use your lips properly. “You have to do this too!”

He mirrored your expression and sucked his lips in. “Stop sticking your chest out!”

“I’m not!”

“Yes you are! Whenever you’re angry you puff out your chest and it makes your tits look incredible so just turn around so I can’t see them!”

You rolled your eyes and turned around. “Happy?” you scoffed.

“No, I’m still fucking mad at you!” he exclaimed.

“Yeah, this isn’t working for me cause now all I can think of is you fucking me from behind. Turn around and keep yelling at me for being a good person and saving your god damn life!”

He turned around, “You were being stupid, Y/n and you know that!” There was a moment of silence.

“You know your hands are now brushing my ass?” you asked quietly.

“Yeah, I know.” He smiled to himself. “God, we’re both idiots, aren’t we?”

“You’re just realizing this now?” you laughed a little. “We really are stupid though. I mean here we are fighting because I was reckless, and we’re so hot for each other we have to argue back-to-back?”

“Ah-ha! So you admit you were being reckless!” Dean said, you rolled your eyes.

“Yes, Dean and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being reckless, but I am not sorry for risking my life to save you.”

“Y/n-”

“Dean, if you had gotten killed and I could’ve saved you, I would've never forgiven myself. I would die for you any day of the week, you know that.”

“Can I turn around now?”

“You sure you want to? You’re still touching my ass,” you chuckled.

Dean turned around as you did the same. He pulled you into his chest and wrapped his arms around you tightly.

“I love you so much, Y/n,” he mumbled.

“I love you so much, too.” You smiled and wrapped your arms around his torso. “You can put your hands a little lower, Dean I know you want to.” He didn’t waste a second and moved his hands to rest on your ass.

“You’re incredible, Y/n. Thanks for putting up with all my stupidity over the years.”

“You too, Dean. Thanks for mirroring my stupidity enough so I don’t feel like a complete idiot.”

“You’re very welcome.”

[abbyromanoff]

can i request little reader and mommy wanda, and they go to a park and little misbehaves and acts like a brat and gets a punishment for being a brat (this is the longest red light ever)

…HATE ME?

PAIRINGS: Wanda Maximoff x reader

WORD COUNT: 1065

WARNINGS: angst, little reader, mommy!Wanda, silent treatments, Wanda feels down because of R, R also feels down bc of Wanda, not spell checked tbh, think that’s abt it :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

Your lip jittered as you whimpered, your pleads going silenced to the older woman. She sat on the couch with a book in her hands, her reading glasses perched on her nose as she flipped each page without digesting it entirely, but you didn’t need to know that.

“Mommy, ‘m sorry!” You felt tears pooling at your eyes and huddled your stuffie closer to your chest before rushing upstairs to your room. You closed the door behind you and removed every blanket and pillow from her side of the bed before placing your stuffed animals in the now unoccupied area. It was a rule of hers to not have toys on the bed, and if you did, it was only one or two that you slept with alongside her. Other than that, they were saved for play time only.

You huffed angrily and closed your eyes, intending on falling asleep until that came to a short fail. You couldn’t stop recalling the previous activities that led to this moment that had guilt gnawing at your heart.

“Baby, not today, okay? It’s too chilly for ice cream right now, and you’re already freezing!” She exclaimed her words with a rub to your arms that filled with goosebumps from the chilled wind. You glared at her after your pleading eyes did not work the way you wished, and she exaggerated a pout in return.

“That’s not fair! I wan’ ice cream!” Your hands balled into fists and your nostrils flared, your angered expression making Wanda audibly aww.

“My little cutie! Why don’t we just head home, lay down, watch a movie.” She dragged out, hoping it would bring back your excitement and tempt you into giving up.

“No, I don’ wanna go home until I have ice cream!” She sighed, annoyed that her suggestion did not work and you were still upset.

“Look, I said no ice cream, alright? Just be a good girl and listen to mommy, yeah?” She knew you always fell for the title, but there was something so strong about this truck that was now leaving that had it blanking your mind.

“No fair! I hate you, mommy!” You saw her facial expressions shift as her eyes widened with slight red behind them. You felt the hand that had been holding your wrist tighten, and her head titled to the side menacingly.

“You want to repeat that word for me?” You had come to realize your mistake and cowered down, gulping as you struggled to form a coherent sentence or thought.

“I…I didn’ mean it-“

“You didn’t mean it? So you didn’t mean to say you oh so proudly just how much you hate me? You said it, didn’t you? Fucking shit,” She mumbled the curses under her breath. “And here I thought I had trained my little girl well.”

“No, you did, mommy! I swear, you did! I didn’t mean to say it, I really, really didn’t.” She shook her head disapprovingly, guiding you to the car quickly as you struggled to follow behind her.

“Hurts, mommy.” You mumbled in hopes she’d listen, but that came to a quick end when you were pushed into the backseat.

“I’m sorry, mommy, I really didn’t mean it.” She ignored you the rest of the ride, her fingers tapping on the steering wheel and slightly filling the tense silence. You knew you were done for when you got home.

You heard the door close behind the woman as you refused to turn and look at her, knowing deep down it was all you wished for. You squeezed your eyes even tighter and pretended to be asleep, although Wanda knew you weren’t. She walked to the closet and sorted through a selection of clothes aimlessly.

“Mommy?” You eventually gave in, and Wanda did not turn to look in your direction.

“Please stop ignoring me! It’s hurtin’ my feelings,” You chewed your lip and rubbed your legs together for the warmth she did not supply.

“Oh, it hurts your feelings?” She asked, and that was the first time she had spoken in what felt like years. You sat up now, bringing your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them.

“Mhm.”

“Because it really hurt mommy’s feelings when you said you hated her, but that doesn’t matter?” You looked down in shame and she hummed, now stepping out of the small room and walking closer to your proximity.

“Now, I know you were upset that you weren’t getting what you wanted, but that gives you absolutely no right to be mean and say such horrible things to mommy.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” You spoke lowly, your voice full of shame. She crossed her arms over her chest and placed a knee on the bed that was filled with your toys, but she didn’t seem to notice or care at the moment.

“I know you are, but that doesn’t change what you did.” You shook your head in agreement with her words.

“I- I was upset and I really wanted ice cream but I was really, really mean to mommy and I didn’t mean to, and ‘m really, really, really sorry.” She didn’t respond and you worried she didn’t forgive you. You were about to plead her once more before she stood and began walking to your side of the bed where you sat so anguished. She then placed herself in front of you and put her hands on your knees before leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead.

“I know you are, baby.”

“You forgive me?”

“Not exactly, but I’m not mad at you anymore.” A smile began to grow on your face and she pinched your cheeks at the sight.

“Does that mean you won’ ignore me now?”

“I won’t ignore you anymore, my love.”

“And does that mean we can have ice crea-“

“Woah, woah, woah, I think we’re getting a bit too far now.” You giggled and she followed before scooting your stuffies to the side and making space for her own body to fit. She pulled you in closer and placed a kiss on your lips this time, sighing into it as she wrapped her arm around your body. She knew you could never hate her, and she knew she could never hate moments like this even if it meant she had to live out what led to it.

[revelboo]

Hello, sorry if I'm being annoying. But I’d love to see something with IDW Ratchet or Tarn if you could write anything with them—especially Ratchet. I just don’t see enough good stories about him. I really enjoy your writing style and can’t get enough of it. Sorry for any mistakes; English isn’t my first language.

Sure, I’ve been meaning to do an IDW Ratchet. Tarn’s on my list, too, but he and Ratchet will likely be the last new characters for a while. I’m currently over 30 ongoing storylines at this point 😅

Feel Like Rain

IDW Ratchet x Reader

• Sometimes it’s all too much. Even with First Aid helping, there’s just not enough medics in the Ark to support so many Autobots. Wheeljack and Perceptor can help if push comes to shove, but even then once the fighting begins again it won’t be enough. He’s never enough. And when he can’t get his processor right, when it threatens to drown him, he goes driving in his alt mode. Feels the sun baking him, the sand and hot asphalt under his tires. No real destination in mind, just trying to calm the panic that’s always there, the worry about what might happen. Driving for hours sometimes in a widening spiral about the Ark. Never going too far in case he’s needed. As he turns, he almost misses the car down in a crevice, only part of the bumper still visible, emergency lights flashing. Not his problem, but he’s still slowing anyway. Because he’s still a medic and someone might be hurt.

• Transforming and sliding down next to the car, he lays a hand on the roof feeling the heat of the metal and knowing it’s been there a while. Leaning to look inside anyway, there’s a human slumped forward against the wheel, broken glass glittering in their hair. Unmoving. Too late, then. Spark constricting, he’s turning away, pushing off the car to make the metal groan, when their little fingers flex and you make a low, guttural noise of pain that freezes him.

• It takes time to carefully peel back the roof of the car, snap the seatbelt and pull the door off to remove you. Feeling how hot your skin is against his servos as he lifts your limp form. Your eyes never open but you mumble incoherently, broken fragments he can’t make sense of. That make him wonder just how long you’ve been here, trapped and waiting to die. Because there’s no leaving you now that he has you in his hands. Carefully transforming around you to carry back to the Ark.

• Wheeljack’s in Medbay when he returns, digging through his tools and looking up guiltily, vocal indicators flickering green before he notices the human. “Haven’t seen that one before. Looks rough,” Wheeljack murmurs, moving closer as Ratchet lays you on a berth, your tiny form looking even smaller in the bot sized space. He’s almost absurdly glad Wheeljack’s there. Even though he’s been trying to brush up on human medicine since there’s so many of them now in the Ark, he doesn’t know nearly enough. Doesn’t know how to help you, but Wheeljack has a human. He has to know something.

• Snatching a scanner to run over you, he frowns at the results. Wrist and arm broken, one leg fractured. Body temperature well outside of normal parameters, dehydrated. Blood pressure off from normal, too. And he doesn’t know enough to know which problem is a priority. Which will kill you if he doesn’t fix it first. “Get your human,” he says softly. Temperature? It’s a place to start, cooling you off. “Now, Wheeljack,” he adds without looking up when the other bot doesn’t immediately move. Using a servo to brush your hair from your face, he can see the glass glittering on your skin and in your hair. “You held on this long.”

Next

[rhadamanthes]

Passenger princess. Bodyguard!Sukuna x reader

word count: 1,6k

warnings: reader is a brat, so brat taming, hate sex, rough sex, no prep, biting, fingering, car sex, squirting , lot of spanks, one (1) face slap, hair pulling.

"I don’t care that it’s getting late. I'm a grown woman. If I want to spend the night outside I do! » you yell in the receiver.

« Let me make this simpler If your not home in an hour I'm cutting you off and you can go find a job » Your dad counters

You gasp in shock at his word, your free hand comes to your chest in surprise. You never worked a single day in your life and you don't intend to. Guess an early night never killed anyone.

« Well, how can I go home when my car is at the pound? » you say sarcastically 

« I sent someone for you he’s already there »

You turn around and come face to face with a pink haired handsome man. He clearly looks as displeased as you to be here so you decide to test the water.

« Let me guess pink hair, questionable face tattoo and could lessen on the aftershave? tell him to back off if he doesn't want to get hurt » you say hanging up and making your way to the shiny black car.

Resting your lower back on the car you text your friends that you have to go. The brooding man opens the door for you, you take your seat and he closes the door, so fast it almost gets to your foot. you gasp looking at him through the window but he's already making his way to the driver's seat. Pluggin the keys in, he starts to drive away. 

"You almost cut my foot" you warn, looking at his side profile.

"Not of my will, sorry miss" he states uninterested looking at the road

Sukuna reaches for the radio but you swat his hand away. 

"I need silence" you smile softly, meeting his gaze briefly. His grip on the wheel tightens, leather crying under it and your smile widdens. 

You take a sick pleasure in making people angry and he is very receptive if you push a bit more he'll break you wonder what he will do, smiling to yourself you look at the scenery through the window. You sneaked out to go to a party outside the city and your dad was pissed when he found out, he wasn't supposed to, he always goes to bed early. You look at the time 1:18 AM. You sigh, resting your back against the window so you can look better at your babysitter. You know Sukuna is one of your father's employees. He ensures his protection and chauffeur for him sometimes, you don't know the terms of his contract but for him to be available at this hour makes you want to push him to the edge even more. Letting your feet slide out of your heels you extend them to his face. Tracing his tattoos with your toes. 

"It's only good measure for you to kiss it when you almost amputated it" you taunt covering his mouth with your foot. 

Before you can continue your scheme furthermore the car drifts to the side of the road he grabs both of your ankles in one of his large hands. In a blink of an eye he's outside dragging you by your feet. He held you up on his shoulder throwing you in the backseat. You're about to scold him when he squishes your cheeks making it impossible for you to talk.  The tension is so thick it could be cut with a knife, you feel your excitement rush to your panties. He's breathing heavily and his eyes are dark. If it wasn't for his hands crushing your lower face, you'd be grinning ear to ear. 

"I'm not your father and I'm not one of his other lackeys scared of you, so keep going on with your little act and you are walking back home. I don't care if he kicks you out of the trust fund." He says through gritted teeth releasing his grip. 

Working your jaw a few times to soothe it, you slap him across the face "And i don't care that you're different from the other guards, you're still my bitch boy if I tell you to do something you just do, i don't care about your opinion" you state, pushing on your hands to get past him. Before you can feel the cold air he pins you down by your wrist on the leather seat, hovering you with eyes even darker than before.  

"I'm sick of dealing with brats like you and your stupid father." he rasps biting on your neck hard; You wiggle trying to get out of his grasp but he pins your wrist higher to stop you from moving. with his teeth he lift the hem of your dress up to your belly and fuck you're not even wearing underwear. he rest his forehead and you tummy breathing in your scent, it's disgustingly sweet. Letting go of your wrist, Sukuna gets rid of your dress and throws it on the passenger seat. A golden jewel on your nipple catches his attention. He scoffs, reaching for it, but you stop him, catching his hand in yours. 

"It's not healed yet, please don't touch it will get worse" you say, kissing his hands in an attempt to soften him. He crushes your hand in response, you hiss freeing it from his grasp. His index finger comes in your face pointing you accusatively. 

"No more funny shit you get it?" he growls in a serious tone. You nod your head eagerly, excited for what is about to come. "Promise!" catching his slender finger in your mouth. You twirl your tongue around it mimicking a blowjob as you hollow your cheeks and take progressively more in your mouth. 

Sukuna looks at you with furrowed brows thinking you really are a lost cause as he starts to understand you did this in the only purpose to get railed. If this is what you want then. Retrieving his finger from your mouth he positions you on your belly spanking your ass hard. You squeal at the stinging sensation, it only adds more arousal to your wet cunt. He spanks you again on the other cheek. This time you turn around 

"Don't go so hard i have a pool party tomor-" Another spank, He's looking at you with a defying gaze and you just sigh in defeat resuming your previous position. You hear his belt unbuckle and his zipper going down. 

"You're not even going to lick me a bit?" you ask, resting your cheek on the leather seat wiggling your ass to tempt him. 

"Like you deserve it" he spat spreading your pussy lips groaning at the sight of your wetness already leaking. 

You giggle, looking back at his cock, you bite your lips at the angry red of his tip, the veins popping on the sides, you can't wait to feel him inside of you. 

Without warning he enters his full length inside of you and all the air is pulled from your lung. He's filling you so well but his roughness makes it hard to appreciate.  He starts to thrust at a rather slow pace which eases the pain. You slowly start to feel the pleasure, bouncing back on his cock 

"God Suki you do it so well" you moan.

The nickname earns you a spank and you can't help but grin at his easiness to be riled up. Sukuna pulls on your hair until you're against his chest, never slowing down the pace. You grip on the headrest for support locking your eyes with his. 

"Kiss me" you say out of breath. 

The anger can not be mistaken and yet, he dives for a kiss, it feels more like a domination assertance the way he bites on your lips and tongue while keeping your throat in place with one of his warm hands. You moan into the kiss letting your free hand go to his hair pulling lightly on it. He releases your mouth picking up his pace while cursing under his breath. At this point arousal is running down your thigh and you don't care if it stains the leather. Sukuna's cock is kissing your insides perfectly. He tries to be rough but you like it like that, feeling the pleasure escalate quickly inside of you. His thrust gets sloppier, you know he's about to burst.

"Come inside of me please" You beg.

Sukuna grunt at your request, as much as he would like to watch his semence leak out of you he doesn't want to grant you your wishes, the way you danced on his nerves still angers him. He ruts until he's on the edge and pulls out at the last second turning you around to cum on your belly. You're empty and your orgasm has been robbed, the tears prickle in your eyes and when you look up at him, for the first time tonight he smiles, you want to insult him so badly. 

"I'm going to give you a real reason to cry" he coos.

His fingers replace his cock as he curls them up against your g-spot he's rubbing them fast and you feel something that you haven't felt before, it feels like you're about to pee but it feels good too, not wanting to humiliate yourself further you pull at his wrist for him to stop, he only goes faster. Seconds later  you squirt all over his hand and the leather, shaking in his arms as the bliss takes over your body. You moan uncontrollably digging your nails in his skin.  Your eyes are closed, suddenly you want to sleep letting your body slump against his. Sukuna looks at you half asleep in his arms, you almost look peaceful.  He sighs, wiping the cum out of your body and covering you with his sweater. Now that he calmed down he's determined to drive you home before your dad desherite you.

[withered-tears]

June walked into the main room to find Ratchet staring at various humam anatomy diagrams displayed through the monitors.

Bones, muscles, nerves, etc.

All of them focused sorely on the arms, wrists, and hands.

"Doing some human research, Ratchet?"

The autobot hums in affirmation.

"I believe Rafael's arms to be damaged. I'm researching possible treatment."

"What!? Raf is hurt?! What happened? Where is he?"

"Relax, he's not injured, just damaged. I suspect it is either an old injury acting up or poorly maintenance."

"He shouldn't have any old injury like that, I believe. Is he in pain?"

"No to my knowledge. But I've seen him manually recalibrate his servos way too often for it to be healthy."

June blinks, confused.

"Recalibrate his servos?"

Ratchet scoffs. "You know, when he," Ratchet holds his hands in front of his body, and after a slight pause, he flaps them in a quick (and loud) motion "does this. If Rafael was a bot, the only reason to do that would be to loosen up rusted joints and recalibrate his motors. It's not a particularly bad habit, but Rafael does it multiple times a day. His joints, human or not, should NOT de-align so fast. Something is clearly wrong, so -"

"Ratchet." June interrupted, sounding relieved.

"Raf's arms aren't damaged. He's just stimming."

Ratchet resets his optics, baffled. "What's stimming?"

Later that night, Ratchet finds himself working side to side with Optimus on the main console.

"I learned something new about humans today."

"Oh?" Optimus intoned, optics still focusing on his work, but voicing his curiosity.

"You know that thing Bee does, where his doorwings will flap in place when he comes back from a mission to find Rafael in the base? Or how Smokescreen's wheels start spinning when Ultra Magnus makes him stay in place too long for a lecture?"

The way your headlights would start blinking in sync with your voice, as you excitedly explained to me a new document you found in the archives, before you trained yourself out of it, because it was unsightful of a Prime.

"Turns out humans have a word for it. They call it stimming."

Optimus eyes brighten with interest. And as he starts babling theories about possible evolutionary needs for this stimming (a release of excess energy caused by low activity? or perhaps a smaller body than usual, or maybe it had nothing to do with energy and was instead a way to signal other nearby humans about their emotional state?) Ratchet couldn't help but steal a glance towards the Prime's headlights.

He couldn't help but feel disappointed to see them completely dark all through his tirade.

---

@quetzalpapalotl dunno if you recall but i made a lil post talking about this, that you liked, and i turned it into this lil thing!

(Btw, i hope its okay to keep @ u when i write this lil things that i think youd like? I dont wanna come off as spammy kydkgdkgd)

[hoseoksluna]

SMOKE, v. | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x smoke!oc (ft. jungkook & taehyung)

genre: smut, fluff

word count: 8.2k

summary: everything that hurt has stopped.  

pinterest board: smoke / playlist: moon kitty's playlist / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: yoongi is perfect, mutual masturbation, lots of lustful thoughts of sex and oral, yoongi's pov—literally the biggest warning, sex toys, desperation, praise kink, neediness, mentions of punishment & an actual punishment, too.

note: this might be the best chapter in the series and unfortunately, it's the last chapter i post before my hiatus. thanks to my bestest friend in the world, @tkslovechild, this series is finally moving forward somewhere and it's not a source of my depression anymore. i hope you all enjoy this chapter, my babies. see you after my hiatus. i will miss you all, terribly. luna loves you forever.

side note: make sure to listen to oc's playlist. it's so good.

The lights must be blaring, in the bizarre simplicity of our current happenstance, and the toys for adults must be tinged with a variety of colors, but my eyes are moored on the prismatic delicacy of her utter engrossment. 

Pupils wide and swallowing each detail of the display of the instruments of pleasure, my cock is so tight in my pants that I struggle for air, my fists clenched by my sides, ever so ready to snatch the product she points at just so I could become the means to make that joy explode further in her. She teased me in the car with her naughty songs, with her coy glances at me to suss out whether I caught onto the meaning—when in reality I tried my fucking hardest not to give in to my imagination and crash my car. Her body was curled so divinely, facing me, and my hands gripped the steering wheel until the leather squeaked. We laughed about it, she blamed me for farting, and I longed to kiss her until she would shut up. 

And I should have—because now she’s teasing me with her utmost fascination with a certain clit sucker. 

Whatever color it is. 

It was her idea to head inside this store. We drove around through the moonlit streets of Seoul for an hour, listening to her playlist reverberating throughout the vehicle. With the windows pulled down, the miscellaneous paraphernalia of her soul—the erotism of persona, the melancholia of her heart and the despondency caused from her pain—rumbling out of them, letting everyone see and hear the echo of her newly bloomed enthusiasm and the sprightliness of her being. She was alive at night, alive with me, liking the principle of me learning about her through this artful form. And I liked her liking that. 

The songs spoke what our mouths couldn’t, communicating for us, because we acted as though my own pain didn’t break us apart. In the vivacity of the car drive, in the lapis lazuli of our own exclusive, atmospheric globe, I didn’t tell her off for being bare for me the previous morning. No, I took off her night dress and drank from the sweet nectar of her bosom, right there on the ivory of her plush couch until she drenched it so well that she blushed. 

In fact, it’s the only thing I voiced out in terms of the conflict. 

Perhaps it was due to the influence of her songs, laced with the heady aroma of her energy—fuck, if I know, but I didn’t regret my words. 

Not this time. 

And her glimmering cheeks flushed like they did in my imagination, tightening my cock in the easy way that she was only capable of doing. I seized the tension between us—and I might as well clasped my hand over her thighs, which were still turned to me, with how her breath hitched in her throat in reaction to my brazenness. 

It was the reason why she wrapped her fingers around my wrist when we walked by that sex shop en route to the restaurant I chose, stopping me dead in my tracks. She held our sexuality close to her chest, not adding to it in the car, but unraveling it there, in the middle of the street, with strangers passing by. Gave me a look only a moon kitty like her could, mischievous yet innocent, and tilted her head in the direction of the store. And I knew, deep in my heart, that it was the little creature inside her that dragged me in—no longer neglected, but attuned to my attention, to my care and the respect I wafted towards her. 

There were no two sides to her, and on no account did we stand on the opposite sides of the chessboard with our agonies, despite the fact all I could see was the monochrome of its pattern once I regarded her enthrallment. 

Somehow, we are unified at this very moment,  and I crave to buy her that clit sucker. 

“Choose a color,” I rasp, and my cock agrees with me, twitching at the idea of her picking a color of her liking, one that can match her nails or perhaps the dark wine of her hair. One that bewitched me so profusely once I observed it under that soft white light of the interior of my car, its sleekness dipping into my heart that began to thunder for her. One that absolutely pales in comparison as I look at it now, the red dull and bleak, my sight unfolding in colors. My craving expands when her eyes widen at my seemingly brainsick idea, digging into mine while her tightened lips quiver in a smile. I smirk, enjoying her coy reaction, and I take this teasing into another dimension, austerely because I want to—and because I can, because we can. “Maybe the red one to match your hair.” 

Her gasp melts into a delicate laughter that tickles my insides and, mindlessly, she runs her elongated fingers through the ends of her hair at her tummy. Taps her long, cross-embellished nail, on another package beside it. “This one has the thingy that vibrates inside you.” 

It’s the same rose toy, but with a silicone attachment with a bulbous end. I’m not sure how those violent vibrations inside her walls can feel pleasurable for her, but the way she gazes at it—with a smirk akin to mine and lowered long lashes that languidly beat against the tops of her cheeks—propels me to seek my answer. 

I take it in my hands, inspecting it further. And I notice that the petals hide a small tongue in their center, simulating an oral sex for her lonesome times. 

Heat clings to my skin as I grow feverish. I am leaving for a tour in a few weeks. Who will be there to eat her sweet little pussy? 

The apples of her cheeks blaze in pinkness, regarding me as she is, and I lick my lips. “This one licks your clit. Do you think it’ll do a better job than me?” 

The rose tint deepens at my teasing words and all I can think about is how she’s gonna press those petals deeper and deeper into her folds, digging her long nails into the silicon surface just like she dug her nails into my scalp. And suddenly, I can’t take it anymore. 

I fast forward. 

“Do you want this thing or the bullet?” I ask her, impatient, but for what—I don’t know. What I do know is that I can’t stay in this place any longer with my imagination bursting forth and clouding everything negative I ever felt towards this girl. And while the newness crests joy and contentment in me, I need to be distracted from the lust that has become so natural between us. Or else, I bend her over in this aisle, rip the package open and use it on her while I fuck her dumb. 

I might become unhinged. Just for her, just for the flush blanketing her features. Just so I have her positive feelings in my hands. 

She’s too overwhelmed to respond, redder than her hair and it’s endearing. Kitty cups her face and turns around, letting me see her back, and I do the thing I unknowingly wanted to do the moment I inched closer to her. 

I brush my hand down her noble spine, clothed in the sheer fabric of her tight top that exposes her camisole underneath to me. I hook my fingers on the belt loop of her baggy jeans and bring her back to me. Her gasp is so tender and so unlike her when she collides into me, her fists bunched on the top of my chest, her hair a mess—tangled on her forehead and eyelashes and I’m awestruck. 

By her beauty, by the way there’s no end to her. And I want to keep acknowledging myself with the inexhaustible wholeness of her until I’m gray and stooped in the old age of my affection for her. 

No gold, no golden power staining my hands. She’s silver and I am desperate for that moonlit glory to mist my veins. Privately, for me and her. A thing only we know of. 

No Sun-mi, no Jungkook. 

Pinching the strands of hair away from her face, she seems to be swimming in a thought I’m very curious about. Even more so, when she engages her hands and hangs them over my neck. Calmness relaxes the muscles of my stomach and I take a detailed note of that. 

No anxiousness, no winged demons beneath. 

This is right. This is how it should’ve been from the start. Playfulness, a little bit of lust, and a whole lot of exuberance. Nothing else, at least not this early on. 

And even though I asked her a million naughty questions that I’d love for her to sophistically answer for me, something whispers in my gut that I should share my thoughts with her. And without a hint of fear, I do. 

“This is good, isn’t it?” I murmur, tipping my chin, my body leading me to lean my forehead against hers and I do—I do, I do. Kitty sighs, oddly validating me, and I continue. “I mean I wasn’t planning on buying you a fucking clit sucker tonight, but I’m glad we’re here.” 

She laughs and I lift my head, needing to see her expression of delight. And atypically, my mouth rounds in the same grin and the same laughter spills out of me. 

One that breaks into an indecent groan when she finally graces me with her response. 

“You know, they have rose toys for men as well. So if I’m getting one, you’re buying one, too.” 

It’s like she palmed me over my jeans with her words, but I disagree with a fraction of it. 

“Wrong. I’m getting you one.” 

She appears to be stunned by my willfulness to not let her spend a dime when she’s with me, her mouth parted and her head cocking back just once. And when she closes her pretty, half-glossy mouth, curls the pillows under her teeth and drops her eyes, her palms sliding down my chest, she accepts it. 

And I feel like a man, not a skeleton of who I used to be. 

“You’ll be getting two, then.” 

I chuckle. Draw near to her ear, sinking under the waterfall of her hair, and I hear her breathing harden. “I can get three if you can’t decide,” I flirt, pulling back more to edge her than to stuff my hand with the other toy that includes the bullet, holding it up for her. Her pools sparkle as she looks at them before perching up at mine, melting.

I bite my lip, feral; and I don’t wait for her to answer once I stack them up in one hand, pivoting on my feet. 

“Wait.” 

She steals the box with the bullet and puts it back to its original place. Replaces it with a male version of it, her smile cheerful and full of mischief. I take something else that I cover from her sight, which glides upon the display of all kinds of different cock rings and whatnot. 

Little does she know what I intend to surprise her with as soon as she allows me back into her girlish lust. 

My heart hammers in my chest in tandem with my cock as I pay for it. And I hope that she gets the memo. 

That she’s not just a fling—and certainly not just a friend. 

“Do you think your toy will pass through security?” 

Had I not swallowed my noodles, I would’ve spat them out at her black little outfit. Kitty giggles at my reaction—at the frozen tension in my face as I gaze up at her from my bowl, the soup dripping from my chin. Our movements are simultaneous—hands letting go of our chopstick, but while mine reach for a napkin, hers rummage in the white plastic bag I set down on the empty chair beside me. 

The table is too narrow, and it’s a blessing and a curse. 

Her vanilla perfume hits my nostrils and I’m convinced it’s what the moon must smell like. The box of the male toy is overly big for her hands and her hair shields her from me as she discreetly reads the description and the instructions. I widen my legs under the table, my bloodstream focusing on only one body part of mine, and I wonder if that’s what she was truly thinking of while she ate her own bowl of noodles. 

Fucking myself with a rose fleshlight. Away from her; across the sea. 

Jungkook must’ve told her about our tour. I wasn’t going to mention it tonight because I didn’t want to ruin the night with the sombreness of my work. As much as I looked forward to seeing our Army from that side of the globe, I wasn’t happy with the decision installed upon us—wasn’t happy that our management didn’t ask us about our feelings, whether we’re ready for it or not. It was more of a—you have a job now, do it well, cameras will be rolling—and that was the end of it. Namjoon sensed my dissatisfaction, slouching in his chair in front of me, with his jaw propped between his fingers and his eyes piercing through me but he, too, couldn’t say a thing. 

None of us could. 

It cast me to a deeper sea of my anguish that I didn’t want to stream into my ordinary life with Kitty. I was going to tell her as soon as my fresh emotions would’ve settled and we would’ve settled to the same extent, though having the toy be in the center of it changes everything now. 

It’ll be different. 

I won’t be a puppet, channeling my humanness through my love for our beloved Army. On the contrary, I will be a dancing fool, knowing I have someone waiting for me back in Seoul while being the epitome of my deepest longings and sentiments overseas. My heart, the toy and the means of our communication. 

I wasn’t going to bring the toy with me because if the members were ever to find out, I wouldn’t live it down. But if it makes that sparkle in her irises last a little longer, I shall put extra care into hiding it at the bottom of my suitcase. 

“You want me to take it?” I ask, softly, leaning back in my chair, one hand on the table, the other across my thigh. Her smile curves as she glimpses up at me, and I still can’t believe she pulled out an actual sex toy in a restaurant filled with hungry drunken people. If anyone recognizes me, I’m fucked. Majestically, devastatingly fucked if they take a picture, the said picture gets to our management and I have to write an apology letter on Weverse afterward. 

I’m sorry for having a personal life with a beautiful girl who’s unlike any shallow pretty faces I’ve come across. I will be more mindful of my actions in the future.

Fuck that. 

She can take it out of the packaging and see if it needs to be charged before we can use it if she so much as wishes so. 

We.

Yes, that’s right.

I’m not the same person I was yesterday, and something tells me that I have her to thank for that. 

“Well, I’m sure the Christmas spirit will get to you and you’ll be lonely. Also, let’s not forget it’ll be cuffing season most of all.” 

It’s funny she says that, considering what I secretly bought for her. Hysterical, in fact. Hilarious. 

It’s hidden in the pocket of my jacket, so even though she followed her curiosity into the bag, she still doesn’t know about the surprise that awaits her. I took it out when I let her walk in front of me, discreetly. It brought me more joy than I thought I was ever capable of bearing. 

Still, I wonder how much more of it I can be filled with. And I want to tempt it—brim with it. I reckon she’s the safest person to take that risk with, but the quiet, unknown voice in me adds that it’s not a risk at all. 

Quite the opposite. 

And the idea of cuffing her, both literally and figuratively, draws me closer to that cliff of brisk water of that ultimate joy and I want to get soaked. I want to drink. 

I want to be cleansed by it. 

“Would you like to be cuffed by me, little one?” 

It was automatic, the pet name streaming out of my mouth like that mini waterfall I seem to be dazed by. The question, too. And I’m not afraid, not even a hint of dread crawls upon me, and I find myself hoping that it stays. That everything I do and say from now on is of that automatic matter, unabashed, not blocked, not held back. 

I hope to be a real person with her. Without any ghosts, any demons. Any pain to scar her with. 

The little one doesn’t smile this time, shrinks in her flummox, but still I don’t fear, I don’t wish to grasp my words and put them back in my throat. Taking little steps means grazing your knees and I’m here to place band aids on her bleeding spots. 

I’m here for her. 

And my belief is supported by my actions this whole evening. 

The person I was yesterday is almost unrecognizable to me and I pray, I pray and I will pray once this night is over that it shall remain so. 

“I’m not sure what kind of question you’re asking me right now,” she murmurs, leaning her elbows on the table, drawing close to me like I’m drawing close to her, and it’s good enough. I don’t ask for anything else from her. 

“It’s the one you think it is,” I rasp, making her eyes widen slightly, and I have to chuckle. She’s so damn adorable, standing outside of her comfort zone, and my own eye is watchful over her, over her little steps, band aids ready in my hands. 

At the sound of my soft laughter, she drops her gaze, running her tongue over the inside flesh of her cheek—and there it is. That kind heat rushing through her. I want her to be smoldered by it. 

I want a lot of things when it comes to her, a phenomenon that forces me ponder if there ever will be an end to it. It’s better than feeling dissatisfaction regarding someone, digging a hand deep in them, expecting gold, yet plucking out stones that only cut your skin eventually. The more you dig, the bigger the wound. But I don’t have to do that in her. The little one, the moon kitty herself, gives it over, willingly. All of her silver moon dust, glory, and the ashes from her firelight. 

Maybe that’s how it should be. 

Not expecting, not reaching, but being given, being provided. 

Her eyelids lift and descend over the package in her hands before they root upon mine. And her response to my words keeps me company all the way to America. 

“Show me how well you can use this and I just might be.” 

Dead or alive, I blur between the lines. Jet lagged or just sick with love, it is a conjoined affair in me like the two halves of my heart. 

I miss her, even though I haven’t been able to unattach myself from my phone, the only tangible connection between us—the back and forth exchange of words, emojis and stickers that I had never used in my life but began to spam our conversations with once she coyly hid behind them. I miss her, even though I spent nearly every day with her until I boarded my flight. 

In Jungkook’s hotel room, the members share a meal together while I stay back, settled comfortably on the beige couch by the floor-length windows as the morning sun shimmers its rays across the walls. I’m sporting a hard-on, which I camouflage with a rough-textured pillow across my lap, due to the contents of our text messages. Hobi is slurping his ramen next to me, elbows propped on his elbows, posture slouched, oblivious to the fact that the girl of his platonic dreams is horny and challenging me to join her in her evening self-care. 

Yes, Hobi has developed a crush on the moon kitty and I was the first one to know. 

During the last of our leisure time in November before the tour, Hobi called me up and asked me to join him on his last drinking adventure before our work duties swallowed us. He lured me into his apartment with the two bottles of Hennessy that he had bought for the occasion and we talked work, we talked our management and we talked girls. 

He admitted to me how guilty he felt for triggering such unpleasant memories in Kitty’s mind after I shared with him the reason why I picked her up into my arms and walked away from him. I was purposefully vague in my speech, not wanting to disclose such privacy without her present, without her knowing especially, and Hobi respected that. Told me he thought about her since that day, remembering only the negative, tethered wisps that seemed to curl tightly in his gut. And I, drunk out of my mind, doting and devoted, shared with him that I wanted her. 

Made sure to emphasize in my admission that she was mine. 

It was the bravest thing I ever had done. 

Hobi understood, explained to me that how he regarded her was strictly friendly. Thought that she carried a certain elegance of beauty that was unprecedented in today’s culture, however, with which I enthusiastically agreed. Then he clutched my shoulder, the wounded one, with extra tenderness, looked me carefully in the eye, and gave me a groundbreaking word of advice that shook through my world. 

Don’t treat her like you treated Sun-mi. 

I didn’t grasp the meaning until we opened the second bottle and Hobi, seeing my puzzlement, fleshed out his wisdom. 

Don’t cling, don’t make her the air you breathe. Just live your life by her side and breathe your own air. You worked too hard to get here to backtrack. 

And I tried, within the little time we had together. 

We didn’t fuck, we didn’t devour each other’s bodies. We conversed, I learned her favorite color, the name of her favorite band, the dishes she liked—and the common ins and outs of her life. White wasn’t the only color of her soul, she liked red; that deep, dark tint one would only witness alive in the depth of the night. She liked the color of the stop lights, of the tail lights; she liked the way it bathed my face in gentle, undangerous fire whenever we would get stuck in traffic on our car drives—and apparently she liked my patience. 

Chase Atlantic was her favorite band. 

Tteokbokki her favorite dish. 

And I was her favorite person. A fact I already knew by the way she would kiss me at those favorite stop lights of hers. 

That was all we did. Kiss and converse. And I didn’t cling to her, didn’t make her the air I breathed. On the contrary, following Hobi’s wisdom, I fell for her in the purest of ways, which I somehow made possible in this befouled world. 

And, perhaps, she did, too. A deduction of mine because she began to smoke in front of me at some point. 

She was afraid I wouldn’t like it, a sensitive wound that she let me in on—a formless, unclear one that kept me wide awake at night, scrambling my brain to try and figure out what the fucker before me did to her. That was, until she told me, upon our last car drive during that last week we’d have with each other, that the said wound was caused by my own fault. 

I told her off for being bare for me at the beginning of the trajectory of our closeness and I sowed a poisonous plant of a hang-up in her. A block in her brain that pressured her to hide the “questionable” parts of her from me. 

But there weren’t any questionable parts of her—and I told her, after I pulled out my own pack, lit up one, grabbed her by the back of her neck and kissed her until her lungs were depleted of air. 

It was the bloom of our lust, particularly the vocal, intense apology I strung into her lips, kissing them deeper and deeper until they swelled. It was the beginning of our naughty text messages—right on the cusp of my absence, hooking onto my yearning and expanding it to heavenly dimensions. 

Yes, heavenly. Our closeness represented heaven as we had forgotten about our toys and remembered them during our hypersexual conversations. Face to face, we focused on the stimulation of our connected intellect, our intertwined characters; phone to phone, our bodies sought compensation.

And right now, upon the first morning here in the US, the moon kitty is persuading me into unpacking my suitcase and using the rose toy in my room. 

She’s straining, working so hard, sending me her little stickers of adorable, pleading animals, incognizant to the fact that I don’t need to be that much impelled to do it. She’s staying up for me, needy in bed—I made my decision the second she mentioned it. 

I merely delight in her saying please. 

I get off on it; it makes my cock rock hard and the concept of the members being around and unaware of what she’s doing to me—especially Jungkook, who’s stimming and happy to be eating after a restless night—heightens my pleasure, lengthening towards the heavens. 

If only I could take her there. With my tongue. Like I did the first time, holding her body down so she wouldn’t rise higher without me. 

pleaseeeeee, i’m gonna start without you if you dont get up rn 

I smile at the text message and I imagine her writhing in her bed, her bedsheets crumpled and tousled around her, her fingers tracing the curved petals of her rose toy—itching, impatient, needy; waiting for me. 

My cock grows. And I, too, meet my impatience. 

Just a second. Be good, I respond back to her, locking my phone and immersing myself in reality. 

The boys are uncharacteristically quiet, each one indulging in an activity of their own. Jungkook is huffing, his cheeks full and around, staring down his plate of food as if it was about to grow its own legs and walk away from him. Jimin is watching him with an endeared smile that is split by a secrecy all of us are aware of. Lopsided, its glow is shunned out by the tender, doleful layer of wetness in his eyes. And I know that his tummy will get full by watching him eat and that it will be his only source of fulfilling food for today. 

I clench my fists. 

Hobi beside me has finished his own breakfast and has entered his food coma, staring into nothing at the ceiling as he rests his neck against the backrest of the couch. Taehyung is looking at me in a way that brings my eyes back to him for a double take. With a smirk and a glint in the gentleness of his eyes, he flicks his browns at his own phone and nods his head, telling me something in the silent language that I don’t want him to. 

He noticed something he shouldn’t have. 

The words are flung out of me long before I comprehend what I’m saying, up and ready on my feet, covering my erection with the thick hem of my oversized shirt. 

“I’m gonna head to mine for a bit and take a shower,” I announce, making heads lift in my direction, and considering my situation, I cower in shyness, keeping my back to them as I walk towards the front door. 

“The stylist is coming at one pm and we have a soundcheck at three thirty,” Namjoon informs, and I pivot to look at him, at all six of them while my hand remains on the doorknob. 

Jungkook is rubbing his eyes and I take one last look at his faded mint hair, saying goodbye to it in my heart. I know what hair color I’m changing my silver hair to, thought of it on the plane and was immediately convinced it was my greatest idea. I nod, sweeping my eyes over the last five heads as if I was going to come back to them as a different person. 

Perhaps I was. 

I ignore Taehyung and his knowing smile as I leave, racking my brain, trying to come up with the reason why he’s acting like this. Did Hobi say something or was I not careful enough, divulging my secret out in the open with my face or my body language? Was the pillow over my lap and my eyes, all of my attention glued to my phone making it that obvious that I’m seeing someone? 

How would they react if they knew it was the Kitty girl? 

I leave it be for now, my cock asking for attention. I fish out my hotel key card and close everything behind me. Taehyung’s all seeing eye, Jimin’s diet and I stoop in my homesickness. 

It’s been two days and I feel as though Kitty ripped my heart out of my chest and folded it somewhere inside her purse when we hugged for the last time. I reminisce on her innocent touch on my neck, the only place she ever touched me besides my hair, on her lips that pressed against that place her hands warmed as I video call her. 

She picks up, immediately. 

I can only see her round head, the red of her hair sprawled messily on the silky, light beige cover of her pillow while the rest of her body is shrouded by that material. She smiles at me, no hint of embellishment lining her face—and something tells me that she’s all bare underneath her bed sheets, too. 

I palm my cock, desperate. 

“How long were you gonna keep me waiting?” she asks, and proves me right as she raises a hand and props it behind her head, the duvet drifting down a little and exposing the beginning of her fleshy peak and my mouth waters. I licked and kissed that breast of hers once upon a time and I would do anything to have that opportunity right now. I would do a better job; I would drive her insane. Spoil her with kisses so harsh that she would reach a point in heaven that no one ever has. 

I think about her question and deem I could never keep her waiting long if I were all by myself. “You know who I was with. Was I supposed to pull out my dick in front of them?” 

She giggles at my bizarre response, shifting her head to find a more comfortable spot, and the wholeness of her breasts greets me.

Bless all silky beddings. The superior invention of all. 

“Oh, hello there,” I joke, deepening her giggles and she angles her phone so I don’t see anything, breaking me apart. 

I shall punish her for it. 

I set my phone down against the table by the wall and take my shirt off. My angle allows her to see the state of me that she created with her lust—by telling me that she was up and desperate for me, craving the toy that I bought for her and that she wouldn’t use it unless I did with her at the same time. I didn’t need any details, any obscenities that I know full well she’s capable of giving me. Just her admitting to me that she needed me, trusting me enough with that intimate information made me so hard that I couldn’t contain myself. 

I watch her eyes glide down my body that isn’t good enough to be regarded like she does, stopping at the weakness she’s effectuated in my groin. And I let her, the first person who ever looked at me with such raw, undomesticated hunger. 

And I wish she would eat me up. Get on a plane, get to this hotel, to my room and take her time taking out my bones. I am for her taking—and I have been since the first time our eyes linked. 

“You’re not really helping me right now,” she croaks out, her raspy voice enveloping around my aching cock and I can say the same. Especially when she shifts entirely, rolls over to her tummy and I can see her natural face better, the carmine of her hair that veils and tickles her cleavage, enough that she flicks it behind her shoulder, letting me be the witness to her bare skin. 

Now she’s punishing me. 

“Was I supposed to help you? I thought we’re helping ourselves,” I tease, and my words pull her mouth apart, even more so when I begin to take off my belt, making sure I tug it out of my belt loops swiftly. She bites her lip, ruining me, and I want to use that leather on her. I fold it in half and point it at her. “This is what you’re getting once I see you.” 

She licks the skin she bit onto, her eyes widening, and I quiver—I quiver because she likes the idea. 

“What for?” she asks, raising her voice a little bit, and I chuckle. 

“For being so goddamn beautiful.” 

Kitty blushes and curls her lips under her teeth like I’ve noticed she so often does. I like it so much, so fucking much that I yearn for her to do it when she takes my cock into her throat for the first time. 

I know she will do a good job, swallowing every inch. 

“Where’s your toy, huh?” 

My chuckle is savage this time, vibrating in my sternum and I watch her perk up at the sound like the kitten she is. I descend into madness, willingly, hasty to jump head-first into this thing, despite my following words. 

“You just can’t wait, can you?” 

Her ‘no’ is etched all over her flushed cheeks and I crave to kiss it, run my lips all over it so they can remember it beyond this day, this month—all the way into the new year. 

“Did you pass through security with it or does the entire LAX know what a slut you are?” 

Her words spring in me, exciting me further more, and I can’t help but smile and blush, like her. I drop my gaze, fondle the leather of my belt, and I feel little sparks of muted electricity shooting down my arms. My mind outruns me, picturing the way I physically destroy her for her bratty, delicious mouth, and my smile blossoms, denting into my face. 

“Your ass is gonna be red, little one. So fucking red you won’t be able to sit down.” 

She doesn’t back away at the threat and I visibly see my own reaction reflecting in her. And it’s my mouth that parts this time when she props her phone against something, rises her chest in the air and sits down on her folded legs. And I have to hold onto the table, with the belt still caged in my grasp, when she spreads her thighs and gives me the consent to see all of her. 

Her perked, full breasts, asking for me. Her soft tummy, perfect for my hands to hold. And my own personal ruination down low, between those thighs, glistening and sopping wet. 

“Not even like this?” 

My cock aches. I let go of the belt and the clanging sound accompanies me as I unbutton my pants. “Not even like this.” 

My desire lodges at the bottom of me, pent-up and animalistic. And I take my phone, rummage in my opened suitcase for the toy, lube and head for the shower. My manliness doesn’t even move due to how hard I am. 

Hearing the sizzling noise of the blasting stream of the shower, her brows scrunch up in confusion and I enjoy her obliviousness to her punishment. 

“You’re taking a shower?” 

I’m not too sure about how loud the toy is and I’m not risking having my members eavesdropping on our intimate act with their ears pressed against the thin walls. I’m absolutely not risking shit, locking the door behind me after I leave her in the small rectangular hole in the shower and dispose myself of my underwear. 

And when I step inside and the water dribbles down my sensitive skin, ignited from my lust and hers, I discover that my plan is working out perfectly. 

She can’t see anything. 

She can’t see the lower half of my body—and she won’t be able to watch the petal-ornamented mouth of the toy swirling around my cock. 

And that’s what she gets, talking like that. 

“Get your toy ready, kitty,” I say, letting the water drench me before I get the job done. I push my hair back and I hear her gasp, the sound making me stop my movements. I look over to her, swiping the drops from my eyes, and I find her humping her hand ever so slowly. I rage, beautifully, wishing that was my hand she was gliding her pussy on until I realize that I’m the reason she slid her hand down there. But that still doesn’t mean she’s allowed to do so. “No touching or we stop.”

My heart hammers in my chest when she complies and my weakness for her increases, filling up every part of me until she’s the very owner of me. 

I swell up with pride. 

“Good girl.” 

At my praise she plunges her wet fingers into her mouth and I lose my sanity. I lose my name, my identity, and the knowledge of my whereabouts. I’m not in LA, where I don’t want to be, carrying my responsibilities and the pressure of unfairness on my back, but I’m somewhere else entirely. All by myself in a place, where she’ll soon join me. A wintry island, just for us, where I’m not an idol, where I don’t have a job that forces me away from her, but where I’m free. Free to do whatever I please. 

“Good fucking girl. Let me have a taste.” I lean my palms against the edge of the hole and I die when she reaches her shiny fingers towards me, towards the camera. I hum, the sound interwoven with my gentle laughter, and I stop myself before I lick the screen. “Thank you. So good, Kitty. Now, can you be the best girl ever and lick your toy? Make it nice and wet for your pussy?” 

Her breath trembles as she exhales, reaching over for the red rose beyond the set-up of her phone. And she rests her chest against the mattress, upthrusts her bum in the air and while she’s this close to the camera, she darts out her tongue and drags it over the silicone hole in the center, her alluring eyes fixed on me. 

My arousal oozes out of my tip, scalding hot, and I suck in a breath, fucked out. 

“Fuck, baby,” I husk, my eyelids lowering as my whole body catches on fire, and I can’t respire. I grip the edge until my fingers are bathed in white. My desire asks for more. “Spit on it for Oppa.” 

She moans and I nearly explode, my memories of her noises when I was tongue-deep in her flooding through my mind, and I can’t take any more of it. Especially not the discovery that she’s keen on titles, keen on me being the dominant one. 

My palm itches for my cock, but I won’t give in. Not yet. 

Kitty gathers her saliva and she seizes all of me when she spits on it, circling her tongue around the rim, spreading it there. And then she whines and my manliness twitches, painfully, ridding me of any sense I had left. 

“Can we start now, please?” she begs, and I’m ready to give her everything. 

I moisten my lips. “Wait for just a little while, baby. Let Oppa get his toy ready.” 

And under her gaze, I squirt the lube inside the hollowness and all over myself, sighing and tilting my head back when I scatter the liquid along my shaft. The pressure of my fist is delicate, yet it feels as though I’m levitating. I’m confident it’s owing to the fact I’m being watched by those rounded eyes of hers and that she’s observing what her psyche has done to me. 

“I want to see you,” she whimpers, and I don’t feel like punishing her any longer. 

I unclench my fist. “What pretty word do you use when you ask for something?” 

She doesn’t even think about it and my pride enlarges. “Please.”

“That’s a good fucking kitty.” 

She sits up and nearly fucks her mattress, moaning into her hand—and I know, I already know that I won’t last long under these circumstances. 

I’m so eager to give her what she wants that I don’t perceive that she's never seen this private part of me before until she gasps so fucking loudly that I startle. I’ve set her on the lower shower shelf and her mouth is wide open, the toy prepared in her hand. 

“You’re so…” she trails off, shy all of a sudden, and I might pay for her plane tickets after my shower. I’m fucking her so hard that I’ll mark every single inch of mine inside her pretty pussy. 

“Tiny,” I finish for her, and she laughs in that dopey way, even though we haven’t even started yet. 

“Will that toy even… fit you?” she asks, her pools entwined to my cock, transfixed, and I long to kiss her. Despairingly. 

I look down to my little man, to the toy and eventually to her. “I’ll make it fit.” 

Her breath hitches in her throat, pleasuring me. “If you talk like that while we do our thing, I won’t be able to hold out.” 

I hum, deeply, my endearment. “Why is that a problem?” She’s taken aback, like she always is whenever we talk, and I tilt my head towards the toy in her hand. “I want you to ride it for me.” 

She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and places the rose between her legs without taking her eyes off of mine. Ever so dangerous, ever so aphrodisiacal. “I want you to fuck it for me.” 

I groan, wrapping my fist around my shaft. “Turn it on, Kitty. Make yourself feel good.” 

She mewls long before she turns it on—and once she does, her chest arches towards me and her eyes flutter back. Her hips slowly find their rhythm as she begins to hump it, unsure at first before falling into its temptation. And then she’s loud, louder than the raging waterfall behind me, sprinkling me, and louder than me when I get to work and tug on my length. 

My noises bring her to me, but she doesn’t fix her gaze on mine—they pass down to my cock, her moans becoming needier, and she encourages me to join her. 

“Come on, Oppa, it feels so good.” 

I wade in a haze, spurred from her pleasure and now the title, unable to move my limbs. “Is it sucking on your clit?” 

She nods her head, stopping, but it brings forth more delight for her. She crumbles, her chest curving, and she saves herself from tumbling by propping her palm flat on the mattress, struggling—struggling to breathe, struggling to talk. 

“I—I’m not doing it if—if you’re not,” she stutters, her words melting into a whimper and I’m gone. 

It’s her energy, her desperation-fueled energy that pushes me to move my other limb and glide the mouth of the toy down my tip. She orders me to turn it on and I do, bending forward in the paralyzing pleasure it begins to give me. 

And it’s me who’s loud as it sucks on my head so vehemently that I, too, struggle. 

“Fuck, fuck—” I groan, lowering the toy down my length just in time for it to take the other direction, and I don’t moan any of her pet names. No, I moan out her name—and I make her come. 

My name breaks on her tongue and it is as my undoing as it is hers. I have to pull it out of me in order not to stop our playtime there, recuperating by watching her convulse while sitting on the toy as it completely traps her in the celestial realm of her orgasm. My cock twitches in the air, yearning to be inside her, and feel her walls spasm around it. I accept my death for the longevity of the bursting of her pleasure and I fall, I face-plant, drastically, for her. Deeper and deeper. 

No way back. 

“Good girl. So good. Oppa is proud of you.” 

She yelps, overstimulation grappling her, and I bite my lip so hard I break skin. She lifts her bum, quivering, and only when she catches her breath and begs me to come for her do I fuck the toy and chase down my own orgasm. 

And it doesn’t take long. Not when she topples onto the mattress and her face is what I come on while she, again, joins me, working her fingers on her clit out of my view. 

“You know I’m fucking you and not this toy,” I mutter, focusing the suction on my tip as I pound it. And when she moans my name and I hear the squelching of her hole, I throw the toy on the shelf beside my phone and use my hand to stain her face as if she were here with me, on her knees. 

My orgasm erupts and erupts, triggering hers, and we come together like this. Close, yet far away. Looking into each other’s eyes—never failing, never deteriorating, never diving into our past pains. 

Lightness blankets me and I feel as though I could fly and drift through this world without any burdens to bear on my back. Kitty looks well-spent and I suppose I reflect her all over again—and shall reflect her until my last dying day. 

I wipe my screen, my innermost craving still yet not satisfied, and I identify what it truly is. As she raises onto her knees, I lean against the shelf with my elbows and reveal it to her. 

“Let me see your pussy. Show me how wet you were for me.” 

She saw me up close, I didn’t.

It is only fair. 

She swears, enveloping her vulgarities around my name, and she obeys. Lies back down against her silky pillows and takes her phone between her legs, spreading them. She parts her wet folds with the two of her fingers and I salivate. Her clit is swollen and carmine from the intense sucking of the toy, glimmering in the faint light, her lips dripping and her hole squeezing around nothing. I wither in need, tasting blood on my lip, and when she runs all four of her fingers up her clit, I begin to heave. 

Hard, all over again. 

“Such a pretty pussy. Oppa misses it.” 

She purrs nonsense, as sleepy as she is, and the transfer back to reality is brutal. I check the time and it must be almost four AM in Seoul. I grieve the time zone between us, hoping the endeavor we shared was worth her staying up for me. 

“Good night, moon kitty. Sleep well.” 

She mumbles the same without omitting my newly deep-seated title. The three beautiful words for her form on my tongue, but I don’t say them. I save them for a better time, for the end of this tour, once I fly her to me. 

I watch her sleep for a little bit, my cock softening. Her hand is furled under her chin and I think about how she’s protecting my heart right in there. It doesn’t allow me to end the call, so I take a shower, place her on the sink when I dry myself off, on the table when I dress myself and turn my microphone off when I blow dry my hair. 

It is only when Jungkook knocks on my door and sloshes his sudden plan over me that I am forced to let her flow in her dreams without me and keep them undisturbed. 

What he tells me is my duty and I don’t hesitate to pocket my inconspicuous knife that carries too many bad memories. 

I thank him in my head that I get to wash those memories away with a different blood. 

What he tells me is this: “Come with me, hyung, we have a son of a bitch to mutilate.” 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[bamboozledbird]

Don’t Go Where I Can’t Follow // Stiles Stilinski Imagine Characters: Stiles Stilinski, You Pairing: Stiles x Reader, Stiles x You (no use of y/n) Word Count: 1k Tags: blatant use of han solo's iconic 'i know' moment, overuse of the em dash as always Warnings: Angst. Angst. Angst. Descriptions of a panic attack.

A/N: A little baby revamp of an old work to get me inspired for these beautiful requests in my inbox.

The jeep is quiet. It was the first thing you noticed when you climbed into the passenger seat, legs shaking, knees wobbling—shoving Stiles’s hands away when he tried to help you. Now, you’re gripping the faded upholstery as the blood slowly drains from your knuckles. It’s a funny thing to notice, silence, but it’s hard not to when the quiet is so heavy you can feel it weighing down your chest, pushing the anger and hurt from your lungs to the pit of your stomach.  

Stiles is wearing his blue sweatshirt you love so much. The one that’s gone through the wash so many times you can rub your cheek against it and feel like you’re curled up in bed under cottony sheets, safe and warm. He knows that. You hate that he knows that.  

Stiles’s lithe fingers wrap around the steering wheel, despite the jeep being safely parked against the curb of some random road halfway between your house and his. He squeezes the wheel until the veins in his wrist bulge and his knuckles turn white. “I’m not sorry,” he says in a low voice, like he can feel the silence too, like he’s scared of snapping the cord holding a hundred-ton weight over your heads. 

The weight falls, and a wet, choked-off gasp is ripped from your raw throat. It hurts, from all the crying while he was gone, from the look on his face when he came back. “I fucking hate you,” you whisper. Your voice is raspy, barely there between your shallow exhales. After he locked you in that godforsaken closet, you'd screamed at him through the door, spewing every hateful, awful thing you could think of, until there was nothing left. Every part of you still aches—knuckles bruised from trying to beat the door down, fingernails bloodied from biting them down to the quick. You'd torn yourself apart while you sat against the wall, alone in the dark, waiting for him to come back. If he came back. 

“No you don’t,” Stiles says, but he winces anyway.

You shake your head violently and clench your jaw to stifle the angry sobs budding in your chest. You’re done with the crying; you already cried all night waiting for him to come back alive. “You had no right.” Your voice quivers, thick with mucus, and it fractures right through the marrow, “You had no fucking right to leave me there like that.”

Stiles tugs his hand through his hair. It’s already a mess, sticking up in random tufts from previous passes. Under normal circumstances, you’d try to fix it and then immediately get distracted by the softness and his soft content whines—but nothing feels normal now. You’ve never felt this frantic, this desperate, this much. It’s too much. You want to shed your skin and set something on fire—maybe yourself, at least until the ringing in your ears stops. 

He licks his lips, swollen from ripping them apart with his teeth, and stares out the window, “You could’ve died. I don’t care if you hate me or if you stay pissed at me forever—you’re alive. That’s all I care about.”

Your voice cracks when you try to scream again, “It wasn’t your choice to make!”

His teeth grind together for a moment. He won’t look at you. Maybe he can’t. “I would do it again,” he finally says in a quiet voice, like a confession, like he’s seeking atonement from god—or, more importantly, from you. Neither of you speak, the sound of your shallow breathing fills the jeep until his arm surges forward. You flinch when he slams his hand against the steering wheel; the horn is shrill and almost as loud as the tension left in its wake. “God, don’t you get it?” The muscles in his neck strain with the clench of his jaw, “None of it matters if you’re gone. I don’t give a fuck, okay? I just don't. I don't fucking care about stopping the villain of the month, or saving the entire goddamn town again, or keeping the world from imploding if you’re not in it, so don’t fuckin’ yell at me.”

You shake your head again because everything else feels like it’s shaking too, partly from the fury burning brightly in your eyes, but mostly because you love this stupid, arrogant boy so much it hurts. “I had to sit there, alone, and—and just hope that you came back—that you’d all come back. Ally died, Stiles. Boyd, Erica, Aidan—they’re all dead. It’s just a matter of time before someone else—before it happens again.” Your voice hitches, and you can't breathe, “You’re not allowed to do that to me, okay? You’re not allowed to—to fucking—to leave me behind like that. I can’t do it again—I can’t fucking—”

Even though he’s angry too, Stiles takes your hand and taps his heartbeat onto the inside of your wrist with his forefinger until your chest rises and falls in an even rhythm. Stiles looks down at your hands, layered on top of each other and trembling, before he speaks again. His voice is strained, his face stricken, “I can’t lose you.”

You stare at him, cheeks red and splotchy, mascara flaking underneath your eyes. Wrecked. And then you realize that he’s crying. His rounded eyes are wet and glossy, his chin trembles, and then that’s it. You can’t fight it anymore. You hiccup in-between your sobs and wipe your snot off on your sleeve, “And I can’t lose you.”

The car is silent again, and you can feel your heartbeat in your ears. “Don’t leave me again,” you whisper.

The words linger in the air, and Stiles cups your face, thumbs the tears and smeared makeup off of the apple of your cheeks—he's especially gentle with the fragile skin just under your eyes. He pulls you as close as he can manage with the gearshift in the way, moving your hair off of your forehead and pressing a tender kiss to each of your temples. He trails his lips to the corners of your fluttering eyelids, to the tip of your nose, one cheek and then the other. His final destination is your mouth. His tongue darts out, briefly tasting the salt of your tears, and then he kisses you. Three chaste brushes of his lips before he settles in for a real one, a reassurance that you’re both here. Breathing. Alive. The fact that he doesn’t respond to your demand isn’t lost on either of you.

“I love you,” he breathes against your lips. It’s not an answer, but it’s enough for tonight. 

You sigh into his mouth and hold onto his wrist, fingers resting against his pulse, “I know.”

[guiltyasdave]

when we go crashing down

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: And when we go crashing down, we come back every time.

word count: 808

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> mdni, angst, toxic relationship (situationship), cheating, able-bodied reader, Dave pulls her hair, no use of y/n, unprotected p in v, a hint of rough sex, a hint of choking, no happy ending (i’m just as shocked as you are)

a/n: another drabble for @beskarandblasters’ taylor swift drabble challenge, this time based on the song style. i hurt my own feelings with this one ngl. we’re entering my angsty era i’m afraid.

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍

You’re shivering, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, until the familiar car comes into view, headlights swinging over the dark parking lot.

Your heels click on the ground as you’re walking towards it and get in. You can only make out the silhouette of Dave’s face, the strong shape of his nose, the pout of his lips. His jaw is clenched, his hands gripping the wheel tightly. He’s tense, agitated, just like he always is.

“You have to stop calling me.”

He’s stern, his voice carefully controlled.

“You could stop picking up.”

You know that he won’t. Just like you won’t stop calling.

Silence stretches between you as he speeds through the dark night. The drive always feels like forever, and not long enough at the same time.

His wild eyes keep flickering from the road to you, taking in your face, the red lipstick that’s only a bit messy at this point of the night, the tight little skirt that’s leaving most of your thighs bare.

The familiar electricity sparks between you. Just like it always does.

He follows you into your apartment, a tangle of limbs, eager fingers pulling up and tugging on garments. He traps your body against your door, pressing your back into the hard surface. His coat is in a heap on the floor, his pants pulled down just enough, your skirt pushed up. His lips against your mouth are hungry, just as demanding as his hands, as his thrusts when he sinks into you.

It stings, the stretch around him, but the pain of him leaving without a word, traces of your lipstick all over his face, is worse.

Two weeks later, you don’t even make it out of the car. He had refused to come up with you, so you climb over and straddle him in the driver’s seat.

His resolve crumbles immediately, his fingers grabbing at every part of you that he can reach.

You ride him until your thighs are burning, but you’re chasing the high that only he knows how to give you.

One of his hands wraps around your throat, his hips pistoning upwards, his cock hitting a spot so deep inside of you that it brings tears to your eyes.

“Stop calling me,” he snarls.

You glare at him, breathless, but still meeting his every thrust.

“Do you really want that? Do you want this to stop?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.

The next time, he’s out of the car before you can get in. His hand closes around your wrist, pulling you back into the club, through the crowds of people and straight into the bathroom.

“I told you to stop,” he growls as he bends you over the sink and pushes your skirt up.

He keeps a firm grip in your hair, holds you up while he pounds into you from behind. Your eyes are glued to the mirror, to the reflection of the both of you.

You look good together, you think. He’s like a daydream, dark eyes glinting behind you, his breath panting, his hair a mess.

Your heart aches in your chest when he drops you off. You know that it will never lead to more than this, you’ve tried. You can’t control it, helplessly watching the both of you go round and round each time.

A couple of weeks go by and you don’t call him. He glares at you the next time you slide into the passenger seat, asks where you’ve been. You went home with someone else the last few times, you admit. He grits his jaw, his lips curling into a scowl.

“Don’t try to tell me that you’re not seeing anyone else. I know about Carol.”

It hurts, saying her name out loud.

“That’s different,” he mumbles. There’s no real conviction behind his words.

“It’s not and you know it.”

He fucks you on your couch this time. It’s softer than usual, the cushions in your back almost making it feel like you’re in bed. It’s dangerous, too close to something intimate, to something more. It makes you long for something that will never be, but you don’t tell him to stop. Let yourself pretend, even if just for a few moments.

It’s not until he’s out of the door that you realize he didn’t tell you to stop calling him this time.

The last time you get into his car, you know that something is wrong. The tension is rolling off of him in waves.

When he asks you to not contact him anymore, he sounds different, resigned. You know that he means it this time.

“Carol’s pregnant. I– we’re getting married.”

You swallow, hard. Eyes wide open, unblinkingly staring straight ahead into the darkness. A curt nod, a quiet hum of understanding. You always knew this day would come.

“Just take me home.”

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask, it absolutely makes my day!

[littlenahsstuff]

When will my life begin-pt. 1

Chloe Charming x Red x f!reader

Synopsis- you are Rapunzel’s daughter but don’t know it because Mother Gothel survived and took you too. You possess similar powers to your real mother but they don’t work as well. Red and Chloe are visiting wonderland for the first time since the time travel and Red is nervous. She decides to take Chloe her new girlfriend to a mysterious tower from her childhood and they meet you.

Warnings: not proofread, angst, mentions of abusive parents, anxiety, fluff, slower burn, you just meet so no relationships until at least part two.

Almost 3.5k words

I really hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~

You awoke in your cramped tower, another lonely day. Mother says you can’t leave, you mustn’t. Evil people will hurt you just like your real parents. “You are weak and helpless and they’ll eat you,” is repeated daily.

You have a special gift; you can bring life and healing when singing. Mother loves your tricks but they are somewhat rare and you have a hard time making it actually work. She gets so mad at you, she says harsh punishment is the way to make it work. So far you still screw up.

She barely leaves you alone, the only time you can relax is when she takes her daily naps. Her “Beauty sleep”. Or when she goes on supply runs. You only ever let your thoughts drift then. To that one time you saw a flash of red outside. You were only 13 then and it’s been years but you always did wonder who it was.

***

Red was beyond nervous, Chloe a little too. She had to be strong for her new girlfriend, however. Red was dealing with healing from the trauma still and this visit was making her sick. She knows her mother is better but the whole time travel being dangerous thing has her waiting for the other ball to drop.

“It’ll be alright, promise Heart,” Chloe said it, trying to soothe her. She holds her hand whilst keeping the other on the steering wheel.

When they get there it’s a lot less gloomy than it was originally and the kingdom sits in the midst of a massive ring of roses. Red holds a smeck of comfort that the change brought her home some real peace, but the gnawing feeling never ceases.

“Yeah… I know” Red sighs. “I feel as if-“

“This is just a facade?” Chloe interrupts. “I realize how scary this is; I, myself, worry something went wrong but for now we have to play the part. It’s okay to be scared. You grew up with the most terrifying women I’ve ever seen.

They got to the entrance.

“Well… let’s face this then.” Red decides. She gets out and waits before entering.

Queen Bridget stands ready to greet her daughter, coming in for a bear hug. At least this time both her and Chloe are squished. She still flinched a little but was quickly soothed by a comforting tap on her wrist from Chloe.

“It’s good to see you… Mom,” for the first time.

“It’s so good to see you too my muffin cake!” Reds mom squeals. She starts to see more similarities to Pink haired Bridget by the second and she’s still weary, but relieved.

They pull away and Queen Bridget turns to Chloe.

“Oh where are my manners?! Chloe it is so wonderful to see you here again!” Bridget smiles. Not sickenly to Red’s mild shock.

Chloe glances at her girlfriend and they both smile too and shrug.

“Glad to be back too” Chloe replies with a chuckle. Time travel is weird.

“Now as much as I want to talk your ears off you girls must want to settle in first! I’ll have the Tweedle brothers carry your stuff to your room so you can unpack. Now… I wanna hear about any cute dates later but I understand. I’ll wait dears,” she actually GIGGLES and walks away. Not without giving a little squeeze to Reds shoulder.

They both stand there a little awkwardly and Red exhales, feeling like she can fully breathe again. She feels like she needs to get out when an idea pops into her head.

“Hey wanna go see something cool?” Red says excitedly. Chloe nods and red grabs her hand to drag her back out into the wonder woods they passed through on the way there.

“Where are we going?” Chloe whispers when they hit a particularly thick part of the forest.

“I would go into these woods a couple of times when I was younger… around the third time I came across a massively tall tower. I heard pretty singing. I sadly had to leave but when I came back for the seventh time I heard it again. I never really figured out what or who it was but maybe we’ll see if we go again.

And so they trekked further into the heavily wooded area for a few minutes until finally there was a small clearing with a large tower.

Just by luck did they happen to hear a soft melody coming from it. There was clearly someone home and Red couldn’t not pass up the chance to figure it out once and for all. She used to think about this for years after her last encounter.

“Oh no…” Chloe whispers and whips her head, “I know that look. We are not about to do what I think you’re thinking.” Chow huffs

With a role of her eyes, Red replies hushed, “Fine, just me then. I’m gonna figure it out.” She jumps up on the viney stone and finds it stable. She starts climbing and soon after Chloe groans and follows her.

“Does it have to be this high?” Chloe whimpers, daring not to look down. Red is already far enough up that she doesn’t hear her.

***

You finish sweeping when you hear climbing you don’t think much of it, it’s just your mother. You still tense but remain sweeping. You should’ve finished awhile ago, but you enjoyed the free will of being able to daydream while she was on a trip a little too much. You hear footsteps hit the floor and try and finish up faster.

“I’m sorry mother I’ll be better next time, let me finish first!” You hurry out. When there’s a second pair of feet hitting the ground you focus on the window. Two girls stand there.

You drop the broom and scramble back, falling on your back and hitting the wall.

“I- I- who are you?” You question breathlessly.

Red and Chloe both share another look.

“We aren’t here to hurt you!” Chloe hurried out. Red nods and slowly steps forward.

“No, we just heard the singing and wanted to check it out. Are you up here alone? How do you even get down every day?” She questions and you still cower but decide to answer them.

“I’m not supposed to speak to others. Mother will be furious, I- who are you?” You repeat.

“This is Red and I’m Chloe.” The blue haired one speaks. “I am from Auredon, Cinderellasburg specifically and Red is from here in Wonderland. Do you know why you are in this tower?” It’s almost too much but you answer honestly for fear of angering them.

“My parents were killed when I was a baby and my Mother took me here for my protection. This place is called wonderland?” You question. If you are gonna be killed maybe you can learn some stuff. Although, these ladies seem harmless enough and quite pretty. Nothing like the grotesque monsters your mother warned you of.

“Yes, you don’t know?” Red says, you shake your head. Your curiosity is quickly getting the better of you now.

“Please don’t lie what’s it really like out there?” You softly question.

“Well… there a kingdom just past these woods. my castle, oh by the way I’m the princess” Red casually throws in there making your jaw drop “but it’s very…. Beautiful.” She goes for. “There are roses everywhere now.” She adds.

“Oh… your majesty” you bow. You read a book once with a king in it and you knew you were supposed to bow.

“It’s only majesty for kings and queens, it’s- you know what that doesn’t matter you don’t have to be so formal, I am also a princess as well. Again though you don’t have to be so formal.” Chloe urges. You are completely awestruck by the fact that two very lovely princesses happen to be your first real life interaction besides your mother.

“Well… thank you Chloe and Red. I am still honored to be in your presences. Tell me, are these kingdoms violent at all?” You interrogate farther.

“Not too much honestly, like the occasional violent coup but day to day life can be lovely,” Chloe replies. Red looks to be deep in thought.

“So your mother locked you in here? That’s… that’s crazy” she realizes. Then her face lits up.

“Chloe, a quick word in the corner.” The two huddle leaving you to finally pick yourself up from the floor and dust off.

“Are you thinking what im thinking?” Red asks. Chloe bites her lip.

“Unfortunately. This poor girl needs our help. I can’t help but feel she looks familiar somehow.” Chloe frets. She thinks you are beautiful truly, but she can’t figure out for the life of her who you remind her of.

“Okay well I think we need to convince her to leave-

“I’ll do it.” You say, causing them to jump up from the huddle. “You two are loud by the way and this room is pretty small,” you giggle. It feels good, you don’t know the last time you’ve laughed. They both blush.

“That easy?” Red questions and Chloe slaps her lightly.

“What she means to say is, we understand how terrifying this could be and that we are glad you are allowing us to help you.

“I’ve wanted to leave everyday, my mother isn’t even my real mother and yeah, I’m terrified. You two are living proof it’s okay out there.

“So how does your mother get down?” Red asks.

“The vines”, you shudder at realization you will have to climb down. Chloe seems to have an equal reaction.

“Well let’s go get you somewhere less cagey.” Red smirks.

After a very fear filled climb down your bare feet touched the hard ground. The gravel admittedly hurts your sheltered feet and you wince.

“What’s wrong?” Chloe notices.

“Oh, I guess I’m not used to standing on such rocky ground.” You admit shyly and wince again when you take another step.

Red hums.

“Wait a sec.” She starts taking off her boots and hands them to you.

“thank you! I’m sorry if I’m a little slow with all this.” You relent, still very great full.

“Don’t be.” Red smirks.

Chloe turns to her, “is you giving people shoes a habit now?” She snorts.

Red rolls her eyes. You finish putting the boots on and get a little nervous.

“We better go, mother could be back any second.” You say.

“Alright then, let’s go” Red leads.

The walk is so terrifying every sound muffled from your time up high is so much louder. Each cherp, squeak, and buzz makes you jumpier.

It’s all worth it though when you see the red castle.

It’s the grandest thing you’ve ever seen, lit up (it’s now darker outside) and the roses are so stunning and fragrant you want to cry. And you do.

“Hey,” Red says. They both come closer.

“I’m fine it’s just so pretty.” You sob.

“If you think this is pretty wait till you see my room. It’s so cool” Red says excitedly and leads for you and Chloe to follow again.

Reds castle looks so much brighter than she remembers. It’s so well lit she can actually see the high ceilings now.

“Right this way, I need to check in with my Mom… she’ll know what to do.” Red decides. It feels so weird asking her mom for help.

The lounge room is very ornate and there is satin cushioning and mahogany wood everywhere. Reds mom is setting out some tea and snacks, enough that they are clearly for the girls too.

Red clears her throat, “mom I have someone I need you to meet.” She says. Bridget looks up and immediately drops the teapot.

“Oh my,” she tsks, “very sorry dear I just thought you were someone I knew. You look so much like her. Um who are you? It was now that both Red and Chloe shamefully realized they didn’t ask for your name. They were so focused on getting you out they didn’t even find out who you were.

“Y/n your majesty.” You curtsy. The queen inhales sharply.

“You don’t have to be so formal but uh… You wouldn’t happen to have hair that glows when you sing would you?” she questions. You are immediately scrambling to figure out how she possibly knew that.

“That’d be a coincidence, we found her in a tower. She’s like repunzel!” Chloe adds and then immediately gasps. Chloe feels so stupid for not putting two and two together. Meanwhile both you and Red are clueless of what’s happening.

You squeamishly give a “yes”.

“Oh you look just like her.” Chloe realizes.

You want to curl up in a ball. This is already so overwhelming.

“Like whom?” Red nods her head in confusion.

“Well, there was a princess named Rapunzel locked in a tower by an old hag, she would use the girls powers to rejuvenate herself. She originally pretended to be her mother. Her now husband Eugene found her and allowed her to see floating lanterns that appeared on her birthday. Turns out the whole kingdom was setting them off for her. They thought mother Gothel turned to dust but she reappeared and in turn stole her baby. They had no idea where she went and searched the lands. She wasn’t ever found…. Until maybe now?” The queen finished the tale, hope growing on her face by the second. Both you and Red were utterly gobsmacked.

They all turned to you only for you to get extremely lightheaded from the attention and the fact that other than the lanterns, the story completely paralleled yours. You didn’t even know when your birthday was. Your thoughts wage a war and you feel as if your legs are giving out.

Before you hit the floor Chloe catches you.

“Oh rabbits,” The queen exclaims. “You girls be a dear and make sure are guest is alright. I believe I really do have to make a phone call now.” She turns to you, who is still conscious but out of it. “Sweets, I promise you are safe now. This castle is heavily guarded. No one gets in that wasn’t supposed to and while you are technically free to leave at any moment I believe you understand you have to stay for a little bit longer.” She hums and turns shaking her head in disbelief as she heads to the phone in her room.

“I-I” you stutter. The two others give a concerned look.

“Hey it’s gonna be fine, even if you aren’t the lost princess we can keep you save. We promise,” Chloe soothes, Red is now hunched down to your levels.

“Promise” she agrees with a curt nod. You take a deep breath, it comes in more broken but it helps ever so slightly.

“Thank you, thank you both!” You exclaim, wrapping them in some sort of embrace, you don’t know what it’s called though.

“Ha no problem maybe-princess,” Red jokes. She earns a glare from Chloe.

“So if I my parents are alive, am I gonna meet them?” You question in disbelief. This feels like a scary dream.

Red bites her lip before replying, “Well I’m assuming that’s what the call was for, she is most likely calling them now.” You are more confused.

“How will they hear her voice from all the way from the castle?”

“There are these machines that let you call from any land so long as the other has one too” Chloe responds, sharing yet ANOTHER look with Red.

“Sheesh, you need to get out more” Red tries to lighten the situation and to be fair it makes you laugh a little.

“RED” Chloe scolds.

“She laughed!”

“It’s okay, I’d rather joke about it than have it still happen” you add but now they both look sad for you again.

“Do you think they still want me? Like what if they have other children and don’t need me as a child anymore. And I’m not really a child at all, I don’t know how old I am yet but I seem far too big to be one.” You start picking at your nails in worry.

Red sighs, “I know what it’s like to have to worry whether someone likes you or not. Trust everything will work out.” She says.

“From what I heard they never stopped looking for you. They did have another child but they actually did kinda do the lantern thing every year. It’s just that they didn’t understand you were sent to wonderland. The whole time they’ve been looking elsewhere but I know for a fact they never fully stopped and that shows they will want you.” Ella offers. You just nod softly, the fear was still there, but if it’s true then it makes you feel a little better. They were good at that. You think you’d want to be their friends. Best friends even someday if you still manage to hang out.

Before the awkward tension breaks naturally the Red queen burst through the door with two others. They also look like royalty to you but that’s not what makes your chest pound. They woman looks so painstakingly like you it makes Chloe curse herself for not getting it immediately. You all stand up, Red and Chloe help you first. And you all how your head.

The woman nearly runs to you and pulls you into another embrace of sorts. This time it’s a little tighter.

“Oh my, you’re really her aren’t you, you’re my baby girl!” She gasps. You blush and stand there terribly awkward. Red can feel your uneasiness from next to you so she coughs in attempt to break Queen Rapunzel from her stupor. It works.

“I- you’re my real mom?” You question.

She pulls apart just enough to put one hand on your cheek and another on your shoulder.

“I know for sure, yes. You are everything I dreamed you to be, my beautiful baby girl. Oh you must have so many questions.” She says. She smiles like the sun and has tears pooling in her eyes. She’s dress so elegantly in purple, but she’s shaking quite a bit.

“I’m here, you’re here” you say. Rapunzel turns to the man.

“Eugene Flynn Fitzgerald Ryder, come over here this instance,” she beckons and slowly a man steps forward. You notice you have his eyes and hair color. You’ve never had a dad before, it’s almost too much. He certainly doesn’t seem like he’s an evil man.

“That’s really her my little buttercup?” He says and when he gets a good look at your face he breaks into the loudest sobs you have ever heard in your life. You honestly don’t know what to do but stand there. You are also overcome with emotion but this is quickly becoming too much for you. He steps forward again.

“Bathroom!” You exclaim and haste fully walk past them and into the halls where you start running.

“Y/n-“

“Flynn give her some time,” Rapunzel sighs.

“We‘ll make sure she’s safe,” Chloe interrupted, grabbing Red to follow you.

After a couple turns they hear sobbing down an otherwise empty hallway. You sit there with your head tucked into your knees gasping for breath. They slowly walk up to you.

“It’s a lot, I know” Red sighs. “Meeting your mo- family for the first time. You start thinking of what can go wrong when you don’t know them and they don’t really know the real you. It’s hard.” She pauses, “but take it slow. I promise that they are also overwhelmed too. But after not getting any affection your whole life it seems like even the tiniest bit is too much.”

“If you want, we will stay with you as much as allowed. I know we just met but it seems like maybe you trust us the most and that’s precious, the trust,” Chloe states. Her eyes are truthful and earnest. Red shares that earnesty.

“I- supposed if it’s alright. I would never want to impose and you’ve done so much for me. This is all just- well you said it” you gesture to Red.

“We’ll be here.” They both say in unison and it makes all three of you giggle. Maybe your new life won’t be so bad. At least not if they’re in it. Your worry is replaced with a similar fluttery feeling but you don’t know exactly what it is.

This is your happy beginning. Your life has finally begun.

[buuniebaby]

ALL MINE. 🎀

includes: drunk sex (pre-negotiated), daddy kink, jealous possessive hamzah 💗💗💗

wc: 2.5k

here’s your porn.. i am sooo tired but literally first thing in the morning (my alarm is literally set to 5am) im finishing up some hcs and latina reader. 💗

thank you guys for all the support on my fics and being patient with me - it means a lot ! 💖

physical touch has always been your love language.

you’re a relatively clingy person in general, but your affection is doubled when you’re around your boyfriend. it’s always one of your hands somewhere - hip, thigh, arms, or even other places. he reciprocates it, being attached to you by the hip 24/7.

it only gets worse when you’re drunk.

hamzah’s in his car, grasping the wheel with an angry pressure, trying to keep his composure. it’s late - way too late to to be picking you up from the bar. he’s not necessarily upset at you for having fun, and he’s never one to control whether you go to parties or not, drink or not drink, but something about you being intoxicated with so many people around irritates him a bit.

he watches as you, your best friend, and a guy he doesn’t happen to recognize walk out of the door. whoever this guy is, he’s a little too touchy with you for hamzah’s liking. it’s like he’s trying to grope you but doesn’t want to be weird, but it’s still weird anyways.

he decides he’s been pushed a little too far off the edge when he slams his car in park and exits it.

you’re smiling up at him, head lulling back a bit. you’re fucked up, and he can tell. he watches as you droop back into the guy behind you, his walking pace speeding up.

he yells a loud, “baby?” trying to send some sort of signal to the man to show that you’re his. the moment he gets close enough to you to make contact with you, a big hand is yanking you by the wrist into his arms.

you immediately slouch into hamzah’s body, who picks you up over his shoulder and carries you back to the car. his grip is tight, as if someone was trying to steal you from his arms.

“hamzaahhhh,” you groan out, recognizing his possessive touch.

the car ride back is quiet - a mix of your boyfriend’s anger and your drunken sleepiness. it’s not that he’s angry at you; you’re not the problem here. it’s whoever he was, the man touching what belongs to hamzah.

“who was that?” he mumbles, speaking firmly under his breath.

“this guy who my friend.. she was trying to hook up with.. I think.” you mutter, remembering what you’re about to say as you speak it.

“you sure he’s into her? seemed more touchy around you.” he continues, keeping his eyes strictly in front of him.

“ew- don’t say that.” you drag as you speak, drunkenness prominent in your voice. you hear hamzah let out a chuckle under his breath. it calms him a little - he knows you’re better then that. it doesn’t end his irritation, but it makes him feel at least a little bit better.

“you’re mine, by the way.” hamzah says, hand creeping up to your thigh, the other still on the wheel. “don’t forget that.”

it’s still hurting hamzah by the time you get home. he’s aware that he may be being unreasonable, given that you’ve admitted you don’t have any attraction for whoever that was. but it’s the way you sway your hips drunkenly as you walk, thighs showing out of your tiny little dress - a sight he wants to hide away from the world, something that should belong to him. just the thought of anyone else being attracted to you makes him feel like his throat is closing up with anxiety.

as you’re turning the corner to go to your shared room, you force yourself to take a step back, doing a double take. you look at hamzah’s puzzled expression, trying to decipher whether what you’re seeing is real or you’re just drunk.

“you’re mad.” you state, looking at him straight in the eyes. you’re asking a question, but the way it comes out is firm. your brain is a little scrambled.

“m’not-“ he mumbles, stopping himself. “not at you.” he continues as he follows you into your bedroom.

you fall back-first onto the bed, closing your eyes and absentmindedly fidgeting with your fingers as you speak. “something happen?”

he scoffs a bit. you’re what happened.

“i guess you’re just.. really fucking hot. and other people know that, and it’s just like..” he rambles, pausing to think.

“like?” you tilt your head.

“like, i want you all to myself.” he says under his breath, sitting himself next to you on the bed. his comment makes you jolt up, sitting to face him.

you watch as he eyes you down from above. all you do is pout your lips, looking back at him with furrowed brows. you’re not getting it.

“you have me.” you say, firmly, scooting just a tiny bit closer to him. a hand trails to your thigh.

he lets out a deep sigh as he gathers his thoughts. you see his brain computing, like gears turning telling him what to say.

“i’m not saying you’re the problem.” he starts. “i know you’re loyal. i trust you.” you feel his hand move from your thigh to your hand, holding it gently, then giving it a squeeze. it’s a nice affirmation, but you still don’t understand what he’s getting at.

“just want you to be safe- don’t want anyone to hurt you. don’t want you just, trusting any guy at the bar when you’re messed up like this.” he says, rubbing his finger up and down your wrist. you lean your head on his shoulder, processing his words.

“yeah,” you sigh, closing your eyes on his shoulder. you can still feel his stare down at you, even if you can’t see it. “you’re right.”

that’s hamzah’s closure, his key to calm down and cuddle you in bed; rest his mind.

until he hears a quiet, “what if i want to get hurt? like, destroyed.”

“what?” he asks, peace interrupted. he’s turning to you, completely lost. you pout, and suddenly your hand has snuck out of his, now creeping over his sweatpants.

“especially by you.” you smile. now he understands where this is going. he shudders as you softly palm him over his pants. it’s not enough to get him going, but he can feel himself starting to get hard. “want you to use me like im your toy- because I’m yours, hamzah.”

and fuck, does that turn him on. you know exactly how to excite him, even when drunk. you’re pushing all the right buttons, making the possessiveness in him really start to come out.

his hand comes down on yours, bringing your movements to a stop. he breathes heavy for a second, but speaks firmly once his breath is caught. “you’re drunk, baby- i don’t know if you should-“

you interrupt him, coming in cold. “you don’t remember?”

he tilts his head back at you. “remember.. what?”

“i told you, when i was sober.. said you could do anything to me if i was drunk. said that for a reason, y’know.” you recall, giving him a big, eyes-dazed, woozy smile.

it comes back to him all then, and fuck, you’re right. he had completely forgotten about the whole conversation you two had, where you had given him permission to fuck you, even if you were intoxicated.

it’s a mix of that and the imagery in his mind from your prior words that causes him to mutter out a strangled “fuck it,” pulling your body on top of his. you can’t help but let out a squeal-like giggle: you’re finally getting what you’ve wanted.

he’s kneading at your hips before he can even pull you into a kiss. it’s messy when your lips press against his, sloppy kisses leaving spit around his lips.

his hand trails down to the bottom of your dress, pulling it over your ass. he pulls away from the kiss, wanting to see what’s down there, only to be met with a sight that fuels his possessiveness.

“wearing a slutty thong like this out?” he mutters, spanking you hard. “what if someone saw, baby? you know that pretty pussy is just for me.” he continues, rubbing over the same area he just spanked.

“m’sorry-“ you whine, but you’re cut off by your own voice, gasping as he rips your thong literally in half, pulling them off of you.

“it’s okay baby.” he smirks, holding the ripped panties in his hand. “you know that I’m the only guy who gets to see all of you.”

“also, ill buy you a new one.” he whispers, planting a quick kiss on your cheek. next thing you know he’s pulling your dress over your chest.

“no bra either baby?” he says, shaking his head, and suddenly another hand is coming down on your ass. “bad fucking slut.”

you grind your hips into him, apologizing with your body. you whimper out a helpless, “m’sorry, im sorry daddy-“

hamzah pulls back a little at that, pausing.

“what’d you just say?” he says, making sure what he just heard was real.

you continue to frantically apologize, a string of “m’sorry, im yours, i didn’t mean it,” until finally, you say that word.

“i’m sorry, daddy.”

that’s all it takes to get a rise out of hamzah. he’s slamming you down on the bed, crawling on top of you. his hips grind down on your naked body, dick still enclosed by his sweatpants, the friction sending shocks to your clit.

“my fucking slut,” he groans, “showing off her body to the whole fucking world.” his hips slam into yours hard, still fully clothed.

“you need me to mark you up? need everyone to know that you belong to me?” he angrily barks out at you, only making you wetter.

“please- wanna show you off daddy- bruise me.” is all you have to say for hamzah to start biting at your neck. he doesn’t stop at just a few hickeys, no, your throat is covered in bitemarks. he continues down to your collarbone, biting, suckling, nibbling - anything to claim your body as his.

he pulls away, admiring the redness all over your upper half. you’re like an art piece, painted with the red-hot passion coming from his body. you’re his muse.

a hand wraps itself around your throat, putting you in a chokehold. hamzah uses his grip to yank you out of your laying position. from there, he picks you up, pushing you down to the floor. you get on your knees, as if it’s an instinct.

“my pretty girl’s face, my fucking throat.” you hear him mindlessly mumble, untying and pulling down his sweatpants. you can see how hard he is through his boxers, cock nearly peeking out through the waistband. you feel your mouth water as he pulls it out, desperate for it to be inside you.

he slaps the head against your lips, once, twice, before you’re opening up for him. he goes slow at first, letting you dance your tongue around the tip, taking your time.

but hamzah is impatient.

it’s why he’s grabbing at the back of your head, forcing you down to the base. you squeal when your nose makes contact with the thick layer of hair against his skin, balls slapping against your chin. he holds your head there for a second, then lets you pull off for air.

you drunkenly smile up at him, spit slicked around your mouth. he slaps his cock against your face, making you squint your eyes. he laughs at how fucked-out you are, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“such a fucking slut.” he chuckles, deep and under his breath. “only for my cock.”

you smile up back at him stupidly, mouth still covered in slick. “only for your cock,” you repeat after him.

“mhmm? want it inside you?” he teases. what he doesn’t expect is your immediate reaction, excitedly jumping up off your knees and into his lap. you wrap your arms around his neck, bare chest pressed to his shirt.

“please, fuck- need your cock in me sooo bad daddy. want you to fucking use me, so bad, make a mess out of me.” you ramble, giggling as you speak. he grinds his hips up into yours as you relay your fantasies to him, turned on by how desperate you are for his cock, and his only.

“yeah? want it that bad, baby?” he says in a sing-song voice, teasing you. he grips his cock in his hand, touching your bare pussy with just the tip, but he makes sure not to slide it in. you nod, desperately, shaky pleads rapidly exiting your mouth.

“gotta do something for me first. that okay, baby?” he asks, and you’re nodding rapidly.

“mhm? what is it?” you ask back, eager for his cock.

“can you repeat after me, baby?” he softly asks, receiving another nod from you.

“im hamzah’s slut, and all of my holes belong to him.”

you don’t hesitate.

“im hamzah’s slut, all my holes belong to him, my pussy is yours- fuck!” you scream when his cock enters you. he doesn’t hesitate or slow for you to get used to the stretch. he’s claiming every inch of your pussy, going as deep as he can inside of you.

“fucking made for my cock.” he says, snapping his hips up into you at a cruel pace. “taking it so well.”

you can already feel yourself getting close. his dick prods up against that spot every thrust, and his words only make it feel better. you shudder at each brush against your sweet spot, thighs shaking softly against him.

hamzah only increases the pace, thrusting into you with vigor. it’s a brutal assault on your cunt, but god does it feel good. his hand brushes through his curls while the other pins you down to the mattress.

he feels you clench around him, and suddenly his thrusts switch from fast and eager to slow but deep. he follows you as you orgasm around him, planting his cum deep inside you.

he pulls out with a grunt, catching his breath while he admires your body. again - you’re his work of art. he watches as a trickle of cum leaks out of you, and he pushes it back in with his finger.

he’s claimed you.

you’re his.

he pulls himself out of his trance when your body moves out of its position. he remembers how drunk you are again, watching you as you reach to tuck yourself in under the covers. he places a kiss in your cheek before he gets in bed next to you, tucking the two of you in together.

it’s peaceful, domestic- it’s satisfying to him, the way he knows that you won’t get this with any other guy. even when you’re drunk, you still don’t protest his possessiveness. it makes him feel warm inside.

as much as you’re his, he’s yours.

[sebscore]

MONZA MANICURE

pairing: daniel ricciardo x driver!reader

warnings: swearing. broken nail. being taken out on track. middle finger.

author's note: I don't even know how I came up with this idea, it came to mind and I couldn't get it out of my head. maybe because of the lack of danny ric on my page.

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''SCREW THAT FUCKING CARROT ON WHEELS! OH MY GOD!'' Were the words that Y/N's team heard through their headphones as Daniel took her out of the race.

She let out a big sigh as her car came to a halt, disappointed that no points would be earned this racing weekend. Y/N felt a throbbing pain on her nail that caused her to hiss, she took off her gloves and saw blood around the nail of her ring finger.

''The idiot broke my nail!'' She exclaimed, garnering laughter from her engineer and commentators as her radio message was replayed on television.

She disconnected her steering wheel and stepped out of the cockpit, too much damage to continue her race. A bit further from where she was, Daniel also got out of his car.

The Australian noticed the young woman and did a thumbs up, asking her if she's alright.

Instead of copying his action to let him know she's okay, she held up her middle finger. Daniel simply laughed, no taking offense as he knew she was joking around with him.

He waited for her by his car, ready to apologize. ''Danny! You broke my nail!'' Y/N latched onto her throbbing nail, trying to reduce the pain even if it was just a little bit. She held up her hand to his face, giving him a close-up.

He grabbed her wrist, inspecting the bloody nail. ''I'm so sorry, does it hurt a lot?'' Daniel felt guilty. He hadn't meant to take her out of the race, he dodged out of the way for someone else and accidentally touched her car from behind.

''It hurts like a bitch! Oh, I just got them done this week.'' She groaned, trying to put more pressure on her fingernail.

The McLaren driver put his hand on the side of her helmet as if it was her cheek. ''I'm really sorry, love. Kevin was gonna hit me and I got out of the way.'' He explained his action.

''I'm honestly more concerned about my nail than the race, Danny.'' Y/N laughed it off, she wouldn't have ended up on the podium anyway. The two walked back to the paddock, being scurried off by the marshals.

Daniel offered her a smile, one that wasn't visible because of his helmet. ''If there's anything I can do to help with your nail, I'll do it.'' He easily took the helmet off of his head, figuring that being able to see his face would make his words more personal.

Meanwhile, Y/N had more trouble taking hers off as her nail was still hurting and she couldn't use her full strength. ''Can you help take off my helmet? It's hard with my nail.'' She asked him, tapping his arm.

''Of course.'' Daniel moved in front of her and used both of his hands to grab the sides of her helmet. Instead of gliding off easily like usual, her head seemed stuck and Daniel was almost lifting her from the ground. ''Oh my god, my helmet! Not my head!'' She exclaimed, grabbing Daniel's arms to stop him from helping.

The Australian looked down and noticed her standing on her tippy toes, making him giggle and he pulled his hands back. ''I think your head's too big, Y/N.'' He teased her, patting the top of the helmet.

''And your ego's too big, but you don't see me complaining, Ricciardo.''

''Alright, missy.''

''I don't know how I even ended up here.''

After the race, Heidi, Daniel's girlfriend, had suggested to Y/N that she and her would get their nails re-done together, sponsored by the Honey Badger himself. The female driver had found it a great idea, looking forward to spending time with Heidi as they had never really hung out with just the two of them.

However, Heidi fell sick and wasn't able to make it anymore to their little manicure date. At first they texted back and forth, planning to reschedule it, but Heidi had a proposal: that Daniel joins Y/N at the salon.

The young woman wasn't too sure about it, not because she didn't want to spend alone time with Daniel, but because she didn't want it to come across that she wanted to have something romantic with the older driver. Fortunately, Heidi was able to assure her that she didn't mind and that she wouldn't suggest it if she didn't have full trust in either of them. So, here the two Formula One drivers were in a beauty salon in Monza.

''You broke my nail, that's what happened.'' She replied in a sarcastic tone.

While Y/N got her nails re-done, Daniel opted for a facial as he claimed his nails were ''decent for a 33 year-old man''. They had charmed the specialists into putting them into the same room, so they could talk with one another.

Daniel wanted to laugh, but the woman spreading all kinds of creams on his face prevented him from doing that. ''Hey, I'm making it up to you, aren't I?''

''Yeah, you are,'' Y/N smiled, watching him getting his facial treatment, ''anyway, now that it's just the two of us- I have a question for you.''

Daniel raised his eyebrows, intrigued by her words. ''Go on…''

''So, what do you really think of Lando?''

''What the fuck, Y/N.''

[jasmines-library]

I'll Make This Up To You

WHUMPTOBER DAY SIX: Prompt: made to watch

Summary: after being kidnapped by the joker, Jason is forced to watch you being tortured when you beg to take his place.

Warning: Blood, beating, gore, cursing, punctured lung.

Word count: 1.3k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Your entire body throbbed. Your wrists hung limply from rusty chains that dangled from the ceiling. Your bare toes struggled to relieve the burning that spread down your arms and into the sockets of your shoulders. Your toes hardly skimmed the floor, not providing you with a fraction of release from the agony in your shoulders. The groaning and clanging of the chains on the other side of the room alerted you to the other presence nearby. He was still wearing his black suit with the red bat insignia printed across his chest. 

“Hood?” You murmured from across the room, trying to grab his attention. The boy groaned, bleary eyed before mumbling your name lowly in response.

“Are you okay?” He asked, testing the strength of his chains albeit to find that he was firmly stuck. 

“Yeah” You blinked groggily. “What happened? I don’t remember anything besides-”

A blinding light piercing through the darkness. Shattering glass, a scream. Then nothing.

“The crash.” Jason finished for you. 

You were about to speak again; to utter another string of words when you were silenced by a catatonic laughter. 

The Joker barged his way through the double doors to the room. They slammed loudly against the wall as he pushed up his sleeves. Although Jason was still wearing his mask, you could sense the fear rising in his body and you could practically see the way his eyes dilated with fear.

“Isn’t this nice?” He grinned, walking around the two of you. “My two favourite birdies all in one place.”

He smiled a toothy grip his face too close to yours for comfort before whipping back around to Jason and wiggling his fingers. “How’s it hanging Little Robin? Did ya miss me?”

Jason tried to recoil from the man before him, but the chains only allowed him to swing feebly back and forth. This elicited another manic laugh from the Joker. 

“Now, I would say that I'm sorry to do this to you again, but that would be a lie.”

He ran his finger along Jason’s hooded jawline, before trailing his fingers down to his neck and to the hem of his mask which he tore from his face. 

“Hiya, Jaybird.” He said, giving him a wink. Jason stiffened at the nickname. “Oh how I missed this pretty face.”

“Fuck you.” He spat.

The Joker pulled back, placing a hand to his chest in mock hurt and cackling once more. “Your words wound me, Jason. Like father like son I see.”

The sound of an old, metal cart being pushed with a squeaky wheel by one of his goons filled the room. On top of it lay an assortment of weapons and tools, two of which you identified as yours. Another man tugged in an old camera. “I think it’s time that we send the bat a message.” his fingers danced along the edge of the tray, before he picked up a small knife and twirled it between his digits. “He needs to stop getting on my last nerve and you, my little birdy, need to learn to keep your mouth shut.”

His last sentence was exaggerated with a swing of his arm, which landed a well placed cut to Jason's cheek. 

“Hey!” You yelled, squirming against your restraints. “Get the fuck away from him!”

The suit-clad man spun around slowly, tilting his head and the knife towards you.

“Oh? The little bird has something to say. Tell me, Y/N,” He provoked as his goon removed your mask from your face. “What are you gonna do about it? What are you gonna do when I drive your very own knife through your beloved Jaybird’s heart? Hmm?”

“I told you to leave him alone.” You spat back in his face. 

The Joker's eyes turned dark as he narrowed them coldly at you. His grin dropped as he turned back around and slashed another line against Jason’s face. He grunted, eyes wide as he began to relive his past time with the villain. You felt your heart clench; you couldn’t let him go through that. Not again. You couldn’t watch as he tried to fix himself. You couldn’t watch him suffer again. 

“Stop it!” You yelled at him, only for the other man to cover your mouth firmly with his hand. You fought hard, shouting until your voice went hoarse. “Please…hurt me instead.”

The Joker stopped, a shit eating grin exaggerated across his features. “Smile for the camera.”

~~~

Your head hung limply, chin resting on your chest. Blood trickled down your temple, oozed from your nose and clung to almost every inch of your skin. Inch deep cuts lay littered across your skin, along with a multitude of  The sound that left your mouth was barely a scream as he drove the knife into the flesh of your thigh. 

Jason had tried to keep from crying out; each yell or vulgar comment leaving you with another scar to add to your collection, or another fingernail ripped out from its bed, but he couldn’t bear to watch you suffer in place of him. It made his stomach twist into knots. He prayed that Tim would be able to hack the livestream that Joker was feeding to the cave and reach you before something fatal happened.

Jason squirmed in the chains. They clanked together loudly. “Leave her alone!”

The man tutted before you, turning away and leaving the knife lodged within the muscle.The vigilante was about to let out a sigh of relief when he watched the Joker's fingers dance over the various bloodied tools and towards the wooden bat. 

Before the dark-haired boy could make another sound, the bat was slammed into your ribs. You gasped, eyes flying open as you swung on the chains. You heaved a ragged gasp as he swung hard again, crying out as you felt your ribs shatter. You let out a haggard cough, tasting the copper on your tongue as your blood coated the inside of your mouth and then dribbled from your chapped lips. The rib had punctured a lung.  

The villain's laughter morphed with the chorus your screaming and Jason’s shouting. The wooden bat clattered on the floor, but was soon replaced by Jason’s pistol. He cried out loudly.  “I hope you’re watching, Batsy.” Joker, picked up the camera, zooming in on your face. “I want you to see the light leave her eyes.”

“I’ll do you one better.” A voice sounded behind him.

Looking over his shoulder, the villain was greeted with the dark cowl of Batman’s suit. The taller man grabbed the villain, swinging him into the wall. The three other boys jumped into action, tackling the goons. Fueled with anger and determination, it didn’t take long before they were releasing you from the shackles that tugged agonisingly on your body. 

You landed in a heap on the floor, wheezing loudly as Jason collapsed to his knees beside you, fingers pressing harshly against your thigh. You whimpered. 

“I’m sorry. Stay with us, I'm sorry.”

“I’m fine- ” You coughed trying to dismiss Jay’s worry. You didn’t want him to feel any guiltier than you knew he already did. Your head dizzied as you were hoisted into the air by a strong pair of arms. 

“I’m sorry.” He repeated it like a mantra. “I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

You shook your head. “Jay…this is not your fault.”

“But-”

You cut him off with another ragged cough, spilling more blood from your lips. He forced his legs to move further. 

“Not your fault.”

Instead of fighting back, he decided to pull you closer. “I’m gonna get you fixed up Y/N. I promise. I will make this up to you.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY FIVE ⛤ DAY SEVEN ->

🏷️ taglist

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

It’s a Loud and Dark World, but I Think I Found the Light

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria (Saviors Era)

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, allusions to mental health battles, light angst

Summary: You’ll always be there to call him back.

A/N: I’m not feeling very okay right now. This isn’t as angsty as I thought it could be. I just wasn’t ready to go there with it. Anyway, fanfic writing as therapy is a thing.

*gif is not mine

“Daryl.” You said his name calmly, quietly. He wasn’t all present, lost in a desperation that you could see shaking his frame. The handgun he was still brandishing visibly trembled, aiming at nothing. He had killed them all. 

But not before they had hurt you. 

You had watched all circumspection fade the moment he burst into the warehouse to find you on the floor, bruised but no worse for wear. His blue eyes burned like the hottest flame, firing shot after shot long after the last man fell and the clip was empty. His gaze had dulled, his mind undoubtedly trapping him with the Saviors again. 

That vacant stare remained. 

“Hey.” You placed a hand on his shoulder but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t look at you. You needed to bring him back. Slowly. Carefully. Your hand traveled from his shoulder, sliding down his arm as you took deliberate steps forward. “It’s okay. I’m here. We’re safe. You saved me.” When you made it to his wrist, you allowed the opposite hand to wrap around the barrel while you gently worked his fingers open. 

His eyes finally focused to search you out. It took longer than it should have for him to find you, though you stood so closely. The gun now free, you flicked on the safety and then shoved the firearm into the back of your jeans. 

“You saved me.” You repeated, stepping in front of him after he allowed his arm to drop to his side. You placed your hands against his chest, eyes flickering down to the bullet wound on his right flank. He wasn’t even feeling it. “I need you with me, Daryl. Are you with me?”

He stared for a moment longer and then cleared his throat. “M’with ya.”

Your hands slowly slid up to his shoulders, finding him pliant enough to be pulled into an embrace. He didn’t respond at first but you continued to hold on until you finally felt his arms encircle you. Petite fingers combed through his hair. 

“I want you to leave this here.” He pulled back, expression equal parts sadness and fear. “Everything you felt. What you did. What you had to do. Leave it here in this warehouse. Will you do that for me?”

“Y/N, I—”

“No. They can’t have you.” Your hands went to his face.  “They tried to break you and they couldn’t. Do you hear me? They could not break you. They do not get a single second more of you.” Your heart clenched as he began to crumble. “Come on, let’s get you home.” 

There was a moment of hesitation. His eyes slid up toward the scene behind you but never made it before finding your face again. With a nod that was barely there, he allowed you to steer him toward the broken doors. 

Thank god, he hadn’t brought the bike. You could drive it but would have worried that he wouldn’t be present enough to hold on. The beat up sedan worked just fine.

He went into the passenger seat without argument, staring at his lap once inside. He even put his hand over the wadded up flannel you pressed against his wound. You were already inside and had the car started before he seemed to realize you were there. With one hand on the wheel and the other firmly holding his between the seats, you began the drive back. 

Negan and the Saviors hadn’t broken Daryl, but you were going to make them pay for ever thinking they could even try. 

[oldfashioned-lovergirl]

Can I suggest a lewis hamilton fic where the reader is their teammate they've basically been through through thic and thin and they have an argument abt lewis not tell you abt going too ferrari and they confess their feelings and let their frustrations through sex??? (( THIS IS LITERALLY SOO MUCH TOO ASK FOR SO UF YOU CAN WRITE IT ITS FINEEE)) - anon 🌺

☆ LOST IN THE FIRE — lewis hamilton x reader

tags: smut, switching control, sexual tension, angry sex, dirty talk, age gap

note: first ff I write in a while, please y’all be kind with my english :3 hope you like it, I thirst way too much for this man

masterlist

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

The way the evening is ending is making you nervous and you’re not very good at hiding it. Well, you didn’t expect to discover the worst news possible in the middle of the after party of a fashion show in Paris and above all you didn’t expect to hear that from a stranger and not from the person concerned. Such person concerned is now driving you back to your Paris hotel because according to him you are “too upset” to take your own car.

Now, while you’re looking outside the window without saying a word, you hope he told someone to take your car to the hotel, or you swear to God you’re gonna scream to his face. You want to scream to his face so bad.

The city night lights are magical but you can’t think about anything that isn’t what you had just discovered. The atmosphere is awkwardly silent. Lewis is keeping his sight straight on the road, hands on the wheel. His profile is a picture you know way too well. It’s obvious he wants to say something. Anything.

“You know we’re still gonna see each other every week, right?”

“That’s not the point.”

He lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“I’d rather not talk about it right now.”

“Then what do you wanna talk about?”

“Nothing.” You miss the awkward silence.

You already had arguments during your friendship/coworking/whatever that is, but never like that. That’s different. You feel hurt.

He finally reaches the hotel. He can’t stop right in front, so he parks in the next street. You open the door.

“I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to.”

He gets out of the car anyway. You’re not surprised he’s acting like a gentleman even when you’re so angry you could punch him. “It’s 2 AM and I won’t leave you alone.”

You walk alongside him, trying not to look at his open jacket. The fact that he’s wearing absolutely nothing under it isn’t helping. Damn this man and his impeccable fashion sense. “You weren’t so kind when you lied to me about your new contract.” At this point you don’t even care if people hear you argue.

“I didn’t lie.”

“Oh right, you just forgot to tell me.”

“I was going to.”

“When? When you’re already driving a Ferrari car? Don’t worry I’m not colourblind.” Great, now you reached the point where you can’t keep your mouth closed. And he’s following you to your room because he’s just like you, he has to have the last word.

“Soon. And stop using that sarcastic tone with me, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Of course, my bad, you’re always right about everything. You’re so selfish and childish, running away from the things you love just because you’re scared.” You ask yourself if you’re provoking him too much. No, he deserves that. You’re about to open the door with the electronic key when he takes you wrist and pulls you away. He stands right between you and the door, preventing you from getting in. “Leave me alone.”

“I’m not scared, I don’t like to be ignored. You are the selfish one here, not trying to see things from my point of view. You think it’s so easy for me?” He’s raising his tone. He never did it with you and now you find yourself holding back the tears. “You can’t even imagine what does it mean to leave my team, to leave my friends, to leave… you. But I can’t stay anymore, it’s dragging me down and you know it.”

Those words touch your heart. You feel sorry for him but you just can’t forgive him. You simply can’t stand the thought of racing without him as your teammate. “Then why didn’t you tell me? We can fix this, we can make changes and…”

“I don’t want change, I want to be myself and I want to be listened to. I would have told you sooner but I didn’t want to hurt you. See, now you’re hurt and I don’t know what to do because…” You’re eyes are on him but he’s looking down. He’s still holding your wrist and you bet he feels your heartbeat going faster than him in a Mercedes. “Because I care about you and I don’t want to lose you.”

You try to release from his grasp but he pulls you close. “Well done, now you lost me.”

“You sure?”

“I hate you.”

He kisses you, immediately moving his other hand to your neck to pull you even closer. His dreads brush your shoulder. You try not to shake for the emotions filling you. You lose yourself in the kiss. You can’t think about anything else than your tongues tangled, so you completely forgot you’re still in the hallway. Lewis takes the electronic key from your hand and unlocks the door. He brings you in and closes it behind your back, pushing you on the door. It frustrates you that he always has you under his thumb, no matter how much effort you put into escaping it.

He wouldn’t force you to do anything, ever. You know that he will keep away his hands if you won’t make a move in that direction. However the moan you let slip makes him inevitably smile. You lick the gap between is teeth and proceed to kissing him more passionately.

He shouldn’t dare to laugh at you right now, not even if you’re probably about to explore each other bodies. You put your hands on his chest and push him on the wall of the bedroom so violently that you worry you’ve hurt him. Bold of you to even think you can hurt a F1 driver’s back. A seven times world champion F1 driver’s back.

Your hands travel under his jacket, brushing his nipples and causing him to hold his breath. His naked chest feels smooth. There’s no better feeling than having him finally in your hands. It’s a dream coming to reality.

“Oh you hate me so much.”

Can he read your thoughts? Or did he just say that because you’re mapping his upper body with your fingers? His kisses continue on your chin, then on your jaw and then on your neck. They’re soft yet so hot. You want to reply but you’re too worried to make another sound. His strong hands are now on your hips, they slide up to your waist, stroking it up and down, his mouth now reaching your naked shoulder and leaving marks on it.

He’s definitely now in control of the situation, as always. You want to regain it, but he’s good at making you melt under his palms. You want him in you so bad and you’ll have him. You take him by his jacket and drag him in front of the bed, quickly getting rid of his jacket. You push him on the white bed sheets, climb and sit on top of him. You can feel him hard.

He has the body and the face of a young god, he’s so flawless that makes your almost 20 years age difference look 0.

“Take off your clothes.” He commands.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

You pin his hands on his sides and begin slightly moving your hips. His eyes turn to the ceiling for a moment and his breath becomes louder. “You can’t torture me like this.”

“I think you deserve that.”

You stop and sit back in his lap. He looks up at you with his dark bambi eyes. They’re the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. You take a moment to appreciate the sculpted inked chest he likes posting on instagram so much, thinking about all the times you spent trying to hide how jealous those fuckboy pictures make you feel. Maybe the jokes you always make on the topic betray you.

“Does this mean you forgive me?”

You’re unsure about that, but what you’re definitely sure of is that you’re falling deeply in love with this man. Those puppy eyes are making you regret all the bad things you said to him.

That doesn’t change that you’re still mad. “We’ll see.”

He helps you unzip your dress, moving his hands across your back and slowly down on your ass, and you let him. The straps of your dress fall down on your arms and he stands in order to press his mouth on your collarbone. He takes your dress off, it falls down on the moquette. “I want you.” He gets rid of your bra and begins kissing your breasts like they’re the sweetest fruit on Earth. “I want you so bad.”

Years of friendship colliding into that moment. You want to shout, insult him, hurt him because it hurts you so much watching him leave, but the only words that escape from your mouth are: “L-Lewis I–“. You bite your bottom lip.

You can see through his pleased smirk that he couldn’t wait to make you eat that “I hate you”.

He takes advantage of your moment of weakness to take back control. He flips your positions and frees you both from the last clothes. God, his arms are perfect. “Open wide for me, darling.” His hands on your thighs are making you unable to speak. “Good, just like that.” He licks his lips at the sight of your wetness.

You can’t take it anymore. “Stop playing Lewis, just… just do it.”

He bends over you, a few centimetres from your mouth. “Pretty please?”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

And so he does.