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boxofbonesfic · 4 months

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scene prompt! bucky eating you out until you physically can’t take it anymore but he doesn’t stop.

Title: You’re Gonna Give Me Six

Pairing: Mechanic!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Absolute Filth. Cunnilingus, Overstimulation

You don’t even see him before his arms are anchored tight around your waist, his face buried against the back of your neck. He smells like sweat and motor oil, and you know the fingers he’s digging into your hip through the fabric of your dress are stained with the stuff—they always are. There’s a smudge of it on his cheek, a testament to how quickly he’d fled the garage downstairs upon seeing your car pull into the driveway.

“Missed you.” Bucky breathes the words against your skin and you shiver as they leave goosebumps. You know he means it, the way he sighs and presses his nose into the loose curls at the nape of your neck. Bucky doesn’t talk much—a trait you still find a little unsettling, but you’re learning to read him the way he reads you; learning how to hear words hidden in the slow pass of his hand or the upward curl of his lips. It makes his words heavy, like they’re carrying more than just themselves—so you know he means them.

“I was only gone a week.” Your words are muffled by his shoulder. You can feel his lips curve against your throat. He hums low in his throat.

“S’ too long.” When he dumps you onto the bed, the sheets all smell like him, like he’s spent every night you were apart here in your apartment. You suspect that if you were to bury your face in the pillows, you’d smell his aftershave.

“How’m I supposed t’sleep ‘less I can feel you right next to me, Peach?” Your feet dangle off the edge of the bed as Bucky settles himself between your thighs. “Ain’t slept good in days.” His hands are warm on your thighs, his thumbs rubbing circles into your bare skin as he pushes the hem of your dress up over your hips.

“And that’s my fault?” You ask teasingly, though your boyfriend nods without missing a beat.

“Mmm.” He drags his finger down over the swell of your cunt through your panties, before cupping it with one huge hand. “Got some apologies to make, I reckon.” You squeal as he tugs your panties tight, tugging them back and forth between the lips of your pussy like dental floss. You gasp.

“B-Buck—” He snaps the elastic against you before tugging them to the side.

“That’s good, Peach,” he says, his rough hands spreading your thighs apart as he lowers himself between them. “All I wanna hear s’ my name.” The first touch of his tongue is electric, gently tracing the outline of your lips like he’s trying to map them out. Your sharp breath elicits a chuckle, and you feel his mouth curve against you. Bucky spreads your thighs further apart, slipping his tongue into your folds with a soft moan of appreciation.

“Should’a done this before you got in that damn taxi,” he mumbles. “Should’a tasted you before you left.” You want to respond, but the words keep devolving into meaningless babble as his tongue works against you. His fingers dig into your thighs as he sucks your clit into his mouth, rolling it.

“O-oh f-fuck—”

You cum without warning, squeezing your thighs around his head as you rock your hips into his face. Bucky groans, holding you in place as your thighs tremble. He doesn’t stop, forcing your trembling thighs back open.

“B-Bucky what, what—oh—” You arch into the mattress as he finds your swollen, overworked clit with his tongue. “B—” It’s like electricity exploding behind your unseeing eyes, and you keen as he slides two thick fingers into your sopping cunt, moaning low in his throat as you clamp down around him.

“You’re gonna give me six more, Peach,” he says lowly. Bucky spreads his fingers, scissoring them inside you with a wet squelch. “One for every day you missed.”

#ask the bones #requests #drabbles #bones drabbles #boxofbones drabbles #boxofbonesfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan fandom #sebastian stan fanfiction #bucky x you #bucky x reader

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chalametluvrz · 2 months

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dating timothee chalamet

timothee x afab!reader (mainly gn! expect on nsfw bits)

towards the start of the relationship, i think he'd be pretty anxious

he'd often find himself messing around with his hands a lot on dates

or stumbling over his words a little too much with a small giggle

if you've ever seen old interviews of him when he was younger. you know the ones where he gets all shy and giggly? that's exactly how i envision him to be with you

after some time, that's slowly replaced with his hyperactive ass

and let me tell you, boy never shuts the fuck up that's not a bad thing

because of his schedule, he rarely gets to see you in person

so whenever he does, he just has so much to tell you and so much to talk about that he just ends up coming out with a cluster-fuck of words

he always tries to facetime you at least a couple times a week

and let me tell you, the call will always start with him saying 'oh, i missed your pretty face' or 'seeing you has made my day'

boy is madly in love

and even though he hasn't said it yet, it's fairly obvious he's not hiding anything

he's the kind of person to want to keep your relationship on the down low

because if you're also famous, he wouldn't want to cause any issues or drama through tabloids

and if you aren't, he'd feel awful dragging you into the world of hollywood

eventually though, as most celeb relationships do, you got found out

someone caught you out on your 6 months anniversary

and that was it; twitter was going mental

timothee soon figured out that he probably had to say something

but honestly, he was kind of relieved he didn't have to hide you anymore

the morning you two woke up and saw yourselves going viral on twitter, there was a bit of a mad scramble between the two of you

before eventually, timothee chilled out

'but now i don't need to hide we're together, anymore. i can let the world know you're mine.' he'd say to your confusion at his relaxed state

cute but also now all of timmy's fans are stalking your instagram

cooking meals together!!!

i have a feeling timothee's love languages are more tailored towards physical touch and acts of service tell me im wrong

so cooking together is such a beautiful thing for him

as much as timothee loves taking you out, i think he'd much prefer to cook a fancy pasta dish together with wine over that any day

he also strikes me as a cosy movie date guy

but honestly, it more than likely turns into something else

don't fight me on his, he's a horny guy

like bro would get a hard-on just snuggling with you

when you first started dating, he'd get all shy about it

he'd apologise frantically and his face would be redder than ever

after dating for some time, he'd be less phased

unless you showed and expressed discomfort with it of course

after the shock of you dating slowly weaved out of the fans

timothee would definitely start posting you on his instagram

he just needed the world to know how obsessed he is with you

arguments are rare

extremely rare

they usually only happen when timothee is stressed

feelings get heated and you end up making some snippy comments at each other before one of you gets up and leaves the room

after you've both had time to cool down, you're both mature enough to talk it out and apologise for whatever each of you or one of you has done

communication is a big thing for timmy, so i think arguments are heavily avoided because he encourages you to come to him about anything

any concerns, rants and problems you have, he wants to know

he's a flirter, let me tell you that thankfully not with others

always dazzling you with compliments

you're in the crowd at a press tour? he's staring, smirking and winking at you the whole time

you're supporting him whilst he's on set? the man can't take his eyes off you and is coming to hold you the second the shot is taken

you're on facetime? every odd sentence is him saying some suggestive comment or simply how stunning you are

the man cannot get enough of you

going back to the horny thing...

he has a high sex drive

there's absolutely no doubt about it

he is a giver!!! the man aims to please!!!

could eat you out for days

i've already made a headcanon about him eating you out so i will be brief BUT!!!

he's messy!!! the wetter the better!!!

will overstimulate you with hid tongue any day

and then make sure you cum on his cock as well

you know what they say about tall, skinny boys? wink wink

i'd say he's a good 7 inches, 7 1/2 at a push

he knows how to please you, and he's eager to learn what makes you tick

even though he's mainly a dom, i can see him being a sub at times

only on rare assurances though

being his date to things like the met gala, oscars etc

after being open about your relationship, he couldn't wait to take you everywhere and anywhere with him

loves it when you wear his clothes

but i feel like all boys do?

especially when he's away, opening up a facetime call to see you sat there in one of his t-shirts. he actually thinks his heart might implode.

this boy will actually love you with his whole heart

the cutest, softest and proudest boyfriend around fr

#timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet headcanon #timothee chalamet smut #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet scenario #timothee chalamet drabble #laurie laurence #paul atreides #willy wonka #lee bones and all #little women #dune #wonka #headcanons #imagine #smut #drabble

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jazzythursday · 11 months

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Wylan leaves in the morning.

He doesn’t plan to, not exactly, but he definitely doesn’t plan on staying, either.

Wylan is no stranger to one night stands. He can’t say he gets around very frequently, but enough to know the general plot of how they're supposed to go.

Flirt, drink, fuck, leave. The order isn’t necessarily set in stone, but the list ends the same every time.

He has a good time, for the most part, and it’s always a welcome break from the awful chemical smell burned into the Tannery or the staleness of the empty rooms in cheap boarding houses (when he can afford them) that Wylan is used to. Wylan likes the freedom that comes with it, too. It’s liberating to go where he wants and do what he pleases; to not worry about who he’s seen with or sleeps with or what they might think of him after. And he likes feeling wanted, for a little while. He likes being reminded that he exists.

So Wylan does not make a habit of falling asleep with the people who take him to bed.

He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, really.

He doesn't remember, and yet, Wylan wakes up with his head pillowed on Jesper’s chest. With Jesper’s arm draped over him. His breath is warm where it ghosts over the top of his hair, and if Wylan glances up he can see the way Jesper’s mouth— those lips— fall open in sleep.

It’s the best morning he’s had in months, possibly. Certainly the most comfortable.

He knows it can’t last.

Wylan looks at Jesper, still sleeping peacefully next to him, and he panics.

He’d woken up in Jesper Fahey’s arms.

He’d slept with Jesper Fahey.

Jesper has a reputation, and Wylan knows it, even new to the Barrel as he is. He’d heard about Dirtyhand’s second and resident sharpshooter plenty— Can’t resist a gamble, never misses a shot, and not just with bullets. Jesper Fahey is an excellent marksman, they say, with terrible luck with the cards, and a soft spot for pretty girls and even prettier boys.

Jesper’s played the field— multiple fields— went on a seismic world tour of fields.

Wylan is very good at not being noticed. He’s also very good at listening. People tend to look past him, they never pay any mind to the too skinny boy with the wild hair and the hunched shoulders and the grime that never seems to wash off completely after his long shifts at the Tannery. Wylan knows this, knows he’s very adept at being able to disappear, when he needs to.

So by the time Wylan actually meets Jesper, he’s well aware of his place in Ketterdam’s booming rumor mill. Jesper has many, and Wylan thinks by now he may have heard them all.

And yet, none of them do a thing to prepare him for Jesper.

They’d met in a tavern.

Wylan had been nursing his drink for the better half of an hour, trying to come up with reasons not to go back to the sad cot he had waiting for him in a rented room, with the only window overlooking the brick wall of a dark alley.

So far, he’d only come up with the one.

Wylan had seen the tall Zemeni man from across the room and hadn’t stopped looking since. He was flirting with a girl at the bar, twirling one of his guns in one hand demonstratively with a drink in the other. The girl— a curly haired blond— was giggling, hand pressed to her mouth with eyes that had very clear and direct intentions.

Wylan had almost resolved himself to a night of wasting the few kruge at his disposal with little to show for it, when the man had looked up and caught him staring. The man had smiled, twirling his gun with an extra flourish and then tipped his hat. Wylan smiled back, and gave a little wave. Embarrassing, He’d thought, stop it, he’s already with someone else anyway. He’d looked down, and stared at the near empty contents of his drink until someone sat down next to him and said, in a voice like apple butter and sweet syrup, “Can I get you another of those?”

Then Wylan had looked up into the eyes of the handsomest man he’d ever seen, and thought, he has the most perfect lips.

Out loud, he’d said, “I, uh, well—” His mouth was wide open, he’d realised, and shut it quickly. Again, the man had smiled. Again, Wylan had smiled back. “Yes, please.”

And that's how he’d met Jesper.

Afterwards, they’d stumbled through the streets— I know a place, Jesper said, If you want to take this somewhere more private— until they’d passed a corner where a vendor was selling traditional Kerch sweets out of a cart.

“Stroopwafels!” Jesper had stopped. “I love stroopwafels!”

Wylan was tugging him toward the cart without really making a conscious decision to move, and Jesper had laughed, surprised and delighted.

Wylan bought them both stroopwafels and handed Jesper his with a shy smile and a shrug. “For the drink.”

Jesper looked at him consideringly, head caulked to the side, and Wylan felt himself blushing in the low light of the lamps. “You’re sweet,” he’d said eventually.

“Is that bad?” Wylan had asked, sheepish. Jesper was already shaking his head.

“It’s good. Just not that many sweet things to be had in the Barrel. It’s refreshing.” He’d bit off a piece of one of the waffles and smiled. “These are sweet too,”— he’d leaned in, smile still earnest but with something decidedly different underneath— “I like sweet.”

Jesper had not touched him like he’d been expecting to be touched. Jesper made no assumptions; he’d asked, about everything, in a way that was near gentlemanly if it wasn’t for the fact that he radiated trouble through his pores. Jesper was— not quite gentle, because Wylan had expected hot and heady and everything deep, and Jesper was all of that and more— but he wasn’t rough. He didn’t bruise, not if Wylan didn’t say yes first, and afterwards he’d laid back down and settled Wylan into his arms in a way that he had no real way of protesting— didn’t want to protest, anyway— and kissed him.

It was that that had scared Wylan the most, he thinks. Because Wylan is rarely kissed for the express purpose of it. It was always the promise of more— the rush of what was to come. But people do not generally tend to kiss Wylan for the sake of kissing Wylan. It’s different. Jesper is different, and Wylan can’t afford to be stupid enough to do something like get attached. Can’t afford much at all— really.

But Jesper had kissed him, pleased and lazy and warm, and at some indeterminate time later they had both apparently fallen asleep.

And it was nice.

It was too nice. It hurt with how nice it was.

Wylan peels himself slowly out of Jesper’s arms, careful not to wake him, and decides then that he cannot stand to be here any longer.

Jesper Fahey is not what he’d expected, he’s better.

Jesper Fahey is lovely, and beautiful, and kinder to him than anyone has been to Wylan for almost as long as he can remember.

Jesper Fahey is more than he could have ever hoped for, and he isn’t going to stick around for someone like Wylan.

So Wylan leaves, and he doesn’t look behind him as he closes the door.

#wesper #inspired by the tweet about what kit said about their first meeitng #wesper drabble #wesper ficlet #wesper fanfic #wylan hendriks #wylan van eck #jesper fehey #shadow and bone #six of crows #shadow and bone fanfiction #Jazzy writes #jazzy writes fanfic #a drabble for your troubles?

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bones-of-a-rabbit · 5 months

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the ocean loves her children, you see.

There's an old story selkies tell their children. The ocean loves her children, you see: if you ask for her help, she will gift you the things you need, even if they are not what you want. So most seafolk- sirens, merkin, sea monsters, etc- were once like us: the soft and gentle selkie folk, who love the ocean and the world she gives them. But they were once in need of the ocean mother's help, and their hearts cried to her- and she answered them in kind, changing them beyond the magic their shapeshifting allowed. And so they survived.

You were lost from your family, in a strange sea, and had tried to help a struggling sailor. When they had turned on you, wanting your skin, you were shocked, scared, confused, angry, and you screamed your heartbreak so deeply that your throat went raw- and the ocean mother gave you new gifts, and you used them to tear the sailors apart.

selkies are meant to be soft, kind, the gentlest of the ocean's children. and in your moments of pain and betrayal, you had chosen to forsake those things. your rage and agony tore the water red and frothy, until there were no sailors left to rip apart.

you fell into despair, then. you tried to rip the scales from your back, tear the fins from your bones, but all for naught. then you slept. you did not want to wake. but the ocean heard the weak cries of your heart, and carried you to a new home.

you woke to another boat. more sailors. you were terrified. of them. of yourself. one spoke to you, fed you, tended your wounds. you were scared- scared of him. scared of how your heart longed to be healed by him.

later, you would love him. and, later still, you would feel whole again.

#sea monster au #sea monster reader #blood #tw blood #injury #tw injury #bones of a rabbit au #doodles #sketches #short drabble #ramble fic #lore #bones of a rabbit lore #selkie lore #idk i just like thinking up lore for my own dumb aus okay sue me skjdfsjdfh

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stevebabey · 3 months

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steve harrington but it's that jeff winger moment from community. if u have seen community, u will know... my first stobin-centric piece <3 tw for parental neglect and a prior act of self-harm. this is absolutely on the steve harrington has bad parents train <3

“Steven, this is ridiculous.”

Robin freezes in place. Her hand hovers over the remote she's just placed back down, her limbs locking up one by one at the sound of the voice at the door.

It is not a familiar voice. She knows who it is all the same.

She fights not to move, knowing the couch springs, old and rusted, threaten to reveal her hiding place, even if it is her house. Robin is very much allowed to be here. Expected, even.

But Steve? Steve is not.

It’s why there’s one Christine Harrington on the dingy porch steps.

It’s an unwelcome surprise — even after all the fuss of the 4th of July, a thousand police sirens, endless NDAs, and too much blood on his uniform, Steve’s parents hadn’t shown.

Out of town, Steve had said, his bashed in face making it impossible to read his expression. His eyes were haunted and misty but Robin couldn’t tell if it was from the horror of the night or… a loneliness far older.

So Robin had done the fussing. Had dragged him home with her, shooed away her rightfully nosy parents, and mended him up on her bathroom counter.

Steve had been silent, a little wide-eyed as she worked on each cut, each bruise — but with her gentle touch, he had been helpless to do anything but melt beneath it.

He’d called her Robbie for the first time that night. They’d fallen asleep with their hands intertwined, her arm hanging off the bed to reach out to him on her bedroom floor.

Robin still hasn’t met Steve’s parents, even though it’s been more than a couple months since that night.

She’s been to his house countless times too. She knows where the spare key is, if she ever loses her own copy, that is. Knows which stair squeaks on the way up to the second floor and how the lock on the downstairs bathroom gets jammed too easily.

She’s eaten the best grilled cheese of her life in their kitchen, sitting on the counter.

She’s laughed so hard she’s cried on their couch, getting the throw pillows wet with her happy tears.

She’s still never met Steve’s parents. Til right now.

Christine Harrington has her arms wrapped tight around her frame and Robin has no doubt that on her face is a frown that could make babies cry.

She can’t see her face though. Can only just see a glimpse of her tense body from where she sits. Steve blocks part of her view, his own tense frame in the doorway.

He’d answered the door instead of Robin only because he had the foresight to glance at the front window after the first rap at the door. It was late. Robin’s parents certainly wouldn’t knock at their own home and neither of them were expecting visitors.

The expensive car in the drive, a sore thumb along Robin’s street, had given away the identity of just who was knocking so late in the evening. So, Steve had opened it.

“Mom—”

“I mean utterly ridiculous.” Steve gets cut off without second thought, Christine continuing on as if she hasn’t heard him at all.

“Did you expect us to spend all evening chasing you around? Figuring out where you were tonight from the Carlton’s across the road?”

She’s got this snippy tone that Robin’s heard a thousand times from teachers. Patronising. Too cold for it to seem like a genuinely concerned parent.

“The Carlton’s?” Steve echoes, a bit meek. His shoulders have rolled forward, sinking down a bit and Robin can see his tight grip on the door. Still, she stays frozen, rooted to the couch.

“Yes, Steven.” Christine says his full name again, all bite. “Imagine the shame your father and I felt hearing that. Hearing who you had been associating with.”

“Don’t say that.” Steve grits out immediately, anger bleeding into his tone.

The muscles in his back ripple as he forces his shoulders back, as if he had remembered how to stand up straight at the mention of his friend.

Robin aches; at the reminder of the stark differences of their upbringings and at Steve’s unquestionable loyalty. She finally unfreezes, sitting up a little straighter and leaning forward more— ready to spring up from her seat.

She’s not sure what for exactly. She sorta really wants to go slam the door on Steve’s mom’s face and go back to being bundled up on the couch with him. The urge is strong enough to make her fingers twitch.

“Why are you here, Mom?”

There’s a strain to Steve’s question, even though he doesn’t falter in appearance. Robin can’t see his face either though. She hopes it’s got the bitchiest expression Steve can muster.

“Don’t be smart, Steven.” Christine reprimands coldly. “I know that we may have taken a larger absence than intended but that’s not any excuse to parade yourself around with the strays of this town.”

Strays. Robin feels the word pelt into her and burn into her skin, sinking all the way down. It feels like cold water has tipped down the back of her neck. An unwelcome pit forms in her stomach.

She had known, of course, the reputation of a family like the Harrington's. She hadn’t quite known the extent they would go to protect it. Policing your child's friends over a matter of image is absurd.

Somehow, Robin can see how Steve grows even tenser at his mom’s words— hackles raising like that on a dog. His knuckles turn white. But before he speaks, Christine is barreling on like she hasn’t just slandered every one of Steve’s new friends.

“And to leave the house in such a state?”

Robin hears her sigh heavily, as though this really is the biggest problem in her life — which she can’t fathom in the slightest.

There was nothing wrong with Steve’s house. No mess beyond the usual evidence that someone, you know, lived there.

“Mom, I—” Steve starts again.

“Well, I’m sure you have your reasons. You always do.” She says it so pointedly, like Steve was known for peddling lies to weasel his way out of trouble.

It’s so un-Steve it makes Robin blink hard, wondering if she had heard right.

Steve was honest. He owned his mistakes and he took things on the chin. It was something she had liked most about him in the beginning.

Back when it was all snark and Robin told herself she was never going to be his friend, in this universe or anything other. That even then, reluctant co-worker and nothing more, Steve was honest and decent to her always.

“Now, come on now.” Christine Harrington huffs out her demand. “Your father is waiting in the car and there no use winding him up more than you already have.”

Robin’s stomach turns at her words. It had been a topic of discussion between them, one night weeks ago, lips loosened by the dark. I feel like a dog to them, Steve had admitted quietly, his breath against her pillow and his warmth under her sheets. Like they just leave alone most of the time but expect me to perk up and come running the moment they call. I hate it.

“I’m not coming with you.”

The words stammer on their way out like he had forced them out— and Robin wants to sing she’s so proud of her best friend.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not coming with you.” Steve repeats himself, the words a little firmer this time. “I’m… I’m spending the night here, with my friend Robin.”

He trails off, the words weaker, losing steam. Robin rises to her feet, the tell-tale squeak of the couch springs letting Steve know she was still here. Still right behind him.

It makes him stand a little straighter.

“I— I’ll come home in the morning.”

Christine Harrington makes a little scoffing noise, a high pitched faux laugh as if Steve’s said something amusing.

“Tell me when did I raise such an ungrateful brat?” She muses meanly and Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve flinches lightly. “We give you free rein of the house, apt time by yourself, and yet when we request you to spend a single evening with us—”

“You’re not asking, you’re demanding.” Steve cuts in, his voice more heated now.

“Oh hush, Steven. You act as if we’re so awful.”

It’s all dismissal. Everything, every word, a dismissal.

“I just can’t win with you, can I?” Christine sighs again, disappointment dripping from the sound. “Either we’re not here enough or we’re here but you can’t find time to have dinner with your family. Which is it, Steven?”

In the doorway, Steve begins to bristle. Robin really, really wants to slam the door now — if only to stop this conversation that seems to keep cutting deeper and deeper into her best friend.

She steps closer to him, moving as silently as she can, and makes sure to stay out of sight as she places a hand gently on the small of his back.

He’s shaking, she realises.

Her heart twists painfully in her chest.

Then, deathly calm, Steve says, “Did you know in 7th grade, I lied and I told everyone in my class that I got appendicitis?”

Robin blinks at the change in subject, the strangeness of Steve’s comment. She does remember that, vaguely. A boy in the year above— it had been a wildfire rumour that had turned out to be true.

Or so she thought. Staring hard at the planes of Steve’s back, the pit in her stomach yawns with an anticipation of devastation. Her hand on his back curls up a bit.

“You and Dad were gone for the whole month to Washington. It was the first time you had ever gone for that long and you didn’t even tell me until the day before you left.”

“Steven—”

“I just wanted someone to worry about me.” He steamrolls on, tone too casual for the story he was telling. “And it worked."

A beat.

"But then Cassie Lange asked about the scar.”

Robin’s hand on Steve's back twists up tighter. She feels like she knows what’s coming— but wishes it to be not true.

She doesn’t want to think of Steve, little twelve year old Steve, doing all that he can for a scrap of attention he was supposed to be getting from his parents.

“And rather than admit I’d lied…” The words come out too tight. “I went and found your sewing scissors and I made one.”

There’s this icy bite to Steve’s voice, his shoulders tensed back up. Christine still hasn’t said anything.

“I hurt like a bitch but it was worth it. I got a card from every single person in my class.”

“You wanna see the scar?” He asks— then he’s moving, his hand rucking up his sweater and shirt and exposing the skin of his stomach. Christine makes a noise like a muffled gasp. Robin feels a bit sick. Steve drops his shirt.

“And I kept all of those cards I got —all 17 of them stashed them under my bed in a box that I still have til this day.” He exhales through his nose. “Because it was proof that, at some point, somebody actually gave a shit about me. Because you didn’t. You didn’t then and you don’t get to now.”

His words hang in the air. There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve stares down the woman on the porch— someone closer to a stranger than a friend.

“So, I will see you at home, tomorrow.”

And then he slams the door to Robin’s house shut with a finality that shakes the air. Robin tenses up at the loud noise. Steve doesn't move, just stays staring at the closed door.

Behind them both, one of the noisy pipes in the house makes a loud noise. It sounds worse than usual as it breaks the silence.

Outside, Robin hears the click of heels on the pavement as they quieten, moving further away.

The pit in her stomach tightens immeasurably, a faint bile taste in her mouth. She finally remembers to smooth out her hand, pressing it flat against Steven’s back— another reminder that she was there.

If he wanted to talk or he didn’t, she was there.

Suddenly Steve sighs, an exhale so large that he shrinks down a couple inches, his shoulders dropping. It sounds exhausted.

He finally turns away from the door, to Robin, and she can only hope her face conveys every ounce of love, of support, she feels within her chest.

“Steve…” She breathes softly.

He wasn’t crying but just the sound of his name, spoken so delicately, seems to inspire tears. Robin catches the tremble of his lip and moves without thought— throwing both her arms around his neck and wrestling him into a hug.

Steve goes easy, his arms snaking around her middle and holding her back so tightly it nearly makes her squeak. She doesn’t though— just lets him bury his face in her neck, taking these big shuddering breaths, these half-formed sobs that break her heart clean in half.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there. Car engines drone as they pass by the street. The streetlights seem to get brighter. Steve presses himself so close to her, as close as he can, and Robin hugs back just as tight. She gives him all the time he needs.

She wonders if there’s an indent of him on her when he finally pulls back — a Steve Harrington shaped outline imprinted on her soul. It feels like there is.

If she could trace it, she thinks, it would be whatever shape love takes.

“Thanks Robbie.” He croaks out. He’s started scrubbing furiously at his face and she can see the wet sheen of tears as he wipes them away.

Robin doesn’t move far, just unwinds her arms a bit and lets them fall back to her sides. There’s an ache between her brows from how long she’s been frowning in concern. Steve looks more disheveled than usual, his usually perfect hair looking flatter — but he looks lighter too, somehow.

“No need to thank me, dingus.” She says, voice soft. She faux punches his chest and then regrets it when his lips don’t even twitch upward. It’s weird to see Steve all undone.

Robin thinks back to that conversation and the callousness of Steve’s mom. Her uncaring tone, the use of his full name like an insult.

She thinks of what Steve had said.

“I’m sorry you felt—” The words get stuck in her throat which grows thicker as she thinks about it. About a self-made scar on Steve’s abdomen, made by a twelve year old boy who just wanted someone to worry.

“—That you felt like you had to do something like that to yourself. I’m sorry no one noticed what you really needed.”

Steve nods slowly, his eyes glazed with a far away look as he stares somewhere over Robin’s shoulder. He gives this little shrug, a little huff through his nose.

“It’s okay.” He says, voice a bit distant. “I mean, it’s not but… even if I hadn’t meant to tell you, I’m glad someone knows now.”

It takes another second before he finally seems to shake himself from his thoughts, turning to properly look at Robin. His eyes are red-rimmed and the tip of his nose is pink. Tell tale signs of tears.

“I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Robin swallows thickly and it takes effort to choke down the urge to cry.

“Well,” She starts. It comes out too high pitched and tight and she clears her throat. “Thank you for telling me.

Some kind of smile plays on Steve’s lips, as if he can tell that she’s fighting off her sniffling and it’s sorta funny to him. It is, a little.

Because instead of being embarrassed or feeling pitied, he feels… delightfully surprised to have her care so much. To be so upset on his behalf.

“Oh, c’mon Robbie,” He gives her that same faux-punch in the shoulder she did earlier and it actually succeeds in making her lips pull up at the edges. “None of that.”

“You’re such a dingus.” Robin says. It comes out a bit wobbly still. Sue her— she doesn’t have Steve’s insane ability to bounce from one emotion to another in a single second.

Steve grins. He wanders back to the couch and flops down onto it. Robin follows and when she sits down, it’s a fraction closer to him this time. He gives one last scrub of his face, wiping the last of his tears away.

She nudges him with her thigh. She has to check just one more time.

“You alright?”

Steve smiles, crooked in that way that lets her know it’s completely sincere. He reaches forward and presses unmute on the remote, the film they’re watching starting up again with a buzz.

Steve presses his thigh back against Robin’s and in the dim lighting of her living room, his eyes glitter with an emotion that threatens to make her want to cry once more.

“Course.” He says. “I got someone checking up on me now,”

Another pointed nudge of his thigh against hers. “I’m better than ever.”

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tinkertea · 8 months

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MINORS DNI

FEEL GOOD

i've developed a fully fledged kink for men who wear masks, send help

synopsis: you make your boyfriend feel good after gym. pairing: könig x fem!reader warning: heavy petting; swearing category: smut word count: 814

He was sitting comfortably on the couch, his muscular legs spread wide enough so you could sit between them, his arms behind his head. It was ridiculous how good he looked, half-lidded eyes locked at you, watching your every move. His dark blonde hair was messy but you liked it, the corner of his mouth twitched slightly as if suppressing a smirk at the way you were admiring him. No longer was your undivided attention making him nervous, no longer was he questioning whether you found his scars repelling. He knew you barely noticed them, rather focusing on the freckles, on his eyes, on him.

“You look good”, his smooth voice broke the silence. You knew he was right and König knew how lucky he was to have you sitting obediently in front of him, breasts almost spilling out of the black lace bra you had put on just for him. Your fingers were leisurely drawing patterns on his legs as your eyes met his.

“D’you wanna touch me?”

You nodded, licking your lips at the thought of having your boyfriend at your mercy. He slightly tilted his head at you. “Go on then, Schöne. Make me feel good.”

You didn’t waste time and started to get him out of his training shorts that he had still been wearing. Your mouth watered at his muscular thighs – for some reason you had always found them particularly attractive, whether it was the way they flexed when he was fucking you in a hard but steady rythm or the way they felt when your barely clothed cunt was rutting against them.

He was wearing grey boxers, a dark wet patch showed off just the effect you had on him. How could he ever deny how blessed he was by having such a gorgeous thing all for himself? Of course he got turned on by the way you greeted him impatiently at the door after he’d finally returned from the gym, your body clad in the black lace, your voice sweet like honey when you’d asked him “Do you like it, König? Bought it just for you” as you gently led him to the couch.

It was a silly question, really. You could tell by the outline of his growing member, by the way his pupils dilated, how his tongue darted out to wet his pink lips - he loved it.

The groan he let out as you put your mouth on him - only separated by the fabric of his underwear - had you squeeze your thighs together but you were determined. He could feel your hot breath, your lips trying to suck through the fabric. It wasn’t enough, he needed more, more, more. There could never be enough of you.

König felt your lips turn into a smile, you were so cruel, enjoying his demise, his exterior cracking beneath your touch just like this. He had to press his eyes shut as need became a lump in his throat. “Fuck, scheiße, bi- please,” his voice jumped an octave higher.

It was tough to suppress a moan when his cock sprung free, you longed to feel the weight of him on your tongue, to taste him. It was addicting – how he melted beneath your touch, how his face was scrunched up when you hadn’t even done anything yet to warrant such a response. You were addicted to the power he allowed you to have in these rare moments, you were addicted to how he laid his vulnerability bare in front of you.

“I’ll make you feel good, my king, I promise,” you almost purred before licking from base to the top, following the prominent vein on the underside, getting him nice and slick, before licking the pre-cum off the beautiful pink tip. His breath hitched when you licked his slit, König’s hand roaming through your hair like it had a mind of its own before you gently took in your own and placed it on his knee.

“Be good, my king,” you mumbled against his soft skin, taking as much as you could into your mouth. While your one hand held his fingers tight as you struggled with his length, your other toyed with his balls the way you knew he liked it. The moan that escaped him was enough to confirm this knowledge. “Fuck, fühlt sich das gut an,” he mumbled beneath his breath, his emerald eyes trained on you again.

He couldn’t miss out on the magic unfolding in front of him. Though his arousal clouded his mind, he couldn’t help but notice how you squeezed your thighs, how your eyes were dark with lust as you enjoyed the taste of him. He was sure that by now you were seeping through the thin lace thong onto the hardwood floor. He didn’t mind one bit, he’d make you lick it clean later – before he’d feast on you himself.

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5sospenguinqueen · 2 months

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Y/N: I get this weird feeling in my chest when I see you.

Kaz:

Y/N:

Kaz: Is it heartburn? I could ask Nina to try and help?

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lorelune · 3 months

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(— MINORS DNI — predator/prey brainworms and thoughts inspired by @sukunasstarlight's DELICIOUS thirsts. CW: predator/prey, emotional sadism (a sprinkle), abstractions??, its sexy)

jing yuan loves a hunt.

however, he isn't partial to chasing. it's not that he won't, it's just not his preferred form of the hunt. he's a strategist at his core, not much for fighting when it comes down to it.

besides, jing yuan thinks there is quite an art to manipulating prey into a well-placed trap.

if you try to goad him into a chase, jing yuan will play. only far enough that he is able to see your end goal (which is more often than not landing in bed with him over top of you, carving a place in your insides). he'll let you run and run and think that he is following you. he... perhaps enjoys your uncertainty and discomfort. there's something about it he quietly revels in, in these controlled moments. the most extreme form of seeing you squirm.

jing yuan to shift the board as he sees fit to get you where he wants. he'll stalk, but never run. each step of his is measured and quiet, and he knows his silence will get under your skin so easily. you want his attention. crave it. you hardly know how much you occupy his mind, but that's jing yuan's best kept secret.

the hunt ends when you're exhausted, mentally and physically. maybe to the point of collapse. you're frayed from your own fear and frustration. it makes you animal-like. quick to startle and easy to capture.

jing yuan is swift with his final blow.

you'll hardly know how it happens. one moment, you'll be upright and panting. angry and confused all in one. and the next? you're flat on your stomach. cheek to the ground with jing yuan contently pinning you. he'll coo— "did you have fun? was it worth it?". he'll reduce your efforts and attempts at evasion to a game, poorly played on your part.

you'll feel him hard and hot against the slope of your lower back. you'll feel the weight of him descend. he prefers you prone, feeling only him unyieldingly. you'll be at least a little defeated, maybe a little teary. and jing yuan will be happy to soothe any aches and create just as many new. his spoils for a game well played and a successful hunt.

#lore writes #drabbles #jing yuan x reader #everytime i think abt jy and prone bone i lose my mind #i dissolve into a PUDDLE and i wipe myself up and weep #ENJOY!!

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cupids-archives · 2 months

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thinking about teasing…

contains.. (grinding, office sex, pnv sex)

bending over in front of your easily flustered boyfriend can only go so far. tight pink panties showing under your short skirt, revealing just enough before standing up and pretending nothing happened. you know the effect you have on him but that doesn’t stop you from attempting to get him all hard and needy for you.

even going as far as to pretend to drop something just to get on your knees and crawl around. ass up in the air as you search for something for uncomfortably long, pouting suggestively.

you bend over the desk, ass in his face as you pretend to be grabbing paper, pretending to trip and fall right into his lap.

“ahh-! I’m sorry!!” you scream, being convincing as you can as you sit on his lap, pressing into his bulge. “Im so sorry sir..” you tease, still rubbing against him despite your apologetic regards.

you don’t even attempt to get to, slyly rubbing his cock through his pants, grinding on his dick while making innocent pleas. he doesn’t attempt to push you off, enjoying how he can feel you growing wet from under your panties but the heat rushing to his face is unpleasant, his dick becoming heavy in his pants.

“p-please..” he begs, tracing his hand down to your stomach and to your already swollen clit, the constant rubbing sends shivers up your spine, not even trying to hide your moans. you don’t say anything to him though.

his hands push you further down to his lap, his breath becoming heavy as he undoes his pants wasting no time before moving your wet panties to the side and pushing himself in.

he bites at your neck sucking on it as he bounces you on his cock, his breathing becoming faster and faster as his thrusts speed up.

“your such a good stress reliever darling”

genshin impact - ( thoma & itto,)

lego monkie kid (mk, tang, & azure)

one piece - (sanji, fujitora & garp)

bungou stray dogs - (kunikida, tecchou, fukuzawa, taichara, atsushi)

jujutsu kaisen - (nanami & itadori)

shadow and bone - (kaz brekker)

boyfriend to death II - (lawernce & ren lmao)

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sorrowfulrosebud · 9 months

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Imagine being werewolf Katsuki’s mate during his heat rut but still having to go to work. Of course you love your mate and want to help him in this vulnerable state, but you also need to buy him stuff, especially if his rut comes out of nowhere.

For 4-7 days every 4 months, Katsuki can’t keep his hands off you; whimpering and growling possessively every time you have to leave his den, licking your neck and of course trying to sink into every wet hole you have. It makes it difficult to bring him his favourite snacks and drinks, and god forbid if you forget his Yakult yoghurts.

So, when god is absent and he runs out of his favourite foods, you have to take… other measures to keep his horniness satiated.

“Sukiiiii, I’m homeeeee!” You call into your home. Your tote bag was spilling at the seams with your mate’s snacks, your wallet crying at his expensive taste. You take your shoes and coat off before meandering upstairs to your shared bedroom.

You toss Katsuki a look as he whimpered at your entry. Currently, your precious pup was hog tied, thick leather cuffs around each limb. His red leather collar was chained to the headboard, though it did look worse for wear due to his struggling.

His teeth bit into the gag in his mouth, drool and slobber around his chin. Desperate whines left his lips, eyes surely rolling to the back of his head under the silken blindfold.

A fuck machine was plowing into his ass like no tomorrow, the small hearts from the flogger you teased him with still pink against his porcelain cheeks. The medium dildo was abusing his prostate as his moans grew louder and louder. A large cum spot soaked the sheets beneath him as the duvet stroked against his already exhausted cock.

Katsuki’s ears twitched as he turned to the door, saddened but desperate whimpers as he tried shaking the blindfold off. You strolled into the room slowly, enhancing your sounds so he understands what’s happening. The bed groaned under the weight of your added body, the hum of the fuck machine a steady rhythm.

“Aww, is my puppy done for now, hmm? Shall we take a break?” You teased, rubbing your fingers on the sensitive patch of skin above his tail. Katsuki sobbed and nodded desperately. Your hand flattened as you stroked his back lovingly.

“But you look so sweet like this, baby! Does this cock feel better than mine? Maybe I should leave you here for the entire week, hmm? I bet you would love that, wouldn’t you my puppyslut?” You murmur into his fluffy ear, kissing the soft down gently.

Katsuki shook his head hurriedly, unintelligible sobs drowned by his broken and muffled moans. The cuffs shuffled loudly as he fought to break free, the headboard starting to crack.

“Okay, pretty pup, I won’t. But you look so cute like this. My handsome mate, can you give me just one more? Then we can take a break,” you ask him softly, stroking his sweaty back. His tail sprung to life as his fingers flexed, desperate to hold you in some way.

You turned off the machine, causing Katsuki to whine at the lack of friction. With a single tap, he turned to his side, allowing you to snuggle up to him. He instantly took refuge in your neck, taking deep breaths to inhale your comforting scent. You unbuckled his gag, allowing him to stretch his aching jaw. Your hands rubbed over the flushed skin in silent apology, before skimming over his flushed abs and reaching his reddening cock.

“Hgnnn, just fuck my cock,” he whined noisily as you shushed him. You eventually found a steady pace and jerked him off, hissing as your mate bit into your neck in pure ecstasy. Carmine eyes were expanded into galaxies of black, too blissed out to care. His body burned with lust, and you were his only saviour.

“Fuck, fuck, shit! Oh fuck, I’m gonna-” he couldn’t finish his sentence as his cum absolutely ruined your jeans, rope after hot rope draining his balls as he chased his high. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, pants consuming his entire chest.

1 day down, a few more to go.

#bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou x reader fluff #bakugou #Bakugou smut #concockted (hehe) this in like 5 mins don’t hurt me pls #I need him on a fuck machine #doing chores whilst he’s chasing pleasure but feeling bad but also needing to get shit done bc he’s always trying to jump ur bones #sweet fluffy aftercare too #man loves his yoghurt what can I say #werewolf Katsuki smut #sub Bakugou #Bakugou smutty Drabble

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wanderingblindly · 3 months

Note

hi liquid my darling :))) for your kiss prompts, in aid of you practising these prompt drabbles (and for my own indulgence xo) pls write whichever pairing your heart desires to the prompt of “wanna practise?” :’) thank u i love u

Please feel free to ask me more kiss prompts, which I definitely fill at some point in time (unspecified).

Wedding Bells, Wedding Kisses (Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen, 900 words, drabble)

“Max!” Charles calls, slamming the front door open with significantly more force than necessary – dramatic, as always. Max mutes the stream he’s lurking in, thankful that he wasn’t on audio, and calls back.

“What’s up?”

Charles storms into the office, following the sound of Max’s voice. He stands in the doorway, cheeks a little red and chest moving like he’d run in from the parking garage. Despite the visible distress, Max can’t help but think that he looks adorable like this: worked-up over something that – inevitably – doesn’t actually matter. “Yeah?” Max starts again, half wondering if he’s meant to try and figure it out himself.

“The wedding.” Charles breathes, voice still a little shaky with whatever energy he’s buzzing on.

“The wedding.” Max nods along, as if it makes total sense, standing from his office chair. “You’re… nervous?” He prods gently as he makes his way towards the door, stopping when they’re face to face.

“How do you… how do we kiss? For the wedding.” He looks at Max with those wide, earnest eyes that always hit him right in the gut – trusting and honest and vulnerable.

But Max can’t help it: he laughs a little, no more than a snort. Charles ran up to the apartment, hair on end and eyes frantic, to ask about how to kiss? When they’ve kissed for years? Charles punches him on the arm before he can actually answer.

“Stop laughing, I’m serious!” He cries, voice one step away from a true whine. “How are we meant to kiss?”

“Like we always do?” Max offers, voice still light with laughter as Charles rolls his eyes dramatically.

“It’s not the same, Max. We do not have one, a wedding kiss.”

Max takes another step closer, closing the minimal distance between him and Charles – standing nearly chest to chest in the office doorway. He looks down at him, just a few centimeters that somehow makes all the difference, and takes in the state of his lips – clearly bitten during whatever bout of anxiety caught hold of him in the car. And it hits him:

“We can, of course…” He starts, watching Charles’s eyes flick to his own lips before meeting his gaze again. “Wanna practice?”

—

Max guides them to the couch, shooing away the cats and grabbing Charles by the shoulders – urging him to sit. “So,” He starts, sitting down next to him carefully.

Charles looks nervous, hands gripping his thighs tightly, straining his jeans. Frazzled isn’t a strong enough word; he looks shaken to his core. Somehow, Max thinks, he looks even more distressed than when he tried to make a move on him for the first time – terribly drunk and painfully endearing, wearing his tux and still holding his Rookie of the Year trophy.

“Like this, then?” Max asks, leaning in and placing the most chaste of kisses on Charles’s cheek, right on the spot where his dimple forms.

Charles giggles, nervous and fleeting. “At least pretend you like me, yes?” His dimples are on display, his laugh firming up as Max pulls away and rolls his eyes.

“Sure, yeah, I can do that,” He says, moving a hand to Charles’s jaw, tilting his head ever so slightly in a familiar motion. With practiced ease, he slots their lips together. He can feel Charles continue to relax in his hand, the tension he holds in his face easing as Max sweeps his thumb along his cheek.

He sighs into it, making that little noise in the back of his throat that means he’s content, and Max takes it as an invitation. His hand slides to the base of Charles’s skull, fingers finding their spot in his soft, overgrown hair. Charles leans into him, allowing Max to pull them tighter together – allowing him to gently coax his mouth open, allowing him to kiss him deeper, to let him taste him fully.

Max moves his other hand to Charles’s hip, silently urging him to come closer, when Charles pulls away – lips stained Max’s favorite shade of blush. They match his cheeks, both alive from his touch.

“My mother will be there, you know,” Charles laughs a little, pushing against Max’s chest playfully. “Be respectful.” Max is listening, really, but it’s like part of him has been ignited; Charles almost seems bashful, chin tucked towards his chest slightly, long hair flopped boyishly over his forehead, lashes dark against his cheek as he looks down.

Max isn’t listening.

“Give her my apologies,” He smiles, grabbing Charles’s hips with both hands and pulling him onto his lap – earning a surprised noise, something between a gasp and a giggle. “My self control, you know,” He catches Charles’s lips again, tasting that delicious blush like it’s the first time “It’s not so good.”

“Max,” Charles tries to chastise him, voice closer to a moan than a beratement.

“Let’s practice later, ok? Wedding kissing,” Max says, moving his lips lower – hoping to elicit that hiccupy breath he loves so much when he touches him just right. With a delicate brush against the sensitive skin under his jaw, sliding up to catch his earlobe between his teeth, he whispers: “What d’you think?”

“I –” Charles starts, sentence falling off as Max slides a hand up his shirt, tracing the curve of his spine with feather-light touches. “Yeah, yes, um. Later, right.”

“Thought so.”

#MY ANGEL MY DEAREST DEAREST WIFE I AM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY #i had so many other scenes in mind that it gave me decision paralysis and so i decided to strip it down to its bare bones #maybe i'll expand it later!!!!#lestappen #lestappen fic #lestappen fanfic #f1 drabble #ask me :)

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boxofbonesfic · 8 months

Note

What’s Farmer!Alpha!Thor and his omega up to? 👀

She pregnant yet? Or are they still trying? 😈

Title: Patience

“Hold on, Honeybee—that’s it. Like I taught you—fuck.” Thor doesn’t seem to mind the flour staining his hands and now your bare hips, leaving dusty prints wherever he touches you. He rolls his hips, forcing the thick weight of his cock inside you even further. You can’t find it in yourself to complain, his scent filling your nostrils and the taste of honey on your tongue. He’s into the thick of his rut now, a hard, primal edge to every word that leaves his lips.

You grip the edge of the counter with trembling hands as he sinks into you over and over again, warm pleasure dripping down your spine. It’s the fullness you can’t get used to, the feel of him stretching you as you struggle to take him, even before he knots—

Thor slams one hand on the table, dragging his fingers through the flour next to your head as you gasp and writhe. You’re so full it feels like you’re bursting, the pleasure warm as it spreads down every nerve ending, dripping down to trap your thoughts in sticky amber so they don’t quite reach the forefront of your mind. It’s wrong—but why, again? How can there be wrong here when it feels so right? When Alpha is here and hungry for you, his teeth scraping deliciously against the side of your throat as he bends over you.

“That’s it, Honeybee,” he growls, dragging his tongue along the healed mark at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. He chuckles, tracing shapes from the curve of your hip to the growing swell of your belly. When you peek over your shoulder at your mate, his blue eyes are fever bright, the pupils dilated black. “Know I can’t put another in here yet, but you’ll let me practice, won’t you, Bee?”

#thor odinson #thor odinson smut #thor odinson imagine #thor odinson drabble #thor x reader #thor x y/n #thor x you #thor smut #boxofbones drabbles #bones drabbles #boxofbonesfic

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ms-fade · 1 year

Note

hi! how about kaz brekker smut with a reader who's crying cause it feels sooo good??

Tears.

Kaz brekker x reader. 18+ Drabble. (No confirmation of gender)

YES! YES I WILL DARLING.

I hope this is okay! It’s short, also added a bit of another kink in it- Hope it’s okay. Also a glimpse of slightly dark Kaz entering.

Warning: Crying of pleasure, fluffy? Smut, spanking.

Kaz brekker was one who needed you to be comfortable at all times. You had stayed by his side and waited for him until he was comfortable with touch. The time with waiting, wanting and painfully watching you, he finally let the demons in his head go away.

So he hasn’t been letting anything get in the way of him having you, where he wants, when he want. (If you want it too) But he was a monster in bed, even though he cared he was always so rough with you. But you didn’t want it any other way.

“Fuck.” He groaned above you as he slammed his hips between your spread thighs. The room smelled like sex and the two of you, the room was getting hotter as each second passed by. He didn’t care that you both had pushed the bed back into the wall.

You wrapped so perfectly around him and the warmth felt so fucking good. He would slam so hard to get his cock to hit the deepest parts he could reach. He knew just the way you liked it, what way to push his cock in and the rhythm you liked. You had taught him how to touch you right, even taking some leads on his own that made you see stars.

His head leads back and his eyes closed from the pleasure. He had no clue as you started to tear up but he could feel the effects it had on your hole. But when a sob left your lips his head stopped and his eyes snapped open to pay attention. You had tears leaking from your eyes. It was painful to feel him stop, you didn’t want him to stop.

“What’s wrong?” He asked worries and went to pull out but you grabbed ahold of him. “No! Keep going. It feels so good, please.” You cried and raised your voice to get him to fuck you again.

He liked it when you had a tear or two from pleasure but this was new, it was different. Something in him slapped and screamed at him to make you cry worse, he wanted to hear you sob over and over as he pounded into you. But there was one thing he needed to do before releasing a new monster from within him.

“Are you sure? I need to know your okay.” He asked so calmly that it made your heart strings tug. You nodded quietly and looked up at him with scrunched brows of need. “I’m fine, so please just keep fucking me.” You whined and wrapped your legs around him and arched your back to get a new angle.

And with that you unleash him from a cage. Smirking darkly and got a almost a evil look in his eyes. “I want you weeping all night.” He took his hands and flipped you over on your stomach and pushed your head down but lifted your ass up. A moan left your lips as he pushed himself back in and slammed into you, earning a sob from you.

“I’m going to have every hole wet and dripping, when we are through the pillow better be soaking wet.” His firm hand slapped across your ass cheek. “I enjoy seeing, and hearing you cry for my cock.”

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker smut #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone smut #kaz brekker x reader smut #smut #six of crows #kaz brekker drabble

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jazzythursday · 11 months

Text

Jesper doesn't understand how he holds it all in there. Wylan’s brain is like a squirrel. Packing nuts into expanding pockets for the long winter. He knows everything.

He lights up with it. Like he constantly wants to share the fruit of his labour. Like the knowledge he collects needs to be poured out in bits before it overflows. He talks and explains and it’s fast and free and it’s so Wylan, through and through— and then it’s like he catches himself. Like he dims once he realises what he’s done.

Jesper doesn’t want to think of the implications of that look. Because it makes his chest tight and puts a bad taste in his mouth. He’s happy to reassure Wylan that he likes when he talks as much as it takes for him to believe it.

But that look— right before. Like he’s so happy to be telling him, like he’s happy to be listened to. Then the split second of frozen fear. The pinched lips, tense jaw, widening and then squinting of those big, big eyes. The part where he huffs that short, horribly self deprecating little laugh. The part where he looks down, and when he looks back up there’s something stiff in his smile, false in the upturn of his lips. Eyes like cut glass shining in the light. The crest of an eagle, mid flight, shot down.

“Sorry,” he says. “Um— I’m probably boring you. I’ll stop.”

You could never bore me, he thinks. Keep talking forever, he thinks. Tell me who made you think your words weren't worth anything to anyone so I can make them taste the blood on their own tongue.

Wylan and boring are not two words that Jesper can even fathom placing in the same sentence. Wylan is like lightning in a bottle. Like a spark personified.

Jesper isn’t sure how much he’ll accept. He doesn’t want a repeat of Shu Han if he can help it. Jesper hates disappointing people, hates being anything other than exactly what they want— expect— out of a good time with Jesper Fahey. He isn’t sure what he’s allowed to argue for or against when it comes to Wylan. What they have— This thing between them— is still so terrifyingly new.

He’ll put himself out there for this, though, as much as he dares, to make sure Wylan knows that he’s listening.

#wesper #wylan van eck #wylan hendriks #jesper fehey #six of crows #shadow & bone #crooked kingdom #drabble #wesper drabble #shadow and bone fanfiction #wesper fanfic #Jazzy writes #jazzy writes fanfic #taking a break from my Wylan wip to bring you a Jesper pov about Wylan #I'll probabably turn this isnto something bigger later but for now this is what it is #a drabble for your troubles?

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whumpshaped · 6 months

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a rather specific prompt for you :)

whumpee is/ was trained and used a a guard dog. during their time with their master they sustained an injury that causes them to not be able to fulfill their job properly anymore. still wounded, they get thrown out, chained in some allay. whumpee expects to die alone and cold, when caretaker comes along and accidentally stumbles across the abandoned whumpee. they (caretaker) think whumpee is just a regular pet and don’t realize they have a still dangerous guard dog at their feet and decide to rescue them and help them recover. whumpee has never experienced anything like this kindness, especially after becoming so useless, so (after having lost their old master) they immediately bond to caretaker as their new master, and would do anything to protect and please them

tw pet whump, amputation, abandonment, past trauma, broken bones, medical setting, caretaker new master, murder, gore, dehumanisation

"Oh, dear..." Caretaker crouched down by the shivering figure, putting the back of their hand against their forehead. They looked... half-dead, honestly, so the feverish warmth eminating from them was almost a relief. "Who did this to you...?"

The poor thing whined, and they reminded Caretaker of a wounded dog; but maybe that was just from how they were chained up. This was all so horrible.

"Okay, don't be scared. I'm gonna get you out of the alley and to a vet, alright? We'll get you all fixed up."

Another whine, and Caretaker suddenly realised there were other issues apart from the visible sickness. The pet's ankle... it was twisted in a way they'd never seen before. It was swollen, a mix of deep red and purple, bent in a way no healthy foot was supposed to.

"Oh... Oh, this is way worse than I thought, isn't it?" They immediately regretted the comment when the thing looked up at them with those wide, fearful eyes, probably expecting them to just give up now and leave them. "That's okay!" they added hastily. "It's okay. Nothing that can't be fixed! I... I hope... I'll call someone for help."

So they'd been wrong. Some things were in fact beyond saving, and Whumpee's foot turned out to be one of them. Amputation, prosthetics... Whumpee was handling it badly.

"I know," Caretaker soothed. "I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But it'll be better later on, I promise, the doctors know what they're doing."

Whumpee let out a soft whimper, a scared one, and Caretaker thought their heart was going to shatter even further. The pet hadn't uttered a single word yet, — maybe they couldn't? — but their face was expressive enough to make Caretaker tear up.

"I'll be here," they said gently. "Every step of the way, yeah? I'll be here for you. I'll help. We'll figure it out."

How? Caretaker didn't know. They weren't planning on adopting a pet, but... they couldn't just leave Whumpee alone after all this. They had an obligation, a responsibility.

If anything, Whumpee's awe-filled eyes just made them more determined.

"One foot in front of the other. Slowly. There you go."

Physical therapy was a lot, but Whumpee seemed dead set on achieving every goal weeks earlier than planned. The staff had said it would take four to eight weeks for Whumpee to be able to walk again... and many more before they fully got used to their artificial foot. They were out and about within two weeks, much to the dismay of said staff.

"They'll hurt themself," they'd said. "They should be resting."

"They're very eager to come home, I guess," Caretaker had replied awkwardly, but Whumpee had nodded along, completely serious.

So now they were walking along the corridors, Caretaker supporting Whumpee's weight less and less as they learned the ways and limits of their new life.

"I know it's not super fancy..." Caretaker opened the door and stood aside, motioning Whumpee inside. "But I guess it's... homey."

The pet surveyed their surroundings curiously, then turned back towards Caretaker with a bright smile. If they'd had a tail, Caretaker wagered they would've been wagging it.

It made them smile, too. "You like it?"

Whumpee nodded enthusiastically, walking over to the new pet bed Caretaker had bought just a week prior. They carefully set their belongings down next to it, — a shirt, a pair of pants, a pair of socks, and a collar — then made themself comfortable. Testing it out.

"I think we'll get along nicely," Caretaker commented absently. "I mean, I like you a lot. And you seem to like me. I don't see how this could go wrong."

Caretaker couldn't believe their eyes.

This couldn't be real.

Was that blood? Was that blood on Whumpee's clothes, and hands, and... face?

When the pet spotted them they immediately fell to their knees, whimpering in terror. They tried to wipe their hands on their victim's shirt, to no avail.

"Whumpee, what– what's– what's going on...?"

Whumpee was crying now, getting more and more desperate about ridding themself of the blood, as though that was the only evidence as to what they'd done. As though they could erase it all, if only they managed to erase the stains.

Caretaker walked closer, eyes wide with shock and horror. So much blood. So much gore.

Their sweet pet had done this?

"Why...?"

Whumpee scrambled to pick up some sort of equipment, struggling to hold it between bloody fingers. A lockpick, Caretaker noted distantly. They put it down on the floor in front of their feet, then quickly grabbed something else: a knife, this time. They put it next to the lockpick. Then they crawled back, flattening themself against the floor like a dog who knew it'd done something bad, whining as they waited for the verdict.

The stranger had been a burglar. Was it... self-defence? No, this had been a brutal murder.

"You're– you're a guard dog," Caretaker said softly, because they didn't think their voice could handle anything more. They got but a whimper in response. "This... Oh, dear. This is not... This is not good."

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em @cyborg0109 @morning-star-whump @justanotherlokifan @2in1whump @lthrboy @justletmereadmywhump @florissimps @anonymous-tiangou @whump-kitty

#whump #whump drabble #pet whump #abandonment #past trauma #broken bones #medical setting #caretaker new master #murder #gore #dehumanisation #asks #recovery fic #amputation whump

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mirkwoodmunson · 2 years

Note

lovie!!! i cannnot stop thinking about clumsy eddie! - we all saw his goofy lil run, there aint no way he doesnt get clumsy in the height and loss of his own feelings

SO- what if eddie and reader get lost in kissing each other in the kitchen or on the way to his room, and eddie knocks them into walls, corners, side; they stumble around; and its all giggly and cute-

wow-

yEAH WOW 🤩🤩

because especially earlier on — after he first gets to experience you, you in his bed — he’s still learning how to handle you, how to handle himself with you, because god help him eddie can’t help but get all excitable and giddy and eager when he has you in his arms making those sounds you make.

when he sneaks up on you in the kitchen, distracted by the bag of popcorn rotating in the microwave, you’re thankful wayne has left for his shift as you shriek over the cacophony of his cackles, fingers tickling into your sides as he pulls you into him and blows raspberries against the back of your neck.

“ED WHAT THE FUCK!!”

“YOOOOU’LL NEVER ESCAPE MEEE!”

lord, he was on one tonight; scary movies always got him worked up.

he rotates and corners you as you squeal, the only thing loud enough to match your combined laughter is the rapid popping coming from the microwave — though you’ve already completely spaced on it, thanks to your feral boyfriend, who is now holding your cheeks in his hands and peppering noisy, sloppy wet kisses all over your face as you half-heartedly shove him away, feigning disgust.

“eeewwww not the kisses! not the wet kisses!” you try bringing a splayed hand between your faces, clamping it over eddie’s mouth, but he just growls and smooches into it, eventually nipping down on the skin between your thumb and index finger.

“wha? y’don’ li’e my kishesh??” he mumbles around your flesh, giving you the puppy eyes that make your heart flutter.

“nooooo not those kisses,” you whine.

he drops your hand like a dog dropping a stick and smirks, ducks his head and brushes his lips over yours, ghost of a breath fanning across them and making you shudder as you grin.

“like this?” eddie asks.

“mmmm… getting there,” you offer, sarcasm lacing your words but you can’t help the blush taking over your cheeks, giggling softly.

nudging his nose along yours he snorts and then quickly pecks your lips.

“how ‘bout that?”

“sooooo close.”

eddie rests palms on your hips, slides them around behind you and pulls you in by the small of your back, smiling all the while as he takes his time now to take your bottom lip between his, running his tongue over it as he kisses you so sweetly, so gently it makes you sigh pleasantly against his mouth, relaxing into him.

and then he bites you. of course. he latches his teeth onto your lip in a firm pinch, clasping you to him and growling as you yelp and whine and bat his shoulder.

“ooww eds, staaaahp!”

“i vaant to suck your blooood!” he dramatically lifts his head and then drops it, nibbling and kissing into your neck — that and the awful dracula imitation sending you into a fit a giggles and squeals as you lean into the attention. it made up for the pinched lip, and you didn’t mind the warm shiver down your spine as he nipped and kissed and breathed against the sensitive skin.

“oh nooo, nooo! the big scary vampire got me!” you swoon playfully, going a little limp in his arms as he laughs. “i hope he doesn’t steal me away to his lair!” you dramatically splay a hand against your forehead, really playing into the damsel role. eddie can’t help but laugh as you do so, goofy grin stubbornly staying put as he tries to play evil.

“I THINK—!” he can’t help a snort and you drop your head against his shoulder, both of you shaking with silent laughter. “I THINK I WILL STEAL YOU AWAY TO MY LAIR!!” you throw it back again with a wheeze at that, and eddie breathes laughter into you as he kisses you.

still holding you to him he begins to walk backwards out of the kitchen, stumbling a little as neither of you can keep from laughing, keep from kissing in between the giggles. in your distracted states, eddie accidentally steps on your toes and you yelp, the surprise and effort to quickly move his foot away making him stumble even further, backwards into the hallway where his back collides with the adjacent wall, making your surroundings rattle. you fall into him and he pulls you up into another red-faced, breathy kiss as you can hardly hold yourselves together, guts starting to ache with your amusement.

you snake hands up his front to grasp fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him into you hungrily as now it’s your turn to bite, nipping at his lips before trailing south to mar his jawline. the laughter gets softer, breathier, but you’re still giggling as you pull him away from the wall and guide him further down the hall, lips and teeth still marking his skin.

the hungrier you get, however, eddie does doubly so, and without even realizing he has you panting softly as his hands roam up your shirt as you lead him, up your soft sides to hold you at the dip of your spine and pull you closer, closer so he can briefly press himself against you and tease what you’re doing to him.

“mmmyour lair’s’too far away, mr. vampire,” you mewl against him, faltering in your step slightly which prompts eddie to halt you and press you back into the wall, snorting even as he kisses you till you’re out of breath.

“good thing i’m, like, really fucking fast,” eddie all but growls, and before you have time to react he’s attempting to hoist you up by the backs of your thighs, just under your rear, pulling you up into him as you yelp with the loss of footing. your arms lock around his neck as you bury laughter into the crook of his neck, holding onto him for dear life as he tries to scurry away with you.

“MINE! MINE FOREVER!!” he’s cackling and you’re practically shrieking with giggles, bouncing in his arms with each step, clinging to him tight.

and far be it from eddie to watch where he’s going, keep track of his footing as he carries you, as when he thinks he’s reached the fully closed door to his bedroom, what he’s actually reached is the partially closed door to his bedroom — and when eddie leans back into it for balance, he finds it’s completely thrown out the window as you both stumble and fall backwards into his room.

the door slams open with the force, and eddie squeezes you to him as he tumbles backwards, shielding you from the fall against his chest as he grunts with the force of it. a cacophony of chaos and yet the two of you are still dying with laughter there on the floor of eddie’s room, a shuddering pile of wheezes and gasps and snorts.

eddie holds your cheeks and lifts your head, checking you over while you’re nearly in tears with glee.

“sh-shit! shit! y-you okay babe?? speak to me!! speak to me y/n, tell me you’re alright!!” he wails with increasingly sarcasm-laden dramatics and squeezes your cheeks. you sputter with giggles as your lips are compressed by his palms, unable to even try to answer as you’re wracked with all-consuming amusement. because eddie is nothing if not all-consuming.

down the hall in the kitchen, the microwave starts to beep, while from eddie’s room the sounds of kisses and laughter give it the finger.

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