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pedrito-friskito · 2 years

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head to head - frank castle x fem!reader (hell’s angel part i)

summary: you’re a bounty hunter with a price on your head. frank comes to collect, but you both quickly have other ideas.

warnings: WHERE TO BEGIN. uhm. this is PWP basically. canon-typical violence (the punisher is R-rated after all) - unprotected p-in-v sex (no glove no love), oral (m and f receiving), brat!kink, dom!frank, frank’s filthy mouth, fingering, cursing, a few soft moments for ✨flavour✨

a/n: also kind of threw this into the deadpool universe just for shits and giggles? @saintmurd0ck and I have been suffering from SERIOUS frank castle brainrot and this was the end-product for me (she always wrote the most delicious matt murdock x reader x frank drabble - GO READ IT HERE!)

this is my first frank fic so pls be kind - tagging some people below I think might like this (based on my post likes lmao). this might eventually turn into a series, who knows, but ENJOY 😮‍💨

(main masterlist) (series masterlist) (ao3)

Sister Margaret’s School for Wayward Children. The hottest place in New York, for a mercenary. Gold cards, a decent stack of cash, enough job-flow to keep you coming back for more. And fuck, if Weasel doesn’t make a mean whiskey sour. Sometimes. Other times you’re half-sure its just Jack Daniel’s and root beer, but it always goes down like a dream.

The place is packed, the bar itself filled stem to stern with all manner of mercs. Most of them give you a nod when you saunter in, your fur-lined jacket more noticeable than most, and the shotgun strapped to your back a warning like no other. It had taken some time to make a name for yourself at Sister Margaret’s, a good few jobs under your belt before the big burly men stopped calling you sweetheart and little girl and got the hell out of your way.

The truth of it all was that was that you were good at what you did, and Sister Margaret’s was the kind of place you had needed when you were a kid. Someone looking out for the sad-sacks and lowlifes of the city with nothing better to do than to prey on young girls and try to ‘make them into women.’

To put it plainly, you had a penchant for abusers, leaving them much worse off than when you found them, and you liked it. The cash was just an added bonus, and the name? Well, you were still deciding if you liked it or not.

“If it isn’t Hell’s Angel,” Weasel calls from behind the bar, his hands spread wide across the top, a gold card notched between his knuckles. “How sweet of you to grace us with your presence.” His tone is dry, and you smirk, sliding your finished card across the bar top and reaching for the one he’s holding, but before you can snag it, he pulls it out of reach. “Not so fast.”

“Don’t be like that, Weas,” you chide, pouting at him. “Someone’s gotta pick up the slack around here now that Wilson disappeared.”

“Medical sabbatical, I told you,” Weasel shoots back and you roll your eyes. “He’ll be back, and he’ll be pissed to know there’s no jobs left roaming the streets for him when he does.”

You sigh, trying to snag the card again. “Give me the card.”

“No can do,” he says, his tone still dry, but then his voice changes. He reaches beneath the bar, and presents you with…a whiskey sour, complete with a cherry speared on one of those stupid little plastic swords. “I can pay you out, but that’s it, Angel. You’re cut off”

“What?” You start looking up and down the bar. You reach for the glass, and toss back the drink in one slug. Fuck, that’s a lot of whiskey, but you’re too fired up to really care. “Which one of these fuckers complained, huh? Point me in his fucking direction, why don’t you.”

Weasel reaches across the bar, card still between his knuckles, and grabs your arm. “Calm your shit, no one complained. It’s…worse that that.”

You balk. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. “Worse?”

“Someone put out a hit on you, Angel,” he says, tone seesawing between dry and genuine. “You gotta go. I’m sorry.”

“Who…?”

“I can’t tell you who,” he says instantly, shaking his head. “You know I can’t tell you who put it out. Or who took the card. I can’t tell you shit.” He sighs. “Them’s the rules.”

Fuck.

You push a hard breath out, feeling the whiskey start to buzz through your veins. Time to get the hell out of dodge. “Well, pay me out, Weas, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Ten minutes later, a decently large wad of cash stuffed in your pocket, and you’re headed home. Or, what you’ve called home for the last six months. The outskirts of New York are littered with empty houses, and you like taking your pick of the richer neighbourhoods, breaking into the homes who’s owners have left them empty for the season, picking your way through designer closets and wine cellars before slinking off to the next.

Problem is, someone’s already waiting for you.

Perched on the steps of your latest abode, a shotgun larger than yours balanced on his knees. There’s something…familiar. You haven’t seen him at Sister Margaret’s, that much you know. But the face, there’s something there that twinges the back of your brain.

Crew cut, square jaw, big nose that fits the face perfectly. Just enough stubble to know the beard that lurks. Hard stare, dark eyes, unfairly full lips. Broad shouldered, covered in black head to toe, and big fucking hands holding that shotgun.

“Number’s up, sweetheart,” he calls as soon as you’re close enough, your boots clicking on the pavement as you reach behind you casually, your fingers curling around the handle of your own gun. He lifts one hand, and you see the tell-tale gold card wedged between his thick fingers. You bite your lip. Motherfucker. “You wanna dance?”

“There’s a lot of things I’d like to do with you, handsome,” you call back, tilting your head to the side as he rises to stand. You’ve seen enough well-cut men to know he’s packing muscle beneath the dark get-up, and you let your eyes wander south. You’ve seen enough well-hung men to know that he’s packing something else too. “But dancing isn’t one of them.”

He smirks, a little half-assed thing that manages to send a zap of heat through you. Fucking hell in a hand basket, are you actually attracted to the man that’s come to…collect you? There’s gotta be some law against that somewhere, right? Somewhere deep in the merc’s handbook, for sure.

“S’a pretty price on your head, sweetheart,” he continues, and slowly starts to descend the steps, closing the distance between you just enough to send your heart racing in your chest. He’s got a good head on you, and peers down his nose as you grip your shotgun and pull it from your back, letting it hang loosely at your side. He’s got a big nose, suits his face, busted enough to make you think it’s been broken more than once. “Who’d you piss off?”

“Dunno,” you say with a shrug, starting to around him, meandering pace as you keep your eyes glued to him, watching his reaction. You keep a fair distance between you, and he doesn’t turn as you circle him, but you catch his eyes raking over you when you disappear and reappear in his line of sight. He’s toying with you; you’re toying with each other. This is gonna be fun, at least, a good way to go. “Let’s just say I’m not exactly kind to the lowlife assholes of the world. Some of them must work for someone with deep pockets.”

“Heard they call you Angel,” he says, his voice gruff and grating and fuck, if he says your real name you might just dissolve into a puddle. “Knew a guy once, they called him the Devil.”

“Maybe I’d get along better with him.” You grin. “And it’s Hell’s Angel, just for the record. What do they call you?”

His nose twitches. “Punisher.”

Your brows shoot up. The memory tweaks; a newspaper strewn on the bar at Sister Margaret’s. Punisher Punished. “Ahh, I knew I knew you,” you purr, tapping a finger to the tip of your nose. “You’ve got more of a rep than I do, handsome.”

“Gotta stop calling me that, sweetheart,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re stalling.”

“And?” you ask, looping around him again, lifting your shotgun onto your shoulder. “You’re enjoying it, aren’t you?”

He just smirks.

“What are you gonna do if I don’t stop, huh?” You’re in front of him again now, staring at that stupidly, ruggedly handsome face. “You gonna punish me, hmm?” A step forward, than another. “I might like it.”

He’s staring down his nose at you, mouth a taut line, eyes hard and unwavering. “Watch it now, sweetheart. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew.”

“Oh, I don’t bite,” you purr back, grinning as you chance a hand forward, walking your fingers up his chest. No armour beneath the dark shirt, nothing but hard muscle that jumps beneath your touch, which has you thinking… “Not unless you ask me to.”

You do another circle, your steps slower this time. He doesn’t turn, but his head does, one eye watching you as you move, slinking up the steps one at a time, shotgun still resting on your shoulder. One, two, three…

He swings around, lifting his own gun and levelling it with your face at the same moment you lift yours. It’s a standoff, each of your staring down the barrel of the other’s gun, at the mercy of the other’s trigger finger, or lack thereof…

“Gimme a good reason, Angel,” he barks, “why I shouldn’t pull the trigger.”

You lift a brow. “The Punisher, giving me a chance to beg? You’re not the big bad I thought you were, handsome.”

“You don’t know me at all, babydoll,” he grits out, and the switch in the nickname alone makes your heart stutter.

But then the world implodes.

Shots ring out, the glass of the window beside the house’s front door shatters, the door itself splintering inward. You both drop, more shots exploding toward you, bullets whizzing by your shoulder and head. There’s a big hand grabbing the scruff of your jacket, hauling you up and shoving you through the now open door. More gunshots, and the Punisher shoves you out of the the doorway the moment you’re through.

You hit the ground hard, rolling through shards of glass that poke and prod and make you wince. You’re quick to head for the window ledge, using it as a bunker while you cock your gun and take aim. The hooded figure standing in the road isn’t familiar to you, the large gun in his hand lifted and ready to end one or both of you.

Then you see the gold card. “Your time is up, Castle!” the merc yells. The memory twigs again; Castle, Frank Castle. You read that article so many times Weasel had to pry the newspaper from your hands. You chance a glance over at the man in question, see him propped up beside the door. He looks unharmed, mostly, dust and debris on his jacket and pants. Your brow hardens.

“Come on out, Angel!” the merc calls. “I’m not here for you!”

What the fuck?

You look at Frank again, and this time, he’s staring right back. There are no words, no gestures, nothing. But something unspoken, and he slowly drops a handgun to the floor, covers it with his boot, and then slides it across the floor to you. An easier shot than the shotgun propped on your shoulder.

Then he nods.

“I just want my money!” the merc shouts, and you roll your eyes. Who the fuck is this guy?

You scramble for the handgun for a moment, swinging it out the broken window to take aim just as a hand grenade goes sailing over your head, hitting the ground behind you. You take the shot, the bang echoing through your head as the bullet finds it’s mark, and then that big hand is at your shoulder again, hauling you up and out, a large body covering yours as you hit the hard ground. Overhead, the first floor implodes, wood and glass and debris flying everywhere.

Your ears are ringing, you can taste blood, and everything hurts. When you try and lift your head, your eyes immediately meet a large shard of glass that’s sticking out of your shoulder and you groan and you’re pulled to your feet, yanked against a warm body. Your knee barks in protest, and you look down to see more glass, this time accompanied by a thin piece of wood speared through your leg. Fuck.

“You okay, sweetheart?” a gruff voice asks, right by your ear, and a thick arm slides around your waist, taking most of your weight.

“Shoulder,” you managed to rasp out. Who the fuck even blows people up anymore? “Knee. Nothing major.”

“Good,” Frank Castle says. “Let’s get outta here, huh?”

“Thought you wanted to,” you wince hard when a falter in your step sends a shock of pain up your leg, “dance.”

“That can wait,” he tells you, glancing over his shoulder, starting to shuffle you down the street. “That was an impressive shot. Besides, saved my ass; least I can do is clean you up, show you a good time.” He smirks. “Dancing comes later.”

You’re not what he expected.

He was hoping for some fat, ugly asshole. Some easy kill, swipe the gold card and collect the cash, get the hell out and never look back. That would have been easy, that would have been simple.

You are already proving to be anything but.

He half-carries you to the motel, trying to ignore the feeling of your body heat against his arm. That god awful coat of yours is covered in debris from the house, dust and broken glass and wood. The shard in your shoulder needs to come out, along with the twig in your knee. You’re taking it like a champ, that much he’s sure of, wincing occasionally but not a word of protest falling out of you.

“What hurts more?” he asks once he’s brought you through the door and deposited you on the bathroom counter. Both your guns bounce onto one of the the mattresses, forgotten for the time being. Dancing comes later. Not that he’s even planning on dancing, now. “Shoulder or leg?”

“Leg,” you rasp, and he tries not to let his eyes linger on the expanse of your throat when you throw your head back, crown hitting the mirror as he takes your ankle in hand and lifts. The wood is jammed just above your knee, through and through, blood staining the fabric of your jeans. He leaves you for a moment to grab his kit before he comes back, pushing a bottle of whiskey in your hands.

“Drink,” he orders, and you listen, yanking the cap off and tossing it to the side, tipping the bottle to your lips and chugging. He waits a moment, waits until you tip the bottle back down, until you’re wiping your lips, takes hold of the wood, and pulls.

“Motherfucker!” you screech, good arm reaching out and fisting in his shoulder. “Warn a girl next time, huh?”

“Nope,” he responds, sinking to his knees. He tugs on your good leg. “Get down. Pants off.”

“There are nicer ways to get me naked, you know, Castle,” you quip, but obey, sliding off the counter and undoing the button on your jeans, kicking off your boots. You push your jeans down as far as they’ll go, and Frank bites the inside of his cheek at the scrap of lace covering you. Then he eases your pants down further, carefully around your injury, helping you step out of them and kicking the fabric to the side.

“You don’t ever stop, do you?” he grumbles, grabbing your hips and lifting you back onto the counter. You’re so much…smaller than him, a good head shorter, and he towers over you, even sat on the countertop as you are. You grin, and he bites his cheek so hard he can taste blood.

He fishes bandages and antiseptic out of the kit. Ignores your whine when he wipes the wound clean. So much for taking it like a champ. He wraps it carefully, ties off the gauze, then reaches for your shoulder.

“Hey,” he says lowly, “eyes on me.”

You do — fuck, you perfect little obedient thing — and he reaches for a cloth, wrapping it around the glass sticking out of your shoulder. One hand on the shard, and he lifts the other to your throat, thumb swiping the curve of your jaw.

“I’m not killin’ you, sweetheart,” he tells you, and watches your eyes go wide. “Not tonight.”

You suck in a breath, a retort on the tip of your tongue, and then he pulls.

“Motherfucker!”

There’s a spurt of blood when he yanks the glass out, letting the smeared shard clatter into the sink. He reaches for your shoulder, pushing the edge of your coat back, and grabs another piece of gauze, holding it to the wound, pressing hard enough that your teeth sink into your lip. Your head tilts back, knocking against the mirror again, face pinching when he presses harder, trying to staunch the bleeding.

“That was an impressive shot,” he mumbles, dragging his eyes from your face and staring at the gauze pressed to your blood-stained skin. You’re a mess — you both are — skin covered in dust and blood, your chest heaving and Frank can’t stop himself from planting his other hand on your thigh, fingers curling around the bare muscle. It twitches in his grip and he hides his grin. You’re reactive, your body already giving in to him. “Where’d you learn how to shoot like that?”

“Self-taught,” you tell him, and he can’t stop himself from staring you right in the face. No way in hell. You’re smirking, head lolling a bit on your shoulders, hips adjusting on the counter. He’s got half a mind to just rip those panties off right here and now, throw your knees around his ears and eat your pussy until the sun comes up. But he’s more of a gentleman than that. He wants to ease you into it, wants to watch you break down and…submit to him. He’s holding that gold card over your head, holding your shoulder, watching your gaze flicker down when his thumb slides down the inside of your thigh.

He’s not killing you, not tonight. Maybe not ever. But he is gonna do something else.

“No way, princess,” he says with a shake of his head. “Tell the truth.”

You let out a laugh that’s more like a scoff. “I am telling the truth, Castle.” You wince as he peels back the gauze. It’s still bleeding, but not as much; he’s gonna have to stitch it. Your eyes are hard, just watching as he moves, reaching into the kit, pushing at the collar of your coat. He opens his mouth to tell you to take it off, but you beat him to it, shrugging carefully out of the thing, tugging it out from under your ass and letting it drop to the floor. It leaves you in a little black tank top, the straps thin and the neckline scooping across your chest. He lets his eyes dip shamelessly, tearing open an antiseptic wipe, and your eyes traipse up his body, until they meet his, and that shit-eating grin is back on your mouth.

The grin disappears as he sets to work, wiping the blood away, disinfecting and pushing the whiskey back into your hand. You turn your head to the side, taking another healthy swig, and he watches your throat bob, his jeans tightening at the sight.

Fuck, you are really not what he expected.

“I really am self-taught,” you say, your head still turned, pointedly not looking at him stitching your shoulder. No wincing though, no complaining. “You go after enough fuck-heads who don’t understand the word no and you turn into more than a decent shot. That, and I go to the shooting range so often they give me half off now.” A little smirk. “It ain’t pretty, but it’s a living, right?” Your eyes cut to him, watching his expression. He feels a little vulnerable under your gaze, then remembers the gold card in his back pocket. “You grow up thinking it was all gonna shake out like this, Castle?”

His brow hardens. “What d’ya mean?”

You lean your head back against the mirror again. “I grew up wanting to be a truck driver by day, ballet dancer by night. Bounty hunter with a price on her head didn’t exactly make the list.”

Frank barks a laugh, pulling the stitch as he does. “That’s quite the combination, sweetheart. My daughter wanted to be, uh, a veterinarian.”

Your head snaps to look at him. For the first time, you have a soft look on your face, rather than a shit-eating grin or a seductive smirk. He waits for you to ask, to try and deep dive into his past, to try and pull something out of him. Something he’s not willing to give to you. Not yet.

“Who put out the hit on me?” is what you ask instead, and Frank drops his gaze, reaching over to run his hands under the tap, cleaning your blood from his skin. Then he reaches for the bandages, taping up your shoulder.

“Dunno,” he mumbles, eyes focused on your shoulder, ignoring the way the strap of your tank top keeps falling across your collarbone. There’s a silver chain at your neck, a tiny little pendant that looks like a star sitting in the hollow of your throat. “Didn’t ask.”

“So you just took a hit on another hunter, no questions asked?” When he doesn’t reply, you scoff. “Punisher, my ass.”

“What’s that supposed t’mean?” he asks, brow furrowing.

“You go after bad people, right? Isn’t that your gig?” Satisfied with his bandage work, he takes a step back from the counter, and you slide off in an instant, taking the whiskey with you, bouncing away in your skimpy little top and panties barely covering your ass. He swallows hard. “That’s your schtick?”

Frank turns around, leans against the counter, crosses his arms over his chest. “Not a schtick, sweetheart.”

“I’m not a bad person,” you say, setting the whiskey bottle on the dresser. “I’m not bad people. I do what you do; I only go after people who hurt other people. People who can’t protect themselves.” You glance over your shoulder at him, the corner of your mouth quirking. “Mostly men. Idiots who don’t know the meaning of consent, who like to prey on little girls in dark alleyways. Those are easy shots. Easy money.” You tap your fingers on the dresser. “Boom.”

“God,” he drawls, tapping his foot against the floor. “You really don’t ever stop, do you, sweetheart?”

You spin to look at him, eyes bright and fiery. Ah, there she is. “What, I’m not allowed to plead my case? I thank you for the chivalry of stitching me up, Frank,” you say, and he has to stifle the choked noise that worms up his throat when you actually bow, curtsying to him and giving him and eyeful of your chest, “but I don’t think I need to remind you that you had a shotgun pointed at my head less than an hour ago.”

“You had one pointed at me too, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” you bark, pointing a finger at him. Fuck, he’s got you riled now. “I don’t deserve the gold card, is what I’m saying. Sure, I’ve pissed off a few people, but who hasn’t? You think every fucking idiot who rolls into Sister Margaret’s is a saint before they walk in the door? I think the fuck not.”

And he’s had enough.

Frank pushes off the counter, takes two long strides towards you. “Would you just shut the fuck up,” he says, and watches your reaction, watches your back straighten and your eyes widen, “for two seconds?”

But you don’t. “I’m just saying,” you continue, “you should know this shit before you try and put a fucking bullet in me.”

“I don’t wanna put a bullet in you,” he throws back, and takes another step. Your knees knock together and he closes the distance with a final stride. Knuckles under your chin, tilting your head up to face him. Your brow is a hard line, lips pressed together, and he lets his thumb wander over the seam, feeling your breath on his skin. “I wanna put my cock in you.”

Your quip is fast, eyes rolling to the back of your head: “Now, there’s a line if I ever heard one.”

But Frank sees it, sees that hint of submission creep into your eyes, the way your jaw goes slack in his grip for a fraction of a second before the big bad bitch returns. He grins. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, huh, princess? Shut you up for a minute with this big fat cock in your mouth?” He grabs your wrist with his other hand, yanks it down and presses your palm to his crotch. Your fingers twitch over the outline of him and his jaw goes tight.

This time, there’s no quip, no witty response, just big shiny eyes and he watches the tip of your tongue snake the corner of your mouth. You’re fucking drooling, just at the thought of it. Good. He adjusts his grip on your face, holding your chin in his hand, squeezing your cheeks slightly.

“You gonna let me fuck you, babydoll?” he asks, and your mouth pops open, warm breath tickling his face. He should kiss you, wants to kiss you. Needs to kiss you. You make a tiny noise somewhere between a whine and a moan and he reaches for your hip, yanking your body towards him, shoving his hand under the lace covering your pussy. “C’mon, when’s the last time somebody fucked you like you deserve, huh, sweetheart? Last time someone ate this pussy till you screamed?”

“Frank,” you groan out, hands reaching for the wrist holding your face, nails digging into his skin. God, you look pretty like this, big eyes and wet lips, pupils blown and tongue between your teeth.

He’s done waiting, done fucking around and talking. At least, talking pretty.

“Say yes, princess,” he says, leaning in until he’s almost talking against your mouth. “I wanna hear it.”

You nod your head furiously in his grip, eyes going wide as dinner plates, canting your hips into his hand. You’re dripping, all wet heat and soft curls against his fingers.

“Use your words,” he commands, and can’t help but capture your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging not so lightly. It makes you moan, and this time, he can’t stop himself from capturing the sound, swallowing it.

It’s not a kiss so much as a collision.

You were losing it when he grabbed your chin in his big fucking hand. More so when he bit your lip. And now? Absolutely gone. His fingers working between your legs, calloused pads scraping your clit in a way that makes you want to scream in pleasure.

He’s been pulling you apart since you walked into this motel room. Piece by piece, brick by brick, stitching you up just so he could tear you apart in a different way. You think you could drown in that voice, fall apart in those big hands, get down on your knees and worship the big cock that jumps towards your palm when you reach for his crotch again.

He growls into your mouth, tongue spearing against yours, tasting of black coffee and something else so violently delicious your knees start to quake. You’re so far gone now, between the pet names and the big hands and the I wanna put my cock in you. You’re out of witty responses and daring quips.

When’s the last time somebody fucked you like you deserve, huh, sweetheart?

The answer? Far too fucking long.

He pulls his hand from between your legs abruptly. You almost whimper, but the noise is cut off when he releases your face, reaches both hands down to cup your ass, gripping your cheeks in an iron vice before they slip lower, grabbing your thighs and lifting you up and against him. Your hands scrabble for his shoulders, clawing at his t-shirt, pulling at the tight fabric. He’s wearing too many clothes; you need to explore what lies beneath.

Frank kisses like he’s trying to eat you alive, and you love it. You only come up for air when he drags his teeth along your jaw, nips at your earlobe, drags his stubbly cheek across your neck. “C’mon, princess,” he grumbles against your skin, and then he drops you, your back hitting the bed, body bouncing slightly on the mattress. His eyes rake across you, and he reaches for your knees, fingers curling around the backs and yanking you towards him, spreading your legs wide. “Words.”

His hands move down your thighs, thumbs pressing in deep as he goes, moving towards the heat pooling between your legs. You’re absolutely losing it. “Yes,” you finally moan out, chewing your lip furiously as he reaches the hinge of your thigh, lets one thumb reach out and swipe over your drenched core.

“Yes, what?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, you think, wanting to roll your eyes, to yell at him to just fuck you already. But you know this game, and judging from the twitching bulge in his pants, it’s a game Frank likes to play. “Yes, I want you to fuck me.”

His mouth splits into a grin and he rewards you for the admission, moving his whole hand to your pussy, dragging his fingers up and down, up and down. You keen into the touch, back arching off the mattress. “Mmm, yeah, good girl,” he grits out, and you feel him reach for the elastic of your underwear, snapping it against your skin. “Gonna make you feel really fucking good, sweetheart. Gonna fuck the brat right out of you.” He snaps the band again and again, and you lift your hips, feeling him tear the scrap of fabric down your thighs.

Before you can even react, he’s on his knees, big hands curling around your hips and yanking you to the edge of the bed. There’s little ceremony, no build up, just his mouth sealing over your pussy, that big fucking nose grinding into your clit, lips sucking and tasting and sending white sparks across your vision. You reach down, grab his head in your hands, lock your fingers in the longer hair on top of his head. He groans against you when you pull hard, thrusting your hips up against his face and it sends a wave of vibrations rippling through you, your back arching harder.

That busted nose of his feels like heaven against your clit, the stubble on his chin grating just enough to bring you higher and higher, and he’s holding your hips so tight you’re sure you’ll have bruises shaped like his hands come morning, but you don’t fucking care. As long as he doesn’t fucking stop.

He’s rutting into the bed, eating your pussy with such vigour and enthusiasm that he’s moving you up the mattress, further and further until he’s half on it with you, knees pressing into the duvet while he pulls you up towards his mouth, your knees bent over his shoulders. He adjusts his grip, locking his arms around you completely, holding you to him.

When his tongue dips into your dripping heat, prodding the deepest parts of you, that’s when you lose it.

You try to shout as you cum, try to drawl his name, but no sound falls out of you. Especially when one of his arms comes loose around you, holding you in place with one bulging bicep, and his hand closes around your throat, squeezing just enough for you to notice, not enough to cut off your air. You can feel the strength that he’s withholding, what he’s using to hold your pussy to his face, but what he’s not wielding on you like a weapon.

I’m not killin’ you, sweetheart. Not tonight.

Can you die from the most intense orgasm of your life?

As soon as he pulls his tongue from you, he jams two fingers in, slamming your hips back onto the bed and covering your body with his own. His knees bracket your hips and then his mouth is on yours again, free hand curling around the side of your face, peering down between you as he thrusts his fingers in and out, thumb pressing hard on your clit. Still, you don’t have words, only heaving breaths and gasped moans that only climb higher when he finds that spongy spot deep inside, caressing it softly before he twists his wrist, scissoring his fingers wide.

“Where’s that smart mouth now, huh, baby girl?” he whispers, his mouth right by your ear. You can only moan, digging your hands into his shoulders as hard as you can, grabbing onto him like a lifeline. “Can’t talk, huh? That good?” He continues to move his fingers, rough and then soft, the quick changes nearly giving you whiplash. “Gotta warm you up first, sweetheart, so you can take this big fucking cock.”

You push your face into his thick neck as you cum a second time, the first one barely bled away before the second takes over. Your fingers and toes are static, limbs taut and limp at the same time, and you hook your arm around his neck, something between a moan and a sob bouncing off his skin. He curls his fingers up, pressing against that devastating spot, drawing the orgasm out longer, making you gush around his knuckles.

“Tha’s a good girl,” he grunts, turning his head to kiss your temple, the action softer than you’re expecting as he drags his fingers out of you. You watch, hazy-eyed, as he shoves his fingers between his lips one at a time, sucking the taste of you from them, and then he’s grabbing your face again, kissing you rough and passionate, his mouth tasting of your release, fingers spanning your jaw and cheek.

He pulls back, eyes boring into yours, searching your face. Your chest heaves with breaths, eyes rolling back as he lowers his weight onto you more, making a home for himself between your thighs. Your can feel how hard he is, even behind his jeans, the rough material pressing against your sensitive core, making your hips stutter against him.

“This what you needed, huh?” he asks, grinding into you slightly. “Baby needed somebody to shut her up, is that it? Somebody to give her what she needed.”

Somehow, you find it in you to nod, gripping him tighter, lifting yourself against him to chase his mouth, to kiss him as hard as he kissed you. He grunts, rolling over until he’s on his back and you’re astride him, hips still on his, knees pressing into he mattress. You can feel his cock straining against his zipper, jolting when you grind down on him, sensitive but still desperate for more.

You reach for the hem of his shirt, sliding your hands underneath. His muscles jump at your touch, and you can feel his eyes on your face, but yours are too busy watching the slow ride of his shirt up his stomach, caught on your wrists as you move higher and higher. You can feel the ridges of scars and the curves of muscle, dips and valleys you want to drag your tongue along. You push the shirt up his chest as high as the position will allow, and then drop your head, your mouth at his sternum.

You’ve never seen this much muscle on one man, thickly packed onto his body, a wild landscape for you to explore. And he’s so fucking broad, shoulders nearly twice as wide as your own, tapering down to well-cut hips, deep adonis lines that disappear beneath his belt, making your mouth water just thinking about what lurks below.

You can feel his heartbeat hammering against your lips, and one of his hands lifts to your head, running his fingers through your hair, pushing it back from your face. “What ya gonna do now, pretty baby?” he asks, his tone low and music to your ears. “Huh?”

Moving your hips back, you move your hands from his chest, lifting your head and dragging your mouth right down the middle of his body. He makes a pleased noise, letting your hair sift through his fingers until you’re out of reach. You sit up straight, hands reaching for his belt buckle, and you can feel those dark eyes still watching you, gaze hard and lust-blown, mouth twitching with a grin.

You shuffle back further, letting your feet hit the ground and planting your hands on his knees when yours threaten to give out. He’s just watching, reaching up to fold his hands behind his head. You reach for the button on his jeans, and his brow lifts. “Yeah? You want my cock, huh?”

Nodding, your pinch the zipper, pulling slowly, feeling the jump of his length towards your hand. Your hands are shaking, but you’re more sure of your footing now, and, surprising even yourself, grab the waist of his jeans and pull down hard, lifting his hips up and pulling his jeans and briefs down all in one shot. He grunts as you do, one hand flying for your shoulder, and then you drop your mouth to his stomach again, dragging your tongue along the ridge of his abs, unable to hold back the moan in your throat when his bare cock lifts against your chest, tip hitting your breasts, a smear of precum across your skin.

You go to move your head lower, to take him between your lips, but before you can, there’s a big hand around your jaw, jerking your head up, forcing your eyes on his. “You gotta ask nicely, babydoll,” he says, and swipes his thumb over your lips, dipping his fingertip between them for a moment. “I told ya, use your words.”

“Can I suck your cock?” you ask, batting your eyelashes. You can’t help the slightly bratty tone, but it gives way to desperation quicker than you mean to, dragging your hands down his sides, squeezing his hips and then his thighs. “Please, Frank.”

He smirks, giving you a slight nod. “Show me what you got, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and the way he tucks your hair behind your ear makes your stomach lurch, his hands settling at his sides, tapping softly against the duvet. A happy little moan escape you, and you lower your head again, uninterrupted this time.

He’s thick. Thicker than you imagined, a prominent vein running down the side, precum still beading at the tip. Neatly trimmed hair at the base, those deep-cut lines at his hips truly trailing to something magnificent. You knew he was packing the moment you laid eyes on him, but even you couldn’t have imagined this.

A sharp inhale reaches your ears as you close your lips around his tip, sucking lightly, experimentally. His palm lands at the crown of your head, fingers working along your scalp, and you do it again, waiting for the hitch in his breath.

It doesn’t come, and instead, he works most of your hair into his fist, tugging hard until your head lifts again. “Don’t wanna be teased, baby,” he grunts, eyes glued to the way your lips aren’t around his cock, but its resting against your mouth. “Not tonight.”

Frank keeps your hair in his fist, but the grip is more lax, giving you more room to move.

There’d been little ceremony or build-up before he’d buried his face in your pussy, and he said no teasing. So, you dive right in.

He groans loudly when you take him all the way, cock sliding past your lips and across your tongue, hitting the roof of your mouth while your hollow your cheeks and suck hard. The sound he makes is deep and guttural, sending a shock of heat through you as it bounces off the walls of the motel room. Part of you wonders if the neighbours can hear, a bigger part of you doesn’t care.

You curl your fingers around the base of him, bobbing your head, working against your gag reflex as best as you can. There’s a sliver of a tear in your eye, but you ignore it, swallowing him down, dragging your tongue along that thick vein. His hips jump when you do that, cock thrusting deeper, hitting the back of your throat and he groans again.

Then he starts talking.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he says, and it makes your eyes roll back, feeling his other hand move to your hair, both locking in your hair now. You let out a little moan around his cock, gripping his hip tightly in your free hand, digging your nails into his skin. You’re moving faster now, spurred on by his gravelly voice in your ears. “S’right, babydoll, you suck that cock so good, huh? That’s what you needed, big dick in your mouth to shut you up, make you feel good.” He sits up a little, getting a better grip on your head, stomach jumping against your forehead. “Does that turn you on, baby, huh? You like sucking that dick?”

With one hand still wrapped around him, your other drags down his leg, squeezing his knee before you’re slipping it between your legs, toying with your clit and moaning around his cock again. You go harder, faster, moving your head as fast as your muscles will allow, sucking him deep while the salty taste paints your tongue.

“Fuck me,” he grits. “Sweet little thing, sucking my cock like a champ.” One hand moves under your chin, and he pulls you off of him slowly, leaving you gasping for air, a string of spit connecting you to him. “Shit. C’mere.” He hauls you up, pulling you back onto the bed and into his lap, still gripping your chin, swiping this thumb through the spit on your lips before bringing his hand to his mouth and sucking his thumb clean. It makes everything in you clench.

He grabs your face again, this time with both hands, and pulls your mouth to his. His tongue invades your mouth, licking into it, gathering you closer and closer until your chest is pressed against his. He gathers your hair into his fist again, mouth still on yours, and pulls at the neckline of your tank top, yanking it down, curving his fingers around the swell of your breast. You moan into his mouth, teeth knocking together before he moves his face to your chest, lips closing around your nipple, tongue dancing over it until its a hard peak.

Frank pulls back after a moment, looking up at you. “Gonna make me cum if you keep sucking me off like that,” he whispers, hands reaching for the hem of your tank top, pulling it up and over your head. Then he reaches for your wrists, moving your hands between the two of you. “Put my cock in you, baby. Want you to ride me, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

You nod, almost frantic, reaching down and curling your fingers around him again. His hands settle on your hips, angling you up. You whimper when his tip notches at your opening, and he lifts his head to kiss you, nipping at your bottom lip. Then you sink down, slowly, slowly, slowly.

Even with your two wild orgasms and how worked up you are from sucking his cock, the stretch still burns. It rides that thin line between pleasure and pain, your jaw dropping open as you lower yourself, head dropping forward onto his shoulder. “Frank,” you manage to moan out, and his arms slide around you tight, holding you to him, keeping your hips pressed to his. Your clit is captive against the hard ridge of his stomach, and with every breath he takes, there’s a shock of pleasure through your system.

After a moment, the pain gives way completely to the pleasure, the stretch nothing more than blissful and you start to move. He adjusts his grip on you, one palm flat between your shoulder blades, other arm hooking around your waist. “That’s it,” he whispers as you start to roll your hips. “Good girl, baby.”

You wrap one arm around his neck, the other skimming the back of his head, the short hairs at his nape tickling your palm. He turns his head, kisses your cheek, drags his tongue up the side of your neck. He chases your hips with his own, fucking up into you, and the tip of his cock manages to find that spot, sending lightning shocks of pleasure through your whole body, making you shake.

You must get tighter around him, because Frank groans, fingers scraping against your spine. “You gonna cum again, baby?” he croons, voice right at your ear, whispered but just as husky. “You gonna cum on this cock, huh?”

You go to groan out a yes, jaw hinging open, but before you can say anything, he’s tipping you back, wrenching himself out of you and tilting you sideways, laying you out on the bed. You whimper at the loss, but it’s not gone for long, Frank knocking your legs wide with his hand and covering your body with his own again, taking his cock in hand and guiding himself back into you. You keen up into his touch, sighing as he plants his elbows beside your head, caging you in.

“Wanna see your face, sweetheart,” he whispers, leaning down and just dragging his mouth over yours, capturing every little noise your make. “Wanna watch you lose it again.”

He starts to move again, and this way, this position, the pace is unrelenting, heavy and hard, filling the room with the sound of his skin hitting yours, the wet glide of his cock, and the quiet way he shushes you, moving one hand to cup your chin again, gripping tight enough to make you clench around him.

“Frank,” you moan again, and he just nods, that big nose dragging along yours, mouth dropping to capture your lips in a biting kiss.

It doesn’t take much more than that. A few more snaps of his hips, his hand moving from your chin to your throat, the muscle of his stomach catching on your clit, and you’re gone. It’s blinding, numbing, tingling, all of the above.

You’re somewhere in the clouds, your body completely in his control. He bites at your collarbone, his hips starting to stutter, and you know he’s close. You see his face go hard, brow pinching, and he pushes his head into your chest, biting at your breast as he keeps fucking into you, hands in your hair, sweetheart moaned into your skin.

He fucks into you hard, one final thrust that has your body sliding up the bed, legs locking around his to keep him close, keep him deep inside. You can feel the white-hot heat of him painting your insides, spurting out of him while his face stays buried in your chest. He pulls one hand from your hair, slams his fist against the mattress, as his chest starts to heave, deep breaths pushing his muscled torso against yours. You can feel every ridge and line of him, his cock twitching inside you, muscles jumping against your skin.

You’re expecting him to disappear, to roll off of you and hit the shower, leave you to clean up the mess he’s turned you into. But he doesn’t. He stays right where he is, between your legs, and after a moment, pulls his head up, adjust himself slightly, kisses you softly.

His hand reaches for your jaw again, but this time his grip is feather-light. His thumb drags across your chin, again and again, following the curve of your lower lip while his eyes trace over your face. “You really are something, sweetheart,” he whispers, and it puts a grin on your face, “you know that?”

“I do,” you throw back, smiling at him, reaching your hand to drag fingers up and down his back.

“Smart ass.”

Frank wakes the next morning to an empty motel room. Any and all trace of you is gone, your shotgun missing from the other bed, your mess of a coat picked up off the floor. You even cleaned your blood off the countertop.

But the sheets still smell like you, and if he thinks hard, he can feel the outline of you pressed against him, limbs tangled in his. He doesn’t have to think hard to remember how you felt underneath him, however, that obedient little thing he managed to turn you into, so good and so pretty and so perfect.

It makes his cock jump between his legs just thinking about it. About you.

He gets up slowly, gathers his things. Finds the gold card somewhere between his boots and his jeans, the stupid thing cracked down the middle. He picks it up, snaps it in two, tosses the pieces in the trash.

When he goes to pack his kit, that’s when he sees it.

A cellphone, one of those cheap burner things you can buy at the gas station. It’s got one of those stupid dangly charms attached to it, cheap plastic shaped to look like angel’s wings. He smirks. Hell’s Angel.

And, hastily scrawled on shitty motel stationary, the pen ink barely legible, is a note from you.

hiya frank,

I can’t stay in new york, not with gold cards floating around with my name on ‘em.

hope you understand. last night was…bliss.

give me a call if you end up in chicago and you’re looking for round two

sweetheart xoxo

Frank just grins, shakes his head, and jams the phone into his pocket.

————

tagging: @saintmurd0ck @thesongof-thestars @moonlarking @grippingbeskar @itwasthereaminuteago

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle x reader smut #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle smut #frank castle imagine #frank castle au #jon bernthal #the punisher #the punisher smut #my fics #head to head #the punisher au #sort of

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hedwig221b · 7 months

Text

20 questions for fic writers!

Thank you for tagging me @thotpuppy! I'm reading everybody's answers, it's so fun!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

46. Though only 14 of them in English.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

582,115 holy shit

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Teen Wolf. I've translated for Sherlock before, though.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. The Happiest of All (Sterek, Explicit, 32,5k, ER, Angst, Miscommunication, Stiles runs away from Derek thinking it's for the best. He's wrong) 2. Untouchable (Sterek, Explicit, 17,1k, ABO, Univesity!AU, Courting, Stiles is the new hot omega, bad boy!Derek is the only one allowed to get close) 3. Safe (Sterek, Not Rated, 974, ER, TW Movie Fix-it.) 4. Wait For Me (Sterek, Mature, 64,6k, Spark!Stiles, Cursed sterek, very soft and desperate, forever love) 5. Treasure (Sterek, Explicit, 71,2k, Historical AU, Courting, Heavy Angst, Derek saves Stiles and baby Eli from gold-digging suitors in the most feral and tender way possible)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! I answer each and every one, except for emojis. I also stopped responding to comments on Safe because it exploded so quickly and there was an avalanche of comments and I got anxious and I'm still overwhelmed SORRY

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I cannot decide between Wait For Me and Treasure. In both Stiles loses people, willingly or not, and it's devastating that this is something he will have to live with. But both have happy endings, don't worry.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Lmao, it's pwp Devoured (Sterek, Explicit, 5,2k, Sex God!Derek, Human Sacrifice!Stiles). I mean, Stiles is getting fucked by Derek in front of the dozens of deities, and everyone is jealous of them.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, people have been very nice to me. Some people don't like how soft my Stiles is but it's whatever. However, I anticipate the hate from a certain character defense squad for the fic that's coming out in November. I hope they'll never find it.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yep. It's porn with feelings. And they MUST hold hands. Stiles moans and whimpers and Derek has a filthy mouth. Both are feral sluts for each other. Also monsterfucking. It's Derek Hale's fault, don't look at me, look at his tiddies

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No, and, please, don't start

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. Though, I, myself, translated a lot of fics. It's a unique and wonderful experience. I don't think authors realize how deep into their heads we crawl, how we dissect every paragraph, every sentence, how much we immerse ourselves to convey what the author was trying to say. Some fics I banged my head over, they were so hard to translate. Others were so easy and wonderful, it was a joy to work with them. Yes, the last one was Waiting by isthatbloodonhisshirt. I fucking loved working on it so much.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, and I don't see myself doing so.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

STEREK

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Listen. Mutual pining!Sterek, established!Cordia. In order to save the pack from the Monster of the Week, Stiles and Lydia have to work together to defeat it, and they cannot tell anybody what they're doing bc the pack will die if they do. Naturally, the cheating rumors start. Cora is furious, Derek is devastated. Stiles and Lydia see how much it hurts their loved ones, but they would rather have them heartbroken than dead. Only when Stiles kisses Derek goodbye before going to die for his pack, do they realize that something's amiss. It's so angsty and so epic and I've had this idea for over a year.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Purple prose. Conveying emotions. ANGST. I will make it my life mission to make my readers cry.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action scenes (including smut because sex is an action scene). Sentences have to be quick, short, with lots of verbs and not a lot of time for emotions. I am not made for that! I try, though, I'm learning, HOLD ON. I also take a long time preparing for super emotional scenes, I just sit there and stare at the monitor and breathe anxiously.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Not a full dialogue, but small words like endearments HELL YES! I had an absolute blast with Treasure, having Stiles call Eli cute pet names in Polish. I feel somewhat comfortable with including Polish, bc my native language has the same/similar roots (?), so I understand when the Google Translate is spewing bullshit at me. I'd love Derek to speak more Spanish, but I know that GT is shit, so I have to stay away. Believe me, I know what it's like to read something in your native language and cringe bc of how wrong it is.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Sigh. Sherlock. I translated a fic and it ended up being an overnight hit and it's still the most popular Johnlock fic I've ever translated. The first fic I wrote myself was for Teen Wolf, Sterek. I would probably die from cringe if I looked at it now.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Treasure MY BABY MY LOVE MY FAVORITE CHILD ugh I'm so proud of it, of Stiles, of Eli and Derek in it. It's incredibly raw. I'm also currently writing a fic that's going to come very close to being my favourite. Maybe, even surpass Treasure. But now, I can say with all my heart that Treasure is my best work. Second is The Happiest of All.

This has been insightful and fun. Not tagging anyone, feeling shy, if you want you can steal the questions (hidden below)

20 questions for fic writers!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

#tag game #writing #fic writing #my fics #sterek #ao3 fanfic #sterek fandom

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flashyfucker · 2 years

Note

hii!! i hope you’re doing well <33

just wanted to ask, if you could share some WIPs with the class?? i am obsessed with your writing

oo let's party! hope ur well too anon <3 bully me into writing these (or share thoughts / vibes / req somethin else) x

stuff that’s got words in the doc! — (or at least in the notes app lmao)

jack hughes x mean!reader where you live in the town where the hughes brothers and their band of obnoxious hockey bros vacation. you hooked up with jack a few summers ago, and at his first sign of cockiness about it, you’d decided to spend every following summer making his life hell. his buddies are more than happy to help. this year’s newest development: jack gets off on u being mean to him!! :)

pierre luc dubois x reader where you and luc matched on tinder during quarantine. you traded numbers (and nudes. and hours of heartfelt conversation, too), but nothing really came of it after quarantine. now, months later, he shows up at a dinner party as your cousin’s new boyfriend, and all you can think of are the things you said you’d do to each other.

pierre luc dubois x reader x nolan patrick, where u grew up with nolpat and were never really dating but there was always something there. the line kinda dies out, though, when he moves to vegas, and back in winnipeg, you’ve started dating pld. it’s angsty and luc lets you fuck nolan for closure, basically <3 we love sad porn!

matthew tkachuk x best friend/brothers best friend/family friend’s daughter where you're hanging out and he borrows your phone for a second & you've accidentally left your burner twitter acc open or incognito window up or something and it's filthy and he's like "damn, you're into this?" and maybe offers to do it to u idk!

ideas i don't have outlines for yet! — feel free to make suggestions for these!

slutty party boy tyson jost x best friend reader where he f*cks anything with a pulse and is kind of a dirtbag but softens, just a little, for his best friend. taken from the tag: tipping her head back to pour drinks down her throat and/or fingertips brushing her lips when he holds the blunt up for her to hit. setting her up with teammates only to get weird about it when they actually start talking. him getting plastered and trying to fight the dude she’s hanging out with (cause she’s tryna get over tyson at the same time as tyson’s realising he only wants her. </3)

[player] x teammates best friend wherein at a party they're trying to match you with a guy on the team: teammate/your best friend drunkenly claims "[player] is too nice for y/n. she gets off on being roughed up"...... [player] is caught off guard and you’re embarrassed, but it turns out player is definitely not too nice for u at all

[player] x best friend cliche where they’re play fighting and he playfully slaps her thigh a little too close to her ass and she makes this noise so he does it again ... etc lmao

— also worth adding if you send slutty thoughts to my inbox i'll usually write a couple hundred words on them & i have like.. way too many of those that are partly written lmao! i dont think they count as WIPs but they're also happening xxx

#oh jac loves a cliche huh #cliches are cliche for a reason tho they hit every time !#nhl imagine #hockey smut #ff.asks #ff.txt #long post

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jeontaeil-archived · 3 years

Text

sexting/phone sex with nct dream (+ sungchan and shotaro) //

pairing: nct dream + sungtaro x fem!reader.

genre: smut.

words: 1.41k+.

warnings: 18+ content.

tagging: @hoehousenet @kdiarynet @chwe-yeeun @hoe2z @jayvoir @lqsience @jisungismymom @rosiehoon @giveortake @choijwiss

mark (copy - pasted from 127's reaction)

you desperately needed him to come over and tend to your needs but unfortunately for you, he was stuck at work. but maybe you were too horny to actually give a shit, so you send him a nice video of yourself as incentive. the video was instant boner material and mark was now in a predicament. you were so out of your mind that you asked him to show you just how much you’d affected him and this bitch really pulled through. so yeah, mutual masturbation through the phone. hotter than it sounds and mark was racing to get home after he’d cummed.

renjun (i went off on his)

you'd left him quite a few missed calls so he decided to call you back once he got a break. when he finally did, he asked what was wrong, genuinely concerned. that's when you shared that you missed him and wanted him to come home. of course he wasn't going to listen to your ridiculous demand. he was in the middle of work. so you figured the only thing you could do was give him some sort of incentive. keeping him on call, you sent him a scandalous photo of yourself. renjun was extremely caught off guard by this. he began scolding you over the phone, warning you that anyone could've seen it. but you didn't care. as long as he'd seen what you needed him to see, your mission had been accomplished. unfortunately however, it wasn't enough to get him to come home. so you blatantly began touching yourself, holding your phone to your ear so that renjun would be able to hear every single sound you made. after that it was boner city for him. he kept telling you to stop but he couldn't seem to hang up on you. he could tell you were close just by the way your moans started getting more shrill. but before he could hear you finish, you went silent, telling him to come home if he wanted to see you cum.

jeno

you both were literally just joking around, talking about whatever when the topic somehow landed on what type of banana jeno's dick resembled and what type of fruit your tits resembled. somewhere in that discussion, you commented about how big his dick was and how much you loved the stretch it gave you. this obviously fuelled his ego and he inquisitively asked you about other things he did to you that you enjoyed. so you left an overly descriptive list for him to read and get flustered over. you also decided to tell him about the things you wanted him to do to you, things so lewd and filthy. he'd never fathomed that you'd be into such corrupted things but he couldn't deny the rush of excitement he felt as he thought about doing those things to you. i used things so much here lmao but please feel free to interpret as you wish.

haechan (copy - pasted from 127's reaction)

he’d called you at the wrong time and you weren’t ready to just let him interrupt you like that. so you let go of any and all shame within yourself and picked up the phone. of course he could hear what was going on and gosh did he turn into a tomato. he went somewhere more private and tried his best not to pop a boner. this was easier said than done. you weren’t exactly being quiet. plus, he hated when you touched yourself. he believed you didn’t have to since you had him. so he told you to stop (if you didn’t then he’d make you pay for it when he got back home). but you were desperate and you really needed to cum. so, he pitied you and guided you through it. though he couldn’t see what you were doing, your moans were enough to help him vaguely imagine what was going on. he still punished you for touching yourself by coming home dreadfully late.

jaemin

he was the one who missed you and was lowkey kinda needy for you. he'd been holed up at work for so long and he couldn't wake to get back home to you. unfortunately for him, his errands were seeming to drag out longer and longer. he was so impatient and desperate that he slipped into a bathroom stall, locked the door, dialled your number and shoved his hand in his pants. when you picked up, he asked you to go to the couch or bed, strip and sit with your legs spread apart. though he couldn't see you, he was sure you were following his instructions. he told you what he was doing and asked you to touch yourself. all he needed was to hear the sound of your pretty moans, chants of his names as you pleased yourself, just as he would've if he were with you. he closed his eyes, imagining himself laying between your thighs, lips wrapped around your clit. he could almost taste you on his tongue. the sounds you let out as you came undone all over your fingers are what pushed him to his own climax. he was satisfied but he knew it wouldn't last long.

chenle

there was no reason for him to but he was bored so he pulled out his phone and asked you to send him a picture of your boobs. he was just being playful so he hadn't expected you to actually send him a nice photo of your bra clad breasts. eyes widening in awe of the sight, he sat up and asked you to send more picture of yourself. he never knew you could be so bold. he was equally impressed and stunned to say the least. all the pictures you were sending him were clearly having their wondrous effects on him. blood rushed to his cock and soon enough he began palming himself subtly. and when you switched to videos. well let's just say he made a small mess while sitting there.

jisung

you both might've done something you didn't usually do the previous night, so you were discussing about the experience. jisung had really enjoyed himself and he wasn't opposed to try it out again some time. based off your texts, it seemed the same could be said for you. your imagination was running wilder than his however. the things you were texting him were so dirty. jisung's face flushed a deep shade of red as he read all the things you'd secretly been desiring. this was all so new to him. he'd never had such lewd conversations with you over the phone. it was definitely hard to do though. he couldn't seem to be able to type straight, constantly fumbling over his words and making numerous typos.

sungchan

you'd gone shopping and since he couldn't come with you, you decided to send him pictures of all the outfits you were trying on. the last picture you'd sent him was one of you in a black body-con dress. sungchan's mouth went dry as he stared at the picture of you. you looked so fucking hot and all he could think about was ripping that tight dress off of you in order to devour your body. he was so riled up that he couldn't refrain from letting you know how he was feeling. you being the tease that you were, took advantage of your poor boyfriend's increasing horniness and began sending him more pictures of yourself, some with the dress' strap hanging off your shoulders while other showed the bottom of your dress hiked up your thigh. gosh he was so damn needy when he finally got to fuck you later on in the day.

shotaro

he was at the company, practicing his dance without realising how long he'd been at work. you kept texting him, asking him when he'd be home. by the time he actually picked up his phone, you sent him about 50 texts, each getting progressively more aggressive and nsfw. your cute pleads morphed into more scandalous reasons for why you needed him to be him so badly. you'd even taken the time to share a nice photo here and there. you'd think that all of this would either turn him on or make him want to rush home to tend to your needs. but it only makes him laugh. he scoffs and sets his phone aside. deliberately leaving you on read so that you'll know he's making you wait on purpose. shotaro's a tease, you didn't hear that from me though.

#nct smut #mark smut #renjun smut #jeno smut #haechan smut #jaemin smut #nct dream smut #sungchan smut #jisung smut #chenle smut #shotaro smut #hoehousenet #kdiarynet

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quietmyfearswith · 3 years

Text

suitkovia ; baron zemo x fem!reader

status — completed oneshot

warnings — SMUT SO MINORS GO AWAY, unprotected penetrative sex, oral sex (both m and f receiving), cursing, cheek and clit slapping, groping(ish)

word count — 3,457 words

pairing — fashion designer!helmut zemo x model!reader

a/n —zemo is such a fucking hot daddy and daniel bruhl is just as hot — and what was i gonna do?? not write about it??? psh no way! also blame the suitkovia video because he was so fucking hot andgoofy there.. enjoy this self-indulgent fic! also idk if you can be a baron and a fashion designer but let’s pretend that that’s possible okay? feedback is appreciated and hope u guys have a lovely day !! :>

also the ones in italics are in sokovian, i just didnt want to translate it into something lmao

tagging @art-estrange

masterlist

“Sir, your newest model has arrived,” Oeznik informed with a smile; and just as he announced it, the mentioned woman walked in and into the line of sight of the famous Sokovian designer.

Putting down the now empty glass of whiskey he earlier downed, he stood up and approached her, “Hello Y/N,” He huskily greeted her as his hands gently landed on her arms which allowed him to lean over and plant tender kisses on both her cheeks, “I am eternally grateful for your endorsement and modelling of our line of clothes.”

The kiss caught her off guard — but in a pleasant way — and she could only smile coyly, “If anything it is my pleasure to be able to wear your masterpiece of garments, Baron; I’m honoured that you thought of me.”

Releasing his grip from her he then held out a hand for her to take, once she did she was being led in front of the racks of clothes that were lined up — waiting for her to be worn. “Did you want a drink? Perhaps a Turkish delight?”

Eyeing the coffee table where a small platter of sweets and food lay along with some refreshments, she shook her head no and politely declined. “You can leave us now, Oeznik. And we are not to be disturbed, yes?”

“Of course, Sir.”

When the two men spoke in Sokovian, it made her quite uneasy but when she watched the designer run his hands along the fabric of the gowns that were hung, she thought that he was talking about one of the dresses. The wooden doors noisily shut behind her as the assistant left the two of the alone in the room.

“Thank you, again, for coming in here a day earlier than the arranged photoshoot,” He grabbed a gown off the rack and carefully carried it in front of her. “Of course, I understand that it was necessary to ensure that the clothes would fit me well.”

Nodding, he then handed her the silk tulle gown with a smile, “May you try this on first?” Taking the soft gown from him she silently complied and headed to the dressing room he pointed at.

While waiting for her to get changed, he sat down and poured himself another glass of whiskey. Perhaps it was due to her training or attributable to her various ramp model gigs, she quickly changed into the gown; there was one setback however, there was a zipper on the back that was too far for her to reach.

Walking out of the dressing room, she cleared her throat — effectively catching the attention of the Sokovian designer, “Baron? I need some help with the zipper.” She turned around and his breath was hitched in his throat as he saw how beautiful she looked.

“Of course I can help, darling,” He snapped out of his adoring gaze and stood up quickly to zip up the dress. Feeling the pad of his fingers along her skin resulted in both of them feeling a rush of electricity run through. “All done, love.”

It was comical how the fabric whirled around in slow motion as she twirled around to face him; he took a few steps back to admire her fully, “You look exactly like the goddess Persephone, darling.”

Walking in front of the the full length mirror that was placed in the far back part of the room, she observed herself in the eloquently-designed gown and smiled, “The gown looks like something straight out of a fairytale; and it fits me well,” She faced him as she remembered the last part of his statement, “Persephone? Is that your inspiration for this new line?”

Finishing off the remaining liquor he had poured out before nodding and explaining, “The recent books that I’ve been reading are about the Greek gods and goddesses.” He then stood behind her and gently touched her waist, his breath tickling her ear as he spoke, “And Persephone stood out to me the most.”

“Not Aphrodite? Is she not the most beautiful goddess in Mount Olympus?”

“Touche,” He smirked and removed his hands from her sides and went back to the racks and fetched the blue, floral gown that was the first design he made for his most current collection, “But the Olympian beauty wasn’t my focus on all, for I was far too intrigued with Persephone.”

A pout formed her lips as she was confused with his reasoning, “Change into this one first then I can answer the questions you have,” He assured her as if he could read her mind.

Thankfully the second gown that was handed for her to try on was easier for her to zip up; but at the same time she was dismayed at the realization that she wouldn’t be able to feel his hot touch on her skin. Upon stepping out of the velvet dressing room, she announced, “I think this is my favorite gown by far. This really makes me feel like a goddess.”

“To be fair, princess, with or without the clothes you would be crowned a goddess.”

The blunt comment had her biting her lip as she felt undeserving of his praise; standing next to him in front of the mirror, she shook her head and replied, “Well I’m not Greek so your argument is invalid, Baron.”

Once again, his hands roamed around her body — but this time his hands settled on her bare shoulders, “Not all goddesses are Greek; there are Nordic, Celtic, Indian — to name a few.” Looking to her right, where he had rested his chin while his hooded eyes took in every inch of her, she gulped down, “Cultured and intelligent all on top of having a great eye and sense of fashion — is there something you’re lacking?”

“Just my Persephone,” He muttered after placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder. That piqued her interest, she created some distance between the two of them but she laced her hands with his as she smirked, “You think of yourself as Hades?”

“In a way, I do,” He disconnected himself from her and was skimming through the different dresses he had planned for here to wear, “Are you the king of the underworld?” From her tone it was obvious that she was slightly teasing him, but he decided to give her a serious answer either way.

“Despite how magnificent that would be, I am not,” His eyebrows lifted up in excitement as he picked one of the next gowns that Y/N would try on, “But I do admire his passion; he and I share that same thing, you know?”

Handing it over to her, she got the signal that it was her next frock she was to try on; silently, she nodded and took the dress and headed to the dressing room. As she slid on the crepe gown, she then nodded to herself and smiled.

A low whistle was heard when she stepped out in front of the mirror, with a smile Zemo’s fingers danced around her neck as he fastened the cape in its place, “Now you look like something carved out of marble.”

Trailing down from her neck, his hands settled themselves on top of her breasts, “Is the neckline too much?” Her chest heaved up in anticipation as she shook her head no, “I don’t think it is, Baron.”

Smiling, he nodded and placed a kiss on the intersection of her neck and shoulders, “I’m delighted you feel so, darling. I feel like you have questions regarding my earlier statement.” Her small nod encouraged the designer to explain further, “Hades is often dismissed for he is the king of the dead. But, if anything, I think it is his passion for Persephone that he should be known for.”

“Oh?” Was the only word that escaped her with a shaky breath; a simple kiss in her skin had reduced her brain into a puddle, but the simple word spurred him to continue, “After finding the woman of his dreams, he did everything in his power to keep her in his arms.” His hands then slid down from her breasts and to her waist, pushing her body closer to his. Taking in her heavenly scent, he smiled upon feeling goosebumps against the skin of her shoulder where his lips were.

“Have you found your Persephone then?”

“I have now,” He gruffly spun her around and latched his lips on hers; she quickly welcomed his soft lips as she opened her mouth and moaned out as his hands nestled themselves on her ass, occasionally squeezing her cheeks. Her hands ran along his bearded cheeks and pushed him closer to her.

She whimpered when he tore off the cloak hastily and sucked on her neck, “You’re so fucking beautiful, darling.” As soon as he unzipped her dress she automatically shrugged it off her shoulders, exposing how she didn’t wear any kind of underwear underneath it. Amused, Zemo smirked as he ran his hand along her stomach, “Do you always go about without any kind of underwear?”

“No, not really,” She denied, “It’s easier to slip in between dresses without underwear holding me back.” Holding onto her waist he then carried her to lay on her back on the velvet couch, “Well that just makes it easier for me to please my goddess.”

He dipped down and licked her clit with his thick, wide tongue; and with just one lick of his tongue she was placing her legs on his shoulders, pulling him closer to her. “Fuck, more please,” Hearing her moan out for her, egged him to shove his tongue in her tight canal as he swirled around and tasted her sweet juices.

“What got you this wet, my little goddess?” It was a rhetorical question — which was a good thing for she was so deep in pleasure that she couldn’t process anything in her pleasure-riddled brain. His thumb rubbed her clit vigorously while his other hand inched upward and grabbed onto her nipple, twisting and pulling on it.

“Were you this eager to be fucked, darling?” The vibrations of the filthy words had her locking her legs behind his neck, further nudging his tongue deeper into her pussy. A loud whine erupted from her mouth when he pulled his face away, “Does that disappoint you, love?”

“Please, Baron. I need you,” She moaned out, her eyes blinking as tears of pleasure threatened to spill out. Wordlessly, he slid two of his fingers in her pussy and lowered his mouth so he could lick her clit. He didn’t break eye contact with her as she watched him lap her juices while his fingers were being squeezed by her damp walls.

“Is this what you needed, darling? Wanted my fingers?” She nodded as tangled her hand into his har, “Fuck! How am I going to fit my cock when you are already struggling to take my fingers.”

Her chest was heaving up and down in pleasure as she thrashed around, “Want you, want you so bad.” Her declaration had his chest rumbling with pride as he pulled his fingers away and kissed her hardened nub one last time.

“Is that so? Can you take all of me inside you then?” He lifted his face right in front of hers, she moved to slant their lips together. Dribbling down from his mouth to hers, she got a faint taste of her juices; and in the model’s opinion, it tasted better when it was mixed with his saliva.

“Want to please you first baron,” She clawed at the ends of his sweater, hands loving the feel of his warm back, “Can I taste you first?” The way she pleaded for him had him smirking at the realization that she was just as desperate for him as he was for her. Giving his consent silently, he helped lift off the cashmere sweater he was wearing and toss it on the foot. Switching both their sides so he lay under her posed as a challenge for her kisses went south — from peppering kisses on his beard, she lowered them until her cold mouth met the wide expanse of his chest.

“You really have a way,” He paused his train of thought as her lips gave his nipple a gentle tug; his eyes darkened with desire as he watched her give the opposite nipple the same treatment before kissing her way down his stomach, “With that precious tongue of yours, darling.”

The way her eyes peered up at him innocently contradicted the way her hands expertly unbuckled his pants; and once his pants, along with his underwear, was being moved off of him she licked her lips in anticipation. One hand stroked the entirety of his length while the other rested on his thigh, anchoring herself.

As if to test the waters, she placed kitten licks on the tip of his cock, “Fucking hell, darling,” The designer moaned out once she lowered herself and allowed her mouth to enclose around half of his cock. The way his cock poked around the inside of her mouth was a delightful intrusion for her; soon enough the tip of his cock was poking the back of her throat.

His short nails were digging themselves against her hair as his chest rumbled in pleasure, “You got me so close, love. Want to have a taste of Sokovia?” The chuckle he let out quickly died down when she fondled his balls with one hand as she shook her head a bit as she deepthroated him long enough until she gagged a bit.

It wasn’t long before he spilled all over her mouth, “Fuck, darling,” He moaned out as she milked him. Easing his grip on her head, he smiled upon seeing her lick her lips and open her mouth — showing him how he swallowed every single drop of his cum.

“You taste delicious, Baron,” She said with a smile as she rose up from where she was kneeling and moved to sit on his lap, “Can I please ride you?” Her meek petition had him even harder. Wordlessly, he snaked an arm in his cock, tapping it against her pussy before sliding it in her; in one motion he was already halfway inside her.

“Already so wet for me, darling,” Helmut moaned out when he lifted her by the asscheeks, leaving only his tip inside her; her nails were leaving marks on his shoulders as she mewled out, “Please fuck me, Baron.” Just as she spoke the final syllable, he then rammed his cock all the way in her, causing her to lurch forward, pressing her chest against his. It gave him leverage to fuck her fiercely yet slowly, as if savoring every moment inside her.

With her mouth pressed against his ear, she was moaning out loud for him which sounded like music to the designer’s ears; whereas his mouth was focused on leaving marks of his desire on her shoulder. “Been wanting you for a while, love,” The Baron rasped out as his thrusts sped up when he felt her walls squeezing onto his thickness even more, “Saw you walk down the ramp at Milan and I just knew,” He groaned mid sentence when she moved away from him and leaned down to kiss him tenderly — a juxtaposition from where his cock was now mercilessly and swiftly entering her tight canal, “Just knew I had to have you.”

The declaration of his admiration had her feeling oddly more confident in herself, “Am I like everything you ever wanted, Baron?” He rapidly nodded before moving his head away to get a good look of her — she was biting her lip, yet it couldn’t contain her delicious whimpers from reaching his ears, whereas with every bounce she made resulted in her breasts hypnotizingly moving along. Enclosing a nipple in his mouth, he pulled on it hard enough for her to rake her hands in his hair and shove him harder against her hardened nub.

“I’m so close, Baron,” She moaned out at the absence of his mouth, but was quickly satisfied when he took on the other nipple. Even without her verbal forewarning, he would have known that with the way it was getting more difficult for his cock to slide in and out of her clenched, wet walls. “Are you gonna claim my cock as yours, darling?”

Feeling the presence of his cock surpass her sweet spot and hit her cervix was too much for her as she weakly nodded, “Want you so bad,” She moaned out as she was starting to feel overwhelmed. The designer could feel his own cock pulse upon seeing her current state; he unwillingly removed his mouth from her now swollen nipples — much to both of their dismay — yet he tried to make up for it by lowering a hand to the front of her pussy, alternating between rubbing and pinching her clit. “I want you to cum for me, love,” He rasped out as his other hand was on her cheek, urging him to focus on him. “Your juices should be running down on my cock, okay?”

Slightly turning her head, she sucked on his thumb as she continued to rock herself harder on his cock — the thought of an impending orgasm sounding wonderful. A gasp escaped her lips when the Baron slapped both her cheek and clit when he did not receive affirmation from her, “I need your answer, darling, will you cum for me like the good girl I know you can be?”

Whether it was her desire to be his or the fact that she just didn’t want that added stimulation, she nodded her head vigorously as she indistinctly muttered, “Gonna cum for you, Baron. Want your cock all for myself.”

Pleased with her response, he then drove his cock in her deeper and harder while she wrapped her arms around his shoulders as her lips were quivering right under his thumb was tucked in safely. With one particular harsh thrust, she came and bit on his thumb too hard; despite feeling a sharp pain, Zemo smirked and continued to ram his cock in and out of her as he too was on the brink of another orgasm.

As she was placing kitten lick on his thumb as an attempt to calm herself down, she allowed him to take control; it was incredible how much strength he had because with one hand latched on her hips, he was matching the way her body rose and fall matched the pace in which he was fucking her. “I’m never gonna let you go now, darling. You’re all mine now.”

Delighted with that, she removed his thumb in her mouth and looked at him — fondness and lust portrayed through her eyes — and said, “Cum in me, Baron.” As if her words set off a trigger, he came load after load of his cum, painting her walls as his. Panting heavily as he pressed his forehead against hers, taking in the glow that encompassed her entire body.

Lovingly stroking both her cheeks they both smiled at each other; she spoke up first, “I hope you don’t always sleep with your models.” Despite the overwhelming pleasure she had just experienced, she couldn't prevent her from feeling insecure about the repercussions of their little rendezvous. The hairs at the nape of his neck was something she distracted herself with since she was too nervous for his response; tilting her head to get her to meet him eye to eye so he could reassure her, “No, my love, I don’t make it a habit to go and sleep around. Truth be told, from now on I only plan on sleeping with you.”

His line had her chuckling and lightly shoving his shoulder, still in disbelief with the words that left his mouth. “You’re my Persephone, the one I have been searching for; and I have no plans of letting you go,” He spoke and looked at her wholeheartedly and genuinely, hoping that he would solidify his claim and hopefully get her to believe him.

As her lip quivered and eyes watered, she hugged him close and showered every inch of skin of his that she could reach with kisses, “You don’t know how much that means to me, Baron. I, too, would not do the foolish thing of letting you go, ever.”

It was only then that the designer knew what true happiness was as he rubbed her back gently, pushing her body even more closer to him, “You’re with me now, darling, for life. I’ll treat you like the goddess that you are.”

#helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x fem!reader #baron zemo x fem!reader #baron helmut zemo x fem!reader #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel bruhl x fem!reader #its not living if its not with queue

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allhailthesanders · 3 years

Text

Random JATP Headcannon: The Wilson’s and Street Food

Do you ever think about how after the boy’s death Bobby was probably extremely weary of all take-out, street food, and basically all food that he can’t see how it is prepared? Because I do! SO I decided to write a headcannon about it.

I mean my man watched his three brothers die a horribly painful death because they wanted to have a quick bite to eat. Don’t think about how he was probably the person who found them dying from food poisoning, in excruciating pain probably scared out of their goddamn minds. Don’t think about him clutching their bodies sobbing. Don’t think about how Bobby 100% most definitely didn’t eat anything for the next few days after the guys’ death. Don’t think about how he was probably too scared to trust any foods that he doesn’t make himself. But honestly, he is terrible at cooking that was Reggie’s and Alex’s jobs. I mean he can make a couple of Filipino recipes that his Lola taught him how to make like halo-halo, adobo, liempo sinigang rice.

Then eventually, he started to eat again, well not exactly, I mean Dr. Crystal seemed hopeful. But like he would go to restaurants with like multiple EFFING Michelin Stars and like refuse the food because he’s so scared that he might choke, or get food poisoning and die like the others. Like he low-key throws a tantrum because he is freaking and upsets the chef, but can you blame him?

Without any contexts the public and gossip magazines were like:

“woah I know he’s a rock star but what a spoiled brat”

“TREVOR WILSON: A FOOD SNOB?!?!”

“I Can’t Believe (It’s Not Butter sorry back to the headcannon lol) That This Rising Star Threw His Soup at the Chef a Michelin Star Restaurant”

(It was completely by accident btw!!! The matching friendship ring with the guys fell in the soup and he didn’t want to lose another part of his friends. So he started to rush to the bathroom with the soup to find the ring and fix it. .....and the chef just happened to be right behind.....and the gazpacho just happened to spill all over him. But he did get the ring so..... that’s good!!! But he also cried a bunch washing the tomato off of it tho)

Rose started to swing by his house every couple of days with bags full of ingredients and she checks in with him as she is making classic Puerto Rican comfort foods. She quickly realized that his vegetarianism wasn’t a lie and adjusted the recipes that she grew up with to suit his needs. Rose also realizes that if Bobby doesn’t know how a certain food is made and if he can’t see all the ingredients that went into it then he would refuse to eat it. So she fell into a pattern where she would cook at his mansion as he looks over her shoulder seeing how she make the dishes, sadly laughing at the terrible dad jokes she makes. (The jokes remind him of the one Reggie use to make)

Rose “The Queen of Meal Prepping Before Meal Prepping was Popular” makes enough food the next couple of days. Together they would sit down together to enjoy a meal. Rose just tells him it was to make sure that she made the recipe correctly. But really it was to ease his anxiety about eating and to prove that the food isn’t poison. However, deep down it was to also show him that it is okay to make new friends and the boys probably would have wanted him to at least try to move on a little. Quickly Rose discovered that his favorite dishes are arroz con gandules (basically white rice with peas and olives), mofongo (think like mashed potatoes but with plantains), and some many pasteles and empanadas. And even after Julie and Carrie were born they have family dinners once per week that Rose cooked.

Well I mean until her chemo started of course because that when the roles started to reverse..... (but I’ve given y’all enough angst today, so that’s a story for another time)

I mean at some point he probably had to learn how to cook for himself and Carrie or at the very least he goes to a restaurant that personally shows him how the food is prepared/ he can see most of the steps on how it is prepared. Like one time The number of professional chefs my manz personally knows is ridiculous!!! I mean once he became FILTHY LIKE DIRTY LIKE I WOULD EAT HIM rich he definitely got a personal chef to either meal prep or cooks meals for both him and Carrie.

Bobby had one of the worst anxiety attacks of his life (I mean other than when he found out the guys died) when Carrie was 7. She went to Flynn’s birthday party at an arcade and found out that she ate cheese pizza and hot dogs (I mean Lukie, Lexington, and Reg died from street glizzies for fuck’s sake). Sobbing he called Rose freaking out as he drove Carrie (who was blissfully ignorant singing along to the Kidz Bop CD she got from the party favor) to the ER. “Rose I can’t lose another person who I love” Rose right before she had to perform at a gig she convinced him to turn around and go back home.

This is @iamthefryiestfrench-blog genius idea and I love it so, so much but Carrie and Bobby definitely started to cook dinner together like a couple times a week as Father-Daughter bonding time. Well until Carrie started to get super busy with Dirty Candy and before Trevor started touring again at that point they started to drift away. Fights started to happen more frequently. Carrie started to get more and more take-out to spite Trevor, but she didn’t realize that Trevor stopped eating again. A major fight erupted after Trevor passed out from hunger a couple of weeks after the Orphuem concert.

“Carrie sweetie it is NOT DRUGS”

“Then why did I walk in to you knocked out on the floor”

“I just hadn’t had time to eat today mahal”

“Dad do not lie to me! I cannot lose another person who I love. I can’t Dad. I’m going to call Dr. Crystal!!!”

And that was when the truth was revealed...

Carrie’s channel is slowly started to be sponsored by hello fresh, cookunity, or blue apron every single week without fail. Both of them wouldn’t admit it, but this was her offering the olive branch and Trevor took it IMMEDIATELY. (He missed cooking with his little girl). And in the sponsorship ad you would see Trevor cooking a meal with his hair in little pigtails with pink scrunchies.

Of course, they get the vegetarian meals and if you use here promo code “DIRTYCANDI10” then you can get up to 10 meals for free!!! So thank you so much Hello Fresh for sponsering today’s video!!!

It took almost 25 years but cooking with Carrie again made things feel almost alright again and that’s all Bobby could have asked for.

A/N: Hi! Thanks for reading this it was really fun to write :) (because I love to write pain lmao) But please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist down below by either replying to this post, reblogging this post, or sending me an ask! I would appreciate reblogs and feedback because I love reading your guy's comments and tags they seriously make my day but it's fine if you don't want to :)!!!

~✨My Taglist is Under the Cut Lol✨~

@poppin-peters, @sunset-bobby, @theobligatedklutz, @soupforfree, @iamthefryiestfrench-blog

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xpeachesncream · 3 years

Text

perfectly wrong | thirteen

summary: there were rules that had to be followed: no one could know about you two, there was no ‘getting to know each other,’ and there was absolutely no emotional attachment allowed. if this could be done, there should be no complications. but somehow, the rules always get bended.

pairing: reader x fuckboy!kth

genre: college au | fluff, angst, smut

words: 2.3k

chapter warnings: cussing, soft tae

notes: down to 2 chapters left! i will most likely do some drabbles every now and then for this, but not right away because i’ll be working on my new fic: acquainted. will let you know when this goes live, but pls check it out. it’s gonna be messy and filthy as hell, im sorry lmao

tags: @soulstaes @apollukee @imluckybitches @btsis7okay @ppangiiroo @gee-nee @enchantaeduniverse @miinoongi @thedarkwinterrose @levrantae @somewhereofftheglobe @jwlmnbt @symmetricaleyeliner @bluesharksandfish (pls msg me if you would like to be added to the taglist!)

> series masterlist <

Taehyung slouched on his couch, tv on whatever the hell channel it was on. He scrolled through his phone aimlessly, but it wasn't long before he huffed and threw his phone aside. He wasn't feeling himself, or anything for that matter, and was tired of being in this funk. He felt terrible about how everything went down and he couldn't really forgive himself for the shit he said to you. He didn't mean the things he said, but he was also the one who didn't know how to properly process feelings. He always acted on impulse and how he felt at that moment, rather than thinking about the situation rationally. Plus yeah, he had a temper. Shit didn't mix.

"Ayo." He hears Jimin's voice at the door, followed by three soft knocks.

"It's unlocked." Tae says. Jimin welcomes himself in and kicks his shoes aside. He smiles at him, holding something in his hands as he walks into the kitchen. "What's up?"

"Uh, found these at your door." He holds up the prints Tae bought from you. He sighs and shakes his head, almost dismissing it entirely.

"Keep it."

"Um, no? You bought these for a reason, so you should keep them."

"Not anymore." Taehyung lays his head back against the couch and shuts his eyes.

"You're so dramatic. I'm leaving these here."

"Whatever."

"What's wrong with you now, princess?"

"I'm just not in the mood."

"You haven't been in the mood.." Jimin sits on the other end of the couch. "And quite frankly, it's pretty annoying. You know what you did wrong, so why don't you just fix it?"

"It's not that easy."

"Says who? You?" Jimin scoffs. "Look, I know our track record isn't the best, but I know you genuinely care about Y/N. I know she means more to you than what you put out there, so why can't you just take it for what it is? Why do you have to make it so complicated?"

"Because I'm sure by now she hates me and wants nothing to do with me. It's exactly one of the things I'm afraid about the most. What if she gives up or realizes she doesn't want me the way I want her?"

"Do you think she's worth it?"

"I just-"

"Yes or no?" Taehyung looks at him as he leans over onto his knees.

"Yes, I do."

"Then none of that shit should matter. I'm positive she cares about you just as much as you do for her. If she's worth it, then you'd be willing to go through these ups and downs with her and do this ride with her."

"She's not going to want this after what I did, Jimin."

"You're full of excuses." Jimin shakes his head. "Then you do what you can to fix this and show her how you'll change, rather than just saying you'll do this and that."

"I don't know." Is all Taehyung can say. "I was pretty hurtful."

"You're also human. It's okay to make mistakes, but you should really work on processing your feelings better and communicating. Plus, your temper, dude. Tone that shit down."

"It's been so long since I've done this." Believe it or not, Taehyung was the complete opposite before. His last, serious relationship a couple of years ago made him flip the switch. He gave his ex everything, and was always willing to put his life down for her. He gave and gave, even if he felt like he couldn't anymore. He did all this just to get fucked over in the end, which is why he ultimately didn't believe relationships were worth the energy anymore.

"Y/N is not your ex. Stop comparing it to that. No experience will be the exact same."

"Ughhhh, I fucked this all up." Tae groaned, tilting his head back and covering it with his hat.

"I'm just saying, you could still try and fix this. Even in the end you two don't get together or whatever, you can at least say you tried. I'm tired of you moping around like you can't do shit to make it better. You know what she means to you."

"I'm not moping."

"Yes, you are! Look at you, looking like a sorry ass." Jimin threw his crumpled napkin at him. "Don't pass up on a good girl like that."

"Okay, I get it."

"No, I don't think you do." Tae looked at him. "Look, if this was any other girl, I probably wouldn't care much. But Y/N is genuinely different and I see how you both look at each other. It's really obvious how much you two ended up caring for each other."

"She is different. God, she's.." Tae sighs as he runs his hand through his hair. "She's beautiful and sweet, with just the right amount of mean. She's creative and her voice has always been so soothing. I want her around me all the time, even when she gets frustrating as hell." Jimin smiles.

"If you pass on her, she's mine." Jimin teased, knowing it would rub Taehyung the wrong way.

"Fuck you." Taehyung spat. "I should still beat your ass for the shit you pulled at the club."

"It was harmless." Jimin laughed. "So are you fixing this or what?"

"If I fix this, you need to stay 10 ft away from her." Jimin laughed out loud and held his stomach.

"Cry baby. I'm not gonna do anything." Jimin came and patted him on the back. "I'm sure everything will be just fine." And so, Taehyung gets himself up to go and fix this. He knew it wasn't going to be easy but he needed to right his wrongs.

Taehyung sat in his car and gathered himself together before he made his way up to the apartment. He gave off three knocks before he waited patiently for the door to swing open.

"I have to be honest, it's taking everything in me to stop myself from fucking you up right now." Jungkook sighed and stepped aside to let him in.

"That's fair."

"So, what's up? Why did you need to come here to talk to me?"

"I just wanted to apologize for how things went down at Jin's party."

"I appreciate it, but it still doesn't change the fact that you disrespected Y/N and talked down on her the way you did."

"I know, and I didn't mean any of it. I just wasn't thinking. If I'm being completely honest, I was pretty jealous of your relationship with her."

"What is this, high school?" Jungkook stopped himself from taking it any further because he could say a lot more to his face, but he wasn't going to since Taehyung made the effort to come here and apologize in person.

"Okay, I get it, it's childish."

"At least you're aware." Jungkook paused before shaking his head. "Look, not that it should even matter or anything, but all I knew growing up was Y/N and Jin hyung and vice versa. I didn't have any siblings or any cousins that could relate to me. I moved a lot before I finally settled with my family. I didn't get along with people easily, which is why when I met Y/N, we got really close and I stuck by her. We were similar, but different. It's always been that way, and quite frankly, it's not going to change." Taehyung nodded. "She doesn't have her family by her side, so me, hyung, Yoongi and Hoseok became that for her."

"I know, I'm sorry. I just kept thinking you two had it for each other like that and I couldn't understand why it was making me so upset."

"I love Y/N, I really do. But at the end of the day, she's her own person and she decides how to live her life. It's her life and I'm only in it." Jungkook shrugs. "I want nothing more than for Y/N to be happy with someone who can give her the world and cherish her for who she is. She has so much to offer and she brings life to everything around her."

"I-" Taehyung paused. "I really care about her. And I know this probably sounds stupid coming from me, but I want to do things differently with her."

"I just have to ask - are you even sure of your own feelings? You're not doing all of this cause you're lonely and have no one else to go to?"

"No, of course I'm sure of my feelings." Jungkook shrugged.

"You've been messing around with so many girls for some time now, though."

"Yeah and I also stopped doing that for awhile now."

"It's just hard to believe because I'd hate for her to have to go through it if you go back to your old ways."

"I won't."

"But that's easy for you to say, isn't it?" Kook shot him a look. All of a sudden, this conversation felt more like an interview but Jungkook had to do what he had to do. He knew what Taehyung was capable of, and he would hate for you to go through it again.

"Yeah it is, but she makes me want to be a better man." Jungkook sighed. He saw the look in Taehyung's face and he couldn't completely say it was all bullshit. He had never seen this kind of soft expression come from someone like Taehyung. "I haven't felt this way in a really long time, and it's scary for me. But she's worth it."

"I get that." Jungkook nods. "She cares about you a lot, you know? She may not say it but I saw how beat up she was over this entire thing."

"I want to fix this."

"I have to be honest, I'm a little wary. You really have to keep your word about doing better and not slipping up. She doesn't deserve it." Taehyung nods.

"I hear you." Taehyung pauses. "How is she?" Jungkook shrugs.

"Fine, except for the fact that she's sick right now." Taehyung's eyes widen.

"Is she alright?"

"Yeah. If you haven't figured it out already, Y/N isn't the type to back down." Taehyung chuckled.

"Yeah, I got that much."

"Hey," Jungkook tilted his head to look at him once more. "I really do respect the fact that you came here to talk to me in person. I know we don't know much about each other, but I know Y/N can see good in you." Taehyung nodded silently.

"Only trying to right my wrongs here. I don't want to slip up and lose her already."

"So, have you talked to hyung yet?" Taehyung looked at him and shook his head.

"No, but that's where I was headed after this." Kook nods silently. The two talk for a bit more, making sure they were on the right page, enough to put the past behind them and move on from the petty, unnecessary drama that had went down. When Taehyung had felt satisfied tackling one of the biggest hurdles, he made his way over to the cafe to tackle the last one. Not gonna lie, Taehyung was scared for this encounter because he knew Jin would lay his life down for you. Luckily for him, Jin was a wise man and never held grudges. Of course he didn't appreciate how Taehyung handled himself and this whole thing, but it wasn't entirely his fault and Jin always thought holding onto negativity was a waste of energy.

Jin happily greeted him, like his usual self, and brought him to the back so they could talk. Taehyung was sweating bullets, but he knew if he wanted to be in your life, he'd have to make it right with Jin. For Aiko, for the things he said and the things he's done to hurt you, everything. And so he sympathetically apologizes as he sits in front of Jin. Apologizes for the way things went down at the party, for Aiko, for having hurt anyone in this situation. Jin gave off a small, toothless smile and told Taehyung how he appreciated him for coming by. Quite frankly, he wanted to kill him as soon as you had told him about everything that had gone done between the both of you, including finding out about Aiko. Although the whole thing with Aiko was unfortunate, he couldn't really be mad because she was never his to begin with. The only thing he was really worried about was you, his baby cousin. Baby sister. Taehyung confessed that he had been feeling pretty lost because he believed you wouldn't want anything to do with him after that night. Jin reassures him and does a damn good job of it, telling him that you would never completely shut someone out, especially if you cared about them. Jin could tell how much you ended up caring for the guy and he wasn't going to make you change your mind about it because you were grown, and you could make your own decisions. He would only be there to support you and reassure you if times got tough. He didn't know Taehyung enough to immediately label him as a bad guy and right now, he was only showing he had some good in him.

They continued to talk for a bit [while Jin still had the time, at least], with Jin trying his best to coach him about how to best proceed with this situation. Of course, it was entirely up to Taehyung how he wanted to do this, but Jin could afford to sprinkle in a little bit of help.

"You're really sure about this, right? I don't want her to get hurt again. Y/N deserves all the best, and if a man were to ever come into her life, I'd want him to take good care of her and spoil her without her having to ask for it. I'd want him to be sure of her and to never make her question her worth." Taehyung nodded.

"I hear you, and I'm sure. It's scary, but I want to do this with her."

#bts #bts fanfiction #kim taehyung #taehyung #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung x reader #kth x reader #kth series #kim taehyung series #writing #perfectly wrong

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animoozies · 3 years

Text

I decided I would make one while I’m at work cause the patients are cooolin and I’m just vibing

2020 has been hard on all of us whether it was school, graduating and not being able to walk, knowing of a loved one that passed, mental health declining, and many more negative experiences. However I hope you all are able to enter the new year with someone/something that makes your life just a little bit easier.

With that all being said, I’m gonna tag some people I wanna show my appreciation for because 2020 was bearable because of you all. Also doing this helps me practice the love lanaguage of words of affirmation cause I’m one sarcastic asshole who’s a tsukki/kags kinnie

anyways

@hoekageyama I already showed I loved you a day ago but here im adoing it sober so it’s 100% intentional. I really appreciate and love our friendship. Everyday I look forward to one of us being a dumbass. You and I will be graduating come May 2021 so push through your ✨depression✨ and buck the fuck up for our last semester of college.

@hoekaashi A1 Day 1. Known you since you were soltserra and I’m pretty sure you were atrailofwhispers or some shit like that. Glad we rekindled after our hiatus which was due to Covid and also me crying over hxh. I hope pharmacy school gets easier for you but also remember your life isn’t just school. Your job maybe dedicated to serving people but you also need to serve yourself. Self care is important boo.

@gogo-karasuno I didn’t lie when I said you were a blessing. Despite me being motivated to do certain things I’ve mentioned, you are 100% the reason why I decided to act on that motivation. I met you just on time because I get inspired easily and lose it really quickly. I am so thankful for you because honestly you’re such a light. I am excited to further our friendship so I can see why you say you’re sarcastic and call yourself a bitch cause hunntyyyyyy if you can top me, we fighting cause no one can beat me. enjoy your last day of 2020 bb and take a couple shots and give the cats some catnip.

@luvkeigo crackhead #1. Your posts, tags, and energy is so funny and honestly you’re such great vibes. You are great company to have and I hope you realize that you are. know that and embrace that. always look forward to our simping hours and tagging you in tiktoks. Can’t wait to read more of your stuff in the New Years because your fics are A+ quality good shit.

@juvsbby your new nickname is nezuko because you’re all cute and innocent but still a demon at the end of the day. You always make me laugh in our convos because you are quite the savage. I really love our interactions and now they will never cease since you have me deadass on all social media platforms. 💀you can’t escape. Just know you are such a beautiful person in and out and I hope everything goes better for you mentally and at home for the new year.

@impromptux-main my playlist royalty aka my Suga. You are quite the chaotic individual and I did not expect that from you lmao. You were always cool to me but it solidified the one convo we had about that weird ass girl from Instagram. I hope the new year is better for you and that you dye your hair more colors you rainbow bitch

@haiikyuuns the crackheaded pharmacist. you are such a light in our fandom and to your mutuals, especially me. You are such a loving character that is so sweet to everyone. Please take care of yourself because I know your brain is fried(in more ways than one😂) just like how your job supports people, you need to support yourself.

Hello to the mutuals that I consistently tag in shit. You will be tagged in 2021 so sorry not sorry. I hope your new year goes well and there’s a little bit of positivity for you guys cause we all need it.

@bakugoustanaccount @kanao (you’re such a ray of sunshine but you’re lowkey a crakcheaded simp in the tags of reblogs. It’s hilarious) @ladyhitsu88 @simply-trash5 @nerdyshaddowhunter @honeymeh @thathoneybee3 @bootyy-bakeryy @all-mights-asscheeks (I always laugh at your url cause Im clearly a 5 year old) @mindlesschicca @wherethehoesat @emotiadouche @unvalley @happygalaxymilkshake @fckkei @emperorthighs

My beloved mutuals. I acknowledge everyone of you in my notifs. Sometimes I go to y’all blog just to make sure y’all alive lol. Love yourself in this new year and do soemthing new! Get a tat or soemthing. Buy some anime merch.

@fuckyeahfraxus @meggymoohoo @sokodomoo @necruwumancy @blueberry-07 @ushi-bakatoshi @luvkejii @lexysclubhouse (still not over you not liking seafood) @raine-needs-help @soleil-lei @atsumusc0ck @jdoeshit @icyjeno @icequeen009 @bucketsofworms @feathertayl @karasuno-flight @todoroki-sama @wellthisisme @milkandtobio @catstudio7-reblogs @palmtoptiger18 @khamillahsstrive (the OG since 2016 I hope you’re doing well!!!)

This was longer than expected but whatever.

Anyways

Just know you are all loved and cared for. You are all beautiful, intelligent, and unique individuals. Do not let your mind tell you otherwise. Eat, pray, exercise, draw, sing, read, and DRINK WATER. Do what you need to do in order to be a better you. Enjoy the rest of your day and Happy New Years you filthy weebs❤️

Ima go back to work lmao

#follow me on twitter @cdanae823🤣🤣#i did not proof read so I’m sorry if I double tagged or I sound incoherent.#Im rushing lmao

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op-peccatori · 4 years

Text

coup de foudre | MLQC Shaw/Ling Xiao (M)

Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Fem!Reader/Shaw

Rating: 18+/Explicit/NSFW

Words: 5k

Summary: He hadn’t planned on getting sucked in, unable and unwilling to free himself. But they’ve all had their chances and now, it’s his turn.

coup de foudre (‘stroke of lightning’): a sudden unforeseen event, in particular, an instance of love at first sight

A/N: i have nothing to say. except that this was supposed to be a filthy hookup thing but I should have known better. please...don't look at me lmao

(tags under the cut)

Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content, mild language, vaginal sex, ... minor electric play, please don’t try this at home, chapter 19/20 spoilers...ish

Rain-soaked bangs cling to a crinkling forehead, hanging over amber eyes squinting through the unforgiving downpour.

His heart pounds, tremulous and worried, within the confines of his chest–because of all the running, he tells himself repeatedly–as the heavy soles of his combat boots splash through puddles, drawing peeved looks from the people passing by.

Annoyance and concern twist and twine around his lungs as there’s no sign of that familiar face, the sparks on the tips of his fingers deadly in his urgency, and if he doesn’t find what he’s looking for right now–

The fates conspire as the thought crosses his mind, as if unwilling to draw his ire, and his path leads him to a park near Loveland University. There aren’t a lot of people nearby or in the park itself; he wanders in through the wrought iron gate, already thinking of turning back and going back to the cafe in the hope that you’ll be there–and then he catches a glimpse of the now-familiar silhouette, curled up on a bench, seemingly unbothered by the rain.

Drenched to the bone with your hair glued to your face and your clothes clinging to your skin in a way he tries really hard not to notice, you almost remind him of a lost kitten he’d come across as a child. Even the way you shiver is similar, although the way his body responds to you is very different.

You haven’t noticed him yet. Your palms are spread open in front of you, exposed to your unfocused gaze. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest as the thought of why you’re here comes to mind, so close to a man you should be staying far away from.

Shaw swallows the lump in his throat, mouth curving in that cocky way he knows will annoy you. With any hope, enough to wipe that miserable look off your face.

“There you are,” he calls, grinning at the way you jump and twist in place. Your eyes flash with immediate recognition and he’s near sickened by the elation that courses through him. You know him now, and that shouldn’t delight him half as much as it does.

It’s just because it would piss, well, quite a lot of people off.

“Oh, it’s you.” Your eyes, previously dull, spark with curiosity. “Shaw.”

“Mm.” There’s an umbrella clutched in his hand, one he’d brought along with you in mind, but it feels awkward in his grip now. He wants to open it and tug you closer, draw you into his arms and warm you up; he tosses the umbrella at you instead, trying to keep from shuffling in place as you stare at it in quiet surprise. “Y’know, I like parks as much as the next guy, but this isn’t really the kind of weather you should be out in.”

“More friendly advice?” you ask, eyes twinkling, and his mouth dries up. You sigh and open the device he so thoughtfully handed you. You don’t think you can get any wetter, but you might as well use it. “I know. I just...”

Visited Loveland Uni. Ran into Lu-Ares. You had felt so drained, so defeated, that you had, in all your wisdom, decided to stop by the park you had frequented so often with the professor by your side. It hadn’t been your intention to be caught in this rain.

“What are you doing here?” you ask instead.

He clears his throat, not wanting to answer or continue standing around here. But with your eyes fixed on him so intently, he isn’t sure if he’s even capable of moving a muscle, let alone leave.

“I was just passing by. Saw you here, lookin’ like a drowned rat, and I’m just too nice to walk away.”

“Sure you are.” You get up with some effort, hating the way your clothes stick to you, missing the way he stiffens. You raise the umbrella until it covers most of him and you, stepping closer and steering your thoughts away from the heat you feel coming off him. “Well, thank you.”

“No problem. We’re friends now, yeah?” He watches you, your small smile, and the way it twitches before it crumbles, his heart lurching as you drop your forehead onto his chest. “You okay?”

He resists the urge to curl himself around you.

“Yeah.” His hand comes up to rest on your head. He had meant for it to feel like he’s petting a cute animal, but instead, he wants to take his glove off so he can feel your hair in all his tangled glory. He ruffles it gently, and your hand comes up to fist in his shirt. “...No, not really.”

“Thought so. Think you could go mope somewhere drier?”

“I’m not moping,” you grumble, pulling away, much to his disappointment. “But yeah. Mind walking me home?”

“Sure. I don’t have anything better to do, thanks for asking,” he drawls, taking the umbrella from you and drawing closer as you begin to walk out of the park. He’s overcome, just for a moment, by the urge to grab your hand.

It’s funny, he thinks. He’d thought the rest of them pathetic for the lengths they’d go to for you, the way they seemed to orbit around you as if you were the centre of their worlds. Even now, despite having no recollection of you, they aren’t impervious to your pull.

And neither is Shaw.

All he had planned on doing was to wait and watch, derive amusement from you stumbling around like a lost little lamb, help out whenever the mood struck him. But ever since that one time he’d sat next to you on the bus, watching you study him suspiciously, the way you had fidgeted when his jean-clad thigh pressed into yours–ever since then, a certain, dark hunger had taken root in him.

It was when he ran into you here, separated from your guard dogs, that he realized it was just you and him. For now, but it was still a golden opportunity to play with you. To touch you.

He hadn’t expected to be drawn in like the rest. To want you so bad it filled him with warmth on the best of days and burned him inside out on the worst of them.

“If you had anything better to do, you wouldn’t have come looking for me in this kind of weather.”

Shaw scoffs, refusing to turn his head and expose himself to your knowing gaze.

You know better though. Not with how often he seems to find you no matter where you are in the city. It’s something he has in common with a certain someone, and the thought has you aching with something bitter.

Your current companion may be a strange one but you can’t deny the relief you feel when he’s around; he’s the only person in this strange new world who remembers you, who knows things aren’t quite right. He doesn’t seem to care much, but you’re grateful for his presence nonetheless.

It’s with that thought in mind that you come to a stop. “I...don’t want to go home.” The silence had been particularly stifling today, prompting your escape, even if it was to grey skies and raging clouds.

Shaw studies you carefully, the stubborn set of your jaw and the quick flicker of panic in your eyes. You look like you expect him to mock and dismiss you, and while the former would be all too easy, he can’t dismiss your subtle request.

And living up to expectations has never been his style.

Saying no to spending more time with you? He’s not an idiot. He’ll take his entertainment where he can get it, and things around you are never dull.

“Alright. Wanna come over to my place?”

The words are out before he could rethink them, and he prays you don’t take it in the wrong way.

“I mean, we can find something to make you feel better.” Ugh, shut up, Shaw.

Would it be so bad, though–

Yes, it would. You’re not his to take. No matter how badly his mouth waters at the very thought of getting a taste, of sinking his teeth into your skin; no matter how often dreams of you shake him awake with sparks crackling along his limbs, his pants embarrassingly tight.

You agree without much thought, and he wants to scold you for it. You trust too easily, even after everything with that Professor.

“Come on, then.” Because his body and mind slip from his control whenever you’re around, his thoughts turn to the dream he’d woken up from last night, hard and throbbing with raging lust, fingers trembling as they were forced to his cock. He had still been half-asleep as he spilt himself onto his sheets, shame eventually creeping up his spine as his mind drifted toward awareness.

You’re oblivious to the turn his mind has taken, wrapped up in your own thoughts. You have so many questions, most of which you know by now won’t get an answer. But as he leads you up the stairs in a small building, you’re caught off guard by the thrill of anticipation building in you. Your eyes linger on the broad expanse of his back, the studded leather jacket stretching over his shoulders, the way his jeans cling to the round curve of his ass.

“I’m in the mood for pizza. There’s a great place nearby, if you’re cool with it. Oh, we could watch–“ He pauses just outside the door to 3B, fingers hovering over the keypad. “Oh, uh, give me a few minutes.”

With that he taps in the password and slips into the apartment, leaving you outside, perplexed. You wait in silence, realizing quickly that he hadn’t exactly expected to bring a guest along, and hadn’t had a chance to clean up, if that’s what he’s doing.

‘Maybe he’s hiding stuff. Clues to the current situation,’ you think suspiciously, before dismissing the idea. You’ve come here to spend time with a new friend, not snoop around. For the first time in what feels like ever, you’re not going to snoop. You’re going to eat pizza and watch whatever Shaw had been about to mention. You need a goddamn break and you’re going to take it.

The door opens then, with Shaw’s head still turned away as he appears to sweep his eyes over the room once more, as if checking to make sure everything’s in place.

“Right, come on in,” he steps back to let you through, glancing around the hallway before closing the door. You slip your shoes off at the entrance, looking around curiously as you step into the room, smiling gratefully when he hands you a towel.

His jacket is hanging on a rack at the entrance, leaving him in his shirt. His bangs are slicked back and there’s a towel around his neck, the beads wrapped around his wrist clattering as he dabs one end of the towel over his skin. It all makes an enticing, domestic picture, one that has you swallowing nervously.

“Nice place,” you comment, hiding a smile as you spot what looks like a pair of boxers next to the couch, pretending not to notice when he kicks the garment behind it.

“Thanks. Um, do you maybe wanna change?” Neither of you had considered your soaked clothes, and you feel like a complete idiot.

Shaw, on the other hand, has to tear his eyes away from the sheer fabric of your shirt, the way it hints at the tempting swell of your breasts. It’d be better for you both if you spend the rest of your time together in a sweatshirt.

“...That would be really great, thank you.”

“Wait here, I’ll go, uh, find you something to wear.”

You feel awful about putting him out like this, but he’s vanished through a door before you can say anything, and you focus on drying your hair. He comes back with a bundle of clothes and an endearingly nervous expression.

“I thought it might be better if you just shower, if you want to, I mean. I mean, do whatever, I’ll just order us some food,” Shaw mumbles, handing you the clothes.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting, you can go first,” you offer awkwardly, laughing weakly when he rolls his eyes and pushes you towards the bathroom.

“And that’s very gracious of you, but you’ll catch a cold if you don’t get warm soon, so go.” It’s more of a demand than anything and you can’t help the ‘yes sir’ as you shuffle towards the door. “Mushroom and cheese okay with you?”

“That’s my favourite!” you call back, closing the door behind you as you step into the bathroom. Placing the clothes on the counter, you take in the products scattered over the surface. Namely, the various types of hair products and perfumes.

Cute.

You feel oddly shy as you undress, mind swimming with scenarios involving Shaw stumbling into the bathroom somehow while you’re naked. You can almost picture the flushed cheeks he tries so hard to hide, the slight bobbing of his throat you’ve caught so often, and the way he tries to avert his eyes but fails. The thought of him pressing you into the tiled walls has you clenching, your cheeks blazing as you turn on the water.

You wonder if he’s thinking about you naked in his shower right now.

What you don’t know is how right you are, and how miserable it’s making him. Shaw has never felt the kind of shameful thrill that races through him now, as a part of him wonders what you would do if he joins you, if he sinks to his knees and licks into you like a starved, depraved creature.

You're out in ten minutes, smelling of his favourite body wash, and it takes everything in him not to bury his nose in your neck. That scent has never smelled half as good on him as it does on you. Your cheeks are still rosy from the shower, and he watches mutely as you wrap a towel around your head.

Then, with a smothered groan, he realizes you’re in his old sweatshirt and shorts, both too baggy and more adorable than he’d expected.

Fuck.

“I’m done! Thank you, Shaw,” you murmur softly, and he nods, dazed and dismayed at the thought of having to tighten his leash.

“You can put your clothes in the dryer.” He shows you to the machine, starting it for you before handing you his laptop, surprisingly you with the show of trust. “Don’t snoop around too much. You can’t blame me if you find something you don’t want to see.” With the taunt thrown, he turns on his heel and saunters off.

You browse YouTube for a bit before setting the laptop aside and curling up on the couch. It’s been a few days since you woke up in this reality, but it feels like forever. You had almost forgotten what safety felt like. And you can’t quite believe you feel that way with Shaw.

A mesh of stress and worry wound tight in your chest for so long, finally loosens a little as your limbs relax, and you nearly melt onto the cushion as you drift off, knowing you’re not alone, for once not uneasy at the thought.

He finds you dozing lightly, tiptoeing into the room, crouching down once he reaches you. The frown that had come to find a near-permanent place on your face seems to have almost faded, and his thumb comes to rub away the last traces of it from your brow.

Shaw’s eyes, lidded and intent, come to rest on your parted mouth, and yearning throbs hot in his belly. His fingers, helpless against the softness of your skin, trace the sharp bridge of your nose, your full cheeks, the plump curve of your lips. He’s so transfixed by the sight, fighting back the urge to dip his head for just a quick taste, that it takes him a moment to realize he’s being watched.

Caught, he locks eyes with you and freezes, his pulse quickening when he sees no sign of fear or distrust in them. Instead, you tilt your head the slightest bit and–his breath catches in his throat when he feels your tongue flick at the rough pad of his thumb.

Stunned, he can only watch as your mouth parts further to suck the tip in, tongue stroking it in an erotic imitation of an act he’s only ever dreamed of.

It’s when your lips curl up, amused by his stupefied expression, that he frees the digit from your mouth with a low pop and daubs the wetness from it down your chin. You don’t say a word but the look in your eyes tells him everything he needs to know; he’s shaken by the way desire seizes him then, roaring and commanding him to take, to please, to wreck.

“You’ve had a bad day,” he tells you, hoarsely and weak in the face of his burning thirst, pulling his hand back.

“I’ve had a bad month. But I thought you brought me here to make me feel better?” you ask, blinking innocently as you rise up, leaning your weight on one elbow.

His low chuckle sets your nerves alight, as does the way his eyes can’t seem to decide between staying fixed on your eyes and mouth. “With pizza and Netflix.”

“Mm. You can just say no,” you say, even though you’re already leaning in. Your lips brush the corner of his and he sucks in a sharp breath, eyes sliding shut as he feels your breath on his face, warm and beckoning.

You must know that he–

“I can’t,” he breathes and captures your mouth with his. He can’t fathom a situation where he would deny you, when you’re ready and willing to let him in. When he’s been longing for this for so long.

It’s slow, a sweet claiming, relief and destruction bound together intimately. Any thoughts of resistance are abandoned, left in the dust for the exquisite flavour of your mouth. He groans at the slow drag of your teeth over his lip, shifting onto the couch to lean over you without breaking contact, tilting his head to go deeper, take more.

Satisfaction courses through him, visceral and grasping, as you turn onto your back, hands clenching in his shirt to pull him down from his careful hovering.

You’re lost, sinking into each other with every moan, your fingers digging into his shoulders as his finally tangle in your hair. His tongue slides along yours, and you’re overwhelmed by the desire to feel every inch of him, on you, in you, firm and warm.

“Good,” you gasp out, planting swift kisses along his jaw before he groans and crushes his mouth against yours again, intent on having his fill, knowing he never will; he will never get enough. His hand, splayed across your abdomen, slides down. He can nearly feel the coiled tension in you, desperate for him to unravel it, begging for his attention.

The doorbell rings, startling and shrill.

Shaw pulls away, breathing hard, the tips of your noses brushing. You pant lightly, a moan stuck low in your throat as you feel his hard bulge pressing into your belly. His desire is an unmistakable as yours; you ache to take his cock in you, your lust for him dripping from your cunt.

His amber eyes, glossed over as he fights to control himself, clear slightly at the second ring.

“I’ll be right there,” he yells in the direction of the door, before diving in to kiss you, hard and quick, all teeth and tongue, and then he rips himself away and staggers over to the door; your soft whine rings in his ears and chipping away at his composure.

He greets the delivery man with a strained grin, his mind occupied with the temptress he left on his couch. The man eyes him weirdly as he takes the cash, taking in the state of his hair and lips, eyes flitting over his head; he averts his eyes when Shaw sheds his pleasant demeanour, his expression edged with threat. He grabs the pizza, shooting a quick thanks at the man and barely restrains himself from slamming the door shut.

The haze of desire lifts. You’re probably hungry, and he needs to think.

You have other plans.

He’s barely left the boxes on the counter and turned around before he finds himself with an armful of determined girl pressing up against him, arms wrapping around his neck as you press your mouth to his.

“Ah, baby,” it slips out and he blushes at the low, needy sound that escapes you. “D-don’t you wanna eat-?”

“I want you,” you say, demanding and fierce and he doesn’t stand a chance. “Please, Shaw.”

His hands are clutching at the backs of your thighs before his mind can catch up, hauling you up until your legs wrap around his hips. A lazy grin splits his lips at the squeal that escapes you, that then melts into a moan as he sucks your tongue into his mouth.

He presses you into the wall and drags his tongue down the length of your neck, pleased by the way you shiver. “You need to be specific.”

His teeth sink into pliant flesh and the back of your head hits the wall, hips bucking up involuntarily. “Ah, I-I–“

“You want something, baby?” His hands knead the plump flesh of your ass as he sucks a blooming mark into your skin. “You gotta ask for it.”

He lets you slip down, just a little until you can feel him against you, just as desperate but better at controlling it, and using it against you.

“I-I want you to touch me, Shaw.” The heel of his palm slips between your bodies to press between your thighs, putting enough pressure that you grind your hips into it, desperate for the friction.

“Like this?” he asks, smirking impishly when you glare at him in frustration, pulling at his hair.

“More,” you whine. He laughs and adjusts his grip so he can carry you further down the hall.

“Tch. Greedy.” You nip at his earlobe in retaliation and his hands squeeze your ass in warning, this time as a warning–one you dismiss right away.

“I want your cock too,” you whisper, so softly he would’ve missed it if your lips weren’t ghosting the shell of his ear, your cunning tongue tracing the delicate skin. “I want you to fuck me, use me–“

The rest of your words are lost in a yelp as he throws you onto the bed, slipping his T-shirt off with one hand as he reaches for your ankle with the other. His abdomen, all taut muscle, his shorts resting low on his hips–you could run your fingers all over him for hours. The skies flash through the window, angry and eager, the rain still falling mercilessly, and you think it matches the look in his face perfectly.

“Careful what you wish for, baby,” he says in a half purr, his eyes dark with ruthless promise as he drags you closer. “I won’t be so nice if you tease me.”

His thumbs hook into the waistband of your (his) shorts and tug them down, only to pause, swallowing the sudden flood of moisture in his mouth as your glistening cunt is exposed to his ravenous gaze.

“My underwear got wet earlier,” you hurry to explain, nervous and embarrassed at the way he’s staring at you, his tongue darting out to wet his mouth.

“Your underwear isn’t the only thing-” He’s cut off by his own laughter as you kick him lightly in the stomach, attempting to close your legs–that he puts a stop to at once. “Now, now. I’m not complaining.” The foxy curve of his lips meets the arch of your foot, sliding across the skin over your ankle. He crawls onto the bed as he kisses his way up your leg, the tip of his tongue dipping into the crease at the back of your knee.

You can only watch in breathless silence as he nips his way up the tender flesh of your thigh, never breaking the meeting of your eyes. He parts your legs, fingers slipping through your slick curls to spread your folds before a long digit pushes in.

“So wet. Is it all for me?”

Shaw’s gaze doesn’t waver once and you throw your head back, cunt clenching around his finger and heart racing from the hunger in his face.

A second finger slides in, rubbing at your slick walls as you moan and rock your hips up. You glance at him, teeth digging into your lip at the sight of his pupils blowing wide as he looks at his fingers coated with your arousal.

“Look at you,” he growls, pumping his fingers faster as his tongue flicks at your swelling clit and you whimper and try to jerk your hips away. “Who would’ve thought you’d be such a dirty slut, begging for my fingers.”

With his other hand, he pushes the hem of your sweatshirt up until your breasts spill free from beneath it, the cloth folded under your chin. His hot mouth tugs at a nipple, nipping and sucking as his fingers stroke you to a slow ruin.

“Shaw.” You’re half cursing, half pleading and then you’re yelling in outrage as he slips his hand away. “You ass–“ But your voice dies in your throat when you spy him tugging at the cords of his shorts, yanking them down his hips. You can’t even call him out on his own lack of underwear, distracted as you are by his cock, by the way his lips close around his fingers as he licks them clean.

He lashes flutter at the taste, the little sample of your flavour rich on his tongue, and he vows to spend more time with his face buried between your legs, to grab a proper meal. His mouth waters at the thought of you coming on his tongue.

“You sure about this?” He asks, reaching into a drawer in his bedside table and pulling out a square foil.

You lock eyes with him and it hits you. You’ve got a lot, and nothing at all on your plate, you have mysteries to chase and thing to set right, because you’re in a reality where nobody remembers you. Nobody, except for this gorgeous, infuriatingly cavalier man standing in front of you, stroking his cock slowly and waiting for your permission.

You deserve this, damn it.

“Absolutely,” you respond with a touch of finality, rising up to your knees to reach for him, sliding the sweatshirt off as you go. His knee rests on the bed as your fingers wrap around his length, covered by his own as you prime him together, drawing the first drop of arousal from his tip.

He kisses you, once, twice, and then again. Your lips slide down his throat, placing sweet, wet kisses along the flexing muscle of his shoulders. Down and down you go, dipping your tongue into his bellybutton, smiling at the way his hips jerk.

You glance up at him and open your mouth, lips forming a wide O, tongue out; he shoots a prayer up before guiding the head of his cock in.

His fingers dig into the back of your head as you swallow as much of his thick length as you can, tongue pressing flat as you move back and forth along it. His thrusts are shallow, his scent musky as your nose brushes his unruly curls.

“Pretty, pretty baby,” Shaw growls, the sweet words warped and filthy as they fall from his lips, hands tugging at your hair. “You look perfect like this, with my cock in your mouth.”

Your moan vibrates around him and he stiffens, easing you off, plucking the condom off the bed and ripping it open.

“As much as I’d love to,” he mutters, pushing you onto your back, climbing over you fluidly. “You asked to be fucked, and I intend to deliver.”

He fits himself between your legs, kneeling between them as he slides the latex on. You can’t help but clench in anticipation, watching him position himself at your entrance.

“Last chance,” he whispers, teasingly. He isn’t completely sure if he can stop, if you do choose to tell him to. You look beautiful, your hair spilt across his messy bedspread and your eyes, vulnerable and filled with desire, waiting for him.

He slides the head of his cock along your folds and a shudder runs through you.

“Fuck me,” you rasp, eyes sliding shut as he slides in. Your thoughts, your problems, your loneliness–everything numbs and fades away. All you smell is him, sharp and heady. All you feel is him, his cock sheathed in you and his lips on your cheek.

“As my lady commands,” he mutters sarcastically, with a touch of sincerity as he grinds against you, drawing a sweet moan from you. Your walls squeeze him, hot and slick and possessive, pleasure sinking into his bones, scraping him raw; he will never let you go, now that he has you. It doesn’t matter which world or which reality you find yourselves in.

‘You’re mine now,’ he thinks darkly, greedily. He, who refuses to tie himself to any side, will bind himself to you so deeply you will never escape him. He will sink his claws so deep they would never be able to rip you from his grasp.

You gasp his name and the sound travels through him with a jolt; he thrusts hard, eager to see what other sounds he can draw from your lovely mouth.

Shaw tries to be gentle. He tries really hard. He’d wanted his first time with you to be sweet and slow, gentle and lasting as long as he could physically make it. But you shred any remnants of his control with the way you twist and writhe beneath him, meeting his thrusts with urgent rolls of your hips and moaning for him, so sweetly it threatens to unravel him.

Your whispers of how good he feels, how you never want him to stop, of please please please push him until he’s pounding into you with reckless abandon, riveted by the sight of you falling apart, your head thrown back and your breasts bouncing with every snap of his hips.

He can’t help it; his hand reaches for your cunt, fingers pressing to your swollen clit. The barest whispers of static spark to life on his fingertips, just for a second–your body reacts before your mind can process it, convulsing and twisting as he rubs tight circles, a scream tearing from your throat as he pins you in place.

Your walls clench him so tightly he nearly chokes, plunging into his own ruin as his pace falters, turning wilder and unmeasured, as he comes with your wrecked visage burned into his mind. Your eyes are wet, your limbs trembling weakly.

You kiss his face sloppily as he tries to catch his breath, drawing him in until his face presses into the side of your neck. He takes a long moment to breathe you in, the scent of sex and sweat intoxicating, his mind still consumed by you as he turns you both over to hold you close to him.

Your fingers creep up his side, and a mortifying, high-pitched noise of protest escapes him when you pinch him hard. "You better not have fried my vagina," you mumble tiredly.

"Chill. You're fine." It's not the first time he's tried it, but he wisely keeps that to himself. You snort, nuzzling his chest as a satisfied sigh leaves you.

Triumph courses through him, as does fear; he’s not one to lie to himself. This will not be a one-time thing. He will have you, again and again. He will stay by your side, regardless of what others will think or do.

His heart squeezes at the thought of Gavin. What would he think of the fact that Shaw has stolen you away while he remains oblivious, with no plans of letting go?

That is, if you’re on board.

In all honesty, he can't bring himself to regret any of it. They've all had their chances and now, it’s his turn.

You press your ear to the rapid thumping of his heart, not attempting to untangle your legs from his. You hum when he kisses your hair, turning to catch his mouth in a soft kiss. A low grumble breaks the tranquil silence, and you purse your lips when he turns to you with that familiar mocking stare.

“So,” you begin nervously, trying not to squirm. “Pizza?”

#mlqc #mlqc shaw #mlqc smut #mr love queen's choice #mr love: queen's choice #mlqc fanfic

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vventure · 4 years

Text

Kiss it Better

Pairing: Kirishima Eijirou x f!reader

Characters are aged to 20+

Warnings: SMUT [biting kink, unprotected sex], jealousy angst, toxic relationship, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I need to work on my smut, but I was listening to kind of angsty songs after work and this popped into my head and I couldn’t not do it. It’s based on Kiss it Better by Rihanna. Sorry if it’s shit, literally no one asked for my work addled brain to do this. Also, way too afraid to tag anyone in this lmao

youtube

Been waiting on that sunshine boy, I think I need that back

Can't do it like that

No one else gonna get it like that

The alcohol was making her head feel like air as she stepped out onto the dark dance floor. Green and purple lights shot around the club, their beams illuminated by the smoke that was filling the confined room. Bodies writhed together to an R&B song, and [y/n] was glad she chose this club in particular; nothing could make her feel sensual and ready to dance quite like the music she was hearing now.

Worming her way through the packed crowd, she found her friends and swayed her hips back and forth to the rhythm, allowing her body to dip during the middle of the swing, accentuating her ass she hoped. Her girlfriends laughed and grabbed her hands so they could mimic each other’s movements. It wasn’t long before a pair of hands settled on [y/n]’s hips, guiding her to turn around to face a very handsome man dressed in a black v-neck and dark jeans, his grey eyes sparkling in the neon lights. Her friends giggled behind her as they continued dancing.

Wrapping her arms around her new dancing partner’s neck, she ground her pelvis into his, and he had to grip her tighter to keep her on her drunk feet. She giggled into his chest as he held her close, swaying her hips back and forth much like she had been before. This seemed fun in her slightly tipsy state, but the little voice at the back of her mind whispered about how stupid she looked and how wanton she seemed with a stranger; the voice was quickly tamped down as the stranger lifted her chin to look at him. He pressed his forehead to hers, allowing their noses to touch and their lips to be separated only by a breath.

At that moment, a strong hand gripped her arm, the other going to sock the man in the face. She whirled on the intruder, coming face-to-face with none other than her fuck buddy pro-hero Red Riot, Eijirou Kirishima. He looked livid as he pulled her from the club, waving a curt goodbye to her friends, and pushed her into the passenger seat of his black sports car.

So I argue, you yell

The night air did wonders to sober her up a bit more as she walked up to her apartment with Kirishima close on her heels. She slipped in and tried to slam the door in his face but his foot was able to wedge into the frame in time for him to stop her. Following her inside, he slammed it behind him, making the pictures on her walls shake with the force of it.

“I can’t believe I let you manhandle me like that, Eijirou,” she spat as she retreated to her kitchen to grab a glass of cold water. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I could ask you the same fucking question, [y/n]. Why didn’t you just tell me you had a new fuck buddy?”

“You are not talking about that guy at the club.” Kirishima didn’t have an answer for her so she pressed on. “He was a stranger! And why were you there anyway?”

“Pretty damn close for a stranger,” he shouted, his sharp teeth gnashing over every word. “And it’s none of your business, you’re not my fucking keeper.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who literally kidnapped me from a club just to scream at me in my own home.”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking whore I wouldn’t have to do shit like this!”

Before her brain could stop her, she threw the semi-filled glass of water straight at the raging redhead, who used his quirk to swat it against the wall where it shattered into a million glittering pieces. A low growl left his mouth as his eyes bored into her soul.

“You are not my father, or my boyfriend, or even my friend, Eijirou!” Tears pricked at her eyes from the words he’d used against her. The man had never even degraded her during sex but apparently all bets were off when fighting. A lone tear ran down her face as she stared at him from across the room. “You aren’t allowed to be jealous!”

In the blink of an eye Kirishima closed the distance between them, gripping her cheeks as he crashed his lips to hers.

But you take me back

Who cares when it feels like crack?

Boy you know that you always do it right

Kirishima easily lifted her off the ground and slammed her back against the nearest wall, almost knocking all the air out of her as he kept his lips on hers. He moved his mouth away to bite down on her neck, making her gasp out a moan and wrap her legs around his back. Her nails dug into his biceps as he continued to leave large bite marks along her supple skin which he barely stopped to lick at before moving to an unmarked area.

“Eiji--” Her words came out in a moan urging the pro-hero to rut his hips up into her crotch. His hardened member was evident as she tried to grind down to meet it, but his hands were bruisingly gripping her hips.

“You’ll get that when I decide you’ll get that,” he growled against her skin sending delicious vibrations through her chest. Kirishima unceremoniously ripped her cheap dress from her body, freeing her black lace bra holding his favorite part of hers from its confines. His hands gripped at the top of the cup, the lace soft against his palm.

“Don’t you dare, Eijirou,” she warned. But he was punishing her for making him jealous and so he pulled the bra from her body roughly, tearing the cup and rendering the clasps at the back useless. Before she could protest further, he sucked her right nipple into his mouth and she groaned at the contact. His tongue ran circles around the hardening bud before he bit down on it with his sharp teeth eliciting a scream of pain and pleasure from her as her fingers wove into his styled hair. She gave his short locks a tug, causing him to switch to her other nipple, giving it similar treatment, but this time he sucked marks into the area surrounding it. Her moans were amplified as he reached around her thigh to paw at her soaked panties.

“Does me getting pissed excite you, babygirl?” He asked, trailing bites down the valley of her breasts as his fingers stroked up and down her clothed slit. “I’m gonna devour you.”

Man, fuck your pride

Just take it on back, boy take it on back boy

Take it back all night

Just take it on back, take it on back

Kirishima flung her down onto her couch, tearing away the rest of her dress to reveal a pair of black panties, the dark material growing ever darker in the crotch.

“So you were planning on getting fucked tonight,” he growled, his eyes narrowing at her as she clamped her legs together to try to get some friction on her aching clit. “You’re gonna find out that no one can fuck you like I can.”

Kneeling between her legs at the edge of the couch, Kirishima bit into the thin material covering her core, sucking the juices into his mouth which he savored while destroying her underwear. His tongue shot out to give a tentative lick to her folds, circling lithely around her hole before traveling teasingly slowly up to the bundle of nerves he knew so well.

“God--fuck--Ei--” He pulled from her as he sucked harshly on the little button, her legs began to quake. She could feel her stomach tightening as he pushed her toward her release so quickly. His teeth grazed against her clit and her back arched off the sofa as she came into his mouth. Delving his tongue into her core, he collected the fluids there and gulped them down like he hadn’t drank anything all day making her moan and grip at the fabric of her furniture.

Kirishima slipped one of his fingers into her tight cunt, pistoning it in and out slowly, making sure to hit her g-spot occasionally; he wanted to bring her to another release but wanted to drag it out as much as possible for his own enjoyment. His crimson eyes glared up at her from between her thighs as he inserted a second finger, still going painfully slowly in and out of her sore cunt as his tongue lashed against her clit.

“Please--please Eiji fast-ah-faster,” she yelped, her head slamming back as his fingers pressed harshly against the spongy spot inside her before pulling out again.

“You’re so wet, [y/n] you taste so good sweetheart,” he cooed, his mouth covered in your release. “One more before you get this cock.”

She groaned at his filthy words, her hips bucking up into his hands causing him to press down on her stomach to keep her still as he ran his tongue up and down her slit. Feeling her stomach tighten, she reached down to hold Kirishima’s face against her heat, practically suffocating him in her folds as he continued fingering and licking her. The sensation of having to pee hit her right before he fingered her g-spot, making her see white. When she’d come down from the second orgasm, she saw that liquid was dripping from his face and he had a cocky smile.

“That’s fucking right. Who else is gonna make you squirt, baby?”

Mmm, do what you gotta do, keep me up all night

Hurting vibe, man, and it hurts inside when I look you in your eye

“Please, Eiji. I need you right now,” she pled with her lover as he lazily looked over the mess he’d made of her. A fierce blush was coating her body, sweat dripping on her forehead and her own arousal slipping between her legs. He could look at this scene all day, but his cock was starting to throb with neglect. Placing her foot against the straining bulge in his pants, she snapped him out of his stupor, letting out a low growl and slapping her foot away.

“Have some fucking patience, [y/n].”

“I think I’ve waited long enough, Eijirou. Are you just going to tease me all night?”

“You’re such a brat,” he said, unbuckling his belt and letting his pants sag to the floor. She was shocked at just how wet he’d made his boxers with his precum while he was ravishing her with his mouth and hands. Hissing as he did so, he pulled down the boxers, his cock slapping against his abdomen and leaking precum along his black happy trail; she bit her lip at the sight.

Lining himself up with her sopping core he pressed into her to the hilt, her ample juices allowing for easy access to the back of her cunt. He groaned as she forced her aching core to clench down on his massive cock, then started yet another slow pace with his thrusts.

“You’re fucking killing me tonight, Red Riot.”

“You needed a lesson--hah--” He started, his sentence cut off by a sharp clenching of her walls around him. “So I’m giving you a lesson.”

She whined in response, wrapping her legs around his hips and locking them into place so his thrusts would be shallower, allowing the veins along his engorged member to caress her walls with each short stroke. This was the only way that she’d get any semblance of control, and she wanted to show that she wasn’t done being annoyed with his antics. In response, he pulled her legs from behind him and placed them over his shoulders, his cock hitting ever deeper inside of her, making her groan as her eyes rolled back. Leaning down, he pressed a searing kiss to her lips as he started to play with her nipples, pulling and pinching them with his free hands as his cock stroked in and out of her puffy cunt.

“I know every inch of this body,” he said, thrusting into her harshly to punctuate his words, his hands moving to anchor himself on her breasts and they bounced with each thrust. “I fucking love you, [y/n].”

What are you willing to do

Oh tell me what you're willing to do? (Kiss it, kiss it better, baby)

Oh what are you willing to do?

Oh, tell me what you're willing to do?

Snapping her eyes open at his words, she took in his blissed out face and assumed that he hadn’t meant what he’d just said. That hope was dashed as he opened his mouth and his thrusts stopped.

“I--” he stuttered.

“I love you too, you fucking idiot,” she spat, grinding her hips against his. “But now is not the time to discuss this, can you please fuck me!?”

Those words made him pound into her, his hands moving to run circles against her clit as he stared at her in awe. Her walls clenched as her release hit her, trying to suck every last drop of his release up for herself. He toppled over the edge, releasing his seed into her cunt before collapsing on top of her, kissing her deeply. As she recovered from her third orgasm of the night, he kissed every one of the bite marks he’d left.

Kiss it, kiss it better, baby

#Eijirou Kirishima #Eijirou Kirishima x reader #Eijirou Kirishima smut #bnha x reader #bnha smut #Kirishima x reader #Kirishima #Red Riot x reader #Eijiro Kirishima #Eijiro Kirishima x reader #Red Riot

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lizardkingeliot · 3 years

Text

First Line Meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

tagged by @phoenix-ascended thank you!!!! 💖

Okay SO. I’m gonna cheat a little bit here. The first nine I’m going to post are all going to be from the first nine chapters of time cast a spell on you (but you won’t forget me) but to be fair the chapters are so long they each might as well be a story all their own lmao. ANYWAY. Here we go. I’ll post the first paragraph from each I guess, in order of chapter number obvs:

1. Quentin shook out the tension in his hands. He didn’t understand why it wasn’t getting any easier. For days on end he’d been trying to perfect the illumination spell the rest of his fellow First Years had nailed in a matter of hours. But no matter how he tried, Quentin couldn’t seem to make anything more than a spark.

2. Quentin waited until Eliot was asleep to slip out of bed and hastily tug his clothes back on. The illuminated screen of his phone told him it was just past 12am. Clutching his shoes to his chest, he opened the door as quietly as he could manage and tip-toed out into the hall, all but running to his room and clicking the lock shut firmly behind him.

3. Dry-mouthed and groggy, Quentin woke in Eliot’s bed alone. He groaned, groping around for his phone to check the time for a long moment before remembering he’d left it in his room. Quentin rubbed at his eyes, rolling over and up to his feet, muscles he didn’t even know existed screaming as he went. He picked his bathrobe up from the floor and pulled it on, then tottered down the hall to empty his bladder and brush his teeth and gulp down frantic handfuls of water from the bathroom sink.

4. Tuesday morning was hell. Quentin woke just before eleven, empty as a husk. Filthy, all used up. His thighs sticking together where Eliot’s come had dried there in the night. Quickly realizing he’d already missed his first class of the day, Quentin pressed his face into his pillow, pulled the covers up over his head, and surrendered to the blank comfort of late morning sleep.

5. Quentin couldn’t feel his face, or much of his body for that matter. Which was… fine. It was great. It was fucking phenomenal. As long as it meant he also couldn’t feel the sinkhole that had formed in the center of his chest. The one that had been there for days, weeks, months, fucking years. He couldn’t feel anything at all.

6. Quentin felt a lever turn inside his chest, the source of his magic eking out a spark. Enough at least to send a message to Julia back at Brakebills. One of those little enchanted paper airplanes they’d learned his first week in Practical Applications that he never could get to fly quite right. He scrawled his SOS on a cocktail napkin and watched it flutter away like the world’s saddest butterfly. The universe took pity on him. Quentin figured he was probably due. 7. Christmas morning was a lackluster affair.

Exchanging gift cards over coffee and devouring great mounds of Ted Coldwater’s Famous Ham and Eggs while still in their pajamas. After, Julia and Quentin lay on the living room floor and Skyped with James, his grandparents waving hello from Pennsylvania in the background. They opened the stack of impersonal and overly-extravagant gifts from Julia’s mother that had been delivered to the house the night before. Quentin received a pair of cashmere socks and a leather belt with a shiny silver buckle.

8. Quentin stood at the bathroom sink, watching his face shift in the steamy mirror glass. Stark naked save for the towel looped around his hips. Hair dripping in cool, fat beads down onto the planks of his shoulders. So clean he swore he could feel himself sparkling from the inside out.

9. Quentin tossed his phone down onto the floor and leaned back into Eliot’s heat. “It’s almost like you want my dad to know I’m faking sick so I can stay in and let you fuck me until I pass out.”

Some patterns I guess: I love how chapters 2-4 all open with Quentin in bed after hooking up with eliot but all with very different vibes. In chapter 2, he’s just experienced subspace for the first time without having any idea that’s what actually happened to him and he is having A Time. In chapter 3, they had a very intense hook-up the night before and Quentin is sneaking out again, but this time he fully plans on returning right after. And in chapter 4, we see the joy of their beginnings at Columbia contrasted hard with the misery of where Quentin is at Brakebills.

ALSO 2/3 of the chapters begin with Quentin’s name which feels right considering just how deep into his headspace we are in this fic.

Okay. Anyway. Moving on:

10. Eliot loved watching Quentin lose himself in a moment.

It could be anything really: mastering a brand new spell; savoring something decadent and sweet; fussing with his hair when he thought no one was looking; focusing very hard on making himself a cocktail and getting the ratios just right; ranting about his Fillory books; reading his Fillory books, to himself but especially aloud; reading anything; riding dick...

That last one held a particularly special place in Eliot’s heart.

(from but i would die for you in secret aka the one where eliot is pretty sure quentin is only using him for his dick. spoiler alert: he’s not they’re just idiots)

11. Teddy was turning six years old. There was nothing in the world he loved more than stories.

His favorite was a version of Lord of the Rings Quentin had cobbled together from memory. He must have told it to their son a hundred times before it occurred to Eliot he could contribute more to story time than ogling Quentin’s hands while he spoke, or popping in to suggest when the Balrog should actually be making an appearance, Quentin.

(from in a land far away aka the mosaic fic where eliot makes margo hand puppets for teddy)

12. The words came out of Quentin’s mouth without a single coherent thought behind them.

“I’m just about to catch a movie with my boyfriend!”

There, outside the coffee shop on Eighth Avenue, Quentin’s maybe-friend from high school whose name he couldn’t even remember shot him a wide-mouthed grin. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” she said. “Which movie? My wife Danielle and I don’t have any plans for the afternoon and we’d love to tag along. Isn’t that right sweetie?”

(from your name like a song (i sing to myself) aka the one where quentin’s memory is shit and he and eliot pretend to be boyfriends in a post-monster world)

13. Eliot dropped the last box onto the floor. “Daddy’s wardrobe is safe at last,” he said, lowering himself down into the gold chair with a sigh. “Though I can’t seem to shake the terrible feeling that Todd raided my closet at the Cottage before I could get to it all.”

Quentin surveyed the damage from his spot on the sofa: there were at least seven large packing boxes bursting at their seams scattered around the penthouse. “I don’t know how you would even be able to tell. I’m pretty sure one of those boxes is just vests.”

Eliot quirked a brow in his direction. “Some of us are cultivating an aesthetic, Quentin,” he said. “And I didn’t see you complaining when I let you dress me for dinner last night.”

Quentin couldn’t help but smile. “I wouldn’t call picking between two pre-approved ties dressing you, El.”

“I’m also counting the fact that you said my ass looked great in my new pants.”

(from the parentheses (all clicking shut behind you) aka the suspender porn fic)

14. The night Quentin Coldwater died, a brand new star appeared in the sky over Brakebills. A little brighter than Venus, it stayed fixed in the same position for weeks on end. Eliot hardly would have noticed such a thing if it hadn’t been for the way that it hummed. Or at least, that’s how it felt. A humming in his bones. An old, familiar presence. Margo thought that he’d gone mad with grief. Alice was the only one who could understand.

(from a myth of devotion aka the one where eliot is sorta icarus and quentin is sorta the sun)

15. It didn’t happen the way Eliot expected it to. He dropped the letter into the mailbox, and pain blossomed in his abdomen so brightly it was like he’d gone supernova.

And everything went dark.

(from by night, beloved, tie your heart to mine aka the one where eliot sends the letter)

16. Eliot stretched out over the mosaic, his shirt riding up just a little as he clicked a yellow tile into place, and Quentin’s pulse leapt in his neck once, twice. Three times. His breath hitched. It was becoming nearly impossible to focus. In the heat of the sun, watching the sweat soak Eliot’s shirt clean-through.

(from i won’t deny (all the things i would do) aka the one where quentin and eliot start hooking up three months into their life at the mosaic)

17. After they decided kissing on the mouth was okay, Quentin and Eliot wanted to do it all the time. In every corner of the penthouse (“If you don’t stop sucking face while I’m trying to eat my sandwich,” Kady said one afternoon, “I’m literally going to feed you to the Baba Yaga.”), outside coffee shops, in between bites at the sushi place in Chelsea that Eliot loved. Once, they went to see a movie they couldn’t even remember the name of just to make out for two blissful, uninterrupted hours in the dark.

(from and a song of praise upon your lips aka part three of the box of chocolates series where quentin and eliot are definitely dating and finally talk about their feelings)

18. Eliot startled awake to something sharp and pointed slamming into his shin. He opened his eyes, and the toe of Margo’s shoe made contact one last time. Pain seared up the side of his leg, and he winced. Jesus, she really did not realize her own strength sometimes. Or the strength of her Jimmy Choo’s.

(from that you may know (the secrets of your heart) aka part two of box of chocolates aka the one where hand stuff is still banging)

19. Eliot Waugh was High King in his blood, and somehow that felt right. When they first arrived in Fillory, Quentin assumed he would be the one to wear the crown. He’d dreamed of it most of his life after all. On the throne in Whitespire, a fleet of talking animals at his disposal, a noble quest waiting around every corner to ferry him away to the next grand, heart-stopping adventure. But when the blade bit into his palm and drew no blood, and Eliot’s came up red, it felt like the final piece of some perfect puzzle clicking into place.

(from and this is the map of my heart aka the one where quentin wants to marry eliot and they have some incredibly filthy sex before everything falls apart)

20. Eliot walked into the penthouse to an eerie quiet. He found Quentin sitting in the kitchen under a dim illumination spell, drinking a beer and poking at the screen of his phone.

“Hey,” Eliot said, setting his shopping bag down on the counter. “Where is everyone?”

Quentin sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Out. I don’t know.”

Eliot squinted at him. “You didn’t want to go with them?”

Quentin lifted his eyes, shot Eliot a look. “No.”

(from for love (if it finds you worthy) aka part one of the box of chocolates series)

And I have now been here doing this for so long I no longer have time to try and find anymore patterns lmao BUT I will be tagging: @thelucindac @akisazame @fishfingersandscarves @nellie-elizabeth @freneticfloetry @rubickk7 and anyone else who wants to play!

#the magicians #queliot #otp: proof of concept #myfic

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whumphoarder · 4 years

Note

directors cut for the guy in the chair! I know you really enjoyed writing that one and it was INCREDIBLE

Ooh I’m glad you picked that fic because I actually ended up cutting a whole scene out, which I just found on my “doc of misfit lines” lmao

I think my plan was that during Ned’s not-quite-breakdown scene, when he’s alone in his bedroom and being bombarded by obligations, he was going to draft a text message to Peter asking if Peter had a minute to talk, but then ultimately decide not to send it and eventually fall asleep instead.

That would lead into this:

At some point Ned must have drifted off because the next thing he knows he’s startled awake by urgent rapping on his bedroom window. He hurries off the bed and over to open the blinds. A fully-dressed Spider-Man is standing on the fire escape.

Ned has a brief moment of confusion: did he send the text after all? But then he sees how Peter is leaning heavily on the railing, one arm cradling his side, and his confusion turns to alarm.

He unlocks the window quickly and slides it open, his eyes immediately going to the dark red stain spreading over his best friend’s side. “Peter!” he whispers anxiously. “Oh my god!”

“Hey man,” Peter rasps. He’s swaying on his feet, looking like he might topple over right then and there. “Uh… Can I come in?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Ned helps haul him in through the window. Peter’s legs immediately give out and it’s all Ned can do to guide him to the closest piece of furniture, which happens to be the oversized bean bag chair on the floor. “What happened?”

Peter raises a shaky hand to tug off his mask, giving Ned the first glimpse of his pale face. He makes a weak attempt at a smile. “Um… bad patrol?”

“Is this a bullet hole?!” Ned demands. He’s trying hard not to gag as he points to the damaged area in the side of the suit where the blood is escaping. “Did you get shot?! Peter, what the hell?”

“Shh, you’ll wake up your parents!” Peter whispers harshly. He slaps his hand at the spider insignia on the front of his suit and winces as the fabric loosens. “It’s not that bad—I think it just grazed me.”

Ned runs his hand through his hair. This isn’t the first time Peter’s shown up on his doorstep (well, window sill) asking for help, but it never gets any easier. The injuries always serve as a sobering reminder to Ned of just how much danger his best friend puts himself in every evening.

(He still has nightmares from that time Peter nicked an artery last April. He’d never seen so much blood in his life.)

Luckily, this time isn’t that bad. A quick examination reveals that Peter is right—the bullet really did only graze his side. His healing factor is already kicking in and the bleeding is manageable now so it just needs to be cleaned and dressed.

“Thanks, man. I would have just done it myself,” Peter explains as Ned pours antiseptic over the wound, “but May’s home tonight and I didn’t want to freak her out.” He huffs humorously. “You know how she can get…”

Ned tears open a sterile gauze pad and presses it to the injury, earning a small hiss from Peter. So you thought you’d just freak me out instead? he wants to retort as he tapes the square in place. But that’s not fair. As much as Ned hates this, he far prefers it to the alternative of Peter trying to staunch his own bleeding alone in some filthy alleyway, so he just gives a tight smile.

“No problem, dude,” he assures. “You know I’ve always got your back.”

Fifteen minutes, a minor suit repair, and two emptied juice boxes later, Peter is looking good as new.

“I owe you one, man,” Peter says as he reopens the window. “I’ll buy you a pizza or something.”

He slips back out the window with a lopsided grin and a wave of thanks.

(Ned clears the message from his phone.)

Reason I cut it: This was actually kind of a struggle to decide to cut. I love Peter whump (hence basically this whole blog), but I felt like it was kind of pulling the attention away from Ned. What I ended up doing instead was having Peter’s head injury be kind of a lingering thing in the background—something for Ned to stress about, but not a really immediate threat—and I think that worked better for the story flow in the end.

@blondsak @seek-rest @theoceanismyinkwell

just tagging you guys because I thought you might be interested <3

#ask meme #thank you so much for asking!!#and i'm glad you liked the story #Anonymous

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nympsycho-ao3 · 4 years

Note

DID YOU SEE THAT NEW 6TARO/4TARO FIC BY STARBOYPLATINUM ON AO3 YET? Fuckin’ good shit right there gd

you know, i havent. this one? might not be the right one but this one intrigued me so here we are.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23973151

so i opened it up and read the tags and decided to liveblog my reaction to reading it here.

first reaction is “oh boy, piss” and then “Oh boy cockslut jotaro” and then...

curry udon sounds pretty good

i would pay so much money for daddy jotaro to do my laundry holy fucking shit

lemme google pocari sweat real quick. sweet it’s japanese gatorade

dr daddy kujo contact name i am WHEEZING

imagine whipping your cock out and pissing from your snake skin PANTS

oh my god he even shakes it to get the last drop off i love this so much. im not into piss sexually but this is absolutely hilarious to be and also hot what is going on

damn 6taro be hydrated

their dynamic is incredible. i like how it’s not acknowledged that they’re even the same person? so far? lol

dfw you see your daddy’s phat piss-dripping cock and you run to ur room and cuddle ur dolphin plushie that ur daddy bought u

he’s kissing it holy fucking christ he is KISSING the dolphin

....cetacean companion... is genius fucking writing....

he cummied on the cetacean companion

holy fuck kujo leaving the door open on purpose is so fucking funny and hot

hey jotaro i feel you i wouldnt want my stuffed animals watching me jerk it every time my daddy goes piss either

he owns a BAR is this gonna have... boozey sex.... omg... maybe... ill still be happy without it but thats big bonie and also lots of piss

DILFY SILVER FOX OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOO

you know i would totally go to this bar just to give this sexy man my money. he doesnt even need to make me a drink ill just slide him my debit and tell him to put whatever he wants on the tab.

“perfect fourty-two” lmao ok i totally fall victim to this too but 42 isnt like, silver fox territory. its so tempting to do with jotaro tho. maybe he goes grey early lmao. god he’s hot teasing like this all loud and shit god damn.

DADDY’S SPECIAL BABY BOOOOOY

phallic drink mixing is excelelnt and my boner is here for it i LOVE

yes please get jotaro on his knees some more... damn...

this is intensely arousing and incredibly well written. jesus christ the absolute smackdown that jotaro gets, trying to get an ounce of power, only for it to be taken back by the smug and sexy kujo is exhilarating.

oh my god is this the beginning of a piss fetish? is this is? is this who i am? im big bonie rock hard i want daddy kujo to piss in my mouth wtf

kujo literally pisses the ocean

love love love how the author acknowledges that a guy stopping mid stream is “herculean” but fuckiin writes him doing it ANYWAY the fucking balls... who cares its porn god bless kujo’s piss stopping abilities. taint of steel.

the dialogue in this is like, palpable

do any of you have any fucking idea how much money i would pay to have daddy kujo’s piss soaked precum-oozing cock slapped across my cheek??? like??? thank you starboyplatinum sm...

“you only call me that when you want something” what a hot and visceral line. this dialogue cannot be matched.

thank you for reminding me that he’s wearing snants

ARE YOU CRYING? I CANT TELL WITH MY PISS ALL OVER YOUR FACE????? OH MY GOD??? LINGUSITIC..... GENIUS this should be a lyric in a song

i cannot even handle this right now. jotaro steals his underwear im legit gonna nut to this

THERE IS A CAMERA. IN THE DOLPHIN. RED ALERT RED ALERT SOUND THE FUCKING SIRENS god thats so god. that crosses into yandere territory for me. imagine crazy-ass dilftaro giving you a stuffed dolphin so he can watch you jerk it oh my fgodd

oh it was a joke ahahhaa well, im not deleting that still good

HUMP HIS LEG HUMP HIS LEG YOU SILLY LITTLE BITCH COCKSLUT yes

step on my bladder and wring my piss out like a gogurt, daddy kujo

aw i like that he knows he wont hurt him. too much.

oh my god he’s making him go out like this holy fucking shit

hnnng the way he grabs his hand when he tries to wipe his face hnnng such an amazing detail/choice

that fucking authors not at the end is fucking real and really relarable. like holy shit this fic converted me im gonna make my man piss on my face fucking shit jesus christ

Easily one of my favorite reads in a very long time. Wow, this was just fucking filthy and amazing. i really loved everything about it and im surprised at that, I thought i would have to overlook the piss but now i embrace the piss. piss embracers unite. god bless you starboyplatinum holy fucking shit you magnificent word wizard, you.

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asraha · 5 years

Text

character interview - a’sraha sallit

— what did you have for breakfast?

"Nabbed some fresh bread off Brother Thraes' counter, not that he'd mind. He makes sure we've had some food in our stomachs back in Quarrymill, especially with Lysander's strict diet of fermented grape juice, Celeste preferring nothing but the blood of her enemies and my outright forgetfulness."

— what can you cook perfectly?

"A good mutton stew, really. Got quite sick of Gridanian cuisine earlier on, and requested father to send some home recipes from Thavnair over so I could have actual food in my stomach."

— if you could choose a pet, what what would it be?

"I already have one! Darling's a cute little pet, if she isn't being such a brat about everything and anything else."

— how is your relationship with your parents?

"Quite well. Father hasn't lectured me overmuch lately, and Uncle Sosu still spoils me as he still does when I was a child."

— what is your favorite read?

"Something simple, preferably comical and with a happy ending. Call me idealistic and childish, but the world's too gloomy as is without some self-proclaimed writer with a thesaurus in one hand and the other wrapped firmly around a hard-on for abject melancholy to ruin my quiet reading time. I'd like my distractions to be less... daunting."

— do you put both socks on first, or one sock, one shoe?

"...both socks, just for orderliness' sake."

— do you fold your clothes before bed?

"No, I'm a bit of a slob, and a tired one at that. I hang my lounge-clothes to dry, throw my work clothes in a basket, put on something comfortable, and unceremoniously flop on the bed like a slab of raw meat."

— how do you feel about marriage?

"I've attended some as a guest and have had my share in the preparation of others; quite neutral on the topic, really. They are both beautiful and magnificent for the newlyweds as well as families, however straining the event can actually be in practice. Ran around like a headless antelope trying to find the bride's makeup set, trying to get the host to find enough space for three extra chocobo from the groom... Matron's tits, I've ran enough events to last me an age or two. That's not even going into living in said marriage, where"-- She goes on.

— who was the last person you crushed on?

She shrugged. "Eh."

— what does your dream home look like? and where would it be?

"We quite had a dream home, the Lightbringers did. I underestimated the love that could come with friends, crammed together in an abandoned space we all became responsible for, and in turn took responsibility for. It was... idyllic, if not for our job in Gelmorra. Even my apartment in Kugane now feels a little... empty, without that same involvement, yet who am I to complain? It is, for once, my own space."

— what’s your worst habit?

"My father says I'm a slob, which is true. When I'm that tired after work, I often fall asleep on the floor before I put aside my clothes, take a shower. Twelve forgive me, I feel filthy having admitted that. Cleanup can come after I’ve had some rest! We've all been there before, haven't we? Thank goodness I'm not seeing anyone."

— what do you do for living and how do you feel about your job?

"I used to work tirelessly for Stillglade Fane, up until recently. Brother Thraes and I have decided it was time for us to... start off on new ventures. I've paid for a space of my own and set up shop in Hingashi to sell herbs, tea and the usual magical healing. It's nothing other people are already doing, but it'll bring in some money while I find my bearings."

long overdue and probably everyone’s done it lmAO but @bookbornexiv and @regalblossom tagged me! thank you!

tagging uhhhhghhgg: @vylbrand-privateer, @raohlimewrilah, @magiteknical-difficulties, @crimsonkit, @finishing-touch, @little-purple-thundercloud, @eligos-venator, @n-esryn, @the-ruby-rogue and you if you haven’t done it already!

#about sraha #character memes

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probably-not-star-lord · 6 years

Text

Meet Cute (Wade Wilson x Reader)

A/N: So we’re just gonna go ahead and pretend Vanessa lowkey doesn't exist in the fic lmao

Request: Oof, if your still up for deadpool request. How about something where she was in similar circumstances as he was in in the first movie. It can be platonic if romance dosent work for the story. Also if you want it can be in headconnon thanks xxx

Request: About the deadpool request, yeah where they both have cancer (or another illness) and get taken to the mutant place where they meet and escape.

Summary: After being diagnosed with cancer, you’re sent to a facility that is designed to be a cure. Not only do you find a torturous way to get better, but also a man with an interesting charm.

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, Deadpool cause he counts as a warning

The day the doctor sat you down to tell you that you had late stage cancer was by far the worst in your life. Your friends and family weeped at the news, but tried their best to keep you healthy and happy in the remaining days you had left. Then, when a suspicious agent approached you on the street one day, you got your hopes up. Sure, the guy gave you the fucking creeps, but he guaranteed you’d get better. He also promised mutant abilities and what could go wrong with that? Everything sounded perfect!

Of course, everything was going wrong.

You had expected the day you found you had cancer to be the worst, but the day you were admitted into this facility with the promise of a cure is definitely number one on your list of shitty days. The cot they rolled you into your room on was dirty, uncomfortable, and made you feel restrained. You expected a cheerful hospital with bright walls and doctors with giant smiles, but instead this place was a living hell. Everything is filthy and dark, all the people are jerks, and you were informed you are going to be tortured until you get better.

Several days went by full of pain and suffering when the workers told you that you were close to being free of your cancer and unlocking your mutant ability. You wonder if it’s even worth it anymore with all of the bruises and cuts scattered all over your body. You felt sore, weak, and hopeless. By now you’d rather just go back to dying of cancer, surrounded by those you love.

“Ooh a room change!” a voice calls out in your room. You look up from your bed to find a man being rolled in on a cot by Ajax. Ajax is the asshole who met you when you first arrived here, alongside his companion Angel. They’re both complete dicks who find fun in hurting the poor people who get admitted here.

“Y/N,” he greets with a devilish smile. “You look like shit today.”

“Ajax,” you spit, glaring at him. “I would say you look like Dr. Doofenshmirtz today with that lab coat but I couldn’t disrespect him like that.”

“Wade!” the man on the cot yells with a cheery tone. How the fuck is he so happy here? Is he new? He sits up as much as he can and flashes you a grin and you suddenly become aware of the bruises and blood on his face. Wade looks like an absolute wreck but you somehow find him madly handsome. “Sorry, I thought we were yelling names,” he defends, pointing a finger at you. “Also, hot chick, that was a fucking amazing insult by the way.”

“Y/N, this is Wade Wilson, and he’ll being staying in this room with you until one of you moves onto the next progression of pain.”

Wade winks at you. “Thanks for putting me in the room with this sexy piece of ass and not that fucker who reeks. I think his name is Greg or whatever the fuck but he smells like shit,” he blabbers. “He kind of reminds me of you in that way, dish soap.”

You snicker at the nickname but quickly stifle your laughs when Ajax shoots you a glare. “Good luck sharing a room with him, Y/N. He’s the most annoying asshole you’ll ever meet,” he warns you before heading toward the door.

“No, that would be you,” you mumble, stopping Ajax in his tracks.

“I like her,” Wade chuckles. Ajax rolls his eyes and exits the room. “See you next time you beat the shit of me with your mutant fuckery!” he shouts after him. He turns his attention to you once again, checking you out more thoroughly. Even if your face is coated with sweat and blood or dark in some areas due to the bruising, Wade still thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he's ever seen in his entire life.

“So...” you trail off, unsure of what to say.

“Well, this is the perfect meet cute isn’t it?” he snickers. “I feel like I’m in a Nicholas Sparks novel!”

“I guess so, huh? We’ll have quite the love story.“

“I bet we will,” he agrees with a kind smile.

The innocent flirting makes your heart race and you can feel your cheeks heating up. “Uh, how long have you been here?” you ask.

“A couple days, you?”

“It must be almost a month by now,” you sigh. “But I have no way of knowing for sure.”

“That really fucking sucks,” Wade responds. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry too, Wade.” You meet his eyes and give him a weak smile. He returns your smile, looking sympathetic and exhausted. Some part of you wants to take his pain away, make him feel better and help him get out of this hellhole. He looks like he’s been through a lot, and not just the days he’s spent here.

You and Wade share a room for quite some time, spending your days making fun of Ajax and Angel or sharing stories of times before you were brought here. Apparently his friends made the same efforts yours did when they found out he had cancer, making him eat and drink healthy stuff that tastes like shit. Overtime, you found yourself growing very fond of Wade, and the two of you both decided there is something there that would be worth giving a try if you ever escape. But, deep down, you know that is merely a dream.

Today has been a particularly shitty day. The workers have been hard on everyone, producing some extra pain out of all of you. You lay on your cot beside Wade’s, looking up at the dingy ceiling with tears in your eyes. “Wade?”

“Yeah?” he answers, voice meek and tired. He’s right where you are, hoping for something better and probably on the verge of death.

“Do you have a bucket list?” you ask. “Like what would you have wanted to do before you were taken here?”

Wade ponders for a moment before breaking a grin. “I’d want to get one last blowjob from my friend Weasel.”

You laugh loudly, being genuinely happy for the first time in a while. “What?”

“Oh, Weasel’s a bartender,” he explains. “Blowjob is the name of one his signature drinks that I force him to make.”

“Are they any good?”

“Blowjobs? Fuck yeah, I love a good blowjob.” You’re cracking up now, falling in love with Wade’s sense of humor. “What would you want to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know...” you mutter. “See my friends and family again? Watch my favorite movie? Have a good meal? You know, the usual bucket list shit.”

“That’s too generic!” Wade gasps. “You need something cool like...fucking Ryan Reynolds before you die.”

“That would be very, very nice.”

He scoffs. “Are you trying to make me jealous?”

“You suggested it!”

“Well, maybe I meant I wanted to fuck Ryan Reynolds!” he jokes, causing the two of you to laugh even harder. “That man is absolutely beautiful and could have me anyway he wants.”

In between your laughs, you manage to speak. “You look almost exactly like him!”

“Really?” he questions with a smirk. “Are you saying that I am so fucking attractive I could have you any way I wanted? Cause I certainly have some ideas...”

You shrug, meeting his smirk with your own. You watch each other laugh as you continue to joke around, but eventually the giggles fade and the room is filled with a sad silence. “Honestly...if I could leave here the first thing I would want to do is see you,” he states seriously. “Like really see you, not tied down and worn out. I want to be happy with you, like normal people are with each other.”

You smile, a tear falling down your cheek. “I’d want to be with you too...just like normal people.”

“I’d want to kiss you.”

“I’d like that...” you whisper, extending your hand toward his cot as far as you can reach. Wade reaches out as well, taking your hand in his. For a brief moment, everything seems like it’s going to be okay.

“Lovely,” Ajax asserts, waltzing into the room. “I don't know about anyone else, but I'm touched.”

You quickly pull your hand from Wade’s, wanting nothing more but to touch him again. “Don’t worry, asshole, we’re only kidding.”

“No, no. It's okay. I encourage distractions. Wouldn't want you giving up on us, now would we?”

“Hey, don't take any shit from him, Y/N,” Wade says, shooting you a wink. “How tough can he be? You know...with a name like Francis.”

“Francis?” you chuckle. He smiles at you, loving the way you laugh, but Ajax just looks furious. You don’t know what the fuck Wade is doing, but you’re hoping it’s something helpful and not something that will cause him to get killed.

“That's his legal name. He really did get Ajax from the dish soap! F, R, A, N, C, I, oops! I snabbed the dry-cleaning tag off your lab coat. FYI, I could probably get you the super hero discount.”

“You are so relentlessly annoying,” Francis grunts. Yeah, like you’re going to think of him as Ajax now that you know his name is fucking Francis.

“Thanks, never heard that before.”

“Why don't you do us all a favor and shut the fuck up?” Francis threatens. “Or I'll sew your pretty mouth shut.”

“Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you. See, here's the problem with round-the-clock torture,” Wade explains. “You can't really step it up from there.”

Francis smiles wildly, sending you an unsettling feeling. “I was actually here just to inform Y/N her cancer is cured, and that she unlocked her mutation... you know I find so much pleasure in that,” he says, strutting over to Wade’s cot. “But now I think I might have to prove to you that you’re wrong.”

Wade gulps as Francis grips his cot and rolls him out of the room. As he exits the doorway, his brown eyes find yours and you see nothing but fear. “Wade...” you mumble to yourself, clutching onto your restraints tightly in hopes they could break, but you know they won’t. Your heart breaks, knowing you’ll most likely never see him again, but then Francis reenters the room.

“Oh, you didn’t think I was just going to leave you out, did you?” he asks, pushing your cot out of the room as well. “I wouldn’t want you to miss the show.”

In the room you see Wade being strapped down in some sort of machine that looks like a clear tube. “What is that? What are you going to do to him?”

“Worried about your little boyfriend?” Francis laughs maniacally, walking over to stand beside Wade as he’s being secured. “If this doesn't unlock your mutation, well... Nothing will. Now, what we're going to do is lower the oxygen concentration in there to the exact point you feel like you're suffocating. If your brain waves slow, meaning you're about to pass out, then we'll turn up the O2. If your heart rate slows, meaning you're able to catch your breath, we'll turn it back down. And that's where we'll leave you...right there.”

Wade groans. “I thought you guys were dicks before.” You can tell he’s trying to keep his humor, despite being completely unaware of whatever is about to happen to him.

“You know the funniest part of all this?” Francis quizzes. “You still think we're making you a super hero. You, a dishonorable discharge hook deep in hookers? You're nothing. Our secret, mate, is that this workshop doesn't make super heroes. We make super slaves. We're gonna fit you with a control collar and auction you off to the highest bidder. Who knows what they'll have you do...terrorizing citizens, putting down freedom fighters, maybe just mow the occasional lawn.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Wade seethes.

“You're never going home after this.” You cringe at the way Francis speaks, knowing something terrible is coming for Wade, who looks terrified. “Now there’s a brave face,” Francis reveals. He starts to close the machine, but Wade stops him.

“Wait, wait,” he commands. “Seriously, you actually have something in your teeth now.” Usually, you’d laugh at his jokes and admire the way he’s remaining lighthearted. But right now you’re far too worried about Wade to feel anything other than pure terror.

“Enjoy your weekend.” Francis slams the machine shut and saunters over to the controls.

“Weekend?” he asks. “Back up, weekend?”

“What the fuck are you going to do to him?” you shriek, but there is no answer. Instead, Francis starts the machine and sends a chilling grin to the two of you before leaving the room. You watch as Wade struggles to breathe, trying to get as much oxygen into his lungs as he can. You hate to see him like this so you scream and cry, fighting against your restraints in hopes that one of these workers will have the heart to save Wade. Your vision gets blurry as your eyes fill with tears, hearing Wade gasp and knowing there is nothing you can do to protect him from the hell he is enduring.

Soon, night falls, and a whole day passes until night consumes you once again. It’s been impossible for you to fall asleep with Wade struggling right beside you. You’ve spent your time sobbing quietly or closing your eyes trying to not watch. But, the exhaustion becomes you, and your eyes start to flutter shut as a few remaining tears fall out of them. You’re barely asleep when you hear Wade scream and your gaze instantly falls on him in the tank. You watch in horror as his skin transforms, covering itself in scars slowly as they make their up to his face, changing the way he looks forever. You’re unable to sleep again that night.

The next morning, Francis enters the room and turns off the machine. Wade sucks in as much air as he can, regaining a steady breathing pattern. “Wade!” you cry, but he’s too angry to answer.

“Fucking hell,” Francis announces, looking Wade over. “Looks like someone lost his shot at homecoming king.”

“What have you done to me?” he bellows furiously.

“I've merely raised your stress levels high enough to trigger a mutation.”

“You sadistic fuck!”

“I've cured you, Wade. Now your mutated cells can heal anything. It's attacking your cancer as fast as it can form. You know, I've seen some of the side effects before...I could cure them. But where's the fun in that? Now I'm gonna shut you in again Wade. Not because I need to, but because I want to,” he conveys, looking to Angel so he can command her. “Ah, well, go ahead.”

You are at a loss for words. The idea of Wade being shut in that machine again, crying for help that will never come, shatters your heart to pieces. You don’t want to be here anymore, you never wanted to be here, but now it seems impossible to stay. Angel fiddles with Wade’s straps as you fight against your own, praying your mutant abilities can somehow bust you out. The workers ignore your suffering and continue to focus on Wade. “You smell like shit,” Angel insults. Wade head butts her but you notice something peculiar in the way he does it. When she backs up, the match that usually hangs from her mouth is missing. “Mother fucker-”

“Hey, hey, hey! It's alright! It's alright. I think we owe him that, yeah? Take off. Go on, off you go,” Francis sends Angel from the room. “Quick question...what's my name?” Wade doesn’t reply, meeting your gaze with sad eyes. You know exactly what he’s planning.

“Wade...no...” you whisper, but no one hears you. He nods to you, hoping you’ll understand. What if it kills him? But, what if it works? So, you do understand, but you don't know if you want him to do it. Francis, however, doesn't understand at all.

“Didn’t think so,” he states, shutting the machine and turning it on once again.

After he leaves, Wade reveals the match he was hiding in his mouth. You shudder as you watch him light it and chuck it towards the oxygen vent. The two of you stare into each other’s eyes smiling, knowing what’s about to come. Within seconds, the facility explodes as fire erupts everywhere around you. To your surprise, you don’t feel as much pain as you thought you would, and all of your wounds heal almost as soon as they are made.

You break free from your restraints as they burn, and run off into the flames in search of Wade. You sprint right into a large body, and are relieved to find who it is. “Wade!” you yell in delight, wrapping your arms around him for the first time. He returns the embrace, holding you as tight as possible, but when you pull away he still looks miserable.

“You definitely don’t feel the same way you did before,” he mumbles.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Now that I look like...like this. You can’t still-”

You roll your eyes and swing your arms around his neck, pulling him down so he's inches away from your face. “Don’t be ridiculous, Wade.” You smirk up at him and quickly smash your lips on his. He’s stunned by your boldness but gives into the kiss easily, loving the way you still care for him despite everything.

He pulls away from the kiss slowly and presses his forehead against yours. The two of you smile brightly and genuinely for the first time in a very long time. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he says, pressing another soft kiss to your lips. Wade envelops your hand in his as you look out into the distance, ready for whatever is going to hit you guys next.

So, hand in hand, you and the soon-to-be Deadpool run away together from the fucked up mutant factory. But, in some twisted way, you’re grateful for the facility, as it lead you to the love of your life.

A/N: Yikes that was long as fuck but I really liked how this came out so I hope that’s cool with y’all lmao

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