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holy-puckslibrary · 4 months

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━ 𝐚𝐥𝐥-𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — bull-rider!MATTHEW TKACHUK x barrel racer!hughes!reader (can be read as an unnamed oc) wc — 1.8k synopsis — wear the hat, ride the cowboy—even if it might get you disowned.

note — there's one line referring to the reader as jack's twin, but no physical description is given. also, this one-shot is a "party favor" from our feb slumber party

specific content warnings under the cut.

cw — quinn being a dramatic, misogynistic douche-canoe 3000 for the entirety (ratty matty has his moments, too), no actual smut but it's heavily implied they do the dirty on the reg, a disgustingly intimate situationship — ick, off-color comment(s) relating to first times and the concept of virginity, lots and lots of familial angst (jack is a snake), oh! and more than a few loose ends... but you know the drill by now, i'm incapable of keeping a story contained

“Go on, Palomino Princess. Ride me like one of your ponies.”

Condescension drips from the lazy taunt. Matthew earns a palm to the chest for it; her ire lands with a faint thud, but he doesn’t mind. He gets off on riling her up, and after two years of backseat meetings and hushed phone calls, he’s damn good at it too. That, and she might be the most reactive person he’s ever met—and that’s saying something.

Matthew’s been going head-to-head with all three of her brothers for over a decade, and he’s known their family for even longer. Having a short fuse must be genetic.

“Y’won’t break me if that’s the hold-up. S’gonna take a hell of a lot more than a dry humpin’ buckle bunny to put me outta commission, sweetheart.”

He knows damn well she ain’t anywhere close to the derogatory term, but he likes what the complete disregard for her accomplishments does to her deceptively cherubic face.

It may look less harrowing than every other event on the card, but barrel racing ain’t for the faint-hearted. The event is a death wish personified, and it feels about as good as someone taking a metal pipe to both shins. It takes balls—metaphorically, in her case—to charge into an arena on an American Quarter horse with the intention of guiding it through a cloverleaf pattern around three barrels while sprinting at top speed, but it takes dedication and skill to succeed the way she has. The winner is determined by just thousandths of a second.

The woman perched on his tailgate is unmatched—undefeated.

Flames of pride lap at his loins, the fire of desire stoked by the wicked roll of her hips.

“Ohh—shit!” Matthew hisses, his head lolling back as his hips buck into her heat.

She smirks, apparently vindictive as ever. “How’s that, cowboy? Everything you dreamed?”

“And more,” he growls as he grabs a fistful of her backside.

His grip is tighter than it needs to be as he switches positions. Not nearly as rough as she would prefer it; beggars can’t be choosers.

Matthew steps between her knees, and, despite herself, she shivers with anticipation. Chuckling, amusement twinkles in his baby blues. “Now give me a kiss, sweetheart. My lips are feelin’ a little lonely tonight, and you happen to be wearin’ my hat, Little Miss.”

He flicks the brim of his hat. She catches it before it hits the ground before plopping it back on the rightful owner, the damage already done.

“You just love that antiquated rule,” she shakes her head while most definitely laughing at his expense. “Y’wouldn’t see any action without it, now would you?”

Matthew grins. Trading insults is his favorite form of foreplay. “Neither would you. Isn’t that your signature move, outlaw?”

“I should kick you to the back of the line with that attitude. Hell, I’d probably be better off keeping you at a distance anyway.”

“Keep mouthin’ off and see how far it gets ya. Definitely nowhere near that McMansion castle you call home, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, don’t you worry ‘bout me, sugar. I’ve got plenty of options if I need a ride home.”

“I’ll bet, show pony. Sexiest can chaser east of the Mississippi; who wouldn’t be chomping at the bit to carry Cinderella home to her Daddy?”

Men have a habit of gawking at her; Matthew has a habit of relieving them of their teeth.

He leans in to taunt her ear with greedy lips and barbed arrogance. “Best of luck finding one that’ll fuck you better than me.”

“Do you think about other guys fucking me often?” she fires without missing a beat.

More than he would like, actually.

With a heavy, drawn-out sigh, he runs a hand over his face. His patience is running thin, and his jeans are starting to chafe. Exasperated, he tries coaxing her to reason, “Sweetheart, c’mon. We both know you want this—want me. Stop makin’ this so damn hard.”

“Why? Because you already are?”

Matthew makes an exaggerated show of play-biting her scrunched-up nose.

“Woman, you drive me insane.”

“It’s why you’re so obses—“

Her teasing is thwarted by the sound of her own name. Spat out of her older brother’s mouth like a heirloom gone sour, it's no great surprise Quinn looks at her like he can’t recognize her. Like a stranger—like a traitor.

Guilt, thin and fleeting, pieces the tenderness between her ribs.

She squirms, attempting to put some distance between them as if that could erase the discovery—and her culpability—from his mind. Matthew and his shit-eating grin keep her from getting too far but don’t be fooled. This is no chivalrous encouragement to stand her ground. It’s got nothing to do with her and everything to do with her brother.

Quinn rages outside the hauler housing Matthew’s precious 3500 Laramie. Walking by, seeing the main trailer hitched Brady’s F-350 made his stomach churn. It didn’t sit right, and now he knew why.

“You can’t be serious! Nuh-uh, no—no fucking way. Get out here before I drag you out myself.”

At his tone, what little remorse she felt dissipates. They were both far too old for his tired, overbearing song-and-dance.

“Who died and made you king?”

Quinn, blinded by overripe anger, sweeps over the irritation, twisting her tongue and the disbelief arching her brow. “I thought I made myself clear last time. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Oh, crystal, Quinny.” Matthew snorts at the juvenile nickname but is swiftly cajoled into silence with a pinch to the side. “Message received.”

“Then quit screwin’ around and get your ass back to the truck before Dad blows a gasket. He’s been lookin’ all over for you. So, you best be thanking your lucky stars I got here first. That its me catchin’ you red-handed colluding with the enemy.”

He’s so serious, nearly shaking with rage, it’s difficult not to laugh. She can count on one hand the instances wherein her brother became visibly angry—all of them involving the man standing between her dangling feet. She fares better than him, but that’s to be expected. Unlike her accomplice, for her, there’s real risk involved.

“Just ‘cause I heard you don’t mean I have to listen.”

Lips pressed to her temple, Matthew clicks his tongue in approval. ‘Bout damn time she started giving back what Quinn so readily dishes out.

“Look, y’can spread your legs for anyone with big dreams and a buckle some other night. Parade around the circuit acting like a slut, see if I give a shit. But not tonight. And not with him.”

The knowing glint in Quinn’s blackened eyes is telling, but it isn’t as menacing as he thinks it is. The Hughes heir apparent couldn’t be judge, jury, and executioner. He doesn’t have a lick of proof. Just suspicion and a personal vendetta the size of Texas.

A safety net swaying below, Matthew decides to have a little fun. “Whoa, settle down, Trust Fund. Y’can’t talk to a lady like that, ‘specially not your sister.”

He’s no white knight, but he can pretend.

And isn’t that what you’re all doing? Pretending to be people you aren’t. Acting out your roles, putting on a show. After all, a performance will always be more entertaining than the truth.

“—and here I thought etiquette classes were a Rodeo Royalty rite of passage. Glad t’know she ain’t the only roughneck hellion in your family tree, Huggy.”

Quinn’s jaw tightens. His tongue threatens to put a hole through his cheek. Hands on his hips, the eldest sibling only nods. He ignores Matthew entirely.

“Real winner y’got there. A class act. You really know how to pick ‘em—cream of the goddamn crop. Say, what’re you gonna do when he inevitably gets bored of you? When he gets his hands on a fresh doe-eyed virgin to tarnish?”

After she finishes with Matthew, she’s kicking Jack’s sorry ass.

Those anxieties—and that majorly personal tidbit of information—were shared in confidence. Because unlike her older brother, she trusted her twin. Well, she used to, at least. Luke’ll be over the moon at the chance to be her favorite.

She bares her teeth like a scorned lapdog. “We’re not kids anymore, Q. You can’t push me around whenever you want or tell me what to do like you’re my father. And you sure as shit can’t bully me into submission, either. Give it up, or get lost.”

“Whatever,” Quinn barks as he backs away from the trailer. “Your fuckin’ funeral.”

Listening to the fading sound of her brother’s Ariats pounding through the dirt, she buries her face in the warm, familiar crook of Matthew’s neck; she needs a moment alone. He seems to understand this, his mouth zipped shut as he runs calloused hands up and down her sides. She’s breathing heavily, but he does her the simple mercy of leaving it be.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was growing on you,” Matthew hums, a low-maintenance attempt to lighten the mood.

They don’t do the touchy-feely BS. It’s one of the things that reeled him in—and kept him coming back.

“But you do.” She pulls away to look up at him, chin resting on his sternum. He hates that her melancholic eyes are red-rimmed. “—and stop thinking, it doesn’t suit you.”

“And what does, princess? I’m dyin’ for your insight.”

“Shut the door and I’ll show you.”

He blinks, taken aback. Who is this brazen tart, and when did she take your place? Matthew wonders to himself. Maybe he is the bad influence everyone paints him as… He hasn’t really thought about it until now, and it's troubling the way it makes his chest tighten.

Matthew clears his throat—and, from his mind, the distressing notion that he’s ruined someone good with his carelessness—as he leans over.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He pulls the hauler’s heavy metal door shut with clamorous finality.

Matthew Tkachuk might be the most self-serving swindler on dirt, but Quinn Hughes is just another name on his list. A box to tick and then forget. He wouldn’t lose sleep, it wasn’t like their friendship meant a damn thing. Not anymore. A friend turned foe, reduced to another obstacle in his way, a hurdle to jump.

Tonight, his sister’s fealty; tomorrow, his title.

Retribution is at his fingertips, so close he can taste it. Yet, it would seem that Matthew merely traded one hornet’s nest for another.

At least this one’s easy on the eyes.

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lamnwar · 5 months

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Like my hair, sweets? // Kise Ryōta x Fem! Reader

MDNI 18+

omggg this was a request and I took so long to work on it that I was happy when I finished it but my dumb ass accidentally deleted the ask ☠️☠️ I think it was @sonofattacomeunapigna?? Girl if it was you lmk and sorry again for taking so long + deleting the ask 😭

Context: in which your boyfriend shows you his new haircut and gets quite the reaction from you. <3

Warnings: slight nipple play, pussy eating (basically that's all it is 🤭), hair pulling, and I think that's all?

Pretty boys have always been your type. There’s just something with the flutter of their long eyelashes, the plump of their pink lips, the perfect balance of sharp and soft in the lines of their faces that makes you go wild for them.

So, it comes to no surprise that you’re dating the ultimate pretty boy, Ryōta Kise. His idol-type self has never been one to go unnoticed, hoards of girls (and boys) at his feet every since he hit puberty and developed his features for which he is famous now. But amongst all the things that make him such a beauty – way beyond is Greek-god like figure, or his enticing honey-coloured eyes – one thing has always stood out to you: his hair.

Granted, Ryōta’s hair has always been eye-catching; not a lot of Japanese people can claim to be naturally blond, golden locks adorning their head since birth. You like to believe your boyfriend to be stellar, quite literally. Overwise, why would he be so radiant, if he’s not a star? A true light, that with a smile and a couple of sweet words, makes you forget the stupid little things he’s done, like putting water everywhere in the bathroom after his shower, or accidentally bleaching your black clothes. And he just has to lay his head on your chest, letting you run your fingers through the sun-like strands as he kisses your skin softly between “sorry, I can be a dumbass sometimes.”

But something is different today, you figure as he walks into your room with nonchalance – or rather, a semblant of nonchalance. There’s the shadow of a grin hiding on his face when he lays his eyes on you, making you certain that he craves for you to notice him, to say something. You ponder if you should give him that pleasure or toy around with him a bit longer. Anyways, the choice isn’t up to you – it’s up to your self-control. Yeah, because for how long can you keep your hands to yourself, when he’s looking like that?

“Ryō, come here a minute” you gesture to him from your spot on the bed.

You’re splayed on the mattress, somewhat resembling a spirit, giving him the call he’s been hoping for. And the pretty boy climbs on bed right to your side, looking at you with anticipation. You stare at him, fingers reaching for his face and leaving sweet caresses on his cheeks before you trail them up to his hair. They feel soft, the fresh perfume of his shampoo coming to you when you ruffle his locks.

“Hey!”

You laugh, a mischievous smile on your face as he tries to find his phone in a hurry, opening the front camera to put his hair back as it was.

“What?” you chuckle “You wanted me to notice, right? I just did.”

“Don’t ruin it if you dislike it.” He pouts from the other side of the bed.

You look at him, raising your eyebrows.

“I love it, the fuck you’re talking about?”

“Huh?”

You smile, climbing on his lap as you run your fingers through his hair again – but nicer this time, as to not dishevel his golden lock.

“Your new haircut” you hum, leaning in while his hands rest on your thighs, slightly gripping them under the sensation of your nails racking his scalp, “I didn’t know you could get hotter but here I stand, corrected.”

“Yeah?” He tilts his head, wanting to look unaffected by your compliment, but he fails miserably.

Ryōta gets compliments every other day, replying to them with a smile and a “thank you, that’s sweet” almost like an automat programmed to do just that. But when sweet words to his ego come from you, it’s a different story. It always makes him blush like a silly teenage boy in love, words of praise that make him feel better about himself than any trophy he’s ever got, or any magazine cover he’s ever been on.

“Love your new hair, Ryō” your honeyed voice travels to his ear like a song, “can’t stop thinking about messing it while you’re between my legs.”

Your lewd words go straight to his cock, a flow of blood rushing to make it twitch. You feel it against your thighs, as you draw closer to him on his lap. Soft chuckle coming out of your lips, you wrap your arms around his neck, humming.

“See, Ryō, soft hair like yours is made for me to tug on it. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He laughs, nodding at your words. He’s truly shining, you think to yourself as he smoothly manhandles you to put you on your back, his slender fingers on your thighs as he opens them up.

“You’re absolutely right, sweet face.” He nods, playfulness in his golden irises. “You know what? Maybe you should be the one to do my hair, hm?”

You giggle, feeling his soft lips press against yours before he trails his kisses down your neck, then to your collarbones, sucking the skin just enough to leave a mark. His odyssey down your body continues, face buried in between your breasts under your shirt, peppering the skin with smooth kisses. He watches your breath accelerate, the beats or your heart resonate in his ear as he toys with your hardened nipples. You bite back your whimpers, refusing to let him know that he’s making you so desperate already by merely playing with your tits. But Ryōta is observant, particularly with you, and he knows what’s brewing in that body of yours. The lust, the need for him.

Getting his head out of under your shirt, the blond straightens up, running his fingers through his hair, pulling them back, as he exhales. His fringe falls back on his face, offering a perfect frame for his gorgeous eyes. You watch him, the blinks of the dark lashes you love so much, then the warm flame that only shows up when he hungers for the sweet taste of you.

“I’m gonna eat you out so good babe, you want me to, huh?” He asks as he goes back between your legs, tugging on your shorts with the clear intent of removing them.

“Uh-huh!” you nod enthusiastically, not bothered to hide your excitement.

You know, for all the time you’ve been with Ryōta, that he is the kind to apply himself when it counts; and taste the sweet nectar of your cunt is one of those things that he takes seriously, vowing to perfection, the moment his lips meet the sensitive skin of your mound. He honours every parcel with kisses, fingers trailing down your slit to split you open. He chuckles, looking up at you like an angel.

“So wet already, hm? Just from the idea of me between your legs?”

You blush, muttering an embarrassed “fuck off, Ryō”, which only makes him laugh more. You’re adorable, he thinks, writhing under him as his tongue teases your clitoris, sending jolts of pleasure across your body. You whimper, grabbing his hair as he buries his face in your cunt, lapping at your sweet nectar like it gives him life. And maybe he does, by the way his breath hitches in his throat and he whines against you. You can almost read his mind – “pull my hair again.”

Your fingers tangled in his blond locks, you pull him closer, deeper in your pussy. Nose pressed to your skin as his tongue dips in your hole, then goes back up to twist on your sensitive clit, a dance of sorts, as he makes out with your cunt.

“Ah… Ryō, fuck!” you whine, hips bucking forward you move against his face.

Your hold on his head intensifies, almost as if you want him to stay there and not move, ever. Yeah, that’s where your pretty boy belongs – face deep in your pussy.

He hums, adding two of his slender fingers to the moves of his tongue and lips, sending you to the edge faster than you wish. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he gets you there, on the brink of your orgasm. But almost as if he knows it, he pulls away despite your strong hold on his head. You gasp, looking up at him in confusion.

“Ryōta!” you whine, like a brat who’s been denied what she wants for the first time ever.

He laughs, pecking your pouting lips in a way that makes your blood boil. But before you can say a word, his fingers dip back inside your cunt, curling to hit the spongy spot that makes you mewl like a beast in heat.

“Aw baby…” he says through his teasing grin, “can’t I toy with you? That’s my pussy, after all.”

You can’t voice your protest, only whining in response. He cackles, and you feel like slapping him for being such a fucker, but the way he looks right now is too godly for you to even risk it. The gloss of his lips caused by your juices, the mischief in his eyes, and his messy hair, looking like he’s just come out of a storm.

“Ryō, make me cum, please!”

“Oh, that’s new” he raises an eyebrow, “you say please, now? How sweet. Should I-“

“Yes!”

He tuts, leaning forward again, just close enough for his breath to fan on your erect clitoris, but not close enough for your satisfaction.

“You didn’t even let me finish my sentence. Saying “yes” like that… tsk.” He chuckles lowly, smirking. “What if I was asking if I should leave you like that, hm?”

You quickly shake your head, hands finding their natural place in his hair as you press him to your pussy.

“Ryō, I wanna cum!”

He giggles, kissing your clit.

“Ah, you’re too sweet for me to say no.”

You could almost sigh in relief if it wasn’t for the way he knocks the air out of your lungs by lapping languidly at your cunt. You squirm, thighs closing around his head while you tug at his hair. If you weren’t too busy being tongue-fucked so good, you would have certainly heard the slight moan he’s voiced when you’ve pulled his hair, but that’s ok. If you ever realise how much he likes the way you tug at his locks, it would probably be the end of him. He can’t hand you that privilege, give you an opportunity to drive him crazy the same way he’s driving you crazy right now.

“Fuck, gonna…”

You pant, pulling on his hair as he gives you the final blow, a silent cry coming out of you before you let go of him. It takes the sound of his voice to bring you back to Earth, and you look in front of you, facing the pretty face of your boyfriend. He’s so beautiful, you think, his wild strands of hair falling in his face as he hovers above you. He smiles, leaning in to kiss you. You respond with hunger, not recognizing yourself in that neediness. And yet…

“I’m not done with you, sweet face.”

#hopefully whoever asked for this is satisfied <3 #i was super happy to write about kise!!!#last game! kise resides in my head 24/7 #he got me sooo 🤰🏾🤰🏾🤰🏾#knb #kuroko no basuke #knb x reader #knb smut #kise ryota #kise x reader #kise smut

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