#now replace cool with hot

[lockbot]

I am a big Lockdown hater, TFA and Bayverse, but I can't lie, if it wasn't for his face and used only the mask, I think he's really fucking cool

[thewirewitch]

I may be a FNaF fan, but I gotta admit, there's a lot of merch that just kinda sucks lol

[s0dium]

𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐃 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐏𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐘

A/n: For all my weird tumblr smut AO3 girls Synopsis: No one expects the weird girl to have such a good pussy. Warnings: Male whimpering, squirting, pussy drunk men, pervert y/n, unprotected sex

No one suspects the weird girl to be a perverted fiend.

No one suspects the weird girl who reads AO3 and Tumblr on the bus and has key chains of their favorite chibi anime guy. No one suspects the girl who fumbles over their words during a presentation, the girl who goes to classes in sweaters and sweatpants, the girl who spends her time daydreaming about fictional scenarios. No one suspects the girl who always seems shy and sweet, only to have a secret stash of explicit fanfiction hidden on her phone, the kind that would make even the most confident person turn red.

And of course, no one expects the weird girl to have such good pussy.

So when the confident, smooth-talking guy gets you in his bedroom, how the hell is it possible that he is trembling from pleasure just from slipping his tip in?

"Fuck, I c-can’t—" he groans, his voice breaking as he stumbles over the words. His usual cool demeanor is completely shattered, replaced with breathless gasps and desperate sounds. His head is thrown back, neck taut, and his eyes are screwed shut like he’s trying to hold onto every ounce of composure, terrified that if he opens them, the mind-numbing pleasure coursing through him will slip away. Every time your pussy squeezes around his aching dick his body trembles uncontrollably, muscles tensing and relaxing in waves as he tries to keep himself together.

"Look at me," you coo, your voice steady despite the pounding of your own heart. You may be practically a virgin, but you're by no means an idiot. Hours of reading smut, scrolling through Twitter porn threads, and indulging in endless fantasies have taught you more than you'd ever admit. You've spent too many nights alone, lost in stories and scenes where you imagined yourself in control, learning every filthy detail in your mind until it felt like second nature. So now, laying here with him unraveling over you, you're anything but inexperienced.

He locks eyes with you, big and desperate and you cup his perfect face with trembling hands.

"You're mine tonight ok?" you whisper, bringing him in just enough for your breath to tickle his lips, your voice low and dripping with confidence you didn't know you had. "Every sound, every breath—your mine."

"F-fuck, y-yeah I'm yours" he groans, accentuating his words with a sharp thrust right into your cervix, knocking the wind out of you.

"Mmm!" You cry. It’s painful, but in the pain is so much pleasure. He presses his forehead against yours as he slides in and out of you, gripping the sheets with his supporting hand as your hot, wet entrance swallows his cock. Instinctively, you're cunt squeezed around the foreign intrusion, trying to push it out, making him let out a low groan of his own as he thrusts even deeper into you. 

“Y/n I-I can feel you doing it to me,” he says hoarsely.

His fingers gently press into the skin of your hip, guiding and steadying you as he pulls back and thrusts into you. The sudden friction and collision with your G-spot makes your brain go fuzzy. Ticklish pleasure courses through your veins and you immediately throw your head back against the wall as he rams into you.

"Hnghh, s-so good~~" You whine. It was dizzying, the curvature of his dick digging itself against your g-spot, scraping against your vaginal walls every time he backed his hips up.

Simultaneously, his other hand sought yours, finding it with a purposeful tenderness. His fingers intertwined with yours, locking them together in a grip that was both a clasp and a caress.

"Were we doing it like this in your head baby?" He grunts, his Adam apple bobs as he groans from the pleasure of how fucking heavenly your pussy feels. "Because this is how we were doing it in mine." He felt good? Try euphoric. How could it be possible that pussy feels this good?

You can't even open your mouth to respond. The friction of his dick against your walls is just too good and as his pace intensified, a dizzying warmth spread through you, filling every corner of your being with a euphoric haze. The sensation of being completely enveloped, utterly connected, sent electric flesh arrows of pleasure through your body, making your eyes flutter and roll back slightly in sheer bliss. Every motion he makes, every time his fat tip collides with your cervix, leaves behind a trail of sparkling heat that seems to light you from within.

And of course, no one expects the weird girl to be a squirter.

You don't know whats happening and you don't have enough to warn him. Release washed over you in an all-encompassing wave, radiating out from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes. It swept through you like a storm, leaving a trail of starbursts in its wake. Your body arched instinctively, clinging to him as the wave crested, then gently, slowly, began to ebb.

He stills his motion and watches through wide eyes as clear liquid sprays onto his abdomen and you tremble and moan. As you floated back down from the heights of bliss, your breath came easier, softer, the lingering aftershocks of pleasure pulsing gently through you.

"Why did you stop?" You whisper.

Sukuna, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Toji Fushiguro

#weirdgirlpussy

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

.

[daydreamgoddess14]

I'll do that thing 🔥

Bucky x f!Reader established but secret 🤫

It's too damn hot, the AC is broken, and your boyfriend is a furnace. But there are solutions.

Bucky Masterlist

word count: 1.1k

warnings: pussy slapping, Bucky's vibranium hand, fingering... just a bit of heatwave filth, really. Encouraged by the gif above, darling @sunday-bug ☀️ and my other feral beauties in the gc.

There was sweat in places you couldn't even begin to imagine.

It pooled in the small of your back, in the valley of your breasts, the crook of your elbow, the backs of your knees, behind your ear.

“Engineers said next week,” Bob huffed, flopping down on the floor. Even the marble tiles were hot to the touch.

“I'll be dead by next week,” Lena groaned.

“Think I'm dead now.” You sighed. You shifted an inch to the left, peeling your leg off the one next to you.

The leg moved an inch closer.

You moved another inch away.

When it went to move again, you slapped your palm down hard on their bare leg.

“Ow! Shit!”

“Buck, you're like a furnace. Stop putting your leg against me,” you whined.

“How is every engineer in City busy?” Alexei demanded. “I fix it!”

“No!” Half a dozen voices rang out in unison.

“I'll fix it,” Bucky announced, standing up.

For you, the relief was immediate.

“You?” Ava asked, highly skeptical.

“Me. Fixed Sam's boat. What's an AC unit gonna do?”

“Blow up?” You shrugged.

“Better come with me then, in case it explodes.”

“No way.”

“It'll be cooler in the basement?”

“Deal.”

Across the room, John nudged Ava and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Have fun!”

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!”

“In this heat?” Lena grimaced. “Disgusting.”

“Fuck you, Walker!” You gave him the middle finger as you followed Bucky out of the room and into the elevator.

“You've gotta stop touching me in front of them,” you said as soon as the doors were closed. “They're gonna know.”

“They already do, babe.” He shrugged.

The basement was cooler, barely.

You found the hopeless AC unit wheezing and whirring. Bucky looked around it, his eyebrows pinched together.

Whatever this was, it hadn't been going on for long. Weeks and months of tense sparring sessions, flirty comments, and open ogling had culminated in him turning up at your door one night and barely putting you down since.

You hopped up to sit on a crate while he ‘worked’. In reality, it was a chance to ogle.

“Can feel you watching me, sweetheart. Something you need?”

“In this heat? Come near me and I'll bite you.”

“Promise?” As he turned to ask the question, he yanked a hose out of the unit.

With a violent hiss, a plume of freezing mist streamed out. “Oh. Shit.” He turned back to the unit.

“Want me to hold anything?” You peered around the unit. While you were distracted, he placed his left palm on the back of your neck.

The vibranium was ice cold against your hot, sticky skin. “Ohh fuck -” you breathed.

“Yeah?” He stepped behind you, replacing his hand with his mouth. His hand, still cold, pulled the neck of your cami down and pinched your quickly pebbling nipple.

Your head fell back onto his shoulder, giving him a perfect view down your body. Your back arched into his touch.

“Still too hot?” He murmured against your neck.

“Mmm, why? You gonna cool me down?”

“Gonna try,” he removed his hand, warmed by your skin, and put it back in the path of the freezing steam.

“S'too hot, Buck,” you insisted, moving out of his hold. Your body was on fire.

“C'mon, I'll do that thing?” He held you tighter, his voice pleading. “Need to touch you, baby.”

The fog hissed, curling around his wrist.

He dragged the cold vibranium fingers back along your collarbone, then lower, tracing the swell of your breast until you gasped. The contrast made your skin pebble under his touch - hot and flushed, meeting ice cold metal.

“That better?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement.

You didn’t answer. Not with words, just a low, breathy moan.

He circled your nipple with the very tips of his fingers, letting the cold settle in, sharp enough to make you shiver - then cupped your breast in full. A soft whimper escaped you, hips twitching as heat pooled low in your belly.

“Still too warm,” he said, almost to himself.

His hand slipped lower. Past your stomach. Down between your thighs.

The first brush of cold fingers against your slick heat made your whole body jolt.

“Fuck,” you hissed, breath catching.

“That’s it,” he murmured, dragging the metal through your folds again - slower this time, letting you feel the contrast between hot and cold.

Then - a sharp, deliberate slap.

It wasn’t hard, just sudden - a stinging smack of cold against the wet heat of your pussy, and your hips bucked instinctively, a broken moan tearing from your throat.

“Jesus,” you gasped, “do that again.”

He chuckled low in your ear. “Told you.”

Another slap, a little firmer this time. The sound of it, sharp and obscene, sent a shockwave straight through your gut. Then his fingers were between your folds, stroking with slow, steady pressure - cool vibranium rubbing where you needed it most.

“You’re soaking,” he growled. “All that heat getting to you?”

“You,” you whispered, grinding into his hand. “It’s you, Bucky, fuck -”

One finger slid inside - impossibly cold, your body clenching around him eagerly, greedy for it. Then another. He moved them in slow, curling thrusts while his thumb circled your clit in soft, frosty sweeps.

His teeth grazed your neck, his right hand held your hip steady while his left had you seeing god.

It was overwhelming. Heat and cold, sharp slaps and gentle strokes - your nerves couldn’t tell which was coming next.

When he smacked you again, right against your clit this time, your whole body jerked, your thighs trembling. He held you up against him, your back slicked with sweat against his broad chest.

“Oh my god,” you whimpered, hips grinding helplessly against him, pressing hard against your ass. “Don’t stop, please -”

“Not planning to, sweetheart.”

His fingers pumped faster, curling with every thrust, the heel of his hand pressing just right. And when he slapped you again, just once more, timed perfectly, it tipped you over the edge.

You came hard, body arching, a cry caught in your throat as everything clenched and broke open.

He held you through it, murmuring something against your neck you couldn’t even hear over the rush of blood in your ears.

“Oh god,” you breathed heavily.

With an obscene pop, he removed his hand from your aching pussy. He brought his digits to your mouth and you licked them clean.

He turned you gently, leaning you against the AC unit, pulled your top back up, and placed the softest kiss to your lips.

He weaved his hand through the freezing steam one more time and placed it between your shoulder blades. The cool relief made you sigh, the memory of his cold touch made your hips jerk against him, still hard.

“You not done, baby?”

Despite the heat, you arched into him, winding your arms around his neck.

“Not even close. Come take a cold shower with me?”

“Shower?” he grinned, gripping your thighs. “Nah, I want to make you sweat harder first.”

[arolesbianism]

Shaking and crying as I finally start working on some more long term oxygen production systems as if it's much more complicated than building a room with like 5 buildings inside all of which you can unlock without even building an advanced science station

[manmuncher777]

Something about the idea of Satoru being a really easy blusher. Like he tries to be all nonchalant and calm, but his cute pink cheeks are an instant give away. But sometimes he doesn’t even realise himself. He’s the king of playing it cool, you could place your hand on his thigh during a movie and just watch as his skin changes to a shade of dusty pink.

“You okay Toru?”

And with a harsh clear of his throat he would answer “yeah perfectly fine sweets”

To be fair if he wasnt bright pink he might have had you fooled, But you knew, and you were more than prepared to use that to your advantage.

Whenever you notice that pink dancing across his cheeks, you know it’s the. perfect opportunity to tease him, and watch how red he can truly go.

“You smell so good today toru” nuzzling close to him now, dipping your head into his neck, brushing over the skin gently with your lips before pulling back, glancing at him to watch the progression of his blush.

“Thanks baby”

It was truly adorable. So adorable that you wanted to see just how pink he could go.

That’s how you ended up in between his legs, sucking his cock so sweetly he was certain he way going to pass out. Arm flung over his face with his head thrown back, doing his best not to thrust up into your mouth. Delicate whimpers leaving his throat as much as he tried to hide them. Your pretty lips wrapped around his so well. But this just wouldnt do, you couldn’t see his pretty face if he was hiding it from you. Releasing him from your mouth with a wet ‘Pop’ replacing your mouth with your hand, you called out to him

“Toru.” God his name sounded so much better from you

“Toru” you tried once more, running your thumb over his slit, forcing his attention “Look at me baby”

He could hardly resist when you were asking him so sweetly, being so good to him.

Lowering his arm, peeling his glossy eyes open to lock onto yours, quivering lip bitten between his teeth as his hips buck to meet your hand.

a smile graced your saliva covered lips as you finally saw him, watery eyes and flushed skin. He was the most beautiful shade of pink.

Your hand never slowing, you eyes locked onto him as he chased his high

“You look so handsome when you blush for me ‘Toru”

That was the last thing he expected to hear, and the last thing he thought would send him over the edge, but it certainly did.

Hot ropes of cum coating your hands as he moaned out your name, his thick length twitching in your grasp as he came, hips rising off the couch as he fucked your hand, chest heaving as his orgasm washed over him.

You made a mental note to see if you could get him even redder next time

[shotmrmiller]

Big man, Big mouth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs

The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.

Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.

The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.

You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.

Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)

Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.

Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.

"Ya lost?" he grunts.

There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.

"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."

You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.

John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.

"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.

John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.

Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."

Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.

"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.

"It's Soap, hen."

“...Right.”

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.

"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.

Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.

Unlikely.

John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—

your shoes?

"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."

Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."

Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.

--

Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.

Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.

Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."

The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."

You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—

The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.

But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.

"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.

"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?

"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.

Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.

"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.

Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.

"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.

"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.

You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"

Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.

"They're red."

You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."

The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.

"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?

"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.

Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?" 

The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn. 

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.

"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"

Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"

Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.

He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.

He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."

No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.

He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.

"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.

"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.

Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."

You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"

His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."

Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.

The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.

"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."

Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.

"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.

What a way to break this year-long dry spell.

He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."

Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.

It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—

And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.

Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.

"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."

Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.

"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-

"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?

For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.

The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.

The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)

But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.

Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?

And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.

"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.

But then John calls out to you too.

"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”

Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.

Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."

When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.

"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."

Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."

"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.

"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.

"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.

The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.

Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.

Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside. 

You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.

"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.

"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there’s not even a simple stop sign here. 

It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.

(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)

[crushribbons]

the hot, flirty resident curse

summary: Dr. Frank Langdon just sustained the luckiest on-the-job injury ever.

cw: 2.8k words, nurse!reader/OC, friends to lovers, i started writing this before 1.10 so we're gonna say it's a "1.10 never happened"AU 😭, single dad frank, i made him probably more respectful than he actually is but nurses deserve the entire world so they're getting that too!!!, go hug a nurse rn, brief injury/knife ment, definite inappropriate behavior for a hospital, fem reader/OC.

a/n: drug theft???? what drug theft????

(gif cred)

The “break room” was busy today. Dozens of nurses hustling in and out of the dimly-lit, stale-smelling, and nowhere near big enough lounge. The microwave never could heat her leftovers to a degree that was actually pleasurable for human consumption, so she picked around her butter chicken with a sigh. 

Only three hours left. She could have waited to eat dinner, but the promise of thirty uninterrupted minutes where she would not be yelled at by patients’ families or ordered around by some of the more pompous assholes she worked wi–

Speak of the devil, and he’ll stick his head into the nurse’s lounge, catch sight of you trying to enjoy a moment of peace, and yell, “HEY! Hey, you, Lululemon!” Her eye twitched. The black Define that she was wearing was her favorite. She did not turn to look at what she knew to be one of the new interns that started last week. He scoffed in frustration. “Yoohoo!”

“I have a name,” she said calmly, evenly. The butter chicken now held a lot of interest for her.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know it! How do I get to Imaging from here?” Her knuckles turned white around the plastic fork she was using, and she started to turn and read this greenie the riot act, but someone beat her to the punch.

A hand appeared from behind the intern (she realized with a little chuckle that she didn’t know his name either) and smacked him soundly upside the head. “What the FUCK?!” he cried. Dr. Langdon pushed him out of the lounge and down the hall.

“You will show respect to the nurses of this hospital if you want to continue working here, got it?” Langdon called after him. The kid muttered something snotty, she assumed, and she saw him amble away like a dog with its tail between its legs. “Sorry about him,” Langdon apologized. He hung on the door frame for a minute and chewed his lip. Her hand that wasn’t holding the fork searched for something to do, landing on smoothing down the hair that was already pulled into a perfect bun. “Kid’s an asshat.”

“I’ve known a few of those in my time here,” she joked, and Langdon grinned. She dropped the fork. “There was this one guy…Langdumb, or something like that. He was insufferable.” Langdon gave her an exasperated look that made her laugh and say, “But he’s much better now.” The exasperation was replaced with an angelic beam. 

“Well, thanks for saying that. Some days, I wonder,” he said, then rubbed the back of his neck. She pouted in sympathy without realizing she was doing it. Langdon laughed. It was a little gravelly and when he smiled, he showed off each of his straight, white teeth. Her heart hammered at the ribcage prison bars that held it hostage.

Residents had a reputation. Of course they did; they’d toiled away in thankless obscurity for four years as medical students, so it only made sense that at the first opportunity they had to stretch their newly-educated legs, it would go straight to their head. She remembered Langdon being somewhat of a douche himself as a first-year, always correcting nurses and, on one occasion he later apologized profusely for, disregarding an order Dr. Robby had given for a patient to be intubated. Langdon had been correct in his estimation, thank God, but Robby had berated him in that terrifying, humiliating, cool as a cucumber way that he always did. She had been assigned to that patient at the time, and the memory of Robby quietly seething at Langdon in the corner of the hospital room still made her cheeks hot. That had been what finally whipped Langdon into shape.

Some residents also had a reputation for certain, seedier behaviors. There weren’t enough fingers or toes on the planet on which to count how many times some new hotshot had hit on her, usually opting to do so through negging and second-guessing her work, like she would be tripping over herself to go out on a date with the grown man tugging her pigtails on the playground. The kid Langdon had shoved down the hall was no doubt on his way to do something similar to the first nurse distracted enough to walk across his eyeline.

 Dr. Langdon had no such reputation for flirtiness, and he had never made any sort of advance to her. Thank goodness. It was nice to have a friend in a slightly higher place than her.

She cleared her throat. “Anyway, what’s going on for you, Dr. Frank?”

“Quit calling me Dr. Frank, especially in front of patients.” He rolled his eyes. “That puts a whole ‘Dr. Phil’ image in their heads and I hate it.”

“Oh I’m glad you mentioned that…” She turned in her chair to face him fully and seriously. “My teen has been drinking at parties and my husband is an absent father,” she said, face grave.

Frank adopted a Southern drawl and put his finger above his lip to simulate a moustache. “You have gawt to send that child to military school, it is the only waaay.” They giggled. Frank’s pager went off and he pulled it off his waistband to read it. “Shit, gotta run. Don’t have too much fun without me,” he ordered sternly, a frown creasing his pretty forehead.

Pretty forehead? Fuck is wrong with you? She admonished herself without mercy while she went through the motions of undressing and redressing the various beds in the Pitt for the rest of her shift. It was not a desirable duty to be stuck with. Luckily, it was a slow day in the ED by ED standards, with only two ambulance visits and a quiet trickle of less urgent cases admitted from the waiting room, so she had ample time to think about the piece of hair that was always falling in Frank’s bright blue eyes when he was working, and the way Frank cackled any time he cleaned up on one of his and Mateo’s college basketball bets, and Frank…

God, you’d think I had a thing for this guy, she mused to herself, slipping a pillow into its fresh case. Do not fall for the evil Hot Flirty Resident Curse. It might be a canon event for some nurses, but not for her. No, sir, she had her head on her shoulders more than that. 

Didn’t matter if Frank wore a kitschy, clunky little bracelet, beaded with love by one of his daughters, every day. Didn’t matter if Frank spoke with the utmost respect about his ex-wife whenever the topic came up. Didn’t matter if he had once placed his hand on her lower back to steer her towards the patient’s room that he had needed her assistance with, and that she hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. Didn’t matter if Frank–

–was knocking gently on the door of the room she now stood, motionless, in and asking, “Hey, did you see Mrs. Horowitz getting discharged?”

“Mrs. H-Horo–?” Her tongue felt about ten inches thick as she tried to remember which patient he was talking about and how to move her feet like a normal person. 

“The low blood sugar.”

“Oh, right.”

Frank raised his eyebrows, making her realize she hadn’t answered the question. She wished a hole would open up in the speckled tile and swallow her. “Yes, I saw her checking out with Dana at central an hour or so ago,” she said. Ok, got it all out without stammering. This was just Frank; why was her brain foggy and making it impossible to speak to a man she’d always just thought of as a coworker? Her favorite coworker, sure. The highlight of her day? Also sure, but it wasn’t…She pulled a face that mirrored her thoughts before she could stop herself.

Frank thanked her, then paused on his way out of the room again. 

“Uh..are you done for the day?” he asked, and a glance at her watch told her that yes, she was three minutes past being done.

“I could stick around for a bit,” she shrugged with all the nonchalance in the world. “Need help with something?” Frank shook his head, a tiny smirk she would have missed if she hadn’t been staring too hard at his mouth flickering around his lips. 

“No, no worries, head home! I can totally just grab someone–” 

“No!” She tried to play it cool with a chuckle and threw the pillow she was still holding down on the bed. “Let me help. What is it?”

Frank sighed and yanked his right sleeve up to show her his shoulder, and all the mortification that had been comfortably fading away in his presence came back in full force. She stared dumbly for a few seconds before he turned a degree to his left and she caught sight of the ugly, crimson gash that ran from the back of his tricep to the top of his shoulder. “Jesus, Frank! Mention this shit first!” she cried, rushing to him. “What happened?” 

He grimaced. “Turned my back for one second and a patient grabbed the scalpel off my tray and slashed. I’m angrier about the scrubs, to be honest. FIGS ain’t cheap.” He plopped himself down on the bed and looked up at her. “It’s not bad, really, I just can’t reach it to dress it myself. Would you mind?”

No, Man Who is Colloquially Referred to Around the Hospital as Dr. Dreamboat, no, I would not mind patching you up even a bit. She cleared her throat, trying to muster all her calm and competence, and said, “I’m not sure this hospital accepts your insurance, Mr. Langdon.” Frank grinned while pulling his sleeve up once more and holding it in place so she could access the wound.

“My work,” he groaned. “They got me on the worst plan possible. Acts of God are about the only thing they cover, so if anyone asks, God stabbed me.”

Her laugh surprised her. It wasn’t nervous; it was loud and probably obnoxious and it made Frank beam even more widely. She dashed over to the nurse’s supply station and requisitioned a wound care kit. When she reentered the room, she was horrified to discover that Frank had given up on holding his scrub shirt out of the way and had opted to pull the whole thing off. He was, thank heaven, wearing a white tank undershirt, and sat waiting for her expectantly. She took the second before he realized she had reentered the room to ogle as much as her professionalism and casual friendship would allow.

The sound of the alcohol swab’s packaging tearing echoed through the awkwardly quiet room. “Is it gonna hurt?” Frank whispered, making his eyes huge. She wanted to tell him to shut up.

“Shut up, just stay still,” she said, more thankful than she’d ever been that there was a layer of blue latex between her and the person she was patching’s skin. Using quick, dabbing motions to hide her trembling hands worked better than she had hoped. Frank got bored and started fidgeting after about 20 seconds. She had once told him that he needed four more letters added to his MD title: ADHD. It had been the hardest she’d ever seen him laugh, until, of course, he got distracted by something brightly colored in the distance.

He blew a puff of air from his lips and looked around the room. “Soo. Any plans tonight?”

“I was supposed to give the keynote speech at the Annual Best Nurses in the Universe Banquet, but my friend needed help putting a band-aid on, so I missed it,” she deadpanned absently, while opening the bandage and aligning it over the wound. “Are you worried about infection?”

“Not anymore, ‘cause the best nurse in the universe fixed me up real good,” he simpered. He batted his eyelashes up at her and she snorted to hide the smile that she couldn’t stop from appearing. “Um, well, anyway…” Frank began, but then trailed off. His tone had changed. 

She was almost scared to ask, “What?” Her fingers smoothed over the bandage, adhering it flush to his arm, and tried to ignore the way she felt every ridge and groove of him. Or maybe she was memorizing.

Frank coughed and shrugged the shoulder she wasn’t working on. “Just…if you ever do have a free night, I mean, after work. Or not!”

She frowned. Whatever he was rambling about took a backseat while she made quick work of cleaning off the tray of supplies. “Again, what?” Her grocery order would be ready for pickup in ten minutes, and she didn’t want to miss the window by getting stuck in the parking garage with the rest of the mass day-shift exodus.

“Jesus, do you wanna go out with me?” Her eyebrows shot skyward as she whipped around to face him. “I’m sorry!” He immediately jumped up. “I wasn’t snapping at you, I mean, I was snapping, for sure, but at myself because I couldn’t just…cough it up. It’s taken me, what, like three years?”

He had a sheepish look on his face, and couldn’t seem to hold eye contact with her anymore. Three years. Three years? Three years was how long she had known him. Every last drop of nerve, embarrassment, confusion, attraction all threatened to bubble up in her stomach. She slammed the tray down on the counter next to the sink. 

The reality of her feelings finally hit her full force, and she decided to acknowledge them for the first time in front of that serial stabber God and Frank and everyone: “I think I really like you, Frank.” It was easier than she could have imagined to say it, at last. Especially now, that he’d gone and taken their flirting to its natural conclusion. 

“Well I know I really like you,” he replied, a grin spreading as rapidly as the elation that was filling her chest so tight she thought she might start floating away.

“You fucking doctors, you always have to come out on top, don’t you?”

Frank reached for her hand from the bed and tugged her to him. She stood between his legs, which were dangling off the bed, kicking back and forth like a kid who just got told that school would be ending three hours early on the sunniest afternoon of the year. “That remains to be seen,” he muttered up at her, his blue eyes a lot softer than his tone was suggesting, and she swatted him on the forehead for being so presumptuous before leaning down and kissing the stupid smile straight off his lips. Langdon groaned and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down and onto the bed. 

“Shit, we–” It was hard to get words out when Frank chased after her lips every time she pulled them away. And she had never been good at saying no to him. “We really should not be doing this in here.”

He agreed by putting his hand on the back of her head so he could kiss her even more deeply. “Definitely shouldn’t,” he hummed into her mouth. “Could get caught. Could get fired.” Frank pulled away fully and she took the opportunity to gulp down some air into her neglected and giddy lungs. “Wait, will you still go out with me if I’m not a doctor?” “I’d rather you were ortho, but–”

“Don’t piss me off, baby.” But they were both giggling the same, stupid way they did when they exchanged jokes and insults. Only this time, she was kneeling on one leg in front of him on a freshly-made hospital bed, her other leg slung over his, his strong hand resting on the back of her thigh. Her heart was pounding at a wild rhythm she was not familiar with, and when Frank placed his hands on her waist and pulled her even more flush against his chest, she felt his beating similarly. “I’ve already taken off like half my clothes,” he murmured. “Should we just round up and get rid of the rest?” 

“Definitely not,” she admonished through a laugh. “At least take me to get some jello or something first.” Suddenly, she was pushed off his lap and back to a standing position, her legs wobbling like a fawn’s after being folded under her so awkwardly. Frank tugged his scrub shirt back over his head and rose from the bed as well.

“Jello sounds really fucking good right now, good call,” he said, eyes already focused out the door and mapping the quickest route to the cafeteria. She wanted to laugh and cry and put blinders on the hyperactive physician so he kept kissing her until one or both of them died, but she opted instead to push that one strand of hair (the 90’s Leo one, she would later refer to it as) out of his eyes and said,

“You are insufferable.”

Frank shrugged. He grabbed her hand in his, loosely locking their fingers together and leading her out of the room. Her grocery order seemed like the least pressing matter in the world. “You love it!”

She kinda did.

masterlist

[busket]

the mall near me was dead for a while and a ton of stores closed, so the big stores like Ross and Sears are out of business. the smaller but still typical mall stores closed too, but then they were replaced by small businesses just looking for a brick and mortar location. so now my local mall has a cool indie comic shop that sells handmade zines. there's a tabletop game store that hosts games for customers. theres a vintage and second hand clothing store. it's awesome. I hope it keeps happening, id so much rather go to the mall for these stores instead of a forever 21 or a hot topic or a claires

[inseobts]

could I please request a Luffy x fem Reader where the crew sees a bounty of another pirate and the reader goes on to make comments about how attractive he is which makes Luffy all jealous, thank you!

Jealousy on the Sunny

luffy x fem!reader

words count: 1.7k

tags: fluffy, sfw, humour, jealous luffy

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The Straw Hat crew sits around the dining table on the Sunny, finishing up a meal Sanji prepared. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the deck as the ship sails smoothly across the sea.

Nami, flipping through a stack of fresh bounty posters, suddenly pauses. She raises an eyebrow, then smirks.

“Look at this guy,” she says, sliding a poster to the center of the table “His bounty just shot up to 400 million berries.”

Curious, you lean forward, along with the rest of the crew. The poster features a tall, broad-shouldered man with messy black hair and a sharp jawline. A confident smirk stretches across his face, and there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes.

You stop whatever you were doing to look “Damn. He’s kinda hot.”

The room goes silent.

A fork clatters onto a plate. Usopp chokes on his drink. Zoro raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, while Sanji scoffs.

But the real reaction comes from Luffy. Sitting next to you, your captain stops chewing his meat mid-bite. His usual carefree grin fades, replaced by a slight frown. He stares at the poster, then at you.

“You think he’s hot?” Luffy asks, his tone unusually flat.

You shrug, taking another look at the poster “I mean, yeah? Look at that smirk. And those arms—he definitely works out.”

Sanji rolls his eyes “Tch. As if a bounty makes someone attractive.”

“Not the bounty, just—y’know, the whole vibe,” you say, waving your hand “He’s got that mysterious, dangerous look.”

Luffy pouts, still staring at the poster like it personally offended him. He squints at it, then at you “But he’s not even smiling properly” he argues.

You chuckle “Not everyone grins like an excited puppy all the time, Luffy.”

Luffy’s pout deepens “I do not look like a puppy.”

Usopp, watching the scene unfold, snickers “You kinda do, though.”

“Shut up.”

You tilt your head, still looking at the bounty poster “I bet he’s got a cool voice, too. Deep and smooth.”

Luffy abruptly crosses his arms “You don’t even know him.”

“True, but I can imagine.”

Luffy frowns harder. He looks between you and the poster, then suddenly snatches it off the table and crumples it in his hands.

“Oi, what the hell?” Nami scolds.

Luffy grumbles, stuffing the balled-up paper into his pocket “This guy’s stupid. I don’t like him.”

You blink “Luffy, are you… jealous?”

His expression twitches “No.”

Zoro snorts “Yeah, sure.”

Luffy huffs and leans closer to you, nudging his forehead against yours “I’m way cooler than that guy..." he insists.

You bite back a smile “Oh?”

“Yeah! I can stretch, I have a ship, and I’m gonna be King of the Pirates,” he lists proudly, puffing out his chest “That guy probably doesn’t even have meat on his ship.”

Sanji sighs “Luffy, everyone has meat on their ship—”

“Not as much as ours!” Luffy argues, still pressing close to you. His lips form a small pout as he stares at you expectantly, waiting for confirmation.

You can’t help but laugh “Okay, okay. You’re way cooler.”

His face instantly lights up, his signature grin returning “See? I knew it!”

The rest of the crew groans at how easy you went on him, but you don’t care. Luffy tugs you closer, resting his chin on top of your head, still grinning.

“That guy’s dumb. You don’t need to look at other pirates,” he says “You’ve already got me.”

You shake your head fondly “Yeah, yeah. I guess I do.”

Luffy hums happily at your words, wrapping his arms around you in a loose but firm hold. His warmth seeps through your clothes, and the familiar scent of sea salt and adventure clings to him. He’s content now, his jealousy already forgotten.

The rest of the crew, however, is not as quick to move on.

Nami crosses her arms “You’re seriously going to let him win that easily?”

You shrug “What can I say? I like my captain.”

Sanji scoffs, lighting a cigarette “Tch. You have no taste.”

Usopp shakes his head, grinning “Nah, she just knows that if she keeps teasing him, Luffy might actually go pick a fight with that guy.”

Luffy perks up at that “Oh! Should I?”

“No!” everyone shouts in unison.

You chuckle, resting your hand on his chest “Luffy, you can’t just fight someone because I said he looks good.”

“Why not?” Luffy tilts his head “I don’t like it when you say that about other guys.”

You smirk, deciding to tease him just a little more “But what if he is strong?”

Luffy immediately sits up straight, his expression serious “I don’t care. I’d still beat him.”

You laugh, patting his cheek “Relax, Captain. I don’t care about him. You’re the only pirate I’m interested in.”

Luffy beams, pulling you closer again “Good! ‘Cause I already decided—you’re mine.”

Your heart skips a beat at how easily he says it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The crew groans again, muttering about how unfair it is that Luffy gets away with everything. But you?

You just smile and let him hold you, knowing that no other pirate could ever compare.

Luffy is still grinning, completely satisfied with himself, but you’re not done yet. His arms are wrapped tightly around you, his warmth soaking into your skin, and that smug little smile on his face is just too cute.

You tilt your head, looking up at him “So… if I’m yours, what does that make you?”

Luffy blinks “Huh?”

You smirk, fingers tracing lightly over his chest “If I’m yours, then you’re mine too, right?”

His grin falters for a second, a faint dusting of red creeping up his cheeks. He’s never really thought about it like that “Uh… yeah,” he mumbles “I guess so.”

You hum in amusement “Good.” Then, before he can react, you lean up and press a soft kiss to his cheek.

Luffy freezes. His entire body goes stiff, and for once, he’s completely silent.

The crew erupts.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—did she just—?!” Usopp practically chokes on his own words.

Zoro snickers “Didn’t think I’d ever see Luffy speechless.”

Sanji groans dramatically, gripping his chest “Why must I suffer like this?!”

Meanwhile, Luffy slowly lifts a hand to his cheek, eyes wide. He turns to you, mouth slightly open, like his brain is still catching up to what just happened.

You giggle at his reaction “What? You can call me yours, but I can’t kiss you?”

Luffy’s face breaks into the widest, happiest grin you’ve ever seen “No, no, you can! Do it again!”

You laugh, shaking your head “Maybe later.”

“Aw, c’mon!” He starts leaning closer, obviously wanting another one.

You place a hand on his face, pushing him back slightly “You’re acting like a little kid.”

He pouts “So? You kissed me first.”

“And you got greedy right away” you tease.

Luffy huffs but doesn’t let go of you. Instead, he nuzzles into your neck, still grinning “I like it,” he mumbles “You should do it more.”

Your heart flutters, and you roll your eyes playfully “Maybe if you stop getting jealous over random bounty posters.”

Luffy immediately lifts his head “Okay! I promise! No more getting jealous!”

You raise an eyebrow “That fast?”

“Yep!” He grins “As long as you keep kissing me, I don’t care about anyone else!”

You shake your head, laughing “You’re ridiculous.” But as you look at him, at his bright smile, his happy, expectant expression, you sigh in defeat.

“…Fine.”

You lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips this time. It’s soft, warm, and sweet, just like him.

Luffy practically vibrates with excitement “Hehehe.”

The crew groans.

“Great. Now he’s never gonna shut up about this” Zoro mutters.

You just smile, because honestly? You don’t mind at all.

Luffy is still grinning like an idiot, arms wrapped snugly around you, his forehead resting against yours. His excitement is contagious, and you can’t help but smile too.

But then he tilts his head, eyes dropping to your lips.

“Hey,” he says softly “Kiss me again.”

Your heart skips a beat. The way he’s looking at you, curious, eager, completely focused, makes your face heat up.

You roll your eyes, pretending to be unimpressed “You’re so greedy.”

Luffy just grins wider “Yep.”

You hesitate for a second, but honestly, you don’t really want to resist. So, before you can overthink it, you reach up, cupping his face in your hands. His skin is warm under your palms, sun-kissed and slightly rough from all his adventures.

Then, you close the small distance between you, pressing your lips against his.

Luffy goes completely still. For a second, he’s not even breathing. But then, just as you start to pull away, his arms tighten around you, and he kisses you back... messy, unpracticed, but so incredibly Luffy.

His lips are warm, soft, and he leans into you like he never wants to let go. It’s not a deep kiss, not rushed or desperate, just pure and full of excitement.

When you finally break apart, he stares at you, eyes wide and shining.

Then, his entire face lights up.

“WOAH!!” He bounces slightly, still holding onto you “That was awesome! Do it again!”

You laugh breathlessly, shaking your head “Calm down, Captain.”

But Luffy is anything but calm. He turns to the rest of the crew, still grinning like he just found a new adventure.

“Did you guys see that?! She kissed me!! On the lips!!”

The crew collectively groans.

“Yes, Luffy. We saw” Nami says, rubbing her temples.

Zoro smirks “Bet you won’t shut up about it for a week.”

“I won’t!!” Luffy declares proudly, hugging you closer “This is the best day ever!!”

You sigh, laughing as he nuzzles into you “You’re impossible.”

“But you like me anyway” he says smugly.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t deny it “…Yeah. I do.”

Luffy beams, squeezing you tighter “Good! ‘Cause I really, really like you too!”

You smile, resting your head against his chest. The bounty poster is long forgotten, because really, no one else in the world could ever compare to him.

[mattsstarlet]

camgirl!reader hates pornstar!matt’s beard.

the more you stared at matt, the wetter and achier you became. he was across the room from you, standing against the wall with a cup of alcohol in his hand while he chatted with a few of his friends, acting like he didn’t have a care in the world. meanwhile you desperately tried to sit still, trying so hard not to rub your thighs together at the sight of his new look— a growing beard.

sure, you were needy but you were also angry at the fact that you hadn’t seen this look on him before he left his house because now you were about to sit on an uncomfortable wet piece of fabric for hours.

you were so lost in your own dirty fantasies that you didn’t see him striding down your way, leaning down close enough to your ear that you could feel his facial hair brushing against your skin. “somethin’ wrong, sweetheart?” he taunts, placing a light kiss onto your shoulder.

you clear up your dry throat, you had been caught but in that feverish moment you didn’t give a fuck. “i hate you.” you whisper back, earning a cocky chuckle from him. he stood up straight, tilting your chin upwards to catch his gaze as his thumb ran over your bottom lip.

“oh yeah?” he grins, licking over his pearly white teeth at your little nod of approval. “then we should fix that.”

your face was pressed up against the bathroom door while matt’s tongue was deep inside your messy hole from behind, his rough hands placed on each of your ass cheeks, eating your cunt like a starved man who was having his last meal. you felt the burn of his beard while he aggressively shook his head, lapping at your puffy folds like he couldn’t get enough of you.

“holy fuck, matt— mhm yes.” you cry out, your eyesight pooling with tears as you angled your head to look back at him, your hand reaching behind his head— holding him in place.

a loud sting echoes through the four walls of the room followed by a squeal from your glossy lips. you dig your fingernails into his locks, tugging harshly as you chase your high, spilling out pornographic moans that were muffled by the music outside the door. “gonna cum — oh fuck– on your pretty face.” you announce so sweetly, your pelvis rutting against his arousal covered face. “so hot eating me out like that.”

matt groans while his lips wrap around your clit, spanking you once more. your hole pulses around nothing as he makes suckling noises, his kisses were sloppy and fast paced.

he feels you trembling, holding your hips to support your body going weak. he makes humming sounds to bring you closer, swirling his tongue around your bud and then through your folds, rolling his own eyes at the sweet taste of you— he couldn’t get enough.

a stream of sobs replace your moans as you reach the edge, the coil in your tummy snapping apart, coming undone on matt’s face. matt sends you into overstimulation, kitty licking you clean while giving your messy folds a few taunting kisses.

he finally pulls away, spinning you around to face him. his beard was glistening with your sweetness, his chin drooly all while he hooked his arm under your leg, swinging it over his shoulder. “still hate me?”

you scoff, gluing your eyebrows together as you ran your hand through his hair, feeling the cool air on your cunt. “shut up and keep going.” he smirks at your sassy tone, kissing your inner thigh.

“knew you’d love the new look, sweetheart.”

© 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗌𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗅𝖾𝗍

note ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ meow meow beard!matt please save me. also don’t know if i wanna fuck this blurb or not.

[omgeto]

☆ COVER UP — tattoo artist!GETO SUGURU

summary: all you wanted was a cover up tattoo to replace the name your ex left on you. you didn't think you'd be leaving the tattoo shop with a replacement for your ex's tattoo and a replacement for him as well.

wc: 3k

cw: afab!reader, geto gives you backshots, he's kinda obsessed w/ your ass here, unprotected sex (since I forget condoms) BUT he's a gentleman pulls out </3 your kinda a meanie. he's kinda a meanie so light angst (?) but barely. MDNI

an: haven't posted a longer work in a hot minute, but here is how you meet tattoo artist boyfriend!geto soooo give this one a chance big fanks to my lil twat @kazushawty for helping me out and reading bits of it.

as you push open the heavy glass door of ‘cursed ink studios,’ a subtle bell chimes softly, announcing your presence. instantly, the atmosphere inside crackles with an electric charge. the air is thick with the intoxicating scent of ink, mingling with the sterile bite of antiseptic. the walls are adorned with vivid flash art form a chaotic tapestry, while the rhythmic hum of a tattoo gun echoes through the room.

and there he is, geto suguru – a tall, enigmatic figure with jet-black hair and sleeves of mesmerising tattoos that seem to tell stories of their own. he sits at his workbench, surrounded by an array of ink bottles and tattoo machines, his piercing eyes never leaving the art he's creating. a carefully curated playlist of music plays softly in the background, punctuated by the occasional buzzing of the tattoo gun.

he glances up from his intricate work as you enter, his gaze slowly travelling up and down your form. there's a hint of curiosity in his eyes, as though he's wondering why you, of all people, have ventured into his sacred space. his expression, however, suggests that he's far from thrilled about the interruption.

"need something?" he asks, his irritation evident.

"i need a cover-up” you swallow your nerves, holding your head high, your voice steady, ”my ex's name."

geto raises an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed by your request. "ex's name, huh? you people never learn."

your jaw clenches at his condescending tone. "well, i'm here now, so can you do it or not?"

he continues to scrutinise you, his gaze feeling like a judgmental weight. finally, he nods, albeit reluctantly. "fine, show me."

with a sigh of resignation, you turn around, your heart pounding as you pull down the waistband of your jeans just enough to reveal the offending name covering your left ass cheek. it's a constant reminder of a relationship gone wrong, and you're more than ready to be rid of it.

"this won't be easy," he mutters, his fingers cool against your skin as he traces the outline of the name. his touch lingers, just a little too long, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. his fingers, skilled and confident, continued to trace the inked letters of your ex's name on your skin — almost toyingly. and you could feel the chill of the tattoo parlour's air-conditioning contrasted by the warmth of his touch.

his voice, though still gruff, held a trace of disgust "who did this?" he asks, not looking up from the tattoo.

you hesitate, your memories of that past relationship flooding back. "my ex-boyfriend," you reply tersely.

geto's fingers stop their tracing, and he lets out a low, almost imperceptible sigh. "you let your boyfriend do a shitty tattoo on you, and you let him make it his name," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "you practically let him brand you."

“is it your job to be such a bitchy artist?” you snap, already fed up by his comments. you’ve heard it from your parents, your friends, ever since you got that trashy tattoo. but couldn't disagree with that sentiment — you knew it was a shit tattoo. “i thought i was paying you for your artistry, not your smart mouth.”

"listen," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "you walk in here with that god awful mess on your skin, and you've got the nerve to criticise my attitude? if you want to be rid of it, you'll do well to keep that attitude in check, sweetheart."

you bite back a retort, realising that you've indeed crossed a line with your comment. there's a palpable tension in the air now, a simmering anger beneath the surface, and it seems that geto has no intention of backing down.

with a deep breath, you swallow your pride and offer a reluctant apology. "i'm sorry," you mutter, a touch of remorse in your voice. "i shouldn't have snapped at you."

he continues to hold your gaze for a moment, his expression still stern, before finally nodding. "apology accepted."

you didn’t actually have an idea of what you wanted for the cover up, you just knew you needed it gone. geto was a highly sought out cover artist so you had no doubt that he’d be able to do you good. with your initial meeting being heated, you thought it was best to leave him to do his thing.

with a sense of relief that the confrontation has subsided, you decide to give geto some space to work his magic. "i'll leave you to it," you say, your voice quieter now, and you turn away from him.

"good," he mutters, his focus fully on his ipad as he starts to sketch, not even looking as you leave the shop. 

geto usually was quick to draw up tattoo sketches for clients, but when it came to you he was stunned — too busy thinking about how your ass looked rather than what he was meant to tattoo on it. from the moment you stepped in his shop, he was intrigued, you didn’t see the type to get work done by him and the marking stretched on your ass didn’t seem like it would belong to someone with an attitude like yours. 

his mind was anything but focused on the design. he couldn't help but replay the encounter with you in his thoughts, your brashness and the way you'd stood your ground, even under his scrutiny.

"why the hell did she get that shitty tattoo?" he mutters to himself, his fingers deftly working his pen. the sketch was beginning to take shape, but his mind kept drifting back to the curve of your ass. he couldn't deny the attraction he felt, and it frustrated him. he was supposed to be a professional, detached from his clients beyond the art he created on their skin. but something about you had thrown him off balance.

“so you ready to get this tatted on you?” is the first thing he asks when you return the following day. you inspect his sketches in awe, of course you never doubted his talent but you didn’t think he’d be able to draw something you wanted without you even having to say.

“well it seems you do live up to your reputation,” you comment with a neutral facade, but you both know that you were downplaying your excitement — you were pleased. and like with any client, that made geto satisfied that he was doing his job correctly. but when he saw the way your eyes lit up when he initially showed you the sketches, it was a sight he wanted to see again. “i guess we can start the tattoo.”

“okay i’ll get my stuff set up, get rid of those,” he says nodding towards your jeans, “and lay down when you’re ready.” you slip yourself out of your bottoms, leaving the itty bitty thong that you knew you’d need for the appointment and that a small part of you hoped he liked.

he pauses when he sees you laying down on the seat in his station, your head resting in your arms, your ass slightly raised.  ‘this is gonna be a long session,’ he thinks to himself as he smirks, shaking his head as he works his way to his seat.

as he sits down, he places the stencil over your ass, and you berate yourself for getting giddy at the feeling of him rubbing over the design to make sure it was in place — wishing that his hand stayed for longer. 

“how are you with pain?” he asks, and from the way you were laying you weren’t able to see the way he was gawping at your ass.

“what type of pain?” you retort.

“y’know the type of pain where someones drilling into your ass for hours,” he comments as if it’s obvious but you both knew his words were hinting at more than just the tattoo.

“choice words there,” you muse, “but any type of pain i’m alright with, so give me your best.”

geto's needle hovers just above your skin, poised for action. "you sure about that?" he murmurs, his voice low and suggestive.

a coy smile tugs at your lips as you respond, "I can handle it if you can."

with a deliberate, almost tantalising slowness, he lowers the needle to your skin. the first touch is a sharp, stinging sensation, but you refuse to flinch. you're determined to hold your own, to meet geto's challenge head-on.

he continues to work, the needle dancing across your skin with a practised precision. the room is filled with the rhythmic sound of the tattoo machine, creating a hypnotic backdrop to your growing tension.

as minutes turn into hours, you find yourself lost in a strange mixture of pleasure and pain. the pain is undeniable, but there's something oddly exhilarating about it. you steal a glance at geto, his intense focus on his work, and you can't help but wonder if he's enjoying this as much as you are.

"still doing okay?" he asks, his tone a mix of concern and something more primal.

you bite your lower lip, suppressing a moan that threatens to escape. "i told you, i can handle it."

geto smirks, his gaze locked on your ass as he continues to tattoo. "you've got quite the threshold for pain. impressive."

“is it really? i'm sure you’ve worked on a lot of other clients with higher thresholds for pain.”

“but none of them have had an ass like yours though,” he mumbles to himself — but you hear him loud and clear, a grin forming on your face at the confession. “anyways, we’re all done now, go ahead and look in the mirror.”

you stand in the full length mirror, your head slightly turned at an angle as you gawp at your ass. your eyes widen seeing what was once your shitty exes name, now turned into a piece of true art. 

“so what d’you think?” he asks, and you didn’t even notice him coming to stand behind you until you felt his breath on the back of your neck, “this shit is hot right?”

“you can say that again,” you agree, keeping your eyes focused on the tattoo, trying to ignore the quickening of your heart beat at the presence of him, “this is really great though, like i couldn’t imagine my ass could look this good after having that tattooed on on it all his time.”

“well no need to imagine anymore,” geto’s face forms a smiling grin, you can tell he was admiring way more than just his artwork, “you mind if i take a picture… for my instagram?” he says, barely asking as his phone is already out of his pocket and is in his hands, he looks up at you for permission and you give a slight nod before he’s snapping away at your ass.

“are you sure this is for your instagram,” you tease, as he continues to take photos crouched down, as he circles your ass with his phone, “or is this just for your personal wank bank?”

“would you like it to be?” he retorts back swiftly, there wasn’t even any mischief in his eyes as he looks up at you, just pure lust.

“um i–” you stutter, only now feeling exposed — as if he hadn’t been working on your ass already for the past six hours.

“don’t get shy on me now,” he coos, standing up to face you head on, “y’gonna let me finish off making you forget that ex or yours or what?”

“be my guest,” you respond, trying to come across as nonchalant, but the eager look in your eyes gave geto all he needed to know. 

he pushes you softly, as he commands, “hands against the mirror and spread your legs.” and you do just that, as he comes behind you, fitting in between your legs perfectly. his hand forces ur back down, deeping the arch of your spine before both of his hands grab onto your ass.

geto really rubs and digs his thumbs into your cheeks, biting his lip at the sight at the way his fingers mould into your ass. “fuckk man,” he groans out, he’s not even in you yet and he was already obsessed with every inch of you. 

he frees his dick from his pants, and pumps it quickly before sliding it across your already gushing slit. you hiss at the contact, a pleased smile working its way on your face as the tip of his dick edges into you.

“s-shit,” you stammer, as he inches himself into you deeper, “w-what about the rest of the shop?”

“what about them?” he shrugs, “you don’t want them to hear naught you’re being right now? HEY GUYS—”

“oi,” you hiss out, your eyes widening as you turn your head to look directly at him.

“i’m just playing, i’m not ready to share you quite just yet,” he retorts, his dick moving in you at an achingly slow pace, “now, keep your eyes focused on the mirror, and you better not let those hands slip.”

before you can respond, he thrust his hips into you as deep as he could, his dick slamming into you. you moan out at the surprising force, trying your best to keep your palms flat on the surface of the mirror, as you stare straight at him — watching how he works his hands from your ass to your hips so he can drive into you with all of his force. 

“this pussy is s-so fucking good,” he praises, the sloppiness of your cunt making it easy for him to slide his dick in and out of you. “oh and this ass,” he continues giving a hard spank on your ass cheek, to emphasise his point, “c’mon throw your ass back on my dick, i wanna see it bounce.”

you fuck him back, doing exactly as he says, your ass meeting his hips with the same amount of force. his spanks encourage you to be quicker, to give him everything he wants. his repeating, strong strokes, have you feeling weaker, your hands slipping as you try to stay up right, when all you want to do is collapse and cum everywhere. 

“f-fuckk it’s too much,” you whine, as he drills into you.

“nah,” he says, shrugging his head, “it’s not enough,” he lifts up his legs, his digits pressing into your deeper, as he now angles his strokes even further into your pussy, hitting your spot with ease. “give it to me harder, i know you can” he encourages, another two swift spanks landing on your ass.

with his continuous contact of your ass and his hips, and the way his dick pushes into you deeper, you felt like you were splitting in two. but you kept going, thinking back to your earlier conversation, you didn’t want to prove him wrong, you wanted to show him that you can handle it, handle him.

geto was practically beaming, licking his lips feverishly at the sight of your fucked out face through the mirror as he watches himself plough into you, your body rocking forward with every thrust. his eyes concentrate on your ass, as he says, “d’you see how your rocking my work on you now?” and you nod dumbly, too busy trying to reach your climax to string a sentence together, “so fuck that ex of yours and his shitty ass tattooing, from now on you only can me on your body, you got that?” he asks and you nod again, but he shakes his head, his hand moving from your waist to your chin as he grips it making your eyes stay locked on his through the mirror, “i said do you got that?”

“ahhh s-shit yet i do, i do,” you say, mirroring his words, “i will only have you on my body, ‘promise.”

“good girl,” he approves, giving your chin a squeeze before letting go, “now cum.” 

with those simple words, you release all over him, your stance getting weaker, as you shoot out cum all over his dick. he’s quick to pull out of you though, stroking his dick as he sprays his cum all over your ass, with a deep groan.

your hands are still on the wall, as you take deep breaths, trying to recollect yourself. but you turn around swiftly seeing a flash of a camera behind you, and geto is back to crouching down, with his phone out, taking pictures of your cum covered ass.

“you mind if i keep these in my wank bank forreal this time?” he asks, smirking as you nod, “i’ll take some more later, but i got two questions to ask.”

“and those are…” you say, prompting him to continue.

“first, let me take you out after this?” he asks with a smirk, already knowing the answer. after the way he just dicked you down, you’d be a fool not to let him wine and dine you, “second, y’gonna come suffocate my face with that ass of yours or not?” you couldn’t even answer the second question since he’s pulling you down to the floor with him, with a joyous grin on his face.

AN: IGNORE THE FACT THAT HE CUMS ALL OVER UR FRESH TATTOO. LIKE JUST IGNORE IT. just focus on the fact that you have a lovely ass and geto loves it too. but yes do you want to see more, I HAVE ENOUGH IDEAS TO EVEN MAKE A LIL MASTERLIST FOR IT. I love tattoo artist boyfriend!geto so so much, like when u guys become an established relationship it actually gets so good. BUT I DONT REALLY LIKE THIS ONE, BUT IF U GUYS FW IT I PROMISE ILL ACTUALLY WRITE AND POST THE ONES I LOVE. BUT I FELT LIKE I HAD TO WRITE THIS FIRST SO YOU COULD SEE HOW U AND GETO STARTED. LMK UR THOUGHTS

[rhiannonsknife]

cooking for lottie (because she definitely cant) and she walks up behind you, gets on her knees and starts eating you out…. *insert freaky sonic gif*

new domestic wife lottie thought for you!! every now and then, i will lock in for my fellow lottie lovers and drop multiple lottie pieces after almost exclusively writing for shauna, jackie & rhiannon 😭 nsfw content, mdni.

domestic (wife!!) lawtie :(((

you’re barefoot in the kitchen, humming to yourself as you dice vegetables for breakfast, the dull thunk of the knife hitting the cutting board keeping time with the sizzle of butter in the pan. behind you, lottie watches from the doorway, wrapped in a robe. her hair is still messy from sleep, one hand idly toying with the hem as she leans her shoulder against the frame.

“you always look so serious when you’re cooking,” she murmurs teasingly, finally making her presence known.

you laugh under your breath, focused on guiding the knife while simultaneously keeping an eye on the pan. “well, making breakfast in this kitchen takes some focus. our stove is old as hell, lot!”

you don’t hear her cross the floor, she’s always quiet like that, only feel her sudden warmth press against your back. lottie’s chin drops to your shoulder, nose brushing your neck.

“i keep telling you we can afford getting it replaced…” she sing-songs, warm breath curling around your ear as her fingers start to play with the baby hairs at your nape. “you’re warm…and you smell good.”

you tilt your head toward her, smile over your shoulder. “you’re weird”

“i know.”

then she sinks to her knees.

you don’t register it at first. there’s only the soft shift of weight behind you, the rustle of fabric and sensation of her skin brushing against your calves. it doesn’t click until her hands slide under your shirt, palms smoothing over your stomach as her mouth presses a kiss to the small of your back.

“lottie…?”

“shh,” she murmurs, nuzzling lower. “just keep doing what you’re doing”

the first few kisses she peppers across the back of your thigh are gentle. then her teeth graze you and one of her hands slips forward, under the waistband of your sleep shorts.

“lottie.”

another hum, her hands already sliding down your shorts and underwear. you shiver as they pool at your ankles, the cool morning air hitting your thighs.

“you’re always taking care of me,” lottie muses, pressing her cheek to your hip as she maneuvers you to face her way. “feeding me…loving me…” her breath is hot against you and she spreads you with both hands. “now i want to take care of you.”

your hips jerk instinctively the moment lottie puts her mouth on you, almost knocking into the stove. her lips part, her tongue sliding between your folds as though to memorize the shape of you. lottie stays on her knees, still fully clothed, still composed, while you’re bare and unraveling under her touch.

“i- lottie-” you try. your voice comes out thin.

in response, lottie only holds you tighter, pulling you against her mouth with both hands.

she has always looked at you like you were more than you believed yourself to be. now, her mouth is proving it all over again: there’s something desperate in the way she licks into you, like she’s starving, and you’re the first real thing she’s been given in weeks. lottie doesn’t rush, yet never stops. minutes pass with your legs trembling and her tongue lapping up your wetness, refusing to waste a single drop.

when her lips finally seal around your clit and suck, your entire body jolts. a cry punches out of your chest, one of your hands slips, and you brace yourself against the oven handle with a whimper.

“i’ve got you,” lottie whispers, without her mouth ever leaving you. she flicks her tongue against you again, circling, then presses in deeper. “just let go.”

you glance down, fingers tangled in her hair, and catch her eyes: lottie is looking up at you with her pupils blown wide, mouth swollen and slick, her hands clutching your thighs. “please,” she whines. “give it to me”

you don’t even know if she means your orgasm or your everything. either way, she gets it.

it rips through you suddenly, your knees buckling, thighs clenching around her head. you cry out as you fall apart, and lottie groans against your cunt, licking through every wave.

it takes minutes before you’re able to register anything again. your head is fuzzy. your legs ache. your body’s pulsing still from the aftershocks. lottie doesn’t stand. instead she guides you down with her, arms around your waist as she lowers you both gently to the floor. immediately, you collapse into her lap, boneless, back to her chest.

you can smell the eggs, surely burnt by now, and still don’t move to fix it.

lottie wraps her arms tighter around your middle, face buried in the crook of your neck until your eyes blink open.

“there you are,”

[wherethefigsfall]

“I’m not sleeping over prank”

Ellie Williams x fem reader (established relationship)

AN: my first proper fic let me know if you guys like it :)

Friday night.

Otherwise known as: the weekly ritual where you and Ellie pretend to hate each other while sharing garlic knots and aggressively cuddling like codependent raccoons.

She was currently starfished across her bed, one sock on, flipping through your sketchbook like she had an arts degree instead of mild commitment issues.

She paused on a page. “You gave this frog a six-pack?”

You didn’t even look up. “He goes to the gym.”

Ellie blinked at it. “Okay, but like. Why is he hot.”

“Don’t sexualize the frog.”

“I’m not trying to. He’s just… objectively shredded.”

You rolled your eyes. “I fear you.”

She tossed the sketchbook onto your lap like it was cursed. “Anyway. What movie are we watching tonight? I want trauma.”

You shrugged. “Actually… I think I’m heading home tonight.”

Silence.

Not dramatic silence. Not slow build.

Immediate, soul-leaving-the-body silence.

Ellie sat up. “Wait. What.”

“I’m just gonna sleep in my bed tonight.”

More silence.

“…Why.”

You pretended to check your phone. “Dunno. Just feel like it.”

She blinked at you. “Are you breaking up with me.”

“Oh my god.”

“No, be honest. Is this, like, a soft-launch breakup??”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing. “I just want a solo night. Do a face mask. Read. Maybe trauma dump into my Notes app.”

Ellie looked personally attacked. “You can trauma dump here. That’s what I’m for. That’s literally half my personality.”

You shrugged. “I want to romanticize loneliness for a sec.”

She squinted. “Is this about the mac and cheese?”

“…What mac and cheese.”

She avoided eye contact. “Nothing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Ellie.”

“I may have microwaved the foil one. It sparked. I panicked and threw it in the sink.”

“You tried to drown it?”

“It felt right in the moment.”

You stared. “You owe me five packs of Mac and cheese and a new microwave.”

She scoffed. “This is deflection. You’re leaving me.”

You sighed dramatically. “I’m not—”

“No, you don’t get to gaslight me. It’s Friday. You sleep over on Fridays. It’s the law. You signed a girlfriend contract and everything.”

You were full-on grinning now. “There was no contract.”

“There was. It was verbal. And sealed with garlic knots and kisses.”

You finally let yourself laugh.

Ellie’s eyes narrowed. “Wait.”

You said nothing. Just smiled harder.

“Oh my god,” she groaned, flopping back onto the bed like you’d shot her. “You’re messing with me.”

“I was curious to see how unwell you’d get.”

“I spiraled,” she said, voice muffled into her hoodie. “I had a whole monologue ready. It was gonna be Oscar-worthy. I was about to sit dramatically on the floor and look out the window like a Victorian child.”

You leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You’re so dramatic for someone who acts like she doesn’t care about anything.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, but she turned her face toward yours like she wanted another kiss.

You gave her one. Just to be nice.

And also because you were wildly in love with her. But whatever. Not the point.

Ellie sighed. “You know this means war.”

You smiled against her skin. “Do your worst.”

“Oh, I will,” she said. “You’ll wake up one day and all your playlists will be replaced with Joe Rogan podcasts.”

You gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I’m petty and I have access to your Spotify.”

You pushed her off the bed. She dragged you down with her.

You both lay there, limbs tangled, absolutely not moving to go watch a movie.

“Can we still get pizza?” she asked, voice soft now.

“Obviously.”

“And you’ll stay the night?”

You nudged her side. “I was always staying the night.”

She exhaled. “Cool. Good. I’d pretend I didn’t care but I’d probably go sit in the dark and stare at the wall like I’m in an A24 film.”

You snorted.

That night, you stayed—of course you did—and she didn’t even try to steal the blanket. Which was her love language, really.

You didn’t say it out loud, but you kind of hoped every Friday stayed like this.

Weird. Warm. Dumb. Yours.

[wonbyyou]

pornstar | park sunghoon

synopsis: you get a chance to work with the pornstar sunghoon and you take it

You splashed cold water on your face, staring at your reflection. Sunghoon. Just the name sent a jolt through you. The industry’s golden boy. The one everyone whispered about—his intense gaze, his sculpted body, and the legendary size that supposedly made co-stars weep.

Now, you were about to be paired with him. Your agent had practically screamed with excitement. "He asked for you, honey! Said he liked your look." It felt unreal.

The air on set 3 hung thick and expectant, smelling faintly of ozone from the hot lights, expensive leather from the vintage chaise longue, and the tang of nervous sweat.

And there he was. Sunghoon leaned against a faux bookshelf, dressed in dark trousers and an unbuttoned shirt that revealed the hard lines of his chest and abs. He looked effortless. Powerful. A small smile touched his lips as he saw you approach, genuine warmth in his eyes that instantly eased some of your tension.

"Hey," his voice was low, smooth, without a hint of the arrogance you'd half-expected. "Nervous?"

"A little," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly, stepping closer. "Don't be. We’re just playing pretend tonight, yeah? Professor and eager student… needing some extra credit?" The shift was subtle, a darkening in his gaze as he slipped into character, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "You do want to pass my class, don't you?"

His dark eyes as he tracked you, a slow, appraising sweep that started at your trembling hands and ended at your parted lips.

The director, a wiry man with a headset and sharp eyes named Marco, murmured into his mic, "Alright people, places. Camera A tight on Sunghoon’s expression when she walks in. Camera B get a slow pan up her legs. Let’s feel that anticipation." The crew moved with silent efficiency, lenses focusing like predatory insects.

"You look... appropriately flustered," Sunghoon purred, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the charged air. He pushed off the bookshelf, closing the distance with predatory grace. The shift was instantaneous; the charming co-star vanished, replaced by the stern, hungry professor.

His fingers, cool and strong, gripped your chin, tilting your face up. "Did you complete your reading assignment?" he demanded, his thumb brushing your lower lip with deceptive softness. Before you could answer, his mouth crashed down on yours. It wasn’t a kiss; it was a claiming.

His tongue thrust deep, tasting, dominating, muffling your gasp. One hand tangled roughly in your hair, pulling your head back to deepen the invasion, while the other slid beneath your prim blouse, finding the lace of your bra and then the stiffening peak of your nipple.

He pinched, hard and cruel, rolling the bud between thumb and forefinger until you whimpered into his mouth. "Silence," he commanded against your lips, breaking the kiss. A thin strand of saliva connected you. "Kneel. Now. Demonstrate your understanding of the subject matter."

The thick pile of the Persian rug bit into your knees as you obeyed. Marco’s voice crackled softly: "Camera C low angle on her descent. Focus on the hands shaking on the belt buckle." Your fingers fumbled against the cool metal of Sunghoon’s belt, your pulse pounding in your ears. The zip seemed impossibly loud in the hushed set.

Then, it sprang free. The sheer presence of his cock was staggering. Thick at the base, pulsing with heat and prominent blue veins snaking up the impressive shaft that curved proudly upwards. The mushroomed head, slick with pre-come and flushed a deep crimson, glistened obscenely under the lights. It looked less like flesh and more like carved marble—heavy, veined, and utterly intimidating.

"Open," Sunghoon ordered, his voice tight. You strained to take just the broad crown past your lips, your jaw already aching. The taste was musky and salty, flooding your senses. As soon as the thick head nudged the back of your throat, your body convulsed.

You gagged violently, tears springing instantly to your eyes. "Look at that," Sunghoon chuckled darkly above you, his hand tightening in your hair like a vise.

He pushed forward another relentless inch, stretching your lips wide, forcing himself deeper into the constricting heat of your throat. You choked again, saliva bubbling past your lips, dripping onto your chin and chest in thick, glistening strands.

"Christ, listen to her," he groaned, his hips giving a shallow thrust that made you retch. "Sloppy little thing. Can’t even handle the first chapter."

Marco’s directive was sharp: "Zoom in on the spit running down her neck, Camera B. Hold on those tears."

Sunghoon pulled back slightly, letting you drag in a ragged, wet breath before plunging back in, deeper this time. "Tongue flat," he instructed harshly. "Try to swallow it down. Show me you want to learn." He established a brutal rhythm: short, insistent thrusts that battered your gag reflex relentlessly.

Each push forced thick saliva to overflow, coating his shaft and your chin in a slick mess. The sounds were obscene—wet gags, choked whimpers, the slick slap of flesh as he fucked your mouth with increasing force.

"That’s it... gag harder... make it messy... fuck, your throat grips me like a greedy little fist..." His degradation was constant, filthy praise wrapped in scorn that only ignited the fire in your core.

Your jaw screamed in protest, your throat burned, tears blurred your vision completely, but the sound of his ragged groans, the feel of him thickening impossibly further in your mouth, the sheer humiliation captured by the unblinking cameras—it was perversely intoxicating.

"Alright, cut there for a sec," Marco announced. "Sunghoon, stay hard. Makeup, quick touch-up on her face—more sheen, keep those tears running clean."

Cold powder puffed against your flushed skin as a technician dabbed at the sweat and tears. Sunghoon didn’t move, his cock resting heavily on your tongue, throbbing. His eyes held yours, dark pools of pure heat. "You look divine when you cry," he murmured, only for you to hear.

"Back in five... four..." Marco counted down.

Sunghoon pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop that echoed. A thick rope of spit snapped and landed on your cheekbone. In one fluid motion, he hauled you up by your hair and shoved you face-first over the plush back of the chaise longue.

"Camera D get overhead," Marco directed.

Your skirt was yanked up brutally. You heard the sharp rip of lace as Sunghoon tore your panties aside, exposing you completely to the cool air and the hungry lenses. The broad, blunt head of his cock pressed against your soaked entrance—an impossible pressure, hot and insistent. You felt absurdly stretched already, just by its presence.

"Professor doesn't believe in shortcuts," he growled, his voice thick with strain. One hand pinned your hip to the leather; the other guided his cockhead. With deliberate, agonizing slowness, he pushed.

The stretch was searing, breathtakingly intense as the massive crown began to breach you. Inch by devastating inch, he forced himself inside, your body protesting violently, clamping down on the invading girth. You cried out, a high-pitched sound muffled by the leather.

Marco’s voice was a low hum: "Camera A tight on penetration... beautiful resistance... keep rolling..."

Sunghoon paused when he was barely halfway sheathed, buried impossibly deep already. He leaned over you, his chest hot and slick with sweat against your back, his breath hot on your ear. "Tight little cunt," he rasped. "Never taken anything like this before, have you? Feels like you're being split open."

He withdrew slowly, almost completely, letting you feel every ridge of him dragging against your sensitized walls, then slammed back in to the same impossible depth with one powerful thrust that punched the air from your lungs. "Fuck!" he grunted.

He began a relentless rhythm: deep, deliberate strokes that reached depths untouched before. Each withdrawal was an aching loss; each penetration a shocking fullness that bordered on pain but vibrated with pure pleasure.

The chaise groaned under their combined weight and force. Sunghoon’s grip on your hip was bruising, fingers digging into flesh as he pulled you back onto him with every powerful drive of his hips. Sweat dripped from his brow onto the small of your back.

After several minutes of this deep, piston-like fucking that had you mewling incoherently into the leather, his free hand snaked around your hip.

His fingers found your swollen clit instantly. Not teasing. Not gentle. He rubbed hard, fast circles directly on the hypersensitive nub in perfect counterpoint to the deep pounding inside you.

"Oh god... please..." you sobbed, lost in the overwhelming sensation—the profound stretch and drag of his enormous cock filling you utterly, and the sharp, electric fire his fingers sparked on your clit.

"Please what?" Sunghoon demanded, his thrusts becoming sharper, deeper still. He pressed down hard on your clit with his thumb while two fingers rubbed fiercely side-to-side. "Beg properly. Tell me what you need."

"I... I need to come!" you cried out, shamelessly grinding back against him and into his hand.

"Not yet," he growled, deliberately slowing his thrusts while maintaining the ruthless pressure on your clit. The denial was exquisite torture. He held you right on the knife-edge for agonizing moments as the crew watched silently, cameras drinking it in.

"You come," he snarled, punctuating each word with a deep, grinding thrust that made you see stars, "when... I... fucking... tell... you... to... come!" His fingers became a blur on your clit.

It was too much. The denial shattered like glass. An orgasm detonated within you unlike any other—a primal wave of pure ecstasy that tore through every nerve ending. Your back arched violently off the chaise as if struck by lightning.

Your inner walls clenched around Sunghoon’s buried cock in frantic, rhythmic spasms so intense they were almost painful.

A scream ripped from your throat as the climax seized you utterly, wave after wave of blinding pleasure washing through you, milking his cock with relentless pressure. It went on and on, leaving you trembling uncontrollably.

Sunghoon moaned loudly above you as your violent contractions triggered his own release. He slammed home one final time, burying himself impossibly deep as hot jets of come pulsed forcefully inside you in thick, rhythmic spurts that seemed endless.

He held himself there, pressed flush against you, both bodies shuddering through the aftershocks for long moments, slick and panting.

He finally pulled out slowly, a slick, obscene sound accompanying the sudden emptiness that felt cavernous. He turned you gently onto your back on the chaise.

His expression was a mix of fierce satisfaction and something almost like awe as he looked down at your wrecked state: tear-streaked face still smeared with drying spit and fresh sweat, lips swollen and reddened from stretching around him earlier, eyes glazed and unfocused, thighs glistening with sweat and arousal and his release leaking onto the leather.

Marco murmured, "Hold on that close-up... gorgeous devastation." Sunghoon leaned down close again, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as cameras whirred.

Sunghoon swiped a thumb through the mess on your cheekbone where spit and tears had mixed. "Perfect performance." His eyes held yours for a beat longer before he straightened up under the unforgiving lights.

"Cut!" Marco yelled. "That's a wrap! Holy hell." But Sunghoon’s gaze stayed locked on yours for a second longer than necessary.