#they’re both kind and soft and that makes it so easy to bite into them. figuratively and literally……

[hartleychristopher]

Okie I have a request for a josh and Chris meeting the reader in highschool for the first time and they became friends through like comic books or like the newest game that came out because they are nerds just for fun

If you don't want to do this it's Okie

Issue #1: First Encounter

Parings: Chris x gn!reader, Josh x gn!reader (either platonic or flirty 😏 you decide) (no prank au)

Warnings: cheesy banter bc it’s fun! Okay? sue me.

Summary: you go to the comic book shop in search of a back issue, what you find are new friends in the shape of two dorks that come as a package deal; Chris and Josh. It seems you’ve been adopted as the third wheel in their bromance whether you like it or not.

A/N: hiii I love this! My two favorite boys 🥹 I hope it’s okay they’re in college in this, I know you requested high school but I prefer to write about them as adults :) (dating a lot of (only) nerds and having a base knowledge on comic books came in handy for this ask!)

You’re halfway through flipping through the back issues, elbow-deep in plastic sleeves and crossovers, when someone bumps into the end of the display with a soft thud.

“Ah, crap—sorry. I didn’t think anyone was back here.”

You look up to find a tall guy with glasses and a beanie, shoulders hunched like he’s startled himself as much as you. He’s wearing a Watchmen hoodie, already slightly pilled at the cuffs. Definitely a regular.

You give him a quick once-over and shrug. “It’s fine. no casualties”

He gives a half-laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Cool. That’s… good. Uh, I wasn’t, like, creeping or anything, I just—” He gestures vaguely at the boxes. “I’m on a mission.”

“Let me guess: Green Lantern?” You smirk.

His face lights up, almost embarrassingly so. “Rebirth! Yes! You get it”

Before you could respond, another guy steps around the corner—leaner, with that kind of practiced casualness that probably made him popular without trying. He takes one look at the two of you and raises an eyebrow.

“Chris, are you harassing strangers in the wild again?” he asks, smirking. “Can’t take you anywhere” he teases him.

Chris makes a noise that was half protest, half panic. “What?! No! I just bumped the shelf! I wasn’t—th-they were already here!”

“Relax, man, I’m messing with you,” the new guy says, shooting you a quick, easy smile before he sticks out a hand. “Josh. That’s Chris. He’s harmless. Socially clumsy, but harmless.”

You hesitate a second before shaking his hand.

Josh’s eyes wander to your bag when he lets go of your hand. “I like the Moon Knight patch. Taste.”

Chris nods quickly like he was just now noticing. “Oh—yeah, that’s awesome. Moon Knight’s underrated. like, so many people just watched the show and bailed, but if you actually read—sorry, I’m rambling”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you guys do this often? Corner people in the back issues section?”

“Corner?” Josh repeats, mock offended. “No, this is mutual proximity. We’re just friendly.”

Chris looks like he wants to crawl into a long box and close the lid. “we—we’re not trying to be weird. I swear. We just—uh, like comics. And your patch’s cool, that’s all”

You glance between them. Both clearly nerds, but in wildly different flavors. Josh had the confidence of someone who knew he could talk his way into or out of anything. Chris looked like this was the most intense social interaction he’d had all week. Maybe month. But neither of them gave you that creepy gut feeling. Just… harmless dorks. Maybe even kind of funny, in a secondhand embarrassment kind of way.

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “You two always come as a set?”

“Unfortunately,” Chris mutters under his breath.

Josh ignored him. “Usually. Trivia nights, midnight releases, occasional accidental arson in the microwave when someone tries to reheat pizza on foil…” Josh gives Chris a pointed look.

“That was one time,” Chris mumbles, visibly dying.

You tilt your head. “There’s trivia?”

Josh perked up. “Yeah—The Kettle Café, Thursday nights. Comics, movies, all the nerdy stuff. We bombed last week because someone forgot the name of Thor’s Second Hammer.”

“It’s called Stormbreaker, and I had brain fog,” Chris shoots back.

You look down at the issue in your hands. You had fully intended to be in and out of this place in under ten minutes. But now you had two dorks standing in front of you; one melting, one grinning—and for some reason, you weren’t quite ready to bolt.

Josh raised his brows. “You should come, we could use someone who actually reads Moon Knight”

you considered. “If it turns out to be just the two of you playing against each other and quoting The Big Bang Theory for two hours, I’m walking out”

Chris looked genuinely disgusted. “We quote Firefly, actually.”

Josh grinned. “So that’s a maybe?”

You sigh, ��It’s a ‘give me the address and I’ll think about it’”

Josh pulls a sharpie out of his jacket pocket like he does this sort of thing often. “that’s a victory”

As he scribbles the address on a receipt from his pocket and hands it to you, you catch Chris looking down at his shoes, trying not to smile too obviously.

You tuck the receipt into your bag. “Alright, nerds. Enjoy your Rebirth… don’t burn anything down”

Chris gives an awkward little salute, “No promises”

taglist: @fritzhardt @avwade69 @maiiuelle @avrells @fordthegamelord819 @xoxocher @sweetcalebb @z0mb1epuzzy @dnpo1son

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[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

ari what do you think of jin itadori (also i would like to bubble🫧 anon if that's available please)(you could just call me bubbles)

MOTHER .

(hi my lovely little anon, the bubbles emoji is taken by an ask i haven’t answered quite yet, but feel free to pick another one!! 🥹 so nice to meet you <33)

it’s funny you say this actually because i’ve been thinking of him recently... especially after the whole lore reveal. the fact that jin was literally devoured in the womb so his sibling could survive + willingly let himself be manipulated by kenjaku despite knowing it wasn’t kaori….. well. it’s tasty, right? and it makes me a little insane because if sukuna embodies strenght, isn’t it only natural that jin would embody weakness? the weakness of love? inherent submission to those more powerful than him?

anyway what i’m trying to say is kenny topped. thank you for listening 🫶

[sharkbitten-sailor]

forsaken survivors x cat!reader - headcanons .ᐟ

a/n: not sure if i messed up anything due to lack of experience in writing. plus, english is not my native language, so im sorry for any grammar or spelling errors!

general hcs - you have all the charming features of a cat - a tail that sways when you're curious, ears that twitch at every little sound, and, of course, the softest paws imaginable! - oh, and you have some cat-like traits too. man, how are you so adaptable and flexible? you can literally slip through the thinnest corner ever or loop the killer without getting hit. not even once. - basically liquid at this point/hj - whether it’s scratching at walls or leaving marks on a killer who got too close, your claws are a force to be reckoned with. or simply you get bored :p - you have a favorite hiding spot and get grumpy when someone else takes it/ref - you rarely purr, mostly just hiss at everyone in sight lol unless they’re your absolute favorite.

noob - at first, noob don't quite know how to feel about you. they’re both fascinated by your unique traits and a little anxious, unsure of how to approach you. - it takes them time to warm up, but once they do, they find your presence incredibly soothing. probably because you remind them of their old pet cat, tac. - just having you around helps them feel less overwhelmed. - as a cat owner, they know a few tricks to help you relax: scratching your cheeks, rubbing your ears… but the only issue? they don’t have enough confidence to do it. - still, they did try to groom you once. you looked so peaceful that their face turned red like a berry. total flustered mess. - they have a habit of asking you the most unexpected things out of nowhere. “d-do you like b-boxy cola...?” “w-what about... salty food...?” - it’s their way of making conversation, even if it’s awkward at first. - one time, it was just the two of you left, and noob was completely overwhelmed by anxiety to the point that their figure trembled constantly. - without a word, you nudged them gently. that small act alone made their worries fade almost instantly. it melted their heart in a way they didn’t expect. - you see them as a premium napping spot. no words, no hesitation; you just stroll up, plop down next to them and sleep. - noob's honest reaction: OVERHEATING. brain blue-screening. - the argue to pat those small lil' ears of yours when you're sleeping ughhh >>>>

007n7 - he assumes you’ll steer clear once you learn about his past, just like everyone else. but you? you dgaf. the past is the past, and that’s that. - he’s caught off guard by that attitude of yours, almost unsure of how to react. - is this… genuine? the fact that you don’t just tolerate his presence; you actually seem to enjoy it leaves him a little stunned. and, maybe, a sense of happiness. - sometimes, 007n7 catches himself watching you, wondering how you can be so carefree in this ever-lasting hell. - secretly impresses by how fearless you look when looping the killer. you made it seem way too easy. - adores every moment when you try to mimic his clones. it makes him remember about the old time, in a good way. - after every match, you make it a habit to sit beside him during breaks. no hesitation, no awkwardness. just quiet companionship. - if elliot or others don't take care of his injuries, you do, calmly patching him up without a trace of discomfort. - he learns (the hard way) that you have a habit of affectionate arm-biting. whether he likes it or not, he’s your favorite target, and there’s no escaping it😇 - but hey, at least you do knead him sometimes :D especially his burger-hat. - he finds it both silly and calm to hear your soft purrs. something about them just sounds like honey: smooth, warm, comforting. - somehow, being around you helps. both in and outside the rounds. you've kind of become his metal life support at this point. - he asks if he can pat your ears, and you nod. the moment his hand touches them, he's stunned by how soft they are. a second later, realization hits. his face turns bright red as he quickly pulls away, completely flustered </3 - overall, 10/10.

shedletsky - a cat person meets a cat? what do you expect? chaos? check. instant best buddies? double check. - it takes no time at all for you two to bond. something about your energy just clicks with his. - he finds endless joy in teasing you, not caring if you hiss at him in response. in fact, he lives for it. - flicking your ears just to see your reaction/ref - he’s a menace who constantly pats your head just to get a reaction. always ends up with bite marks and scratches. - but does he stop? absolutely not. - your best revenge? stealing his precious fried chickens. he gets annoyed so bad. "you little gremlin- put that down!" - no matter how serious things get, one way or another, you and shedletsky always make it worse in the best way possible. - likes to stay close to you during rounds. either to guard you (cuz you're too curious and reckless for your own good) or to show off his sword skills. it's kinda awesome until he misses the stun. "oops, my bad. time to run!" - since there isn't enough room, when it's your turn to sleep on the couch or floor, he usually offers you his sleeping spot. (or, y'know… you just end up sleeping together :p) - gives off total 'one dares to think, one dares to try' duo energy. he cooks, you eat. you distract, he stuns. - actually enjoys when you knead on him. it's pretty soothing. - attempted to touch your paws once… and yeah, never again. the sacred toe beans remain off-limits. - little do you know, your presence alone is one of many thing that push him forward.

guest 1337 - dang. how hard is it to write for this guy bruh - when you first got kidnapped here, he was the most wary of you, more than anyone else. even when shedletsky took a quick liking to you. - can't blame him though. he've been through a freaking war himself. - might take quite long (like forever) to earn his trust. - it starts small: offering him a boxy cola (which he side-eyes but still drink) or a medkit, sticking around even when he insists he doesn’t need help. then, saving him more times than you can count by alerting him when the killer is near (thanks to your sharp senses), buying both of you some precious seconds to escape. - slowly, he starts seeing something, rather someone familiar in you, none other than his daughter - it's when your relationship with him takes another path. - he's already someone who puts others before himself, but with you, it's even 'worse'. you might have 9 lives, but he refuses to let you waste even one. - he tends to walk straight to you when the round has just started. something about the thought of you wandering alone doesn’t sit right with him. - he's ready to take the hits, insisting he's fine no matter how battered he gets. you have to threaten to bite him if he doesn't take a break. - doesn't make a difference if you have sharp senses of a cat, you are still a curious lil' goofball creature. guest 1337 has to pull you out of those mess you made + lecture you the n+1th time to not touch john doe's spikes or 1x1x1x1's minions. - he doesn’t trust you around his food. rightfully so. the number of times you've swiped a meal off his plate just to annoy him is unreal. - "unbelievable," he mutters while grabbing it back. - gives you a pat as a way of saying "good job," though it's not something he does often.

[urno1luv]

more ningrina x innocent reader ‼️

😼😼😼

cw: implied sex, NAWT proofread

ohhh you know once they start teaming up, it’s over for you🙂‍↕️

it begins subtly, through shared glances over your shoulder, little smirks passed between them whenever you’re doing something ridiculously cute, like humming while washing the dishes or struggling to reach the top shelf. it’s like a silent agreement formed between them: you’re too precious to keep to themselves individually… so why not share?

karina’s the one who starts it, of course. quiet, calculated. one night while you’re sitting between them during a movie, she lets her hand rest on your knee. not squeezing, not moving, just there. steady. grounding. and then you feel ningning’s fingers slipping into your hair from the other side, lazily playing with the strands like she owns you. you shift, flustered, your cheeks burning. “w-what are you doing?”

“relax, baby,” ningning coos, grinning. “we’re just taking care of our little roommate.” karina hums in agreement, eyes never leaving the screen. “you always look so tense. thought we’d help.”

after that, it only escalates. they start doing everything together, through cooking, cleaning, or just sitting dangerously close on either side of you. their teasing syncs up, perfectly timed, like they’re reading each other’s minds. they corner you in the hallway, whisper things into both ears, kiss your cheeks one after the other and laugh when you stumble away all pink and flustered.

“she’s too easy,” ningning giggles one night. karina just smirks. “but she likes it.”

and you don’t deny it. how could you, when they’re both looking at you like they want to eat you alive?

you’re just their sweet, innocent little angel, caught in the middle of two devils who’ve decided you belong to both of them😣once they know you’re not going to fight it, once they’ve seen how your breath hitches when karina leans in too close or how you shiver when ningning whispers your name just a little too sweetly... it’s game OVER.

one night, it gets worse. or better, depending on how you look at it.

you’re fresh out the shower, wrapped up in that soft towel they insisted you use because “it’s fluffier” — though now you suspect that was a setup too. you shuffle into the living room, intending to grab the charger you forgot, but they’re already there. waiting. sprawled out on the couch like they own the place (they kind of do), looking you up and down like they’ve been starving.

“aw, look at our little angel,” ningning coos, voice syrupy sweet. “so soft and clean and dripping, too.”

karina’s eyes trail over your legs, slow and hungry, before she pats the empty space between them. “come sit. we won’t bite." they're liars

your heartbeat’s in your ears, towel clutched a little tighter, but your feet move on their own. they always do when it comes to them.

the second you sit down, they’re on you. ningning brushes damp strands of hair from your face, lips ghosting over your cheek. karina’s hand snakes around your waist, anchoring you in place. “you really shouldn’t walk around like that, baby,” she murmurs. “makes us think things.”

“makes us want things,” ningning adds with a little laugh, already tugging at the towel like she’s unwrapping a gift. you squeak, trying to wriggle away, but they’re gentle, oh so gentle. but definitely firm. and teasing. and overwhelming. suddenly it’s all too much, too hot, too close, too them. but you don’t stop them... not really

and when you let them in? theyre insatiable. they touch you like they’ve thought about it a hundred times. like they planned this. like they own you.

the teasing turns breathy and heated, karina's mouth trailing down your neck, sharp with intent, while ningning’s hands roam more boldly, coaxing out every sound you’re too flustered to hide. “such pretty noises,” ningning whispers, her voice warm and husky. “keep going, baby.”

ningning takes her sweet time. she trails kisses down your inner thigh, teasing, lips ghosting over skin like she’s deciding where to start. her eyes are half-lidded, locked on your face with so much satisfaction at every little twitch and gasp, before she abruptly gets up, locking eyes with karina, before mischievously turning to you... you're NOT gonna have a peaceful night

karina hums in agreement, pulling you close until you're completely in her arms. “you’re ours now, you know that, right?"

you nod without thinking, too breathless, overwhelmed, dizzy, and they smile like they’ve won the game (they have💪)

[bbydoll18xx]

She's Such a Good Girl (Part 4)

Paige makes you feel so good.

Paige Bueckers x reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Themes: hella smut this is actual filth, little bit of cuteness if you squint

Masterlist

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

A/N: hiii sorry this took so long lol I've gotta stop writing multipart fics because i procrastinate too much but i turned down a date so i could write this so I'll be sad if this flops PLEASE DON'T LET THIS FLOP I'M BEGGING

~

The tension was palpable, as you sat next to Paige on her couch. Her eye contact was enough to make you want to shrink away, but you held firm, straightening your spine with a determined force. The smirk on her face sent a shudder through your entire body, and the anticipation of Paige’s hands on you made you wet instantaneously. 

She reaches out to touch you, her fingertips ghosting across the exposed skin of your upper thigh where your shorts had ridden up. The sensitive skin blooms with goosebumps as she does so, and your head spins at the contact. You were getting drunk on it, and the real deal was yet to actually begin.

Paige chuckles as you let out a puff of air, overwhelmed from how her touch affected you, and you blush.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “Know you’re probably used to girls who know what they’re doing.” Your insecurities were coming to a head once more, the reality setting in that books could only prepare you for so much. And as you sat before someone as enigmatic and beguiling as Paige, it was the tiniest bit overwhelming.

Only a tiny bit, of course.

Paige shrugs, her eyes bright with excitement. “Don't be sorry, baby. That's why I’m gonna teach you,” she adds with a wink and a huge grin, and the rolling in your stomach subsides. 

Her nonchalance soothes you. She wasn't someone you could hide yourself around, as she beckoned towards your most inner self, pulling it out and appreciating it regardless of anything or anyone. 

You nod, eyes still trained downwards at your hands where you were meticulously playing with them, rubbing them in a way that is not unlike Paige’s infamous “rizz hands.” She tuts at this, taking your hands in hers and then using the other to gently lift your chin to meet her eyes.

“If we’re gonna do this, you gotta use your words,” she says, words husky and dripping with a soft dominance that had your insides purring. 

“Okay,” you whisper, fighting the urge to look away from the heat of her gaze. The blueness of her eyes was hypnotic, and it was easy to get lost in them. 

“That’s my good girl,” she praises, moving her hand from your chin to the side of your neck, holding it in a way that had you holding in a moan, as she stroked the delicate skin with her thumb.

Your heart rate jumps, and Paige can tell, the thumping evident under her thumb, and the pink in your face promptly returns.

“Sounds like someone’s got a praise kink,” she laughs, and you don't bother to even attempt to disagree. Your good girl disposition had stretched beyond just getting good grades and being innocent, and despite your lack of experience, you knew you liked being praised in that way. You preened under any kind of approval; it's just how you were wired.

Paige pulls you into a kiss, and you welcome the distraction. Her lips move against yours, and she sets the perfect tempo. Time slows as your tongues meld together, moans falling from both of your mouths at the sensation. Paige pulls away with one final kiss, lightly biting your swollen bottom lip with finality and dominance that had you swooning.

“Alright,” she begins, still stroking the flesh of your inner thigh. You had moved into her lap during your impromptu makeout session, and she had not protested in the slightest. “Tell me what you wanna try with me.”

You blush again. Having to verbalize to the gorgeous blonde that you did in fact want her to fuck you until you were a withering, moaning mess underneath her was mortifying. Your gaze drops back to your lap before flickering back to Paige’s before she could lightly chastise you. 

You bite your lip, trying to find the right words. “I don't know,” you mumble. “Everything?”

Her eyebrows jump in surprise at your boldness. 

“Everything, huh?” She teases, her fingers dancing closer and closer to your clothed heat. 

“Everything,” you breathe, affirming your statement, trying to avoid squirming in Paige’s lap. The size difference was adding to your arousal, and you feel the wet spot in your undies growing to an embarrassing size. 

“How about we go to my bedroom?” Paige asks, and you immediately agree, wanting to somehow get even closer to the blonde. You go to stand up, but before you can do so, she pulls you in, picking you up and carrying you and dumping you on the plush, purple comforter that was thrown on her bed. 

You scoot back so you're leaning against the pillows, and your legs are slightly spread. Paige stands at the foot of the bed, admiring you with an intense stare that had you squirming deliciously. 

She takes off her shirt and shorts, leaving her in a black sports bra and matching boxers. Her skin was tanned from the summer, and her long, blonde hair was up in a bun. Her abs flashed as she moved towards you, getting on the bed and sitting next to where you were laying. 

Your eyes rake over her figure, subconsciously licking your lips as you take her in. She was so gorgeous, and in this moment, she was all yours. 

“Have you touched yourself before?” She asks, voice husky with want.

Fuck, this was getting real.

“Yes,” you whisper.

Her next two words have you reeling with arousal and the tiniest bit of anxiety. 

“Show me.” 

You slowly shed your clothes until you were laid out bare in front of Paige, and she looks you up and down with a fervent stare. Any thoughts of feeling insecure about your body vanish as you meet her gaze, the adoration radiating off of her. 

Your hands start at your tits, fingers circling both nipples simultaneously. A slight pinch pulls a low whine from your lips, and you drag a hand down your stomach towards the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Your touch was gentle, but an annoying voice in your head mocked that it was not comparable to Paige’s. 

She had ruined everyone else for you, including yourself, and that was even before you were able to experience anyone else. You just knew. 

You part your legs, gasping as the cool air hits your drenched pussy, and Paige lets out a similar noise as she sees how wet you are. 

“Doin’ so good for me, baby. Keep going,” she urges, and her praise fuels you.

You dip two fingers into your sopping pussy, swirling the arousal around your clit, eliciting another groan at the large swell of pleasure. The build up of everything makes the process quicker than when you were alone, and Paige’s watchful eye adds to the sheer naughtiness. Your pants are coming out now in staccato breaths, pleasure building in the pit of your belly, and your eyes flutter close. 

“Keep those pretty eyes on me, baby,” Paige insists, and before you can even think otherwise, you open them once more, looking straight at her. Her dominance is soft, and your desire to gratify her takes over any sense of rational thinking. 

Your hips stutter as the orgasm nears closer, but before you could bathe in the glorious pleasure of your orgasm washing over you, Paige pulls your hand away, and you pout in indignation as the tingling fades.

“You really didn't think you were going to make yourself cum tonight, did you?” She questions, cocking her head to the side with a smirk. “Let me make you feel good now, baby.”

You nod, biting your lip, eyelashes fluttering, trying to keep your eyes on Paige’s, but the intimacy of the situation makes you want to close them. You scoot back again, laying down further against the pillows. 

Paige takes another moment to look at you, spread out perfectly and innocently before her. You look up at her with doe eyes, and the idea of you being all hers to do whatever she wanted to was nearly intoxicating. 

She places a hand on your inner thigh, and goosebumps erupt at her gentle touch. You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for everything you had been fantasizing about since you first laid eyes on UConn’s star basketball player. 

Her hand trails down to your knee, where she then opens your legs, giving her the perfect view of you laid out open just for her. 

It was always going to be just for her.

She leans down and presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, nose nearly grazing your sopping pussy, and your stomach lurches dangerously. 

Your breath quickens again. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” she murmurs, as she travels up to your heaving chest, attaching that sinful mouth to a peaked and very sensitive nipple. 

A small moan falls from your lips as you adjust to the new sensation. Pinching your own nipples felt nice, sure, but this was a whole new ballgame. You weren’t sure if this was something you could ever go without again. 

Paige continues worshiping you, alternating between soft kisses, tantalizing licks, and sharp bites until you are a squirming mess underneath her. 

“You like that?” She asks, and you moan incoherently, unable to verbalize just how much you did in fact like it. 

Her kisses travel down your stomach until she has a direct view of your pussy. 

“Been waiting to taste you for so long,” she murmurs, and if it weren’t for the sheer anticipation of her eating you out, you think you would have combusted right there on the spot. 

Her breath fans against you, feeling warm against the slick that had accumulated. One hand strokes your thigh, while the other anchors your other leg, keeping you from closing them together. 

Leaning down, she licks a long line from your weeping hole to your swollen clit, and the line of expletives and moans that follow are like music to Paige’s ears. 

You are so vocal, and that turns her on in a way that should be almost concerning to her. 

Her tongue swirls around your clit over and over again, and the orgasm that she had denied you was quickly building once more. 

And just when you think it could not possibly get any better, Paige utters, “Gonna finger you, too, okay, baby?”

“Fuck, yes please, Paige. Need you,” you whine, eyes nearly shutting at the pleasure. 

“So polite,” she chuckles, and she promptly slides a finger into your tight pussy. 

The feeling was foreign to you, but you welcomed it, bucking against her hand wantonly. 

“Such a good girl,” she praises. “Taking me so well.” 

You moan at her words, the combination of the praise and the pleasure was making your head feel fuzzy, and you were simply relishing in it. You could not believe you had waited so long to allow yourself to feel so damn good. 

Paige adds a second finger, stretching you out with a scissoring motion, before she curls her fingers, causing even more pleasure to shoot through your belly and float all throughout your body. Your g-spot was something you usually avoided during your impromptu masturbation sessions, and the sensations were otherworldly.

Another long whine leaves your lips, and you squirm. “More, Paige, please, need more,” you pant.

She obliges, adding a third finger. She fucks you while continuing her brutal assault on your throbbing clit, and you feel yourself begin to fall over the edge.

“Gonna cum,” you moan, Paige’s name falling from your lips like a prayer, the words and moans mixing together incomprehensibly. 

“Cum for me,” Paige whispers huskily against your pussy, and with a loud string of moans, you fall apart. 

Time nearly stops, and you are washed in pleasure. Paige helps ride you through the orgasm, slowing down once your breathing begins to even out. She pulls her fingers out of you, making a show of licking them while keeping intense eye contact with you.

You shudder, pulling her into a kiss, tasting yourself on her lips, and the horniness comes back instantaneously.

“That was incredible,” you whisper shyly, a soft smile on your face. 

“Told you,” Paige winks, and you laugh, gently swatting at her. 

“So cocky,” you tease. “When’s it my turn?”

She shakes her head. “Dont worry about it. This is about you.”

You pout, bottom lip jutting out. “But I want to learn. And I’ve been dying to taste you, too.”

A faint blush covers her features, and she wags her eyebrows at you. “Been thinkin’ about me, huh?” 

“Shut up, Bueckers,” you whine, rolling her eyes. She was so goddamn cocky. And if she was literally anyone else, you would’ve gotten the ick. But she was Paige, and you could not help but be completely enthralled by her.

She quickly gives into you, and you help her take off the remainder of her clothes. It was your turn to gaze upon her, admiring her long, muscular limbs in all their glory.

Leaning down, you capture her lips in another searing kiss before trailing them down her neck and across her breasts. You could feel her heart racing under the tanned skin, and your ego soars. You were the one having this effect on Paige. No one else. 

“Tell me if you want me to try something else,” you say, before promptly diving into her soaked pussy. Using what she had done to you as a guide, you begin swirling your tongue against her clit in tight circles. You groan against her, the taste and the downright idea of what you were doing sends jolts back down to your own sex. Similarly, Paige was a moaning mess underneath you.

“Doin’ so good, baby. Just like that,” she pants out, writhing on the bed and trying desperately to not trap your head between her strong thighs.

‘Wouldn't be the worst way to go, though,’ you think earnestly. 

Her moans echo through her bedroom, ricocheting off the walls in undeniable proof that you were the one making her feel so good. Wanting to prove yourself even more, you slide two fingers in, curling them up to her g-spot, causing Paige to groan lowly. 

The combination of the finger-fucking and the circling of her clit with your hot, wet tongue was efficacious, and soon she’s cumming with a long string of moans and your name on your lips. For a second, you worry that your roommates across the hall would be able to hear it, but you quickly determine that you really don’t give a fuck. Because you were the one making Paige feel like this, and you were pretty damn proud of it. 

Letting her catch her breath, you pull out of her, sucking your fingers just as she had done, and sit back next to her against the pillows. 

She looks over to you, and with her flushed cheeks and messy hair, you realize how incredibly fucked you are. There was no way you’d be able to go without this, without her, ever again. 

“You get an A+ from me,” she deadpans, and you giggle, hiding your face in her neck.

“When’s the next lesson?” You ask, all sense of shyness wiped from your being. 

“How about tomorrow? I could show you my strap,” she adds casually. 

Your heart jumps. “Fuck yes,” you breathe, already getting excited at the thought. 

“It’s a date,” she winks, pulling you in for another kiss. It was going to be a long night.

And you were okay with that.

~

wellll what do we think??? If you guys want i could do a part 5 but idk i really want to write some strap action lemme know!!

xoxo katy

Part 5

Part 6

[emeritusemeritus]

Oh supreme leader of Weasley twins smut, can I please ask for another dirty dirty rough mean degradation basically hate fucking with boys, just them using their needy wife because she asked both of them to break her when she had a bad day to relieve her stress with big fluffy after care when they’re done :,) work was rough last night.

Hi Anon, I have been summoned! Please accept this absolute filth (I think I’m ovulating). I hope your work has gotten better and you don’t have bad days anymore 🖤

Warnings: SMUT. Graphic sex, piv sex, fingering, clit play. Swearing and degradation. Dom/sub dynamics, George is a soft!dom (it’s always the quiet ones). brat taming. Reader is a brat. BREEDING KINK. cum play, polyamory, no twincest. Actual chance of pregnancy.

Word count: 2.3k

Break me.

“Get down on your knees... now."

You can hardly tell who is who by this point, your eyes clouded with unshed tears from overwhelm and overstimulation. Their figures are hazy, a blur of delicious milky skin and writhing bodies with no viable way to determine between them. Even their honeyed voices have melded together, as smooth as caramel but as harsh as a whip with their sharp words. It's a delicious juxtaposition. Their hard, unforgiving bodies, so manly and dominant compared to your soft submissive figure.

You'd done this yourself, that you couldn't deny. In your defence, not that it mattered now really, you'd just wanted to put your awful day behind you and to end the day on a high and there was no better way than this.

"Why the fuck do you still have your trousers on?" You'd huffed, clumsily fumbling with the fastenings of Fred's trousers, the tailored tweed personally offending you by still covering what you'd so desperately needed. You revel in your stubbornness, resisting their attempts to get you to submit to them. You wouldn't make it easy tonight.

"Patience is a virtue princess," Fred had retorted before pulling you into a searing kiss, still much more playful than his twin who had been watching in silent judgement with dark eyes.

"Fuck virtues," you'd almost whined, getting more and more frustrated that they weren't already naked and pounding some sense into you. "Give me sin."

"Feisty tonight isn't she?" Fred smirks towards his twin who has remained resolute, clearly not finding the same humour in your sass.

"Don't ruin my dress," you admonish with a bite, wriggling against Fred's dominant hold. He's got you pinned face down against the bed as he hovers on top of you, the curve of your ass pressing against the impressive bulge in the trousers he's still fucking wearing. As much as you hated your job right now and could daydream for hours about never returning, that really wasn't an option and so you would need the dress.

"We'll be gentle," Fred replies, his lips ghosting the back of your neck.

"Until the dress is off," George adds darkly, his first spoken words for what seems like hours. His eyes are fixed upon your body, almost degradingly so, like you were his prey to be devoured. It fills you with a semblance of something resembling fear thought it's the very best kind, entwined with an excitement for what you know is inevitably coming.

Your dress is unceremoniously peeled off of you, leaving you in just your underwear. In the back of your mind you wished you'd worn a nicer pair this morning but realistically they weren't going to last much longer regardless. You feel a kiss placed to the centre of your back once your bra is unclapsed, a gentle precursor that could in theory give you false hope of gentility. Your eyes flick to George once more and you freeze when you see that he's now entirely naked, the gentle lamplight illuminating every inch of delicious freckle spattered skin, including his fully erect cock in his hand. His hand drags across his length slowly, the foreskin catching with each deliberate swipe, a taunt of what you so desperately want but won't admit. The sight alone makes your mouth water and you're immediately closer to breaking your resolve.

There's a sudden movement from Fred behind you and a sudden pulling sensation on your body before a resounding rip occurs. You shiver as you feel your now bare pussy exposed to the air in the room, your panties having been ripped off by Fred. You're vulnerable now, your body exposed to his view behind you, your body aligned perfectly for him to just slip in, if he would just take those fucking trousers off finally.

You watch as your panties are thrown across the room, landing in George's outstretched hands. It's ridiculously hot in the moment how effortless his catch was and you hold back a shiver. He wraps your panties around his fingers and keeps hold of them as his hand returns to his bulging cock.

"What do you want princess?" Fred says, his fingers drifting onto your breasts, toying with your nipples.

"Fucking hell," you huff at his attempts to tease you any further. Surely it was fairly obvious what you wanted, why did he have to be so Fred about the whole thing?

"Two guesses," you spit, not even bothering to look up at him as you consider rolling your eyes. The swift smack to your right buttcheek echoes through the room, making you jump.

"Manners princess," Fred admonishes, tutting at you as he rubs the prickling skin of your rear where he'd struck. You sigh out of frustration, wishing for once they would just listen and not have to joke around.

"Say please," he adds mockingly, only furthering your annoyance. You're half tempted to get off the bed and finish the job yourself, though it could never compare to them.

You won't say please and you won't give in. As much as you so desperately want them, want to be fucked out of your bad mood so you can reach that heavenly headspace you so craved, you wouldn't beg.

Another smack to your bum makes you gasp, his hands striking the exact same sensitive spot.

"What will it take hmm?" He says, caressing your sore bum. You feel his hands get lower and lower with each stroke until his fingers are sweeping past your opening, catching on your sensitive lips.

You cry out when his finger breaches your weeping hole, finding relief in his long and slender digits but it's still not enough. You need his cock like you need oxygen, both of their cocks if you're honest with yourself but you're not even getting one right now. You will not say it. You will not beg.

"You're dripping down my hand sweet girl, sure you won't just give in?" Fred says, pushing his fingers deep into you. You're silent, forcing yourself not to moan, getting dangerously close to breaking.

"Little brat," you hear one of them say sharply, though you're too focused in to know who it is.

"Goes away for 12 hours at work and this is how you return? Forgetting all your manners." It's George, you think. But he sounds closer now, had he moved? You can barely bring yourself to raise your head to check, the feeling of fred's fingers in you just too much.

"Fuck!" You cry out as you feel a harsh slap on your bum, the kind that stings instantly and leaves finger marks for the rest of the night. You know that it's George for certain now.

"See? Maybe you shouldn't be allowed to work anymore," Fred says, curving his fingers up into your pussy.

"Maybe we should just keep you here, let your husbands take care of you instead. Keep you here ready to take us whenever we like," George says darkly, moving to stand in front of you, his imposing figure creating a shadow that covers and looms over you.

"Knocking you up over and over again, always filled with one of us," Fred adds.

"Give in to us darling, then you'll get everything you need," George says with a surprisingly soft tone. It's a trap, it must be.

You think, desperate for more but still not willing to give up.

"Fine, be a brat." The shadow disappears and you scramble, only now realising that you might have pushed him too far, that you might be left completely unsatisfied.

Your eyes lock as you look up, his dangerous smirk directed straight at you. He knew exactly what he was doing and had weaved you into his little trap. Now you were really in for it.

"Come on baby straddle me," George says as he positions himself on the bed, holding out his hand for you, knowing your legs were wobbly at best. Fred had completely ruined you whilst George had watched with dangerously dark eyes, his gaze electrifying you. You were thoroughly fucked, dripping Fred's cum onto the bedsheets and already exhausted but your need for George was still much too overwhelming.

"Say please," you say in a breathy voice, using the last of your willpower to torment him one last time. The look on his face tells you that he very much did not appreciate your snark.

"Get on my fucking lap before you can't sit down for a week."

You cry out at the stretch as he enters you, shuddering as your walls clench around him tightly to accommodate him, even if Fred had already worked you up before. You're squirming in his lap, his cock pressed deep inside you to the point you're certain you can feel him in your tummy. His hands hold you in a bruising grip and you can tell he's holding himself back, sensing that you need time to adjust to him. When he finally begins to roll his hips, you throw your head back at the sensation. Godric he fills you completely. It feels like he's everywhere, not a single patch of your insides not stimulated by him. You cling to his shoulders, desperately grounding yourself as he begins to manoeuvre you, guiding your hips until you're riding him with increasing intensity.

He's using you like a sex doll for his own pleasure, directing your hips and controlling the speed until you're in a trance like state. You feel yourself slipping into your own headspace, your sense of reality beginning to slip away.

"This is what you needed baby? My big cock filling you like this?" George says, breaking your slight trance. His tone is slightly condescending but it only fuels your passion, hearing his sinful and dominating words.

"Can't hear you Angel..."'

You're both covered in sweat and fluids, partly yours, partly Fred's. It's sinful and utterly erotic, your own hips canting to match his as you feel the telltale tingle of your second climax on the horizon. You let out a loud chant of his name, each thrust making you want to cry out louder and so you plant your face into the crook of his neck to conceal your desperate need to scream. Your hips rock against his and you clench as you hear his own groans of pleasure, your fingers clinging onto his wide shoulders to anchor yourself to him.

His hand leaves your hip to pull you up forcefully to look at him, his thrusts momentarily stopping.

"Don't hide from me Angel, I want to hear every single sound you make. I want to hear the way you cry for me."

He lifts you up off of his cock with his strong arms and throws you down onto the bed, hardly giving you a moment to settle before he’s lifting your hips up to him, pulling you half onto his lap and ramming his cock back inside. You cry out, grabbing hold of the duvet for support as he fucks into you wildly. Your tits are freely bouncing and you can feel George’s hungry gaze upon them as he fucks up into you without abandon. He’s close, you can sense it, his eyebrows pulled together as he fights to hold back his climax.

You’re completely exposed like this, your body freely on display and vulnerable to his gaze, it’s so erotic. You feel a presence beside you and turn your head slightly to watch Fred appear on the bed, his eyes also drawn to your bouncing tits whilst his hand creeps across your tummy and down to your abandoned clit.

“We want you to cum again sweet girl, can you do that for us?” He says, stroking your clit with perfect precision even as George rails you.

“Give us one more,” Fred adds temptingly, his fingers never faltering on your swollen bud, your climax rapidly approaching as you feel warmth begin to spread through your body.

“One more load for you sweet girl, can you take it?”

“Yes fuck, please!” You cry out, the magic word finally being said.

They share a look of victory at your pleading, each of them knowing that they finally broke you. You’re fucked out, finally letting go of your inhibitions and allowing them to take complete control.

You let out a guttural moan, so pure and erotic that you’d be slightly embarrassed if you could fully comprehend as your orgasm crests, their hands and cocks working perfectly to get you off. You clench around George’s cock so tightly you can feel it pulsing within you.

George roars as he cums, filling you to the brim with his warmth, keeping his cock tucked deep inside as he practically breeds you.

You’re floating in the ether, with all thought of logic or consequence completely gone, finally fucked to the point that you can feel nothing but bliss. Your shitty day is forgotten, you only exist in this blissful piece of time tied only to your two husbands.

When you finally come back to earth, you’re snuggled between your two loves, with George pulling you into his chest. Fred works on cleaning you up with a flick of his wand before settling in beside you.

“Rough day?” Fred says, stroking your hair. George is monopolising your cuddles but he doesn’t mind, sensing that George needs this aftercare and grounding just as much as you. You simply nod on defeat, not wanting those thoughts to re-emerge in your head.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he says gently, “you never know, hopefully this time we actually have knocked you up and you won’t have to go back there at all.”

“My thoughts exactly,” George adds, sounding on the brink of sleep.

You can’t deny, it’s incredibly tempting.

[starsinthesky5]

Songbird and Joe keep things private and show what they want but do you think they’ll be a time they do things together together like interviews? More like Benny and Selena doing the Hot Ones together and viewers seeing how caring he is with her or something? Or GQ couple questions where they both ask each other questions. Idk I think it’ll be cute for their fans and viewers to see how much they know each other very well, care for each other etc.

a/n: thank you for sending this in! i love this concept so much

you are in love masterlist

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

yes—i 100% think they’d eventually get to a point where they do a few select things together, and it would be so special when they do. they’re private, but not secret. they’re intentional. and when they do share moments publicly, it’s because it’s something they’re genuinely excited about—not for PR, not to prove anything—just because it felt right. joe would never do something like this on his own—yes, he’s a little shy and awkward sometimes, but mostly because it’s just not his thing. and she’s selective, always careful about the interviews she says yes to, always weighing the vibe, the purpose, the timing. but together? together, none of that really matters.

because when it’s the two of them, it doesn’t feel like an interview. it doesn’t feel like press or promo or performance. it just feels like them. like another night on the couch, joking around and finishing each other’s sentences, except there happen to be cameras in the room. they’re in their own little world, locked in and tuned out from everything else. the nerves disappear. the pressure fades. it’s easy. it’s natural. and maybe that’s why people love it so much when they do show up together. because you can tell it’s not planned or polished—it’s just real. raw in the softest, most genuine way. like they forgot anyone else was watching.

a hot ones–style appearance would be so perfect for them—laid back, playful, but still intimate enough to let their dynamic steal the show. it’s the kind of setting where they could just be them, no pressure, no performance, just vibes. joe wouldn’t even make it past wing three. he’d poke at the sauce with suspicion, maybe take a tentative bite before immediately waving it off like, “nah, i’m good,” to dodge potential public humiliation, but her? she’d go for it. eyes watering, nose running, lips on fire, and still powering through without a hint of shame. just fully committed. fearless. chaotic.

and joe? he’d spend the whole time trying to take care of her.

he’s sliding her a glass of milk without her asking, brushing sauce off her cheek with a napkin like it’s second nature, hand resting on her thigh under the table like an anchor. at one point he probably mutters, “this is the last time i let you pick what interview we do,” under his breath, and she just grins through the spice like, “you knew what you were signing up for, joey. don't lie to yourself,”.

and the host would be struggling not to laugh, because between the pain and the flirting, the tension is off the charts—but it’s not performative. it’s not for the camera. it’s just them. the way they look at each other, the comfort in every small touch, how in tune they are even while their mouths are on fire.

and the audience would eat it up—devour it, really. they’d flood the comments and forums and twitter threads, gushing about how adorably intimate it all was, even with the cameras rolling and the whole world watching. like somehow, joe and her made a brightly lit studio feel like their kitchen at midnight. like everyone was intruding on something soft and sacred. they’d rave about how protective joe is of her, the way his hand never strays far from her, resting on her knee, brushing her hair behind her ear, offering her water like she hadn’t just downed three scorching wings like a champ. he’d be looking at the plate like the spicy wings had personally wronged him. like he needed to throw hands with the hot sauce for putting her through it.

it’d be funny and sweet and totally chaotic, but what people would remember most is the care. the way he’s always watching her out of the corner of his eye. the way she teases him but still leans into his touch. that quiet love that speaks louder than anything they could ever say.

and then something like GQ’s couples quiz? yeah. they’d kill it. you’d get the perfect mix of competitiveness and softness—her teasing him for not remembering the exact place where she wrote a song she wrote about him forever ago, and him absolutely crushing every question about her favorite snacks, childhood stories, or the way she takes her coffee.

they’d have so many moments where they look at each other like they’re the only people in the room. and there’d be moments joe is clearly watching her talk like he’s memorizing her all over again. fans would melt at how quiet he gets when she speaks, how he always leans in when she’s talking, like nothing else matters. he wouldn’t be super performative—he’s just not that guy—but it’s the way he listens that gives him away.

plus, you just know joe would end up saying something devastatingly sweet without even realizing it; because that’s who he is when it comes to her. they’d be sitting there, probably halfway through the quiz, laughing and teasing each other in that easy, affectionate way that feels so natural, so lived-in. then she’d ask, grinning as she read the next card, “what’s something i do that annoys you?”.

he wouldn’t answer right away. he’d tilt his head a little, pretending to think, even though the answer comes easy. not because she’s annoying—but because she’s her, and he knows her better than anyone. “…you’re incapable of not humming around the house,” he finally says, eyes flicking up to meet hers, amused.

she gasps, all mock offense. “you love it, joe. please,”.

and he doesn’t even hesitate before softening. “i do,” he says, in that quiet, matter-of-fact way of his. “i miss it when you’re gone,”.

that’s it. that one line. so simple, so unassuming—but you can feel how much he means it. it’s not just the humming. it’s her. her presence. her voice drifting down the hallway while she makes tea or folds laundry or wanders the kitchen barefoot in one of his hoodies. and when she’s not there, the silence feels just a little too loud.

cue the collective internet sighing in unison. tiktoks made. tweets spiraling. people saving the clip to rewatch every time they need to believe in love again.

because that’s the thing about joe and songbird. even in the middle of a lighthearted quiz, even when they’re joking and playfully roasting each other, love slips through the cracks. always.

and they wouldn’t do it things like this very often. maybe once every couple years or around a special project, maybe when quarterback comes out, when they do a joint project for some publication or brand. but every time they do show up like that? it’s authentic, warm, and leaves people obsessed with how well they love each other.

[paucubarsisimp]

hi!! I’m pretty sure your request are open, but if they’re not I’m sorry and you can ignore this 🙂

My request is a hector fort story in which they hang out together almost daily , (possibly during a class so somewhere) and reader is the type of person who is not used to be heard but instead listens to others. However hector listens whenever she rants about herself and one day he unexpectedly brings her a cold coffee because he remembers she likes them?

(sorry that was long) and I apologize if anything is spelled wrong I’m not super good at writing in English have a great day!!

quiet love

pairing: héctor fort x reader

summary: basically the request <3

warnings: none!

you’re not used to people listening to you.

not really. not in the way that feels like being heard.

it’s not that people are unkind, not exactly — it’s just that they ask how you are while checking their phones. they nod while you talk but don’t really follow. they give quick-fix advice or switch the subject when you start to talk about yourself in a way that’s too real.

so, somewhere along the line, you learned to shrink your thoughts down to bite-sized pieces. keep it breezy, keep it light. be the person who listens, not the one who needs to be listened to.

but héctor — he’s different.

it wasn’t something he said, really. it’s just in the way he’s quiet. not the awkward kind, but the good kind. the kind that makes you feel like you don’t need to fill the space to be worth sharing it.

he listens like your voice has gravity. like what you say is something he wants to understand, not something he’s waiting for you to finish.

you don’t even mean to say as much as you do that afternoon. you’re just sitting beside him after his training, your legs stretched out over the grass, his water bottle balanced between you both. the light is soft and golden, and the world feels far away.

you’re talking — kind of rambling — about how lately you feel like you’re too much and also not enough. how you always try to be easy to love, easy to talk to, easy to need. how people don’t really ask you how you are. and if they do, it’s just out of politeness — they don’t really want the answer.

you don’t mean to let your voice shake when you say, “i just… i don’t think people actually hear me when i talk about myself.”

but it does. just for a second.

and héctor, he doesn't rush in to tell you it’s not true. he doesn't give you a pep talk or a cliché. he just sits there, really still, like your words are something sacred.

he’s quiet for a beat.

then he says, “you make sense.”

three simple words. no drama. no fluff.

and somehow, they hit harder than anything anyone else has said in months.

he doesn’t look away. he just holds your gaze like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and he says it again, softer:

“i get it.”

you don’t expect him to remember the smaller things.

people rarely do. they forget the offhanded comments �� like the one you made about how cold coffee is your version of comfort. how drinking it makes you feel like you’ve got your life together, even if everything’s a bit of a mess. how you like it with almond milk and no sugar, just barely sweet, because too much feels fake.

you don’t even remember telling him that, if you’re honest. it was probably just a half-laugh during a rant you thought no one would retain.

but then, three days later, he walks toward you outside the gym — damp curls pushed back from his forehead, training bag slung over one shoulder — and he’s holding something in his hand.

a cold coffee.

your cold coffee.

he doesn’t say anything at first, just presses it gently into your hand like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. like he just happened to stop somewhere and remembered.

you stare at it. then at him.

“…this is my order,” you say, blinking. “this is exactly what i like.”

he shrugs a little, a small, quiet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “i remembered.”

you open your mouth to respond, but your throat is a little tight. you weren’t expecting to be surprised like this. softly.

it’s not a grand gesture. it’s not flowers or speeches or fireworks.

it’s so much better.

it’s someone showing you, in the smallest, most intentional way, that they see you.

“thank you,” you murmur, and he just nods.

like of course. like i’ll always listen. like this is what it means to care about someone.

you take a sip. it’s perfect. it tastes like everything you haven’t had the words for lately — gentle, seen, remembered.

and beside you, héctor is already reaching for your hand.

not to fix anything. not to distract you. just to be there. fully, quietly, and entirely.

and in that moment, you think maybe this — this kind of care — is what you’ve been waiting for all along

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay@joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @meganesanchez, @linnygirl09 lmk if you want to be added!

[tired-biscuit]

Fwb with yuuji who has always been your pretty sunshine kind gentle best friend. You expect the same care and silliness as he fucks you into the mattress and boy do you get it. But you also get incredibly skillful hands, lithe rough fingers curving perfectly inside you, unexpected bites in the curve of your shoulder, some mumbling about how pretty you look with his marks all over. You've never seen him like this, so beautiful and wet and flushed and high on you

18+ MDNI, fem!reader

divider credits: @/benkeibear

i think he goes out for a couple of drinks with some of his mates and then shows up at your doorstep, visibly tipsy and with that insufferably pretty smile on his face that immediately persuades you to invite him in.

despite being under the influence of alcohol, he’s still respectful. he places his sneakers next to your own as neatly as he’s able after he kicks them off in the hallway and watches you with blurry eyes as you step in front of him to unzip his winter jacket.

he snickers — boyishly so — when your hands touch his shoulders so that you can undress him, and doesn’t really provide a reason as to why he’s wound up at your place in the middle of the night. always one to wear his heart on his sleeve, he just tells you that he’s missed his girl, that’s all.

his cheeks are flushed pink as he calls you his. if it’s from the booze or from the chill outside, you’re unsure. so when you reach out to touch his face, he perks up and leans into it instead; kind of like a little kitty cat would rub against the hand of its owner.

he kisses the inside of your palm. your wrist. he’s so touchy when he’s buzzed and your skin smells nice, he notes, kind of like you’ve just showered. is that the reason why your hair is damp and you’ve got nothing else on but one of his t-shirts that you stole from him years ago; back when things weren’t as complicated between you and you were just friends, minus the benefits? probably.

you lean into him when his cold lips touch your skin, on instinct or because your heart tells you to do so — maybe both. he’s cold because the winter outside is harsh at this time of year, and because he had to stand in line to get you the pastry you like from the 24/7 bakery across the street, but now he’s growing warm fast, all over actually.

oh shit, the pastry!

“i got you a lil’ something,” he mumbles, speech slurred and easy-going as he’s reaching for his jacket so that he can rummage for the paper bag he’s about 85% percent sure he’d stuffed in his pocket after leaving the bakery.

however before he can, you’re on him. you kiss him gently out of gratitude for coming over not just for sex and because of the plain affection you hold for him, but he doesn’t expect it, so his back ends up pressing against the door with a soft thud.

they’re slow, the kisses. every minute of it feels like a millennium and you wouldn’t have it any other way. your tongue glides across his front teeth in that laggard way that heats his blood to higher temperatures, urging him to open his mouth wider. so he does, letting you taste the liquor.

it’s bitter but also kind of sweet — he must have taken a bite out of that ‘little something’ that he’s bought for you, it seems. nevertheless, saliva gets exchanged, your hands start to roam over his chest. his heart beats so fast during the entirety of it that it makes him groan into your mouth in a way that tickles your lips with the vibration the sound provokes.

your breathing grows quicker, meanwhile he’s already panting. he’s clumsy, his back is slightly hunched as he reaches down to grab the hem of your shirt and tries to tug it up so that he can touch naked skin instead. the bulge in his pants has become so prominent by now — it keeps pressing against your thigh whenever he squeezes your hips and pulls you closer.

“sorry, you’re just so—” he trails off, biting back a rather pathetic whimper when your hand wraps around the ridge of his cock. it twitches instantly under your touch, though only he can tell because of the denim that’s in the way. “you make me feel so… hot.”

his forehead is covered with a thin film of sweat as he rests it against your own. poor guy, he gets worked up so fast.

it’s the reason why you can barely contain the smile that’s tugging the corners of your lips upwards as you murmur, “you make me feel really hot, too, yuuji.”

it’s the truth. you’re feeling the heat in your tummy, feeling your panties sticking to your pussy because of the warm wetness steadily gathering there. your pulse is pounding in your ears with thrill.

and how couldn’t it? you’re still fairly new to this entire friends with benefits thing; every time you get down to business, it’s like an entire new world has opened for the both of you. you’ve known him for years, sure, but when the clothes come off, you’ve still got so much to learn about each other.

and it shows. as you look up at him, you realise that there is an entirely new side of your best friend staring back at you through hooded eyes and too-big pupils.

yuuji is needy, open, vulnerable. horny enough to fuck you on the floor in the middle of your hallway if you as much as said the word, but so caring that he’ll wait until morning if you’d rather have him be sober for it.

though judging by the way how your fingers are unbuckling his belt now, he guesses it’ll be the former.

[daryltwdixon]

also do u have advice for writing smut?! i really really want to make one and have a draft but i’m so so bad at describing the actual act as well as the build up towards it— like i know what plot i want to do and have a solid beginning typed out but it’s just so difficult going past that considering i’m so inexperienced with writing 🥲 thank uuu

First of all, it means so much to me that you trust me for writing advice! I am not a professional nor do I think I write smut as well as some of my fellow writers on here, but here is what I will tell you:

warnings: this post is nsfw below the cut

I think smut can be super overwhelming and hard to write well! Bringing a person into the sexual experience is tricky because there’s a fine line between “okay, now they’re fuckin’” and “oh my god, I feel everything they’re feeling, and it’s like I’m really there with them.”

One piece of advice I read once that really helped was to remember the five senses in writing. I find this especially important in smut!I

I kinda went off the deep end here cause you really got me thinking 🤓

Touch

What does their skin feel like? What does the reader’s skin feel like? What sensations run through the body?

Is he warm? Do his hands feel rough with callouses, or does he run smoother knuckles down my face as he caresses me?

Do I get goosebumps when he kisses my neck? What does his tongue feel like when he soothes the feeling of his teeth on my flesh?

Is he hot and sweaty, desperate? Or is this slow, gentle, and warm?

As someone who has had sex before, I often try to remember what something felt like when it was especially good—the way my thighs shake after coming down from an orgasm, how flushed my cheeks get, the ache in my muscles after being held just right.

Joel's hands are rough, broad, his fingers spanning the width of your ribs as he pulls you closer. There’s heat radiating off him, the kind that seeps into your skin, prickling up your spine. His palm drags down, calloused fingertips catching on the soft skin of your waist, like he’s memorizing the feel of you. 

Taste

This one is easy to forget but can seriously pull the reader into the moment.

When I kiss Joel, I taste whiskey or coffee on his tongue, the salt of sweat lingering on his upper lip from a long day.

When I kiss Daryl, I taste cigarettes, maybe even something metallic—he’s always biting the inside of his cheek.

When I kiss their neck, is it salty with sweat? Or do I faintly taste the Irish Spring soap they used last night?

Taste changes depending on placement—a dick in the mouth is gonna taste much more heady, salty, depending on cleanliness. Both of them would taste so masculine (imo, hot as hell) but in different ways.

Daryl's mouth is cigarettes and salt, the dull lingering taste of cheap beer still clinging to his tongue. When you kiss him deeper, there’s something rough beneath it, something metallic from all the times you saw him biting at his own lip, the taste of sweat and sun. He groans low in his throat, his fingers tightening at your waist, and when he pulls back, you can still taste the smoke, the heat, the grit of him.

Smell

This ties into taste, because our nose and mouths are often linked together to create one sense. Smell is also linked HEAVILY to memory, emotions, and attraction.

Instead of listing smells, describe how they affect the character. Does it make their stomach tighten? Does it trigger a memory? Does it make them dizzy with want?Layer smells together for realism.

Sweat doesn’t just smell like salt—it might mix with leather, gunpowder, or something more personal.

Use scent changes to track pacing—sweat, heat, breath, the lingering smell of sex afterward.

As you lean in, you catch the distinct smell of him, of your Joel. Warm skin, sun-baked sweat, and the lingering scent of sawdust and earth, it's enough to make your head spin with desire. He carries the scent of wood and sweat, the byproduct of long hours fixing fences, moving supplies, hauling weight over his shoulder. His shirt holds onto the faintest trace of laundry soap, worn thin from too many washes, but beneath it all is him—something clean, masculine, steady.

Sight

Of course, this is a big part of explaining smut. Sight gives the reader something to follow in a scene. It’s about body language, micro-expressions, the way desire changes someone’s face.

Don’t just say what the character looks like—show how they react. A character’s body tells a story. How their chest rises, how their hands shake, how their eyes darken.

Make use of focus. What’s the reader paying attention to? A clenched jaw, the way their partner’s fingers dig into their skin, the way their body tightens before they moan?

Daryl’s mouth is kiss-bruised, swollen from where you’ve been biting at his lips. His hair clings to his forehead, damp with sweat, his cheeks flushed, but his eyes—his eyes are locked onto yours, dark, sharp, hungry. His hands are gripping you too tight, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, but when you roll your hips, his head tilts back, his throat bobbing as he lets out a breathless, wrecked moan.

Sound

other than dirty talk (of course my personal fave) what kind of sounds are we making?

Think about sound variety. It’s not just moans—it’s grunts, gasps, growls, the rustling of sheets, the creak of a bed, the hitched breath between words.

Use sound to show loss of control. We know Joel and Daryl are pretty stoic, quiet men. So when they start out just breathy and quiet but then eventually they make noises like whimpers, curses, groans and growling. Whewwwwwyyyyyy

Dirty talk is sound too. Think about how it’s said—breathy? Rough? Stuttered? Is their voice cracking?

He’s not loud. Not at first. But you feel every sound he makes—the way his breath stutters, the way his chest shakeswith every exhale. When you drag your nails down his back, his jaw clenches, his hips jerking up involuntarily. He growls, deep and low, his voice gravelly as he mutters, “That what you want, darlin’?” But when you clench around him, slow and teasing, he finally breaks—a wrecked, shaky groan, his head dropping forward, his forehead pressing against yours as he grits out, “Fuck.”

HOWEVER. Adding descriptive words like these only make sense if you have reasoning for them. What emotions do they tie to the experience for the reader x Joel/Daryl? Just like in any fic, sensory details in smut should serve a purpose beyond just making the scene feel “hot.” It’s not enough to describe touch, taste, and sound for the sake of it—those sensations should be tied directly to the characters, their emotions, and the tension between them.

For characters like Joel and Daryl, who aren’t overtly expressive or traditionally romantic, the way they touch, react, and move says more than words ever could. What they do, how they do it, and what they don’t do all carry weight. Sensory details should showcase their personalities, their dynamic with the other person, and the emotional undercurrent beneath the physical act.

Joel isn’t someone who spouts flowery praise or gets lost in the moment—he’s gruff, restrained, but deeply physical. His touch is deliberate, heavy, his body language always saying more than his words do.

Instead of just describing how he grips her hips, think about what that grip means—is he steadying himself, like he doesn’t want to lose control? Or is it possessive, grounding, a silent way of saying you’re mine because he won’t let himself say it out loud?

Daryl is rough around the edges, but there’s a quiet intensity to him. He doesn’t have the same verbal restraint as Joel (though I’d argue they are similar) but he’s gruff, hesitant in his own way, always balancing between rough and careful because he doesn’t always trust himself with softness. (Cries into pillow)

The way he tugs you closer isn’t just about proximity—it’s about need, about how he doesn’t always ask for things, but right now, he’s taking what he wants.

Smut isn’t just about bodies meeting—it’s about what’s being said without words. Whether it’s slow and reverent, rough and frantic, or taunting and full of defiance, the way they touch, hesitate, take, or surrender is what makes it feel real. The physical act is important, but the reason behind it is what makes it linger.

Whewyyyyy anon! Hope this got your gears turning and inspires some good smut!!! Love you!!

[lila-lou]

✨Rise and Shine, Darling - 2/5✨

Summary: You play for the love of it. He hears something more. A chance meeting, a shared song, and a connection neither of you expected. Music brought you together. Now it might change everything.

-requested-

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 5351

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 🩷

The days after that first studio session had been filled with texts—mostly about music.

Jensen wasn’t the kind of guy to text back and forth all day, and you weren’t the type to push for conversation. But somehow, it happened anyway. Ideas for melodies, song structures, lyric inspiration—it all flowed easily between you. Sure, sometimes something personal slipped in—like him sending you a picture of the ridiculous coffee he made that morning, or you mentioning how you nearly missed a flight to Tennessee—but it was always music that pulled you back.

Then four weeks passed.

You had finished your gigs in Tennessee, played your heart out for new crowds, and when you finally returned to Austin, it wasn’t even a question—you and Jensen were going to meet up again. And then it happened again. And again.

Neither of you talked about why it kept happening. Neither of you questioned the way you worked so damn well together, how easy it was to fall into rhythm, how every session turned into hours that felt like minutes.

Now, you sat across from each other in his studio once more, both with a notepad in hand, working on your first song together. A love song. Neither of you had actually said that’s what it was, but as the lyrics started forming between you, there was no denying it.

“Alright”, Jensen said, leaning back in his chair, tapping his pen against the pad of paper. “We’ve got a solid melody, but what the hell is this song actually about?”.

You smirked, biting your lip. “You mean besides the obvious?”.

He raised a brow. “And what’s the obvious?”.

You flipped through your notes, reading back some of the lines you had jotted down.

“I wasn’t looking, but somehow you’re here…”. “I tell myself it’s nothing, but damn, it’s getting clear…”. “Every time you leave, I swear it don’t feel right…”.

Jensen exhaled, running a hand over his face. “Shit”. You chuckled. “Yeah”.

Neither of you had intended to write about this—about whatever had been quietly growing between you since that first night. But here it was. Written in ink, undeniable.

Jensen set his notepad down, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, so… hypothetically speaking—if we were writing about two people who were, I don’t know, pretending this thing wasn’t happening between them…”.

You leaned back against the couch, twirling your pen between your fingers. “Alright, so hypothetically speaking… what would these two people be feeling?”.

Jensen grinned, but there was something thoughtful in his expression. He tapped his pen against the notepad, gaze flickering to the lyrics scattered between you. “Well, if they’re pretending there’s nothing there, then there’s gotta be some denial, right? Like, maybe one of them keeps making excuses for why they keep coming back. And the other… maybe they don’t even realize why they keep letting them”.

You nodded, scribbling a note. “Okay, so something like…”. You hesitated for a second, then spoke the words as they came to you. "I tell myself it’s nothing, but you’re under my skin…".

Jensen’s head snapped up, his green eyes lighting up. “That’s good”. You grinned. “Yeah?”

He nodded, already picking up his guitar and strumming a soft melody beneath the words. “Yeah. And maybe the next line… something like… `One foot out the door, but I’m walking back in…’”.

You froze for half a second, the words hitting you in a way you couldn’t quite place. Something about them felt too real—like a mirror you weren’t ready to look into. But instead of questioning it, you just nodded. “I like that”.

For the next hour, you and Jensen fell into a rhythm, bouncing lyrics back and forth, each line coming easier than the last. Every word felt effortless, like the song was already there, just waiting to be put on paper.

It was all there—the push and pull, the hesitation, the magnetic pull between two people who refused to acknowledge what was right in front of them.

At one point, Jensen sat back with a chuckle, shaking his head. “You ever get the feeling a song’s writing you instead of the other way around?”.

You laughed, stretching your legs out in front of you. “Yeah. This one’s kinda eerie, though. Like… how the hell do we know exactly what this feels like?”.

Jensen shrugged, strumming a soft chord. “Guess we’re just that good”.

You smirked. “Or maybe we’ve both been there before”.

“Maybe”, he agreed, but there was something unreadable in his expression—like a flicker of realization that almost surfaced before he brushed it away.

Neither of you said it out loud, but the truth sat between you like an unspoken lyric. You weren’t writing about someone else. You were writing about yourselves. And neither of you had figured it out yet.

Another session. Another day in the studio.

By now, meeting up with Jensen felt routine, like something you did without thinking, without questioning why it kept happening. It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t scheduled, it was just… natural.

The song was coming together faster than either of you expected.

You sat cross-legged on the studio couch, a notepad balanced on your knee, while Jensen plucked at his guitar, fine-tuning a chord progression. The two of you had been at it for hours, tossing around lyrics, adjusting the melody, getting lost in the process.

You had just started humming a new line when Jensen’s phone, sitting on the edge of the coffee table, started buzzing. He glanced at it, about to ignore it, but then the screen lit up with a FaceTime call. JJ.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the phone and answered. “Hey, baby girl”.

Your heart stuttered. You knew Jensen had kids. But this was the first time you’d actually seen that side of him. And it threw you off completely.

On the screen, a little girl’s face lit up, her blonde curls slightly messy, dimples showing as she grinned. “Daddy!”.

Jensen’s entire posture shifted. His features softened, his voice warmed, and for a second, the man across from you wasn’t the guy you had been writing love songs with—he was a dad. “Whatcha doin’, bug?”, he asked, leaning back into the couch.

“Mommy let me have extra screen time”, JJ announced proudly. “And I wanted to call you!”-

Jensen chuckled. “Well, I’m glad you did. What’d you do today?”.

As JJ launched into a full, excited story about some game she had played with her siblings, Jensen listened intently, nodding along, asking questions. You couldn’t look away. This wasn’t something you were used to. You had spent so much time with Jensen the musician, Jensen the creative. But this? Jensen the father? It was… something else.

It shouldn’t have made your chest tighten. It shouldn’t have made you smile. But it did. You kept quiet, not wanting to intrude on the moment, but as JJ continued rambling, her eyes suddenly flickered toward the screen, and she noticed you.

Her tiny face scrunched in confusion. “Who’s that?”.

Jensen blinked, glancing over at you as if remembering you were there. Then he smirked, turning the camera slightly. “That’s Y/N. We’re working on a song together”.

JJ’s eyes widened. “You’re making a song?”.

You smiled, waving a little. “Yep! Your dad’s pretty good at it”.

JJ gasped dramatically. “I know! Daddy sings in the car all the time”.

Jensen groaned, covering his face with his hand. “JJ…”.

She giggled. “It’s true!”.

You laughed, unable to help it. “I believe you”.

JJ beamed. Then, before Jensen could stop her, she leaned closer to the camera, stage-whispering, “Are you Daddy’s girlfriend?”.

Your entire body froze.

Jensen’s eyes widened. “JJ!”.

“What?”, JJ giggled, completely innocent. “You said she’s pretty”.

Oh. Oh. You didn’t know whether to laugh, blush, or crawl under the couch. Meanwhile, Jensen let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head. “Alright, bug, I think it’s bedtime”.

JJ pouted. “But—”.

“Nope”, he cut in quickly, eyes flicking to yours for half a second. “Say goodnight”.

JJ huffed but gave you another mischievous grin. “Bye, pretty lady!”.

Before you could respond, Jensen hung up the call, tossing his phone onto the couch beside him. A heavy silence followed. You were still reeling. JJ’s innocent question had stirred something—something you weren’t ready to unpack.

Jensen ran a hand through his hair, groaning. “Jesus”.

You finally found your voice, teasing, “So… you think I’m pretty?”.

Jensen groaned again, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I said you’re pretty talented”, he corrected quickly, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. “Kids just… they hear what they wanna hear”.

You smirked, tilting your head. “Mhm. Sure”.

He shot you a pointed look. “Don’t start”.

But you weren’t about to let him off that easy. “Hey, I’m not the one getting flustered because my kid just called me out”, you teased, crossing your arms.

“I’m not flustered”.

“Uh-huh”.

Jensen exhaled, shaking his head, but there was the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “JJ’s got no filter. If she has a thought, she says it. No warning, no hesitation—just right out into the world”.

You laughed softly. “Honestly? Kind of admire that”.

He huffed. “Yeah, well, she also thinks I’m a superhero, so I wouldn’t take everything she says too seriously”. There was something fond in his tone, something unshakably warm when he talked about her, and damn, if that didn’t make your stomach twist just a little.

You tapped your pen against your notepad, deciding to steer the conversation back to safer territory. “So, what now? Are we gonna pretend that didn’t just happen, or do we write a song about it?”.

Jensen let out a dry laugh, picking up his guitar again. “Oh yeah, because nothing screams hit song like ‘My Kid Just Called Me Out’”.

You grinned. “Could be a country song”.

He rolled his eyes, but you saw it. The way his shoulders relaxed, the tension from JJ’s little slip-up fading as he settled back into something more comfortable. Jensen strummed a few aimless chords, his voice casual. “Look, let’s just finish the song. We’re almost there anyway”.

You nodded, picking up your pen again. “Alright, but just so you know… I’m totally telling JJ next time I see her that you were blushing”.

He stopped playing. “I was not blushing”, he argued immediately.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you totally were”.

“Y/N”, he warned.

You grinned, enjoying this way too much. “Relax, big boy. Your secret’s safe with me”.

He shook his head, muttering under his breath before shifting the focus firmly back to the song. But something had shifted. JJ’s words still lingered, even as you both pushed forward. And maybe, neither of you were ready to admit that she had hit a little too close to the truth.

Another hour passed, the music flowing between you both like second nature. It was easy—too easy, really. The song was nearly finished, the melodies in place, and the lyrics? They told a story neither of you had dared to admit was your own.

But right now, Jensen’s stomach had other plans. A loud growl broke through the quiet, and you snorted, glancing up from your notepad. “Was that you?”.

Jensen groaned, rubbing his face. “Unfortunately, yeah. Guess I forgot to eat today”.

You smirked, setting your pen down. “Wow. Can’t remember basic survival skills?”.

He shot you a look. “I don’t need a lecture, I need a burger”.

You laughed but leaned back against the couch, watching as he carefully set his guitar in its stand. It was still a little surreal, sitting here with him, watching him as just a guy, not the larger-than-life version of himself the world knew.

A few days ago, you had finally found out exactly who he was.

At first, it had thrown you completely off balance. You had gone home, done your research, and realized exactly what kind of career this man had. The shows, the conventions, the fanbase that still adored him even years after Supernatural ended.

It had intimidated the hell out of you. You were just a nobody in comparison. A musician trying to make it in an industry that ate people alive.

But when you saw him the next day, he had immediately caught on to the shift in your energy. You weren’t sure how, but he had. “You’re acting weird”, he had said, leaning against the counter with that knowing smirk. “What happened?”.

You had tried to play it off, but eventually, you admitted, “I Googled you”.

And instead of getting awkward about it, Jensen had just laughed. A real, belly-deep laugh that had made you roll your eyes. “Damn. Knew this day would come”.

After that, he had put you at ease within minutes. Made sure you understood that yeah, he had a career, but that didn’t mean you weren’t just as important in your own right.

And now, a few days later, the nerves were gone. It was just you and Jensen. Writing. Singing. Arguing about lyrics. Giving each other shit. Still, as he stretched out, arms behind his head, you found yourself curious. “So”, you said, tilting your head. “When do you leave for that convention?”.

Jensen let out a breath, rolling his shoulders. “Couple of days”.

“Where’s this one?”.

“Chicago”.

You hummed. “And what exactly do you do at these things? Just sign autographs and take pictures?”.

Jensen smirked. “That, and answer very serious questions like ‘What’s Dean Winchester’s favorite pie flavor?’”.

You snorted. “Oh yeah, that sounds exhausting”.

“You have no idea”, he deadpanned, but the fondness in his voice betrayed him.

You studied him for a second, realizing something. “You actually love it, don’t you?”.

Jensen didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah. I do”.

There was no arrogance in his tone. No forced humility, either. Just honesty. And you respected the hell out of that. You nodded. “That’s pretty cool”.

Jensen raised a brow. “Yeah? You don’t think it’s weird?”

You smirked. “Oh, it’s definitely weird. But, like… the good kind of weird”.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll take that”.

Silence fell between you for a moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that came when two people were just comfortable existing in the same space. Then, Jensen stretched his arms again, sighing. “Alright, I need food. You coming, or am I gonna have to suffer alone?”.

You grinned, grabbing your jacket. “Depends. Are you paying?”.

He scoffed. “Please. I’ve seen your guitar case, I know how much cash you’re pulling in”.

You rolled your eyes but stood anyway. “Fine. But I’m picking the place”.

Jensen smirked. “Deal”.

Jensen had insisted on staying low-key, so instead of sitting down at a restaurant, the two of you grabbed takeout from a small burger joint a few blocks from the studio. You had quickly learned that privacy meant everything to him—especially when it came to being seen in public with someone new.

He hadn’t made a big deal out of it, just explained it casually while waiting for your food. “You know how it is”, he had said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Cameras, rumors… doesn’t take much for the media to run wild with something that isn’t even real”.

You had nodded, understanding. “Yeah, last thing I need is some headline calling me ‘Jensen Ackles’ mystery woman`”.

He had huffed a laugh. “Exactly”.

Now, back inside the studio, you sat across from him at the small coffee table, unwrapping your food while the low hum of classic rock played softly in the background. It was comfortable—easy. Jensen took a big bite of his burger before letting out a satisfied groan. “Damn. I needed this”.

You laughed, shaking your head. “What, don’t eat real food often?”.

He smirked. “Not as much as I should”.

Silence fell for a beat, but not awkward—just the kind that happens when two people settle in. Then, the conversation drifted. Not about music this time. Not about lyrics or chord progressions or melodies. Just life.

Jensen told you about growing up in Texas. You told him about your family, about how you had always known music was it for you. “I don’t think I ever had a backup plan”, you confessed. “Guess I should’ve, huh?”. He shook his head. “Nope. If you had a backup plan, you might’ve used it”. That made you smile.

Then, in between bites of food, you let it slip. “I actually just got my first real offer for a deal”. Jensen froze mid-bite, blinking at you. “Wait—what?”.

You shrugged, trying to downplay it. “Yeah. Some label reached out after one of my Tennessee gigs. Said they’re interested, but nothing’s final yet”.

Jensen set his food down, suddenly all in. “That’s huge”.

You scoffed. “It’s something”.

“No, Y/N, it’s big.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “What label?”.

You told him the name, watching as he mulled it over. After a moment, he nodded. “They’ve got a good reputation. Solid roster. You thinking about it?”.

You hesitated. “I don’t know. I mean, I always said I wouldn’t just sign the first deal that came my way, but…”. You exhaled. “It’s tempting. Stability, resources, a team backing me up—it’s a lot”.

Jensen studied you for a moment, then said, “What’s your gut telling you?”.

You glanced down at your half-eaten burger, thinking hard. Your gut? Your gut was telling you this moment—sitting in a private studio at 11 PM, eating takeout with a guy who somehow felt like he’d always been in your life—felt a hell of a lot more real than any contract ever could. But you couldn’t say that.

So instead, you looked up and answered honestly. “I don’t know yet”.

Jensen nodded, like he respected that. “Good. Don’t rush it”.

His voice was steady, reassuring. Not pushing, not overstepping. Just genuine.

And maybe that’s why you suddenly felt the urge to say, “Wouldn’t be the worst thing to have someone like you helping me figure it out”.

Jensen’s lips quirked, something unreadable in his eyes. “Well, lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere”.

Something in your chest tightened. Neither of you addressed it. Instead, Jensen grabbed another fry, smirking like the moment hadn’t just shifted. “Now eat your damn food, rockstar”, he teased. “Can’t have you passing out before we finish this song”.

And just like that, the conversation slipped back into something familiar.

But later—long after the food was gone, after you had left the studio, after Jensen was home alone in his quiet house—he found himself thinking about that moment again. And wondering why the hell it mattered so much.

It had been weeks since that night in the studio. Since late-night takeout and quiet conversations that stuck with you long after you left. Since Jensen had casually—too casually—told you he wasn’t going anywhere. And somehow, you believed him.

Now, you were back in his studio, sitting with him on the couch, whiskey glasses in hand, celebrating the fact that your first song together was finally recorded.

Jensen had brought in a friend—a producer he trusted—to help lay it down properly. And damn, if it didn’t sound better than you ever imagined.

Now, as the final mastered version played softly in the background, you took a sip of your drink, letting the warm burn of whiskey settle in your chest.

Jensen exhaled, swirling his own glass. “Gotta admit… this turned out better than I expected”.

You smirked. “Wow. Such high expectations”.

He chuckled, tilting his head. “Nah, you know what I mean. I figured it’d be good, but this?”. He gestured vaguely toward the speakers, where your voices blended seamlessly. “This is something else”.

You grinned, leaning your head back against the couch. “Yeah. It is”.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke—just sat there, letting the weight of what you had made sink in. Then, Jensen shifted slightly beside you, clearing his throat. “So…”, he started, casual. Too casual. “Saw that picture you posted the other day”.

You blinked, looking over at him. “Huh?”.

“On Instagram”, he said, taking a slow sip of whiskey. “That one with you and… what’s his name?”. It took you a second before you realized what he was talking about. “Oh”, you said, snorting. “You mean Miles?”.

Jensen lifted a shoulder, trying to seem nonchalant. “Yeah. That guy”.

You smirked, watching him carefully. “You stalking my Instagram, Ackles?”.

He scoffed. “Please. It just popped up”.

“Mhm. Right”.

He rolled his eyes, taking another drink. “So, what’s the deal with him?”.

You raised a brow. “You asking if I’m dating him?”.

Jensen didn’t look at you when he answered. “Just wondering”.

Something about the way he said it—casual, but not quite as detached as he wanted it to be—made you bite back a smile. “Nah”, you finally answered. “Miles is just a friend. Another singer I met in Tennessee. We played a couple gigs together, that’s all”.

Jensen nodded, staring into his glass like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. “Figured”.

“Did you?”, you teased.

He shot you a look. “I was just curious”.

“Right”.

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t tense. If anything, there was something almost amusing about the way Jensen was so obviously trying not to make it a thing.

You let him sit in it for a moment before leaning in slightly. “Why?”.

His gaze flicked to yours. “Why what?”.

You smirked. “Why’d you ask?”.

He paused. Just for a second. Then, with a smirk of his own, he tipped his glass toward you. “Just making sure you don’t have terrible taste in men”, he said smoothly.

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous”.

Jensen grinned, but something in his expression was different. A little too satisfied with your answer, a little too relaxed now that he knew Miles was just a friend. And you? You noticed. You noticed everything.

The way he leaned back into the couch, shoulders looser than before. The way he took a slow sip of his whiskey, as if his interest in the conversation had suddenly vanished. The way his smirk almost covered up whatever had been sitting behind his curiosity. And you couldn’t resist.

Tilting your head slightly, you swirled your drink, letting your voice slip into something playful. “Besides”, you mused, pretending to be completely casual, “Miles is kinda too old for me anyway”.

Jensen froze for just a second. It was barely noticeable—the slight pause before he lifted his glass to his lips, the flicker of something in his eyes before he covered it up. But you caught it.

He took a sip, then raised an eyebrow. “Too old?”.

You shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, he’s thirty-five”.

Jensen’s jaw twitched. “Huh”.

You bit back a grin. Thirty-five. Ten years younger than Jensen. You had dropped it deliberately, just to see how he’d react. And damn, if it wasn’t entertaining as hell watching him try to play it cool.

Jensen set his drink down, stretching an arm over the back of the couch, his fingers drumming idly against the cushion. “So, what’s the cut-off then?”, he asked, voice perfectly neutral. “At what point is a guy too old?”.

You smirked, leaning into it. “Oh, I don’t know… thirty-seven? Maybe thirty-eight?”.

His fingers stilled. You nearly lost it right then and there. Jensen let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “You’re a little shit, you know that?”.

You grinned. “Just messing with you, Ackles”.

He huffed, grabbing his whiskey again. “Uh-huh”.

Silence fell again, but this time, it was charged. You could feel it crackling between you, humming in the air like a song waiting to be played.

Jensen rolled his shoulders, exhaling deeply. “You really think thirty-five is old?”.

You laughed. “Oh, now you wanna have this conversation?”.

“Just trying to understand your expert analysis on aging”, he deadpanned.

You smirked. “Okay, fine. Thirty-five isn’t old. But for me? It’s up there”.

He squinted at you, lips twitching. “Uh-huh. And yet, here you are. Writing songs with someone way past your so-called cut-off”.

You leaned back into the couch, sipping your whiskey slowly, pretending to consider his words. “Well”, you said, drawing it out, “dating someone and spending time with someone are two different things”.

Jensen’s lips twitched. “Oh yeah?”.

“Mhm”. You nodded, your tone casual—too casual. “I mean, just because you’re fun to hang out with doesn’t mean I’d date someone your age”.

His eyebrow twitched, but he didn’t take the bait immediately. Instead, he matched your energy perfectly. Jensen exhaled through his nose, taking another sip of his drink before speaking. “So let me get this straight”, he said smoothly. “I’m good enough to spend hours alone with—writing songs, late-night studio sessions, drinking whiskey, having deep conversations—but if I so much as took you on an actual date, that’d be crossing the line?”.

You bit back a grin. Oh, he was good. “Exactly”, you teased, watching him over the rim of your glass.

Jensen let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Damn. That’s cold, sweetheart”.

You shrugged, all fake innocence. “Hey, I don’t make the rules”.

Jensen shifted, resting an arm on the back of the couch again, his body turning slightly toward you. “Yeah? Then what are the rules?”.

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Well, for one, older guys are usually too… I don’t know, set in their ways. Less open to new experiences”.

Jensen laughed, full and deep. “That so?”.

“Mhm”, You smirked. “They just don’t have the stamina to keep up”.

Jensen’s grin sharpened instantly. And you knew the second you saw that look that you had just set yourself up for something. He took his time finishing his drink, setting the empty glass down before turning his full attention to you. Then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, he said, “Sweetheart, if there’s one thing I’m not lacking, it’s stamina”.

Your breath hitched. Just slightly. But Jensen noticed. You saw it in the way his smirk deepened, in the way his eyes flickered with something just beneath the surface.

Alright, fine. He wanted to play? Two could play.

You met his gaze, tapping your fingers lightly against your own glass. “Oh, I’m sure that’s what they all say”.

Jensen exhaled a short laugh, shaking his head. “That’s adorable”.

You feigned offense. “What?”.

“The fact that you think I’d be one of them”. His voice dipped slightly, lower, rougher. “Trust me, sweetheart, I don’t say shit I can’t back up”.

Your stomach flipped. Oh. Okay. You had been teasing him just for fun—but now? Now it was something else. Something thick in the air, settling between you like a slow-burning fire. You licked your lips, watching him carefully. “That so?”.

Jensen hummed, leaning back with that same infuriating smirk. “Mhm”.

You tilted your head, considering him. “Shame I’ll never know if that’s true”.

Jensen chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, real shame”.

He didn’t break eye contact. That damn smirk of his stayed right in place—relaxed, confident, like he had all the time in the world to see how far this would go.

And you? You weren’t about to be the first one to blink.

You leaned in slightly, resting your elbow on the back of the couch, letting your fingers lightly trace along the rim of your glass. “You know”, you mused, tilting your head just enough that the space between you shrunk, “for someone who doesn’t seem to care what I think… you sure are putting in a lot of effort right now”.

Jensen chuckled, low and deep. “Oh, this isn’t effort”.

You raised a brow. “No?”.

He shook his head, slow and deliberate. “Nope”. His gaze dropped—just for a second. Just long enough to flicker over your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Trust me, sweetheart. If I was putting in effort, you’d know”.

You reached out, letting your fingers drift over the fabric of his sleeve—barely touching, just enough to make him aware of it.

Jensen’s breathing slowed. But he didn’t move away. Your fingers trailed up—lazy, teasing—just the slightest brush of skin against skin as you traced along his forearm, barely skimming his wrist. “And what would effort look like, exactly?”, you asked, voice soft, curious.

Jensen hummed, tilting his head. “You really wanna know?”.

You smirked, your fingers still idly tracing patterns against his skin. “Enlighten me”.

Jensen’s free hand lifted—slowly, deliberately. He didn’t rush. Didn’t grab. Just let his fingers skim along the outside of your knee, featherlight.

And damn it, you felt that everywhere. Your stomach tightened, heat spreading through your limbs too easily, too quickly.

Jensen must have noticed because his smirk deepened just slightly. His thumb brushed once—just once—over your knee, casual as hell. “Effort”, he murmured, his voice just a little rougher, “would mean I’m actually trying”.

You swallowed, keeping your composure. Barely. “And this isn’t trying?”.

His fingers drifted higher—so, so slightly—just to the edge of your thigh. “Not even close”.

Your breath hitched, but you held his gaze, refusing to look away. “Good to know”, you said, voice steady, even as your pulse pounded.

Jensen chuckled again, low and knowing. “Mhm”.

The whiskey was doing its job. You could feel it. The warmth spreading, the way everything felt just a little looser, a little bolder. “You really think that’d be a shame?”, you murmured, tilting your head slightly, just enough to get closer.

Jensen let out a low chuckle, but there was something rougher beneath it now, something that wasn’t just playful anymore. “I think you already know the answer to that”.

His voice had dropped—lower, slower, that gravelly edge making your skin heat.

And hell if the whiskey wasn’t working overtime now.

Because you were leaning in just slightly, drawn in by that undeniable pull that had been sitting between you for weeks, growing stronger with every teasing remark, every late-night studio session, every damn second spent in each other’s space.

And Jensen? He wasn’t moving away. He was watching you, waiting, testing you in the same way you were testing him. His breath was warm against your lips, the scent of whiskey and something undeniably him making your head spin.

“You’re still holding back”. It wasn’t a question. It was an observation.

You swallowed, heart hammering. “And what if I am?”.

Jensen’s smirk didn’t falter, but his eyes darkened slightly.

“If you weren’t…”. His fingers traced up, barely skimming over your thigh, slow and teasing, his touch warm against your skin. “…we wouldn’t be talking right now”.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Part 3

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[loko4koko]

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ Bokuto Koutarou x f!reader x Miya Atsumu ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

>fanart_credit (l->r): kurolah, __kiyomaru

MDNI 18+

>word_count: 1530

>contents: biting, brief sweat/armpit fetish, panty stealing/used panty fetish, bokuto and atsumu masturbate in the same room (gay tendencies), non-consensual photo/videography, sharing of said non-consensual images, voyeurism, masturbation (m! and f!receiving), mentions of squirting, non-explicit cunnilingus, multiple orgasms (f!receiving), double penetration in 2 holes, fingering, anal (f!receiving), creampies, mentions of bo and tsum sucking each other off 😋

roommates!bokuto and atsumu, who are filthy little devils- not in measure of cleanliness (usually) but in depravity. they’re the textbook definition of perverted and you, their precious little roomie, are the main target of their lewd and lascivious behavior.

roommates!bokuto and atsumu, who are way too handsy- they poke and prod at you, they wrestle you down to the nearest surface and tickle you until you cry laughing. they aren’t above biting, either- quick to hold you down and bite the soft skin of your thighs, hips, and belly. not their faults you’re so much smaller and weaker than they are, not their faults you make it so easy. it doesn’t even stop in public; the last time you’d gone shopping atsumu took your bags in what you’d thought was a sweet gesture, only for bokuto to swoop in and pick you up, carrying you over his shoulder with his hand squeezing at your ass.

roommates!bokuto and atsumu, who practically live at the gym and not with you. and god, they’re so gross sometimes—they love to suffocate you between them as soon as they come home from a rigorous workout, your face pressed up into their sweaty, muscular pecs. it’s even worse when atsumu decides he wants to play a mean prank, wrapping himself around you with a wicked grin and sticking your face into his damp armpit, the smell of his sweat and deodorant co-mingling in your nostrils. you hate that you kind of like it, but you’d never tell them that.

roommates!bokuto and atsumu, who take up most of the space on the couch during movie nights. their thighs are huge—pounds of muscle that are definitely bigger than your head—so you usually end up on someone’s lap. they’ll fight over you and who you get to sit on; atsumu will get all mean and bokuto will get all pouty when they think you’ve been spending too much time with the other. you try to compromise by lying across both of their laps and they’re satisfied, smiling stupidly as atsumu pets your head and bokuto smooths his hands across your thigh.

roommates!bokuto and atsumu, who, despite fighting over you, love to get off with your panties. they work together like bandits, one—usually atsumu—keeping you in conversation with a story he pulled out of his ass while the other disappears to your room, grinning as he hits the x that marks the spot: your dirty laundry. he knows he’s struck gold when what he wants is right on top of the pile. it’s a thong, a real cute one with little cherries all over it- but that’s not important. what is important is that it’s the one you’d just worn to the gym.

roommates!bokuto and atsumu, who hide out in atsumu’s room late after you’ve gone to sleep. they’ll sit across from each other, atsumu on his bed and bokuto on the chair, tossing the soiled pair of panties back and forth as they jerk off together. they pant and hiss, wet slaps of their fists hitting their heavy balls and beefy thighs. they’re unabashed- eyes on each other as they lift the thong to their faces in tandem, cursing as they thumb at the drooling slits of their cocks. they both cum so hard that night- rippling abs painted with milky white lines as their chests heave; boyish, lustful and adrenaline-laced grins on their faces.

roommates!bokuto and atsumu, who trade upskirts and pics of your ass that they take throughout each day. they know it’s wrong and that they shouldn’t, but they can’t help it! seeing a photo of your perky little ass peeking out from under your big t-shirt (bokuto notices it’s actually his shirt; makes him tingle with possessiveness) as you nap on your bed just gets them so hard, they have to keep taking more for their collection. it’s not like they let anyone else see- it’s just that if atsumu walks past your room while your bent over trying to get something that rolled under your bed, he’s gonna quietly pull his phone out and snap a few photos. you’ve given him the perfect view of your panty-clad pussy and ass, who would he be to not take advantage of it? and what kind of man would he be if he didn’t share those delicious images with his best friend-slash-roommate?

roommates!bokuto and atsumu, who take you to the gym with them so they can “teach” you how to use the equipment. they show you how to deadlift and how to work different muscles and how to engage your core- all too convenient excuses to press themselves up on you, broad and solid and hard against your back, and to get their hands all over you in your tight little workout outfit. and when they offer to help you stretch? well, they’re just being good friends, of course! bokuto’s got you on your back with your leg stretched so far up that your knee is touching your shoulder and he’s shushing your little whines of exertion, telling you he needs to “stretch ya nice ‘n deep, juuust like that.” it has you a little flustered and atsumu a lot jealous, eyes narrowed at the two of you and the compromising position his counterpart has you in. despite that feeling, he can’t deny the fact that his cock is stiffening up in his loose sweatpants.

roommate!atsumu, who has his ear against the wall when he hears what sounds like moaning coming from your room one late night when he can’t sleep. he’s right, it is moaning- it’s you moaning. he feels his cock stiffening up in his boxers, reaching down to palm and squeeze at himself as he imagines how you touch your own body. are you using your fingers, or a dildo? are you lying on your back, or humping into a pillow? he groans at the thought of you doing any of those things. on the other side of the hall in roommate!bokuto’s room, said man is in a similar situation. he’s got his lip between his teeth as he fucks into a fleshlight, eyes closed as he pretends it’s your hot little pussy that his cock is twitching inside of instead.

roommates!bokuto and atsumu, who would rather be dead than let some lowlife loser get into your pants. you don’t even bother trying to hookup with people anymore, deeming it a useless endeavor after the first several times that your roommates scared away the people you’d brought over. but they couldn’t care less. you’re theirs, whether you know it or not. you don’t need dick from some tinder guy who probably won’t even eat your pussy or make you cum until you’re sobbing. you need bokuto and atsumu. they can guarantee that they’ll have you in tears, screaming their names as you drench them and yourselves in yet another spray of squirt from your battered cunt.

roommates!bokuto and atsumu, who just cant wait any longer. they box you in after a movie, your back pressed into the wall as they murmur to you how bad they want you and how good they’ll treat you. it’s atsumu that can’t keep his hands to himself, pulling you against the hard plane of his chest as he holds your hips and does his best to convince you. he keeps you in place when bokuto kneels to yank your shorts down your thighs, pulling one of your legs out and throwing it over his shoulder. he wastes no time, tongue digging in like he’d just uncovered a 5-course meal. atsumu keeps you steady as you cry out for them, muttering “see? what’d we tell ya, baby? never gonna need those assholes again- not when ya got us” into your ear.

roommates!bokuto and atsumu, who bend and contort you into so many positions as they claim you. the strength and stamina of the two is overwhelming, staving off their own orgasms while they make you cum upwards of 4 times. they stretch your pussy so wide, and when they think they’ve fucked their shapes into you enough for now, they do the same to your asshole. it’s agonizing- how gentle they are, that is. they’re so slow and careful as they prep you, taking turns using their fingers to loosen the tight ring of muscle and when you’re finally ready, your cute little hole gaped and winking at them, they take you- one at a time, over and over.

roommates!bokuto and atsumu, who don’t fight over you anymore. they’re good at sharing you- they switch off on who gets to fuck your pussy and who gets to fuck your ass. and there’s nothing to be jealous about either, ‘cause whoever gets to fuck your pussy gets your cum sucked off of their cock by the other, so it’s a win-win for both of them. instead they focus their boundless energy into making you feel good every day—after all, if they keep your pussy wet and sore and stuffed full of cum then you won’t be looking for anyone else, right?

>authors_note: hey you attract what you fear right?

>ahhhh i’m so scared of bokuto and atsumu railing me while they kiss each other ahhhhh

>thank you for reading ♡︎

>masterlist.exe

>send a request here!

© loko4koko 2024

[dadsbongos]

wash me down something cold

1.6k words / warnings - arguing couple, cunnilingus

summary - vi stumbles home after another drunken loss, and you're not very pleased.

Vi isn’t self-critical, she knows.

She should be, at least a little.

And she’s not as fast as she should be, either.

(Purpling knuckles crack her ribs right about now, she grunts and retaliates wildly. An outraged animal biting rabidly, no plan or forethought beneath the barrel of a gun.)

And she still blocks with her face.

(One fist knocks her head right, a second whips it left feeling like her neck was about to rip straight from her collar.)

You’d think after countless alleyway black eyes, and canteen brawls ending with split lips, and Sevika’s big metal claw sending her sprawling unto a cold bar floor, and Jinx’s snappy palm, and the fucking butt of a gun -- Vi would’ve learned better. And you’d be wrong.

Because no matter how many times she’s knocked on her ass, Vi gets back up and always chooses wrong.

Like maybe drinking between fights wasn’t the best idea: her vision’s lopsided, the man in front of her spontaneously doubling and swirling around the ring.

Vi loses in a knockout. Roused only seconds later by four sluggish hands raising her from the dirty floor. She elbows off the good samaritans before stumbling onto both feet, tripping over herself mere seconds later and having to catch against the wall. Dazed, Vi looks up into the previously clogged seats and finds them unusually devoid of life.

She looks back to the two who’d been kind enough to hoist her up: blank faces, she doesn’t know if she’s seen them before but they look at her like she has. Like they’re expecting an apology for the rough treatment.

She doesn’t extend one, instead asking, “Where is she?”

Both shrug, one deciding to cut losses here and let the drunk pitfighter scramble her way home. The other, however, stays and asks in return, “Can you walk home?”

An earnest bend between his brows makes the question less sleazy. He frowns as she moans in pain.

“Do you need help getting home?”

Vehemently, she shakes her head -regretting it milliseconds later when a new incessant pounding is introduced. Like that same punch that sent her out is just driving into the side of her temple over, and over, and over again. It needs ice. Or a stiff drink. Or both.

And maybe a kiss. If she’s lucky.

“Okay, if you’re sure…” he backs off, watching silently as Vi claws her way onto ground level between pausing grunts and aches.

***

“Missed you out there,” is all she says. Bitterly. As if she has any right.

“Missed you all night,” you scoff. Arms folded. Scowling. Ugh, she mentally weeps, there will be no coddling or cooing from you tonight then…

“You knew I was working…” she grumbles, sliding a frozen wad of medical wrap bound in common cloth against the surely discolored lump in her head, “Not everyone can get a gig at Babette’s.”

“Oh, as if you’d even want it,” you roll your eyes, so much disdain it makes her want to suck the venom straight out of your tongue, “You don’t listen to me, how could you listen to the clientele at a brothel?”

“I’m sure it’s easy stuff, baby,” she seethes, sucking her teeth obnoxiously as if to punctuate some joke you’re not in on, “Get on your back, look pretty, be sweet: you’ve got all that down already.”

Vi is perpetually on this edge, and you hate it more than your propriety lets you describe, one step in either direction away from fighting or playing. Somehow completely serious while just teasing. She’s hard and soft, protector and predator, ugly and cute. On nights like these, where she’s one half stronger than the other, you wonder if there’s anything of substance here.

Chemistry is great, but do you two have anything to actually cook with?

Would this have worked out if you were two years younger and her one older? Would this have worked out if you two grew up topside? Would this have worked out if you knew her back in prison?

Suddenly there’s two rough fingertips prodding the middle of your forehead. A single jab before wisping down the apple of your cheek, cradling your jawline and propping your face up to look Vi in the eyes.

“You’re thinking nasty thoughts,” she doesn’t bother wondering aloud how you’re feeling anymore, not when she can read it like black ink.

“Why would you keep buying bottles after I told you it’d ruin the night?”

Vi shrugs and crouches to be the one looking up at you now. Clasping her hands around yours in your lap -ice pack clattering onto the floor, “I don’t know, but whatever you’re thinking is way too malicious for it to be real.”

“It felt like you just wanted to upset me.”

“See?” she tilts her head, “Way too malicious.”

“But that’s how it feels,” you have half a mind to just shove her hands off, “You can’t tell me to not feel a certain way just because you think it’s out of character.”

“Well, I’m telling you I wasn’t trying to upset you. I just wanted to get drunk.”

“I think you ‘just want to get drunk’ a bit too much.”

“You’ve told me.”

“And you don’t care!”

“I care, I just- “ she has to stop herself with a sigh, “I’m a grown woman, I can get drunk if I want.”

“You always lose when you drink before matches…”

Vi slinks back, retrieving the ice pack as she goes. Replacing the cooling device on her temple before you stand and snatch it from her.

Vi’s mouth opens, an upset rattle on the tip of her tongue before you slip it back onto her head. Now in a much better spot, the washing soothing sensation making her subconsciously unwind those tense shoulders.

“Good?” you ask quietly.

She hums, eyes fluttering shut, not risking another painful nod.

“This is why I don’t want you drinking before matches…”

“Okay, baby,” wrapped hands come up to curve around your hips, thumbs venturing up to massage beneath your ribs. Squeezing in what you could call affection or frustration, “Let’s not fight about it anymore.”

“Fine, but- !”

Again, she squeezes. Now pulling you closer with the pinch. Her lips pucker obnoxiously, and when you don’t immediately fold she just makes the loudest ‘mwah, mwah, mwah’s until you cannot ignore her. Leaning forward enough to chastely peck her lips is all the reward you allow.

Her pleased little smile follows. Lips still red beneath black lipstick, long since faded against the rim of a glass. A scar swollen over the left side of her cupid’s bow -- that whole side of her face seems slightly raised over the other. In the most insane way, it makes your cheeks hot.

Vi is hard and soft. Rugged and pretty. Round puppy eyes and long lashes and thick eyebrows and shaggy hair and scars. Muscles and lithe fingers and tits pressed against yours.

…was that intentional?

“You weren’t wearing this little number earlier, baby,” Vi finally noticed too, you guess.

“I was just about to go to bed when you finally came home,” shrugging so casually, as if the lacey nightgown didn’t let her see straight down your cleavage.

“Uh-huhhhh,” her right hand snakes downward, toward the bottom hem a little below your pelvis. Her left knocks the ice pack from your grasp before she thunks her forehead to yours. Blunt nails barely skimming your thigh as she grasps the flimsy material, “And let me guess: you were just about to go to bed camo, right?”

Her breath heavies just as yours does, your heated face tucking into her neck as your hands find their way up the back of her jacket.

“Bet there’s nothing under here,” she whispers, dragging up your thin dress until it’s bunched at your navel, “Yeah. ‘About to go to bed’, my ass.”

Pushing thighs against each other in dramatic shame, you whine into Vi’s pulse, “Don’t tease me! I’m just lonely here when you go off out there…”

Vi snorts in your ear and drops to her knees; headache entirely forgotten as blood pumps through her whole body. Jittery hands shock up your thighs, one still cinched around the material of your dress while the other forces you to spread your legs.

“Then let me make up for tonight,” she says it overly saccharine, in that special tone she has that you know means she’s about to say something snarky, “Will you stop biting my head off if I just let you fuck my face?”

“Ugh-!” your aggravated trill is snapped in half because Vi is diving between your thighs.

In a way this is sentimental enough to make up for her -yet again- completely disregarding your opinion, after all the gesture is kind of how you fell in love. When she came into Babette’s with the single request to make ”the toughest girl you got fucking cry”. After that, she kept coming back with your name in her drooling mouth, and hers soon roaring out of yours.

Shaking a hand into her tarred hair, you yank for purchase as she suckles your clit. A pleased sigh fans from her nose just as a cute little hum vibrates from her; plump lips popping off long enough for her to wetly spear her tongue inside you. Warm and sloppy and she fucking loves it. Already nuzzling your lonely clit with a thumb just for you to drip and clench on her.

Words are a waste when she can just make you cum to see that she’s really, super, very sorry.

It’s not like you listen to her either, anyway.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Backburner 4

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss is easy going until he’s not. 

Characters: Sam Wilson, this reader is known as Dizzie.

Author’s Note:Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

Your attention span has always been inconsistent. Still, you’ve found ways to keep yourself on track. That day, none of your tricks are working. You fidget and fumble your way through the hours, dreading the moment Sam returns from his meeting. 

You squirm at the thought of the stray panties. He was right. You put them on just like he told you to but it’s that last part you’re not sure you can do. You just don’t get it. Sam’s a nice guy and a great boss. Or so you thought. 

Billie always told you you’re too trusting. Missie always told you not to listen and Rosie agrees. You can’t see the worst in everyone. Elfie says it never hurts to be too cautious.

You stare at the list of contacts and resign yourself to suffering alone. You don’t know who to ask. You don’t even know how to begin to explain your predicament.  

Every way you frame it in your head just makes it sound like you asked for all this. You let the lines blur between you and your boss and now they’re slowly disappearing. You cross one leg over the other and rock, chewing your thumb as you turn your attention to the computer. 

Your focus app chirps to remind you to stay on task. Yeah, yeah, shut up. How are you supposed to concentrate on anything? 

Your computer dings and a notification pops up in the corner of the screen. You're less concerned about what it says than the time. Oh dang, you really let it get ahead of you. 

Your attention is drawn back to the message and you tap your mouse. Sam startles you as his door opens and you hide behind the monitor. A scalding heat courses through you. He struts by whistling as you read his last message. 

‘Gonna run and talk to accounting. My gym bag’s under the desk.’ 

Shoot. Shoot. Oh, gosh, are you really going to do this? 

You gulp. Your throat is so tight it makes a churning noise. You stand shakily and look around. There’s not really anyone to catch you. 

You scurry around your desk and nearly trip into his office. You shut the door with a soft click and whine. You really don’t like this. How—why—you can’t even the questions that have your head spinning. 

Sam is such a sweet guy. So much nicer than your last boss. Your mind flashes through the last few days; running into him at the bar, the panties, sitting all day in shame. Your eyes sting as you lift your skirt. You roll your panties down and sniffle. You can’t cry. You’re an adult. 

You go behind his desk and reach under to slide his bag out. You drop the panties inside and recoil. You kick it away from you and retreat. 

As you emerge, you look both ways as if crossing a busy street. You go back to your desk and hunker down for the last twenty minutes. You hear Sam on his way back, whistling, strutting. His doors snaps shut behind him. 

You focus on making your list for tomorrow. You have to move a few things from today over and catch up. You tremble as you fight the looming noose of distraction. How can you concentrate with the cool air creeping up your legs. You squeeze your thighs together. 

Another message. This one not on your computer. Your phone vibrates. You expect Missie or Rosie. Maybe even Elfie. No. It’s Sam? On Snap? You only use that for the filters. But why wouldn't he message you on Teams? Nothing he’s doing makes very much sense. 

You unlock your phone and bite down on a gasp. You stare at the video that fills the otherwise empty conversation. He has your panties wrapped around his dick, his fingers gripping tightly. He pumps himself several times before it stops and disappears into the ether. 

You black your phone screen and put it face down. You roll back to your computer and cup your hot cheek. Your other hand swoops around your mouse but you can’t do much of anything but replay it all in your head. Your phone vibes again and again. 

No, no, no. You won’t look. Your eyes glaze over in a wall of tears and you close them to keep the flow from spilling over. 

The door opens and you sit up. It’s time to go home. Sam appears above your monitor before you can pack up and escape. You look up at him with a quivering lip. 

“Hey, Diz? What’s up?” He leans forward and splays his fingers wide on the desk. His fly is undone and your panties peek out of his pocket. “You look... flustered.” 

Your mouth opens and closes. You can’t look him in the face. You sniff and shut down the computer. You pivot your chair away from him and grab your phone and purse. You frantically start to shove things into your bag. You stand as he lurks around the other side of your desk. 

“How about I give you a ride home? Can’t have you taking the bus during rush hour.” He purrs. 

“No--thanks,” you croak. “I always take the--” You stop short as you circle around the desk, only for him to meet you there. 

He leans in and lowers his voice, “you get on the bus with no panties,” he slowly wraps his fingers around your purse strap and wiggles it free, “and someone might get ideas about you.” You blink and pout up at him as he licks his lips. “They might think you don’t belong to me." 

[blakeswritingimagines]

Kink List With Kaiden Guhle

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

After sex he’s soft and comforting. He makes sure you're comfortable and well taken care of. He’s a big cuddler, after all. He’ll kiss your forehead softly and pull you close to him. He would make sure you're okay. He’d lay you on his chest while laying on his back and hold you lovingly while gently rubbing up and down your sides.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

For his own favorite body part, it would be his thighs and calves. He works out a lot for hockey, so he has really muscular and toned thighs and calves, so he really likes them. As for his partners favorite body part, it would be your neck and shoulders. He likes to kiss and nibble on your neck and collarbones. Your shoulders are just so soft and smooth. He loves trailing his soft and warm hands over them.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He likes coming inside of you and would love to see it leaking out. But he would never make you uncomfortable, so if you don’t like that, he doesn’t do it. He would usually finish outside, however, sometimes inside when he’s feeling really in the mood. He’s usually a heavy cummer.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s extremely into rope play and would secretly love to try it with you, if you’re into that sort of thing. He’s also a big fan of having you on his lap, having you sit on his lap in any way. It’s an instant turn on for him, and he would always get flustered.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s definitely experienced when it comes to that stuff. He’s not a virgin, and he already had some relationships. So he knows what he’s doing and what he likes. But if you’re inexperienced he’ll be so patient and gentle with you and will take things slowly.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

He loves missionary the most, it makes it easy for him to hold your thighs or body close to himself and to give you plenty of kisses and hickeys, plus he just loves seeing your face when he’s hitting the right spot. He likes to have you under him, so you’re more comfortable.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He’s pretty serious, and focused on you, but sometimes he’s just a big softie in the moment, and his true personality just comes out, and he can sometimes be a big tease and a bit of a jokester, but in the end, he’s really just focused on being serious, but to make you more comfortable, he will joke and be goofy with you.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He keeps himself rather trimmed and well-groomed, not much hair down there, but he does still have some blonde hair down there. But other than that, he doesn’t have hair on his body. He makes sure to keep himself that way, whether with shaving or trimming.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He’s mostly romantic, he’s always rubbing up and down your sides and thighs, giving you kisses and hickeys on your shoulders and neck, and just always trying to be as close as he can with you, he’s constantly saying sweet things into your ear too.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He’s pretty much a daily kind of guy. He has a high libido, so he would usually jack off once or twice a day, usually in the shower. He keeps himself washed and clean. He’ll just picture you usually and picture you’re with him. But he’ll sometimes use a vibrator on himself when he’s alone.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He has a few. He just can’t choose which he likes better. He has a major praise, hickey, and light biting/neck kissing/love bites. He’s really just into sensual stuff with you. He’s a simple man.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

He definitely likes to do it on a bed the most. It’s the most comfortable for both for the both of you, and he’s not afraid to break his back or knees! But he also likes doing it in more, fun, places, though, like the kitchen, and sometimes in the shower.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

He loves soft and gentle kisses, especially on his neck, you giving him scratches down his back and sides, and he also likes it when you play with his hair, he really likes it on his thighs and up his sides, he also like you playing with his hair, and he likes you kissing up and down his neck, just anywhere, he has a thing for his neck, he loves having his hair played with or pulled, he loves the feeling of you rubbing your hands up and down his thighs.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He’s really not into any degrading or any super, super rough, stuff, or anything that would make you uncomfortable, He’s also not into anything that’s in a public setting, he likes to keep things between you two, in private and comfortable.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He loves giving. He loves the way he makes you squirm underneath him and his head between your thighs, but he will also take turns and let you please him, too. He loves to hear your little moans while he goes down on you. The sounds you make just drive him crazy while he’s doing it. He has good skills, as he definitely knows how to please you, he’s always trying to please you first, rather than himself.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He’s usually rather slow and sensual. He likes to take his time with you, and he loves to admire how you are and how you look underneath him or next to him. He loves to touch you a lot, feeling how soft and smooth you are. He likes to just take his time and appreciate you. In the end, he is just a big softie.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He doesn’t mind them, he’ll do them if your really in the mood for one, he’ll be a good boy and do as you say and please you if you really want one, he likes quickies, but he’s not one to really suggest it. He prefers to have proper sex with his partner most of the time.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He’s willing to take risks, like having sex in a more risky or public setting, like a park, or somewhere in the woods. For the most part, he likes to keep it between you two, in a more comfortable and safe place, but if you want to go to a more riskier spot, he’s more than willing to take the risk.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He’ll probably be able to go for a few rounds. He can last about 3 or maybe 4 rounds, sometimes more. He usually lasts about 45 minutes or longer, which really depends on how he’s feeling. He’s a little out of stamina on the ice, but with you, he has a lot of stamina and energy towards you.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He owns some toys and will occasionally use them on himself, but he’ll also use them on you if you’re into them. He usually just uses a small but decent-size vibrator on himself, especially in the shower, since it’s just a nice, more private spot.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s a big teaser. He loves to tease you in more public settings. He’ll find a way to get handsy with you and give you a few quick touches, along with a few whispers here and there and a few winks. He’ll also do a little bit of verbal teasing with you, mostly if you two are sitting with others.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s usually a bit of a quiet when he does make a sound. It's more of a mix of low moaning to just soft noises. He’s definitely not usually very loud in the sounds he makes in the bedroom. He loves to hear you, though, especially when he’s the one pleasing you.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He loves to do this thing where he will lift you up and pin you against the wall and kiss you, he just loves making you melt, and he loves having you against him, in his hands, he really just enjoys just holding you, especially in his arms, against a wall.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He’s around 7.5 inches, he’s not too big, but he’s definitely not tiny for his height. But he’s well-trimmed, and he takes good care of himself down there, as he’s a rather hygienic person, and he takes pride in his appearance and himself.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He has a rather high sex drive when he’s with you or when he’s getting horny while he’s alone. He definitely loves feeling you and being with you. He’s a pretty big, affectionate person and a big clingy person, especially towards you.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’ll usually be cuddling you while falling asleep, his arms wrapped around you from behind, holding you close and in his arms, while he whispers sweet things to you, like how much he loves you and how soft and beautiful you are, he’ll hold you close like that until he finally falls asleep after watching you for a bit.

[hughiecampbelle]

Baby Blue (Billy Butcher Oneshot)

Character/s: Butcher

Word Count: 1,014

Requested: Butcher fic request with Descriptions 16 (sing) and 43 (thunder and lightning) and Dialogue 5 (You're staring)? love your writing!!! - anon

A/N: My love!!! Thank you for requesting!!! My mind immediately went to the fluffiest place imaginable!! I love writing about storms and nature and the weather, I feel like I could describe it a thousand different ways, it brings me so much joy!! I hope you like it :D Feedback is always appreciated!! 💜💜💜

Requests are open! 🔮

The thunder bashes her fists against the apartment windows. Tonight, she and her twin throw their duel tantrums. You are restless, checking the baby monitor, making sure they’re still asleep. Tossing and turning, he sleeps soundly beside you. Stonelike, dead, you watch his back rise and fall, thankful he is still breathing. Thankful he is still around. The rain falls in sheets. You can hear it crash into the pavement below you, the streets and sidewalks, alongside the midnight traffic. Everyone rushing to get out of it, to get home, somewhere familiar and dry and warm. The lightning flashes for a moment, a second, illuminating the bedroom. There’s no hiding from him. The room is messy. Laundry sits overflowing from the basket. His clothes are left in a trail leading to the bed. He’d gotten home an hour ago, maybe two, exhausted. He climbed in beside you, falling asleep quickly. There are toys, and clothes, and shoes strewn across the place. A suitcase sits opened, empty, by the closet. You haven’t packed yet.

You wanted one more night.

You don’t realize you’ve fallen asleep until you wake up to the sound of crying. You pull the blankets back, moving quietly, not wanting to wake him, to disturb him. Through the hall, you find your way to the nursery. Butcher painted it for you before the baby was born, a soft sky blue. It was comforting then, but in the heart of the storm, it seemed dreary. Dreadful. He put together the crib too, swearing when he lost a tiny little screws, apologizing later. It made you laugh, though. He was so worried about being a bad influence. He even bought him a stuffed bulldog you both decided to name Terror. Terror slept in the crib with the baby. After two years, he’s been loved deeply. His missing button eye and frayed ears are proof of that. The baby wails, kicking his feet from under the blanket, fussing. Between sobs they call for you, their baby talk interrupted by gasps for air. You pick him up, hushing him, rubbing his back and reassuring him it would be okay. He was safe. The storm could not reach him. You stood by the window, showing him how the rain fell down the glasses. They're racing, you told him, showed him. Against your chest and shoulder, his body moved with his hiccups.

Butcher called your name. He sounded sleepy, urging you back to bed. When the baby had calmed down enough, when he was soothed enough, you walked back to your bedroom. You brought Terror, too. You placed him in between you, watching him smile up at Butcher. Your whole world was wrapped in this bed, this room. Outside the world was dark, brutal, unforgiving. The trees swayed in the wind, pulled to one side, the leaves torn from their mother's branches. Something in your breastbone spread, a kind of hurt one could only feel watching this sort of thing. You turned your attention towards Butcher instead. He shook Terror, barking for him, “biting” his chubby cheeks. The baby laughed and squealed. It was your favorite sound.

You listened to the thunder, the screaming, the fight she was putting up to be heard. You understood. You didn't like that it had scared him, the baby, but you got it. A begging to be believed. A sort of desperation. That's what everyone wanted. Lying on your side, you watched them, wanting this to last forever. Despite the bags under his bloodshot eyes, Butcher was all easy smiles. He whispered to the baby, afraid of anything louder. He placed his hand over their chest, feeling the flutter of their heartbeat. In return, he watched him, his bright, wide eyes taking him in. The baby cooed his name: DaDa, DaDa, DaDa. Drool seeped through Terrors ear as he spoke. His teething was coming to an end. You were grateful for this.

You're staring, Butcher says a little louder, pulling you from your thoughts. Sorry, you say, though you're not really sorry. His hair sticks up in all different directions. He's got a boyish quality to him you've always loved. He prides himself on having a hard outer shell, impenetrable, but the second he sees you and the baby, he melts. He's not as bulletproof as he likes to believe. Between you, the baby falls asleep eventually. You watch as you have watched Butcher: their chest moving up and down beneath his onesie. Neither of you talk, not wanting to ruin the moment. It's not often you get to do this: sit in silence, be in one another's company. It isn't often Butcher is content, serene. Instead he fills the space with jokes and quips. He doesn't do well without noise. He doesn't try it this time, though. You're wondering the same thing: how many more of these moments will you get?

Tomorrow, when the sun rises, he will go back to work. When he gets home, you won't be there. Neither will the baby. You will do as you have been instructed. You will pack a light. You will pack enough. You will get out of the city while there is still time. He's kept your family secret long enough, but Homelander is looking for you. He is looking for any excuse, any soft spot, any vulnerability to take Butcher down. You won't call, or text. You'll use another name, a different one, and you will disappear. If, not when, it is over he will find you. You're not sure how, but he promises he will. Everything he wants to say, every apology and fear and worry, they go unsaid. Not safe, but selfishly he wants to believe so. Foolishly, he wants to tell you not to go, not to leave him. That'd be silly. That'd be stupid. If you want your son to grow up, this is the only way to ensure that. He doesn't want to ruin the moment. Instead he fights off sleep, wanting to savor the moment a little longer. You and Baby Billy, together with him.