#even if cringe culture is dead part of me thinks i would let yall down idk

[x1702x]

Cookin some silly Askr content, feeling cringe on the good way

[generalthirstclub]

cringe culture is dead its time for train porn

meme anon back on my bullshit gender neutral reader, caboose has a pp, frottage & handjobs, brief mention of a murder yall just did together

You always knew it would come to this someday, it was only a matter of time.

Your misadventures as of late had peaked in a train crash— CB’s favorite sort of crime, albeit one that you were utterly unfamiliar with.

“C’mon, c’mon, [Y/N], it’ll be fun,” he’d said. “Besides, if we’re going to be partners, you might as well, right?”

His grin, as well as the unhinged twinkle in his eye, was difficult to turn down— but even more so was what he said next:

“I think you’d look kind of hot with blood all over you anyway.”

So the two of you had taken up the back two positions in a delivery train. Right before going down a steep hill, you’d let go of the car in front of you…

Both of you are covered in dirt and blood that isn’t yours when you stumble through the entrance of the (thankfully) empty freight housing and collapse into a couch in the commons.

CB is giggling deliriously, his cap and bandana crooked and his arms both draped over your shoulders.

“Heheheheh… ehehe… See, w-wasn’t that fun…? Wasn’t it just the coolest…!” He’s barely staying upright, and he sounds short of breath— of course, you are too, but you aren’t exacerbating it with constant evil laughter.

CB’s face is right next to yours, but squarely in your blind spot. When you turn your head to look at him, you find he’s already examining you with a half-lidded, dazed stare and a lopsided grin.

When you try to turn away, one gloved hand grabs your chin and holds it in place, turning your face slightly to one side, then the other, taking in your features. His eyes darken, but his smile remains prominent. “Huh, I was right,” he says, “You do look kinda hot with blood all over you.”

Before you can think of any snarky reply, he has his other hand on your cheek, pulling you in for a rough, hungry kiss that makes your head spin. It’s all teeth and tongue, with the slight coppery tang of blood on and in both of your mouths. As you try to pull back, he leans forward; and before either of you realize what’s going on, you’re pressed together chest-to-chest, and he’s got a knee between your thighs.

CB’s breathing falters when you rest a palm on his stomach, and he nearly groans into your mouth when you move down to the hem of his pants. Neither of you is sure who breaks the kiss, but your foreheads are pressed together and you’re both breathing hard.

You tug gently at his belt, wordlessly asking for permission; and he grants it to you with a frantic, giddy nod, smashing his lips to yours again.

The buckles at the back of his waist jingle as you clumsily undo them and slide the clunky piece of leather and metal out of the way. You snake a hand down the front of his pants, wrapping around his already half-hard dick as he tries but fails to suppress a needy moan.

You start to stroke, but far too slowly for his liking. His lips part against yours as he groans with frustration, bucking up slightly into your touch. You don’t relent, however, even as he outright thrusts into your hand and whines in protest.

“C-C’mon, [Y/N], c’mon, f-fuck—“

Admittedly, the pressure of CB’s leg between yours— combined with everything else going on— has gotten you a bit worked up, and you find yourself automatically rocking your hips against his thigh. This, however, only frustrates him further.

“I don’t see why you d-don’t just—ghh—lemme fuck you,” he whimpers.

You grin teasingly, leaning your head against his. “Hmm… Too sweaty,” you sigh. “And bloody… we should really shower…”

CB grumbles something unintelligibly, but doesn’t complain at the opportunity to plant a hickey or two at the crook of your neck. The slightly painful tug of his lips and teeth earns a muffled whine, and your hand tenses slightly around his dick, but doesn’t change pace.

The slight increase in friction, however, is more than enough to have him gasping in appreciation and running his mouth; and the words he stumbles over are more than expressed by the erratic writhing of his hips.

“Ugh, fuck-! …T-Thanks,” he pants. “…Ggh… that’s so fucking good…”

From the whiny, breathy timbre of his voice, you make an educated guess. “Close?”

CB nods feverishly, a small whine escaping him. His gloved hands dart up to cup your face and pull you back into another intoxicating kiss.

“Yeah, me too,” you whisper against his lips. In all honestly, you’re getting a little impatient yourself, as delicious as it is to watch the brake van come apart under your touch like this.

Mercifully (to both yourself and CB), you attempt to somewhat match the pace of your hand with the pace of your hips; which, due to your own hubris, means a relatively sudden and drastic spike in both. This isn’t any issue for you, but it’s got him moaning desperately into your mouth, threading his fingers into your hair and tugging hard; and his hips frantically rock with your touch. Through kisses, you can hear him babble incoherently, something along the lines of “ooohfuckc’monc’monpleasepleasepleasec’monfuck.”

CB cums hard in your hand with a shuddering whine, and you shortly thereafter. You take a second to come down before detatching yourself from the panting caboose and flopping back onto the couch next to him.

If the two of you were dirty before, you’re filthy now— in more than one sense of the word. You’ve got sweat mingling with blood now, not to mention fluids.

“So,” CB breathes, “about that shower…”