#he's just kinda. stretched out and made of sharp angles

[moonlitsmile]

Hey,

Could I possibly get a fic of:

Salesman x female! reader, where he's your boyfriend's dad and his son decided to do the NNN challenge. So you had a slight argument with him which made you storm off downstairs. The salesman showed you how a real man can make you feel ;)

Hooe this is okay 🤍

Breaking the rules

Salesman/gong yoo x f! reader part 2 here!

꣑୧ — 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | After a fight with your boyfriend over his “challenge” you find comfort in his father.. who’s more than willing to show you what you’ve been missing and how a real man can make you feel.

⚠︎︎- DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT - age gap, (readers 18, he’s in late thirties) gentle praise, kinda slow burn, slowly giving in, dom x sub reader, fingering, female reader, teasing, use of pet names, overstimulation, crying, sweet talk, talking you through it, let me know if I missed anything!

You slammed the bedroom door behind you, the sharp click echoing down the quiet hallway. Your heart was pounding , half from frustration, half from disbelief. Of all the ridiculous things your boyfriend could’ve decided to commit to, this had to be the most infuriating.

“It’s just a month,” he’d said with that smug little shrug, like it didn’t matter. Like you didn’t matter. All for some stupid bet with his friends.

Your soft sock covered feet padded down the stairs, your skin still warm with irritation. You weren’t sure where you were going — you just needed to get away before you said something you couldn’t take back. Walking to the door to get your shoes from beside it. The soft hum of the TV drifted from the living room, drawing your attention.

There he was.

Your boyfriend’s young father sat comfortably on the couch, sleeves of his white long sleeved button up rolled up and collar slightly undone, his usual air of calm confidence wrapped around him like a second skin. His eyes flicked up when he noticed you, dark and curious — and when he smiled, slow and knowing, something about it made your breath catch. You knew you shouldn’t think it, but you did. You found him attractive. I mean come on, he’s single and young.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asked, his voice smooth and warm.

You hesitated, but the words were already slipping out. “Your son’s an idiot.”

He chuckled, low and rich. “That so?” He patted the spot beside him. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?”

And just like that, you were already crossing the room. You needed to get it off your chest. Tell somebody. You were about to talk before you heard the soft footsteps running downstairs and straight out the door. It was your boyfriend, seeming to already run out the door and not even check around his house for you. Just running right past you, god he really was stupid. You huffed shakily and softly. Shaking your head and you rubbed your eyes. It was just you and his father now..

You sank onto the couch next to him, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you tried , and failed to push down the frustration still simmering inside you. He watched you with quiet interest, one arm stretched lazily along the back of the couch, his body angled just enough toward you to feel… attentive. Close.

“So,” he prompted, his voice low and smooth, “what did my son do this time?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “He decided to do that stupid November challenge thing.” Your voice was filled with embarrassment but also a hint of frustration.

He raised a brow, amused. “Ah. That explains the storming off.”

You glanced at him, heat rising to your face. “It’s not funny.” You mumbled softly and quietly. Each time you glanced at him, his eyes were always looking straight back into yours. And you hated that it made you feel some type of way. This was your boyfriends father for heavens sake.. nothing could ever happen.. right?

“Oh, I’m not laughing,” he said, though the curve of his mouth suggested otherwise. “I just find it… surprising.” He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over you slowly. “If I were him, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.”

Your breath caught, pulse skipping. You told yourself it was the anger, the need for validation that made you shiver at his words. But the way he was looking at you… like he was seeing something his son had been too foolish to appreciate…

It made your skin tingle.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you murmured, but there wasn’t much conviction in your voice. It was clear you were shy right now. And he loved it, he loved seeing you so vulnerable from his words and the way they so badly affected you. The way you’d look down to hide the pink tint growing on your soft little cheeks. Or maybe it was the way your voice grew quieter and shakier each time you spoke.

“And why not?” he countered, his voice dipping lower. “It’s only the truth.”

For a moment, the room was too quiet. the only sound your shallow breathing and the faint noise from the TV. His eyes held yours, dark and steady, and you couldn’t ignore the heat settling low in your stomach.

“Would you really let him leave you wanting like this?” He asked softly, his fingers brushing just barely against your arm, the lightest, most teasing touch. “You deserve better than that.”

Your throat tightened, every nerve in your body suddenly on edge. You knew you should get up, leave before this went somewhere you couldn’t take back. But you didn’t move.

And when his hand slid slowly to your knee, you knew you weren’t going to stop him.

You tried to steady your breath as his hand lingered on your knee, the weight of it sending a thousand shivers up your spine. The tension in the air was thick, the silence between you two somehow more charged than anything you’d ever felt before. Your eyes glanced down at his hand displayed over your knee. The way his large hand covered it completely made you feel some type of way. His eyes lingered on you, watching you as your eyes looked at his hand.

But he didn’t move any further, his hand resting there, a quiet challenge. His eyes flicked to your face, studying your reactions, waiting for you to say something, to make the next move. But you stayed frozen, unsure of what to do. You could feel your heart pounding against your ribs, the heat creeping up your neck.

“Feeling tense?” he asked quietly, his voice smooth like silk.

You swallowed, finally looking away from him. “It’s not- that.” Your words were weak, betraying you, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to say it. The truth.

He shifted closer just slightly, his hand still on your knee, fingers lightly pressing into your skin. “Then what’s bothering you?” His tone was calm, casual even, but there was a trace of something else in it. Something that made your pulse race.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I just feel… off.”

His fingers tightened a little, not enough to be forceful but just enough to send a spark of warmth up your leg. One that led straight to the sweet spot between your thighs. “I can help with that.” His voice was low, steady, like a promise you weren’t sure you should take.

You shook your head, but the movement was slow, as if your body wasn’t quite in sync with your mind. “No… I—”

“Why fight it?” he murmured, his eyes looking at you. The way they were soft with a light welcoming look. The slight tilt of his head and his small smile. It made it harder to resist him seeing him look at you like this. Like he could do better then him, then his own son… His thumb grazing your skin in slow, deliberate circles. His touch was soft but insistent, gentle yet firm, and your breath hitched as it stirred something deep inside you.

“I’m not…” You couldn’t finish the sentence, not when he was looking at you like that, like he knew exactly what you needed. And worse, you realized, you might want it.

He leaned back slightly, his hand still resting on your knee, but his gaze never left yours. “You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be with me,” he said softly. “But don’t pretend I don’t see the way you’re reacting.”

You opened your mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words. He was right, you were reacting. Your body was betraying you, betraying the little voice in your head that screamed at you to walk away. But you didn’t move. You were stuck, caught in the pull of something you couldn’t explain.

His eyes softened, as if he were waiting for you to make up your mind. The silence stretched between you, heavy, filled with a thousand unspoken thoughts. And for the first time, you weren’t sure which direction you wanted to go in.

“Take your time,” he said finally, his voice low and knowing. “I’ll be right here.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to leave. Not yet.

The air between you felt charged, thick with the kind of tension that couldn’t be ignored. His hand still rested on your knee, but now it felt more like a claim than a simple touch. The heat of his palm seemed to burn through your skin, and you could feel the weight of his gaze, assessing you, waiting for you to make the next move.

You shifted uncomfortably, heart pounding as your thoughts scrambled for control. Every part of you screamed that this was wrong, he was your boyfriend’s father. but the longer you sat there, the more it seemed like a distant thought, a fleeting memory. All you could focus on was how his presence seemed to take up the entire room, how his hand on your knee felt like it was pulling you in, inch by inch.

His gaze softened, but there was something predatory in it, something calculating. He wasn’t in a hurry. He was giving you time, but only so much. He was waiting for you to give in and deep down, you knew you were already halfway there.

“You seem conflicted,” he said, his voice a smooth purr that sent a shiver down your spine. His thumb brushed across your knee, slow, deliberate, as if marking territory. “You don’t have to be.”

You swallowed, struggling to keep your composure. “I— I don’t think this is a good idea.”

His smile was slow, knowing. He didn’t move his hand, but the pressure increased ever so slightly. His fingers, strong and sure, began to travel upwards just a little, stopping just above your knee, and you exhaled quietly and softly. He didn’t apologize for it, didn’t back off. Instead, he leaned in a fraction “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

His words made your pulse quicken, a flicker of heat spreading through your chest. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but not in a way that made you want to pull away. His touch was measured, controlled, and you could feel the power in it. He was taking the reins, guiding you, making the decisions for you, and for reasons you couldn’t fully understand, you didn’t mind.

His hand slid higher on your thigh, the soft pressure making it harder to breathe. Your mind screamed at you to stop, to think about what you were doing, but your body didn’t listen. The words, echoed in your head, amplifying the ache that had started deep within you. Your body had already betrayed you, had already decided what it wanted, and you could feel it, impossible to ignore now.

You took a shaky breath, words stuck in your throat, but your body betrayed you further as you leaned just a little closer to him, almost as if you were asking for more, even if you couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

“There you go..” he murmured, as if sensing your surrender, his hand shifting once again, this time pressing firmly into the soft flesh of your thigh. The feeling was almost enough to make you forget everything, the rules, the consequences. All that mattered was him.

His fingers brushed higher, stopping just shy of a place that would make you lose control entirely. His touch was deliberate, each move slow and calculated, designed to make you feel it in every inch of your skin.

He pulled back slightly, looking at you, studying you, like he could see everything you were hiding. Your breath hitched as his fingers moved gently across your skin, making you ache for something you weren’t sure you were ready to admit to yourself.

Then, with barely a pause, he leaned in, his lips brushing your cheek. The contact was light, almost teasing, but there was no mistaking the way he angled his head, his lips pressing against yours in a kiss that was controlled, possessive, but somehow gentle all at once.

You didn’t pull back. Instead, you melted into the kiss, your hands finding their way to his chest, your body leaning in closer, asking for more without saying a word.

He deepened the kiss slowly, his mouth firm against yours, a gentle pressure that made your heart race. His hand moved again, now firmly on your waist, pulling you into him just as his tongue traced the line of your lips. A soft quiet whimper left your mouth, and something inside of him shifted.

And when you kissed him back, you knew, without a doubt, you weren’t going to walk away from this. You weren’t going to fight it anymore.

He gently tugged you closer, his large hands softly gripping your hips and lifting you onto his lap. He guided your legs to straddle him, your lighter frame settling easily against him. His lips pressed harder against yours as one hand trailed to the back of your head, deepening the kiss. In one swift motion, he stood effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his hips and your arms encircled his neck. You pulled back slightly, a soft gasp escaping your lips. "Shh," he whispered, quickly capturing your mouth again as he carried you to his bedroom. He shut the door with his foot, holding you securely in his strong arms.

His grip tightened ever so slightly as he lowered you onto the bed, your back meeting the cool sheets. He hovered above you, his dark eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. One of his hands traced down your side, You arched into his touch, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

"please" you whispered against his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair. He responded by pressing his body closer, the weight of him deliciously heavy against you. His kisses grew more urgent, more demanding, as his hands explored every inch of you they could reach.

“please?” He said lowly. Almost in a soft teasing matter. A mocking matter that couldn’t help but make you whimper slightly. His mouth trailed down your neck, leaving a path of heated kisses that made you shiver. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer as his teeth grazed your sensitive skin.

"mmm your so pretty" he murmured against your collarbone, his voice rough with desire. His hands roamed your clothed body, memorizing every curve, every response. You gasped as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, your body arching instinctively into his touch.

He stopped before smirking against your neck. “is that good? hm?” He said like a soft hum against your neck that made you shiver. “y-yeah” you whispered out shakily and softly. Before he began again, your eyes fluttering shut.

The moonlight filtering through the window illuminated shadows across his muscled form through his white button up as he moved above you. Your hands on the broad expanse of his back, feeling the strength there, the way his muscles flexed beneath your fingertips through his clothed body. Time lost all meaning as you lost yourself in him, in the way he made you feel.

Your hands slipped down to his arms, softly tugging at his sleeves as you tried to sit up. He didn't let you, his hand gently pushing you back down, his face still nuzzled in your neck. A soft "mm-mm" left his lips like a purr. Another whimper escaped your mouth—you wanted more. "P-please," you whispered shakily. "Please what honey?" he whispered back, his voice low and filled with that familiar teasing tone again. He lifted his head to look at you, tilting it slightly. "I-I want more." That was all he needed to hear before he smirked.

His hand moved to the white buttons of his shirt, unfastening them with ease. His eyes lingered on you the entire time while yours followed his fingers' movements. Your gaze flicked back up to meet his as he smiled softly, leaning down to kiss your lips while undoing the last button. So he figured maybe you wanted to do it. "Help me, yeah?" he said gently. Your hands instantly went to his shirt, helping him slip it down his shoulders and off. His broad chest and muscular shoulders were now exposed, and your eyes instantly fixed on them, your cheeks pink with embarrassment and shyness. He couldn't help but love seeing that look in your eye.

His hands gently guided your body to sit up as he was propped up. Large hands on your waist as you sat up. His eyes looking into yours as they lingered around the bottom of your shirt. Fiddling with it gently, his eyes boring into yours as if asking permission to take it off, and you nodded. Eyes all shy and filled with nervousness. Doing all this made you forget this was your boyfriends dad.. and the fact he’s so much older than you as-well. And when he saw the nod of your head he was already tugging your shirt up.

“Arms up” he said softly. You did as he said, lifting your arms up, and he swiftly took the top off of you. Eyes going straight to linger on your body. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment mixed with a hint of shyness. Eyes looking at him and looking for type of reaction. But all you were able to see was the look of admiration.

Being left in only a light pink simple bra that hugged lightly against your breasts and the light blue jean shorts you wore with the shirt, that was now off. He didn’t say anything, just leaning forward to press his lips back on yours. Pushing your body back on the bed, the now warm sheets pressing against your bare lower back. His lips came off of yours, just to nuzzle back into your neck. You sighed softly. Eyes fluttering back shut.

His kisses against your neck made you whimper, soft quiet moans or whines leaving your lips with each kiss he left. He then began trailing down further. Beginning to kiss softly along your collar bone and shoulder. His hand brushing up your tummy as it trailed further up. cupping lightly around your breast as he squeezed gently, making you softly gasp. Your lips all swollen from the kisses.

His other hand lingering on your waist. He trailed his kisses back up, your eyes opening as they softly looked at him. His lips kissing the corners of your mouth and cheeks. Eyes looking into yours the whole time. The soft whine that left your mouth was the last thing he heard before both of his hands slipped to your hips. Hands going to the buttons of your jean shorts.

Eyes boring back into yours with that look of curiosity, wanting permission. You quickly nodded. It was almost amusing to him seeing how quickly you were giving into him. A soft low chuckle leaving him. Eyes moving down to look at your thighs pressed together. His hands moving to undo the button on your shorts.

“making me do all this work” he said teasingly with a slight smirk on his lips. You opened your mouth to speak. “Well because your not letting me do anything” you replied. He stopped, and your heart skipped in your chest. “Well do you wanna do it?” You looked at him.

Thinking, before shaking your head. It would be quite embarrassing, a young girl trying to control a man like him. “that’s what I thought.” He said quietly. Unzipping the zipper just below the button as he tugged the jeans shorts down to your ankles. Sitting back slightly to pull them fully off your legs. Your thighs instinctively pressing together. Now wearing just your bra and white cotton panties. And his eyes went straight to your thighs. Seeing the way they pressed together made him grin. “don’t be shy now, we’ve gotten so far.” He whispered. His hands slipping between your thighs to separate them. Then trailing up to your knees as your legs were propped open. “keep ‘em like that okay? Don’t wanna keep telling you.” You nodded. You’ve only ever done this with your boyfriend once. And now his dad is doing it with you. God..

One of his hands went back to your head, gently propping it against one of his soft pillows on his bed. Then he brushed a piece of hair out your face, tucking it behind your ear as he smiled. His hand lingered on your cheek. Before his other hand softly caressed the inside of your thigh, just below your sensitive area. You let out a shaky huff. Eyes flicking around for a moment before back at him. His eyes were studying you, studying for your reactions and the way your face changed with each movement of his hand.

He then took his ring and middle finger. Pressing it gently against your clit through your panties. You let out a soft quiet whine. Your head shifting, you couldn’t hold the eye contact. Not with the way he was already making you feel. He let out a low chuckle. One that made you feel embarrassed because you knew exactly what he was laughing at. “look at you.. all wet.” He whispered lowly. His breath tickling against your ear. Your cheeks burning. His hand that was on your cheek coming off as it went to the waistline of your panties. Both of his hands tugging them down your thighs, dragging them down your legs as they pooled at your ankles. Legs propped up and fully exposed to him. You shivered at the cool air against your bare sweet spot.

He took his time, his fingers trailing back up your thigh, slow and teasing. His eyes stayed on you the whole time- dark, intense, and focused like he was savoring every reaction you gave him. You squirmed under his gaze, your breath uneven, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with something that sent a shiver through you. His fingertips brushed just barely where you needed him most, and your body responded immediately, arching into his touch. That same low chuckle escaped him again , amused, knowing, and it only made the heat in your cheeks rise.

“Still so shy?” he teased, his breath warm against your skin. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

But it was hard not to when every little movement of his hand made your body react so easily. You bit your lip, your eyes fluttering shut as his touch grew bolder. His other hand traced along your waist, grounding you, his fingers pressing just enough to keep you still.

“Look at me,” he whispered after a moment. It was gentle, but there was a quiet authority in his voice that made your heart skip. When you finally met his eyes, his gaze softened. but there was still that edge of heat, that quiet confidence that made you feel completely at his mercy.

“Good,” he murmured, and the way he said it made your pulse race. “Keep looking at me please” he whispered. His two fingers then slipped back down to your sweet spot. Softly rubbing your clit. You moaned softly. Head leaning back on the pillow. Eyes fluttering shut once more. His eyes watching your face the whole time he did this to you.

His fingers slipped down to your entrance. Rubbing softly there aswell, making you squirm and whimper. Back arching slightly. Wanting him to just do it already, a huff leaving your swollen lips. It was clear to him you were getting impatient. “Eager now, are we?” He said teasingly with that smirk on his lips. You opened your mouth to respond, but that was quickly cut off with a soft moan. Feeling one of his thick fingers slip into your sweet entrance.

Eyebrows furrowing softly. It was only one finger, but gosh his hands were bigger then your boyfriends. “Oh?” He said lowly. Seeing the way you quickly reacted. “Is that good? Hm? is that good honey?” he said quietly. Face nuzzling into your neck as he kissed it softly. His finger pumping slowly in and out of you. Making you whimper and squirm. Soft gasps and whines leaving you every so often. Your breath now heavier, shakier. You wanted another, you could take it. Right?..

“A-more” you whimpered shakily. He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Another huh?” You nodded eagerly. His other hand coming up to rest on your cheek once more. You felt him stop. A soft huff leaving your lips before you felt another finger slip in. Instantly letting out a shaky gasp. He chuckled, eyes watching you the whole time. Both of his thick fingers beginning to pump in and out of you. Maybe you couldn’t take it.

Your eyes shut tight as your back slightly arched up off the soft covers of the bed. Frequent whimpers and moans leaving your lips that just egged him on more. His fingers began to speed up, curling every so often just to hear that soft high pitch moan leave your mouth. It was too much now, eyes stinging with tears of pleasure and the feeling of being overwhelmed. And he saw, but that just riled him on more. Loving the sight of your tears.

His eyes never left your face, completely focused on every little movement you made — the way your breath quickened, the soft whimpers you couldn’t hold back, the way your body responded without you even thinking. That look in his eyes was intense, dark, and full of something that made your skin heat, a mix of control and quiet admiration, like he was taking in every bit of you.

“Is it too much, baby?” he asked softly, his voice a gentle tease. But there was something tender underneath it too, something that made your heart ache. His fingers slowed just enough to give you a moment to breathe. only to pick up again before you could catch it, drawing a soft, broken sound from your lips.

He smiled then, brushing his thumb against your cheek where a stray tear had slipped down. The touch was warm, careful, and the way he looked at you made your stomach flip. “Don’t hide from me,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “I want to see you..”

You felt his fingers pick up the pace again. Making you let out a soft shaky sob of pleasure. He loved seeing you like this, so overwhelmed just from two fingers. Moans and whimpers leaving your lips more frequently now. He knew you were close, he saw the way your hips slightly jolted as he curled his fingers. “You gonna come? Hm?” He hummed softly against your shoulder. “Y-yeah” you whimpered shakily and quietly. “come for me baby, can you do that?” He whispered sweetly against your soft skin.

His fingers pumping in and out of you fast, fingers curling, making it hit that one spot. That one spot that made you break. Your lips gaped open. Tears running down your face and eyes shut tightly. A loud soft moan leaving your lips that was like music to his ears. Having your high, he smiled amused. Fingers still pumping in and out of you as he helped you through your high. “There we go..” he said lowly.

Fingers slowly pulling out of you as he saw you relaxed and layed there breathlessly. Eyes all tired and lips swollen. His fingers covered in your sweet juices. Slipping them into his mouth as he sucked them clean. A quiet groan leaving him from the sweetness of it. Sitting up next to you as he rubbed your hair gently, his other hand going to softly wipe the stray tears off your cheeks. Your eyes looked up at him softly.

Maybe your boyfriends father could make you feel better then he ever could.

I hope u like this I suck at smut 💔

[theartofpixar]

"Joy’s body language is generally pretty broad: her arms always stretching and reaching, and she’s constantly jumping around so as a former 2D animator, drawing her on the movie was quite the delight! Being not *that* extroverted myself, bringing that attitude to life, especially on days when I felt more like Ennui, had some really interesting effects. Have you ever drawn someone yawning and started yawning yourself? That kinda happened to me with drawing Joy. Stepping into her shoes (although she wears none!) was somehow always therapeutic and added a lot of energy and positivity to my days 💛

I am loving the cascade of incredible art pouring out from every department with the release of Inside Out 2! 💙 At one point I was assigned a Sadness action sequence called “Cry Hard” (!) which I’ll share in a future post, so before boarding I spent some time drawing poses and expressions to get a feel for her character. Can we talk about those little slippers. 🥺

Drawing Anger was always somehow satisfying! My Mediterranean roots probably have something to do with it ❤️‍🔥 One thing I loved about boarding sequences with these guys was how the Emotions felt emotions themselves, yet still kept their primary self. When Anger felt joy, it was a fiery happiness; when he felt fear or disgust, his eyebrows would never lie! These sketches are warm-ups from when I was exploring his fiery range of expressions and as I built my library, some of these definitely found their way into my sequences..

When I think of my favorite Emotion to draw, oh man. Disgust 100%. The SASS. Those mouth shapes and the fabulous lashes that just amplify it all. I had so much fun drawing her on Inside Out 2. I don’t wanna spoil the story posting my sequences yet, so these are some warm up sketches from when I was getting familiar with her volumes and expressions. The movie is out TODAY! Go see it in theaters!

And last but not least of the original emotions, Fear! I always thought he was kinda challenging to draw. His design includes a lot of sharp angles and jittery lines to convey his constant tension. His hands are usually close to his body as if to protect himself, and his shoulders always raised. It made me realize it takes a lot of energy to be constantly afraid of something! His eyes are also quite funny; his brows were disconnected, and somehow the back of his head had the shape of eyes too! Here are a few character studies. The poses with him clinging to the rope are taken from one of my sequences." – Alessandra Sorrentino

[finniestoncrane]

as a curvy person myself i really think boomerang would worship the hell out of some big thighs and ass, like i think he would froth at the mouth during a thigh job 🙏 if i could possibly get a curvy fem reader with ktjl boomer i would LOVE that. thank you sm i adore your writing!!!!

KTJL!Boomer x Fem!Reader, word count: 1.2k hi it's me, resident fat girl with a raging boner for captain boomerang, reporting for DUTY!! this was a lot of body worship and a lot of fun playful touching that i just know would a) cure me and b) entertain digger 💙 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: body worship, thigh job

George Harkness knew how to get his way, particularly with you. It was impossible not to bend to his every whim, especially when he smiled with that mischievous grin whenever her got what he wanted from you.

There you stood in front of him, undressed as he demanded, well, asked, but he might as well have commanded it for all you were ever going to disobey. Body on display, any concerns about how you might look in this position, how gravity pulled at you, if your hair was ok, if you were standing up straight enough, all of it gone. Because George never made you feel like you were anything less than perfect. It was a side of that no one could deny made up for his less universally adored attributes. His perpetual desire to make the object of his affections feel as amazing as he believed they were, and weren't you lucky to be the one he desired.

He sat on the sofa, completely nude too. His daunting length twitched, entirely upright and engorged as he watched you jiggle with every little laugh, your first line of defence against his slew of compliments that seemed to intoxicate you more than the dreadful cheap beer he drank ever did.

You'd already done everything else he'd asked for, so what was one more thing. That's what ran through your mind as he appeared to be conjuring up his next wish.

"Do me a favour though, babe. Much as I love to see that cute face of yours staring back at me, I kinda want to admire the view from the back."

With a stifled giggle you turned around, your entire back side exposed to George as he leaned back in the loveseat. As he took you in, he ran a hand backwards through his hair, pushing any stray strands that might be interfering with the view back in place.

"Well, fuck me. You are a sight from all angles, aren't you? Wanna back up a little bit though? Bit of a stretch for me to reach out and grab ya."

You could hear the grin that was plastered onto his face in his words as you took a few slow steps backwards, until you could feel the back of your legs hit his knees.

"That's better... I can see the whole lot of you from further away and while I do prefer that, sometimes you just gotta get up close and personal with all the best bits."

His hands were against your ass, a quick, sharp spank that led to his hands caressing your skin, skirting over your rounded cheeks as he familiarised himself with the shape of your curves, the indentations of cellulite, the imperfect but perfect wiggle of fat as it collected where he deemed it destined to be. As your body spoke to him against his palms, he sighed, the deep breath turning into a guttural groan as he suddenly squeezed. His fingers gripped at you, palms tight as he grasped however much of you would fit in his hand.

"Plenty cushion for pushin' here."

You almost groaned at the words, and yet, you forgave him for his absurd turns of phrase. He was impossibly cute and sincere in his albeit cringe-inducing flirtations. So you did as he asked and stood in front of him, allowing him ample opportunity to admire your ass. His hands squeezed at it, pulling your cheeks apart, pushing them together, fingers bouncing them to watch the way they jiggled. And then he spread them open once more, burying his face between them, wiggling them from side to side as he groaned, your cheeks slapping his.

When he freed himself, a deep breath to replenish his oxygen, he leaned back once more and slapped at his thighs.

"Wanna back that up over here, babe?"

Dutiful as ever, you stepped backwards to him, settling down on his lap and facing away from him. Your legs rested between his, closed shut but not tightly so, his warm breath on your back as he caressed your thighs. With a little effort, he shifted you, pulling you back a bit, his cock stiff under your thighs before he had you in the position he wanted. Then his fingers tugged at the meat of your thighs until they were spread ever so slightly.

His cock pushed through between your legs, long enough that when it twitched with his moving, it tapped against your cunt, a delightful tease that had you biting down hard on your lower lip. Long enough in fact that...

"Fuck me that's soft."

The sensitive head of his length reached the bottom of the overhang of your belly, and he pushed upwards, bucking his hips, to feel the tip encompassed by the soft, squishy flesh. And all the while, his hands were reaching to your front, grabbing at your tits, playing with them. He relished the way his fingers sank into them, how the ample flesh spilled over his grip as he dug his fingers in deeper.

He lifted them, jiggling them, offering a gentle slap as he let them go, feeling your body move as they dropped back down against your torso. And then, with a slightly devilish chuckle that tickled against the shell of your ear, he took your nipples in between his fingers, teasing, tugging at them, stretching them out until your soft moans of pleasure becamse sharp gasps of air.

The intention was never to hurt you, but he often found himself getting so carried away. It was the way he felt himself seemingly sinking into your soft, plump body. The warmth you held, all for him, the comfort it gave him as he surrounded himself in your form. It was the eroticism of pulling and pushing, lifting and squeezing, something to play with, to use, to cherish. It was the weight of you on top of him, how he felt strong in supporting you, how he felt safe and secure with you there.

George's cock was still slipping between your thighs effortlessly as he let his thoughts run wild. He fucked the plush flesh, his chest filled with a deep breath and the comfort of your size completely enveloping him, even his impressive length and girth shadowed by the thickness of your thighs. He bucked his hips clumsily and with complete abandon, each brush of his sensitive head, the throbbing veins along his shaft, pulsing through his entire body, lingering vibrations of his oncoming orgasm spreading through his nervous system, caught in his throat as he let out strangled, pleading grunts and groans.

You could tell it was about to happen, but you were still surprised by how hard he came, spilling all over you. Spurts of his thick, milky cum on your belly, on your adorably fat pubic mound, your thighs sticky with his release. And he held you there, hands around your body, on your belly once more, grabbing it and squeezing it to keep you in place as he delighted in just having you with him.

He caught his breath, leaning into your shoulder and nuzzling into your neck, placing kisses to your skin, inhaling the scent of your sweat before rubbing his facial hair against your cheek and whispering.

"I could go again. If you could?"

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: cussing, firearms, knives, captor transport, cuffs, hoods, intimidation

Part 6

Novel Attraction - Part 7

The party outside the Mayans lot had bloomed into full chaos by the time you stepped out of the trailer.

Smoke curled up from fire barrels. Bikes gleamed under string lights. Music pulsed from somewhere you couldn’t see—something low and bass-heavy that made the ground buzz beneath your boots.

Laughter cut through the air like sparks—sharp, bright, and too fast for your brain to catch.

You stuck close to Angel, half a step behind.

His beer swung lazily in one hand, the other resting lightly against your lower back. Enough that people knew not to look too long.

“You good, querida?” he asked, head ducking closer as the music swelled.

You nodded. “It’s kinda… a lot.”

He grinned, all teeth and charm. “Yeah. Lotta leather. Lotta testosterone. Welcome to a Mayan party.”

You smiled back. “No red carpet?”

“Nah. We don’t believe in ‘em. Just beer and bad decisions.”

He steered you toward the edge of the lot, near one of the stacked crates being used as makeshift seats.

You perched on the edge, trying not to make eye contact with anyone for too long. Angel leaned against the crate beside you, legs stretched out, his body angled just enough to keep you half-hidden.

For a moment, it did feel normal. The kind of normal you’d catch in a dream. Warm lights, laughter, music vibrating against your skin. Angel sipping his beer, cracking a joke that made you actually laugh.

No locks.

No trailers.

Just air.

But then the laughter shifted.

A ripple of noise moved across the lot, and the crowd began to part. You turned your head just as the ring came into view— a strange fenced in pen with a single door illuminated by string lights, a circle of bodies forming quickly around it.

Someone clapped Angel on the back. “You’re up, Reyes.”

He swore under his breath, straightened. The shift in him was immediate. The relaxed posture tightened. His expression flattened into something cooler—harder around the edges.

“Fighting ?” you asked, looking down at him from the crates.

“Yeah. Some dumbass tradition. Bragging rights. Blood. Whatever.” He looked up at you on your perch, suddenly serious. “Stay right here, querida. On this crate. You hear me?”

You nodded before you even processed it.

“Not just ‘cause I’m worried about you,” he added, softer now. “But ‘cause I don’t want you to see me like that.”

You frowned, tilting your head. “like what ?”

He hesitated—just a flicker of something behind his eyes, something unspoken.

“Nah querida ... like the pendejo I gotta be sometimes.”

You watched Angel step into the ring, his own hoodie still unzipped halfway, beer passed off to someone as he rolled his shoulders.

The crowd surged forward. Cheers. Jeers. A few catcalls. The other man stepped into the ring—bigger, maybe older. You couldn't tell. The music faded into the background beneath the sound of fists slamming into flesh.

Angel fought like he had something to prove and something to protect. Every punch was deliberate, every dodge tight and calculated. He was grinning, laughing even—but his eyes kept flicking to where you sat at the edge of the lot.

Like he was making sure you were still there.

You folded your arms tight across your chest, unsure of how to breathe. This version of Angel was different. Lethal. Controlled violence wrapped in denim and tattoos.

You’d seen a few fights in your life— schoolyard scraps, boys pretending to be men. But nothing like this.

Angel’s opponent landed a blow that sent sweat flying, and the crowd roared in approval. You flinched, your fingers curling tight around the edge of the crate beneath you. It was the sound of bone-on-bone, the dull crack of flesh being punished, that did it. That made it real.

This wasn’t fun.

This wasn’t tradition.

This was violence.

And no one flinched but you.

The deeper Angel sank into it, the more you saw that sharp glint in his eyes. That switch—flipped. You’d been around anger before, but this was different. Controlled, calculated, and encouraged.

You wrapped your arms around your stomach, suddenly cold despite the heat of the crowd. You tried to remind yourself that Angel had been kind. That he was EZ's brother, that he’d helped you laugh when things felt too heavy.

But the way the others watched the fight—like it was entertainment, not consequence—made something twist tight inside your chest.

They could do that to me, too? I'm not a guest.

That’s when you saw it.

Half-shadowed behind a row of parked bikes, past a group of men laughing around a fire barrel—

The gate.

Heavy.

Rusted.

But open.

A truck had just pulled through, music blaring. Someone yelled for a case of beer to be unloaded. The distraction held the crowd’s attention like a magician’s misdirect.

Your heart beat so hard you felt it in your fingertips.

Now or never.

You slid down off the crate, your shoes barely making a sound on the packed dirt. You kept your eyes low, your body tight, trying to fold yourself into shadows.

The party felt like a wave crashing behind you—so loud it muffled the thunder of your own fear.

Each step toward the gate felt impossible.

Like gravity was thicker here.

Like someone would notice.

Angel was still in the ring, fists flying, blood blooming.

Angel had the upper hand now. His opponent was breathing hard, one eye already swelling shut. The fight had drawn every eye in the yard—including Bishop’s, watching with that unreadable stare.

The Mayans lot disappeared behind you, swallowed by dark and distance. The further you moved down the cracked, weed-lined driveway, the quieter the world became.

The music from the party dulled into a heartbeat behind you—pulsing, then fading, until it was only a memory.

Each step felt like freedom.

You didn’t look back.

Your breath steamed in the cool night air.

You didn’t stop. Not when you were this close. You didn’t know where you were going, but anywhere had to be safer than the place that locked you in a trailer and turned men into cheering shadows around a ring.

You didn’t hear the approach. Not until it a hand wrapped around your mouth, just behind you.

You froze.

And then— right by your ear.

"A'ight, if I let go you ain't gonna scream.”

The voice was low.

Calm.

Too calm.

You nodded.

You turned slowly. Coco stood there, leather kutte hanging open, cigarette tucked behind one ear, and a pistol—unraised, but present—in his hand.

You barely breathed.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t threaten. But his presence was steel in the air. Measured. Careful.

He nodded toward the yard. “Let’s not make this worse than it is.”

You didn’t speak. He didn’t either.

The trust between you was thinner than smoke.

When you reached the lot again, the party was still burning at full blaze. Laughter, music, the occasional whistle from someone watching the ring. No one noticed your return. No one cared.

Except Coco.

His eyes were sharp now—watching angles, sight lines, shadows. One hand stayed near his sidearm. Not aggressive. Just... precautionary.

"C'mon keep moving” The words carried more command than menace.

He didn’t take you back through the main crowd. Instead, he led you around the side of the trailers, behind the burned-out husk of an old SUV, the firelight from the yard barely reaching you.

"You got guts, I’ll give you that,” Coco muttered. “But you’re dumb as hell.”

You didn’t reply.

He didn’t shove the gun in your back. Just held it low. Present. Like a leash you couldn’t see.

Coco opened the door and stepped inside first, eyes sweeping the space like a soldier entering enemy ground.

You followed—heart hammering, legs shaking now that the adrenaline had started to burn off.

He stalked through the trailer, eyes narrowing, looking for weak spots

“Shit,” he said quietly, almost admiringly. “how'd you get out ? Pick the lock ?”

You looked down, nodded, letting him believe the lie.

Coco turned back to you, his face unreadable. There was a flicker of something human there—something almost like respect. Then it vanished.

"You weren’t supposed to see the gate open. That’s on us.”

He shut the blinds. Every one. Drew the curtains. Then he crossed the room and flipped the lock on the trailer door with a sharp click.

“Sit.”

You didn’t move.

He raised the gun slightly—not at you, just up. “I said sit. Don’t make me a arsehole tonight.”

You sat.

Angel came back with his knuckles wrapped, a towel over his shoulder, and sweat still clinging to his skin. He was laughing—until he saw Coco through a crack in the blinds in the trailer, gun at his side.

And you.

Pale. Sitting on the couch with your arms wrapped around your knees like a child trying not to vanish.

“What the fuck—”

Coco held up a hand. “I found her halfway down the damn driveway.”

Angel’s expression broke into something dark all at once. He stepped closer, fast, hands out like he wanted to touch you—reassure you—but didn’t know if he deserved to.

“Querida…”

His voice dropped low, a thousand feelings crushed into one word.

You looked up, eyes glassy.

He turned to Coco. “Man, put the fucking gun down.”

Coco stared. For a beat, neither moved.

Then Coco nodded, almost like he was tired of the whole thing. He clicked the safety and holstered the weapon.

“She’s your problem, Reyes. But I’m tellin’ you right now, if someone had caught her first…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t need to.

The door closed. The trailer fell silent.

Angel knelt in front of you, his arms braced on his knees, his head tilted so he could look up into your face. “I thought we agreed you wouldn't run.”

You blinked, stunned. “Angel, its not like I'm here by choice.”

His jaw worked. Muscles tight.

The sun hadn't yet risen. The lot was quieter than usual—party ashes smoldering in barrels, a few scattered bottles catching the low light, wind stirring up the dust.

The van was parked just beyond the fence.

Black.

Nondescript.

The kind of van you don't notice. EZ leaned against the hood, arms crossed, eyes following every movement without expression.

Angel stood by the side door, hands on his hips, head down like he was trying to slow his own heartbeat.

Inside the trailer, you sat on the edge of the couch, trembling, eyes wide and locked on the duffel bag one of the them had tossed by the door. You’d seen it before—when your world had been torn from one shape and shoved violently into another.

You were going somewhere.

But no one would say where.

“Querida…”

Angel knelt in front of you. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a plastic zip tie. White. Innocent-looking. Until he held it up and you flinched.

“I’ll be gentle, okay? I gotta do it. You know I gotta.”

You didn’t respond. But your wrists extended slowly—like some broken thing trained to obey.

He wrapped the tie around your wrists, slow and careful. His touch lingered just a second longer than it needed to, like he was trying to say something through skin contact alone—the shrill sound of the rapid clicks filled you ears as it was pulled around your wrists.

Angel grimaced as he pulled back. “Not too tight?”

You said nothing.

But your breathing started to pick up when he picked up a black hood.

Your legs shifted. Shoulders stiffened. Breath caught.

You backed up.

Not fast. Just one small, instinctive shuffle. But it said everything.

Angel held out a hand.

“Querida. Hey. Look at me.”

You didn’t.

He moved in slow, like you were a deer that might bolt.

"It’s just a for the drive. Just ‘til we’re clear of the roads.”

You whispered, voice cracking, “I don’t want it. Angel, Please.”

His jaw clenched. His eyes flicked to the others—EZ, Bishop, Coco standing by the van.

All watching.

All waiting.

“I know,” he said. “I hate this. You gotta believe that.”

You looked up—eyes wet now, lip defiant but trembling. He looked wrecked.

Angel stepped in closer. Kneeling like he wanted to level the world between you.

“I’m gonna put it on slow, alright? No surprises.”

You nodded once. Barely.

He paused—his hands hovering—just to give you the chance to pull away. When you didn’t, he gently pulled the hood down over your head.

Your breath quickened immediately.

Angel could hear it. Could feel it. “Querida. I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”

EZ shut the van doors behind you both. Inside, the space smelled like leather and oil. You sat with your hands in your lap, head bowed under the hood, legs drawn in small and tight.

Angel sat across from you, arms resting on his knees, jaw locked in that way he always did when something didn’t sit right in his gut.

The van started moving.

You jumped slightly. "Still here,” Angel said. “Just me. You’re not alone.”

You gave the tiniest nod, as if that mattered.

EZ watched from the passenger seat through the rearview mirror. He didn’t say a word, but the look in his eyes—sharp, knowing—was enough.

“You getting soft, hermano?”

The interior of the van was dim, lit only by slivers of early morning light bleeding through the cracks in the frame. The engine thrummed beneath you like a distant heartbeat. You sat hunched near the wheel well on the floor, the black hood still over your head, wrists zip-tied in front of you.

You couldn’t see, but you could feel the cold ridges of the van floor beneath you, the rubbery bite of the zip ties digging into your skin, the way each bump in the road jolted through your body like a quiet reminder—you weren’t in control.

Angel sat directly across from you. His knees spread, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped in front of him. He was trying to look relaxed.

“You okay?”

You shifted suddenly at a bump in the road, tipping off balance. Your zip-tied hands shot out instinctively to brace you, but you couldn’t catch yourself. You let out a tiny noise when your shoulder bumped hard against the metal wall.

Angel was on moving instantly.

"Hey—hey, it’s alright.”

He moved carefully toward you, crouching down. He didn’t touch you—not yet. Just held a hand out like you might feel the nearness.

“I got you,” he said low, like a promise. “You're okay. Just the road.”

You didn’t reply. But you didn’t flinch either when his hand barely grazed your arm as he steadied you.

Angel sat down cross-legged on the floor next to you. Not too close—but close enough that if you wanted, you could lean in.

He didn’t speak again for a while. Just sat beside you in silence, hands loose on his thighs, watching the way your chest rose and fell beneath the fabric. Noted every time your breathing skipped.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead in the Galindos' warehouse, casting harsh shadows across concrete floors that looked like they'd been recently hosed down.

You were led through long halls, Mayans flanking you like shadows. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you sat in the stiff pew the cold seeping through your jeans.

The entire Santo Padre Charter was present now, their kuttes adorned with patches forming a wall of leather and denim around the perimeter of the room.

You recognized faces that had become familiar during your captivity—Bishop's stern glare, Coco's unnerving stare, Taza's quiet watchfulness. Gilly and Creeper stood near the entrance, while EZ remained close to his brother Angel, both leaning against a support beam.

Miguel Galindo paced in front of you, the yellow raincoat he wore seeming absurdly bright against the grim surroundings. His leather shoes clicked with each deliberate step.

He looked—more Wall Street than street enforcer—but the casual way his men deferred to him told you everything you needed to know.

Behind him, a man knelt. Bound. Eyes wide, pleading. Maybe a worker, maybe someone like you.

"Por favor no hagas esto, no sé nada, lo juro.," the man begged. You didn't understand the words, but the tone—

You looked at Angel.

His face was stone. But his fists? Clenched. Knuckles white.

Miguel turned to you, hands outstretched like a welcoming host. "Welcome, your reputation preceeds you, your quite the Archivist."

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. "We have certain... documents. Certain data. That needs to be corrected— or buried."

He motioned to a tablet. It was placed in front of you.

Files. Numbers. Names.

"And you going to help us."

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. "I'm just a librarian. An archivist. I preserve things, not erase them."

Miguel smiled, the expression never reaching his eyes. He spoke rapidly in Spanish to one of his men standing off to the sides in the shadows.

Angel was watching you from his position, his dark eyes filled with concern he was trying to mask. The leather of his kutte creaked as he shifted forward slightly, the silver rings on his fingers catching the light as his hand curled into a fist.

EZ noticed his brother's tension and shot him a warning look. Angel reluctantly settled back, jaw clenched.

"Perhaps a demonstration is in order," Miguel continued, switching effortlessly back to English.

Then Miguel turned.

A nod.

Two cartel soldiers dragged the man behind him forward. There was a flash of a blade. A gurgle. A body collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.

You gasped. Moving backward on instinct. Your back hitting the pew hard.

Angel took a step forward instinctively, but EZ grabbed his arm. Held him.

Miguel turned back to you. Calm. Cold.

"Do you understand that, querida?"

Angel flinched like the word had been stolen from him.

You stared at the blood pooling on the floor. Your knees would have buckled if you weren't already sitting.

"This individual shared information with people who should not have received it," Miguel explained conversationally, as if discussing the weather. "In my business, information is either an asset or a liability."

Your stomach lurched as Miguel nodded again, and his men dragged the man's body toward a plastic tarp spread in the corner that you hadn't noticed before.

The implications were horrifyingly clear.

Miguel turned back to you, removing his gloves. "Now, about those files I mentioned."

Your hands trembled. "I—I ..." Your throat became impossibly tight around your words.

Miguel's smiled as he adjusted his yellow raincoat. "I believe I've just demonstrated what happens to people who don't cooperate with my requests."

He paused. "The beauty of your situation is that no one would miss you if you were gone. You're new to Santo Padre. No family in the area. No real connections." His eyes flicked across the Mayans before returning to you. "You'd simply... vanish. Like the files I want delt with."

You glanced at Angel, searching for reassurance. His posture had tensed, eyes darting between you and Miguel, clearly fighting the urge to intervene.

Miguel laughed, a sound that was somehow worse than any threat.

He leaned closer, the smell of expensive cologne filling your nostrils. "All I require is your expertise. Your skills for your safety. Simple."

You'd spent your career preserving history, making information accessible.

Now they wanted you to do the opposite

[greytongue]

warm welcome.

+

cw/themes: this is short this is rushed and im sorry. no smut but kinda suggestive. he gets back from a mission after being gone a few weeks. you’re already asleep when he comes home and accidentally wakes you up

+

you stirred awake with a jerk as you felt the plush mattress dip behind you, feeling a familiar presence slide under the comforters behind you. your head turned, catching a flash of blond hair is all you needed for your body to fully relax again before he came into full sight.

“hey,” leon got fully situated, pulling the covers up as a small smile crossed his boyish features. you exhaled a sigh of relief. god, you missed that smile. he’s been gone for weeks now. “i didn’t mean to wake you-“

you interrupted him as you immediately tackled him into the bed. his back hit the softness of the sheets and your hands were quick to cup his smooth cheeks, pulling him into a kiss. leon let out a sound of surprise into the kiss, his eyes wide. it didn’t last long, his hands finding their way to rub at your waist and his lips moving in sync with yours. you relaxed your body fully onto his warm one with a sigh. warm, so warm. it’s been so cold with him gone.

the hands at your waist encouraging you to do so, your thighs settling out beside his hips and the satisfying stretch at your pelvis made you groan in relief.

though you were sleepy, you made the kiss rushed, you were just so ecstatic to have him back. you couldn’t get enough of his lips on yours, relishing the feeling of your tongues brushing together. you quickly left his plump lips, now bruised because of you and kissed down over his jaw onto his neck.

he shivered while you slide your body down slightly to get a better angle at his neck, leon biting at his lip as your clothed crotches kneaded together.

leon had the mind to put effort into quieting himself, but you didn’t. you groaned shamelessly against his neck along with the kisses there, relishing the way his neck strained to try and keep it together. you were still hazy from just waking up and the eagerness to have him here overrode everything else. your body mindlessly kept up with the motion of rocking your hips down lazily onto his and it had him screwing his eyes shut.

“baby-“ he gasped out, his hands slowing you down to a stop, “too fast.”

“mm, sorry, honey…” you whined, pulling back from a particularly long lick at his jugular, wiping the remaining spit off your lips with the back of your hand, to which he sucked in a sharp breath at. he let the breath go, chuckling as your head swayed, his hand coming up to brush away the hair in your face and you immediately leaned into it.

you gazed into his sharp, steely eyes, panting and soaking in the relief to finally look at your lover again after being apart for so long. you rested on your forearms by his head, hands cupping his plush cheeks.

“i missed you.” your stare glazed down along his nose, his cupids bow, his jaw. simply drinking in his features, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones.

“i missed you.” he repeated, large hands soothingly running up and down along your spine. you smile softly as you laid your head down on his chest, placing your weight fully on him. leon loved it, especially after missions. the pressure of you on top made him feel grounded, comforted in a weird way. he felt his eyes struggle to stay open, sore muscles beginning to relax as sleep was on its way.

you let out a long sigh, “sorry for bombarding you like that, didn’t mean to overwhelm you. just finally seeing you again…” you struggled to find the words.

“i know, babe. later, just exhausted right now.” he pulled the covers haphazardly over the both of you. honestly, neither of you really needed it, leon was a whole ass space heater in himself.

“tell me about how your mission went. well, what you’re legally allowed to.”

you smiled as a bubble of laughter emitted from him, feeling the way his chest shook under your head. you felt yourself drifting, finally warm and happy to have leon back,

“sure thing, pumpkin.”

[roseyreveries]

Far Away - 5

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Muggle!Reader Previous Part <- click! Summary: You wake up inside the Harry Potter universe without any explanation as to why you're there. Disclaimer: All characters are being aged up for PLOT (1st years are 15, 7th years are 21) but characters may act immature and childish in the beginning at times to keep their character development. Not accurate to the books or movies. CW: bullying kinda Directory <- click!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

The morning air in the dungeons was colder than the rest of the castle, sending a chill down my spine as Lila and I walked toward Potions class. The flickering torches along the stone walls didn’t do much to brighten the gloomy atmosphere, and the weight of the day ahead hung heavy in the silence.

Well, mostly silence— Lila was munching on a chocolate frog like it was her breakfast.

“Why do I feel like I’m walking to my execution?” I muttered, clutching my books a little tighter.

Lila smirked, “because you kind of are. Snape doesn’t play favorites— unless you’re Malfoy probably. Then you’re golden. The rest of us? Collateral damage.”

“That’s not helping,” I hissed. “How are you not freaking out right now? It’s Professor Snape. He’s supposed to be terrifying.”

“Eh,” Lila said around a mouthful of chocolate, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s not that bad once you realize he treats everyone like dirt. Lowers the stakes.”

“That’s… not comforting,” I muttered, glancing nervously at the classroom door as we approached.

Lila smirked, licking her fingers and tossing the empty frog wrapper into a nearby bin with perfect aim. “Relax, newbie. Just sit in the back, don’t blow anything up, and you’ll survive.”

“Says the girl retaking Potions,” I shot back, raising an eyebrow.

Lila laughed, a sharp, unapologetic sound that echoed down the hallway. “Touché. But for the record, I didn’t fail because I’m dumb. I just… don’t care. Honestly, I was too busy hexing people who deserved it to bother turning in homework.”

I gave her a skeptical look, and Lila rolled her eyes. “Fine, if you must know, I’m actually pretty good at Potions. Snape even said so— well, in his usual ‘you’re still a disappointment’ way. But rules aren’t really my thing.”

I couldn’t help but smile a little at that. Lila’s chaotic energy was oddly reassuring, even if it made no sense. “Great. Meanwhile, I have no idea what I’m doing. I didn’t even know magic was real until, like, two days ago.”

Lila stopped mid-step, spinning to face the reader with narrowed eyes. “Been living under a rock or something? You a muggleborn?”

I froze, realizing my mistake. “Uh— not muggleborn, just overexaggerating I guess.”

Lila’s gaze sharpened, but before she could press further, the classroom door creaked open, and a dark voice drawled from within. “If you are done wasting time in the hallway, kindly enter my classroom before I deduct points from Slytherin.”

Professor Snape.

Lila grinned and gave me a playful shove toward the door. “Saved by the greasy bat. Lucky you.”

My stomach churned as we walked into the classroom, the heavy atmosphere pressing down on me. Rows of workbenches stretched out in neat lines, each topped with cauldrons and ingredients. I quickly slid into a seat at the back, Lila plopping down beside me without a care in the world.

The classroom was already half full, with students scattered across the workbenches in pairs. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and something sharp, almost metallic.

Snape swept into the room like a storm cloud, his black robes billowing dramatically as he moved to the front. He stood with his arms crossed, his dark eyes scanning the room like a predator sizing up his prey.

As I settled in, my gaze flicked to the front, where none other than Draco Malfoy was sitting at his workstation, his pale blond head angled toward his cronies. He turned slightly, catching my eye for a split second before smirking.

Great. Just my luck.

“Pay attention,” Snape began, his voice slicing through the low murmur of the room. “Today, we will be brewing a simple Wiggenweld Potion. Simple, at least, for those of you who have more than two brain cells to rub together.”

I flipped open my book, scanning the instructions. I recognized maybe half the words, and even those felt like they were written in a foreign language. Murtlap Essence? Dittany? What even is flobberworm mucus?

I did my best to take notes, though my hand trembled slightly as I tried to keep up. Lila, on the other hand, leaned back in her seat, twirling her quill lazily.

“Are you even paying attention?” I hissed under my breath.

“Not really,” Lila whispered back with a smirk. “I already know this stuff.”

“Then why are you even here?” I asked, exasperated.

Lila shrugged. “Because Snape would hex me into next week if I skipped. Plus, I like watching him intimidate the Gryffindors. It’s good entertainment.”

I looked back down at my messy notes and the words on the pages of the textbook. My panic rose as Snape began assigning ingredients.

“You okay?” Lila whispered, already pulling out her supplies with an air of practiced nonchalance.

“Not really,” I muttered, staring at my empty cauldron like it might explode on its own.

Before Lila could respond, a small wad of parchment hit the side of my head. I frowned, looking down at the crumpled note now sitting on my desk. Glancing up, my eyes met Draco’s across the room. He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he leaned back in his seat like he didn’t have a care in the world.

I unfolded the note, my irritation growing. “Need help, newbie?” it read, the letters jagged and mocking.

My face burned, and I crumpled the note in my fist, glancing at Lila, who was too busy crushing an ingredient with a mortar and pestle to notice.

“Eyes on your work, Miss Thunderbrooke,” Snape’s voice snapped, cold and sharp as ice. I jolted, quickly reaching for the nearest jar of ingredients, my hands fumbling as I tried to keep up.

But Draco wasn’t done.

“Wrong one,” Draco whispered loudly enough for me to hear, his voice laced with faux helpfulness. “That’s powdered asphodel, not dried billywig stings. I’d hate for you to accidentally poison yourself.”

My hands froze over the jar. “It says asphodel on the label,” I hissed back.

“Does it?” Draco said, feigning surprise. “My mistake.” He smirked, and his cronies snickered.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said sharply, his tone stern but still far gentler than when he addressed the rest of the class. “Focus on your own cauldron.”

“Yes, Professor,” Draco said smoothly, though he shot me a look that clearly said, This isn’t over.

I turned back to my workstation, my hands shaking as I added ingredients to my cauldron. Every time I tried to focus, Draco found a way to interrupt— knocking his book loudly against his desk, muttering exaggerated “helpful” instructions just loud enough for me to hear, or casually flicking pieces of parchment in my direction.

By the time my potion was half-finished, my frustration had reached its limit. I turned to glare at him, my voice low and seething. “Will you knock it off?”

“Miss Thunderbrooke,” Snape’s voice cut through the tension, and my heart sank. His dark eyes bore into me, his expression a mixture of disdain and disappointment. “If you insist on distracting my class, perhaps you’d prefer to serve detention scrubbing cauldrons?”

“But I wasn’t—” I started, only to catch Draco smirking out of the corner of my eye. He looked utterly unbothered, his chin resting casually on his hand as if he’d just won a game I hadn’t even realized we were playing.

Snape’s glare silenced me. “Ten points from Slytherin. Consider this your first and only warning.”

I bit my tongue, my face burning as I turned back to my cauldron. Lila shot me a sideways glance, muttering under her breath, “He’s such a git. Don’t let him get to you.”

Easier said than done, especially with Draco’s laughter ringing softly in my ears.

Class dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity as I tried to salvage my potion. The instructions blurred together on the page, my mind still reeling from the embarrassment of Snape’s scolding. I glanced at Lila, who was calmly stirring her cauldron, utterly unbothered by the chaos around us.

“Stir counterclockwise, three times,” Lila whispered, not looking up from her work. “Then add the Wiggentree bark. Carefully.”

I nodded, following her instructions. “Thanks,” I muttered, though my voice carried more frustration than gratitude.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Lila said with a smirk. “Your potion still looks like swamp water.”

I groaned softly, leaning over my cauldron. I was about to ask if swampy green was normal when another wad of parchment hit my elbow, sliding across the desk. My jaw tightened, but I didn’t dare look up this time. Instead, I unfolded the note beneath the desk, my fingers trembling with irritation.

What’s wrong? Can’t handle the pressure? Maybe Hogwarts isn’t for everyone.

My grip tightened on the parchment, crumpling it into a ball before shoving it into my pocket. I refused to give Draco the satisfaction of a reaction.

But Draco wasn’t about to give up that easily.

“Careful with that stirring,” he said from across the room, his voice light but cutting. “Wouldn’t want your potion to explode. Oh wait— you already added the lacewing flies too early, didn’t you? Such a rookie mistake.”

I froze, my mind racing. Had I? I glanced down at my cauldron, trying to remember what step I was on. My hesitation made Draco’s smirk widen.

“Malfoy, shut up,” Lila hissed, finally turning her glare on him. “Don’t you have some Gryffindors to hex or something?”

“I’m just trying to help,” Draco said, feigning innocence as he leaned back in his chair. “Can’t fault me for being concerned about a fellow Slytherin’s education, can you?”

Lila rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath that sounded distinctly like a curse word. I, meanwhile, was fighting the urge to throw a handful of flobberworm mucus at Draco’s perfectly smug face.

“Enough,” Snape’s voice cut through the room like a knife, silencing the murmurs. He swept toward the back, his dark eyes narrowing as he took in my cauldron. “Miss Thunderbrooke. Your potion— if it can even be called that— should be a vibrant emerald green by now. What is this?”

I stammered, my face burning as I looked down at the murky, swirling liquid in my cauldron. “I-I must have… missed a step.”

“Missed a step,” Snape repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. He turned, his gaze flickering briefly to Draco, who sat straight and proper, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Perhaps if you spent less time entertaining Mr. Malfoy and more time following instructions, you wouldn’t be wasting my ingredients.”

I felt like sinking through the floor, but Snape wasn’t finished. “Ten more points from Slytherin. And you will stay after class to clean this mess.”

I didn’t dare look up as Snape turned on his heel, his robes billowing behind him as he returned to the front of the room. The laughter from Draco’s side of the room was soft but unmistakable.

“You okay?” Lila whispered, her tone uncharacteristically gentle.

I nodded stiffly, keeping my eyes on my notebook. “Fine,” I muttered, though her voice wavered.

By the time class ended, I was the first to stand, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere. But Snape’s voice stopped her cold.

“Miss Thunderbrooke,” he said without looking up from his desk. “Stay behind. Everyone else, dismissed.”

Draco shot me one last smirk on his way out, his cronies trailing behind him with muffled laughter. Lila gave me a sympathetic look, whispering, “I’ll wait outside.”

Once the room was empty, Snape approached my cauldron, his expression a mask of irritation. “Explain.”

“I—I’m sorry, Professor,” I stammered. “I was distracted, and—”

“I’m not interested in excuses,” Snape interrupted sharply. “You are in Slytherin, Miss Thunderbrooke. I expect excellence. Not this… mediocrity.”

I nodded quickly, my throat tightening as I stared at the floor.

“Clean up your station,” Snape said coldly. “And next time, I suggest you keep your focus on the task at hand.”

“Yes, Professor,” I mumbled, feeling thoroughly humiliated.

As I scrubbed the cauldron, my thoughts swirled with frustration. At Draco, at Snape, at myself. I barely noticed when Lila poked her head back into the room.

“Come on, newbie,” Lila said, her tone softer than usual. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve got chocolate. You need it.”

I sighed, setting the scrub brush down and following her out. As we walked toward the Great Hall for lunch, I couldn’t help but glance back over my shoulder, half expecting to see Draco lurking in the shadows.

I didn’t. But the smirk on his face was burned into my memory, and I had a sinking feeling this was only the beginning.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

Read the next part here!

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[satrs]

#partnerlook @toji.fushiguro

A/N; HEY HEY HELLO HEY LOVES! I’m BACK! Well, partially. I’ll update some time when I manage to so, I BEG you to be patient with me this will probably suck ass but whateva, I'm a bit rusted from the long break

Plus, DIDN’T AND COULD NEVAAAAA FORGET ABOUT U GUYSSS MUCH MUCH LOVE AND KISSES MWAH <3

TAGS; NSFW CONTENT. petnames: baby, ma, my girl. naaaastyyyyy. Kinda hand kink? doggy. pwp.

WK; 1.1K.

The whole idea of the whole partner look thing started off innocent, with small little changes.

At first, it would be just for fun, successfully convincing Toji to match the color of your outfits when you would go out on dates.

Those things would slowly progress into more - same shoes, jewelry, head-to-toe almost identical outfits and at last - tattoos.

Of course, couple tattoos are quite controversial with all the ‘what if’s’ surrounding them, with many people having their eyes knitted, uncertain about the whole ordeal, with Toji being one of them.

It took him some, well, a lot of convincing, but all it took were a couple of pleading puppy eyes and pouty lips to drag his feet right into the trap he never excepted to fall into.

“You serious about this, ma?” His question was rather rhetorical, giving his position, seated in the chair in front of the tattoo artist, buzzing machine in hand.

You only hum in return, agreeing with an excited glint in your eyes, adrenaline rushing through every inch of your body as you inspect the pre-written masterpiece at your lower back in the mirror. “So serious.” You could barely bite back your grin, thinking of the finished product and how your boyfriend would react.

And it sure was a reaction.

You wouldn’t even make it out of the car, his eagerness impossible to tame as he guides you to the backseats, throwing you onto his lap with your back facing him, the raging boner in his pants hurting to be buried into your welcoming cunt.

“Fuckkkk, baby. Shoulda’ knocked this into me sooner.” A deep groan echoed through the room, causing you to clench down onto his shaft.

You whine in return at the way he was stretching your walls in an almost ridiculous way, followed by a high-pitched gasp as you feel his rough hands caress the dark ink adoring your sweaty skin, the letters forming the name ‘Toji’ in the most beautiful font imaginable.

This alone had him snap his hips up into you, robbing a loud cry from you in the process. “C-careful, Toji!”, you babble, hand trying to hold onto his, accidentally grabbing the arm where the dark, vibrant ink adored his skin.

He slapped your hand way, clicking his tongue at the process. “Huh, want me to kiss it better?” He snickers, an inked arm snaking its way around your body to play with your plumb clit, giving it a teasing smack.

Your eyes wander down, a moan flying past your lips at the sight of your name on his lower arm, lightly ranking its way down to his beefy hand.

You feel his sharp fangs attack your neck, soon replaced by apologetic wet kisses.

Your head was spinning, unable to make out on what to focus - his girthy cock bumping into your sweet spot repeatedly, or the way your name so perfectly fitted onto his beefy arm.

“Nah. Gotta get a clear view on this.” His other hand forced your upper body to the front so nothing hindered him from obsessively gawking over the piece of art on your lower back.

Oh, he couldn’t wait till it healed completely, so he could finally get a little rougher on you.

“T-tojiiii” you protest to his antics, only to be caught in surprise by him throwing you on all fours, swiftly aligning his angry red tip to your gasping hole.

A bright smirk adores his face, scar crinkling in the process as he pushes your head into the leather seats, the different angle now providing him with the best view imaginable.

His hand comes down, ripping your flesh at impact, leaving a bright red print of his hand on your rear, earning a scream from you in return. "Hm, why not tattoo that shit on yer cheeks-" His hand made contact with your skin again at his teasing remark, your upper body slumping down into the seats with a cry, "-Whaddya' say?"

You nod eagerly, mind drunken in the pleasure you're receiving. The only thing that you could think about was the ringing in your ears with each smack of his hips against your ass. His balls slap against you aching clit, adding to the pleasure, causing your mouth to hang open, eyes rolling to the far back of your skull.

"Fuck, gonna cum, huh? Can fell your slutty cunt tryna suck me dry", he grunts, increasing the speed of his hips, hissing from your continuous clenching.

His hand reached for your throat, pushing you up against his back, careful not to hit your head against the roof. You moan, eyes flickering down to the hand around your throat, big orbs staying glued to the black shade on his skin, humping your hips against his to chase your incoming high.

"Mhm- fuck! m' so close, Toji! sososo close!", you mewl, earning a sharp thrust, followed by a deep grunt from the raven haired man. "Tatt s' gettin' my girl so worked up?" He slowed down his thrust to let his eyes trail down your back, orbs latching back onto the body art that decorated your shiny skin. "Can't lie, that shit s' gonna make me burst too." With one more thrust, your cunt clenches down onto him, robbing a groan from his lips. Your juices splash onto his pelvis as your legs gave out on you, the hand around your neck holding your back from falling flat onto your stomach.

"jusss' like that, baby, shittttt- gonna cum too. Gonna bust all over that pretty tattoo, yeah?" His hand loosened around your neck, causing your upper body to fall down. Both hands back on your hips, drilling his throbbing cock into your abused cunt, threatening to burst any second.

"Yeahhh, gonna paint it all over, fuckkk." He swiftly pulled out, causing you to softly whine at the loss. Impatiently pumping his cock in fast motion before spurting his cum all over your back, white semen covering up most of the black tint on your lower back.

A chuckle rang your ear as you took deep breaths, turning your head to come face to face with his menacing grin, eyes glued to your back. "Look at that."

You propped yourself onto your arms, adoring the view on your back with your lower lip between your teeth, shacking your behind in a teasing manner.

A giggle rang through the air at the harsh smack against your ass, your eyes following the inked arm up to the culprits face. The man grinned down at you, canines showing, teasingly tapping his cock head onto your ass, before spreading your cheeks with his length, retrieving it right after.

"m' still sensitive, Toji-" but before you could finish your sentence, he already threw you onto his lap, fingers teasing your gasping hole, ignoring the sticky fluid against his pelvic and his already hard cock.

"Nuh uh. Gotta match mine with yours now."

©︎SATRS. all rights reserved. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[c0rvusx2]

Wolf-ji 🤡

Toji x fem!reader

18+: Toji being a perv, swearing, described nudity I think. Somewhat creepy ig, he likes watching you do stuff. No smut, but it’s kinda spicy. Use of 2nd POV (you, your) rather than 3rd (she,her).

Notes: Keep in mind that he has the mind of a human, so don’t take it wrong 🤝 This man is my brain rot 🤤 lmk if I need to raise the age warning

Genre: Fluff/Crack, spicy idk

Toji had no fucking clue where he was. He expected hell to be… a lot less looking like a city alleyway. He tried to lift himself, rather than feeling like his legs they were bent at an uncomfortable looking angle. Pain flared in his left arm, he bent his head to see a bullet wound, a nasty one that kept on bleeding.

“The fuck?” He stretched as best he could, looking around for some sort of item that would give him his reflection. Luckily, there was a abandoned mirror, cracked and without purpose. Toji began to limp over to the reflector, his legs stiff rather than it’s normal nimble movements.

“Oh fuckin’ hell-“

Okay, so maybe going grocery shopping late at night might be a bad idea—especially since there’ll be all sorts of creeps walking around. Not to mention it’s freezing out there, but it’s too late. You’ve already stepped out of the store and onto the empty sidewalk, and if this was the Wild West there’d be tumble weeds rolling from view. You shiver, beginning your journey back to the safe confines of your home.

The store you frequented was your favorite, and the farthest… so to save time you’d take shortcuts through alleyways. Today would be the first time you were doing it late at night.

You stare into the darkness of the passageway in front of you, anxiety bubbling in your stomach. “Quick… nice and quick…” you hype yourself up before storming ahead, using a quick pace to get you to the other side. The deeper you went, the darker it became and soon the only thing illuminating the alley was the clouded moonlight from above.

From ahead of you, you suddenly see a pair of eyes, gazing right back at you with a stern emerald green color.

You screamed as the eyes began to rapidly get closer, accompanied by the sounds of claws hitting against the ground. You dodged, reversing yourself and pressing your back to the alleyway’s wall. A harsh tug came from your grocery bag, which almost ripped your arm right off your torso. Muffled growling came from the creature that was trying to steal your food. Luckily, you recognized the creature that was attacking you, it was some dumb dog.

This made you enraged and frustrated, this shit costed you a good chunk of the money saved from the leftovers after you payed bills—and the bills around here ain’t cheap.

“Bitch!-“

🌌

Toji is one lucky bastard. Perhaps this was god giving him a 2nd chance at life- their weird way of dishing out redemption.

Somehow, he was able to worm his way into the chick-he-was-about-to-rob’s heart. Life’s good for the man-turned-wolf, he’s got free food, a roof to live under, and no rent to pay. A bargain in his mind. The only downside being he won’t be able to fuck around anymore, and he sure as hell is NOT gonna fuck a dog.

You felt bad for the dog, the moment you saw it’s form when you scrambled out the alleyway. It wasn’t scrawny, but it wasn’t very lean either. It had a scar present on the right side of it’s mouth, sharp green eyes and dirty matte black fur. It sustained a limp arm, a recent wound most likely the reason why it didn’t go all out on you.

You couldn’t really just walk away from a hurt animal, the guilt would eat you up the moment you turned your back. You were also studying to be a vet, moments like this were what you meant for. So you left some food, ran home to fetch a med kit, and returned with your car.

Here you were now, caring for one big ass dog who kept stealing your food—even though you bought him his own food.

You named him Toji, mainly because that scar on the dogs mouth was hella familiar to the Toji you fawned over in Jujutsu Kaisen. He looked at you weirdly when you said that, but snorted a moment later and stalked off to your TV set.

The strange thing about him was that he apparently knew how to operate cable TV, which amazed you yet weirded you out at the same time.

You noticed Toji naps a lot, and wakes up whenever you turn on Netflix. He’ll eagerly sit next to you, sometimes snacking (read stealing) popcorn whenever you make some.

For some reason he likes tuning in whenever you play any anime episodes, especially Jujutsu Kaisen. Whenever Fushiguro comes onto screen Toji’s fluffy tail begins to wag a bit, which you giggle at. He’ll catch you looking and snap at you, which causes you to furthermore laugh at. In the end he’ll end up tackling you onto the couch.

🌌

Toji often feels bored in your household. Nothing really for him to do since he’s apparently a dog now. Nothing to do other than follow you into the bathroom whenever you’re going to shower, keeping a keen eye on every curve of your body. Nothing to do other than watch the fat of your ass lower into his view when you have to bend over to clean up a mess you of him might’ve made.

Nothing to do other than create smutty fantasies of you in his head from when he was human, imagining what your cute little moans would sound like with you under him. Nothing to do other than watch your tits bounce whenever you two go out for a jog in the early morning. Nothing to do other than take a nap between your legs, resting his head on your stomach or between your breast whenever he can. Nothing to do but wish your pretty lips were wrapped around his cock instead of that popsicle you were sucking on a hot summer day.

Toji was a lucky bastard. And lucky bastards get what they want.

🌌

“Toji? Toooojiiii, breakfast! Where’d the hell you go?” You called out, turning the house upside down as you looked for him.

“Toji?” The only place you haven’t looked was the guest bathroom, and currently the door was closed shut. You could hear shuffling from inside, which made you wonder how the dog could’ve closed the door. Without warning, you swiftly pulled open the door.

“What’s going on in her-“ You stopped mid sentence, mouth agape at the figure who stood in front of your bathroom’s vanity. You both stared each other down, your eyes blown wide open while his were glued to yours without emotion. It was a stare down for what seemed like ages, until the familiar man broke the silence.

“What?”

You screamed, and you wished it was without the s because it was embarrassing. He flinched at your volume and seemed to disappear for millisecond, only to return right in front of you, hand on your mouth.

“Jesus Christ- I know you’re a loud mouthed brat but now’s not the time to scream yer’ lungs out,” He huffed, “You can do that later,” The man smirked, you could feel your face flush a bit. After a sec, he hesitantly let go of your mouth. Your mouth was left agape again as Hulu blinked wildly in disbelief at the hulking man in front of you.

“I- wait a fucking second… where’s my dog!?” The man just deadpanned at you, you took this time to eye him up and down. His skin tight shirt had a massive part of it missing on it’s left side, dark splotches of blood surrounding it. The familiar man, however, seemed completely fine.

“C’mon, is it not obvious!?”

“No!? It’s not possible for some anime character to come to life!?” At this you dashed out the room, running into the kitchen to nab your phone to call 911. Before you could even pick it up from the counter, the phone was snatched at lightning speed.

“Hey-!” You whipped around, immediately meeting a stone hard chest.

You were trapped.

“What do I gotta do to prove ‘m real, huh?”

💫

Omfg this is so ooc 💀 writing in character is hard.

If anyone’s confused Toji died and reincarnated into a dead dog’s body that looks exactly like him. During the night get went back to the jjk dimension, shibuya happens, and he returns back human.

Not proofread 🤡

[pe4nutastic]

Ana of Snowman: Relief & Gratitude

Here I come (again) with a sort of character study done through writing pf. I kinda wanted to dig into Ana's character a little so I wrote something mainly from her pov after the confrontation with Giegue.

There’s nothing that feels good about this.  Nothing that makes the nausea, impossibly concentrated tension freezing over every muscle in her tiny body, and absolutely petrifying fear that had hung over the human girl like a dark cloud throughout the entire confrontation any less.  Rather Ana watches the alien quietly, mouth barely kept from trembling over the noxious mixture of emotions spun out of the way the entire confrontation against Giegue had gone, as he makes a dreadful declaration of eventually returning and starts to (finally) leave.

She had never seen anything like him before; even now, the human girl felt as though she were seeing him for the very first time again.  Tall and spindly like a cat stretched out and contorted to seem a little more humanoid.  All sharp teeth that boldly glinted with malice every time he spoke.  Void-like eyes which could never seem to capture light no matter what angle he turned… –only envelope everything in inescapable darkness.  And an unnatural crackle of energy, which had come not only in the incomprehensible blows of power against the three of them, but in the way it perpetually hung in the air like dread incarnate; thinning the already sparse mountain air at the top and making the already terrible experience all the more suffocating.  She never realized that PSI could be like that.  Strong yes, but more than anything… that destructive.  That intent on causing irreversible harm to others.  That impossible a fit for anything or anyone that called the Earth their home.

He’s the one responsible for everyone’s current state, but she can’t look away.  She can’t stop looking at him.  Staring at him.  Committing every single detail that she can about him to memory.  Watching his progress with bated breath while scratched up and dirty hands stiffly bunch up the worn fabric of her old pink dress.  The garment itself, much like its wearer, hasn’t come out of this unscathed either but it’s so far from the girl’s mind that something which would ordinarily cause a little bit of upset doesn’t even register with her.  She simply can’t afford it.  Just as much as she can’t even afford to pay any mind to the myriad of little injuries that peppered her body.  Some things would certainly bruise later, and thus were unseen at the moment, but the various cuts and gashes from the alien’s brutal attacks are telling enough.  Rather she just watches, gaze utterly unbroken by even the increasingly desperate need to blink, as he boards his ship and the ship promptly leaves.  Or so she hopes.  The surroundings had distorted–like a ripple sent through a reflection in water–but almost as quickly, rightened themselves as the ship (finally) vanished.

But she doesn’t stop staring.  Not yet.  Ana resolutely stares at the empty space where Giegue and his ship had been, for a few more minutes, oblivious to any likely efforts that may or may not have been made to get her attention, before abruptly collapsing to the ground as if against her own best efforts, her own body simply forgot how to stand for a moment.  She hits the rock and dirt ground hard–not that the human girl can register it quite yet–judging by the sound of concerned gasps and “are you okay?!”s that finally manage to filter through the petrified and tense haze she had fallen into once the violent attacks had finally ceased.  Then a deep, wheezy, and unsteady breath that fills her mouth and forces–with an almost feverish fervor–into her throat and lungs.  One.  Two.  Three.  In uncomfortably rapid sequence before devolving into a round of coughing from the haphazardly enacted effort, a hand moving up to tightly muffle the last few before she’s flooded by immeasurable gratitude for the substantial drop in resistance to breathing.  Oh, it feels so good to breathe well again!  The whole confrontation had been so unbearably suffocating–as if some invisible force was constantly pressing in on her… one that could easily crush her in an instant if it so felt inclined–but now the mountain air feels just like mountain air.  Just like anything else at home.  Her precious home.  She finally musters the focus to glance between the scrunched up concern on Ninten’s face and the nervous fidgeting one on Loid’s.  One that’s still standing just like her precious friends.  Even though everything seemed hopeless… even though they had started singing out of desperation against the mounting hopelessness of opposing Giegue in any meaningful way… they’re all still alive.

Her mouth twitches as a wave of overwhelming relief wells from within her and snaps into a sudden surge of tears.  Loud, noisy, and quickly snot-filled crying that cleanly cuts through the uneasy silence like a knife through warm butter.  Thank goodness.  Thank goodness they’re all still here.  Worse for wear, but still here.  Relief and something she had been holding back the entire journey.  It had been hard.  This whole journey had been hard.  Very hard.  Much harder than she initially realized, even with Ninten and Loid (and Teddy, for a moment, before he had gotten hospitalized) by her side.  Leaving her small town, when she hadn’t really gone out on her own in this way before, was hard.  Leaving papa behind, even when he was worried sick about mama’s disappearance, was hard.  Fighting all kinds of enemies from the poor animals stricken by Giegue’s influence to the many mechanical things from beyond the planet… enduring every cut, bruise, and broken bone they had to dispense… was hard.  Leaving Teddy behind in the hospital, even as worry wracked her entire being and she hesitated to leave her friend be when she wanted to be there in support, was hard.  Gathering the courage to scale Mt.  Itoi, when the one responsible for every single awful and terrifying part of the journey was there, was hard.

Worse of all, it had been unimaginably hard to face Giegue himself.  But, not because of how much stronger he was or how much it hurt to continue opposing him or how much it took not to be immediately defeated.  That was scary and difficult too, but the worst part of it all had been how hopeless he made everything seem.  Every wave of unavoidable power.  Every single verbal barb thrown with cold calculation.  Every single time any attempt to retaliate, whenever the three of them weren’t desperately holding on to remain standing at all in the face of an impossible enemy, failed to do anything at all to him… the thought that the three of them would all fail the Earth grew louder.  Fail their family and friends.  Fail everyone that they didn’t know, but was counting on them to stop Giegue.  The human girl digs into the dirt as, for a moment, her crying rises in volume.

The idea that she would never see mama again.  That she would be lost forever.  That was the worst part of it all.  The hardest part of this whole journey to her.

And as if perfectly in sync with the trajectory of her thoughts, soon enough a gentle comfort comes in the form of a hand on each shoulder.  One from Loid, whom had almost ended up slumping to the ground himself, but managed not to by holding onto Ninten’s shoulder with his other hand.  The human boy himself was crying, a clear stream staining freckled cheeks from behind his thick glasses;  glasses that had attracted a lot of nasty comments from other kids, but ones that he couldn’t help being grateful for how easy they are to hide (somehow) behind now.

“P-please don’t cry Ana…”  Sniffle.  Sniffle.  He swallows back a lump in his throat and against the uncertainty on what to say in his voice, the sincerity of his efforts nonetheless shine through clearly.  “I-i… it’s over now.  It.. it… it’ll be okay…”

And the other hand on her shoulder?  from none other than Ninten, who just barely managed to remain standing himself, legs shaking like vibrations through jello from the relief felt by him too while his free arm fervently rubs at his eyes.  He hadn’t wanted to cry… had been hoping to keep up morale as the brave and fearless leader! and be the one that others could rely on for support, but damn it, seeing Ana and Loid cry was making him tear up too!  He stops for a moment and gives an enthused nod before fidgeting with his red neckerchief.

“Yeah… yeah!  We’re all okay!  Everything’s gonna be fine!  Uh.  Words, words…”

He snaps his fingers with each utterance of ‘words’, trying to think of what else to say while coming out of a similar emotional experience that the confrontation had evoked–albeit one a bit more immediately conflicted over how Giegue had been driven off–only to find that he doesn’t need to.  Because as if on cue, he finally manages to untie his neckerchief and offers it to his friend with a toothy smile; strained against the torrent of emotion threatening to overwhelm him too as tears (no longer being wiped away in a timely manner) streak down his face too, but no less genuine.

“Here.  I don’t got tissues or anything nicer on me right now, but use this –to uh wipe your tears and blow your nose with.  Better than nothin’ right?”

Ana herself hadn’t said anything this whole time–couldn’t manage to utter anything out under the weight of well? everything or do anything but turn her head to watch the two–but the comforts offered by her friends mean the world to her.  She sniffles a few times, adjusts her hat, and more properly looks back up at the other two.  Oh… it had been hard for them as well.  She takes Ninten’s offered neckerchief–somewhat reluctant to ruin (even if only temporarily) something he values so much, but realizing all the same that he wouldn’t accept any other response–and gently wipes her eyes before blowing her nose on it hard.  On pulling back, she can’t help grimacing.  It had been a much welcome relief, but it really wouldn’t feel right to return it without cleaning it herself first.  So the human girl just balls it up, shoves it into a small pocket in her dress with a neat motion, and offers words of gratitude before Ninten can protest.  Soft.  Delicate, but tinged with something determined that starts to well up.

“Thank-you Ninten.  Thank-you Loid.  I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.  I know that it’s been hard for both of you as well…”

The same determined something that has Ana digging her fingers further into the dirt and with a deep inhalation of breath, has the human girl try to stand herself back up before her friends can say anything more; against the many sharp pin pricks of pain she was only now starting to feel, well in the terrifying battle’s aftermath.  The other two move closer, their hands slipping off her shoulders to instead offer support in helping her stand, but before any help could be offered properly… she shakes her head with a mumbled “no… no… I can stand by myself.  Thank-you…”.  And indeed she would.  She had to.  Just as she had to continuously improve and get stronger throughout the journey not just to stop the alien invasion, but to rightly stand by the sides of her strong friends.

The entire time, she tried to be strong.  As strong and brave as the boy she foresaw herself meeting.  Ninten.  The very one who, though she hadn’t met him yet, made her want to be strong and brave too.  The one who… though she had only seen a small snippet of who he really is in her vision of the future… she had started to like-like before the two had properly met.  Then, as strong and brave as Loid and Teddy.  The two are very different people, but something they share in common is that even though they both had many reasons not to step up… they found the strength and courage to step up nonetheless and fight against Giegue’s forces as best as they could.

And finally (and maybe the most importantly)... as strong and brave as what people think when they hear the title “Pride of Snowman”.  A title she couldn’t accept when all she had ever tried to do is be good; not for the attention, but because well? it was the right thing to do!  To do her part, like anyone else, and help others wherever she could.  A stumble–that momentarily disrupts her train of thought–as she finally comes to a stand but something she quickly recovers from, sore and nicked arms stiffly stuck straight out to rebalance herself before exhaling a held breath.

She knew that deep down, papa hadn’t wanted for her to go, but much like the day she had discovered that she had powers… all she had ever wanted to do is to help others using said powers.  To do more good using them.  It’s why, unable to bear the thought of those frogs’ bodies being cut open as opposed to giving them a respectful burial, she used her powers to free the frogs at school that one time.  Why she had put on a brave front this whole time.  She couldn’t bear the thought of holding anyone back in any way–be it in battle strength or emotional needs–while everyone else could readily move forward either.  So throughout the entire journey, she had studiously made sure to be as strong as possible.  For the sake of her friends just as much as mama’s.

Properly standing and stable now, albeit in a fair amount of ever-increasing pain, she looks at her friends contemplatively before closing what little distance there was between the three of them at this point and pulling them all into a grateful hug, hissing through grit teeth against the pain and dirt in some open wounds as she does so.

“Thank-you… thank-you so much…”

For this entire journey and the way the support of her friends had ensured that she’d make it through to save her mom.  And of course, though she was the one usually comforting others as her town’s pride, for the comfort offered by them.  She squeezes a bit tighter as Ninten and Loid return the hug themselves.  Maybe a bit too tightly judging by the hisses of pain that escape the other two and the injuries that they themselves had gotten.  And she indeed feels a pang of regret for it, but even if she had been able to more acutely assess everything as she usually did, the human girl isn’t sure that she could stop herself from doing it anyways.  She’s just that grateful and relieved.

“I’m so glad that we made it through this.  I was so worried that we wouldn’t… sorry… but he was so strong.  Nothing was working… –”

Ana shakes her head, biting her lower lip for a moment as a fresh bout of tears threaten to burst out.  Loid does the same, likely about to cry again himself, before he averts his gaze.  In the end, it’s none other than the one who had been leading the efforts that speaks up, squeezing the group hug into something tighter himself.

“I know Ana.  Er… –owowowow” Damn it.  He’s hurt more than he had been letting on and he’s betting that Ana and Loid are the same.  Everyone’s been trying to be as strong as possible the whole journey and while, between everything else, Giegue’s… whatever was going on with him over the song exactly… exit had shaken everyone up… what’s important is that they’re all okay.  Injured and shaken up, but fine.  The human boy grits his teeth for a moment as an especially bad pang of pain shoots through his body like fire, before adjusting his askew hat as if to buy a little more time on what to say before speaking.

“I don’t think… I don’t think we really knew what we were in for with this guy.

The other guys we fought?  they were nothing compared to him.  What they could do?  not even close to what he could do.

But, we made it through anyways, yeah?  That’s what’s important.  We weren’t strong enough to take him on like the other guys, yeah, but we had great grandma’s song and that was enough.  We don’t gotta worry ‘bout anything else… no matter what he said after.

………….

I don’t really wanna think about what could’ve happened but didn’t…”

Oops well that had slipped out.  He yanks on his hat, a bit too harshly out of a minor bit of frustration, and just barely manages not to swear under his breath.  Loid turns back to face everyone else properly, frowns a bit after some assessment, before solemnly nodding.  He’s still a bit shaky himself, but not as overwhelmed by his own flurry of emotions from before.  Like Ana, he’s determined now.  In… incredible amounts of pain, but determined.

“I agree.  With Ninten that is.  We’re all still here.  Giegue was strong, but he’s gone now.  I… based on how he.  Um.  How he… reacted… to everything…”  a vague wave of his hand, out of the group hug for a moment, to loosely gesture at the empty air. “I… I don’t think we need to worry about him for a bit.”  A nervous adjustment of his glasses. “I think that what we need to worry about right now… is the people he had trapped.  They might still be trapped and waiting for us to save them.”

Ana turns her head to more properly focus on Loid specifically.  Oh of course!  Everyone might still be waiting.  Loid is right.  There’ll be time to talk more about everything afterwards and while the human girl is still grappling with various emotions over the whole ordeal, the crying had helped a lot.  And in its aftermath, above all else, she’s grateful now.  Grateful to the friends that had stood by her against Giegue and for the one that had helped as much as he could before becoming too injured to continue.  Teddy’s condition, unknown as it is to the three of them right now, still worries her but despite that… for the friends that can be here right now, she smiles.  A tiny one, but no less sincere.

“Loid is right.  We need to start moving, but I just have to thank you guys one last time before we do.  I’ll thank Teddy when we get a chance to visit him in the hospital.  

Because of everyone… my mom is going to be okay.  Thank-you so much for that.”

Ninten offers a smile back in return, one as daring and bold as it had been in her vision of their future meeting and briefly hooks his hands behind his head “Hey, it’s no problem at all!  Was gonna kick that guy’s ass anyways so it all kinda worked out in the end!”

Loid too smiles back, but a bit more subdued just like Ana, and nods. “Even though it was scary… it looks like we were the ones that needed to get the job done.  Because of that… because it feels like no one else could manage it like this… it wouldn’t have been right to do anything but help.”

Ana nods affirmatively and pulls back, Ninten and Loid following suit as she does so, and brushes what removable dirt she can from her stained dress, frowning just a bit at the various tears in it, before opting to just leave the matter be.  It’s her favourite dress, but there’s more important things to do now.  She’ll worry about how to fix it after everything else has been resolved and sorted.

“Well then… I guess that we better start moving down –OWwwwwwww”

An abrupt stop in her, maybe too enthused, starting movements to begin the descent down as a sharp pain flares up.  She couldn’t honestly place the source anymore.  Everyone is hurt all over.  And maybe it doesn’t really matter because either way, it was enough to stop her from moving immediately.  Before she could do anything else, be it to restart the motion or think about another course of action, Ninten is by her side anew and a hand slightly raised with glimmers of a Heal at the ready and an almost teasing smile, strained a bit against the pain he had triggered in his own hurt body to move as quickly as he did.

“Heh, I think that maybe we gotta do one thing before anything else.  Fix ourselves up!  Somehow I feel like it’s gonna be hard to walk back down a mountain half-dead–”

Ana returns the smile, a bit brighter than before, as does Loid and nods affirmatively.

That’s right.  It was an awful awful ordeal, but the worst of it is over.  While she’d hate to keep everyone waiting even more than they already have, this won’t take long at all.  It wouldn’t do mama any good to see her in even worse condition than what her clothing already implies.  She holds out an arm.

“You’re right.  That’s… actually pretty reasonable of you.  I already knew that you’d be brave and strong, but you turned out to be even more than what I saw in my vision.”

Chest puffed out in faux pride–in as exaggerated a manner as possible–to lighten the mood, Ninten’s smile grows bigger as he starts his work of healing his friend.  He isn’t good at knowing what to say much when stuff like what happened with Ana starts happening, but lightening things up when they seem dire?  that’s something that he can always do no problem.  If he can help it at all, now or in the future, he never wants to have a situation where Ana (or Loid for that matter, subdued as it was by comparison) cries like that again.

“Y’know, it’s not easy being the voice of reason but hey!  someone’s gotta do it to keep reckless guys like you two from getting into trouble!”

Loid moves closer, next in line to be healed, as the last of Ana’s injuries vanish beneath the healing luminescence of Ninten’s PSI.  Shy as he had started out on this journey… it seems that he had gained enough courage and confidence to participate in a little banter.

“Careful with the compliments Ana.  He’s already getting a big head from just one.  Pile on more and he’s going to turn into a real monster–”

A hand goes to her mouth as a barely-contained giggle escapes at Loid’s jab and like any good teammate, naturally moves to back him up accordingly.

“Oh.  We’re reckless?  Should I start making a list to read back to you of every reckless thing you’ve done this trip?”

Loid has a bit of a laugh himself before expectantly sticking out his arm for Ninten to start healing.

“No way Ana.  That would take too long.  We’ve got to leave this mountain today right?”

Ninten moves away from Ana, now freed from the pain of her injuries, and starts his efforts on healing Loid.  But, not before making sure to exude a sharp huff of faux indignation.

“Hey!  Did you two forget who you’re relying on to get fixed up right now?”

Some more laughter from Ana and Loid before the former falls silent and decides to silently watch and wait until Ninten finishes his work.  She’s still worried about Teddy, about anyone else that’s gotten hurt, and about her mom… but it feels like a weight has been lifted off, even if only a bit.  The journey had been very hard, but with people like Ninten, Loid, and Teddy (for what time he could manage) by her side, she could honestly say that it feels a lot less like it in retrospect.

[organdon3r]

I'm giggling I love Penny's bald spot era😭

I KINDA HATE THISSS LMFAO

Incidents

Word count: 919

CW(?): none? Other than a description of the severed head

Penny swung open the white, wooden door, its creaking hinges echoing in the dimly lit room. Her eyes quickly fell on the small stand in the corner, where a bucket filled with bubbling acid sat precariously. The liquid sloshed and swayed, catching the faint light and reflecting it like a sinister dance. A rush of excitement coursed through her as she realized she had finally found what she was looking for - bingo. Meanwhile, Taylor carried the head to the empty fountain - grimacing at the texture of his fingers digging into the squishy flesh. At least one arm was bionic… he only had to half-feel the tissues, and he could've sworn they were moving. After dropping the head into the basin, he sighed and stretched out his arms before heading the way Penny trudged earlier.

He hummed to himself, shoving one hand into his pocket before the other reached out for the handle of the closed door, a huge warning sign plastered to the wall next to it. That's when Penny burst through the door, the bucket of acid in her arm; unluckily, As Penny rounded the corner, she unexpectedly collided with Taylor, who was caught off guard. In a split second, the acid she had been searching for spilt from the container, splattering violently over the side of her head. Taylor, shocked by the incident, instinctively raised his hand in an awkward wave of apology, his expression a mixture of embarrassment and panic. The atmosphere was thick with tension as they both stood there, frozen in place. Penny's eyes blazed with anger, her mind racing with thoughts of how careless it all felt. Taylor sensed the storm brewing within her and began to slowly retreat, his heart racing as he wondered just how angry she truly was. The fear of facing the more formidable side of Penny gnawed at him as he took cautious steps back, hoping to defuse the situation before it spiralled out of control. Breaking into a sprint, Taylor knew she couldn't follow him…except he disregarded Penny's ability to put the bucket down. Which she did. His moment of triumph was short-lived when he felt a glass bottle fly into the back of his head with a cry out of “Ach!”. Taylor put his hands on his knees, gasping out a breath as he patted the back of his head - ignoring the trickle of blood that started to come down his forehead.

He glanced back over his shoulder, a sharp glare etched across his face. But that expression quickly transformed into one of shock as his eyes widened, locking onto the prominent bald spot on Penny's head. It was large and unmistakable, a stark contrast to the rest of her hair, which lay in dishevelled strands. The smell of burnt hair lingered heavily in the air, a reminder of the chaotic moments that had just unravelled. Taylor straightened himself, an odd mix of concern and curiosity painting his features as he stared directly at the bald patch. “...oops,” he murmured sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck nervously; the fingers of his bionic arm twitched erratically, sometimes getting stuck in unnatural angles.

As the trial progressed, Taylor's gaze kept drifting back to Penny’s bald spot, as if it had an irresistible gravitational pull. He tried to reassure her in futile attempts to lighten the mood. “It’s definitely a look,” he said, forcing a grin. “It could totally come into fashion someday!” he added, attempting to sound optimistic. “Besides,” he continued, trying to boost her spirits, “it makes you look badass.” Despite his encouraging words, the tension in the air was palpable.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally concluded the trial, both panting heavily, their clothes splattered with blood that belonged to them and the chaos surrounding them. The screams of Coyle, the furious cop, resonated throughout the hall; although it was humorous, it still made the two jump. “Guilty! Mother fucking guilty!” The cop hurled insult after insult at the reagents, baring his teeth and waving his shock baton around crazily. Taking this chance to run, Penny and Taylor made their escape - making it outside of the courthouse. The artificial breeze whipped through their hair, simulating a gust of wind that felt strangely invigorating amidst the chaos. Penny's heart raced as she pressed her fingers firmly against the cold, metallic shuttle button, her pulse quickening with the sound of the countdown starting - a countdown that felt all too long. Taylor was still in a precarious position, desperately evading the grasp of Officer Coyle, who was hot on his heels.

With nowhere to turn and no bricks or bottles to protect them, the tension escalated in an instant. The imposing figure of the cop lunged forward, gripping Taylor tightly from behind. In a frantic bid for freedom, Taylor fought back with every ounce of strength he could muster, unleashing a flurry of punches and kicks, each movement driven by the primal instinct to survive. It truly felt as if his life depended on it. At that moment, the shuttle's mechanical whirrs filled the air as it screeched to a halt, doors sliding open, and Penny stepped back into the open door; the familiar “Beep” of Taylor's stun rig signified its recharge. A big grin formed on his face and smashed it straight onto Coyle's face - eliciting a raged growl from the staggering cop. Taylor staggered back, the side of his face stinging - burning - he couldn't see. He stumbled inside the shuttle, gasping for breath as he looked up at Penny. And all he saw was an expression of pure horror.

[silverdelirium]

Draco ✨doing the reader✨ while wearing his sweater/jumper (Only if ur okay and comfortable with it. Have a nice day!!) ❤️

im kinda unmotivated so this is shit

warnings: smut, oral (female receiving)

———

draco sighed tiredly as he made his way to his dorm, the bag on his shoulder heavy and body aching. wanting nothing more than to relax in his girlfriend’s arms.

he really hoped that by now you would be in his room waiting for him, considering the fact that he had previously asked you during the day to meet him there.

once draco stood in front of his door, he could hear the soft shuffling of someone inside. a smile crept up his face at the thought while he turned the knob.

your head snapped at the sound of the door creaking open, a smile creeping up to your face as you saw your boyfriend entering the room, mirroring your smile. yet the look went away as soon as his eyes raked over your figure, eyes going wide and mouth agape in the slightest.

you frowned and looked down to your attire, which consisted on nothing but his old quidditch jumper, the word “malfoy” being embedded at the back with silver.

draco could’ve easily drooled at the sight of you, with nothing on but his clothing. he didn’t know if he wanted to wrap you up in his arms and hug you for eternity or take you right then and there.

he marched forward to you, keeping his eyes trained on your body, a smirk replacing his shocked expression. “you look so gorgeous with my clothing, baby” he murmured as he buried his face on your neck, letting his nostrils get filled with your scent, the same one he fell in love with.

you giggled as your face turned hot, squealing when his hands wrapped around your waist and lifted you up, causing your legs to tangle around his torso.

a small laugh escaped you when he threw you down softly on the bed, hovering over you and licking his lips, trousers tightening by the minute.

he leaned down and captured your lips in a heated kiss, tongue pressing against yours in a dominant manner, small moans emitting from your throat while you explored his mouth skillfully with your own.

he left you both breathless, until your lips were swollen and you had to break apart to catch some air.

yet the lack of oxygen didn’t stop draco whatsoever, he was traveling down with his lips to your neck, grazing your sweet spot with his teeth, making you whimper while he marked your neck, sucking on spots that had your brain go fuzzy.

you hummed in pleasure when his finger went to the hem of your his jumper, lifting the material until it was bunched up at your waist. he kissed down from your, now marked, neck to your breasts, playfully shaking his head against the covered mounds, to your stomach until he was in line with your bare cunt.

pussy out on display for him, glistening. a low grunt rumbled in his chest before he digged his nails on your thighs, spreading them apart.

he gave tentative licks against your clit, making you shudder. “please” you whined, bucking your hips up. “sh baby, relax for me” he ushered, keeping eye contact as his lips enveloped your clit completely, causing you to cry out.

he hummed against you while slowly closing his eyes, taking a last glimpse of you arching your back and fisting the sheets.

your hands made a path to your boyfriend’s hair, massaging it lightly with your nails while he absolutely devoured you with his tongue, lapping up at your clit.

draco placed one long kiss against your clit before letting his tongue dive down to your center, which earned him a loud moan from you, thighs shaking while he went in and out of you with his pink muscle.

strings of curse words left your lips as you tightened your grip on his hair.

”fuck draco! just like that!”

his slender fingers made way to your clit, making figure-eights that had you jolting up in pleasure.

draco groaned against you once he felt your walls clenching around his tongue, signaling that you were close.

“im gonna cum!” you moaned out, moving your hips up and down to create more friction. he gave your thighs a small squeeze as reassurance, letting your orgasm wash over you like a blissful wave, plus a chanting of his name over and over again meanwhile he eagerly lapped up your juices.

he removed himself from your heat with a small kiss on your overstimulated clit.

“that’s my good girl” he murmured, drunk in lust when he saw your disheveled figure.

you gave ragged breaths, trying to compose yourself, watching as draco removed his trousers, unbuttoning his shirt and letting it hang on his shoulders.

you sat up. stretching a hand out to give slow strokes on his cock, evoking a moan from draco, tip leaking with pre-cum as he observed you with hooded eyes.

his own hands pushed your shoulders back gently, your hand slipping from his shaft.

draco took your ankles in his hands and brought you forward so you were at the edge of the bed. cock right in line with your wet cunt.

“i’m gonna fuck you so hard, princess” he groaned, not giving you time to respond as he harshly entered you at once, making you release a small shout while gripping his forearms that were located besides your head.

he set a fast tempo from the start, snapping his hips to yours in sharp motions, until your eyes rolled onto the back of your head. “so tight, baby” he grunted, angling your hips so he was hitting your g-spot directly.

moan after moan came out from you, feeling every detail of his cock inside you, the pleasure being amplified when he rubbed fast circles on your clit.

the headboard banged against the wall while the blonde continued his harsh thrusts, looking down at your covered bouncing breasts with eager eyes.

“scream my name baby” he demanded, eyes now trained on the way his cock slipped in and out of you.

“oh god! draco!” you cried out, arching your back and curling your toes, clenching around draco while desperately chasing your orgasm.

you clenching around draco, almost did it for him, but he held himself back, wanting your orgasm to be assured before his.

speeding his motions on your clit, he perched your leg up on his shoulder, now hitting a deeper spot inside you.

that did it for you. you didn’t have time to give him a warning as you came around him, giving a strangled moan while your vision became white.

“oh fuck” moaned draco as he watched you come undone around him, his own orgasm hitting him right at that moment.

his thrusts became sloppy as he came inside you, coating your walls entirely.

a low hiss escaped him when he pulled out, brushing his tip against your puffy folds.

you hummed in exhaustion as he collected the cum that was oozing out of your pussy, placing the drenched fingers inside his mouth, keeping eye contact.

———

🏷: @spencervera @methblinds @marrymetheonott @adrianscumslut @wh0re4blaise @turn-to-page-394-please @fredshufflepuff @malfoysbiitch @saggyb1lls @helleli @metaraxia @daddybutmakeitagirl @dracomalfoys-wh0re @dlmmdl @fleursbabe @riddleswh0r3crux @lolooo22 @darlingmalfoy @littlemissnoname13 @i-love-scott-mccall @underappreciated-spoon-321 @steveharringtonswhore @dracosafety @dracoscum @riddleswh0rekrux @laceycallisto @slytherinbabess @lostaurorax @alexavolturisblog @s1ater @marauderswh0re1 @harrystellastyles @lxstfullxve

[dabideserveslove]

Fuck it, here's another no context smut snippet featuring ShigaDabi.

Reposted because literally no one reblogged it or anything so... Yeah. Just kinda re-circulating it for visibility.

NSFW Ahead - Minors DNI - check the warnings before hitting 'read more' - If ya liked it and are 18+ then please reblog <3

Warnings: Face sitting (Shigaraki is trans in this btw), breath play, blood, heavy Dom/sub themes, the word 'cunt' is used once in reference to Tomura's anatomy.

Dabi let out a partially muffled grunt of pain when he felt one of the staples embedded in his cheek tear through his skin. The continued stretch and pressure on it from him holding his mouth open becoming too much for the fragile skin to handle.

Sharp pain ebbed into a dull ache and Dabi could taste blood in his mouth, the sharp metallic flavor of it mingling deliciously with the musky, slightly tangy taste of Tomura's cunt.

Everything about it - how Tomura continued to carelessly grind down against Dabi's face, only letting up once in a while for Dabi to gasp in a few breaths before going back at it, not seeming to notice or care that a staple came loose, and even the lingering pain from the wound - sent hot pulses of arousal through Dabi's veins and sent him sinking even further into that warm, floaty, content headspace that only Tomura could get him in.

"Fuck," Tomura gritted out as he tightened his grip in Dabi's hair, making Dabi tilt his head slightly. The new angle apparently was nice if the scratchy, breathy moan Tomura let out as his thighs trembled said anything. "Keep your tongue out, yeah, just like that, shit," Tomura gasped out, "Such a good little slut."

The praise made Dabi's cock throb painfully, a gravelly moan escaping his throat until it was muffled and cut off by Tomura grinding down harder on Dabi's face. Air cut off and jaw opening a little more on instinct, Dabi felt the sharp pain of another staple succumbing to the rough treatment.

He could tell Tomura was getting close, though, and there was no way in Hell he was going to tap out because of a few staples. The pain just fed into his arousal to the point that his head was spinning.

Or, perhaps, it was the lack of oxygen that threw off his equilibrium and made bright spots explode behind his eyelids.

Whatever the reason was didn't matter, though, because moments later Tomura was letting out those gasping, breathy moans he did right before cumming and a rush of slick fluid coated Dabi's tongue.

By the time Tomura sat back on his heels they were both shaking and panting.

Dabi opened his eyes just slightly to see blood smeared all over Tomura's thighs and the slick, swollen lips between them. A weird, potentially misplaced, sense of giddy pride washed over Dabi at the idea that he had marked Tomura like that.

The smile that tugged at his lips hurt, jaw aching while the way the skin was tugged sent sharp jolts of pain through his cheeks. That didn't matter to him, though, nor did it stop the almost manic grin that graced his blood-covered face.

A content sigh came from Tomura as he caught his breath, red eyes opening to look down at Dabi and immediately widening in horror when he saw the blood. His gaze darted back and forth to either side of Dabi's mouth where the two staples closest to his mouth were barely hanging on to the small bits of skin that hadn't ripped.

(...and this is where I stopped writing but rest assured that Tomura is going to fix Dabi up and provide some top tier aftercare.)

[outlustings]

hi! i love ur blog, there’s far too little outlast porn and u are def doing the lord’s work!! could i pls request some absolutely just shameless nasty mean degradation during sex w pre engine rick? thank u!

(okay so you know i kinda went ham and just. there's a lot of restraints in this one and uh. rick fucks your ass while he has you tied up on the bed with a vibrator between your legs. those forced orgasm harnesses? expensive. but if rick has money for cocaine he has money for toys. thank you for cominf to my ted talk.

anyways here's some nasty, nasty bondage anal sex. i included a lil bit of aftercare because loloololol i'm feeling soft. established relationship too.

tried to make this gender neutral.)

×

You pitied the hotel worker who would have to clean the sheets.

You felt the Hitachi and its dull thrumming against the entire length of your sex, wriggled against the vibrator that was strapped to your thigh, moaning and bucking into the trembling head as Rick fucked your ass in long, slow thrusts.

"There you go, sweetheart," he hissed behind you, his hands on your hips, guiding you back on his cock as he stretched your tight hole with his girth, "That's it. Taking this cock so well... You love being fucked from behind like this, don't you, you slut?"

You moaned into the sheets, your eyes screwed shut as you felt him open you up, inch by inch, your body getting used to the stretch as the vibrator stoked the kindling flame in your loins. It was all so much to take in.

"Yes-s-s," you managed to breathe out, felt your drool stain your cheek as you tried to crane your neck to look behind you, but your collar held you tightly in place, tethered to your cuffs so that you had little to no room to move.

"Look at you," Rick chuckled, grabbing the flesh of your asscheeks, massaging them as he picked up the speed of his thrusts, encouraged by your wanton moans, "So needy and desperate. My eager whore."

You choked on your spit as he thrusted in, deep, deliberate, spearing you with his entire length, watching your reaction. You heard him laugh behind you.

"God, I almost feel sorry for you. Almost," he purred, sliding his palm to the small of your back, where he applied gentle pressure, a silent command.

Arch.

You pressed your upper body flush against the mattress, propped your butt up as high as you could, felt a new angle against the vibrator that made you let out a keening groan. You heard Rick shush you, felt his hand move to your asscheek, where he gave it a firm smack. You yelped.

"Hmm, now, where would you want my cum?" he clicked his tongue, pondered casually as his thrusts halted into soft, gentle rolls again, "I know you love it in your mouth. My filthy, dirty cumslut... But this ass, oh," he gave a sharp, shallow thrust that made you cry out, made him hiss, "It's so tight - fuck... I don't even know if I'll be able to get it out, with you squeezing like that."

The last few words were accompanied by a breathy laugh. You whined and whimpered, your asshole stretched and sore around him as the vibrator rumbled your oversensitive, tingling skin. He smacked your ass again, firmer.

"Shut up."

You bit your lip, felt your legs shaking uncontrollably as you tried to swallow back your moans, your throbbing flesh aching for release.

Rick pulled his cock out of you, maybe a little too abruptly, and you gasped as you felt your asshole clench and gape at the sudden emptiness. The lovely, full, stretched out feeling was replaced with tightness and frustration. You whined.

"What was that? Didn't quite catch that, sweetheart, what did you say?"

You heard the grin in his voice. Felt his hands grope at your ass as you bucked against the vibrator, his palms spreading your cheeks a little as he admired your bottom.

"Fuck me," you panted, "Please, don't stop."

"Huh?"

He turned the vibrator off. You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth. Bastard.

"Can't hear you over that thing. Speak up, I'm getting kind of old," he purred.

"Fuck. Me," you gritted your teeth, trying to grind on him, felt his cock so close to your entrance, the heated plastic of the wand resting against your junk.

"Huh," he clicked his tongue, "Didn't know you had that in you - speaking in complete sentences. Means my work isn't done yet."

You heard a soft, wet sound, then an even softer pop, and felt his spit-covered finger against your asshole. It slipped in with little to no resistance. It sinked in right to the knuckle.

You moaned.

He fingered you slowly, languidly. You heard slick little noises as he pumped his cock behind you, the warm, silky head brushing against your perineum as he breathed heavily, grunted at the sight of your greedy ass swallowing his finger so easily.

"Now look at that," he said giddily, "I think it's starting to loosen up."

You felt numb. Your cheeks burned with humiliation. You just wanted to cum.

"Oh god, please," you whimpered, tugging at your restraints, hearing the high-end leather creak in protest, "Please, Rick, just fuck me - I..."

"You can do better than that," he said coolly.

He pulled his finger out of you. Before you could even whine properly, he spread your cheeks wide open with both of his hands and spat. You yelped.

"Bullseye!" he chuckled proudly, spreading the hot slickness of his saliva with his thumb, "Now, beg for it. Properly this time. You know what to call me."

You swallowed thickly.

"Doctor Trager," you sighed, burying your head into the sheets, "Please fuck me, doctor Trager."

"Hmm, and where should I fuck you?"

"My - my ass..."

"What was that?"

"Fuck my ass, doctor," you whimpered.

"Oh, you filthy thing," you heard him groan lowly, felt more than heaed the grin in his voice as he guided his cock against the cleft of your ass and then, pushed the head of his cock inside. He reached down to the vibrator, rolling the wheel. You heard it click as it turned back on, but he kept on scrolling the little wheel, turning the power up high. Way up high. You let out a keen as you felt blood rush to your groin, felt and saw tingly, fuzzy sparks fly behind your eyes.

He just laughed.

"There we go. Now, you don't mind if I go a little harder back here, don't you? Ah, why am I even asking... You love this."

You nodded feverishly, rolling your hips against the blunt tip of the vibrator, back against his hips as he snapped his hips forward, roughly. You heard his breathy grunts as the pressure inside you and on you became too much to handle as he fucked you harder and harder.

You heard him swear under his breath and you came, hard, with a pitiful screech as your liquid lust dripped onto the sheets in sticky, sweet little streams as he kept on fucking your butt in slick little snaps, groaning as he pressed your head down into the mattress.

Your hips seized and quivered as the vibrator didn't stop, didn't slow down, kept drawing your orgasm out longer and longer as the pressure inside you felt almost unbearable.

You sobbed against the sheets.

"Shut the fuck up, slut. I didn't say you could be - fuck - that loud," Rick let out a guttural moan, his balls slapping against you as he fucked you deeper, harder.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you came again. He kept on using you. Through it all.

"Stupid little cocksleeve. Look at you, can't even think straight, huh?" he chuckled, "Ah, fucking hell - you want my cum in your ass?"

You nodded, eyes unseeing. Babbling incoherently.

"Have it dripping out? I'll make you clean my cock afterwards with that filthy tongue, put that slutty mouth to better use. Fu-u-ck..."

Your entire body shook and trembled and your eyes were blurry with tears as your abdomen threw one somersault after another.

"Ah, yes, doctor, please, fill me up!" you choked out.

With a ragged, drawn out groan, doctor Trager came inside you, his hot cum flooding your bowels as you whined and cried against him, felt his hips stutter, press flush against the roundness of your ass.

Everything felt so full.

He shifted behind you, and you heard a click, and the wand against you stopped vibrating. You let out a sigh. You heard him try to catch his breath. You felt dizzy. Good, but dizzy. Everything was spinning.

You barely registered him slapping your face, gently as he slipped out of you, climbed onto the mattress next to you, shook you by your shoulders.

"Hey, hey! Don't pass out on me now - Christ, you really had it hard, didn't you?" he cupped your cheeks, gave you a worried look that quickly melted into a wide grin as you just smiled deliriously, blinking up at him.

"How'd I do, Doc?" you rasped out.

"Wonderful," he kissed your forehead, shaking his long strands of curly hair from his eyes, "I knew you could take it."

You sighed happily.

"But I'm going to have to prescribe something for that tight little butt of yours," he scratched at his chin as he eyed his handiwork, your bruised ass still in the air, "Maybe we have to do this a little more often to stretch you out. So you don't crush my little buddy down here."

He gestured to his softening cock. You just laughed weakly. You felt the mattress dip slightly as he leaned over to stroke your asscheek, soothing the tender flesh as you became slowly aware of your discomfort in the restraints.

"Rick..."

He was silent, his hand dipping down your crack and to your hole, where his cum was leaking out in a steady little stream. He grunted, pleased, as he slid his finger against the little puddle of his seed.

"Now that's pretty," he sighed.

"Can you... Untie me, please?" you chuckled as you wiggled your butt at him, trying to emphasize your discomfort by tugging on your shackles, making the hardware rattle, "Pretty please?"

He turned his head to you, tearing his eyes off your ass, blinked at you, and then mumbled:

"Oh yeah. Oops, sorry."

×

"When's our meeting?" you rubbed your wrists as Rick untied them, unhooking the clasp of the leash that connected them to your collar. Your hands flew to the buckle of your collar as you sat up on the bed.

Rick groaned and slapped his forehead.

"Oh, fuck, I forgot about the meeting. Jer's going to kill me if we're late for this," his eyes flicked to the bedside alarm clock, "Ah, well, we have about two hours before the aperitifs. This is fine."

"Tissues, please," you wiggled your fingers at him as you tried to sit on the bed so that you didn't absolutely decimate the sheets. Rick rose up and tossed you the Kleenex box.

"Can you drive? I know I'm going to have a marty or two," he asked and disappeared into the en-suite bathroom, leaving you to wriggle out of the harness on your leg. You accidentally turned it on a couple of times. Rick hadn't unplugged it.

"I don't even know if I can sit," you said loudly, wincing as you wiped your bottom, waddling over to the bathroom.

"Funny, but that doesn't answer my question."

"I was going to drink too. I can't stand these conferences sober. And my butt hurts."

"That still doesn't answer my question."

You sighed.

"Let's just take a cab, okay?"

"You pay."

You shoved him out of your way as you stepped in the shower, swatting his hands away as he tried to tickle you.

"What?" your voice echoed in the bathroom as you tried to hold your laugh in for dramatic effect, "First you fuck my ass and then you make me pay for the cab? This my worst work contract ever!"

Rick laughed and kissed you as he pulled the frosted glass door closed behind him. You felt his hands on your waist as you leaned back against the tiles, hot water washing over you as you felt his tongue slip inside your mouth. He pulled away, slowly, tenderly, stroking the side of your face as you blinked away the hot water that fell onto your lashes.

You reached down to stroke his abdomen, felt the coarse hairs of his happy trail as your fingers moved further down. He grunted.

"So, about that cleaning and my slutty mouth and all that..." you giggled, ready to kneel, but felt him snatch your wrist.

"I think it's my turn," he grinned, "Turn around, love."

[blahkugo]

𝟕 ༒ 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔦𝔱 𝔞𝔡𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔶

⤷ dirty valentine m.list

⤷ complete hq m.list

wakatoshi ushijima — adultery / cucking

a/n: fucked around and made this kinda sad </3 that wasn’t in the plan but oh well

wc: 2.2k

tw: infidelity (obviously), exhibitionism / car sex, (1) forced orgasm, sadness (lmaooo)

“We can’t.”

It’s a phrase constantly crawling on the tip of your tongue—whispered beneath the flickering lights of club bathrooms or dimly-lit restaurant tables, sighed in grimy alleyways, and whined beneath stolen sheets. They’re words that exist everywhere, but always, always in the dark.

In the dark, it doesn’t feel so wrong.

“Stop it,” you hiss, swatting at the grabby hands on your hips. You ignore the fact that you allow his fingers to graze you for a second too long, pretend that his every touch is meaningless, does nothing to set your skin on fire or send your heart beating out of its cage.

Unapologetic and unyielding, it seemed ‘Toshi never quite understood the concept of personal space when it came to you. Even as kids, it was always welcomed; not once did you think him a nuisance. Not after a long night of too much tequila, when you crawled into bed together at age 17, not when you awoke the next morning enveloped in the larger man’s warm embrace, and not even when it happened again—and again, and again, and again.

‘Strictly sexual,’ you’d assert, huddled around a group of high school friends pressed for dirty details, but even then you didn’t believe it. Because the truth is plain as day: you’re in love with him.

But you are not in love with the ring on his left hand, four fingers down.

That same bejeweled digit grips your waist beneath the table right now, kneading and tickling at slick skin. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t have to, because his hand knows you’ll be there. Always there, always trembling, while your eyes flit back and forth between the side of his head and the door—feigning innocence while knowing his wife is just a few rooms away.

“I said stop, ‘Toshi,” your voice betrays you, hitching with every tap of his fingers. Though he finally turns to meet your eyes, he doesn’t slow or halt his movements, just stares unblinking for a long while.

It’s a feat not many attempt—the art of the long, fixed stare—yet, Ushijima has perfected it. And it would drive you absolutely insane if you didn’t know that with the towering man, there is no deceit in that gaze; what you see is what you get.

“We’re leaving,” his words come slow, but stern. And before you can utter a word of disagreement, he’s already got his coat on, his keys clinking in the palm of his hands. He doesn’t bother with her, simply calls to the other room, “I’ll be back love.”

She doesn’t question it, never does, but if it’s because she doesn’t want to or he never gives her the chance, you’re not quite sure. Either way, you’ve decided you don’t have the time to care, because you’re already out the door and in his sleek, black Escalade before you can bat an eye.

The ride back to your place is silent, as much of your time is with Ushijima now. It’s not a terrible predicament, might even be comfortable, but you can’t deny the slight turn in your gut when you glance towards him.

Is it guilt? Is it knowing precisely what will happen the moment he halts the car in a shaded area—always a shaded area, even when the sun is down—and bores into you once more with those olive eyes?

Or is it just anticipation?

You know the truth too well to lie. It’s felt it in every clench of your thighs, every gaze at hulking biceps as one hand grips the steering wheel, and every slow inch of his free hand up your thigh. He rubs soft circles into the skin mindlessly, a motion he’s too used to doing to think immoral.

But it is, or it should be. Because Ushijima knows exactly how this is going to end, knows that same hand will be picking at forbidden fruit before long—delving into a sweet nectar even Adam and Eve wouldn’t dare lay a finger on.

“You can just let me out here,” you attempt to avoid the inevitable, only to be ignored. He walks you up to your apartment, always does. Ushijima’s a man of honor, after all. Shows honor to his teammates, to his body, to his poor, sweet wife waiting at home; he’s just so good like that, you know?

You’re not in love with your fingers when they’re a prickly green, clenched against the cold leather seat.

Once he parks in a tight corner, far from any night owl neighbor’s prying eyes, he finally turns to you again. Maybe it’s the moon, the soft wisps of light that seem to strike him at the perfect angles, or perhaps it’s the devil’s sweet temptation—the simple knowledge that he wants it too. You’re not quite sure, but you can’t help yourself anymore.

Not when you climb across your seat and into his lap, not when you wrap your arms around him and pull close, and especially not when you nuzzle into his neck, inhaling enough pine and patchouli—the cologne he’s been wearing since you complimented it so many years ago—to last you for years to come.

“Missed you,” you exhale into warm skin.

“I see you everyday.”

“Still missed you.” And though Ushijima doesn’t say much, his arms pull you in just a bit tighter—and it says enough.

Before you know it, your nuzzles become open mouthed kisses, frantically peppered across the golden skin of his neck. There’s not enough time, never enough time, to appreciate Ushijima for what he’s worth.

But you try your damned hardest, sucking the skin just hard enough to elicit sharp inhales, but never to leave marks of your worship. This is the devil’s game after all, tempting you just enough to become enamored while knowing he’s not yours.

When he wraps a hand around your neck to tug you away, your stomach drops with disappointment for a moment. This is it, the moment you’ve always dreaded; Ushijima’s ready to end this crime of passion and go back to being the dutiful husband he is. But he only uses the movement to smash your lips together, to situate his broad arms at your hips, your waist, the little dip at the small of your back.

Ushijima’s kisses are much like his presentation to the world—sturdy, unwavering, stable. He isn’t sloppy or especially fervent like you are, clinging to him with need. His makeouts are a reassurance, a tiny pocket of home. Still, his body seems to betrays that show of strength, goosebumps running up the sides of his arms as you graze them, chest heaving while his tongue runs across your teeth and settles into yours.

“Take it off,” he snaps the waistband of your sweats, watchful eyes roaming the small stretch of skin. It’s a simple command, one that you follow happily, wiggling out of your clothing with a few soft giggles.

Your hands dart beneath his shirt, lightly scratching at the solid muscle that seems to tense beneath your touch. “You too,” you murmur between pecks, and when he doesn’t comply, “please.”

As soon as his chest is visible, you’re on him. It’s a feeling you can never get enough of, the smooth expanse of his pecks beneath your lips, licking and suckling at any inch you can get your mouth on. It’s fun, addicting even, but ‘Toshi’s reaction is what truly makes it worthwhile.

His breath hitches all at once, legs stiffening beneath you as fingernails dig crescents into your waist. Experimentation in college taught you that if you lick at his nipples, he might even let out a soft moan or two. And the sound makes you keen with desire, even if it is a bit comical (who’d have known the big, Adonis of a man likes getting his chest played with?)

For a brief moment, you wonder if she knows, before quickly dispelling the thought. This is your time with him, and besides–

“Oh– fuck,” you whine, brought back by Ushijima’s long middle finger grazing your slit. “Again.”

This time, you don’t have to say please.

Despite the lack of space, he takes his time sinking his fingers into you and—given the length you’re about to be taking—you appreciate the deed. He works you open, pumping you with a single digit before adding another.

Those lithe fingers don’t let up until you’re shaking, gripping his shoulders, mumbling prayers and curses into his skin. Every circle at your clit makes you gasp, every squelch of his fingers curling inside your tight cunt only makes you wetter.

“Let go,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, waiting oh-so patiently, even as his cock strains against your ass. Once, when he’d drunk enough to become uncharacteristically vocal, he’d confessed his favorite feeling was your ‘warm hole clenching around him’ when you reached your peak.

It’s that sudden memory that makes you shake your head, exhaling a distressed ‘nuh uh’ while he continues pressing into you. Ushijima’s eyebrows furrow in confusion before he ticks his jaw, the thumb on your clit simply moving faster to expel—what he thinks is—a sudden burst of brattiness. “I said,” he presses at the spot that makes your stomach drop, “cum.”

“Wait- ah, fuck– fuck!” Try as you might, you can’t stop the wave of pleasure that washes over you, your toes curling, head resting on his shoulder to steady yourself as you ride out your high. All the while, his fingers never stop moving, free hand shifting to stroke at your sweat-soaked hair while you tremble and clutch at him with shaky arms.

When he finally lets up, you remove your face from the crook of his neck, looking to Ushijima once more only to find him staring. His eyes are glassy, pupils blown over so heavily with lust, it lights you with a fervor and—as is the hulking man’s usual effect on you—you find yourself unable to think before moving.

You’re frenzied, kissing him once more, carding fingers through his hair, and tugging hard enough to elicit sharp gasps. You’re never quite so aggressive with him, typically leaving the dominance of it all to your insatiable counterpart, but the guttural moan that leaves his lips when you unsheath him only spurs you further.

“I wanted to ride you,” you speak while lining his cock against your slick cunt, “wanted to feel you inside me before I came.”

And with that simple sentence, your little moment of power comes to a close. Ushijima sinks into you with one quick movement, stretching you in a way that makes your skin burn and your gut heavy. Your arms are quickly bound behind you by his own, used as mere handles to pull you down against him with every thrust.

Even as you cry out, faint mumbles mounting to incoherent wails, there doesn’t seem to be any sort of reprieve. The air is thick, humid, filled with Ushijima’s low grunts, subtle curses, and the ever-enticing command to ‘stop whining and fucking take it.’

You know he doesn’t typically speak this way, knows that he says it for you and you alone—that he loves the way it makes your eyes widen and your mouth slacken, thighs snapping closed as you attempt to hold off for just a bit longer. It never works, because he knows you just as well. Every inch of your body feels empty when his hands aren’t roaming them, when he isn’t tweaking a finger against your pebbled nipples or running a warm palm up the small of your waist.

“Close?” He grunts, throwing his head back against the seat, unrelenting in pace. You can do nothing but let out garbled responses, crosses between ‘God, yes,’ and disjointed cries of his name over and over again. “Go ahead,” it’s less a green light and more a command, “cum for me.”

His dirty words may be curated for you, but it’s always the honesty of his eyes that sends you over. With Ushijima, what you see is what you get, and you swear it’s love you see—pure, unadulterated, clear as day.

When you feel yourself beginning to peak, it’s his eyes, of course, that render you immobile. You can’t bring yourself to settle into the crook of his neck, to bite his shoulder or screw your face shut. There is nothing to do but to look at him—to try and master the art of the long, fixed stare as he has—and fall apart.

“Oh fuck– ‘Toshi,” your mouth can’t keep up with the pleasure washing over you, “fuck, fuck, fuck, I love you.”

They’re words you’ve never dared utter, not like this, but once they’re out you can’t seem to stop yourself. They become a mantra, a broken record, a prayer that perhaps he’ll say them right back to you. Again and again, riding out your high as you shake and tremble and exhaust yourself with the words. I love you. I love you. I love you.

But words called out in the dead of night mean nothing to the day.

[spaceskam]

a follow up to this fic

AO3

Michael liked the ring.

Of course he liked the way it made him feel, the way it's power seemed to make him feel comfortable in his own skin above all else. It was no longer a power high as much as it was like a security blanket or a favorite shirt.

The power, however, didn't escape him.

He never really had to strain before, but this was a different beast. With a thought he could read people's aura, move multiple things at once, feel around larger areas than he even knew what to do with. It was fun and felt like he could really breathe for the first time in a long time. He did his best to not rely on it too much, to make sure he didn't get too used to the power it gave him, but he couldn't help but enjoy it.

Alex was slowly but surely getting more comfortable with him wearing it as well. At first, he babied him incessantly and was so sure it was going to overload him somehow and that it was going to kill him or something. He still watched him, spent all his free time with Michael to make sure the ring wasn't effecting him negatively. Michael couldn't complain about it.

"So, this group you're working with. Do they know this exists?" Michael asked, inspecting the ring on his finger. It didn't occur to him until just then that maybe he shouldn't just leave it on his left hand like that.

"As far as I can tell, no," Alex said, sighing as he looked up from what he was working on. It was just a notebook full of crude sketches of his actual project. Michael wanted to help, but the thing couldn't leave Deep Sky and Michael couldn't go there, so he simply had to listen to Alex speak and bounce ideas off him.

It was probably the most fun he'd ever had in his entire life.

"But I'm not about to risk them trying to hunt it down before me. I need to be a step ahead, at least. I'm so fucking tired of being stupid about things," Alex said. Michael rolled his eyes.

"You're far from stupid, Alex."

"Too trusting which is a form of stupidity."

"It's not a bad thing to be trusting, it's other people's fault for taking advantage," Michael insisted.

Alex sighed and looked at him. He was so tired. He always did. Michael was never good at figuring out what to do to help that other than instigate. Maybe he could try to persuade him, but somehow that felt like a dead end.

"People are never going to stop taking advantage, so why should I remain open to being taken advantage of?"

"Okay, fine, point made. But still, I like that about you. The way you don't automatically assume people have shitty intentions. It's, like, the exact opposite of me," Michael said. A smile tugged at Alex's mouth and he let it show just a bit, leaning against the table.

"You assume everyone has bad intentions?" Alex asked, "Even me?"

Michael scoffed, his heart thrumming and the ring on his finger all but singing in delight. That was another fun thing about the ring. It always encouraged positive feelings.

"Now you know damn well–"

Without much warning, the hatch to the bunker opened and caused them to break eye contact as they both looked up. Sanders stood there looking as grumpy as ever.

"What do you want, old man?" Michael asked, only having to feign his annoyance a little bit. As much as he didn't like having his moments with Alex interrupted, it wasn't so bad when he knew he had more.

That knowing was everything.

"You and the boyfriend gettin' along now?" Sanders asked. Michael's neck felt hot and he didn't dare look at Alex. He felt like a teenager being caught all of the sudden.

"Can you not make it weird?"

"Weird for who?" Alex asked. Michael's eyes went to him, Alex's face with a small smirk and his head tilted. He looked so good. Happy. The ring was damn near vibrating with joy again his skin.

"We're talking about research," Michael responded instead. Sanders grunted.

"Sure, research."

"We are!"

"I believe that as far as I can throw you," Sanders said. Michael scratched his arm, trying to dilute the feeling building up inside him. It was overwhelming, an overdose of goodness that the ring amplified. "Right, well, I was just reminding you that Jane Garcia is still bringin' that truck in an hour and you're the only hands that have touched it in a decade, so can't have someone else doin' it for you."

"She needs to just get a new one," Michael responded, relieved to change the subject despite Alex's eyes still being on him. He couldn't say he minded that.

"You ain't got no room to talk with that thing out there," Sanders huffed. Michael grinned, shrugging his shoulders.

"I can get away with it, I know what I'm doing."

Sanders grunted in response. "Sure, kid. Just be out here when she gets here."

"Got it," Michael said, giving a thumbs up. Sanders rolled his eyes and closed the hatch, leaving him alone with Alex again.

"You can go get set up, I'm good down here," Alex said. Michael settled his gaze on him again, feeling warm and sated and really not having any intention to leave him.

However, they locked eyes for all of half a second before Alex breathed a sharp intake and stood up straight.

Michael's excitement started to leak out of him and was replaced with complete concern. He sat up straighter, his feet hitting the ground as he tried to maintain eye contact with Alex.

"What?" he said, "What happened?"

"Your eyes," Alex breathed, his eyebrows pulling together.

"Huh? What about them?" Michael asked, mindlessly reaching up to rub them. When he pulled his hands away, there wasn't anything on them.

"They're... glowing," Alex said, coming closer, "Well, they were. Went away when I said something."

Alex grabbed Michael's chin without any hesitation, tilting his head back to look at them. Michael instantly became malleable under his grip. It'd been too long to be otherwise. He let his face relax, let his body dwell in the delight it caused and let the ring sing in response.

"It was like you were lighting up from the inside or something, like you literally glowing. Just showed mostly in your eyes," Alex said, still concerned as he manuvered Michael's head this way and that to look at him in different angles. "It's because of that fucking ring."

"You think?" Michael murmured, still staring up at him. His heart thudded in his chest, his mind going wild at the tactile attention. Alex's eyes widened again.

"It's doing it again," Alex murmured, placing the back of his other hand on Michael's forehead, "You're warm. Warmer than usually. How do you feel? Maybe you should take it off before you become a fucking lamp. Do you feel alright?"

"Good," Michael said. Alex blinked, stilling his movements as he looked at him rather than the glow.

"What?"

"I feel good, Alex," he said simply. Alex swallowed and he dropped his hands from him. They were silent a beat before Alex bit the inside of his cheek, holding back whatever expression his face wanted to show. A smile, hopefully.

"You stopped glowing," Alex said. He huffed a laugh, his eyes scanning the room before landing back on Michael. "So you're a glowstick now?"

"You think it's the ring?"

"What else could it be? It amplifies your powers, right? So the longer you wear it, the more it becomes accostomed to you and how you work. So I'm sure the longer you wear it, the more it'll do. But we should definitely work on you not glowing without your permission every time you feel good," Alex said, watching him still. It was less concern now, more intrigue.

Michael wanted him to touch him again, to experiment as much as his heart desired.

"Okay, just, like, throw something at me if I start glowing," Michael said. Alex laughed.

"I'm not going to throw something at you," he said, "But I'll let you know."

"I don't think it's like an actually problem, just when I get overwhelmed. The ring had kinda helped regulate that, though," Michael said. Alex tilted his head in confusion.

"It's helped when you're overwhelmed?"

"Yeah. Like either a distraction or it's amplifying the good feelings. It's, like, stretching it's leg, you know? It's this thing that has gone untouched for so long and it's just happy to be in use. So it wants me to feel good, wants me to use it. And when I feel good, it just reacts to that and then I feel really good," Michael explained, "It's a wedding ring. It's probably used to being used in that context. Happy ever after context."

Alex breathed, his fingers twitching at his side. Michael couldn't tell if it was the ring or just his own desperation that was screaming for Alex to touch him again. He really didn't think it mattered.

"You we're glowing when I was touching you," Alex stated. Michael nodded obediently. "And you stopped whenever I stopped." Michael nodded again.

"I believe it."

"And you're just... happy?" Alex said.

"I'm spending time with you," Michael said simply, shrugging, "No fighting or tension. Just spending time and talking about research. Why the fuck would I be anything else?"

Alex watched him, taking a step forward. Even though he was already so close. Now he was close enough that Michael's thighs bracketed his legs.

"You've been different since you started wearing that thing," Alex said, fingers catching Michael's sleeve.

"I've been different since I got over my shit and got some openness between us," Michael said. Alex clearly fought a smile and lost, a grin splitting his mouth and the back of hand rubbed over Michael's arm.

"You really thing the ring has nothing to do with it?" Alex said.

Michael shrugged. "I can't say that. I know it definitely gave me a little push, but the things I'm feeling are all 100% mine."

"And what are you feeling exactly?" Alex asked, his hand trailing up into his hair. He seemed to be gravitating closer, leaning down as Michael craned up. Michael resisted the urge to just pull him into his lap at this point.

"Happy," Michael answered, "Obsessed with you. First is new, second one isn't."

Alex breathed out, swallowing hard. He looked away for a moment, but his eyes eventually came back to him.

"You can't say shit like that," Alex whispered, reprimanding him with a soft tug on the hair at the tape of his neck. Michael's lips parted. He wasn't really sure how to tell when he was glowing just yet, but he was sure that he was now.

"Why not?"

"I might get ideas," Alex said teasingly, leaning a little more. His hand was resting on his chest while the other was in his hair, Michael's hands trying not to take initiative and just grab him.

"Get them," Michael said. And Alex laughed. And it was sweet. And he was close enough to kiss.

"Michael..." Alex said, right there. His eyes flickered around his face, hovering on his lips. Michael could feel his breath on his face.

"Alex," Michael responded, finally touching him. He put his hands on the back of his thighs, urging him closer. Alex smiled wider.

"You're glowing again," Alex said, breath caressing his face. It was teasing at this point. "I wonder how bright you can get."

"Wanna test it?" Michael asked.

Alex looked at him, looking over him before he nodded.

"Yeah, I do."

Alex leaned closer, their noses bumping.

And then there was knocking on the hatch before it was opened up.

Alex moved back, flushed. Michael flexed his hand as a silent command to drain him from any residual glow. He hoped it was successful.

"You forgot how to tell time, boy?!" Sanders called down. Michael evened his breath and tried to calm down his body's natural reaction to Alex being so close.

"Yeah!" he said, "I'll be up in a second!"

Sanders grunted in response, leaving the hatch open before walking away. Michael huffed a laugh and looked to Alex who looked like he was on the verge of laughing as well. A couple second of staring and he did, both of them bubbling with laughter and excitement at being caught in such a casual way.

A normal way.

"I gotta go," Michael said, "But you can stay. Won't be too long."

"Take your time," Alex said, "I'll be here."

Michael nodded, knowing he would be.

"Alright," Michael said.

"Alright," Alex agreed.

"Alright."

*Go," Alex laughed, shooing him. Michael obeyed, heading to the ladder and all but flying up them.

Michael's heart and the ring on his finger thrummed in tandem, all singing on the high that was Alex Manes.

Alex Manes, Alex Manes, Alex Manes

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 2: No Vacancy

Title: Backroad Romance

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3,119

Tags: First Kiss, Dean Winchester and Castiel are Alone in the Dark, Mild Angst With a Happy Ending, Sam Ships It, Making out in the Impala

On AO3 Here

“You’re shittin’ me, Sammy.” Dean groans and smacks the steering wheel with his palm. “There’s no room in the whole place?”

Sam’s voice floats into the Impala, high and tinny over the burner phone’s speakers. “No vacancy, Dean, I’m sorry, I checked with them three times--”

“--Nah, nah, it’s cool, we believe you,” Dean interrupts, cradling the phone between shoulder and ear so he can rub his face while steering around a bend. Cas reaches over and deftly slips the phone away, fingers pinched like he’s removing a block from a Jenga tower.

“Did you and Eileen find accommodations?” Cas asks, holding the phone out in front of him so Dean can listen in.

There’s a short pause, then: “Yeah… yeah, we did, but guys, the room is really small, like, a closet, I swear, and there’s only one bed, and--”

This time it’s Cas who interrupts. “--and you wish to engage in private romantic activities. Dean and I completely understand.”

They’re on a straight stretch of highway, but Dean still manages to swerve clumsily into the shoulder. He hastily course-corrects and bites down the urge to snap at Cas for-- for what? For talking like that? For using his deep, rough voice to say any words even vaguely related to--

No. It’s not Cas’ fault that everything he does steadily turns Dean into more and more of a creep. Dean shakes his head firmly and tunes back in to the conversation just in time to catch Sam awkwardly stumbling over his reply. Dean leans over, cutting him off with a whistle into the phone.

“We’ll be fine, little brother. Be a gentleman. Don’t hog the sheets. Girl like Eileen doesn’t come around every day.”

He can feel the bitchface radiating through the speaker and motions at Cas to hang up. Cas frowns and gravely says “Dean would like to end the conversation. Goodbye, Sam,” before flipping the phone shut. He drops it into the cupholder.

Dean makes a show of focusing on the road to avoid looking at Cas. He knows Cas is staring at him; it’s just something the guy does, sitting in the passenger seat and gazing at Dean as if the whole world isn’t flashing by outside.

Dean’s long stopped commenting on it. Let the dude stare.

He clears his throat. “We’ll probably have to find a logging road or something. Pull in and hole up for the night.”

“All right,” Cas replies. He opens the glovebox and pulls out the local map they picked up this afternoon when they rolled into Matlock, Washington, to investigate a haunted post office. It was a gray, dinky, bleak town and the poor ghost lurking around the mailroom seemed more melancholy than anything. She allowed them to dispatch her into the afterlife with very little struggle; that is, after some creative sweet-talking by Sam.

Eileen had teased Sam mercilessly about it before Dean had even gotten a chance. That’s how Dean knows she’s The One.

There was, of course, no motel in town. Sam and Eileen hit the road before Dean and Cas, because Dean insisted on getting a burger for dinner at the tiny diner on Main Street (a mistake). Now he’s staring down the barrel of a night alone with Cas, in cramped quarters, on a dark backroad. If they hadn’t already driven all day to get to Matlock, Dean would push on until they found a motel with vacancies, but he’s exhausted and Cas is just human enough these days to actually be tired too.

“There’s an access road nearby,” Cas says, tracing the map with his index finger. “In a quarter mile. Left.”

Dean follows his directions and sure enough, there’s a bumpy logging road branching off from the highway, stretching deep into the pitch-black trees. Dean pulls in about five hundred feet before turning off the lights and the ignition.

It’s silent. The darkness is all-encompassing, pressing in on Dean, so heavy it’s like he can feel it on his eyelids when he blinks. He takes a slightly shaky breath. Cas is utterly still, as usual, not a single rustle or exhale indicating his presence in the gloom, but Dean feels him there as intensely as he’d feel a roaring bonfire. His heart thuds in his ears.

Why is he freaking out? He’s slept in the car with Sam a million times. But even as he thinks that, he knows, he knows, that this is different. His brain starts whirling through logistics -- who’s gonna take the back seat? Is Cas even gonna sleep the whole night? Or will he wake up and just sit there, staring at Dean for hours, inches away?

Dean needs to shut off his brain. He taps the seat and says “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean,” comes the immediate response, measured and reassuring. “Would you like to talk?”

Relaxing against the seat and slinging an arm over the backrest, Dean peers over to the passenger side. “Sure.”

The moon’s out tonight, far above the trees, and the grayscale of nighttime slowly bleeds into view as Dean’s eyes adjust. He can just make out the sharp angle of Cas’ nose, the slope of his chest and the outline of his hands folded in his lap. He’s always so upright, so proper. Dean wonders what it would feel like to undo him.

“Are Sam and Eileen having sex?”

Dean chokes on air. Sputtering, he braces himself on the seat and coughs until his eyes stop watering. “What?” he wheezes. “Why-- Dude, why would you ask that?”

He sees Cas turn his head to regard him. Even in the dark, Dean can imagine the piercing gaze.

“It was unclear to me what you meant by ‘be a gentleman.’” Cas lifts his hands to shape the finger quotes. “I assumed the two of them would take advantage of their privacy to engage in physical intimacy. Was your comment meant to discourage Sam from having sex?”

Dean throws up his hands desperately. “Okay-- okay, first of all, quit talking about my brother doing it. And second, no, I wasn’t ‘discouraging’ him, just reminding him to treat Eileen like a lady. You know, romance her a little.”

The darkness is a godsend as Dean’s cheeks flush hotter with every word. He’s surprised they’re not glowing. He taps the seat in a random pattern as Cas sits quietly, seemingly digesting the information.

When he responds, it’s slow and thoughtful. “In the pornography I’ve watched, the participants always begin undressing one another rather quickly. And in my own experiences, there has been very little that I would label ‘romantic.’ What is classified as ‘romance,’ Dean?”

Well, shit. The last of Dean’s composure evaporates, sizzles away like a drop of water meeting his burning face. He drops his head into his hands and groans.

Cas leans forward, his knee brushing Dean’s. “Have I made you uncomfortable?” he asks, voice laden with concern.

Dean’s throat is tight, his fingers sweaty against his forehead. He forces himself to take a deep breath and to at least open his eyes against the shadow of his palms. “Uh-- no. No, Cas. You, uh-- you should be able to ask that kinda stuff. Human stuff. I get that it’s, uh-- it’s important to know. For, y’know. So you can--”

There’s a hand on his knee. A warm, strong hand. Long fingers. Weighty. Dean’s heart kicks into overdrive. He slowly, very slowly, lowers his hands to peek at Cas.

“How do you like to be romanced, Dean?”

There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing in Dean’s brain. It’s a chamber of silence. A void. He stares at the outline of Cas’ wild hair, mouth slightly open.

“...Dean?” The hand on his knee shifts slightly and Dean’s blank brain runs zero interference as his own hand darts out and stills the one threatening to leave his leg. As soon as his skin makes contact with Cas’, though, everything zings back online in a rushing roar.

Play it off, Winchester. Crack a joke. C’mon. “Hah, funny, buddy, you really got me there--”

“--Kissing’s nice.”

He snaps his mouth shut too late. The words float away, unrecoverable.

Cas tilts his head. Then, slowly, very slowly, as if he’s afraid of spooking Dean, he turns his hand around under Dean’s so that they’re palm to palm. An invitation.

With a pounding heart, Dean accepts it. He laces their fingers together. His palm feels even sweatier when it’s rubbing up against Cas’ dry, smooth skin.

Sexy, Dean. Way to go.

Somehow, even though it was Cas asking the questions, he’s the one leading now, shifting closer, laying his left arm along the backrest behind Dean’s shoulders. Their faces are so close that they’re sharing air, just two shadows suspended in a frozen moment.

“May I kiss you?” Cas murmurs gently, his breath washing over Dean’s lips. It smells like rain-refreshed air, like a promise of sunshine, alleviating the weight of the darkness. Dean tentatively chases it with his tongue, wetting his lips and leaving them parted.

“Yeah,” he whispers back. Because fuck, he wants this. He’s wanted this for so long.

And Cas wants it, too.

Dean always imagined that his first kiss with Cas would be an inferno, fireworks, showering sparks, all those cliches. That it would yank him from his body and send him floating through the ether.

It’s not like any of that. It’s better. It’s real.

Cas’ lips are just lips -- a little more chapped than Dean’s used to, perhaps, but they meet his in a familiar brush, followed by the typical tentative press, leading into a hesitant swipe of the tongue.

He’s kissing Cas. Cas, who he’s built up in his head for so long as this untouchable, impossible ideal, who stormed Hell to drag him out, who smote demons with his bare hands, who is so inconceivably old that Dean should be just a speck of sand under his eternal gaze.

Instead, that same Cas is busy dragging his fingers down the side of Dean’s neck. A crest of goosebumps follow, shivers trailing down Dean’s torso, and he gasps a quivery breath against Cas’ lips. He’s not used to being led. Normally he’s the one in charge, giving as good as he gets, focused on hitting the highlights, satisfying his partner. There’s a whole formula.

He’s never trembled like this before.

“Dean,” Cas whispers against his mouth, reverent, his voice somehow gravelly even as a breath. He suddenly pulls his hand free from Dean’s and grips his bicep, dropping his other arm from the backrest to wrap around Dean’s waist. Without preamble, he twists, tugging Dean across his lap. Dean yelps and hurriedly adjusts his legs, ending up with his knees on the seat, straddling Cas’ thighs. His fingers and toes are zinging in excitement.

Goddamn. Who knew being manhandled would do it for him?

The crown of his head presses against the roof of the car and he slouches forward until their foreheads are touching. He pushes his hands into Cas’ hair.

Cas surges forward again, nudging Dean’s head to the side and pressing his lips to Dean’s neck. Dean groans, low and shaky, as Cas parts his lips and sucks a trail up to Dean’s earlobe, his tongue soothing in the wake of his mouth, dragging over every mark that he coaxes to the surface. Dean knows his neck will be littered with bruises tomorrow, but he finds he can’t bring himself to care, not when Cas’ teeth are busy grazing the shell of his ear.

“Jeez, Cas,” he breathes, dropping his forehead to Cas’ shoulder. He's hard already, hips twitching a little, but he keeps his hands firmly in Cas’ hair, tugging the soft, thick strands, guiding Cas’ mouth back down to his neck. His pulse hammers under each press of chapped lips.

He pulls back and captures Cas’ mouth again, sliding his tongue into that wet heat. They trade open-mouthed kisses, a bit sloppy, while Cas’ hands glide up Dean’s back under his flannel. Dean’s absolutely flying, his pounding heart easily winning the battle against the tiny voice in his head dredging up reasons to stop, reasons to run.

He wants to stay .

Their kisses have escalated to a panting, frenzied give-and-take, and Dean’s tired of hunching over. He drops his hands onto Cas’ shoulders and starts leaning back over to the driver’s seat, trying to pull Cas on top of him. Cas whines when their lips separate, but he catches on quickly. A little too quickly. He grips Dean’s waist and shifts him along the bench seat with such force that Dean’s arm goes flying and his elbow smacks right into the middle of the steering wheel.

The horn blares, rending the night.

Both Dean and Cas jerk upright, instantly on high alert. Reality takes a moment to catch up with them.

Cas recovers first. “That startled me,” he says, voice wrecked.

Dean lets out a long breath. He’s still got one leg up on the seat, the other one cramped awkwardly next to the steering wheel. He drags a hand across his face and lets out a breathy laugh. The next thing he knows, he’s doubled over, laughing so hard his cheeks hurt and his eyes water.

He’s just so goddamn happy.

Cas watches him, head tilted in the shadows. Dean lets his laughter run its course, petering out with a sigh of mirth and hand slapped on Cas’ knee.

“What a night, huh?” he says.

Cas lifts a hand and strokes Dean’s cheek with his knuckles. Even after all that making out, this one gesture seems inordinately intimate. But Dean just smiles.

Cas swipes his thumb over Dean’s cheekbone one more time before slowly, almost reluctantly, letting his hand fall. “You need to sleep.”

Dean nods and glances into the backseat. “You do too, don’t you? At least a bit? Maybe we can both fit back there.”

They get out of the car -- the cool night air rushes into Dean’s lungs and fizzes through his chest, bringing the events of the past half hour into blood-rich focus in his brain. He steels himself for the freakout, for the doubt and the deflection, but it doesn’t come. He feels right.

They crawl into the backseat, awkwardly shuffling and shifting, ending up with Cas sitting mostly upright (insisting that he’s fine) and Dean laid out on the seat with his head in Cas’ lap.

He drops off to sleep faster than he has a long time, Cas’ long fingers carding through his hair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the light that wakes him, pale gray seeping under his lashes and rousing him from a blissfully dreamless sleep. He lifts his head and immediately winces -- his neck is stiff as a board and his back aches all the way down to his tailbone. He’s really getting too old to be sleeping in the car.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean twists around and peers blearily up at Cas, who’s gazing down at him with one of his rare enigmatic smiles. Dean yawns and stretches as best he can, his back popping. He pushes himself up until he’s sitting next to Cas.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

Cas leans over and, before Dean can react, presses a warm, dry kiss to Dean’s cheek.

Sore body or not, this is the best morning of Dean’s life.

They extract themselves from the backseat and stumble into the damp early-morning air. Dean pops the collar of his flannel after a single glance into the side mirror. He’s got a lot of hickies.

They take a second to stretch (Dean admires the way Cas’ pecs shift under his dress shirt as he reaches for the sky) before sliding into the front seat. Dean backs them out of the logging road, the verdant green pines on either side nearly overwhelming his night-accustomed eyes.

Cas calls Sam as they roar down the highway again. It’s only 5 a.m., but Dean handed Cas the phone and told him to give Sam a wakeup call. The kid deserves it after a good night’s sleep in a real bed.

They pull into the parking lot of the Cedar Crest Motel just past 5:30. Dean ends up having to park on the street, though, because the lot’s at capacity, not a single spot unoccupied. He pats Baby in apology as he leaves her, and he and Cas make their way to the room number that a very irritated, cranky Sam snapped at them over the phone.

They’ve almost reached it when Dean suddenly stops dead. He grabs Cas’ arm. Cas shoots him a questioning glance.

“Look." Dean points up at the motel sign. There, huge red letters, blinking through the pale morning light, spell out a clear VACANCY.

“It’s hardly been six hours," Dean says. "No one would’ve checked out in the middle of the night.”

Suspicion rising rapidly, he strides to Sam’s door and knocks as obnoxiously as he can. As soon as the door creaks open, he reaches through and grabs Sam’s shirt, yanking him outside. Sam protests and slaps at Dean with one hand, shoving his bird’s nest hair out of his face with the other.

“What the hell, Dean!”

Dean just throws one arm up at the sign, staring at Sam with raised eyebrows. As soon as Sam sees what he’s pointing at, he shrinks into what Dean immediately recognizes as guilty little brother posture. He’s not even trying to hide it.

Sam clears his throat awkwardly, eyes darting between Dean and Sam, before holding out a placating hand. “I just-- I just thought, maybe you could use some time alone,” he explains hastily, backing up a bit into the room. “If we all ended up here, Dean, you’d insist that we share, you know you would.”

Dean knows Sam’s right (he’s careful with their fake money, so sue him), but he keeps glaring regardless.

“I just wanted some time with Eileen,” Sam mumbles, deflating a bit. “And I thought, y’know, with how you and Cas have been acting lately, that you’d-- uh, that you’d want some time together, too.”

Dean sputters. “Acting? We-- what--”

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas says, deep voice cutting off Dean’s protests. “We had a very pleasant night.”

Sam’s eyes widen and he straightens up, a knowing grin stretching over his face. His eyes dart to Dean’s popped collar. “Oh yeah? Did you now?”

Dean shoves him into the room and slams the door shut. There. He turns to Cas, who looks amused.

“Give me at least a couple days before blabbing to my brother,” Dean says, but he finds himself smiling. Cas nods. He reaches out and takes Dean’s hand, just for a moment, squeezing before letting it fall again.

“Of course, Dean.”