#im sorry i cant write smut

[catscidr]

// taking care of your dogboy (hsr edition!) //

i. note — sry i havent been posting yall i got a job + ive been working on three cosplays at the same time bc my local con is coming up lmao (´ཀ`」 ∠) however the brainrot never stops. it only takes a break. a little break of approximatively. a month. ish. ......... anyways dog hybrid hsr boys brainrot !!! lmk if we want more of this with more boys •ᴗ• comments and asks are appreciated hehe ii. includes — blade, gepard, boothill and gn!reader iii. cw — slice of life stuff turning into smut, possessive behaviour, overstim, slight dom/sub dynamics, real messy stuff, manhandling. use of the word "hole" to keep reader gender neutral iv. wc — 1,9k

blade is a mutt riddled in scars and dirty bandages from living on the streets and fighting to survive.

you think he might be some german shepherd mix, but he refuses to let you swab his teeth n gums for a dna test (last time you tried you narrowly avoided a punch to the face. he apologized in his own way afterwards), so whenever people ask, just say he’s a rescue to avoid revealing that you actually just… don’t really know what breed he is. they usually drop the subject and simply go on their merry way, seeing as he wasn’t the type of pup to appreciate affection from strangers anyways– it’s rare for you to leave the house in the first place, though.

you had to switch to a remote job because blade is just so persistent when it comes to you. although possessive is a much better descriptor, because he doesn’t let anyone near you. whenever you leave to get groceries he ends up practically breathing down your neck from how close he gets— acting as if he were your literal shadow— glaring at everyone that gets too close to you. you’ve made it a habit to always go to self-checkout lane so blade doesn’t scare off the cashiers.

the second you get home he’s all over you, determined to rid you of that outside stench and replace it with his own. you started packing your grocery bags in a way that nothing will break if (read: when) you suddenly drop them on the floor, all because you’re so familiar with blade’s impatience.

he holds you still by engulfing your body with his, knees caging your hips as he grinds into you, shallow and deep. blade’s growls and huffs fill your ears just as much as his cock fills your hole, his knot kissing your tightness from the outside.

“do you like this? like how i have to fuck you every time you decide to go outside again when you could stay here,” with me blade omits, his tail swishing back and forth on the bedsheets behind him, the sound just barely grounding you to reality.

your grocery bags were long forgotten on the foor (as they usually are), your mind too foggy to function. clawing at the sheets, you try to crawl away from blade’s grip— to no avail.

he tuts, craning his head to bite down onto the skin where your shoulder meets your neck. “i might just need to mark you for extra precaution,” he bucks into you, knocking the air out of your lungs. you hear squelching, the constant plap! plap! plap! from his thighs smacking against your ass and whine, broken babbles leaving your kiss-bruised lips.

“b-blade, y’can’t- ah,” he shushes you by plugging you full of his lengthy cock, his knot almost threatening to press inside of you. you whimper, feeling lightheaded from a mix of both nervousness and arousal.

he soothes the hickey he left on your neck, licking it languidly as he stills to bask into the way your hole throbs around him. warm and tight and oh so tempting.

“shit, wanna fill you. wanna… have everyone know they can’t have you. you’re mine, mine to love ‘n mine to fuck,” you’re not lucid enough to process his thinly veiled confession, too busy writhing your ass back against him in a feeble attempt to get him to continue moving.

you might want to invest into some good concealer or into those skin coloured tattoo patches to cover the bruises and bite marks blade’ll leave on you if you want to continue being a functioning member of society. you can’t really be walking around in public as if a dog had just mauled you right before you left the house, can you?

gepard is a golden retriever because of COURSE he is. similarly to blade, he likes to invade your personal space a lot— not because he’s possessive, but because he’s extremely protective of you.

the random bruises you used to randomly notice on your body faded as soon as he came into your life. gepard’s soft, lingering touches healed them; gently placing a hand on your hip before you bump into sharp furniture so it doesn’t hit you, redirecting your head to his shoulder as you nod-off in the train before you bang your head, and so on.

it’s a full-time job and he’s working 24/7, always on the lookout for anything that could possibly hurt you as you saunter off… wherever, without a care in the world— because he took care of everything!

he would clean the apartment for you, cook (though you usually insist you do the cooking; a human doesn’t have the same taste in food as a hybrid), and even act as your own personal alarm clock. gone were the days of being woken up by loud, blaring beeping. gepard woke you up with forehead kisses instead, making your mornings much more pleasant.

but poor geppie, he’s always taking care of you; so take care of him, won’t you?

every so often you’ll sit in his lap to help him get rid of whatever stress he held in his body. your hands will knead at the muscles in his broad shoulders, all while you simultaneously kiss away the strain in his face. his brows are furrowed as you do your best to soothe his muscles; you never forget to smooch his cheek, nose and the corner of his lips.

though the attention and gentle acts of affection always ends with your hands lower than they should be.

“ah ah, no touching, remember?” you murmur in his ear playfully. you had been at it for what felt like hours; gepard’s cock and abdomen was smeared with the remnants of his cum, skin tacky from his previous loads. your hand shows no sign of stopping, not even when he begged oh so sweetly.

“c-come onn. just… jus’ wanna kiss…” and who were you to deny your sweet boy? your lips find his in a heartbeat, his tongue swiping over your own sloppily as he breathes you in like a depraved man.

the only condition you had when you did this was for him to keep his hands to himself— at least until you both decide to move on to something else. until then, his fists clench the sheets beneath the both of you, and his ears stay flat on his fluffy head.

“i’m… i’m close again, g- aah, please, please…!” he begs, cock weeping precum as you continuously jerk him off. you smile, absentmindedly rocking your hips to the rhythm you held him prisoner to— gepard was too engulfed in the warmth of your hand to notice, anyways. “cum whenever you want sweet boy,” you purr, and he keens as he buries his face in your neck, his hips lifting off the bed ever so slightly as they meet your hand and he thrusts, riding the high of his orgasm.

sticky cum coats your hand for the nth time; you relent your grip on his cock for his sake, instead choosing to shower him with chaste kisses all over his face. gepard whines, taking ahold of your waist weakly as he breathes into the crook of your neck.

“geppie, your han-“ he cuts you off, swiftly switching positions so you’re now laying on your back as he hovers over you, chest rising and falling quickly, catching his breath from the intensity of his orgasm. gepard’s tail wags slowly behind him as his hands creep up from your waist to your chest just as slowly- you feel his cock harden against your pelvis, precum spilling from his pinky tip.

“‘ts my turn now,” he huffs, leaning down to nip at your neck.

boothill is the most obnoxious dalmatian hybrid you’ve ever seen (not that you’ve seen many, or at all). but he’s made your life so fun so you can’t be too mad at him

he’s always dragging you out of bed to go do something— could be going to the park nearby or sit in the living room playing video games on your dusty console, it doesn’t matter because he’ll MAKE you step out of your cozy nest!!

you’re glad he’s friendly, because you’re not sure how you would handle such an excited hybrid when you left the house. people come up to the both of you to chat and he indulges their questions, essentially leading the conversation (while you stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to say).

boothill is also great with kids, unexpectedly. 9 times out of 10 when you go to the park he ends up playing with someone’s child, bright smile on his face as he messes up their hair with a rough hand. they’ll throw a frisbee for him to go catch and he’ll do it happily, or he’ll even… teach them how to beat people up.

(you stare mortified as he teaches a little girl how to throw a proper punch only for her to then punch her parent when she leaves boothill’s side. you go up to them and apologize profusely, forcing boothill to bow with you.)

he also loves to help you out, even though he’s not the greatest at household chores— but he definitely tries! though he is a stellar cook, which never fails to surprise you whenever he’s on dinner duty. he just… really sucks at everything else.

it’s… mostly because he just has so much energy. he sweeps the floor? nope, he’s picking off the pieces of the broom off of the floor because he accidentally broke it. he’s fixing your bed? nuh uh, you’re throwing out the ruined bedsheets because he accidentally tore them to shreds somehow.

so, with all of these accidents happening because he’s just brimming with energy 24/7, you started purposely exhausting him. or, rather, gave him the green light to exhaust you until he tires himself out.

“booth-aah, w-wait, you’re being too…!” you fall over on top of his hard chest, keening at the new angle his cock reached inside of you. he repeated his assault on the spot that made you see stars as your jaw gaped, broken moans leaving your lips.

“don’t tell me y’re tapping out.. haa, already!” boothill grunts, his grip on your hips tightening. he throws his head back with a loud moan, abs tensing as he nears yet another climax— the 5th one of the night. maybe, maybe not. you lost count after the third one.

you bury your face into the crook of his neck, focusing on the feeling of his cock plugging you full instead of the soreness, the burn in your muscles that came from your knees holding you up on his lap.

watching you riding him will always be his favourite thing in the world, even if he always ends up fucking up into you and taking back control at the end of the night.

“gonna cu-uum…” you whine, clenching around his length almost painfully tightly, hearing his breathing hitch as an orgasm is ripped out of him in consequence to yours. boothill’s fingers dig into your ass, his hips lifting off the bed as he cums deep inside of your sloppy hole again, sticky fluid building up beneath the sheets.

you collapse on top of him fully, chest heaving against his own as you come back to your senses, slowly but surely. boothill’s ears perk up, hearing how your breathing had evening out.

“so… got another round in ya?”

[mysicklove]

boys who love overstimulation live in my head rent-free. because who can really like something like that? it hurts so badly, and it makes their mind go terrifyingly blank, so why do they not use their safeword? why do they let you torture them so?

closing their eyes and letting out the most broken and pathetic sobs with every second to pass by. they cant do anything, just have to sit there and take it while their tip throbs and tears flood their eyes. sobbing out, "too much! its-stop it! im sensitive!!" while you kiss their cheek and force their thighs open.

the boys who like the way they feel powerless under you. they cant fight back against the overstimulation, their mercy belongs to you completely. there mind goes blank during this time, only focused on your movements and the pain. in the back of their heads they can hear the lewd squelching noise of the cum dripping down their shafts mixed with your cruel movements. the way their body jerks when you reach the head repeatedly and their wrists tighten against the sheets to bare the pain.

but the whole time they are looking at you with most lovesick eyes. some smiling at you while tears running down their face, while others plead for you to give them a break. either way, the next time you touch them, they are begging you for more after they orgasmed.

izuku, kyojuro, denki, keigo, reo, armin, douma, eren, tengen, bachira, isagi, zenitsu

[hellfire--cult]

thinking about how Eddie would love on you like no man has ever done before

thinking how he would say sorry for things he didn't even do wrong and you have to remind him that he is not always at fault

thinking how he would act in public with you, showing you off, kissing your hand, and even with friends with his arm around your shoulders

thinking how he would be loving when intimate, but also dominant and possessive if the night is right for it

thinking how he would be excited to move on from his past story to start anew with you

thinking how happy he would be by you just baking some cookies in the kitchen

thinking how grateful he is for having you in his life

thinking how he never thought he'd find someone at all, and yet there you were

thinking how he would risk everything for you, without asking for anything back

and the thing is, and he doesn't know, that you think, do and would do everything that was said above.

[b1mbodoll]

im sO looking forward to seeing you write again!! something thats been stuck in my head lately is shotgunning w nicholas 🫠🫠 the thought of a friendly little smoking session turning into a heated make out is making me SICK 😵‍💫😵‍💫 need to hump his thigh until im crying out of frustration tbh 🫣🫣 no bc putting into words how badly i want this man would create a new sin in the bible ngl

<🫧3

pairings: nicholas wang x f! reader

warnings: drugs + dryhumping + dacryphilia

💌: ur brain is so yum, i’m sick!!! i love the thought of mean dom nicho so much 😞

okay but smoking for the first time with nicholas 😵‍💫 you’re a little clueless ‘nd coughs wrack your body, feeling embarrassed by how intently he’s watching you and shrinking under his gaze. but he’s not to be mean, it’s because he’s mesmerized by the sight of your lips wrapped around the blunt and how pretty you look, eyes glossy and a dopey little smile on your face as the weed affects you. and yeah, he feels a little bad so he decides to help you out, definitely for your benefit and absolutely not because he wants to kiss you.

“c’mere, pretty girl,” he says, seating you on his lap, placing a knee between your thighs. “let me help you.”

nicho takes the blunt from you, ashing it before taking a hit and placing a hand on your cheek, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb as a sign to get you to open up for him. “be a good girl ‘n make sure to inhale for me sweetheart.” he states, voice low and raspy.

he takes a hit and your eyes widen as his face comes impossibly close, blowing the smoke into your open mouth while you do your best to inhale, squeezing his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself.

he does it a couple more times, taking pleasure in how flustered you look and the needier you get, biting back a smirk when you subconsciously grind back and forth on his thigh, quiet moans like music to his ears when his jeans catch your clit just right.

you’re so gone n so needy, you can’t stop tears from welling up in your eyes, peering up at nicholas through wet lashes with a sweet little pout adorning your face. he wants to help you out but he’s enjoying the show, flexing his thigh at times just to hear you gasp n moan, so close to reaching your orgasm but ‘s just not enough, unwillingly edging yourself the more you rut against him.

[sukunasweetheart]

man, im thinking about sucking sukuna off underneath a desk during an important meeting... 

warnings; ceo sukuna, lots of teasing, degradation, rough throat fucking, hate?fucking, exhibitionism, throatpie (yay), implied rough sex at the end

you’re fondling and groping his cock over his pants until he gets hard, until you can see the visible bulge against the zipper, desperate to be let out. drag your fingertips down the still-clothed erection, making more precum leak out against his boxers. your hands do an excellent job at getting him all worked up.

once you’ve had enough of that, you then pull his zipper down, excruciatingly slow. you don’t want the others to hear anything, after all. once his cock is freed, you grin at its angry red tip and the bulging vein running along it. you palm sukuna’s heavy balls, playing around with them for a little before sucking them into your mouth. you’re painfully aware of how much he likes it when you use your mouth to warm them up. then, the tip of your tongue is dragged its way up, towards the head of his dick, where you lick off the pooling precum that’d been dripping since a while ago from his slit. 

above the desk, sukuna looks perfectly professional, doing his part as the ceo during this meeting, only an occasional jerk of his hips that is barely noticeable. internally, he’s already making plans on how to punish you for this later.

going back down below - you’re now softly sucking on his tip only, purposefully keeping the rest of his erection out of its haven, that is, your warm throat. the tangy taste of his drooling arousal continues to disperse itself on the surface of your buds and you can’t get enough of it, continuing to roll your tongue around his cockhead, in the way that you know drives him mad.

his facial expressions and body language can put on a facade all they want. he can display his false exterior and keep his voice firm all he wants. but his dick can’t lie now, can it?

when you take your lips off of it, you see how his cock throbs uncontrollably, almost begging you to keep going, until it’s release. you just have to stifle a giggle and admire its honesty. you gently blow air against him, being the ultimate tease.

behind sukuna’s closed mouth, he’s gritting his teeth, his patience running dangerously thin.

you repeat this vicious cycle, taunting his dick with your soft, warm tongue, refusing to take him in any deeper, and then releasing his tip from your mouth when he’s close to cumming.  this continues throughout the entire hour long meeting. it must be your imagination, but his balls seem a little heavier when you decide to give them another fondle a bit later.

towards the end, there’s a vein bulging out his forehead and an intimidating glare in his eyes. employees meekly trail out one by one, leaving the room in a hurry. sukuna orders uraume to lock the door on the way out. they don’t question the order, and does as they are told.

cut to the main event.

your hands are gripping, tugging at his clothes as sukuna fucks your throat raw. tears streaming, drool rolling down the corner of your mouth, you struggle to breathe as he mercilessly pushes past the back of your throat, balls hitting your chin lewdly.

“you’re a fucking whore, you know that?” he enunciates fiercely, meeting your eyes that still continue to somehow taunt him. you’re soaking wet down there.

the gurgling noises from your throat echo around the now empty meeting room, paired up with sukuna’s grunts and additional hisses of degradation. he loses a piece of his mind every time he feels you close up around him. 

“you sure had your fun playing around with my cock for an hour straight. let’s see if you can handle the same from me,” he mutters, continuing to use you without break. he chases after his long awaited, well deserved release.

sukuna’s breathing quickens, and his grip on your hair tightens as he gets close to his orgasm. fuck, fuck, fuck, he repeats in his head. he hates you so fucking much. he hates how desperate you make him feel. he hates how you are both the cause and solution to his problems.

while thinking such thoughts, he cums down your throat with his head lolled back, pushing himself balls-deep into you. your eyes roll back as his piping hot spend passes through your insides, splashing into your stomach. you swallow around his cock and sukuna can’t stop his hips from jolting.

when he slowly pulls out, you’re finally able to take a full breath properly. but even with your ruined makeup and tearstained cheeks, your lips curl up into a sly smirk, like you were the one finally satisfied.

oh, just what is he to do with a minx like you? he’s gotten himself involved with a terrible, crazy succubus.

“fuckin’ hell. you actually enjoyed that, didn’t you? you slut.”

you nod at him innocently, smiling up at him, being all cute.

you attempt to stand, but your knees buckle from being on them for so long, and he has to catch you to stop you from falling back.

“you alright?” the question comes out before he can stop himself.

“no...i’m not,” you mumble lowly, getting him to raise an eyebrow at you.

you grab his hand and place his palm onto your abdomen.

“i need you here,” you tell him, blinking your doe eyes at him. “i thought you said you were going to see if i could handle the same?”

oh, for fuck’s sake.

something snaps inside him - and he’s already laying you across the desk, ready to pummel your fucking pussy.

he hates you so much.

(lies.)

Masterlist

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | Rebellion Series | Caution

Part one of the Rebellion Series

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: By some miracle, you get saved from the consequences of your own actions. You’re reluctant to join a supposedly good cause. What happens when the good cause is not so legal? And what - or who - is your soft spot?

Warnings: Angst, fluff (?) and mentions of sex.

Words: 34OO

You have started shaking again. With every tremble of your body, the restraints around your legs and arms seem to tighten and you shudder even more at the awful memory of that feeling. It took weeks for the shaking to stop. Weeks of being locked up into this modern dungeon until you were nothing but silence and numbness.

You knew the rebellion could end in death, knew the consequences would be catastrophic, but at least you’d stood for something, fought for something. And you would choose death any day over the endless silence of this prison. You know for a fact that you’re surrounded by an ocean, but no matter how hard you listen, you cannot hear the wild sea crash. Can only hear the low hum of the air being circulated through your metal cell.

And today, approximately three months after the start of your sentence in the most secured prison on the planet, you have started shaking again. It can hardly be because today of all days, your brain has decided to make you go completely insane. That would be too random. Which means–

Your head snaps to the window, spotting the other cells. Empty. This floor is reserved just for you alone. Because apparently you’re too dangerous to interact with anyone. They even got machines bringing you your daily sustenance. An empty floor like every other day, yet something seems different. Something’s off.

A metal door flies through the middle of the circular space connecting all of the cells and you stiffen. You look at the ground again, keeping completely still. Maybe they don’t know that you’re here. Oh God, oh God, oh God. No, they can’t get to you. Not again.

The destruction clangs through your body and you tremble violently, curling up as much as you can and staring hard at the floor. The cold metal ground blurs with images of the rebellion. The things you gave up, the energy your summoned and wasted, the people you lost. The blood, and pain, and screams and– and– and…

“She’s in there. Grab her and then we get out of here.”

“Steve, I–”

“And hurry up, we don’t have much time!”

Two combat boots step into your vision and the stomps echo in your head, booming you back to reality. But not quite. Your eyes vibrate with fear and you swallow the nails in your throat. Then a pair of knees appear in front of you and a black gloved hand reaches forward. It hesitates, then retreats. As if choosing not to touch you. Wise choice.

“Hey.” The voice is low. And smooth as liquor.

But you don’t look up, focusing on trying not to tremble more and taking the firm contraptions wrapped around your shins and forearms as the protection they now are. Maybe this is another nightmare. It’s different from the ones you usually have, but black gloves… They had black gloves, too. And those firm boots. They may have kicked you in the stomach with those boots once. You don’t remember.

“I’m here to get you out,” the voice speaks again and you can only listen to the tone of voice, the way it sends a shockwave through your body and lessens the violent trembles. “Look up for me.”

You ignore him and focus on your breathing.

“Is she coming?” That first voice. Impatient. Panting.

The male before you turns to the centre of the floor and gives a frustrated sigh, “She’s pretty out of it.”

Before waiting for the other man to respond, he turns back to you and studies you. Even though you don’t see him, his stare burns right through the flimsy clothes they put on you. He lets out a soft sigh and flips out a knife from the holster at his waist, still kneeling before you. You stiffen, preparing yourself for the sting at your throat as they finally decide to get rid of you, but he tries his best not to touch any bare skin as he saws through the materials binding you together.

The relief of pressure from your skin make you feel so uneasy, you nearly throw up, but a gentle hand covers your arm and you finally look up. Warm, dark blue eyes connect with yours. Below heavy brows and above the faintest cluster of freckles. His mouth is soft and pillowy and his bone structure is otherworldly symmetrical.

“It’s okay,” he tells you gently and offers you a smile that you can tell doesn’t come to him naturally. “Can you walk?”

He pulls you to a stand with a firm, but comfortable grip and you instantly stumble on your feet at the weight suddenly put on them. One arm flies around your waist and hoists you into his side as he catches your fall.

“Okay, okay,” he grunts with a gentle laugh. “I got you. Let’s get the fuck out of here, alright?”

Your throat feels like sandpaper as you hobble along with the wall of a male dragging you along, “Who are you?”

He spares you a brief glance and smiles once more, following ‘Steve’ out of the building and onto an air craft that is way too loud. “Bucky. We’re here to help you. Or I suppose you’re here to help us, little rebel.”

…

Steve gives Bucky a knowing glare, only breaking it by daring a glance at your bedroom door which you have been effectively hiding behind for weeks now. “You know I can’t go in there, Bucky.”

“You know I won’t let you,” Bucky answers drily with a shrug. As opposed to his best friend, Bucky hasn’t stopped staring at your door.

“You’re not even hiding your possessiveness when it comes to her,” Steve breathes through a laugh. That makes Bucky finally look at his friend.

“I’m not possessive,” he says matter-of-factly. He’s not even offended, just practical. “I’m protective. The last thing she needs is all of the nosy people in this tower swirling around her when she doesn’t trust a single soul.”

“Has she started to trust you?”

Bucky has to keep from wincing at Steve’s question, and he clears his throat. “Sure,” he lies.

If Steve caught the lie, he didn’t let on. It was as much of a dismissal as he was going to get. After watching his best friend walk off to do captain things, Bucky braces himself to step into your room. He has no hope that his interaction with you will be any different than the previous ones.

“Another day of convincing me to be your weapon?” you nearly snarl when he walks into your room.

If Bucky is entirely honest, he thought you would have turned into this damaged girl that would morph into a wild animal as you worked through what had been done to you. He didn’t really expect this perseverance and defiance from the woman he saved from that prison. But he supposes he should have seen that question coming. It wasn’t his best work; starting that day he saved you with all of the things you could be doing for them. Why they had saved you. Simply for their own gain. Or that is how you understood it, at least…

He has never been good with words. That has always been Steve’s thing. Bucky was reliable physically and he paid attention. He never had to use many words to make his point. Yet you keep asking these questions – rhetorical, he thinks – and you keep giving him this penetrating stare until he answers. Which is a sure way to make him fuck up, because how do people do that? Bring sensible thoughts into words and make it make sense?

Especially when the woman asking said questions is so damned… pretty.

“It’s time for you to get out of this room,” he tells you plainly. It seems the tactic of ignoring your questions is effective. It only took him six days to figure that one out.

He strides over to cross the room, not sparing you another glance in your chair in the corner, and rips open the curtains. The cat-like hiss coming from you has Bucky nearly biting back a smile. He turns and watches you stand from your chair, stalking over to him with your chin high and a scowl on your face. He raises an eyebrow with amused intrigue.

“And what, exactly, will I be doing outside of my room?” you ask.

He dips down slightly, but you keep the proximity. “Whatever you want. I don’t care.”

“If you don’t care, why hunt me out of my room?”

He shrugs, “Captain’s orders.” He isn’t entirely lying.

“Why isn’t the captain telling me himself?”

Bucky smirks and leans even closer, making you feel his minty breath fan over your face. “Because I’m the only one who isn’t scared of you.”

You snort at that and roll your eyes before breaking away from him. “I’ll get dressed.”

Bucky tries his hardest not to look too stunned as you retreat into the bathroom. A deep sigh leaves his lips as he paces through your room in wait for you to get ready. It takes a whole lot of effort to muster a smirk when it comes to his interactions with you.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” he asks quietly.

Just as quietly, the house responds, “Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“Has she asked for anything from you? To contact friends or family, or other information?”

“No, she hasn’t.”

“Does she have anyone left?” he tries, chewing his lip as he dreads the answer.

“Not that we’re aware. Mr. Stark had me run a background check, but she seems alone. No sign of anyone missing or deceased. No sign of a network at all.”

Bucky doesn’t know why that feels worse in his chest and he swallows. “Alright, thank you.”

A few moments later, you step out of the shower and find Bucky lounging in the chair he found you in, leafing through one of your books. Just as you’re about to check whether he has gotten his hands on one of your smuttier books, your eyes snag on the clothes laid out for you on the bed.

You pause long enough to make Bucky look up from the book. “Did you… Did you seriously pick out this underwear for me?”

Bucky eyes the lace panties dangling from your fingers and shrugs with a smirk. A smirk had never looked so enticing, but you sharpen your stare on him. “Do you prefer the grey, cotton ones in the back of the closet?”

You grit your teeth and scowl at him again, before morphing your mouth into a vindictive smile. “Why? Don’t you?”

His eyes dance at that. “Wouldn’t make a difference to me.”

And it’s the way he said it, with so much casual amusement and… promise. Heat rises to your face and you duck your head down. Snatching the clothes from the bed, you retreat back into the bathroom to get dressed.

…

The rest of your conversations had been purely functional as Bucky lead you down into the building where Steve was waiting. Bucky rolled his eyes at his friend’s horrible attempt at hiding his surprise. Steve hadn’t seen you since the day they came to save you, he must have never expected Bucky to be successful in his retrieval.

Bucky also hadn’t missed the meaningful look Steve then gave him that indicated he tucked away some valuable information. The information being that if they ever needed to get you to do something, Bucky is the way to get you to do it. Why? Steve seemed to have his theories and Bucky didn’t like it one bit.

However, for now he doesn’t care. Instead, he sticks by you after you reluctantly agreed to join Steve on a walk.

Strolling down the path through the surrounding woods, Bucky catches himself bracing for a fight every time Steve gets a little too close to you. He doesn’t like it. The last time he was this sensitive to proximity, he had just ran from Hydra. He’s seen other traumatised people before, but this feels different. And instead of listening to your and Steve’s conversation, he tries to figure out what it is. He supposes it’s because you have no survival instinct. In the few videos he’s seen of your rebellion and the encounters he has had with you the past weeks, you see danger or conflict and run straight toward it. Nothing scared or cautious about you. It sets his nerves on edge.

Bucky is well aware of what Steve is telling you and he has to refrain from rolling his eyes at the careful way Steve tries to coax you into their plan, when earlier that week they had not been nearly as careful as they calculated how to get you involved. But even Bucky had to admit that they needed you – specifically, everyone who would follow you into the grave. When Stark had shown him the videos, he was perplexed as to how you got such a huge following when what you fought for was so terribly dangerous. But one look at those sharp eyes and one deep command from you, and Bucky had seen it. That unwavering will and that brilliant brain that was always calculating. Steve could learn a few tricks from you on being a strong leader. And considering Bucky wildly admires his old friend, that is saying something.

They need you. Bucky knows it, too. They need not just someone with great leadership skills and a loyal following, but someone that does it out of empathy for the people mistreated by the system. Because that is who they’re going to be fighting – the system.

Again.

…

“You haven’t said anything about what Steve told you,” Bucky says on your walk back to your room. The offer to escort you back to your room hadn’t been entirely selfless.

“I need to think about it,” you murmur, deep in thought.

Bucky suppresses his sigh of sympathy. They are asking you to join a cause you were so passionate about, and that after failing so miserably last time. He can barely imagine the things you must have witnessed and endured with your last upraise. How you had gotten so influential that the government decided to treat you like you were a super-human and punished you accordingly. You had been put in the same prison as Wanda. Wanda. That is how powerful you were.

“It can’t be easy to revisit everything after all that’s happened,” he resigns and you blink from your thoughts to raise your eyes to his face. You study him and it takes all of Bucky’s might not to shift under your assessing gaze.

Then you speak up, “I’ve always done the right thing. Steve knows I can’t walk away from it…”

Bucky smiles at that. “Just like him.”

Your eyes narrow at that comment, but Bucky finds no venom in the look. You continue, “Sacrificing my life for the cause was never an issue. But to lead others into that same fate again?” The guilt had eaten you alive. All those people that had gotten arrested, split up from loved ones, hurt– worse…

Bucky interrupts your thoughts before they get a hold on you by clearing his throat. “Tonight, we have dinner with everyone. You’re welcome to join if you’d like.” Your heavy stare on him makes him quickly add, “Don’t give me that look. There will be no talk of overthrowing the government. Just dress fancy.”

The snort of a laugh that comes from you feels lighter to Bucky than he’d like to admit. And to ease the tension, he forces another smirk to his face. You narrow your eyes again warily, “What.”

He shrugs, turning to leave you alone at your door. Then he winks. “Let me know if you need me to pick out some underwear for you.” And then he’s gone.

Bucky hangs onto that cockiness all the way until dinner, where the entire group has showed up. Even Thor said he’d show up for a drink. Barton flew in from his family home to join the group as well. He remembers a time when he’d felt more than uncomfortable around this group of people. But so much has changed. They all saw him as a great asset to the team and even relied on him more and more to supervise the missions. He’s at home with them now. Heart swelling with affection, he listens to his friends – his family – laugh in the kitchen while they pour the drinks.

And then all of their faces turn into one direction, some of them pulling taut, few of them giving warm, comforting smiles. Bucky follows their gaze and it is like someone punched him in the gut, air whooshing out of his body. He doesn’t really know why – other than the obvious fact that you look ravishing of course. But he looks at you and clears his throat to welcome you to the group.

Natasha beats him to it though and it has Bucky’s hackles rising. She shoots him a knowing smile and then he backs off. His pride wounded like a cat booped on the nose. Natasha is good at it, charming people until they feel comfortable. Or take their pants off. But there’s an easy smile on your face – one Bucky knows is at least slightly forced – and you blend in with the crowd easily.

Suddenly, Sam’s at his side. “I know what you’re thinking,” he grumbles with his eyes on you and Natasha, followed by a swig of his beer bottle. “Those two together can only mean trouble.”

Bucky can only grunt in agreement.

…

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Natasha drawls with a guilty smile.

Barton shakes his head. “The poor schmuck didn’t stand a chance. There is no way you could have taken him if you hadn’t slept with him the night before.”

Natasha shrugs. “Look, a girl has her needs. He met them and the next day he met his fate.”

“Really, Nat?” Steve nearly cringes and Bucky reins in his laugh. “The guy’s moral compass was straight from hell and you decided to sleep with him?”

Natasha barely manages to open her mouth before you decide to pitch in, raising a glass to her. “I get it. Terrible morals do add a little spice in the bedroom.”

Nat clinks her glass with yours and mutters a ‘she gets it’, but Bucky’s eyes are searing through your skin. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised at such outrageous claims coming out of your mouth. There is nothing innocent about you. Good, yes. Innocent? No. Yet perhaps it isn’t ‘surprise’ that is warming his body from the inside out.

Conversation flows easily between the Avengers and the food Tony had made easily beats the Brooklyn comfort food Bucky usually seeks out. Cheeks turn rosy from the drinks, voices get louder, lights get dimmer. Bucky has to really look to be sure what he’s seeing. You, relaxed and happy. Such a stark contrast to the woman he found in the prison. No wonder you’re so good with people. People make you good.

He can barely manage his smirk however, when he notices the strain in your body to keep from looking at him. Why you are so adamant to avoid him, he can’t really tell. But this is now your weak spot, so he cannot help but tuck the info away for later.

The night carries on and everyone switches places, catching up on endless memories and adventures and being surprisingly considerate to include you in most conversations. Bucky ends up at the head of the table, you on the seat closest to him, both listening to Sam. You listen closely and Bucky can only assume you have some relief from being actively distracted from him. And being the arrogant bastard he knows he can be, he ‘accidentally’ brushes a knuckle over the back of your hand that’s resting on the table. He watches you stiffen and swallow, but like a true rebel, you show no other sign that it affected you.

A few more stunts like that had Bucky pressing his knee to your thigh under the table and it takes everything not to pull away from it. So you gaslight yourself to let the touch ground you. To absorb his warmth and relax even more into the touch. And if you guess it correctly, the way you respond to Bucky’s touch is not what he expected… So you find yourself having the upper hand again.

And if you’re going to join these people in their cause, what’s a little game with your menace of a saviour?

[grimesrhees]

Let the Light In

"Ooh, let the light in At your back door yelling 'cause I wanna come in Ooh, turn your light on Look at us, you and I, back at it again”

pairing: maggie rhee x fem!reader

genre: idk romance i guess

warnings: very suggestive, so minors beware !!!

summary: maggie's bedroom seems to have become a revolving door for the reader. They find themselves frequently sleeping together in the dead of night even with the ever present hesitation on maggie's end.

notes: i was yearning and inspired by the "Let the Light In" lyrics by Lana Del Rey from above. takes place at hilltop 2.0 from dead city i suppose.

Your heart pounded in your chest like it always did whenever you found yourself back at her door. It was as if there was a magnetic pull between this door, her door, and you. Every time you went out walking at night because you couldn’t sleep, you desperately tried steering yourself in the other direction. But the yearning was too strong, and you were too weak to put up a fight. The possibility of falling into her arms and onto her bed was like a drug, you were ever chasing that high.

Extending your hand, you rapped your knuckles on the back door softly and waited. Faint creaks from her descension of the stairs came from within before the porch light flicked on beside you. A sigh of relief slipped from your lips while a blooming warmth began spreading inside you. The deadbolt clicked and the chain jingled as it slid out of the lock.

Light poured in from the outside inwards, illuminating the doorway. Maggie stood before you with her arms folded across her chest, that same look that was always on her face when you showed up at her door in the middle of the night. It was a mix of “seriously?” and indescribable desire. She tried to control it carefully, but her eyes never lied, and it never lasted long.

You scanned over her from her legs upwards, letting yourself gradually take in the curves of her body. When your eyes finally landed on her face you could see she had already dropped the façade. Raising an eyebrow, you smirked at Maggie’s obvious shift in demeanor and stepped closer to her. You reached over and started unfolding her arms. She didn’t even flinch, immediately grabbing your hand to pull you inside.

You closed the door behind you quietly and turned back to Maggie, who was lifting her pointer finger to her lips as to say “shhhh Herschel’s asleep.” Carefully leading you up the stairs by the hand to her bedroom, stopping just short of it to shake her head to herself. You let go of her hand and pressed up behind her. Maggie sucked in a sharp breath as your hands traveled up to her hips. You pulled her body into yours and whispered softly in her ear, “Please.”

After entering her bedroom, you both collided instantly. You teased each other, biting the other’s sweet spots and brushing fingers underneath one another’s shirts. Maggie kissed you slowly but tenderly, slipping a hand up to grip the back of your neck and bring you closer to her. She nipped at your bottom lip and pushed you back onto the bed, straddling your lap. You ran your fingers through her short waves as she kissed you harder. Her warm, soft thighs against yours driving you insane.

Every shaky breath you and her shared deepened the feeling of need in the pit of your stomach. You lifted Maggie’s night shirt over her head so her body could be as close to you as possible. She did the same to you and trailed her fingertips down from your sternum to your waistband, causing a low groan to escape your mouth. Maggie smiled deviously at the sound and swiftly removed your pants off you. Her fingers crept below your panty line, playfully snapping the band. You instinctively grabbed her by the throat, bringing her face close to yours so you could look into her eyes. Maggie gasped but never broke eye contact with you. What little light there was coming from the outside cast onto her face and the burning passion behind those green eyes was even more evident. She was so beautiful in every way. How thankful you were that she let you into her life. And for always turning the light on whenever you came knocking.

[jinkicake]

Jealousy, Jealousy. 

Scaramouche has to process betrayal all over again. 

A/N: I decided to combine the two scara jealousy posts into one big post so it can be read all together >:-)! I had to write desperate (pathetic) scara, i truly am sorry. im tots excited to pull for him, i have 150 wishes for him!   

WC - 2.3k

TW // hints at noncon,, pyscho scara,, verbal abuse,, crazy scara,, yandere scara 

~~~

Scaramouche didn’t notice it at first.

He didn’t predict that one of the guards he personally hand-picked to protect you would end up being soft for you as well. There were clear instructions for none of the four personnel to speak with you, no matter if you spoke to them. Their jobs were clearly stated as to watch you and guard you.

Anything else that you needed was something Scaramouche himself could personally deal with.

How couldn’t he have noticed it before? The lingering stares, the fact that as of late on multiple occasions the guard would return later than the rest. Scaramouche feels his entire body melt into molten lava, he’s fuming inside as he cracks a dent in his wooden desk.

He’ll make you both pay for this affair, the guard will die and you will suffer until you’re begging him to take you back.

The first part had already been dealt with, the guard was long gone in a dark cell the second Scaramouche had even begun to be suspicious. He remembers the fear in the bright eyes of his subordinate, he took pleasure in torturing him until his body could no longer take it.

No matter how much the man denied the allegations of the affair, Scaramouche didn’t believe it.

“Wake up, wench,” Scaramouche is not light with his anger as he swings open the door to your bedroom. The room disgusts him and he remembers how he gave in to your begs for a private space. He was a fool back then, he won’t ever make that mistake again. How many times was that guard in here? How many times had he laid in your bed?

Scaramouche takes pride in how you jolt out of your sleep, flinching against the blankets. Your startled appearance is tinted with the effects of heavy slumber and it takes a few blinks for you to notice the man in the room. The pungent irony smell grabs your attention before Scaramouche’s bloody appearance.

You know for a fact that the blood isn’t his.

“W-What’s wrong?” You try to keep your voice quiet and level, seeing that he is as active as an open minefield. Navigating Scaramouche in such an angered state is the most dangerous thing you have ever done.

“I’m fine.” He replies, eerily calm but the slight twitch in his eye gives his unhinged state away. “You should be asking your little boyfriend what is wrong,” The way he spits out the word boyfriend, lacing the world with venom, makes you flinch.

“My boyfriend?” You parrot back, tilting your head slightly in confusion. The way you feign innocence is enough to push Scaramouche over the edge as he grabs your wrists tightly in his hands.

“Your beloved guard, you filthy whore,” He grins at the thought of the man now being thrown into a prison where he will never see the light of day. His initial plan to kill the other man was stuffed deep into his draw when he thought about how he could make him suffer every single day, death would be too kind.

Your eyes widen in realization, heart dropping at his threat.

“What did you do to Ivano?” You make the mistake to glare up at him, anger now fueling your entire body. “Whatever you think you know, it’s wrong.”

His hand lets go of your wrists, rising high and you’re sure that he is going to slap you until his hands fist in your hair and he presses his face mere inches away from yours.

“I know that you’re a slut, a whore, unloyal to me and this marriage.” The loud boom of his voice only serves to make you angrier and you kick your limbs to try to get him off of you. If you had been in a clearer state of mind then perhaps you would have seen the tears in his lashline or the way his body was shaking with betrayal.

“Are you implying that I have cheated on you? I have done no such thing!” You yell back into his face, hands now roughly pushing at his shoulders.

“Don’t lie to me,"

“You believe that I cheated on you with Ivano?! The one who is married to Tonia, my friend? You’re a fucking fool!”

Scaramouche doesn’t listen to your reasons, he refuses to as he pushes your thighs widely apart and settles in between your legs.

“Your pathetic words mean nothing to me. I will teach you to be loyal, I’ll fuck it into your brain until it is the only thing you know. You will enjoy this.”

Scaramouche’s anger is something you’ve always been able to handle well. At times when he explodes in his expressive manner, you’re there to help ground him. Never before have you been the target of his anger, a mere pinpoint for him to release all of his frustrations on. 

He never gets angry with you, not like this. 

Even in your frozen state with your fear-clouded mind, you can still feel how his hands tremble with uncertainty. Each time the Harbinger had touched you before in the past, he did it with no regard for your wellbeing. He took and took until he was tired, ripping clothes and holding you down with his sheer strength. This time, your softest of movements cause him to falter in his steps. 

“You love me. Say that you love me.” His eerily leveled voice is hinted with desperation, clipping the ends of his words as he stares expectedly at you. Scaramouche waits for your answer while gripping your thighs painfully tight, pushing the muscles apart. “Tell me!” His voice roars throughout the empty room, bouncing off the walls and causing the room to shake. He needs to hear it, has to hear it. 

“I know that you love me, unloyal whore.” Scaramouche murmurs this more to himself as his voice drops to a more quiet tone, now to a whisper. “You love me, love me, love me,” His chest rises and falls with each breath, the sound of his erratic breathing is the only noises being produced in the room. 

There’s not a single noise outside because all of the guards are down. Each one is beaten and lying on the floor against the wall from where the Harbinger threw them. You’re all alone with him. 

The more Scaramouche touches you, the more you start to squirm. You ache and kick your legs as he begins to kiss your neck but your strength is nothing compared to his (even when weakened). He pins your wrists to your sides and continues his ministrations, thin lips creating harsh marks on your skin. His touch is bruising and nothing about this is delicate. 

“Dear, please listen,” You try to explain yourself, you swallow your pity and bite your tongue to avoid telling him off but the Harbinger ignores you. It seems that no amount of pet names or your kindness can get through to him just yet. He growls and nips at your skin in an effort to get you to shut up. “you must understand, I was merely helping Ivano-”

“I know exactly what you were doing with him, you were spreading your legs and letting him dirty you up.” Scaramouche pulls away to glare down at you, grimacing at his own words. It’s almost as if your touch has started to burn him with how he winces under each flex of your limbs. “None of that matters now, it will be fine.” 

There’s no attempt for you to grasp the situation as it slips between your fingers, there is nothing you can do to try and fix this. He doesn’t let you even as he is falling apart.

You know everything about him is off despite how hard Scaramouche is trying to appear normal. It is seen in the way his lips press together to avoid trembling, and how his eyes nearly shake under the stress of the weight he is feeling. Never did you imagine that you could affect him like this.

You’re causing him to break. 

“I know what to do,” Scaramouche’s chest rises and falls with each heavy breath, he’s almost panting as he moves to settle between your legs. The wave of your betrayal drowns him the more he touches you and Scaramouche tries to remind himself that fucking you is nothing new. He struggles to remove your panties and fumbles with the material against his thins fingertips. His eyes dart between your underwear and the sheets, he looks everywhere but your face. 

“Nothing happened between me and-” You want to clear this up, you have to clear this miscommunication. Scaramouche has other plans and digs his nails so harshly into your thighs that the crescent shape will be left there for days, bruised and bloody. 

“Say his name again and I will bite your tongue off.” He doesn’t look at you when he utters his threat, instead, he keeps his eyes low and his vision hidden behind his lashes. “Stay still and quiet, whore.” 

Listening to exactly as he demands would be a lot easier if his voice wasn’t so weak and if his conviction wasn’t so frail. 

Scaramouche fists your panties within his hand and tears the material off of your body, letting it snap against your skin to finally get rid of it. The more he forces himself, the harder it becomes for him. At the sight of you splayed out for him, at his mercy, bottom bare and (unwillingly) submissive to his touch, Scaramouche finally begins to tremble all over. 

His shoulders shake with his overwhelming nerves and his eyes drop to the sheets, darting all over the place except for you and your body. 

“I hate you,” He murmurs weakly. Slowly, he presses his forehead to the sheets on the other side of your thigh, his hands fist tightly as he pounds them against the bed. “I HATE YOU.” The anger from before has come back stronger than ever as he moves in a flash to hover over top of you again. His finger is pressed into your chest, accusing you of your infidelities as he screams in your face. “You’ve ruined me.”

Despite your current dislike for the man, despite all the insults he has thrown in your face and all the harm he has inflicted on you, you have no choice but to hold him together. You don’t want to hate him. 

You gently wrap your arms around his shoulders and hug the sixth Harbinger. Scaramouche tries to fight you, he thrashes under your touch but ultimately gives in and falls into your chest. 

He doesn’t deserve your kindness, he doesn’t deserve your pity but, you can’t help but give it to him. There is a part of you that wants to ease his hurt, to soothe his ache even if he doesn’t deserve it. 

“I took an oath on our wedding day,” You quietly tell him and softly run your fingers along his shaking back. “to be honest and faithful to you for the rest of my days.” Scaramouche’s fingers twitch against your bicep, bluntly digging into your arm as he awaits your next words. “I wouldn’t do this to you, no matter how much you must want me to.” 

Scaramouche pushes against you again, this time placing his palms flat against either side of your head before moving to look you in the eyes. 

“Why would I want something like that?” He snarls at you, lips curling in anger but you can see the red tinting his eyes and the streaks on his cheeks. “You’re an idiot, a good for nothing partner who can’t stay loyal to me.” You gingerly lift your hand to his face to cup his cheek. 

“Why would I cheat on you?” Your calm voice makes his eyes widen and the honesty in your eyes slowly puts his broken heart back together. “Tonia’s birthday was two days ago, my dear. As her friend, I helped pick out a gift.” There is a method to your words and how you purposely avoided the guard’s name so as to not upset your husband any further. 

Scaramouche’s face transforms from anger to something of disbelief, it’s as if he’s grimacing with the way his face scrunches together. He dips his head and allows his hair to cover his face entirely. 

“Is that all?” He whispers and waits for your reply. Scaramouche presses his lips together to stop himself from trying to poke holes in your excuse because, for once, he wants to believe you. The Harbinger waits and pretends that your answer won’t have a catastrophic effect on the rest of his life. 

“It is true.” You quietly murmur back as your thumb starts to stroke his cheekbone. The tenderness of the action causes your husband to freeze above you, eyes widening in shock at how gentle you are being with him. He watches as your face morphs from that of tenderness to a frown. The purse of your lips makes his breath hitch. “Do you really hate me?”

It’s Scaramouche’s turn to frown now. He mulls over his words, eyes staring holes into your sheets as he thinks and thinks. 

He hates how weak you make him. 

He hates how dependent he is on you. 

He hates your stupid smile and your explosive hair and your pathetic laughter. 

He hates how much he loves you. 

His hands find your hips again and gently squeeze against your sides. Scaramouche is a prideful figure and he’s not sure he could ever confess his love to you verbally after the embarrassing hurt he just suffered (at the fault of his own hand). But, he can show you. 

“After this, you’ll never ask such a ridiculous question ever again.”

The two of you will be alright, you’re sure, as alright as you could ever be. 

taglist - @ilumination @etherisy @eliciana @lumid0rk

[stvharrngton]

lover’s lake

a/n: this is actually based off of a post but i cannot find it for the life of me 😭 also the ending SUCKS hard i’m so sorry

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, unprotected sex, fingering, cursing, a bit of sub!steve if you squint hard enough

summary: car sex with steve at lover’s lake. that’s it <3

“Lover’s Lake?”

“What’s wrong with Lover’s Lake?” Steve asked, quirking his eyebrows at you.

“Nothing! I-“ but he cut you off before you could finish.

“Come on, babe, it’s romantic!” Steve chuckled, pulling the car into the clearing in front of the body of water.

“Steve,” you scoffed, “Lover’s Lake is not romantic,” you glared at him now, “bet you’ve brought all your girlfriends here!”

“What- No!” the boy was flushed, face hot and voice squeaking, “I haven’t, baby, promise.”

You rolled your eyes giggling at him and his rambling. You feigned annoyance, arms crossed and eyes staring out at the water before you.

Despite the reputation that came with it, Lover’s Lake was beautiful at night. The reflection of the moon and stars in the clear night sky skittered across the lake. The air cool and serene, the lake still and tranquil.

“I thought we could stargaze on the hood and cuddle,” Steve’s hand came to rub at the back of his neck, “I’ll turn around if you want.”

Your gaze softened at that, you turned to face him, eyes greeted with the slight pout he wore on his lips, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

“No,” voice soft and quiet, a whisper above the radio, “let’s stay. I wanna stay, Stevie.”

He swiveled in his seat to turn to you now, leaning across the centre console, “Yeah?” he asked.

You met him half way, a twinkle in your eye, a smirk on his lips, “Yeah.” you replied, closing the gap between you.

The tip of his nose brushed along the slope of your own, his lips capturing yours in a sweet kiss. You sighed into the kiss, the sweet taste of the milkshake you shared at the diner lingered, the smell of his cologne, mint and cedar and Steve consuming you.

Your hand rested on his thigh, the rough of his denim beneath the pads of your fingers. Steve’s fingers came to trace featherlight down the side of your face, thumb brushing across your cheek so he could deepen the kiss.

And you let him. Tongue swiping over your bottom lip, swirling with your own. You pawed at his chest, desperate, needy, fisting his polo to bring him closer to you.

Steve chuckled, only breaking this kiss to speak, “Whaddya want, baby, hm?” fingers brushing your hair from your face, nose skirting along your jaw.

Steve was addicting. Like nothing you had ever known before. It was infatuating. You longed to have him on you in any way, his touch warm and lips electrifying. Your mind raced with Steve Steve Steve.

Would you call fucking in the backseat at Lover’s Lake a total cliche? Absolutely. But were you about to deny yourself the feeling of being wrapped around the boy across from you? Definitely not.

And so you answered, “You, Steve,” you breathed as he buried himself in the soft skin of your neck, a kiss, a nip, “want you.”

He hummed against your neck, lips pressing soft kisses to your collarbone, “Backseat?” he asked.

You nodded in response as he tore himself away from you, a tangle of limbs as he clambered into the back of the infamous BMW.

“C’mere,” Steve cooed, arms outstretched for you to join him.

And so you followed, landing in his lap. Thighs either side of his own and the feeling of his jeans under your lace covered core made you so glad you decided to wear a skirt tonight.

Steve arms circled your waist, caging you to him. A little squeeze, a little pull that encouraged you to roll your hips over his own, a gasp leaving your lips at the sensation. You cupped his cheeks now, fingers delving into his wild hair, pressing your lips back him.

The kiss was as needy as you felt, as messy and sloppy as the movements of your hips. Tongues melding together, spit mixing as you licked into each other. The boy beneath you groaned as you took his bottom lip between your teeth, a gentle pull.

Your hips never faltered, a whimper falling from your lips as the seam of Steve’s jeans brushed over your clit just right. The coil in your stomach tightening as his hands toyed with your tits over the thin cotton of your shirt, nipples stiff and waiting.

“Steve,” you whined, as he mouthed at your right bud over the material. Fingertips skirting underneath, his touch hot and burning into your skin. You stilled for a moment to remove the barrier between Steve’s lips and your skin, throwing it to the floor.

“Shit,” he moaned lowly, hands held around your ribs, thumbs smoothing under the skin below your breasts.

“You too,” you hushed, hands pulling at the hem of his shirt. Steve chuckled but did as you said, throwing his polo to the floor to join yours.

“Love this skirt on you baby, so fuckin’ pretty,” hunger evident in Steve’s voice, a low rasp that went straight to your pussy. His hands dipped underneath the pleats to find the flesh of your ass, rough palm delivering a delicate smack that sounded throughout the car.

You mewled above him, cheeks flushed and tinted pink as you braced your hands on his chest, fingernails digging through the taut muscle.

“Steve,” you whined again, desperate. Your body overwhelmed with desire, skin tingling and thighs clenching beside his own. You felt your arousal poole at your core, sticky slick coating the lace between your legs.

“Lean back for me sweetheart,” a soft kiss to your lips, “against the seat, good girl.”

Steve pushed the material of your skirt up your stomach, his fingers hooking under the waistband of your underwear, letting the elastic snap back against your soft skin. You whimpered as his fingers traveled lower, rubbing soft circles against your clit over the pink lace.

Your back arched at the feeling, he was so close to where you wanted him, where you needed him. Steve hummed against your chest, teeth grazing and sucking at your supple skin, creating a mark that no one else would see.

“Please, baby,” you cried.

No retort, no warning as Steve pulled your underwear to the side, slipping his fingers between your folds. You both groaned at the feeling, your cunt sopping wet and waiting.

“You’re soaking, Christ,” his rough pads teased your hole, “so sweet, baby” he gushed as he began to pump in and out of you lazily.

Steve curled his fingers into you, brushing your walls and hitting your favourite spot with every stroke. Whines and pants tumbled past your lips with every pump of his fingers, thumb moving harshly against your clit, the wet sounds powering over the low hum of the radio.

“Fuck, Steve, I’m-“ you babbled, hips rutting, fucking yourself on Steve’s fingers.

“You gonna cum, huh, sweet girl?” his fingers never slowed, thumb on your bundle unrelenting as he sought to push you over the edge, “I got you.” he cooed.

You cried above him, chants of the boy’s name over and over falling past your lips as the pleasure hit you like a wave, crashing over you. It was music to Steve’s ears. He’d have you like this all hours of the day if you let him, eyes squeezed tight and those pretty sounds escaping you.

“That’s it, baby,” Steve hushed you, pressing sweet kisses to your neck, his fingers still inside you, “good girl, good fucking girl.”

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, chest heaving, hips stuttering. Your forehead sticky with sweat as you clung onto Steve’s frame.

His fingers left you, a whine at the loss. They gripped your thigh, squeezing at the bare flesh there. The tip of his nose edging along your jaw, a gentle and soft gesture.

“You good?” voice a notch higher than a whisper, a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You nodded, a shaky exhale falling from your lips. You felt Steve smile against your skin, his fingers toying with the hem of your skirt, taunting, teasing.

His free hand came to grasp your chin between his thumb and finger, soft lips brushing against your own.

“You gonna sit on this cock, baby, hm?” a kiss, “Let me fill you up nice and deep?” tongue licking across your bottom lip, “Please, angel, need to feel you.”

Your thighs clenched at Steve’s words, his begging making your pussy throb, “Yes, Steve, fuck.” you whined, fingers scrambling to unbutton his jeans.

He groaned at your urgency, his fingers prodding your shaky ones out of the way as he shoved his jeans and boxers down past his ass and knees so they would sit around his calves. Cock springing free, Steve hissed as your fingers ghosted along his length.

“Fuck,” he moaned, “c’mere,” his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling your chest flush against him. Steve kissed you now, it was soft and sweet, lips gently melding together. His hand came to wrap around himself as he teased the pretty pink tip through your folds.

Steve lined himself up with your entrance, a squeeze to your waist encouraging you to sink down on him. You did, eyes squeezed shut at the stretch. Steve gripped your hips like his life depended on it, groaning, “Oh, fuck.”

You began to move your hips slowly, a lazy drag over his cock over and over. His head lay back against the seat, hair a little wild, eyes heavy and gaze hungry. He looked like pure sex, you thought, so fucking dreamy.

Rocking your hips a little faster now, your moans stifled by your teeth digging into your bottom lip. You bounced your ass the way you knew he liked, the way you knew would drive him crazy. The boy whined beneath you, his hands smoothing over the curve of your ass.

“Pussy feels so fucking good baby,” he moaned breathlessly, “take me so well.”

Your heart fluttered at the praise, the wet slap of your cunt around Steve’s cock growing in pace. The windows of the car steamed up now, the BMW rocking with every snap of your hips.

You keened above him, fingers tugging at his hair relentlessly, lips searching for his in a messy kiss in the bright of the moonlight. His tongue slipped past yours, swallowing each other’s gasps and moans every time his thick cock stroked at your favourite spot.

Steve’s fingers wrapped at the base of your throat before dancing across the soft skin of your tits, a pinch of your bud, a whine from your lips. They found your swollen clit between your legs, throbbing and sensitive. His fingers rubbed in circles at the nerves, drawing a soft whimper from you at the overwhelming sensation.

His gaze was trained on the glow on your face, skin a little shiny, cheeks a little pink, lips kiss-bitten and red. “Need you to cum for me, sweetheart,” a kiss to the shell of your ear, “shit, can you give me one more?” his voice low and raspy in your ear.

“Yes, baby, yes,” you cried, hips bouncing harder, fingers pulling at the boy’s hair now, “make me cum, Stevie. Feels so good.”

“Fuck,” Steve groaned, his body in a frenzy, his fingers unrelenting on your clit now, “so fuckin’ gorgeous, so pretty.” he mumbled to himself almost incoherently.

You felt the familiar feeling of your coil twisting and snapping, the wave of pleasure crashing over you as your pussy clenched around him and your thighs shook. Strings of curses fell from your lips, your vision starry as your features twisted with pleasure.

Steve was hanging on by a thread, his fingers pressing a bruising grip into your waist, your moans and whimpers going straight to his dick. Your hips slowed as you collapsed into him, your tits pressing against the ringlets of his chest hair.

He bottomed out below you, hips now fucking up into you with vigour. The sound of his thighs slapping up against your ass filled the car and Steve was a picture. Head lulled back as his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, lips parted in such a pretty way, his muscles tense as he fucked you.

“Baby, please,” be began, “please can I cum? Oh, please can I cum,” Steve whined below you, “need to fill this pretty pussy so bad, baby, please?” he begged.

You pressed soft kisses to the skin of his throat, one planted to every mole and freckle, before settling on his lips again. You spoke into the kiss, “Want it, Steve,” you breathed, “go ahead, cum.”

The boy groaned beneath you, his thrusts erratic and deep, thighs and the muscles of his abdomen tensing as he reached his high. His cock drained of everything he had to give you, little whines of please and thank you tumbled past his lips. Chest heaving and forehead slick with sweat.

You both stayed still for a while, your head resting on his shoulder, nose nudging at the skin of his neck. His hand rubbed up and down your bare back soothingly, the other petted at your hair.

Neither of you bothered to move, Steve’s softening cock still buried inside you, the mixture of your juices running down his shaft. You both basked in your post orgasm bliss.

You shifted in his lap, delicate fingers messing with the strands of his hair that found themselves at the nape of his neck. You gazed up at your boyfriend, eyes bright and hopeful.

“Can we look at the stars now?”

[sxfterhearts]

i have a confession to make…

warning: 18+ mdni, explicit content ahead

ok so for the longest time i’ve tried to keep my blog super wholesome and PG with the rare exception of one or two suggestive/smut fics here and there but honestly. i’ve reached my limit 😭 i’m gonna have to do it guys im sorry i disappointed you

(fuck im so dramatic i can’t even)

(it = write that jiung smut fic that’s been living in the back of my head for the past few weeks but has been rudely awakened due to Recent Events IYKYK)

(IM SCARED OK I SUCK AT WRITING SMUT BUT I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS WHAT DO I DO WITH THEM RAHHH)

in the words of my moot — jiung you need to tone down your fanservice and visuals bc youre really making the chocochips act up 😭😭🫠😩

[i-write-sin-not-tragedy]

Angel dust soft dom

Thats it thats the post

[deadduvznap]

jayhoon having angry sex. and blood. - (your favorite) omega anon

this has been sitting in my drafts since i got it.

im a firm believer that jay doms hoon in every situation (including lore) and you cant convince me otherwise now listen okay hear me out its a situation where like prob after a concert or no during it lets say sunghoon is doing sm fanservice w the other members and jay gets mad and i mean PISSED at sunghoon and sunghoon knows but he cant do anything abt it he just keeps doing all that fan service w the other members so jay is PISSED and on the way to the hotel they are in different vans or wtv BUT. they share a room and hoon knows jays pissed so he begs the other boys to switch but they are all like nah man you did this to urself so hes like ah fuck so he finally goes into the room and he sneaks into the shower and when hes out jay is just sitting on the bed looking angry with a towel around his neck and waist and sunghoon just silently goes to sit on his bed before bed and he faces the other direction and jay is facing opposite of him so they r back to back and jay finally talks and hes like im mad at you hoon and hoon is like i know im sorry and jays like sorry isnt good enough blah blah blah hoons like ill give you apology head :( and jays like im still so mad at you but i cant turn down head so jay is sitting on the bed he forces hoon to the floor and hoon starts to go down on his dick and jay is PISSED hes sitting there towelless arms crossed his jaw clenched in anger sunghoon between his legs hes staring at hoon his eye twitching and hes like if you dont hurry the fuck up ill make you hurry and hoon knows how jay gets when hes angry and he doesnt want his head bashed in so hes getting to buisness he gathers the spit thats in his mouth and he opens his mouth and lets it drip (more like waterfall) onto jays cock, he then purses his lips and wraps them around the head of jays cock and he sucks HARD and jay jumps a bit cus he wasnt expecting it and it kinda hurt so he smacks hoon lightly, jokingly, on the head and goes what the fuck are you doing and hoon doesnt reply he just shoves his head down as far as it can go as fast as possible and jay folds over and chokes for a second before hoon comes back up and goes back down again and oh yeah is it too late to mention hoon doest have a gag reflex ? anyways jay is folded over his hand in hoons hair and hoon is bobbing his head up and down contemplating biting jays dick off, just because, but he decides against it and keeps going and before jays about to cum he pulls sunghoons head off his dick, quite hard actually and sunghoons is startled at the pain and the yank and he feels like his hair is about to get ripped off and jay is holding his hair in a TIGHT grip and he drags him on to the twin sized bed and sunghoon lets out cries of pain as he stands up hunched over at the hight jays hand is grabbing him and he has one hand gripping jays wrist and the other trying to push him away and his towel falls off and hes like what the fuck are you doing ??? let go of me ?? and jay is like shut the fuck up you deserve this and you know it and now sunghoon is getting angry because even though hes a sub and a bottom he doesnt like being yanked around like this and jay pushes him onto the bed and sunghoon is fucking seething hes naked and his dick is half hard and his head hurts but he cant do anything because if he tries to leave jays is gonna bash his head into a wall and he doesnt want that so jay flips him over onto his tummy and lifts his ass in the air and hes pretty bent in half becuse hes rlly flexible and sunghoon is really uncomfortable in that position but jay doesnt care he just wants to fuck sunghoon so hard he forgets about the other members and so he can forget his anger and not kill someone or break smth so he grabs the lotion thats sitting on the side table he used after he showered and he lubes up his dick and his fingers and shoves two of them in sunghoon pretty hard and hoon freaks out because it hurts and jay is like shut the actual fuck up i dont want to hear it right now and he sticks his dick in sunghoon and hoon shreiks in pain into the pillow he feels like

hes getting ripped open, the lotion isnt doing much at all for lube he feels the lotion dry up quickly and he feels like his insides are ripping open and he starts to cry and jay doesnt give a fuck hes using the blood dripping from hoons hole to lube up more but that doesnt do anything to help and jay lets out an annoyed groan and rolls his head back hes annoyed at sunghoon for crying so loudly and that the "lube" isnt working and he remembers what happened and now hes even angrier and he pulls out and walks over to his bag for a second and sunghoon relaxes his body for a second and he can see the blood starting to drip down his inner thigh before it quickly congeals and sticks to his skin and he sees the drops of blood on the sheets and he feels like hes gonna cry again and jay comes back and grabs his arm and flips him over and he almost falls off the side of the bed when jay yanks him back over to the middle and sunghoon cant do anything but be limp and space out and jay starts to lube himself and sunghoon up before he sticks his dick back in sunghoons hole again and sunghoon starts to cry as he lays against the bed and jay kind of feels bad but hes still pissed at him so he tosses his empathy into his mind vault and starts fucking the poor boy again and sunghoons body is limp as jay knocks into him hes flailing around as his vision is blurry and hes staring at jays face and he starts getting mad again he shouldve bitten this fuckers dick off when he had the chance and jay leans over him and sunghoon just sinks his teeth into jays... wherever it is as hard as possible and jay grunts and pushes sunghoons face away but sunghoon had already pierced the skin and the blood was starting to form little beads in the wound on his shoulder

[b1mbodoll]

vampire enha..

[gifti3]

i think a good yandere needs to at least be a little pathetic

[allylikethecat]

Gatty smut prompt 57 pleaaasssee??!

Hi! To the Anon who requested this all the way back in July, I am so, so, so incredibly sorry that it took me so long to finish. I apologize profusely for the impending let down. I am not a talented smut writer, but, like pretty much everything in my life I attacked it with probably too much enthusiasm to try and make up for my short comings. I apologize for how cringe and not hot this is BUT I tried really hard. The same rules as my first smut prompt still apply, I would prefer if you laughed *with* me, rather than *at* me because I am a sensitive soul. Even if my attempt at smut doesn't make you laugh and instead just makes you cringe, I hope this screenshot of a text from my Bestie, when I was trying to hype myself up to write this, does in fact make you laugh. Anyway, here she is: Ally Attempts Smut Part II: The Smut Strikes Back 

❤️Ally

57. “Look at your reflection. Look at how gorgeous you are. So fucking gorgeous when I’m fucking you like this. So pretty for me, and only for me.”

George had caught him staring. He couldn’t help it, he was transfixed, watching himself, captivated by the elegant line of his own throat. His cheeks were red and splotchy, stained with tear tracks, his eyes were empty and wet. The flush of his cheeks made its way down his chest, shading in between the lines of his tattoo, reminding him of a red wine stained blouse, blotted pink around the edges. His frizzy curls were sweaty and plastered to his forehead as George manhandled him roughly, maneuvering his body for his own pleasure like he was nothing but a toy to be used, his own euphoria secondary. His lips were swollen, bitten to a dark bloody maroon, falling open as Geroge thrust into him, manicured nails scratching into his hips to grind deeper. He looked thoroughly debauched. He looked like something somebody wanted. He looked pretty.

“You fucking narcassist,” George had said, “getting off on watching yourself.” He grabbed a fist full of Matty’s hair, fingers digging into his matted curls, nails biting into his scalp. Matty whined, they were toeing the line between pain and pleasure when George tugged his head up, arching his neck. He pulled out, and Matty whimpered, his heart racing when he clenched around nothing and realized he was suddenly empty. 

George pulled him to his feet, and he stumbled, his knees buckling as his feet hit the ground before George dragged him up and shoved him roughly against the mirror mounted on the wall opposite the hotel bed. The mirror that had caught his eye when George had bent him over, and opened him up, riding the high of another successful festival appearance.  

“You wanted to watch,” said George, his voice low and dangerous, his breath hot against Matty’s ear, causing him to shiver. Matty’s face was pressed into the glass, his breath fogging up the surface as he panted, only to be cleared as his cheek was smooshed against it. He was trying to breathe, trying to bring oxygen into his dizzy head. He couldn’t take a full breath, his lungs compressed against the mirror making his head swim. “So watch.”

 His arms were pinned behind his back, his delicate wrists trapped between George’s long fingers, George’s other hand was in his curls, twisting his neck, forcing him to face his reflection, his eyelashes brushing against their mirror image when his eyes rolled in his skull and they fluttered.

He moaned, his cock drooling where it was trapped between his belly and the mirror, the glass cold against his burning skin as his cock slid, guided by precum and sweat, frictionlessly against the smooth surface. George reentered without warning, slamming roughly into Matty,  

“Look at your reflection.” George growled, George pressing his weight into the mirror was the only thing keeping Matty upright. “Look at how gorgeous you are. So fucking gorgeous when I’m fucking you like this.” 

Matty gasped, his lips falling open, his hip bones aching as they dug into the unforgiving glass, the surface warming from the heat of his body. 

“So pretty for me, and only for me.” George cooed, the hand in Matty’s hair dropping to his side as his hips stuttered, squirming against the mirror desperately. The hand around his wrists reaching up to brace against the mirror as he thrust. 

“Are you going to come like this?” George asked, his pace being more frantic, sloppy as he drew closer and closer to his own release. “Looking at yourself in the mirror, such a pretty little whore fucking the glass.”  

Matty mewled as George scraped his nails down his sensitive flank, leaving raised red marks in his wake. He arched his back, tears leaking from his eyes as he stared down his own reflection. He didn’t recognize himself anymore, it was like he was looking into the eyes of someone else, the sounds, pained and guttural torn from his chest were not his own as George slammed into him, pressing him harder against the mirror, his cock sliding against the polished surface. 

“Come on baby,” panted George, digging his nails into Matty’s hip, pressing impossibly deeper, before stalling as his own orgasm washed over him. Matty broke eye contact with his reflection, his eyes rolling back in his head at the feeling of George coming undone inside of him, his release dripping down his thighs when he pulled out, sending him over the edge. 

George petted his side, and whispered how pretty, how perfect he was into his ear as Matty came, his cum smearing against his stomach and the mirror as his cock jerked. His already weak knees gave way as George kissed the back of his neck, his softening cock pressed against the small of Matty’s back. Matty found himself being lowered to the hotel floor, hyper aware of the feeling of the rough carpet against his sensitive skin after the smooth coolness of the mirror.

His head felt heavy, his mind fuzzy as George continued to whisper sweet nothings into his ear, running his fingers through his tangled hair as he came back to himself. 

“Are you with me babe?” George asked softly and Matty nodded woozily, turning his head to tuck his nose into George’s bare chest. 

“Yeah,” Matty slurred, cum drunk from the intensity of his orgasm, of being pressed against the mirror. His hips ached from where the bone dug into the glass, and he knew he was going to be covered in bruises, from George’s fingers and from being slammed into the wall repeatedly when he woke up tomorrow.

“Can you open your eyes for me, love?” George asked, “I want to see that you’re okay.” 

Matty blinked, his eyelids felt heavy but he obeyed, he felt sticky and sweaty, he knew he needed a shower, but standing up felt like it was just, too much at the moment. Matty startled as his vision focused, brutally thrusting him back to reality. 

“Oh my god,” he said in horror, eyes widening, as he took in the mirror, as he took in the distinct Matty shaped smudge with a George sized handprint over the shoulder, cum smeared across the reflective surface, dulling its shine. “George, we have to clean the mirror before housekeeping comes oh my god.”

[saturn7162]

IF I DON'T FIND THIS FUCKING FANFICTION I'M GONNA LOSE MY MIND