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33forthew1n · 6 hours ago

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ᥫ᭡ couple chaos ᥫ᭡

🏎️❣️ lando norris x gf!reader 🏎️❣️

SMAU- faceclaim: brunettes on pinterest

fluff

synopsis: well loved and well known paddock couple lando norris and yn ln are chaos. everyone has been waiting for their engagement, but are they the ones getting engaged or is it another paddock pairing?

WARNINGS: N/A

a/n: smau time :) interact however you please!! ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡

Liked by lando, maxfewtrell, and 400,435 others

f1 the paddock's favorite pair 🧡

tagged: @lando @ynlaughs

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ynlaughs ayo whose that sexy lady 😏

↳ lando @carlossainz55 isn't in this post?

↳ ynlaughs please take your homoerotic "friendship" elsewhere

lando my lucky charm 🧡

^❤️ by author

landosmullet they're so cute omg 🥹🥹

ynlandocouple my favs ☹️

mclaren Yn 😍😍😍😍

↳ lando Ok i'll just die I guess.

↳ ynlaughs No..haha 😕😕 you're so sexy don't die

↳ lando should've hired you to speak at our suicide prevention assemblies in grade school 😇

ynlover4 non ynlando fans dont know how chaotic and weird they are 💀💀

↳ alonsosdnf when they were interlocking toes on her ig story....😭

↳ ynlover4 or when he wore a hoodie with a picture of her during her teen cosplay phase to the f175 event 💀

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡

ynlaughs

Liked by carlossainz55, lando, and 120k others

ynlaughs Been debating sending this into deuxmoi but decided against it. It's better you all hear it from me. Lando Norris (previously known as nando lorris and Lando Nowins) is a CHEATER!

view comments ⬇️

ynlover4 what's the tea omfg??? fill me in y'all pls

↳ lando yn wanted to stay in for a movie night but i already had plans to eat dinner with carlos' family. she believes this to be the ultimate betrayal and told me to "go if my love for her is dead" 🙄 safe to say my girlfriend is perfectly normal and not at all dramatic

↳ ynlover4 fair enough. break up w him @ynlaughs

↳ ynlaughs i should, shouldn't i?

ynlaughs @carlossainz55 how does it feel to not be the other woman?

↳ carlossainz55 what can i say? i'm a smoooooth operator 🏎️

↳ ynlaughs Gtfo.

georgerussell63 ☕️☕️☕️

↳ ynlaughs girl you are so chismosa

↳ ynlaughs but tell carmen its girls night tmmrw. ur invited.

↳ georgerussell63 will do! 💁🏼‍♂️

˗��ˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡

ynlaughs

Liked by lando and 200,004 others

ynlaughs he does love me 🧡💐

tagged: @lando

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lando 😐😑😐

↳ ynlaughs hehe...is this thing on? 🎤

↳ lando anyways...what do you rate our vday?

↳ ynlaughs dinner? burnt so 0.4/10. flowers? cute! 4/10. my date? cuter! 10/10. me? sexy/10

↳ lando ykw...fair you were pretty hot if i may say so myself

↳ ynlaughs you may not.

ynlover4 on todays episode of "who can be meaner?" yn wins!!

↳ landofan04 ok but she always wins. this is news to who exactly?

↳ ynlover4 Don't pmo.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡

lando

Liked by ynlaughs and 1.2 million others

lando how i sleep at night knowing i have the cutest, hottest, smartest, funniest girlfriend in the world

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ynlaughs oh lando you shouldn't have ☹️🧡

↳ lando thank God i didn't. YOU stole my phone and posted this...STALKER!

↳ ynlover04 not proudly posting abt yearning for ur girl is an L in my book...😬

↳ ynlaughs TELL EM 🔊🔊🔊

jensonisadilf im starting to think @ynlover04 is yn's alt acc...

↳ ynlaughs oh so now women can't band together?? #CANCELLED #JENSONISADILFISOVERPARTY

lando when will we all learn that no matter what yn gets the final say 🤥

↳ ynlaughs neva 🤭💋

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡

ynlaughs

Liked by maxverstappen1, lando, and 120k others

ynlaughs pic 1: my man rn since he's without me

pic 2: me (his beautiful academic weapon 💪📚)

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lando haven't slept a wink since u left me 🫩 plz come back my gorgeous queen

↳ ynlaughs one of us has to be smart 🫤

↳ lando i was smart enough to know u would be the best gf in the world?

↳ ynlaughs yet not smart enough to spell 'sincerely' correctly on your mum's bday card last week....

↳ lando low blow...:(

↳ ynlaughs if you ever want another blow, stfu.

↳ lando 🗣️➡️🙊

↳ ynlaughs as you should

ynlover04 do they know we're here too? ↳ landosixwins no, best we keep it that way

↳ynlover fair enough

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡

lando.jpg

Liked by ynlaughs, yourbestfriend, and 800k others

lando.jpg the most beautiful woman in the world just turned 23! my yn. my love. my everything. thank you for being who you are. day in and day out you make my world better. every night i thank the universe that i get to be with the best woman i've ever met. you are insanely smart and i know you will achieve your dreams one day 🖤🎓

darling, thank you for being mine.

loving you has been the greatest gift of my life :)

tagged: @ynlaughs

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ynlaughs 🥹🥹🥹🥹 my baby!! thank you the most <3 you've made this birthday my most special one yet

↳ lando.jpg 🖤🧡🖤

^comments have been limited^

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡

deuxmoi

Liked by 7.2k users

deuxmoi *BLIND BAG* One popular Formula One driver was recently seen shopping at multiple luxury jewelry stores. Notably, Pandora, Swarovski, Fabergé, and Cartier. These retailers are well known to sell engagement rings, expensive and lavish ones at that. This athlete has been dating his girlfriend for the past three years. They are quite popular around the paddock and are well-loved by fans worldwide.

Who do you think will be cuffing their lady soon?

*anonymous submission*

view comments ⬇️

landoyntruther it HAS to be ynlando...dating for three years, their parents get along super well, they live together...yn norris 2025. I'VE CONNECTED THE DOTS

↳ ynlover04 you didn't connect shit

↳ landoyntruther i've connected them.

charlesxalex ok but it could also be charles and alex?

↳ formulafrench mr. date the friend group? yeah and im michael schumacher 🙂‍↕️

george63russell george and carmen engagement era??? OMG

↳ tposeoclock i meaaan they have been together for over three years and look pretty happy/stable...im not against this

↳ ynlandotruther stop saying plausible things. SHUSH

↳ george63russell 🙁🔇

alexisalbon ok but of this was alex and lily i would geek out 😭😭😭

↳ tungtungalbon this would require alex actually get off tiktok long enough to plan an engagement so nope

ynlandotruther i am standing by my suspicions. see y'all when i am laughing in your faces since im so right

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˋˏ ♡

a month later..

lando and ynlaughs

Liked by ynlaughs, mclaren, and 2 million others

lando and ynlaughs 06.04.25 marks the most special day of my life. the absolute love of my life said yes to marrying me. @ynlaughs ➡️ @ynnorris coming soon

view comments ⬇️

ynlaughs what am i just gonna stop laughing once we get married?? 🙁🙁

↳ ynlover04 tsk tsk tsk @lando answer for your crimes

↳ lando i'm never catching a break am i...

↳ georgerussell63 nah she's yours forever now, mate

carlossainz55 i remember when he called me the love of his life...jajaja 🥲🥲🥲🥲

ynlaughs more like @lando ➡️ @landolaughs 😏

↳ lando anything to make you happy babe 🫩

charles_leclerc Congratulations ❤️

ynlover04 the crazy bastard was right..

↳ ynlandotruther I KNEW ITTTT 😭 you tried to call me crazy but i was RIGHT. 🤭🤭🤭

mclaren papya themed wedding in the works 😍🧡

↳ ynlaughs ENOUGH.

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junipersenvelope · 2 days ago

Text

Sunday Morning

Alfie Buttle x Reader

Summary: A rainy Sunday Morning in the life of you and Alfie. Inspired by/based on the lyrics of Sunday Morning by Maroon 5.

Warnings: disgusting fluff (aka possible cringe warning), inaccurate AB dialogue??

Word count: 1.4k

A/N: hello ukyt tumblr!! my name is em and im soo excited to be writing for the ukyt scene. i have been watching creators like the sidemen and willne since 2017 (you can find a few posts of me rooting for will to hit 1mil on this account lol) but have never ventured into writing for this fandom. i haven’t written in 3 years so any feedback is absolutely welcomed. my requests are open as well if you enjoy this work! sorry for yapping, onto the one-shot. happy reading!

Sunday morning, rain is falling

Steal some covers, share some skin

Rain pattered against the windows in Alfie’s bedroom, the room seeming darker than usual with the gray skies. A thunderstorm had woken you up in the early hours of the morning, but Alfie slept through it. He could sleep through anything, even his alarms. One morning before a shoot his series of alarms went off around 10 times before you nearly resorted to smacking him with a pillow to get him up.

Eventually, thunder cracked just loud enough for Alfie to stir next to you. You sat up on your elbow, leaning closer to him just to admire his restful face. You quickly decided you were bored waiting up for him so you placed a gentle hand on his cheek, tenderly dragging your thumb back and forth to coax him out of his sleep. This caused his long eyelashes to flutter against his cheeks, trying to fight to stay asleep. His hazel eyes cracked open, meeting yours as a soft smile grew on his tired face.

“Good morning, sunshine,” you whispered, leaning over to place a soft kiss to his other cheek.

“Good morning, love,” Alfie yawned, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand that was still on his face.

Noticing you had shimmied out of the covers in the night, he threw them back over you. In one fell swoop he grabbed your waist and pulled you flush to his side. Your leg rested comfortably over his waist, wanting to be as close to him as possible. His hand came up to your arm, fingers drawing slow circles as his lips came to your forehead.

But things just get so crazy

Living life gets hard to do

“I never wanna leave this bed,” he sighed, feeling content and relaxed with your body intertwined with his.

Since spring had transitioned to summer, Alfie had been so busy with brand trips, podcast shoots, and other videos that he hadn’t had much time to relax. Now that he was finally back at the grotto, he wanted to take full advantage of being able to do nothing, and especially being able to do nothing with you.

“Good thing you’ve got fuck all to do for the next week or so,” you giggled, squeezing your arms around his torso gently.

Your fingers tenderly caressed his soft skin, sending shivers down his spine. Just when he looked like he was about to fall back asleep, his stomach rumbled.

“You hungry, Alf?” You mocked, chuckling at the noise.

“Yeah, I am,” he exhaled with a small laugh. “And we’ve got about 1 egg and a monster in the fridge. Gonna have to ration like it’s war.”

Driving slow on Sunday morning

Eventually the two of you found yourselves out of bed, getting ready to head to the store for breakfast. You walked to the car, reaching for the passenger door handle, before a large hand beat you to it. You turned to look up at Alfie with a pleased grin.

“Feeling romantic today huh?” You teased as he opened the door.

You slid into the passenger seat allowing him to move into the door frame. He placed his hands on either side of your hips on the seat and leaned in close.

“Y’know I know how to treat my lady. Come on,” he winked, before leaning down to press a tender kiss onto your lips.

You shook your head at him before he moved away from your side and around the car to the drivers side, getting in quickly. The rain still poured, though it had lightened significantly from the storm earlier in the morning.

“Put a good tune on, love. Make it a movie y’know,” Alfie said in his classic joking voice, motioning to his phone on the middle console.

You scrolled Spotify before landing on Sunday Morning by Maroon 5. He seemed to like your pick by the way he began to sing along, his voice gradually getting louder as the song progressed. Driving with Alfie never lacked entertainment, as he always put on a grand performance to his playlist, singing his heart out to every tune.

He began to drive out of his small neighborhood, heading into town. His hand migrated into your lap, resting on your thigh. His fingers tapped along to the song gently, comforting you as you further settled into the car seat. Your hands got bored however, so you grabbed the hand holding your thigh and gave it a tight squeeze. Your other hand began to soothingly scratch at his forearm and he squeezed your hand three times.

The drive continued, rain still pelting down. You watched the town go by, including the grocery store.

“Uh Alf? You in there? We just passed the shop,” you inquired, wondering why he blew right past your destination.

“I’ve got something else in mind. Gonna be a great little motive, trust,” he said, looking over to you quickly with a small smile.

Before you knew it, you were pulling into a diner that you had been wanting to try. An appreciative smile pulled at your lips as you turned to look at Alfie, but he had already parked and hopped out to grab your door. He opened it with a grin, holding a hand out for you to grab.

“M’lady,” he joked, helping you out of the car.

As you sat in the quaint restaurant, you noticed the weather began to clear up. It seemed to know that your lazy Sunday was turning into something more. Alfie grabbed your hand over the table, intertwining his fingers with yours as he told you stories from all of the trips he went on.

“Only downfall was how far we were from Monaco, really. Like we weren’t properly in Nice or Monaco which was quite annoying. But other than that it was beautiful. Just wish you could’ve been there.”

He detailed his drunken adventures with Chip and Arthur in Monaco, his podcast experience with Arthur and Bach, and his most recent trip to Germany. He held your hand through each story, brushing his thumb back and forth across your knuckles, playing with your fingers, and squeezing gently during the most exciting parts of each.

Your breakfast eventually wrapped up and you began to head back. You stopped at the store for groceries, happy that you got to stock up on all of Alfie’s favorites, because it meant he would be home with you for a while.

Fingers trace your every outline,

Paint a picture with my hands

When you returned to the grotto, you began to put groceries away. You slotted the eggs in the fridge, snacks in the cupboard, and replenished his monster stash.

Just as you closed the fridge, you felt him walk up behind you. His arms snaked around your waist, and his chest was warm and familiar against your back. You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder, your chin up and eyes closed. You wanted to soak in this moment with him, quiet and close, appreciating the slowness of the day within such a chaotic life. Alfie’s hands ran up your sides and onto your arms, applying a soothing amount of pressure. Once his hands reached your shoulders he delicately turned your body to face him. From there, his hands moved to your cheeks, holding your face like it was an ancient artifact.

“Can’t express enough how happy I am to have you here with me. Genuinely. I don’t think I could do it if everytime I came home you weren’t here to be with me. To understand me,” he confessed, bearing his heart to you in a way he didn’t often do.

And then, before you could respond, he kissed you. Soft, but deliberate, his lips molding perfectly to yours, like you were made exactly for each other. It said everything he had just vocalized, and everything he wanted to but didn’t quite know how. It said that he loved you, he missed you, and he was grateful for how easy time spent with you was. This kiss wasn’t desperate, wasn’t trying to escalate into something heated. It was innocent and happy. It was there to remind him you were real and that he didn’t have to worry about losing you.

And he knew no matter where his career took him—out of town, the country, or continent—he would always find a way to bring himself back home to you.

#alfie buttle x fem reader #alfie buttle x reader #alfie buttle #ukyt x reader #ukyt fanfic #alfie buttle fanfic #ukyt fluff

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minkieater · 2 days ago

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wait omgg ,,, mingi headcanons pls like fwb IM FEINING RN ,,, foaming at the mouth

SAY LESSSSSSS. i got carried away. its mingi. my bad fr

fwb!mingi who’s always your first text in the morning and your last text before you go to sleep

mingi who’s been your friend since your freshman year of college, who’s had his eye on you through your long-term relationship with your ex, who was the first person to console you after he broke up with you, completely by chance, he just saw you on campus and you spilled everything

mingi who made an effort to get closer to you after that, asking you how you are, if you want to hangout, completely friendly until it’s not

mingi who took you out for drinks, got you just buzzed enough for the lock on your lips to loosen, to tell him all your dirty little secrets, and he was disgusted to find out that your ex never made you finish. did he even realize how lucky he was to have you?

mingi who let you sober up a bit before he put his moves on you for real, who told you it was okay that he makes you finish for the first time because you’re friends, and that’s what friends do!

mingi who took you back to your place and laid you out on your pink and plush bed, all sweet words and careful touches, and took his time with you. open mouthed kisses up your calves, thighs, sweet pecks to your hipbones before he showed you exactly what you were missing

mingi who had you begging for him by the end, he made you cum twice, you couldn’t possibly let him stop there. if he could do all of that with his mouth, what could he do with his cock? he slept soundly beside you after a bath, an arm hooked around your waist, his face nuzzled in your hair, giving you warmth and comfort that you weren’t expecting

mingi who couldn’t quite leave you alone after that night, and you’d be sick to your stomach if he did

mingi who had to be touching you every time he was near you, it didn’t matter who saw, from your friends to your professors to your classmates. if mingi was close to you he was connected to your hip, a hand over your shoulders, around your waist, a finger slipped through the belt loop of your jeans

mingi who was over your apartment every single night, fucking you through the mattress, toying with you in the shower, waking you up the next morning with a face between your legs like he couldn’t get enough

mingi who would bring your favorite snacks over if you were feeling shitty, or if you were on your period. he called you every sweet name in the book, princess, my love, angel, beautiful, and would peck you on the cheek when your face flushed in embarrassment

mingi who started leaving tee shirts, hoodies, pairs of boxers scattered around your apartment, always saying he’d pick them up later, always an excuse to come back, not that you’d ever deny him. he would just add to the pile that was quickly growing, throwing his shirts wherever they landed when he walked through your front door, pressing his lips to yours

mingi who would sigh under his breath, a slight groan when your palm ghosted over his jeans, “fuck baby i missed you so much” he’d fuck you slow just as often as he blew your brains out, holding you close to him as he steadily rocked into you, an arm under your back and another holding your head, pressing open mouthed kisses to the column of your neck, “you’re so beautiful, so perfect for me”

mingi who made space for himself in your life, who was comfortable in the routine you two created, never asking for more, never talking about more

mingi who confused you more than anyone ever has in your life

mingi who laughed it off when yunho asked if he was going to make things official with you as you sat around a bonfire, all of your friends and their partners present

mingi who was confused when you stormed off in the house, but didn’t follow you. he was even more confused when you never came back out, damn near lost his mind when you wouldn’t answer his calls

mingi who came over your apartment to see what the fuck was going on just to be met with your pretty, pouting, tear soaked cheeks. he couldn’t help but ease all your worries, whispering praises and soothing words into your ears as he rocked into you, while reminding you all the same that all you ever were to begin with was a friend

you who let the routine reset, allowing him in time and time again, because at the end of the day he was honest, and even if you didn’t have all of him, you had some of him, and that was more than none of him at all

masterlist

i hope i did fwb mingi justice 🫣

#ateez #ateez x reader #mingi ateez #song mingi #ateez mingi #mingi x reader #mingi smut #mingi angst #mingi #mingi hard hours #mingi hard thoughts #mingi scenarios #ateez scenarios #ateez hard thoughts #ateez hard hours #mingi x y/n #mingi x you

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ghostlycamil4 · 2 days ago

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YOU WRITE SO WELL !!! (,,>﹏<,,)

i have a req for bf!katsuki — yknow its late at night they’re cuddling, when reader just gets a random burst of affection so she starts yapping about how much she loves him cus ugh he’s so squeezable and reader doesn’t even realize she’s yapping until she realizes he’s staring agape,, cus he isnt exactly the best w words as we all know . SORRY IM SUCH A YAPPER WHEN I FEEL INTENSE EMOTIONS LMAO DOES THIS MAKE SENSE

thank you !

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝐶𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑀𝑢𝑠𝑐𝑙𝑒 𝑇𝑒𝑑𝑑𝑦

STOP this req was so cute i literally melted while writing it 😭 thank u sm for sending it in fr, it was so fun to write!! <3

You lifted your head slightly, just enough to look at him. Bakugo had his eyes closed, blonde lashes resting against his cheeks, his usually furrowed brow incredibly relaxed, and that involuntary pout forming on his lips when he was half-asleep.

Your eyes softened. Your chest tightened with tenderness. How was it possible that someone so explosive, so rough, could look so insanely adorable?

You couldn’t resist. Your fingers slid into his hair, tangling in the soft strands.

And without meaning to, you started talking.

"How can someone be this handsome even while half-drooling in their sleep…?" you murmured, a dumb little smile dancing on your lips. "Like, seriously. You’re basically a muscley teddy bear."

Your fingers traced soft circles against his temple as you spoke, and without realizing it, your voice started getting louder.

"And your arms, god… do you even know how safe I feel here? Like a bulletproof capsule but hot! And that pout, Katsuki. You're literally huggable. Unbearably adorable. You’re my weakness. I wanna crawl into your hoodie and never come out."

The body beneath you tensed just a bit, like a tic. You didn’t notice.

"Sometimes I catch myself thinking about how you act all tough and grumpy all the time, but then you go and do stuff like… grab my hand when we cross the street, or fix my helmet on the bike even when I say I know how to do it. How the hell am I not supposed to be hopelessly in love with you, dumbass? How am I not gonna wanna bite your face from loving you so damn much?"

At that moment, one of his eyebrows twitched and one of his cheeks lit up, coloring with a warm red that didn’t match the whole 'stoicism' he was trying to keep up.

"Katsuki… you awake?"

Silence.

"You’re faking it," you accused softly, laughing under your breath.

"Tsk… shut up," he growled suddenly, voice hoarse and rough with sleep, but unmistakably embarrassed.

His eyes were still squeezed shut, his whole body stiff like he could physically ward off the affection crashing down on him. His hand twitched at your waist.

"Shit… what are you even sayin’, dumbass," he mumbled, half into the pillow now. "You’re gonna give me a fuckin’ heart attack."

He finally exhaled hard through his nose, like he was trying to shake something off.

"How the fuck d’you expect me to sleep with all those cheesy-ass declarations raining down on me?"

"Sorry, I’m a yapper when I get excited," you said, covering your mouth like it could somehow erase all the love-drunk nonsense that had just spilled out of it.

Bakugo groaned under his breath, clearly flustered beyond repair. He rolled onto his side, wrapping both arms around you and burying his face into the crook of your neck.

"Can’t believe I’m in love with such a damn menace," he muttered, the words muffled but real.

Still, his heart was beating faster than normal. You felt it. So did he.

And as you hid your face in the warmth of his skin, giggling in sheer embarrassment, he opened his eyes just for a second, gaze unfocused on the shadowed ceiling.

"Fuckin’ hell… I wanna bite you too, with how goddamn much I love you."

But he didn’t say it. Not yet.

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

#bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x y/n #bnha bakugo katsuki #mha x y/n #bnha x you #bakugou x reader #katsuki x you #bakugo fluff #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bnha x y/n #bnha x fem!reader #bnha x reader #mha x you #mha x reader #bnha bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader

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horny-marbles · 2 days ago

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Pssst hey.

https://www.tumblr.com/000000-000000-000000/781799507611516928/guys-genuine-question-am-i-gonna-get-crucified?source=share

Get in the kitchen and cook PRETTY PLEASE. PLEASE IM ON MY KNEES. I NEED HIM PLEASE

🥺🥺🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

BOOM SHAKALAKAAAAAAA YES GAAAAWDDDD I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE LMFAO anon we're like this 🤞🏻🤞🏻 also this may or may not be tailored for @erenasia hehe

Marlboro Silver (Aged!Brian Thomas/Hoodie x F!Reader)

CW: age difference (you're way over legal age of consent lol don't play with me), smoking kink, sweaty car sex, a liiittle degradation, oral (m receiving)

summary: your dad makes a new best bud while you're away for college and oh no!! he's hot!!

wordcount 6.1k

The screen door creaks like it always has, frame sticky with humidity and a decade too old. The smell hits you first—cut grass, sweat baked into wood, citronella candles, beer. Alabama summer: swampy, slow, smothering.

Your duffel bag hits the floorboards with a soft thud. You toe off your shoes and stretch, your shirt lifting slightly from your waistband, sticking damply to your spine.

You’re back from college for the summer, trading late-night library runs and overpriced coffee for your dad’s small-town rituals. It’s quiet here. Too quiet. You’ve only been gone a year, but the house already feels smaller. Slower. Like time dried out and cracked along the edges.

“Hey, sweetheart!” your dad calls from the living room, voice muffled over the rumble of TV sports and the pop of a beer tab. “We’re watchin’ the game. C’mere and say hey.”

We?

You drag your hand through your hair and step into the living room with a smile that’s more polite than genuine—and then you see him.

He’s sitting on the far end of the couch like he’s always belonged there, one leg stretched out, the other bent, thick forearm draped over his knee. Big, rough hands. Broad shoulders. Faded tee clinging a little too nicely to a chest that wasn’t built in a gym but came from years of lifting real things—wood, engines, furniture, probably your dad once or twice just for the hell of it.

Brown shaggy hair, barely hiding the signs of time. Strong jaw with stubble, peppered with some sneaky shiny grays. That grin—sharp, easy, lazy, tooth gap right in the middle like the universe left a little crack in him just so you’d have a place to fall through.

“You must be the college girl,” he says, and god, that voice—low, warm, a Southern lilt curling around the vowels like syrup. “Heard a whole lot about you.”

You don’t realize you’re staring until your dad chuckles. “This here’s Brian. Met him out fishin’—man knows his way around a bass boat and a six-pack.”

“Pleasure,” you manage, stepping forward to shake his hand. His grip is firm, slow to let go.

He looks you over, but not like a creep—no, it’s measured, casual, like he’s taking stock. You can tell he’s done it before. You can also tell he knows exactly what he's doing when he smiles at you like that. Friendly, but just the wrong side of innocent.

You sit down in the armchair, knees together, posture neat. Not because your dad would notice anything—but because he might.

Brian leans back, drinks his beer, and keeps his eyes on the game. But you feel it—that pull, the weight of his attention even when it's not on you. The game plays on. Your dad yells at the screen. Brian laughs. And you cross your legs a little slower than necessary. Just in case he’s watching.

You'd forgotten how fast the house gets small in the summer. How the heat clings to the drywall and your clothes, how time sticks between your shoulder blades. You wake late, wander barefoot, drink from cold glasses that fog up the moment they leave the fridge. You scroll too much. You sleep too little. You try to pretend it’s just summer being summer.

But it's not. Because now Brian is always fucking here now.

You don't even bother to ask why. You don’t need to. It’s just one of those things that happens when middle-aged men form inexplicable friendships: they latch on like blood brothers and suddenly they’re inseparable. Watching games. Fixing things. Drinking in comfortable silence like they’ve known each other for decades instead of months. Your dad talks like Brian’s some lost cousin of yours now. “He’s comin’ by later,” “Brian brought over some tools,” “Brian helped me tune up the truck.”

And every time he’s here, you’re a mess.

At first, it’s harmless. He's just around. Helps your dad set up the new grill, shows him something on the TV, brings over a cooler full of beer like he lives down the street. The two of them laugh about some ex-girlfriend they never liked. Apparently he’s been through a divorce. Or two.

The first time you walk through the kitchen in shorts, Brian doesn't say a word. But you feel it—that flick of his eyes, the shift in his posture, the slow stretch of that killer smile when your dad says something stupid and he half-laughs behind his beer. That little tooth gap flashing at you like an invitation.

You don't even like older guys. You swear you don't.

But he’s solid. He’s got arms like scaffolding and a voice like molasses and something low and dangerous simmering under all that Southern charm. You start lingering a little more—maybe just for a second or two longer than you need to. Just enough to catch his eye. Just enough to hope he looks.

It’s the way he fucking sits, thighs spread, arms resting over his knees, fingers tapping absently against cold glass. It’s the way he says your name when your dad tells you to grab something from the kitchen. The way he smiles at you—slow, a little crooked, like it’s a secret just between you.

You feel it deep. Not even in your stomach. No, directly in your cunt. Hot and ridiculous. Humiliating. Your thighs press together like it’s involuntary—because sometimes it is.

One afternoon, you're passing through the hallway while they talk about car maintenance—or football or fishing or whatever man noise they've settled on that day—and you hear your dad laugh through the open door.

“You don’t ever get tired of goin’ home to an empty house, man?”

Brian huffs a low, amused breath. “Nah... Ain't nothin' better than getting home to the sound of silence.”

It’s said so casually—barely a pause between sentences. But you feel it. A twitch, a prickle at the base of your spine. You don’t stop walking, don’t let yourself even slow down, but your eyes flick up for a second as you pass. He’s already looking at you.

No smile this time. Just a look. Knowing. Amused. Maybe even a little curious.

You don’t sleep that night. You lay on top of the covers, flushed and sweating, thighs aching, fingers between your legs and his voice thick in your ears like a broken record.

It gets worse the first time you see him smoking.

You’re just getting home from a walk—just seeing what changed since you moved away for college—and there he is. Leaning against the porch railing, half in shadow, lighting up like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Burning Marlboro between two thick fingers, zippo clink-snap, that slow inhale, head tipped back.

You’ve never found smoking hot. You’ve told people that. Sworn up and down that it’s gross.

But god, the way he does it—lazy, practiced, like he’s got nowhere to be and all the time in the world to ruin you—it sparks something in your stomach. You stand there for half a second too long, staring at the curve of his mouth around the filter, the wrinkle at the bridge of his nose when he exhales slow through it.

“Hey, college girl,” he drawls, voice rougher than usual, like smoke got tangled in it.

You don’t even remember what you say back.

The next time he comes over, you barely make it through lunch.

Your dad's out back spraying down the patio. Brian’s in the kitchen, elbow leaning on the counter while he drinks something cold from a sweating glass. You wander in with the pretense of rinsing out a mug, keeping it casual. Normal. But when he glances up, he gives you that smile again—a lazy one, like he’s not even trying to kill you.

“You settlin’ back in okay?” he asks, voice a slow drawl that makes your knees itch. “Gotta be different from campus life.”

You nod, too quickly. “It’s quieter, for sure.”

He grins. “Bet you don’t miss the tests, though.”

“No,” you say, and then, before you can stop yourself: “I might miss the distractions, though.”

It hangs there. Quiet. Heavy.

His gaze drops—barely. Not subtle. Not obscene either. Just enough to make your breath stutter.

He lifts his glass again, watching you over the rim as he drinks.

“How old are you now?” he asks, voice casual, like he’s asking what major you picked instead of checking if he’s stepping over a line.

You smile. “Old enough to know better.”

And fuck, you almost regret saying it the moment it leaves your mouth. Almost. But you hold the look. You don’t back down.

He smiles—slower this time. Like he’s tucking that little answer away somewhere warm and private.

From the backyard, the hissing of the hose cuts off. Your dad’s coming back.

You rinse your mug, heart pounding, thighs pressed tight together, mouth too dry.

Brian leans back against the counter, watching you like he’s just figuring out what kind of game you’re playing.

You think that’s the end of it. You really do. Just a casual little moment that you’ll squirrel away for later, up in your room, alone with your fingers. You’re still humming with it, flustered and hot under the skin, about to make your quiet escape upstairs, when—

“Hey, Brian,” your dad calls from the open back door. “You mind running to the store? I forgot to pick up the meat for the grill.”

Brian groans, real dramatic. “Sir, yes sir,” he drawls, mock-saluting with two fingers, beer still in hand. Your dad snorts and waves him off.

Your mouth moves before your brain does. “I’ll come too.”

Both men look over at you. You lean casually against the wall like you haven’t just been thinking about Brian’s hands around your throat for the past fifteen minutes.

“I wanna see if anything’s changed around town,” you add, breezy, like you haven't been doing just that for the past week since being back. “I’ve been gone a while. Might grab something for myself.”

Your dad shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

Brian tips his head in a loose nod, mouth twitching like he knows.

You follow him out to the truck—a beat-up rusty red thing that rumbles low when he starts it. He moves around it like he’s been driving it for decades. Like he is the truck. And when you climb into the passenger seat and close the door, you realize two things:

One—it smells like him.

Not just sweat and smoke, but something sharp and masculine underneath, like old cologne that should be called "Panty Soaker", and pine sap and a trace of grease. Something faintly woodsy, faintly wrong. The kind of scent that shouldn't make your cunt throb—but does anyway. You squirm a little, heart doing stupid things in your chest.

And two—you forgot your seatbelt.

You reach for it, fumbling with the buckle, and then Brian’s hand is there instead. Steady. Calm. Deadly.

“Here,” he murmurs, already leaning over.

You freeze. His chest brushes your arm, warm through his t-shirt. His breath ghosts past your jaw. His hand comes across your lap, slow and certain, and the back of it—rough, work-callused—presses up against your tit as he clicks the buckle into place.

The touch is brief. Accidental. Totally innocuous.

But your nipple still goes hard under the fabric, and you think he feels it—because his eyes flick to yours for just a second before he pulls back.

“Safety first,” he says, amused.

You force out a breathy laugh. “Right. Of course.”

The drive should be short. You’ve done this run a thousand times. But today, it feels like forever. The engine hums low, the summer heat warping the world outside, and you keep shifting in your seat, thighs pressed tight, because fuck. The windows are down but it’s not enough.

At the first red light, he lights a cigarette, and you almost lose your mind.

It’s slow—like everything else he does. One hand on the wheel, the other flicking his lighter, cig perched lazy between two fingers. He draws it in, deep and idle, and your eyes follow the movement like it’s choreographed. Like he’s doing it just for you.

You hate the smell, the diseases that come with it. But this is sex in motion. This is your legs twitching, breath skipping, hands digging into the hem of your shorts like they might save you from yourself.

Brian glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “You alright over there, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart.

You nod, too quickly. “Yeah. Just… warm.”

He blows smoke out the window, lips curled. “Yeah. Summer here’ll do that.”

You press your thighs together harder.

He says nothing else, just drives—with that one hand on the wheel and the other resting casually on his thigh, cigarette dangling, ash drifting, windows down and the wind tugging at the collar of his shirt. You sneak a glance when you think he’s not looking—at his jaw, the stubble there, the vein in his forearm flexing when he turns the wheel. At his mouth, parted slightly around the filter.

He knows. You know he knows. It’s in the smirk that threatens every time you look away too fast. In the silence that stretches, thicker and heavier with each passing second.

You’re already wet by the time the store comes into view. The same sad little building it’s always been—weather-worn siding, a rusted-out sign, flickering neon in the window that hasn’t changed since you were in middle school.

The parking lot’s quiet when he pulls in—just a few scattered cars and the heavy buzz of cicadas droning from the trees beyond. The truck rumbles low, rocking gently as he throws it into park.

He stretches his arms overhead, shirt riding up just enough to expose a sliver of his lower stomach, the dark trail of hair disappearing into his jeans. The motherfucker.

“Be right back,” he mutters, tapping the dash with two fingers. “Don’t run off.”

Like you could.

The second the door closes, the heat inside the cab spikes tenfold. You exhale like you’ve been holding your breath the whole time—which, you might have with the way you're panting now.

It’s not even a minute before your hand’s pressing between your thighs, subtle but needy, trying to ease the pulse that’s been throbbing since he touched your seatbelt. You can’t stop shifting, thighs rubbing for any relief, underwear clinging to your cunt like a second skin. It does nothing. Not when your brain’s replaying the brush of his fingers against your nipple in crisp, HD detail, and his smell is all around you.

You don’t even remember what the hell you said you needed from the store. That thought left your body the moment Brian leaned over you like he owned the air you breathed.

He’s quick. Barely five minutes pass before he comes back, two plastic bags swinging from one hand. There’s a heat to him when he opens the door, a fresh blast of sun and sweat and man, and you scramble to sit like you weren’t just about to hump the seat.

“Only had ribs left,” he grunts, tossing the bags onto your lap. “Hope your dad ain’t picky.”

You practically snatch them. “I’ll hold ‘em.”

The weight of the meat gives you something to hide behind. A barrier. A fucking prop to mask the frantic, near-desperate squirm of your thighs as he settles back in beside you.

Brian raises a brow, but doesn’t comment.

The truck growls to life again, and you start the drive back. Or rather—he does. You’re just trying to stay sane. It’s quiet for a few minutes, windows rolled partway down, the wind kissing your skin just enough to sting where you’re hot and aching.

Then, he fucking says it.

"Y'know," he begins, slow and easy, flicking ash out the window with one hand on the wheel, "you keep rubbin' your legs together like that, baby, you're gonna start a fire."

Your whole body locks up—then melts. The heat between your legs pulses, sharp and greedy, and your head turns fast enough to give you whiplash.

You want to die. Or melt. Or crawl into his lap and grind until the ache goes away. Anything but this excruciating limbo.

Your voice comes out smaller than you intend—but still laced with heat. “Well. You’re the one who lit the match.”

Silence.

Brian turns his head just enough to cut you a look.

That look. Eyes dragging over your face, down your chest, lingering on the way your thighs twitch under the grocery bags.

The corner of his mouth lifts. Not a smile. A threat.

“Girl,” he says, warning low, “I’m twice your damn age.”

“Not quite,” you murmur.

“Your daddy’d skin me alive.”

“Not if he doesn't find out.”

It rings in the truck. The kind of pause that leaves you exposed and vibrating with nerves, unsure if you’ve crossed a line or stepped straight into a fire you can’t put out.

You almost laugh. You can’t believe yourself. Can’t believe him. Can’t believe this is real and not some dirty late-night fantasy you cooked up during finals week.

Another beat of silence. Then he exhales sharply through his nose. Something like a laugh, something like a curse. A hand comes up, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Shit.”

He doesn’t say anything else.

Just swerves onto a side road. A forgotten little access road behind an abandoned building, tucked into the trees, the kind of place teenagers go to smoke weed or fuck in secret. Gravel crunches under the tires as he pulls around to the back of the building and slides the truck into the shade.

He puts it in park. Then leans back, crosses his arms, and lets out one of those low, rough-throated dad-sighs. The kind that comes from somewhere deep in the chest, worn and exasperated and loaded.

You stay still. Breathing hard. The ribs are heavy in your lap, but not heavy enough to weigh down the full-body ache that’s curling low and hot in your belly.

He doesn’t look at you. He just waits like he’s giving you the floor. Like he’s giving you a choice.

And you take your pick real quick.

You move. Real slow. Real careful. Like you’re trying not to spook a wild animal. Your hands slide the bag of ribs off your lap, set it gently on the dashboard. It thuds against the plastic, soft and weighted—nothing compared to the pounding of your heart in your ears, in your throat, in your fucking clit.

Brian still hasn’t looked at you. But he hasn’t stopped you either.

You shift closer. Inching. Crawling into his space like a heat-seeking missile. The cab’s not big, and the heat in it is oppressive, stifling. You can smell him again—dust, pine, skin, man. Every molecule is sticking to you, soaking in through your pores like gasoline.

And then, finally, finally, he turns. Meets you halfway. Leans in so slow your breath catches on your tongue, your mouth already parting in anticipation. His hand comes up, not to stop you, but to brush his knuckles along your jaw—just once, feather-light.

And his voice, when it hits you, is a wrecking ball in the chest.

“That thirsty, huh?” he murmurs, lips brushing yours but not giving in. “Big enough of a slut to crawl into some grown-ass man’s lap just ‘cause he smiled at you?”

Your whole body shivers. Your clit throbs. Your thighs tighten like a vice. You can't even breathe, let alone speak.

Because before you can answer, Brian takes your mouth. Devours it. The kiss is messy. Instant. Tongue and teeth and breath and heat. He groans low into your mouth, not soft, not sweet—hungry, like he’s tasting something so sweet it chokes in his throat. But he’s not sloppy, not needy. You’re the one chasing his tongue, you’re the one moaning, melting, clawing at his chest with shaking hands.

He’s calm and controlled. Because this isn't his first time making some wide-eyed needy thing lose their mind in the front seat of a truck.

His hand stays on your jaw, firm now, fingers threading into your hair as he angles your head, deepens the kiss like he owns your mouth—and you let him. Beg him. Your hips squirm without permission, and that’s when his other hand moves, right up your chest.

Fingers find your tits through your shirt and he pinches one of your nipples, lazy and practiced. Like he’s barely thinking about it. Like he knows what it’ll do to you and doesn’t need to try.

You fucking whimper. Whimper.

And that smug, amused breath of laughter he huffs into your mouth makes you want to cry and cum at the same time.

“Oh, sugar,” he coos mockingly, slow and smoky between kisses and laughter, “look at you. You’re gonna make a mess in my seat, huh?”

Your hand scrambles down to his lap without thinking. Palm pressed hard against his crotch, finding the thick line of his cock through his jeans and gripping tight. Messy. Desperate. You rock into him with your wrist, just enough friction to make your thighs quake.

He laughs again. That deep, warm, drawl of a laugh, fond and filthy and just the right kind of mean.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, eyes half-lidded and wild with heat. “Desperate, huh? Like I ain’t even gotta touch you and you’ll cum on the spot.”

You want to argue. Say something smart. Sassy. Instead, your hips jerk again and he just grins.

“Go on then,” he drawls, tapping two fingers against the denim over his thigh like he’s giving you a fucking command. “Show me how wet, baby. Maybe I’ll think about lettin’ you ride it.”

Your throat goes dry. Your panties are ruined.

You move fast, too fast, and he chuckles low when your knee bangs the glove compartment. But you’re already slipping a hand down the front of your shorts, past the waistband of your panties—drenched.

Fingers slide right in. No resistance. You gasp, legs twitching, the obscene squelch echoing in the tight cab, and Brian groans.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, watching you like you’re something obscene. “You finger yourself that fast all the time or is it just ‘cause you want my cock?”

You moan. Shaky, humiliated, needy.

“‘Course it is,” he answers for you, reaching over, taking your wrist. Pulls your hand out and shoves two of your fingers in his mouth. Sucks them with that slow swirl of his tongue like he’s tasting dessert. Like he likes it.

And then, before you can breathe, his own hand is in your shorts. Thick, rough fingers, way bigger than yours, pushing inside you like they belong there. The stretch makes your eyes roll, and he’s so lazy with it it's bordering on disrespectful. Slow pumps. No mercy. No buildup. Just fucking you with that knuckle-deep pressure that makes your thighs snap shut around his wrist.

“Oh my god—”

“Yeah,” he breathes against your jaw, voice a low rumble. “That’s it. So fuckin’ tight. You ain’t had a real man in you, huh? Been lettin’ some soft lil’ college boy rub your clit and call it sex?”

You’re soaked. Soaked. Your thighs are clenched, hips rocking against the seat, trying to get friction from fucking air while two thick fingers drag along the top wall of your cunt with this casual rhythm that wrecks you.

Squish, squelch, squick—so fucking loud it fills the cab, slick coating his fingers and seeping through the denim of your shorts. He pushes them further down with his knuckles, thumb brushing your clit every now and then—just enough to make your legs twitch.

You’re panting.

He snorts. “That all it takes? Two fingers and some sweet-talkin’? Fuck, you're a mess.”

Then—just to prove it—he picks up the pace. Fucking you deeper, harder, and you clamp a hand over your mouth but it’s too late. That high, messy sob rips out anyway. Your cunt clenches around his fingers and you cum like a fucking earthquake. Loud. Sudden. Shaking. So fast it’s almost pathetic. Almost. Brian thinks it’s adorable.

It hits so hard your hips jump off the seat, and he just laughs. Not cruel—just amused. Pleased.

“Shit,” he grins, dragging his fingers out slow, soaked in you. He holds them up, watches a string of slick stretch between them like a web. “You really are a fuckin' slut.”

You whimper, but you’re already unbuckling his jeans. You can’t help it. You need him in your mouth. He shifts just enough, pulls his cock out—flushed and thicker than you had time to imagine. Your mouth waters instantly.

“C’mon,” he mutters, tone lazy like he’s asking you to pass the remote. “You gonna suck it or just stare?”

You don't even ease into it. Mouth stretching around the head, tongue dragging hot and slow along the underside. You spit, let it drip from your tongue to his shaft and stroke him with your fist, spreading it all messy, coating him, strings of spit breaking when you pull back to breathe.

Then you take him in again. Deeper. Sloppier. The tip of his cock bumps your soft palate and your throat flutters.

“Fuuuck,” he groans, head falling back against the seat. One hand finds your head—not pushing, just resting—while the other fishes in his shirt pocket for a cig. “This the shit you learn in college, baby?”

You moan around him. Spit gurgling. Drooling past your lips and down to your chest, soaking your shirt. It’s dripping onto the seat, pooling between his legs. Your nose is pressed to his pelvis, throat flexing around him, thighs pressing together when the clink of his lighter hits your ears.

“Get the balls too,” he murmurs, smoke hissing out around his words. “C’mon. You wanna be a good girl, don’t you?”

You dip lower, drool stringing down between your tits, and take one of his balls into your mouth, tongue swirling wet around the heat where drool pooled down where your hand wasn't quick enough to catch it. His breath stutters. You look up, barely able to see him through tears you couldn't stop, and the sight makes your whole body clench.

He looks like a fucking dream. Hair pushed back off his face, brow furrowed, cigarette tucked in the corner of his mouth like he forgot it was there—ash curling long at the end, barely hanging on. His nostrils flare as he exhales smoke slow through his nose, cock heavy on your cheek, his hand keeping your head just close enough.

“Yeah?” he mutters, barely above a whisper. Smirking like he’s watching the goddamn sunrise. “You like that?” he rumbles, one hand dropping heavy to your hair. His fingers card through slow at first, gentle. But then they twist, and he’s guiding your mouth back on his cock with slow pulls and pushes, easing you into a rhythm that’s got your throat straining and your jaw burning.

You choke when he nudges deeper, and his hand tightens—not mean, just firm, controlling the pace like he’s shifting gears. He groans deep and rough—like thunder rolling in his chest—and you feel him swell on your tongue.

And just when you think he’s about to lose it, Brian tugs you back by the hair—slow, deliberate, like pulling you out of a dream. His cock leaves your mouth with a wet pop, absolutely soaked. He leans forward, ashes his cigarette out the window, and gives your swollen lips a once-over. Spit strings between them and his shaft, connecting like glue, trailing across your chin and cheek as you pant for breath.

“C’mere.”

He reaches for the lever on the side of his seat and yanks it back—click-click-click-thunk—until he’s laid almost flat, pants shoved down, cock standing up and twitching against his stomach.

“Turn ‘round.”

You blink. Breathless.

“Ass to me, baby,” he says, patting his lap. “Wanna see what all that bouncin’ looks like. Hold the wheel if you need to.”

You’re already climbing. Clumsy, fevered, losing your clothes in a daze. Shorts shoved down, panties a lost cause. You face the dash, plant your hands on the steering wheel for balance, spreading yourself on your haunches above him, wide enough to hear an approving hum behind you.

The stretch is criminal once you sink down. Your cunt flutters around the thick push of him as he sinks in inch by inch, cock parting you wide and deep.

He groans. Hands gripping your hips. Head dropped back against the seat.

“Shit,” he grits out. “Tight as fuck. Feels like you're gonna break my dick.”

You’re already bouncing, rhythm messy and desperate, thighs trembling as you fuck yourself on his cock like it’s the only thing keeping you alive, steering wheel creaking in your grip, the whole cab rocking with every slap of your ass against his hips.

His hands slam down on your ass, spreading you, guiding you, thumbs digging in to see the way his cock disappears into your slick, clenching cunt, watching the helpless flutter around him every time you lift and drop. Slapping the curve and lifting you just enough to slam you back down.

“Shit,” you gasp, hair stuck to your cheeks, sweat dripping down your back. “Fuck—fuck, Brian—”

You look back, mouth open, eyes glazed. He’s watching you like you’re something divine. Smoke curls from his nose, half-lidded eyes fixed on the way your ass sways and ripples every time you slam down on him.

He takes one last drag, lip curled, then flicks the cigarette out the cracked window.

“Look at you,” he mutters, voice honeyed and thick with awe. “Look at this fuckin’ show. This what you wanted, baby?"

You whine, nodding frantically, rolling your hips harder—sloppier. It's so much better than your mind conjured up in the privacy of your room. The way he talks alone is enough to make your eyes roll back into your skull, but the way he thrusts up to meet your movements, cock hitting so deep you feel it in your stomach, is enough to get you clenching again.

Brian lets go of one cheek and grabs a fistful of your hair instead, wrapping it around his wrist and yanking your head back, keeping your spine arched while you grind on him.

“C’mon, baby, ride this shit,” he grunts, low and ragged. “You gonna cum f'me again?”

You sob—that’s how close you are. And you do. It feels like something detonating in your pelvis—your walls clenching so hard it's a wonder they're not snapping his cock in half, thighs twitching, whole body shuddering with the force of it. You cry out, damn near screaming, chest heaving, tears spilling from your eyes as you writhe on his cock.

But he doesn’t let you stop.

“Uh-uh,” he growls, voice thick. “Keep movin’. You want me to cum too? Keep movin’, sweetheart.”

You do your best—riding through the aftershocks, overstimulated, breathless, using every last bit of strength you’ve got to keep bouncing, but you're barely keeping up with him chasing his own high, pounding up into you so hard it knocks you forward every time.

Brian groans—loud—his grip tightening. You feel him swell inside you, feel the twitch of his cock, the sharpness of his breath.

But right before he cums, he smacks your ass.

“Off. Get off it.”

You scramble forward, barely catching yourself on the steering wheel. Chest pressed against it, panting, trembling. You don’t even fully register what’s happening until you feel his cock slide out, slick and shiny with your cum, the cool air hitting your soaked pussy.

And then—his moan.

You look back, dazed, and see him fisting himself fast, cock flushed and soaked, abs flexing as he stares at your swollen cunt and the twitch of your thighs, ass arched up like an offering.

“Jesus fuck, baby—” he growls, and then he cums, thick ribbons of it painting up his stomach and down his hand, dripping off the hair on his belly.

He pants through it, watching your body shake as you stay bent over the wheel, your thighs glistening and your cunt fluttering with every little aftershock.

Silence.

Just the sound of your heavy breathing and the creak of the car riding out your desperate bounces.

You don’t move.

Neither does he.

And behind you, Brian finally lets out a hoarse laugh, low and breathless.

"Y'better pray your daddy ain't asking for a ride anytime soon, baby. Whole damn car smells like we fucked in every seat now."

The air inside the truck’s thick with sex and heat and smoke. The windows fogged up, your thighs still twitching, your cunt swollen and sticky and throbbing with every bump in the road since Brian pulled back into the main road.

You’re slouched in the passenger seat, half-dressed and still boneless, one leg propped up like you’re trying to breathe. Your shorts are around your thighs—inside-out, crusted with slick—and your fingers fumble uselessly at the button as he lights a cigarette with one hand and drives with the other.

“Fuck,” you whisper, dragging a shaking hand over your face. “Fuck.”

He glances over at you with a little laugh, smoke curling out his nose.

“You good, sweetheart?”

You shoot him a look, loose-limbed and dazed, then huff as you yank your shorts up high enough to cover your mess. The zipper’s stuck. Of course it is.

Brian pulls the cig from his mouth and holds it out to you without thinking, all casual.

You just blink at it, then scoff breathlessly. “I don’t smoke.”

He smirks around the cigarette as he puts it back between his lips. “Shit. Coulda fooled me,” he mutters around a grin. “You been eyein’ my smokes all damn day—I figured you just didn’t wanna light up in front o’ daddy.”

You snort. Almost choke on it. Bite back the urge to tell him you've been eyeing his mouth around the smokes instead.

The rest of the drive is quiet, save for the radio fuzz and the occasional drag from his cig. Your heartbeat’s finally slowing down by the time he pulls back into your driveway.

The engine cuts. The quiet is loud. The ribs had gotten warm in the bag and you’re walking a little funny, but he doesn’t say a word as he follows you to the front door—clearing his throat like he's trying to shake the taste of your slick off his tongue.

You swing the door open and step inside, trying to school your face into normal.

Your dad’s in the kitchen, leaning on the counter with a beer in hand, and he glances up when the door shuts behind you.

“Took you long enough,” he mutters, eyes drifting lazily to the bag in your hand. Squints. “Ribs? Thought I said pork chops." He groans, loud and grating, running a hand over his face like this is the real inconvenience of the day.

And you stand there behind your dad, tugging the hem of your shirt down to hide the open zipper of your shorts—and your shame, mostly—and when you look up, you catch Brian's eye.

He winks at you real subtle. Quick. Easy. And you can feel your pulse spike in your cunt all over again.

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kirammanswoman · 4 hours ago

Text

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES *ੈ✩‧₊˚

part 1 part 2 (wip) part 3 (wip) masterlist

three hockey player roommates that are in desperate need of a fourth roommate after their original one moved out on a whim. a professionally trained, braniac figure skater who needs to move. what’s the worst that could happen?

hockey!vi/ellie/abby x figureskater!fem!reader

warnings: reader is mentioned to be a lesbian!!!

a/n: im back n sorry it took so long, i forgot to say i was gonna make this n smau as well TEEHEE!! also ik i made a typo on the smau portion stfu ik…IF YOU KNOW WHERE THE ART FROM THE BANNER ABOVE IS FROM PLEASE LMK I FOUND IT ON PINTEREST AND CANT FIND THE ORIGINATOR

lowercase intended, unedited.

the moment you woke up to your upstairs neighbor banging on his drums at 5 am for the tenth time this week,

you knew.

sitting up from your tousled bed sheets and wrinkled pillows, you dig through the thick comforter to find your pj pants that you lazily threw off the night before. you dont know whether it’s your upstairs neighbor banging on his drums to metallica at 5 am (he for sure hasnt slept yet) or your head, but something was pounding. as you walk over to your mini kitchen in your tiny studio apartment, formula sheets, periodic tables, and notes were sprawled across the floor from the previous night’s panicked “i have to review this now or else i’ll die of anxiety before i sleep” study session.

you took a step forward, stepped on an eraser. another step, a pencil. and one more, lo and behold you’re at your kitchen counter, after two measly, groggy steps. so small, so crammed, so stuffy.

yeah. you had to move out.

morning practices weren’t your favorite, like at all. you studied for chem the night before, now you’re getting rewarded with two hours of coach medarda nit-picking at your every move. every axel, every jump, every loop. all. of. it. being medarda’s prized figure skater out of the bunch of girls was great, i mean, you were olympic bound because of her. however, the physical repercussions that come with exhausting your body in order to move so beautifully on ice wasn’t fun. you hurriedly tamed your bed ridden hair, threw on your practice clothes, stuffed your pristine white skates in your bag and sped off. that is, before almost eating shit on your tile floor because you tripped over your air fryer that was placed on the ground because the counter was far too small to stuff it in a corner. you curse to yourself as you clutch your foot— your very important foot— and you hop outside to lock the door.

when you finally locked the door (which took ages bc the dusty ass lock is older than you are) you sped walked to your car with a one track mind, a throbbing foot, and a repetitive thought.

i have to move out. fast.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE JUST PACKED UP AND LEFT?”

“meant it how i said it you loud dipshit. her room’s empty, abby”

“yeah ellie and i tried to stop her and get an answer, i even ran out to the driveway shirtless but all she said was ��im sorry vi but i have to go, my last payment for rent will be in for next month’ and she drove off”

the three hockey players stood in their living room, now missing a roommate, thus, missing a fourth person for rent. their former roommate, korra, insisted that she had other matters to attend to and had to move out urgently. they were perplexed, clueless, and a little angry at the sudden decision, but lo and behold, they can’t do anything about it now can they.

“alright— okay, sit down you shitheads— and put a shirt in vi, we gotta figure this out.”

“she did give us at least some allowance of time to figure something out right?” ellie responded to abby, fiddling with her silver rings. abby nodded and bit her lip while thinking if their next move.

“okay— here’s the deal.” she sat down and signaled the other two to sit as well. “i’ll ask my dad to cover the payment for the month after next month if we dont find one in time—”

“wait wait wait— what do you mean find one in time? you’re gonna go looking for a new one like a fuckass model agency recruiter?” ellie raised a brow

“no you fuckin idiot, im gonna post something on the locker room’s bulletin that we’re looking for new roommates.”

“like that’s gonna fucking find us one abby” vi scoffed

“okay listen you fuckasses— i can guarantee” she cut herself off “vi put a shirt on for fucks sake—“ she said as she threw a shirt to vi as she hurriedly threw her shirt on overtop her nike bra “im the damn captain of the team— i’ll make the rest of them look at it and convince them if we have too.”

“so— we’re taking anyone?”

“no, just hockey players”

yeah. right.

“ONE MORE TIME. CHIN UP.”

coach medardas demanding voice reverberated within the enclosed rink as you went through the last stretch of your routine again.

fuck fuck fuck ow ow ow shit shit shit—

was all you could think while repeating the final move of your routine for the fifth time now. as you hit your ending pose, medarda’s neutral face flickered a slight smile.

“good. much better. you’re free to go” she nodded you off. you thanked her and skated off the ice. everything hurt. every. single. thing. which was crazy considering you’ve been skating since 5 years old. never get used to it you suppose.

“how’s little miss perfect’s ice skating practice go?”

a voice breaks your thoughts off while you retrieve your stuff from your locker. you smile warmly at the girl with beautiful brown eyes and dark hair leaning against the door.

“hi D” you smile as you put your skates in your duffle.

“geez, medarda beat you black and blue again?” Dina asked as she walked over to one of the benches by your locker.

“black, blue, red, orange, green— the fuckin rainbow” you laughed

“ohhhh— i get it, because you’re a LESBI—” you covered dina’s mouth before she could finish.

“i swear to god—”

“no one’s here!” she muffled from her covered mouth, as she took your wrist into her hand and gently lifted it from her mouth. “plus i wasn’t actually gonna say it for real for real” she laughed.

it’s not like you had a problem with being a lesbian, fuck, if anything you thank every possible part of your existence for being attracted to women. it’s just—you had a reputation— and sometimes hiding a part of yourself was just easier to maintain that reputation. (a/n: this is fucking false, be so authentically you because you’re fucking beautiful, dont let anyone make you think otherwise. i love u.)

you shook your head at your best friends antics.

“sooo…find a place yet?” she said, fiddling with the charms on your duffle.

you sighed and scratched your forehead “no— skating and classes have been eating at my literal ass lately” you slumped at the space beside her

“babes, come on. that place is hella sketchy—“ she paused. dina never pauses. she’s always speaking, so this leads you to believe something’s turning with the gears in her head.

“anyway you need to leave soon— oh wait hold on!” she sprung up slightly. her eyes were wide and her smile was so bright it could blind people. oh no. you thought. she’s thinking. thats bad.

“you remember ellie? hockey player, short hair, green eyes, really actually very hot?” she perked up

“yea…? what about her—“ “they need a roommate!”

and there it is. a thought. from dina. she didnt even let you finish your sentence, so you didnt even let her convince you.

“no.” you deadpanned, glaring at her. “dina i refuse to room with the infamous women’s hockey trio league who probably disguised frat boys.” you started to pick up your stuff to walk out of the lockers.

“come onnnnnnn!!! its a perfect opportunity!” she walks a little behind you. “its literally falling on your lap!”

“no dina i wont—” “LOOK!” she said, as she abruptly stopped and basically yanked you by your ponytail to look at the bulletin board. with a yelp and a ‘what the fuck D!’ you stare at the slip of paper right smack dab center of the bulletin board.

“dina woodward, no.”

“dina woodward, yes.” she said as she ripped a piece of the tags hanging below with the email and number of whoever put the sign up.

what the fuck are you gonna do with her.

“see, i told you fuckers it would work.”

a sweaty, glistening abby was smirking at her roommates that were sitting on the bench. the Jackson University women’s hockey league sit at the rink’s locker room, packing up after a long practice. ellie and vi sit at the bench, staring up at at abby.

“okay?? and who is it?”

“ummm…a girl named (you)? dunno its kinda vague. she emailed ‘Good Morning, I am interested in potentially being a roommate. Let me know when and where we can discuss the details and we can decide if it’s a fit. Thank You.’”

“she sounds 45 years old.” ellie said

“and like a bossy-stuck up princess bitch” vi added, handing ellie her water bottle for her to drink out of it.

“okay shut up, she cant be that bad.”

“she’s a hockey player?” ellie asked, swinging the water bottle back like its a shot.

“she should be—“ she headed over to the bulletin board “it says here hockey players onl— oh no.” she said, while looking intently at the paper pinned to the board. abby’s eyes were hopelessly searching for where it says hockey players only.

the other two stood behind her, looking for it as well.

and alas,

nothing.

“you fucking idiot.”

after a long day of practice and a three hour lecture, you were finally fucking home.

throwing your bags onto a nearby chair by your counter, you strip off your practice clothes and make a B line to the bathroom. the relief of the hot water hitting your sore muscles felt like you were meeting an angel. truly a spiritual experience. you wash your body and hair off of the dried out sweat after practice and put on your usual giant sleep tee and headed to heat your food in the microwave. this was the usual after you got home after a long day of practice and more lectures that were frying your brain. you finally had time to relax at home.

just as you were settling down on your couch next to your cat named Dog, an email notification pinged on your phone.

📧: Abby Anderson [email protected]

Good Evening, this is Abby. I saw that you emailed about a roommate inquiry? I was wondering if you could meet at the Bison Cafe to discuss the details. Also, please feel free to leave your number so communication is more seamless. Thanks.

you’re gonna punch your best friend.

#vi x reader #abby anderson x reader #ellie willams x reader #andtheywereroommates

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totallylezzingout · 2 days ago

Note

Hiiiii! Could you please write for Van Palmer x reader? Reader is jealous of Van and Taissa, so she makes Van jealous with Nat, but Van gets angry and drags reader away and they fight. Van reassures reader that she doesn’t want anyone but her. Thank youuu

Only You ꨄ

Pairing: Van Palmer x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, ?cheating?, smut

A/N: this was gonna be a lot more detailed but tumblr does not autosave and it rid me of the first entire chunk of this fic. wanted to cry. still do. also i did not know if smut was wanted but i do know there is a severe lack of van smut in the community so i made my contribution - hope this was okay!!

The laughing i could handle. The whispering i could handle. The inside jokes i could handle withstand. The touching? oh, the touching made my blood boil, but Van is a friendly person, so I handled withstood it.

Thats until that one morning. Van did not come back to our hut the night prior, she stayed out, with, from word of mouth, none other than Taissa Turner.

Tai knows, hell, everybody on the team knows me and Van are together, well, in relations? We dont really have a label for it yet, but she is mine, and i am hers, its as simple as that. However, Tai is pushing her luck, I know that look in her eye, she got it in middle school, whenever she saw her old crush Danielle, from 4th period spanish.

The issue is, Van isnt doing anything to stop it. She must know, she must. I mean, she must have realised Ive become more reluctant to talk to her? or be physical with her? Or maybe thats the worst part, maybe she realised and doesnt care? God. Fuck.

I decide to do something productive & pick some berries, eat or be eaten, am I right? I walk over to the outskirts of the further wilderness, just behind a few huts, to pick some berries. Im stood sifting through bush leaves, with a rag in one hand and Mistys book on the floor, which shows you which berries are safe to eat.. lets hope its accurate. Its actually a good day for berries, Ive got 19 placed in my rag so far.. enough to maybe make berry juice? berry tea perhaps? Out of nowhere, I hear feet slapping against the floor, and water splashing onto the hot, dry earth. I turn around

“Nat?”

Natalie was bolting towards me, holding a now half empty bucket of laundry water

“I ran-” huff “from the lake-“ huff “had to-“ huff “tell you-“ Natalie barely chokes out, placing the bucket down and putting her hands on her knees, trying to resync her rythym of breathing

“Natalie, breathe, okay? Tell me what?” I grow increasingly concerned

“I saw Van and Tai down there..” She murmered

my eyes urge her to go on, a certain feeling of dread brewing deep inside my stomach

“They were at- no, in the lake, together, and they were laughing, splashing, it looked pretty touchy-feely.. and then I saw” sigh “I saw Tai taking off Vans shirt” Natalie confessed, looking down

Fuck me.

I am not one to be petty, I like words, words solve problems, but in this case? we are past words, we are not even on the same wavelength of using words now. so yes, I am absolutely about to start, and finish, a wilderness lesbian-off.

Me and Natalie have been close best friends for a long time, probably about 8 years now. She was actually the first person i told about me and Van - theres never been any romantic feelings between Nat and me, which will make this plan im stirring up very easy.

I take Nat into her hut, and introduce the plan. Me and her; sleepovers, wearing eachothers clothes, braiding eachothers hair, etc etc.

I love Van, and she is still my partner, but I need her to understand how I feel.

So that night it begins. The team are all sat around the fire, Nat on my left and Van on my right, and Tai on Vans right, of course. Natalie starts with a simple arm around the shoulder, a whisper about nothing, maybe a longing stare. Van shifts a little, she seems to notice, but doesnt really seem as bothered as I thought.

That night I sleep in Natalies hut, we walk out together, theres some “ooooohs” from Mari and Gen, i just roll my eyes, and as I bend down to pour some water for me and Natalie, Nat slaps my ass playfully, but if you were to see the look on Vans face from the doorway of her (our) hut, youd think Natalie fucked me right there infront of her.

Okay, so, it worked! This is good, right? I do begin to have some second thoughts, I mean Van looked really angry.. woah woah woah, I am the angry one here; she started it all! Getting all touchy feeling with Taissa and letting her undress her?? This is perfectly justified.. i think.

I spend most of the day in Natalies hut, doing mostly nothing, moreso just giggling about how ridiculous this - essentially - dyke war, is, then reminding ourselves that it is definitely probably absolutely justified.

Unbeknownst to us, Van was sat on a log about 4 feet away from Nats hut, hearing all the giggling, and she couldnt take it anymore, she is beyond pissed, and is determined to do something to set it straight.

Im playing with some sticks when Van barges in, takes my wrist and pulls me up, fast and swift but still making sure not to cause me any harm, completely ignoring Natalie, and leads me outside, and into the further wilderness, not stopping

“Van where the fuck are we going?”

“Van can you just stop for a second??”

“Van seriously”

i plead, and shortly after, we reach a large tree and she presses my back against it

“what the fuck was that?” she mutters

“what was what?” I enquire with sickly innocence

“You know what, Natalie practically groped you infront of everyone, nobody but me should touch you like that. Not to mention last night around the fire, oh and then how you slept in her fucking hut?” Van snapped

“Oh but its okay when Taissa does it to you?” I fire back - her expression falters

“what the fuck are you even talking about” she exhales

“Nat saw it, Tai undressing you at the lake? Oh but me? Ive seen it for weeks, Palmer. She has the hots for you, and apparently everybody but you can see it. You stayed out all night with her once, left me alone in our hut? do you remember that? can you even imagine how I felt? I thought you chose her.” I blurt out

Suddenly, Vans face which was once in a state of anger, is now sorrowful, and somewhat small

“I wouldnt- Id never do that to you intentionally-” Van tries to plead her case, I turn away from her

“I seriously didnt think Taissa would be into me like that.. I barely know her- and she only took off my shirt because it got soaked, but I shouldnt have let her, and i shouldve checked in with you” Van went on

I refuse eye contact

“please, sweetheart, i promise you, i dont want anyone else, especially not Taissa or any of the other girls here - I want you, and only you” She pleaded, reaching for my hand, I let her

“show me” I lock eyes with her, she clearly wasnt expecting it as her expression faltered slightly

“what?”

“show me that you only want me” I whispered below my breath, sultry, with a slight hint of anger, waiting to be reassured.

Van steps forward quickly and pins my wrists above my head against the tree, with her other hand she grabs my hip and kisses me intensely. Its rougher than usual, like shes trying to prove a point. It gets faster, and I get needier, moaning into her mouth, my mouth opening just enough for her to slip her tounge in, deepening the kiss. She shoves her thigh between my legs, and presses it up between my thighs, just where I need that type of friction. My hips rock involuntarily onto her thigh, grinding down on her, whining & panting

“please, fuck, Van“ I moan into the kiss

She takes that as a hint to slide her hand down the front of my shorts, teasing in circles over my clit with only a thin layer of cotton seperating the skin on skin contact i desperately need. My hips buck up into her hand, and I can feel her smirk into the kiss, that damn smirk.

She pushes my underwear to the side, and slides a finger up and down my already soaked folds, circling my clit

“Youre all mine” Van half moans out, as she dips two fingers into my entrance

I moan out carelessly, its not like anybody will hear us, she dragged me out far enough into the wilderness..

She pumps her fingers into me at a moderate speed, adding a third and picking up the pace when I beg for more, she kisses down my neck and whispers in my ear in a low, raspy manner

“i only want you.”

hearing her whisper and her fingers now going at an ungodly pace brings me to the edge fast with a gutteral moan; letting go all over her fingers, gasping for air, with my head now collapsed on her shoulder

“only you, babe, i promise” she kisses my head.

#yellowjackets #wlw #fluff #wlw smut #smut #van palmer x reader #van palmer #vanessa palmer #wilderness #natalie x reader #natalie scatorccio

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