Latest Posts by axescryinwater - Page 2
imagine fucking clark kent... mid air.
this probably—most definitely—wasn't your brightest idea.
but it's not everyday you get to fuck and fly with superman now, do you?
you had to convince him to do it. he loved you, and loved being intimate with you, but this was—and he was sure of it—one hell of a bad idea. so it took you weeks, actual weeks, of begging and convincing, talking about it, mapping out every reason why you thought this was genius.
"please, kent, please! it'll be so fun and refreshing!" you sat on his lap while he was laying down on the bed, looking up at you, shaking his head. "people will notice and see us, sweetie." you ran your hands up his chest, "if you go high up enough, they won't even see a thing!"
finally, after two weeks of not touching you (because you refused to let him do so unless it was to take you mid air), he agreed.
you were tightening your silk robe around your waist, waiting for him by the balcony. you obviously weren't wearing anything underneath it, considering the main goal was intimacy. he arrived, in his own black robe, and grabbed you firmly yet delicately by the waist.
"are you ready, pretty?" he asked, voice low and protective. your knees buckled a bit, but you nodded. "of course." and he tightened his grip around your waist before jumping up in the air, and holy shit-
you were flying.
then, you noticed his hand wonder. the hand that he hadn't used to grip you was snaking its way inside your robe, brushing against your boobs and hardened nipples, before migrating all the way down to your cunt.
"f-foreplay? mid-flight?" and he chuckled, his eyes darkening with lust. "when did we think we were gonna do it?" and before you even has half the mind to answer, you felt two of his thick fingers press against your entrance, sliding inside.
he pumped inside you and your legs felt like pudding—half from the whole flying thing, and the other half from the fact he was fingering you mercilessly just like he knows you like. his palm is slapping against your clit and your legs tremble at every impact.
"w-when are we stopping?" and he paused for a second, before giving you that grin that tells you you're knees deep in this mess. "when you cum."
the simple sentence made a moan bloom from your chest, walls clenching down on his fingers. "y'wanna cum for me, baby?" you nod, "yeah? yeah? wanna give me one before the real thing?" and his dirty talking is throwing you off the edge, white droplets of cream dribbling down to his hand as she moaned his name as loud as she could. who cares? they're in the sky.
finally, the movement comes to an alt. they stop flying, stop moving.
you're still delirious, but smiling victoriously when he undoes his robes, hard cock revealing itself for you.
you salivate and bite your lip, feeling his dick rub against your sticky folds, jumping a bit when his mushroom top bumps into your clit. "this is so..." he trails off and you finish, "filthy?" and he hums while nodding, eyes closing while he loses himself at the sensation of your wet pussy.
finally, finally, he starts pushing himself in. it's scary and surreal, the thought of fucking in mid air turning you on more than it should. you love how you can see the birds flying next to you guys and feel his big veins hitting all the right spots inside you. he's so focused, focused on not letting you fall, focused on not being too rough, focused on making you feel good.
and fuck, the adrenaline rush heightened your senses and you could feel every fucking thing.
the way his vein bulged everytime you moaned in his ear, how tightly he was holding onto you, the cold breeze caressing you exposed skin, the sound of his heavy balls slapping against you..
you were close. dangerously close.
your own hand snaked down between your legs and you rubbed your clit softly, making yourself twitch in pleasure. "f-fuck, clark!" your voice got louder and louder with every string of sweet sounds getting pulled out of between your plush lips and he couldn't get enough.
your orgasm hit you like a train.
the adrenaline and stress of falling made everything feel ten times more intense, your walls clenching rapidly around him. cream started dribbling down your hole, forming a ring around his girthy base. "oh my fucking-" was really all you could coherently say in such a situation, every other word melting with eachother.
"baby- baby, shit- yes-" you had the man of steel stuttering and drooling, the sensation of your mushy walls clamping down on him too much for the poor man. he quickly let himself go, his cum coating your insides in a thick, white and milky layer.
he gasped, breath hitching when he felt the warmth of his cum fill you up. he pulled out slowly, your name slipping out of his mouth, while still catching his breath.
the flight back home was full of panting and quick dirty jokes you threw at him to fluster him.
bonus : bruce wayne noticed superman flying up in the sky.. up.. and up... and then stopping? wait.. he's with someone.. what are those movements–oh. they're fucking. this is officially none of his business anymore.
superbat might not be everyone's cup of tea but you have to admit "person who wears glasses as their secret identity but doesn't need them" and "person who avoids wearing glasses until they absolutely have to" is a hilarious dynamic for a relationship.
ugh i would LOVE to read more about bruce x clark x reader and the kryptonian breeding season if you ever wanna write more about that
#KRYPTONIAN BREEDING SEASON HCs ˎˊ˗
Bruce Wayne x Clark Kent x fem!Reader 🩷 ── .✦
a/n : okay sooo like… i literally cannot stop thinking about bruce and clark absolutely wrecking me during kryptonian breeding season like??? one’s all cold and calculated and the other one is just a feral puppy in heat and i’m the dumb little thing stuck between them crying and begging and full of everything they wanna give me… like oops!! guess i was made to be their perfect lil cumdump. this is for my fellow needy girlies who love getting bred stupid and filled over n over until they can’t walk and don’t even remember their name — just “daddy” and “sir.” be safe, be hydrated, and don’t trust clark when he says “just one more” because HE’S LYING 🤥 mwahhh enjoy the mess!! 🩷
ᯓ★ The moment Clark’s breeding season starts, you can feel it in the air. Clark’s body runs hotter, his touches linger longer, and he starts growling under his breath whenever another man looks at you—even Bruce.
ᯓ★ He becomes insatiable. We’re talking multiple times a day, desperate humping against your thighs in the morning, needing you on your hands and knees before you’ve even had coffee.
ᯓ★ His favorite position during his “breeding season” ? Bent-over mating press or from behind with your knees tucked under you—anything where he can press his weight into you, knot himself deep, and stay there.
ᯓ★ Clark marks you with his scent constantly—nuzzling your neck, rubbing your inner thighs, licking your chest—and gets irrationally possessive when it starts to fade.
ᯓ★ Bruce pretends he’s above it. He even scoffs when Clark starts his “breeding season” —until he sees you dripping and trembling from being bred nonstop.
ᯓ★ That’s when the switch flips. Suddenly, he’s in front of you while Clark fucks you, holding your jaw and making you look up at him while he fucks your mouth.
ᯓ★ He talks dirty in your ear while Clark’s breeding you, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise:
“He’s going to fuck a baby into you. Do you want that? One from both of us?”
ᯓ★ He won’t let Clark have you all to himself. Bruce insists on taking your mouth or ass while Clark has your pussy. Double stuffing is standard during breeding season.
ᯓ★ Bruce never loses composure, but the way he clenches his jaw and grunts when he spills inside you? That’s his version of falling apart.
ᯓ★ They don’t fight over you—they share you. Clark fucks to breed; Bruce fucks to claim.
ᯓ★ They put you in heat-like states just from overstimulation: pinned between both of them, cock-drunk, messy, and mumbling about wanting their babies while one holds your legs open and the other fills you to the brim.
ᯓ★ They make you cum over and over just to ensure your body is “ready to receive”—Bruce with slow, cruel fingers on your clit, Clark rutting in and out like an animal until your thighs shake.
ᯓ★ The aftercare is almost worse: Clark’s kissing your belly, talking about “how many he thinks took,” while Bruce presses a hand over your full cunt to keep everything inside.
“Don’t waste a drop. You’re ours.”
Bill Skarsgård - Barbarian (2022) Dir. Zach Cregger
BILL SKARSGÅRD Hemlock Grove 1.01 "Jellyfish in the Sky"
“Someday there’ll be a celebration throughout Oz that’s all to do with me.” 💔
uhh so incase you guys couldnt tell im inlove with smoker!josh, so enjoy this little small fic !!
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⋆˚࿔ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ... ╰┈➤ 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 ₊˚✧
♫ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: nicotine stains by second thoughts (3:45)
✰ pairing: smoker!josh washington x fem!reader
✰ cw: smoking kissing, smoke shotgunning, kinda horny but doesnt lead to smut (unless you guys want me to write that.....)
✰ word count: 0.3+
✰ summary: josh smokes regularly then realises that his girlfriend hasn't even remotely touched one, he teaches her how to do it.
✰ a/n: i tried so hard to method act with my joint but i lost my lighter SOOOOOO!!!
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༺colour chart༻ reader ❀ josh !!
You were in your boyfriend's room, sitting on his bed on your phone. Texting Emily, Jess and Ashley to tide yourself over from the boredom you found yourself in as you waited for Josh to come back to his room after helping his parents with something. He eventually came back into his room, you looked up at him - he had a cigarette in his lips, a hand covering it as he lit it with his lighter that he carried everywhere. You always found it enamouring when he smoked, except you yourself never touched one which was kind of ironic. Josh looked over at you, noticing how you looked at the cigarette in his mouth. He took a drag, taking the cigarette in-between his fingers - blowing out a stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth. Walking over to you,
"What, baby?" "Nothing-- it's nothing.." "You never smoked one of these before?" "No.." "Prude." He let out a snort, "Am not-- I just.. don't find the point of it." "Do you want to try it?" "Oh-- no, Josh I-- I shouldn't." "One hit shouldn't hurt, angel.." "I.. I don't know how-" He'd grab ahold of your chin, tilting it up to look at him. "I'll help you baby, yeah?" "..Okay-- fine." "Just open that pretty mouth for me, okay?"
You sighed, questioning if he actually wanted to help you or if he had other intentions - you opened your mouth as he placed the cigarette in your mouth. "Breathe in." You breathed in slowly, coughing almost immediately - pushing his hand away. He laughed at that. "Damn-- you really weren't kidding.." "Shut up--" After you recovered from coughing, he grabbed the side of his face. "I wanna try something--" "What?" "Just lemme show you.." He placed the cigarette to his lips, taking a small drag before moving closer to you - inches from your open lips. Blowing the smoke into your mouth, you watched him with wide eyes. As the smoke disappeared above the two of you, you leaned foward - placing a kiss to his lips. He reciprocated almost immediately, grabbing your hips pulling you into his lap. Kissing you with more passion - more depth. Maybe you'll try smoking again if it ended up like this.
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its kind of a drabble pooks im SO SORRRYY hope you enjoyed nonetheless...
one of my nsfw dean headcanons is that he would never take his ring off while fingering your pussy, so the cold touch of the silver ring against your clit would give even more pleasure
@artyandink @figthoughts @angelblqde @swe3twitch @briiverse @whisperingdaze @soldiersgirl
HURT MY FEELINGS
─── hockey player! stanford! dean winchester
warning! sexc time, p in v, unprotected sex (don't be silly wrap your willy), cheating
word count! 3.6k
the house is alive, practically throbbing with the bass of the music blasting from every corner. it’s the first big party of the semester, and everyone seems determined to start the school year with a bang. red solo cups are everywhere, laughter and shouts mixing with the pounding rhythm. the place is packed—too packed—and the air feels heavy, a mix of alcohol, sweat, and cheap cologne.
dean leans against the arm of the worn couch, matt, one of his hockey teammate beside him, laughing about some dumb summer story. his arm is draped casually around lana’s shoulders. she’s perched close to him, her hand tracing slow patterns on his chest, her giggle loud enough to rise above the noise. they’re surrounded by a circle of teammates and their girlfriends, the conversation flitting between summer internships, upcoming games, and the professors everyone’s already dreading.
dean’s in the middle of some half-hearted response about his internship when you walk in.
his voice stalls. he doesn’t mean for it to, but he can’t help it. his eyes zero in on you instantly, cutting through the haze of bodies and noise. you’re with kennedy, laughing about something as you make your way to the drink table, and damn if you don’t look like you just walked out of one of those stupid teen movies lana keeps making him watch.
you’ve always been able to turn heads. but tonight, it’s different. it’s like you’re doing it just to spite him.
lana shifts beside him, tugging his attention back. her lips brush against his ear, something flirty and suggestive spilling out, but he doesn’t really register it. she must notice where his gaze lingers because her touches grow bolder—her nails scraping his jaw, her lips trailing over his neck. dean forces a grin and leans into her just enough to play along, but his attention keeps drifting back to you.
you don’t look his way. not once. not even when kennedy’s eyes sweep the room, sharp and observant as always, like she’s daring anyone to come over and ruin your night. it’s almost impressive, really, how you’re managing to avoid him—or maybe you’re just lucky. either way, the distance gnaws at him. are you ignoring him, or do you genuinely not care that he’s here? he’s not sure which answer stings more or better yet why it stings.
hours blur by, the party growing messier as the night deepens. lana disappears at some point, off with her friends—or maybe to make herself the center of attention somewhere else. dean doesn’t care enough to track her down.
he spots you again at the drink table, alone this time. the crowd around you has thinned out, and there’s no kennedy to run interference. you’re focused on mixing something into your cup, your movements unbothered, graceful even.
before he can talk himself out of it, dean pushes off the couch and makes his way over. he doesn’t bother with subtlety; he walks up like it’s the most natural thing in the world, a cocky grin already tugging at his lips.
”real cute that you think being my leftovers is something to flaunt,“ he says, leaning against the edge of the table. his voice is low, teasing, laced with just enough snark to draw a reaction.
you glance up, caught off guard by dean’s approach. the music pulsates in the background, blending with the din of voices and laughter around you. your expression tightens momentarily, a mix of surprise and irritation flickering across your features.
"flaunting? please," you retort, voice laced with a sharp edge. "i'm just here to enjoy the party, dean. like everyone else."
his grin widens, though there's a flicker of something in his eyes—something unreadable, buried beneath layers of cocky indifference. "enjoying yourself, huh? seems like it."
you resist the urge to roll your eyes. "believe it or not, i don't spend every waking moment thinking about you, dean. shocking, i know."
he hums, tilting his head like he's considering your words. "yeah? 'cause you walked in here like you had something to prove. all dressed up, laughing a little too loud, looking right past me like i don’t exist." his eyes flick over you, slow and deliberate. "almost like you wanted me to notice."
your grip tightens around your cup. "don’t flatter yourself."
dean smirks, leaning in just enough for his words to brush against your skin. "too late."
you scoff, shaking your head. "you really think everything is about you, don’t you?"
"well, in your case? it used to be," he throws back, smug and infuriating.
anger coils in your chest, hot and sharp. "yeah, until you screwed my best friend."
his smirk twitches, but he recovers fast, shrugging like it’s nothing. "what can i say? she was available. you weren’t."
your breath hitches, a sharp inhale cutting through the noise of the party. "you’re actually disgusting, you know that?"
dean’s grin doesn’t waver. if anything, it grows. "and yet, here you are. talking to me instead of walking away."
you linger, just for a second. long enough for dean to think you might actually say something else, might keep standing there and feeding into this back-and-forth, letting him push and pull at you like he always has. but instead, you just huff a laugh—sharp, unimpressed—and turn on your heel, walking away without another word.
that shouldn't bother him. it really shouldn't.
but it does.
dean watches you disappear into the crowd, his jaw tightening as irritation flares in his chest. he doesn't like being dismissed, least of all by you. so before he even thinks better of it, he moves, weaving through the throng of bodies, catching glimpses of you as you head toward the hallway.
"seriously?" he calls, dodging a couple making out against the wall. "you're just gonna walk away now?"
you don't stop, but you throw a look over your shoulder. "figured that’s what you wanted, dean. you got what you came for—riling me up. congratulations."
"see, i think you’re giving yourself too much credit," he retorts, tone laced with mock amusement. "not everything is about you, sweetheart."
you scoff but keep walking, shoving past some guy who’s too drunk to even notice. the hallway is slightly less chaotic, though the occasional group stumbles by, laughing too loudly, sloshing their drinks as they go. the noise is still there, muffled by the walls, but it feels different—more closed in, more personal.
dean catches up, grabbing your wrist just as another couple stumbles past, too wasted to care about the argument unfolding. you yank your arm back, glaring up at him.
"don’t touch me," you snap.
his jaw ticks. "then stop running away every time i try to talk to you."
you fold your arms, standing your ground. "oh, my bad, did you think i owed you a conversation? after what you did?"
dean rolls his eyes, stepping closer, challenging. "god, you love this, don’t you? pretending like you're above it all. like you don’t still think about me."
you let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "you're delusional."
another pair of drunk partygoers stumble past, eyeing the two of you with vague curiosity. dean barely spares them a glance before he makes a split-second decision.
before you can react, his hand wraps around your wrist again—not harsh, just firm—and suddenly, he’s tugging you through a half-open door.
"dean—"
the door clicks shut behind you, muffling the chaos of the party. the space is small, just a bathroom—dimly lit, slightly messy, the counter cluttered with empty red solo cups. the distant bass of the music still hums through the walls, but in here, it’s just the two of you.
"you have got to be kidding me," you seethe, crossing your arms. "dragging me in here like you have anything worth saying?"
dean lets out a sharp laugh, running a hand through his hair before looking at you like you're the one being unreasonable. "oh, come on. since when do you run away from a fight?"
you scoff. "since when do you think you deserve one?"
his smirk falters for half a second before it’s back, cocky and infuriating. "you act like i did something that wasn’t inevitable."
your jaw tightens. "are you actually trying to justify screwing my best friend?"
dean exhales, shaking his head. "i’m saying you act like i’m the only one who screwed up."
you blink, caught between disbelief and fury. "excuse me?"
"you think i didn’t notice?" he challenges, stepping closer. "the way you started pulling away? acting like i was just another thing on your to-do list instead of your boyfriend?"
your breath hitches, but anger surges past the shock. "that’s rich, coming from you. if you were so damn miserable, you could’ve broken up with me instead of crawling into bed with lana!"
"yeah? and you could’ve given a damn before it got to that point!" his voice rises slightly, his frustration cracking through the surface.
you shake your head, laughing bitterly. "so this is my fault now? unreal."
dean exhales sharply, gripping the edge of the counter, his knuckles white. "i didn’t say that."
"you didn’t have to," you bite back. "and you know what? i would’ve rather you just said you didn’t love me anymore. that, at least, i could’ve respected."
dean flinches, something unreadable flickering across his face before he masks it with another infuriating smirk. "yeah? that what you need to hear? that i didn’t love you?"
you swallow hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. "did you?"
he doesn’t answer right away. his lips press into a thin line, his shoulders tense.
the silence is unbearable. you should just leave. shove past him, throw the door open, and let this be the last time you ever let him get under your skin.
but then, dean exhales sharply and shakes his head, muttering, "fuck," under his breath like he hates himself for what he’s about to do.
the next second, he’s on you.
his hands grip your face, his lips crash against yours, and for a moment—just a fleeting, reckless moment—you kiss him back. because anger and heartbreak and longing blur together, and you don’t know how to stop yourself.
your hands fist in his shirt, dragging him closer. he groans against your lips, deepening the kiss, like he’s been starving for this, for you.
and maybe, just maybe, you have too.
the kiss is hot and desperate, months of pent-up anger and desire pouring out. the back of your thighs hit the countertop as dean presses against you, one hand tangling in your hair while the other grips your hip. you bite his lower lip, eliciting a low growl from him.
"god, i hate you," you breathe against his mouth.
"yeah?" dean murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. "show me how much."
your nails dig into his shoulders as he sucks at your pulse point. you arch into him, a soft moan escaping despite your best efforts. dean's hand slides under your shirt, his touch scorching against your skin.
"this doesn't change anything," you gasp, even as you tilt your head to give him better access.
he chuckles darkly against your collarbone. "keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."
you grab his face, pulling him back up for another heated kiss. it's messy and rough, all clashing teeth and battling tongues. your fingers hook into his belt loops, drawing him impossibly closer.
dean's hands roam your body hungrily, like he's trying to memorize every curve. your hands return to his hair, tugging at it as you revel in the groan it draws from him. the bass from the party thrums through the walls, matching the pounding of your heart.
"fuck, i've missed you," dean mutters, his voice husky with want.
you hate how much those words affect you, how they make heat pool low in your belly. instead of responding, you capture his lips again, pouring all your frustration and longing into the kiss.
his hands slide down to your thighs, gripping them tightly before hoisting you up and placing you on the counter. you wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, gasping as he grinds against you.
"dean," you moan, your head falling back against the wall.
he takes the opportunity to attack your neck again, leaving a trail of marks that you know you'll regret in the morning. but right now, you can't bring yourself to care.
your fingers fumble with his belt, desperate to feel more of him. dean's own hands push your skirt up, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.
the rational part of your brain is screaming at you to stop, reminding you of all the reasons why this is a terrible idea. but the way dean is looking at you, with that mix of hunger and something deeper that you're afraid to name, makes it impossible to listen to reason.
"last chance to back out," he murmurs against your lips, his eyes searching yours.
you know you should. you know this will only complicate things, that you'll hate yourself in the morning. but the feeling of dean pressed against you, the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him, is intoxicating.
so instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer, capturing his lips in another searing kiss. "shut up and fuck me," you breathe against his lips.
dean groans, his hands steady as he slides your panties down your legs, stuffing the fabric in the pocket of his jeans. heat floods your cheeks, but it's quickly eclipsed by the growing need uncoiling in your belly.
his fingers find your slick folds, rubbing circles over your swollen clit. you moan, arching into his touch, and he groans low in his throat, the vibration sending shivers down your spine.
"god, i missed this," he mutters before dipping his head to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. his fingertips graze over your entrance, and you whimper, biting your lip to stifle a moan.
"dean," you mewl as he pushes a finger inside of you slowly, curling it in a way that makes you see stars.
"missed this too," he growls, picking up the pace of his ministrations. he leans in to suck at the sensitive spot on your neck where your neck meets your shoulder, knowing very well it's one of your weak spots. you gasp and dig your nails into his shoulders as sensation after sensation washes over you.
he adds a second finger, thrusting them both in and out in time with the pounding bass from the party outside. his other hand gropes at your breast through the thing fabric of your shirt and lace bra, tweaking and pinching your hardened nipple until you're writhing against him in pleasure.
"oh god," you whimper as an orgasm threatens to crash over you like a tidal wave. "de-dean!"
he must sense how close you are because he removes his fingers and stands upright again, licking his digits clean before shoving his boxers down just far enough to free himself. "wrap your legs around me," he rumbles against your ear before nipping at it with his teeth.
you do as he says, locking him between your thighs as tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of it all. dean lines himself up with your entrance, the tip of his cock teasing your folds. you whimper, digging your heels into his lower back to urge him on.
he captures your lips in a searing kiss as he pushes inside you, swallowing your moan. the stretch is familiar yet foreign, your body remembering him even after all this time. he stills for a moment, allowing you to adjust, his forehead pressed against yours.
"fuck," he groans, his breath hot against your skin. "you feel so good."
you roll your hips experimentally, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him. "move," you command, your nails digging into his shoulders.
he doesn't need to be told twice. dean starts to thrust, setting a punishing pace that has you seeing stars. your head falls back against the mirror with a dull thud, exposing your neck to his hungry mouth. he latches onto your pulse point, sucking and biting, adding to the marks you'll have to hide later.
the bathroom counter creaks beneath you with each thrust, the sound mixing with your muffled moans and dean's grunts. you're vaguely aware that anyone could walk in at any moment, but the thought only adds to the thrill.
you cling to him, your nails raking down his back as he sets a punishing pace. the anger, the hurt, the longing - it all pours out in the way your bodies crash together. it's rough and desperate, nothing like the gentle lovemaking you used to share. but right now, it's exactly what you need.
"god, i've missed you," dean mumbles against your skin, his voice rough with emotion. "missed this. missed us."
his words send a shiver down your spine, and you tug at his hair, pulling him in for a bruising kiss. your tongues battle for dominance as he continues to pound into you relentlessly, hitting that spot deep inside that makes you see god himself.
you can feel yourself getting close, that familiar tension building in your core. dean seems to sense it too, because one of his hands snakes between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit.
"come f’me, sweetheart," he commands, his voice rough with exertion. "come all over this dick f’daddy."
his words, combined with the dual stimulation, send you over the edge. you cry out as your orgasm washes over you, your walls clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash through your body.
dean follows soon after, his hips stuttering as he empties himself inside you with a guttural groan. for a moment, you both stay there, panting and trembling in the aftermath.
reality starts to creep back in as the high fades. dean pulls out slowly, both of you wincing at the loss of contact. he tucks himself back into his jeans while you slide off the counter on shaky legs, smoothing down your skirt.
the silence between you is heavy, filled with unspoken words and lingering tension. you avoid his gaze as you try to fix your hair in the smudged mirror, your mind racing with the implications of what just happened.
dean exhales, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s trying to ground himself. you don’t look at him, keeping your focus on your reflection as you smooth your hair into place, willing your heart to stop racing. the silence between you stretches—too thick, too loud—until he finally speaks.
“so, what now?” his voice is quieter than before, rough around the edges.
you freeze for half a second, gripping the sink. then you let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “there is no ‘what now,’ dean. this—” you gesture vaguely between the two of you. “this was a mistake.”
he stiffens, his jaw ticking. “yeah? sure didn’t seem like a mistake a few minutes ago.”
you whip around; eyes sharp. “oh, don’t do that. i told you this wouldn’t change anything.”
dean shrugs, his smirk forced, like it’s the only armor he has left. “whatever you say, sweetheart.”
you glare at him, stomach twisting at the stupid nickname. but before you can respond, a loud knock rattles the bathroom door.
“occupied,” dean calls, irritation bleeding into his tone.
the door handle jiggles aggressively. “yeah, i don’t care,” comes kennedy’s sharp voice. “i know she’s in there, dean. open the damn door.”
your stomach drops.
dean sighs, running a hand through his hair before unlocking the door. the second it swings open, kennedy steps in, eyes scanning the situation in a millisecond. her gaze flicks between you—flushed, disheveled—and dean, still annoyingly smug. her lips curl in disgust.
“you have got to be kidding me.”
“kennedy—” you start, but she holds up a hand, eyes dark with disappointment.
“save it.” she turns to dean with a glare sharp enough to cut. “you’re a goddamn disease, you know that?”
dean smirks, unfazed. “good to see you too, ken.”
she rolls her eyes and grabs your wrist, tugging you past him. “come on.”
you don’t fight it. you don’t even spare dean another glance as kennedy pulls you into the hallway, the cooler air hitting your flushed skin like a slap.
and of course, because the universe loves to screw with you, the first person you see is lana.
she’s standing near the end of the hall, laughing at something one of her friends said—until she sees you. her eyes flick over your appearance, and something in her expression shifts.
you don’t stop walking. don’t even acknowledge her.
kennedy keeps a firm grip on your wrist as she leads you through the party, her pace brisk and furious. “we’re leaving,” she mutters. “before i actually murder him.”
you don’t argue.
because as much as you hate to admit it, she’s right. you need to get out of here. away from dean. away from the lingering heat on your skin and the mess you just made.
because no matter how good it felt in the moment, this—whatever it was—was never going to happen again.
breezy's notes: huge shoutout to my pookie bear dolly for letting me share a lil bit of stanford! dean and give him my own twist. hockey! dean is literally like 3 months old, but i finally decided to put him to rest aka post this. there is a bot that goes along with this, but i actually hate him and have to rearrange his insides (s/o justyce for that one) so he can act right before i release him to the masses. this was so much more than i expected to write but look at what happens when i actually lock tf in and do what i have to. RIP hockey! dean you were my first baby and ily
tags ⋆·˚ ༘ *🔭: @floralscented @deansbeer @aileenunfiltered @jasvtsc @honeyryewhiskey @florchids @bluemerakis @tortureddarkstar @figthoughts @ultravi0lence14 @misatxox @foolinthera1n @deansenvy @hoffmansgirl @eepwtf @lawboysammyy @jjmbbg @tinas111 @soldiersgirl @whisperingdaze @abox-of-rocks @starzify
Thinking about how Luke could cum just from eating you out. Like he’d be between your legs, sloppily sucking on your clit while grinding into the mattress, getting so worked up over just tasting you. He’d moan against you, gripping your thighs and looking up at you, wanting to know if he’s doing good, your moans only driving him further. His pants would be soaked with precum, his neglected cock painfully hard from being ignored for hours, but he wouldn’t care. He just wants to make you cum on his mouth one more time. Of course, that’s what he’s been saying for the past three orgasms.
You’ve had five orgasms, and your sixth is quickly approaching, and when he sticks his tongue inside your sopping cunt and finds that spongy spot that has you seeing stars, you moan and pull his hair, making him grind just a little bit too hard into the mattress, the sharp pain on his hair making him stiffen and whimper as he spills into his pants. And despite his sticky, softening cock and your sore overstimulated cunt, he still goes in for more, wanting to pull just one more orgasm out of you.
Elphie. Elphie. Pay attention to me
some doodles while chilling this weekend
what? oh nothing just thinking about how peter parker is a BREEDER. like itsv movies have him wanting and having kids and then in insomniac’s spiderman, he tapped it without a condom and thought he could’ve accidentally become a father. this man fucks.
✧ ⋆｡˚ vampire!cait using you as a bloodbag...
note — this contains smut so minors dni, dead dove do not eat, blood kink, pet names, cait-handling (it's a thing). english is not my first language, any mistake is none intended // my requests are open, check my masterlist.
vampire!cait being the type of vampire that hates the intimate act of feeding from someone, avoiding it a much as she can until she can no longer resist the blood thirst and has no other choice but to surrender to her nature.
vampire!caitlyn who cannot resist you — that basic human who's fresh out of collage and is taking the job nobody wants to do. appearing in her chambers with a small notepad and a recording device to interview her since the passing of her mother cassandra.
she made you her bloodbag in no time. that very same night in which you appeared into her vision and became aware of your existence. her eyes follow you around the room and you're suddenly calling her count kiramman, too intimidated to even began to interview her.
vampire!cait who's family is rumored to be inmortal but no-one dares to say a word about it, not even you when she pressed her cold lips against the skin of your shoulder, her nose inhaling the sweet scent of the living, the sound of your heart beating, the sweat on your skin as you got nervous about the lack of space. her dark blue hair almost glows with the dim glow of the candles and you remember it so vividly it becomes a usual thought.
she's a kiramman, an you think she's used to have the things the way she wants. she has money, power, and a fucking aura that's so compelling you don't dare to ever deny her, tilting your head to the side like an offer to her only.
vampire!cait who always makes the bite so nice to receive. stealing demanding kisses that are as sharp as her long coat. makes the shadows in the room grow larger as the light leaves the space and she's surrounding you, her hands growing curious as they go past your shirt, her thick accent burning against your ear as she's preparing you, taking advantage cause hell- you were a pretty journalist so eager to know more about her, to listen, to do whatever the fuck she wants.
when she bites you, she's sure you're wet. her cool hands almost soothing the high temperatures of your body before sinking her teeth in that vein she can feel pulsating from before, filling her bucal cavity with the warm feeling of your blood, of the vitality sliding again in her cold body as she pushes you flush against her demanding mouth. it's not like the blood flow that passes through the good-sized vein in your inner tight, but it's good, so good every single time.
count!caitlyn who says you burn like the sun, taking off your shirt swiftly as the blood drips down to your chest, staining the fabric of your bra. she wastes no time in sucking on the wound, teeth-deep. her tongue swirls around the holes in your skin, and the pain is welcomed, a reminder you're alive as your fingers sink on the strands of her long hair, pulling them to ground yourself.
the vampire keeps your head to the side, fingers shoved inside your mouth as she eats — "stay still and let me have my fill. can't have you making sounds, squirming around. behave."
you're drooling as her index finger hits the back of your throat, and when it seems she had enough of your shoulder, she licks the drops that went to your chest without wasting blood, pulling down on your bra, happy even to clean up the dried rest that stained your chest.
"that's it, behave. you can take the pain" she cooes with almost an echo to her words. "you take it all so well, you're such a good pet. just let me have a bit more, i'm still hungry."
she's nothing but polite, so she waits for you to agree before actually bite you again, tearing apart the tissue of her upper chest as she holds you still cause shit — she knows you're going to move like a whiny bitch.
the count don't care about you staining her sheets, not even when her own clothes get dirty with your blood on it, making you lightheaded when she's comfortable between your legs, soothing the pain with caresses and kisses that left blood behind.
count!cait who used to pride on her self control until she needs to feed from you over and over again, making up excuses to have you there in her bed week after week. you've become a treat, and she's sure to keep you satisfied, praising on your behavior and even when you're lucky, playing with her too.
"you don't have to go to that stupid office," caitlyn says with that know-it-all smile on her face, once again hating up your work in the newspaper "you should help me. keep me full of you, close to me."
the count gets so needy she just has to have you in the middle of the night, climbing the tower of your room and sliding in while you're sleeping. her cold hands wake you up in the most gentle way to invade your warm bed, melt in your sleepy embrace as your fingers trace invisible patters over the skin of her stomach half asleep. you wake up moments later cause suddenly, you're also craving to be good for your count, giving her what she needs.
so you find a comfortable position to drown your face in between her tights and her dripping cunt, and it's all it takes to have the vampire arching her back, rubbing herself against your lips, vocally open about her pulsating need to release, how good you are following her orders around.
count!caitlyn who ends up fucking you without even feeding from you, who cannot help but crave the blood-tasting-kisses in the middle of the night just because she bite your lip so hard she forgot about the human fragility in you. the count that praises, in a rough voice, how good your fingers felt every time she let you have her way with her.
who wouldn't offer their blood too? after all, it's royalty what you're talking about.
check out my previous work pit!fighter vi.
bucky and you under the shower after the endgame movie and 5 years of separation.
my brain just shuts down everytime he’s on screen😞
credit: stan_wifey1
Frank ♡ Sebastian Stan
Endings, Beginnings ♡ (2019)
- 'I gotta deal with the fact that now I know you.' - 'Well, you don't really know me.' - 'Doesn't matter. I know you enough.'