sticky tires

fic: Of Sunsets and Swings

title: of sunsets and swings

genre: reality/tiniest bit of angst if you squint

word count: 2300

description: a little getaway cements an idea they’ve had for a while now and brings a sense of relief they never expected to feel. (ft. mother lester, some jetlag and a couple of swings)

“I find some irony in being in a kid’s park while we make this very grown-up decision.”

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anonymous asked:

nr 6 and msr please! I love you!

Dear lovely anon, thank you so much! Here we go. Set in season 6.

‘On a sunny Tuesday afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hair’

He’s been planning it for months.

Long months spent running after shadows, as always, trying to escape ex-girlfriends, not so common, and trying to find a way back to each other. He feels like maybe that’s their thing, after all.

The first it happens it’s messy and unplanned. Born out of pure relief; he’s alive, she’s alive and he’s in his time, with her, giving him The Look and she doesn’t believe a word he’s saying. His I love you is thrown away like the punch her alter-ego directed at his cheek; still burning when he woke up. Just like her ‘oh brother’ stings, just deeper, more profoundly.

So after that he plans. He doesn’t tell her when she asks him if he ever wants to get out of the car. He doesn’t want to and maybe that’s why he jokes, doesn’t say what’s really on his mind. I love you, he thinks, and I want to spend the rest of my life doing this with you. Driving on a deserted highway in the middle of nowhere, chasing answers to questions no one else even thinks about. The rhythmic roll of the tires screeches I love you with every inch traveled. The words never land on his tongue, though, and so he doesn’t tell her.

Mulder whispers I love you to her when she’s forced to share her hotel room and her bed with him in Kroner, Kansas. She’s fast asleep, her even breathing never once missing a beat. A perfect rhythm that he watches silently, guiltily if he’s honest because he knows she hates it, feels embarrassed by it. Watching her then he thinks of later, planning to tell her when the case is over. Look at me, Scully, I don’t want to be like Holman. I can’t make the weather for you, but I can tell you that I love you. He doesn’t, though.

Christmas comes and goes without a single I love you uttered. When Diana strolls into their life, her feelings ever present on her face and her tongue, his plans are crumpled up like a piece of paper, forgotten in his favorite pair of pants. He thinks it still, sometimes, when Scully looks at him, raises her eyebrows and questions his loyalty. I love you, he thinks, but can’t tell her because she wouldn’t believe him anyway. She walks away from him, their shared trust trampled under her heels as she leaves him standing there. He pushes his hands in his pockets, empty, like his mind.

He tells everyone but her that he loves her when they go undercover as a married couple. My wife, who I love. My wife, who I adore. She rolls her eyes, thinking he can’t see it or simply not giving a damn. He at least hopes it’s the first. One night, while on the couch in a strange house, playing a role he hates opposite the woman he loves more than anything else in the world, he decides that it’s time. As soon as this is over, he promises. He’ll tell her. He’ll tell her he loves her and she’ll believe him. He falls asleep before he can have any doubts; when does Scully ever believe the same thing he does?

Months pass and his plans get derailed again. Gun-shot wound to the abdomen and he loses his courage touching her hand, warm and steady. His gratitude of being able to touch her, to see her there is greater than his need to tell her. She wouldn’t believe him anyway, he thinks bitterly, as she tells him she’s fine and to please stop babying her. His courage leaves him again a million times over on a Monday that repeats itself again and again, like a bad, broken record. Like that outcome, maybe it’s just not meant to be.  

The day is perfect. He leaves a message on her answering machine; he knows she needs a reason for everything. A simple I want to spend time with you outside of work and government conspiracies is not going to cut it. A birthday present, either way too late or way too early, might put a smile on her face, lure her out. He can’t stop grinning when she shows up, humors him and lets him hold her. Her hair tickles him, her scent entices him as they stand close, molded together for no other reason than wanting to be. It’s the perfect day. The moment she makes contact, when her eyes watch the ball fly in amazement, just watching, marveling, is there. I love you, I love you, I love you. He wants to scream it into her ears, rather than say it, but instead he just grins against her skin, takes everything he can have. He doesn’t say I love you, again.

When it happens, finally, on an average Tuesday afternoon, they’re both tired and sticky. Having spent half the day in a rented car without air conditioning, Scully furiously trying to tame her hair and Mulder giving up on his dress shirt desperately and hotly clinging to his back, they decide to stop at a diner. Order me something cold, Mulder, Scully lets him know before she makes her way into the bathroom. He orders a coke and a diet coke with extra ice and waits for her at the car, unwilling to go back in just yet. He absent-mindedly plays with the straw, occasionally taking a sip, reveling in the sweet, cold taste he knows will make him sweat even worse. Then she starts walking towards him. Mulder lifts his head the moment he hears the cheap bell over the door ring. It’s Scully, all right. She’s opened another button on her blouse, still tasteful, still professional, and her face looks flushed, devoid of make-up. Her hair, previously having stuck to her neck, gently flaps against her cheeks now. Scully’s mouth opens as she walks towards him and he thinks she is going to say something. But he wants to say it first. He could tell her about the blazing color of her hair right now, how the late sunlight captures her color perfectly, transforming it into a gentle fire, burning him. Waxing poetry, though, that’s not what she needs. Or wants. 

“Scully, you look…” The words shoot out of his mouth and when she glances at him, her hand reaching for her diet coke, he knows this is the moment. He couldn’t have planned this. This is not how he wants to tell her, and yet this time, he does.

“I love you, Scully. I love you.” He repeats it as if saying it more than once will make her believe it this time. She, however, cups her drink, captures the straw and takes a sip. His heart beats, waits, beats again. Say it again, he thinks, tell her you mean it, his mind demands.

“I know, Mulder,” Scully tells him and her voice is as gentle as the breeze, as soft as the sunlight caught in her hair, “I love you, too. I was just waiting for you to say it again.”

The First Cut

Summary: You accidentally cut yourself in the kitchen of Benny’s diner. It’s a better experience than you expect.

Warning: Smut, very minor injury, mild blood play, dry humping

Word Count: 1400ish

A/N: I do love me some Benny. Hope y’all enjoy it too!


“So, tell me. How was your first day?”

The new waitress smiles widely and nods, vigorously wiping down the counter. “It was great!”

You grin and gesture toward the stool. “You can sit down, Sarah. Everyone’s gone and the door is locked. Take a break.”

Sarah glances over your shoulder and into the kitchen, nervous eyes landing on Benny. “Will our boss mind?”

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Stay

For @thing-you-do-with-that-thing‘s June challenge “Days off”. Also for @spnkinkbingo.

Prompt: Lumineers - Big Parade.

Square filled: Public sex

John x reader

Words: 3123

Warnings: smut, sorta angsty in the beginning, unprotected sex (wrap up irl), casual sex, age difference.

Tags: @mamapeterson @supernaturally-potter @crzcorgi @spnfanficpond @aprofoundbondwithdean @manawhaat @kittenofdoomage @supernatural-jeffrey-dean-morgan @deansdirtywhore @deandoesthingstome @spnashley @jensennjared @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog @fandommaniacx @killerofthesouth @katnharper

Originally posted by negandarylsatisfaction

You forced your eyes shut. “No need to study the stained ceiling of this crappy motel room any further…” You thought to yourself. The already ominous stains, evidence of the lack of renovation of the 70s room, looked even larger and creepier in the darkness of the night. You’d had many a sleepless night lately, and stared up at many ceilings like this one. You knew perfectly well why sleep was evading you. You were jittery and your mind was preoccupied with worry. And you had a damn good reason: you were closing in on it. Whenever you actually managed to get some shut-eye it was right there, in the dark, staring at you. Reaching out, blade in hand, you always just missed it. It slipped through your fingers and disappeared into the darkness. And then, as with the flick of a switch, tense and nowhere near rested, you woke and there was no chance in hell you’d get back to sleep.

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RPDR Highschool!AU CH5

Main Pairing: Pearl x Violet

Side Pairings: Katya x Trixie, Sharon x Alaska, Max x Biblegirl666, Phi Phi x Sharon, Roy x Adore

Rated M for Mean Girl References

Chapter 1 (X) & Chapter 2 (X) & Chapter 3 (X) & Chapter 4 (X) & Chapter 5 (X)

Chapter 6 (X) & Chapter 7 (X) & Chapter 8 (X)

——————–

It rained the whole weekend, but those were the brightest days in their relationship. Violet’s father wasn’t coming home until Monday, so they spent every minute they could in each other’s arms.

Everything that she had loved about Violet was clearer than before. It was as though she had been looking at the queen from behind a veil.

They spent the minutes exploring each other’s skin; sucking; licking; worshiping. Or at least Violet loved to be worshiped. She preferred to have sex in drag, all dolled up, and Pearl didn’t care either way. Besides, she loved the confidence and dominance that it brought out in Violet when she laced up her corset.

“So if you’re gender fluid,” Pearl kissed her neck, “what do you prefer to be called?”

“Mistress,” Violet winked and rolled them over to pin her down.

“Be serious.”

“I am serious. I don’t care, so long as you call for me. Gender…is complicated. I don’t always feel like one thing or the other. Some days I want to wear makeup and be delicate, and the next day I want to chill in boxers. And I know clothes aren’t, like, inherently gendered, but it’s just how I represent the way that I feel. See? Complicated.”

“That’s okay. I like complicated.”

Violet quirked a painted brow: “Oh, so you like ‘complicated’ now?”

“No, but I like you,” Pearl confessed. Violet leaned down and rewarded her with a deep kiss. They were so close, heart’s racing against one another, and Pearl trusted her. She hadn’t even flinched when Violet asked if she minded being tied up. Anything for her.

“Oh, no,” Violet huffed as Pearl offered up her hands, “It’s Sunday…I have, uh, a customer.”

“Reschedule?”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

Violet bit her lip, playing with the wire in her hands, before suggesting, “Maybe we could do this. But you have to be quite because if the company found out  then I would get in trouble. Do you understand, baby?”

“Please,” Pearl begged, “I’ll be good.”

Violet leaned in to kiss her as she tied up her wrists. Pearl had experimented with bondage before but never with someone that she was this emotionally attached to. Violet pushed Pearl back, testing to see that the wire was tight, and climbed into her lap.

Violet pressed a finger to her own lips, took Pearl’s phone from her bed, and dialed. Her eyes narrowed as someone picked up, and Pearl’s cock eagerly twitched at the sight.

“Have you been a good boy for me?” -Violet was looking straight at Pearl as she ran a finger down her arched chest- “And you’re wearing those pink panties? The ones with the lace that are tight around your cock?” -She trailed her finger down to Pearl’s panties and tugged at them.

Pearl hardened as Violet toyed with her. She had one manicured hand on the phone and the other running up and down Pearl’s chest. Pearl shivered. 

Violet was listening to whatever the man was saying, but her eyes were on Pearl.

“Mhm, can you feel the lacy fabric against your skin? That’s right. It’s pressed up so nice and tight on you cock. You love it how it restricts you. Don’t you?,” Violet whispered as her fingertips brushed over Pearl’s bulge. She strained against the bounds and swallowed back a moan.

“No. Don’t touch yourself yet. Good boys wait for permission.”

Violet lowered herself so that she was between Pearl’s legs. Her voice was soft and yet commanding; gentle and yet forceful; melodic and yet harsh. Pearl was erect from the sound.

Violet pressed a kiss to the top of Pearl’s navel- right above the pantie’s bow. So close. Pearl laid still, waiting to be touched, and she loved how it made her feel like an object. Like she was Violet’s play-thing.

“Now?” Violet’s breathe was warm against Pearl’s cock, “Well, I don’t know. Hmm….No. Not yet. Instead, I want you to grab the edge and gently -gently!- pull up the panties, so that your cock is pressed to your belly. Then count to three- slowly.”

As she spoke, Violet mimed her own orders. Pearl bit her lip to stop herself from keening at the slow teasing. The material was snug against her, and the creases folded itself around her. Her cock pressed up against her stomach as Violet smirked.

One….Two…Three…

Violet let go.

"Good boy,” Violet praised. She rewarded Pearl with a closed mouth kiss against her thigh. Her lips brushed against Pearl’s erection as she pulled away.

“Now, do it again. But this time…a little bit harder. I want to hear you moaning my name.”

Violet yanked at the panties. Pearl gasped, too loud, and squeezed her legs together at the sudden pleasure. Violet pinched her inner thigh to reprimand her and mouthed ’shush.’

“Do you have lube with you there?” Violet asked as she leaned over to the table to grab the bottle; when Violet strained forward, her bottom pressed up against Pearl’s erection.

The sudden pressure made her squeeze her thighs together again and hold her breathe. Pearl wished that she had a gag in her mouth- anything to stop herself from whimpering or begging. But Violet trusted herself, and she couldn’t make any noises.

“Slick up your fingertips. Is it all wet?” Violet whispered against Pearl’s thighs,  "So cold and wet and you want it inside of you. Oh, I bet you are. I want you to imagine that I’m there with you and that I’m the one who’s touching you.“

Violet pushed back the lace with one finger and rubbed her other finger against Pearl’s hole. Cold. Pearl tensed, and Violet kissed her there.

"I want you to swirl your finger around the rim. Just one. Gentle. Mhmmm, you’re feeling it inside of you. Desperate to be full. Oh, you really want it…don’t you?  You want to fuck yourself against it- quick and hard. But I’m going to make you wait for it, and you’re going to be quite for me.”

Pearl whimpered as Violet’s finger moved inside her. Slow. Too slow. Her hips bucked in need and Violet, unable to pinch anymore, bit the soft skin of her thigh in punishment.

“Slow,” Violet reminded her, “Don’t you want to be good for me?”

She was coming undone from this. Pearl’s cheeks were red, flushed, as she bit her lip to keep herself from crying out in need. A droplet of sweat had the time to slither from the top of her chest all the way to her nipple before Violet had moved her finger inside of her.

God, there were tears in the corner of her eyes as she tried to still her breathing once more. Violet bit her hard when she gasped.

How could she keep quiet when everything Violet did to her was too much? Even the sight of Violet’s red lips, twisted in a smirk, made her pulsate with need.

Her hands were shaking as they strained against the bounds.

Violet entered a second finger, pressed a kiss to the tip of her, and increased the tempo. Pearl had to lie there -silent- and let herself be fucked. It was blissful torture.

Violet must have noticed that Pearl was coming to the edge, breathing barely restrained, and had pity on her because she flipped Pearl onto her stomach. Pearl buried her head into the sheets to muffle the sound.

Shhhh, that’s it, baby. You’re doing such a good job, and you must look so pretty. Wet and shaking and needy. So good for me. So good,” Violet praised, “You still have your pretty panties on- don’t you? They must feel tight on your cock right now, so tight and all wet and all stretched out. But you’ll keep them on until they’re covered in cum.”

Pearl bit the sheet as Violet inserted the third finger. She loved the feeling of being used. Helpless. Her bound hands were balled in fists as Violet found her prostate and rubbed her fingers against it. Her toes curled.

“Good boy.”

She came just as the man on the other end did because Violet began praising both of them. Pearl lay there, cum dripping down her leg, and waited for Violet to finish her call.

Click- Violet threw Pearl’s phone to the floor.

Zip- Violet groaned in relief as she undid her latex skirt to relieve herself.

Fuck- Violet cursed as she touched herself and came on Pearl. Pearl wondered if seeing her this wrecked had brought something out in Violet.

They cuddled after that. Sticky. Tired. Satisfied. 

“Make me pancakes tomorrow,” Pearl finally said after a long stretch of silence.

“Bitch. You getting off on giving me orders?”

“Well, you certainly do.”

“It’s my job,” Violet mumbled and she didn’t seem as happy as before. Pearl kissed her softly on the cheek.

“Do you not like it?”

“I fucking love it. That’s the problem,” Violet laughed, “Because I can’t keep doing this forever. This can’t go on and on, and I can’t just stay here, on this fucking shelf, just waiting and waiting and waiting. Something has to give.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“Why do you sound so certain?”

“Because you’re Violet fucking Chachki. She who will never give up. Plastic. Maybe bruised and broken but never busted. The fucking queen of this school. And you know…”

“You know…?”

Mine,” Pearl whispered.

Violet kissed her but didn’t say it back. They feel asleep with unspoken words between the spaces of their bodies. 

Pearl dreamed of lipstick and scars, which covered her skin. She dreamed of Violet ,who was made of not plastic but glass, falling from the fireplace. She dreamed of clocks striking twelve; shattering; darkness.

The morning light would sweep up these fears, but their shadows would linger. The uncertainty would stain. 

Pearl had said she liked complicated. Hadn’t she?

——————–

‘He didn’t notice.’

How was it possible that three words could hold so much sadness? He read them over and over. 

There was nothing Matt could type, so he called Violet and listened to him cry. He repeated ‘I’m here,’ but Violet wasn’t in the mood to be comforted. Matt turned him on speaker and told him it was okay to rant.

“….and I don’t know how long I can do this. One minute I’m okay and the next I realize that this can’t go on forever. Nothing can keep going on and on and on and on.”

“You keep saying that but what- what are you waiting for?”

Violet only started to cry again, and Matt wished that he had just kept his mouth shut. He kept the speaker on until Violet’s breathing had evened out, and they were listening to the sound of each other’s breathes.

Violet was asleep.

“I’m kind of in love with you. Did you know that?,” he whispered only because he knew that Violet couldn’t hear. 

Not that it mattered- awake or asleep the answer was always silence.

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Just Imagine...

So I was thinking about what it would have been like for Magnus to learn ASL from Hearth and probably Blitz too.  So here’s a list of headcannons/little drabbles about Magnus learning ASL.


When he was first learning, it was kind of funny.  Hearth pointed at the window of a little shop that sold small appliances.  The front display showed a toaster and a coffee maker.  He put his right fist on top of his left and moved the right in a circular motion.  Magnus was sure he’d seen somewhere that that meant “make out”. 

“Uh, thanks, man.  But you’re not my type.”  

Hearth shook his head adamantly and brought his right hand up to tap his index and middle fingers with his thumb: no.  Magnus didn’t think he could be embarrassed and feel so bad at the same time, yet somehow he manged it.  

Hearth tapped the glass by the coffee machine and made the same sign again.  This time, Magnus got it.  

“Oh, you mean coffee.”  

Magnus remembers that as the first time he almost saw Hearth smile.  Almost, but not quite.  Instead, he brought his right fist up and bent it at the wrist in the sign for “yes”.  

About five months after he’d met them, Magnus was getting pretty good at interpreting what Hearth was trying to say.  But he was getting annoyed that, most of the time, he couldn’t have a private conversation with Hearth.  Blitz was always there, helping in a way that was getting annoying to Magnus.  

He’d ended up playing the guess-until-I-get-something-right game with Hearth one day near the Leaf statue.  Hearth was trying to tell him something about the history of the statue.  Magnus couldn’t keep up with him.  Until Blitz showed up.  

“No, kid, he means-”

“I can figure it out,” Magnus burst, his frustration getting the better of him.  “I don’t need your help anymore.  I can do this.”  

Hearth nodded, as if this was the best thing Magnus had said all day.  Then, he made a fist with one hand, and ran it along his left index finger three times: practice.  A word he’d become all too familiar with.  He’d get this.  He had to.

One year, and he was getting better at signing things on his own without Hearth or Blitz’s help.  He could hold a pretty basic conversation with Hearth and say the things he didn’t know how to sign.  

Still questioning about your mom?

Magnus sighed.  “Yes,” he signed and said at the same time.  “I don’t know what to do.  I have to keep hiding I guess.”

Will get better.

“I hope so.”

One year and a half and he was getting it.  He really was.  Sometimes he mixed things up, but he got it most of the time.  He’d become pretty good at interpreting too.  He told Blitz and Hearth about everything, just to give himself practice with signing.  

Taken to station again?

“Yeah,” Magnus sat down on the hard ground, tired and sticky with summer sweat.  “I told them I was Jacob Liverstein, this kid I knew in the sixth grade.  They let me go.”

“You gotta be more serious about this, kid,” Blitz said.  “We’re supposed to be…uh, keeping you away from danger.  You know, ol’ ma and pap, as they call us on the streets.”

Magnus turned away from them.  “But your not.”  He realized his mistake too late.  Hearth wasn’t able to see his lips.  Blitz would’ve translated what he said, and Magnus didn’t want him to.  He hadn’t meant it.  Not really.  These were the only guys he really bonded with in his time as a homeless 15 year old kid in Boston.  

He turned around as quickly as he could before Blitz could translate and stopped his hand was he was in the middle of signing “but”.  Blitz looked up at him.  

I mean, thanks, but I can handle myself.” Magnus gave them both a smile.  At the frown on Blitz’s face, he hastily added, “But being saved every once in a while isn’t all that bad.”

This is schmoopy fluff. Sweet, loving D/s overtones if you want to read it that way.

~1100, PG (?), beta’d by my delightful sister dinocert. Now on AO3!

When he gets back to the loft, Blaine wants nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep for at least sixteen hours. He sets down the heavy bags of groceries with a loud groan and starts massaging his palms.

His hard day had started the night before, if he really thought about it. Kurt had been working a late shift at the diner, so Blaine had to fall asleep without the warmth of his fiancé’s body next to him in their bed, with just the sound of his own solitary breathing to distract him from the noise of the city outside.

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One Night Was All Part 4

A/N: I’m on a bit of a roll today it seems, but I want to try and get these out before tonight, I’ll be doing a writing challenge for the next week and might not have much in the way of my series’ coming out :)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader

Tagging: @brooklyn-writes-flangst
@aprofoundbondwithdean
@raeganr99
@spnfanficpond

Warnings: Crying, mild self hating, swearing

Word Count: 1237

Summary: A new year’s eve party with your best friend and the cute neighbour you’ve been eyeing off ever since he moved in across the street…what could possibly go wrong?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3


Three weeks later and I still hadn’t spoken to him; choosing to take the low road and act like a coward instead; Charlie had even given up forcing us to talk, shaking her head at me in exasperation every time I caught a glimpse of him out of the kitchen window. I’d watch him until he disappeared, either behind the front door or into the garage, and every time I would sigh, move away from the window and ignore Charlie’s pointed glare. We’d had the same argument so many times already my answers became second nature, I didn’t have to think about them. I knew that it shouldn’t have affected me this much, strangers sleep together all the time, hell Charlie’s done it countless times. But I just couldn’t shake the feeling that trying to get to know him after would be awkward and uncomfortable for us both, how do you go from your bodies sliding together under the sheets in sweaty passion to asking what his childhood pet’s name was? No, it was probably better for the both of us if we didn’t talk.

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5

So among a very shitty occurrence that I will let master-yota speak about on his own time, I got to witness with my own eyes one of the most pristine cars I’ve ever had the chance of being within 10 feet of. This is a legitimate K’s S13 straight from the roads of Japan. Complete with a CA18DET, perfect condition interior, WORK Ewings(wrapped in super sticky tires), this car was just amazing. I also talked to the owner for a bit, very cool guy. He’s 41 this spring and calls this his ‘mid-life crisis’ car.

His IG is @ks.s13 so check him out!

imagine hongbin doing a proper kiss scene in his drama and not another lame ass one