ryanspinkfuzzyblanket

[ryanspinkfuzzyblanket]

Prologue

I guess this is happening but not at any kind of speed.

The Fall Guy werewolf au... Or at least Colt's monologue.

Words: 1,291

Rating: T

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Do you remember the first movie you saw in a theater?

Okay yeah, I walked myself into that. Of course you saw the Lion King when you were four, and of course that immediately invalidates the point I’m here to make.

Maybe it doesn’t. How old were you when you realized those animals were voiced by real people? How old were you when you understood that someone had to make that? To draw every frame, shade, color, transform it from a bunch of pictures to an entire, living world?

What about the first thing you saw, where you actually considered the actors? The production?

You didn’t, of course. You might still not. That’s sort of the idea, though, right? Immersion into a story without stopping to wonder how they did it. Never considering how a wiry nerd with nice abs and flowing hair can get thrown around and set on fire while still delivering lines, how the actors playing those characters always somehow know muay thai and how to drive in a car chase and jump off of buildings.

Part of that is just practical effects, right? Something as simple as a bait-and-switch can be seamless if it’s used right; some sleight of hand, and boom, you’d have no idea that the main character was three different guys just then, and filmmakers have perfected that for a hundred and thirty years. It’s like doing a magic trick. You think new technology can compete with that kind of history?

Thing is, effects have gotten bigger and bigger. Aliens destroying New York. Plane crashes, underwater battlegrounds. You need tougher and tougher people to pull it off. Folks who are okay getting punched, launched, dropped, snapped, and never get their face shown on screen. 

They’re not usually the glamorous thespians who go to acting school. They’re the tough guys. The daredevils, the risk takers and thrill seekers, people who have based their whole lives off the risk of bodily harm.

Then there are the wolves. You know, werewolves? Like transform with the full moon people? Oh, you thought those were also FX. Nope – we’re real, and very, very present in film – in all the places you’re taught not to look. Every shot they’re in is trained to draw the eye away from them, even when they’re being amazing. Even when they are, for that split second, the main character. Movies can’t get made without them. Heh – there was even a point in time where the industry called them moonvies instead of movies. But, uh, that sounded too close to moonies, and nobody wants to take their kids to see moonies.

Using werewolves can be a mixed blessing. They’re better suited to practical stunts. They can recover from a hit better. They can stretch further, push harder, land on their feet. But they’re a little high-strung, and they can’t film certain days of the month – which if you’re waiting for a weather window and that happens to fall on a full moon? There’s your entire schedule, totally fucked just for some stunt guys. Executives down your throat, your budget wiped out – that’s one of the million reasons a lot of productions have been pushing for CGI. 

It’s a predatory part of the industry anyway – these guys are built tougher, but does that make it fair to put them in the most dangerous and undesirable jobs? It’s true that not all stunt men are wolves, and the demographic has been dwindling in the industry over the past decade or so, but that doesn’t stop anyone desperate or determined enough from subjecting themselves to the agony of infection – just to land a job, try to cement themselves into a career. It was one thing when the Born were getting hired, but the Bitten make up an almost equal number nowadays. If CG puts them out of a job, they’ve permanently altered themselves for a pocket of the field that might not even exist a few years down the line.

And CGI shit doesn’t even look that great most of the time. Except Avatar, but like how does anyone have that kind of funding? They never had to worry about building detailed sets or shooting on location, but you’d think if it could be that visually advanced, they could have used something other than fucking Papyrus for their title logo, right?

We’re getting off-topic here. 

There’s a time and a place for CGI, but if Peter Jackson taught us anything it’s that practical effects really do look more genuine, and the computer should be used only where real life can’t. That’s all. It’s that simple. The Hobbit movies looked terrible, and the originals still hold up a quarter century later.

Then again, the Rings of Power is like, visually stunning. But that might be a budget thing, or an artistic eye thing, or-

Off topic again. Shit. Sorry.

Look, maybe we should start at the beginning.

With a simple stunt man. One of the best, if I do say so myself. Ruggedly handsome (but not quite handsome enough to get his face on screen), wickedly talented, and human, by the way.

No hate to the wolves. I was just born different. My best buddies are wolves. Hell, some productions I’d be outnumbered, especially my earlier ones. I had to push hard to get hired those first years. Nobody wanted a human. Too fragile, right? Why would a human even want to put himself at risk for this stuff anyway?

Well, ask that kid from Florida who took a fanboat joyride at age seven and wanted to be an acrobat at the circus for career day. Ask that undiagnosed ADHD jock why he keeps literally climbing the walls and casually drops himself off the roof when he’s supposed to be getting a martial arts scholarship and can’t afford to put that at risk? Ask the high school dropout who has spent forty days straight trying to perfect a trick on his dirt bike. For fun. Because he could.

(And if you ask the kid who felt like he could only get attention through risky behavior and showing off…Look, if I wanted the attention, I’d be the actor, not the double, alright?)

But Miami Vice was my big break, and the wolves on set had my back when the humans didn’t. Crazy, right? How stunt guys band together. Wolves pack bond, obviously, but so do stunt performers across the board. Like it’s not mutually exclusive, you know? And lemme tell you, the howling after a cannon roll? The dogpiling after pulling off something completely insane? The collective hooting and barking, the impulsive parkour whenever things got too still, the loyalty – okay, the face licking was a little out there, but – those were my people. They were better family to me than my own ever were.

There were times I felt more wolf than man. I was doing what I was born to do.

Then I got paired with Tom Ryder as a body double. He preferred human doubles, and that seemed super progressive at the time. He wrote me into his contracts! Like, he wasn’t an awesome dude once his face got slapped on every bus stop, or after he bought his sixth mansion. You know that by now. Not to speak ill of the dead, but he… was an asshole. That’s showbiz, though. Actors are dicks. Stunt doubles get none of the credit. Yadda yadda. Point was, I had everything I wanted. Good career. The love of my life. The promise of a spicy margarita on a beach somewhere.

The thing about being a man among wolves though, is that you forget you’re only human. Wolves can come back from just about anything if a rig goes sideways.

Humans…can’t.

#catch me howling at the moon over this #colt seavers #the fall guy #werewolf au #the fall guy fanfiction

[ryanspinkfuzzyblanket]

First Kiss

Summary: Your first kiss with Colt is different than you imagined.  Paring: Colt Seavers x F!Reader Word Count: 400 Rating: 18+ only. Kissing and suggestive touching.  A/N: Inspired by @svblimes asking how a first kiss with Colt would go. Thank you to N and @ryebecca for your help with this story! Reblogs and comments feed the muse.

Masterlist 

One moment you’re laughing together, trading stories about the crazy actors you’ve worked with, and then the next Colt’s expression turns serious. His gaze drops to your mouth lingering there just long enough for your throat to go a little dry and your skin to warm up despite the chill in the air. 

“I want to kiss you,” he says so abruptly that all you can do is stare at him. “Would you be open to that?” He asks. 

Of course you are, who wouldn’t be?

“I’d, uh, be very open to that,” you tell him. “Really open,” you continue, nodding. 

“That’s good,” Colt replies with a smile, pressing you into the hood of the car, one hand on your hip and the other cupping the back of your head. The feel of his rough fingertips against the sensitive skin of your neck has your eyes closing briefly and you lift your chin in response. For a moment he does nothing but watch you, your breath mingling together. This close to Colt you can see how dark and beautiful his lashes are.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a while,” he whispers and then suddenly he’s kissing you, his lips soft and warm. 

You hardly notice the coarseness of his beard, focused on the way his tongue sweeps into your mouth and draws an embarrassingly needy sound from your chest. That sound seems to spur him on and what was once gentle turns hungrier. You bury your hands in his hair and this time he groans into your mouth, hand flattening on your spine to keep you close. You part for air only when it becomes necessary, pulling in a shuddering breath. 

Colt’s expression is surprisingly tender and he rests his forehead against yours, his breath fanning across your face. "That was intense, huh?”

“Yeah,” you agree, a little awestruck when he presses another kiss to your lips. This one is softer, unhurried, and after he rubs his nose sweetly against yours. 

“Is this a good time to let you know I want to take you out on a date?” He asks. 

“I think so,” you tell him, a little breathless. “You just made a pretty compelling case of why I should say yes.”

“Cool,” he responds. “Until then I think we should keep doing this.”

Whatever you were going to reply with gets lost as Colt’s lips descend on yours and his strong arms pull you tightly against his body.

#i started bouncing off the walls #colt seavers x reader #colt seavers #the fall guy #ryan gosling fic

[ryanspinkfuzzyblanket]

Six of Six

Summary: You probably won't forget again

A/N: The inspo for this one came when I was looking for ideas for my next latest tattoo (possibly Six related xD)

Sierra Six x afab reader <3 Word Count: 3.1k

As per usual, it's NSFW 18+ @ken-dom as always my darling, I thank you for your support and inspiration and late night chats. You are the best worst chosen sister for all things smut related <3

Enjoy my loves <3

Keep reading

“How many?” 

You dropped your gaze with a small smile, cheeks burning under his scrutiny. He stood so close his body radiated heat, only making you warmer. 

You laughed lightly to yourself, biting your lips together as his fingers teased the hem of your t-shirt. “I forgot, okay?” you shrugged. 

“You forgot?” He raised an eyebrow, tucking his finger under your chin; forcing you to meet his gaze. 

You swallowed hard but held his eye contact. 

“Count them” 

You blinked slightly taken aback. “W-what?”

He took your chin in his hand, squeezing firmly. His eyes fixed on you. 

“You heard me,” he said sternly “Count them”

His hand moved from your jaw, closing around your wrist, guiding it to the left side of his bare chest. 

Your fingers grazed over his inked flesh. 

“One”  you whispered 

Your heart pounded in your chest as he moved your hand to his forearm. 

“Two” you continued 

You braced yourself against his bare chest, leaning your forehead against his before he dipped his head to claim your lips in a bruising possessive kiss. 

You melted against him with a soft whimper, letting his tongue tangle with yours. 

He pulled back just enough to let you speak as you felt his hand guide yours to his other arm 

“Three” your voice barely audible as your lips moved against his. 

Your head swam with the linger of his kiss; he always had this way of making you weak in the knees. You pouted as he put a bit more space between you, holding up his right hand. 

“Four” you smiled, pressing your lips to the faded ink. 

Six held up his left hand and you repeated the process, pressing your lips to his warm skin before you answered “Five”

Turning his wrist around, your lips brushed against the last one as your eyes fluttered closed; his large hand cupping your cheek as you leaned into his touch. 

“Six…” you whispered and you weren’t entirely sure whether you meant the number or the man standing in front of you; but you didn’t particularly care.

“So you do remember” he teased, his other hand holding your waist as he pulled you flush against him once more. 

Thankful for the strong arm sliding around your back, your hands held his broad shoulders as the hand he had cupping your cheek disappeared under your hair, bringing your mouth to his as you laughed breathlessly “Yes, Sir” you smiled against his lips before he pulled gently on your bottom lip with his teeth. 

He took two giant steps forward, pinning you against the wall, kissing you deeper before his lips moved from your mouth to your neck. You leaned your head back against the wall, his beard scratching against your throat as he tipped his head to suck under your jaw. You unintentionally moaned, your arms draping around his neck as you heard him chuckle against your skin. 

He kissed a trail back up the length of your neck, his breath against the shell of your ear calm and even, unlike your own.

“You want it?” His lips dragged over the contours of your ear as he spoke, making you squeeze your eyes shut and bite your lips together taking in a deep breath through your nose. 

All you could do was nod; and as if he’d known it he laughed lightly against your ear. “Use your words” 

Your breath caught in your throat with a small giggle as he deliberately dragged the hand not tangled in your hair, over your hip and came to rest on your thigh; close, but not close enough as his fingers came to a stop.

Brushing them gently on the inside of your thigh, he waited. 

“This is cruel” you whined attempting to thrust your hips into his touch; only for him to pin you more tightly against the wall with seemingly zero effort. 

You scoffed with protest as your breath grew heavier, struggling against his weight. “God!” you gave up with a huff, slumping against the wall as best you could “You’re evil, this is evil” 

He had hardly moved, barely made a sound before he pulled back to look at you; you could feel the hot flush of your skin and knew he could see it just as well. With eyes fixed on yours, his fingers crept slowly up the inside of your thigh.you attempted to squeeze your legs together, to stop him from moving any further and he simply pushed them apart with ease. 

For someone who ate, slept, and breathed sarcasm, there was no hint of it anywhere in his rugged features. His eyes intense, somehow more than usual, made your core clench; you almost jumped when he spoke again. 

“Three. Little. Words.” His voice hauntingly calm, making your heart pound harder in your chest, thump louder in your ears. 

Your lips parted as you took in a shaky breath but you didn’t speak; your eyes never leaving his. 

You squeaked with surprise as he grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing hard; you hugged him tighter as he pulled you from the wall, your feet leaving the floor just enough for him to spin you around toward the bed. 

The backs of your knees bumped the edge of the mattress, but Six kept you stationary. You looked at him with a pout and he looked back expectantly, one eyebrow arched slightly. 

You scoffed dropping your shoulders “Oh come on” you threw your head back dramatically dragging your fingernails down his bare shoulders. 

He shook his head “Wrong words” 

You let out a heavy sigh glaring at him “I hate you” 

That made him snort with a laugh “No you don’t” he smirked; as if to emphasize his point he squeezed your ass harder, making you gasp. 

You growled low in the back of your throat and he cocked his head to the side “Are you mocking me?” 

You hadn’t meant to, but… “Maybe” you pursed your lips “What are you going to do about it?” you challenged

Before you could blink, all the air rushed out of your lungs as you landed heavily on the mattress; Six’s weight near suffocating on top of you. Your arms were pinned over your head against the pillow, gathered in one of his hands. His nose dragged over the bridge of yours as he leaned in close, too close; your entire body suddenly feeling like you’d been set on fire. You caught your breath as you got your bearings. 

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do about it” he whispered; his free hand sliding back between your bare thighs. “I’m going to make sure you remember”

You scoffed a nervous laugh, trying to squeeze your thighs together; again to no avail. “H-how?” 

He shifted; his weight heavy on your middle as he let go of your wrists; taking your hand in his and bringing it to his chest. He folded your fingers so you were simply pointing with your index finger, guiding the tip of your nail dragging over the faded lines of his tattoo. 

“Trace it” His eye met yours briefly before dropping again, watching your nail, guided by his hand trace over lines. 

The heat of his body still radiated against your hand; his hand was warm closed over yours; the heat was still there even after he’d pulled away and you continued as instructed. 

“What happens if I stop?” you asked, eyes focused on his smooth skin 

“Then I stop” he answered, pulling your tank top up to expose your body underneath. 

You frowned slightly before you gasped, arching off the bed, the fingers you had been tracing his tattoo with immediately clawing against his chest as his warm, wet mouth closed around your nipple; his teeth scraping gently over the nub. 

“Fuck” you breathed and he raised his head with a smirk you wanted nothing more than to slap off his face. 

“Only if you finish all six” 

You purposefully dug your fingernails into his meaty flesh making him growl low and deep as he dropped his head again; one hand still pinning your arm over your head, his fingers threading together with yours as his other hand teased along the inside of your thigh. 

You leaned your head back into the mattress, taking in a deep breath with a small laugh “Fuck” 

You dropped your head back down to focus; watching intently as he dropped is head to kiss down your cleavage. 

You shuddered, feeling his tongue glide over your skin. 

“Hnh” you grit your teeth together trying like hell to keep your focus. 

You finished the first, dropping your hand to fist the sheets underneath you as Six’s mouth continued its assault. 

He let go of your hand, not even lifting his head as he nipped and sucked across the expanse of your entire body. 

You held his hand in front of you, palm out with his fingers spread apart slightly as your slender fingers in comparison traced over the lines of his second tattoo. 

You whimpered as his teeth dragged over your hip as you turned his hand over in yours. 

You got halfway through the next small one before feeling his warm breath so close to your core against your belly button and then all at once it was gone.  

“Six…. please” you weren't begging, but you weren't above it. 

“Start over” 

Your mouth dropped open “What?! Why?!” 

“You stopped,” he said simply “Start. Over.” his voice amplified against your stomach. 

The hint of his military training seeping through his command. If you fucked it up, started from the beginning until you got it right.

You did as you were told, tracing the lines of the sunburst where you'd left off. 

Six carried on exploring you with his mouth like a treasure map, leaving a trail of bright red hickeys like breadcrumbs as you circled back to retrace his wrist before moving to his forearm. 

He crawled over you, the hand he had between your legs braced on the mattress as he bent to suck and lick your neck. 

You bit down hard on your bottom lip tracing over the horse on his other side. 

He leaned next to your ear, making you shiver as he breathed. 

“Focus…” he whispered, dragging his teeth over your earlobe. 

You let out a needy moan, but by some miracle, kept your finger tracing steadily. 

You could feel him smile against your jaw before he kissed along the length. 

“How many?” He whispered in between kisses. 

You froze for a beat, genuinely unsure of just what answer it was he wanted. “Four” you guessed, and you were immediately rewarded, his teeth sinking into the divet of your collarbone making you cry out. 

“Fuck, Six…p-please”

“Keep going…”

You took his hand, tracing over the five small dots. 

Letting it drop, he braced himself on the mattress, trapping you between his arms as you retraced the portrait on his chest. His head dropped, watching your fingers move. 

As soon as you connected your invisible line he dropped on his forearms, lifting both of your legs over his shoulders. 

Before you had a chance to process, your body lurched forward, your back arching off the mattress as his fingers disappeared into the flesh of your hips, keeping you still as he buried his nose in your core, his tongue licking a hot stripe between your folds as he sucked your clit into his mouth. 

You cried out, shuddering in his hands as your heels dug into his shoulder blades in lieu of a mattress, making him groan into your core. 

You twisted against his onslaught, one of your hands twisting tightly in his thick blond hair, pulling hard; your other hand pushing through your own hair as you rolled your hips forward. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, letting out a long drawn out moan toward the ceiling.   

That only made Six more forceful. He groaned from between your thighs, sending the most delicious electricity through your entire body. 

You could hear yourself whimper pathetically but you couldn't do anything to stop it. You shuddered under his hands, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. 

Then all at once he was gone, his mouth had disappeared. You practically screamed in protest, lifting your head to complain, your forehead nearly collided with the bridge of his nose as he pulled you closer, burying himself inside you with one swift movement, his mouth closing over yours, swallowing your moans as his tongue filled your mouth. 

Your moans mingled together as your ankles locked around his back and you wrapped your arms around his massive shoulders.

His hips snapped hard, making the mattress groan with the effort. 

You tore your mouth from his, taking such a deep breath your lungs burned as you clung to him, his face buried in your neck as you turned to putty in his hands; fingers twisted in his hair as he moaned deep and guttural against your neck, his cheek pressed against yours. His breath heavy and laboured next to your ear. 

He relaxed, his weight heavier on your chest as he turned his head, his lips searching for yours. 

You kissed him gently as he settled against your chest. Your fingers playing with his hair. 

“How many?” He muttered between lazy kisses. 

You shrugged with a smirk “I forget”

Suddenly his full weight came crushing down on top of you and you groaned underneath him 

“Jesus…Six” you rasped and he made no effort to move. 

Instead he reached to brush your hair away from your face before resting his chin on his arm across your chest “Still forget?” 

You shook your head 

“How many?” 

“Six” you answered taking a shallow breath before his weight disappeared off your chest 

You took a deep breath as he climbed off the bed, offering you a hand “I can think of better ways to suffocate me to death” you muttered taking his outstretched hand.

He lead you down to the bathroom before drawing a bath; the steam billowed from the tub, you tipped your head curiously, watching as he added a couple things to the hot water, swishing it gently with his hand before he stood straight and turned to face you. 

He held your hand as you climbed into the tub, stepping in after you. He moved to put himself behind you before you grabbed his wrist gently. 

“It’s my turn” 

***

He settled between your legs after turning off the tap, the water threatening to spill over the edge. 

You kissed across his shoulder blades before he leaned back against your chest, you slid your arms over his shoulders and down the expanse of his scarred chest. 

Leaning forward slightly, you pressed gentle kisses along his neck. 

Feeling him start to relax, you took the cloth off the edge of the tub, lathering it with soap, running it slowly over his contours. 

Your hand dipped into the warm water, dragging slowly over his stomach and you felt him go rigid almost instantly. 

“Relax” you whispered softly, nuzzling into his neck. 

He let out a heavy breath through his nose and you could feel his stomach unclench under your fingertips. 

Lifting the cloth from the water, you washed his arms next, water dripping down the length of his forearms.

Six reached to take the cloth from you and you let him, moving your hands to his shoulders, your thumbs moving over the seemingly permanent knots there. 

“Let me in,” you breathed softly next to his ear; the tip of your nose dragged along his hairline at his neck, your warm breath making his body prickle with goosebumps and he let out a low moan. 

Your fingers worked slowly and careful as his head dropped forward against his chest before he leaned back against your shoulder; his eyes closed. It was a rare occurrence when he would let his guard down completely; between his military training and childhood trauma he didn’t talk about, he was always on the defensive. 

Six let out another sigh, this one was content; your slender fingers hitting spots he never could reach on his own. It had taken him a long time to trust you, sometimes he wondered if it had taken too long, if you had given up trying or caring. He knew sometimes you still wondered if he had trusted you completely. 

He had; even though sometimes his instincts screamed at him not to; don’t trust you, don’t let you in, don’t protect you…

“Six…” 

Your soft voice pulled him from his thoughts as he felt your fingernail drag over his pec. 

He hummed questioningly; his eyelids heavy from exhaustion 

“Just counting…” you whispered against his neck, kissing the hollow behind his ear before you pat him gently, the water from your fingertips beading on his chest before rolling down into the tub. “Come on, before you fall asleep; I can’t carry you to bed” 

He reluctantly pulled himself to his feet; his limbs felt heavy as he wrapped a towel around his middle before wrapping you in the bigger, softer one; lifting you off your feet, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs draped over his bulging bicep. 

“But I can carry you” he spoke softly, kissing your temple as he made his way down the hall. 

Setting you on your feet next to the bed you both shed towels before climbing under the covers and you tucked yourself into the crook of his arm.

You both laid quietly; one of your hands absently tracing over the portrait on his chest; the other twisting soft strands of his hair gently around your fingers. He kissed your forehead before settling more deeply into the covers, his arm wrapped protectively around your bare back as he laid on his side, facing you, but also facing the door. 

You chuckled softly kissing his broad chest 

“Nothing is going to get us in the dark” you whispered in between kisses “Will you relax?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it”

You leaned back enough to look up at him; his blue eyes meeting yours, intense and brooding. 

“I love you, you overprotective freak”  you craned your neck to kiss under his chin 

You grunted as he crushed you against his chest, growling next to your ear, making you giggle. 

He eased his hold but didn't let you go; just pressed a kiss into your hair. 

“How many?’ he whispered 

You smiled against his chest with a sigh. “My favourite number”

“Which is?” His chest vibrating with the question. 

“Six” you whispered, letting your eyelids heavy with sleep slip closed; safely wrapped in the cocoon of Six's broad arms. His steady breathing and thump of his heart lulling you off to sleep. 



#i was literally just hoping for a six fic today #sierra six #sierra six x reader #the gray man

[ryanspinkfuzzyblanket]

for the put that guy in situations prompt, 39 or 41!

Prompt list found here

#39 - avoiding the conversation #41 - panic attacks (These ended up working well together for me so I did both)

Universe: The Fall Guy (Werewolf AU) Characters: Colt/Jody Rating: T Length: 1800 words TW: PTSD flashbacks, panic attacks, reference to injuries

Colt never told anyone he took the bite over a wheelchair. He’s too ashamed. Ashamed that he was too much of a coward to need a mobility aid. Ashamed that he couldn’t look disability in the eye when it came to him. 

When he’d started stunt work, his mother made him promise not to go down this route. To not take the easy way into his career, to save himself the agony and, at the time, societal rejection. To not feel like he needed to alter himself in pursuit of glory.

But that’s just what he did, isn’t it?

Doc had told him: few walk again after an injury like that. His career was over, just like that. Even if he had gotten some mobility back, it would always be assisted. Walkers and painful braces and wheelchairs, and pain so bad it would rob him of function. He’d live with a catheter and a bag and a caretaker for the rest of his life, and he knows disability benefits are ass.

Of course he’d take the Werewolf Services agent up on his offer of mercy.

The wolf heals. And he was already sunk in wolf society anyway. Sorry, Mom.

He didn’t go back to stunt work. That was his deal with himself. He almost died, and the only way back in was as a wolf, completely against every promise he’d made to himself. No. Better to disappear. Start a new life as a plain wolf with a plain job. It hurts. He can’t bring himself to tell Jody. Can’t bring himself to tell his mother. He changes his number, and fades out of sight. Even to himself.

Until he’s back on set, somehow. Until Dan is shaking his hand. His smile wavers as he catches the scent. Colt swallows, and doesn’t let him comment. They don’t need to talk about it. Dan understands. Him and Colt go way back. Colt’s always been an honorary member of his pack. Nothing’s changed.

Until Jody sees him for the first time. He plays it casual, even though he’d glimpsed her earlier. The immediate joy that fills him so full it almost escapes in an elated howl; the even stronger shame, that he’s only here because he chose a muzzle over having a spine.

Mm, bad choice of words.

Of course the last time she’d laid eyes on him, he had lain broken in a hospital bed hooked up to all kinds of wires and machines. Why would she have asked for him? Why would she have known he was capable of doing this job? He doesn’t bring it up. She already doesn’t want him here. Telling her the rest would be worse.

The fact that he’d practically been raised by wolves is a good cover. He was already high energy, already overly affectionate, already eager to roll in the dirt or tackle a buddy or howl with the other guys when they were excited. He shared their mannerisms just by dint of familiarity.

But it’s more now. Every emotion has been magnified since then. His clawing fear at getting back into the car for the first time. He barely stays human as it rolls, end over end, clinging breathlessly to his humanity. The adrenaline high is sharper, overwhelming, and he claps onto Dan with a broader excitement that threatens to take him off his feet, he wants to sprint into the sand, dig, jump off of stuff, he doesn’t know what he’s just gotta go!

Jody eyes his zoomies, and he straightens, but she doesn’t bring it up. The words out of her mouth are reprimand for clipping the camera. Colt hears reprimand for other things, too.

God, and affection? The way he wants to nose at every familiar face, be petted, lean on each other – he can mostly tamp that down, until Doon fucking drugs him and his inhibitions shed like his fur last summer. Then he’s all over Jody. Hugs? Compliments? Horrifying honesty? He fumbles, talking about his recovery, and barely manages to stop himself from blurting out the whole story. He’s been here what, two days? If Jody is set on not keeping him around, he’ll be gone before the next full moon and they’ll never have to talk about it. It can stop at the current level of disappointment and go no deeper. She scrubs at his face in frustration, and he just wants more. 

And then.

She calls him. To talk about her story. Her brilliant, beautiful story. A love story. A story about them. And right now, he believes in that story. Right now, he isn’t a wolf. He’s a unicorn.

With everything that happens after that, there isn’t time to stop, to think, to talk. Him and Jody are drawn back to each other by a pull as irresistible as the moon. And he hopes, if she were so determined to help him back when he had been broken, maybe she could accept this part of him too.

He’s still thinking about the right way to do it, though. He can’t fumble it, not when things are good.

He books a hotel room for the full moon. Jody has a pile of work after Tom went and blew up, but Colt’s sticking around to support her. She’s busy enough without this, anyway. He’ll tell her later.

But full moons? They fucking suck. He hates them. He fears them. Not because of the wolf – that part’s not all that bad. He finally gets the chest hair his father always told him to grow.

No, the problem is his back. It turns out, completely changing shape with a broken back really, really fucking hurts. That’s the one thing the wolf couldn’t heal. He still needs physical therapy, he still needs to stretch carefully and eat his greens and whatnot. Those are miles better than the alternative, but the fact remains – he’ll always have chronic pain, wolf or not.

And the way it feels like he’s just fallen, just broken it – the sound it makes when his body contorts; the sound it made when it snapped the first time. He can’t get the noise out of his head.

Someone’s knocking on the door, but it doesn’t register as anything but the creaking lines as he’d hung limp in his harness; the popping of his vertebra, or the crackling in his ears after his neck flung back. Not until small, gentle hands are cupping his cheeks, turning his wide gaze to face her. “Jody?” he pants.

“Take a deep breath, love.” She strokes his cheeks. He feels dizzy. The world around her is static, and she’s barely in focus herself. The edges of his vision are black. He takes in a stuttering breath. “Have you been doing this all alone?” she asks, then scoffs quietly. “Well of course you have. You did everything alone.”

“Now’s not a good time.” He hates the way his voice cracks.

“No way, mister. You’re not pushing me away again.” She coaxes him to uncurl his hands from the rungs of the headboard. He stretches them stiffly, unsure how long he’d been gripping down. His arms ache, and there are pins and needles in his fingers, so probably a while. She thumbs the tears from his face. Was he crying? Is he crying?

He is now. Her tenderness is so foreign in this time and place. Full moons are scary, painful, awful. He’s never had comfort. He’s never had reassurance.

Most Bitten get guided through their first few moons. They get a mentor – usually the one who bit them – to talk them through it, give them advice. Colt shut himself away instead.

He’s been fine! He’s gotten through every single one so far. He didn’t need a pack.

But here’s Jody, stroking down the length of his nose in soothing repetition. Carding her hands through his hair. Rubbing his chest. He can feel the moon, lurking just beneath the horizon, but for the moment it fades into the background.

“But you’re busy,” he whispers. She just shushes him. “You don’t need to see this.”

“Colt Seavers, are you going shy on me?” She lifts the sheet just enough to send an appraising eye down his naked form. His heart skips a beat.

“Well, I mean-”

“Who would have guessed?”

“Shy isn’t the word I would use-”

“D’you want me to close my eyes for you?”

“In another context? Because there’s this thing with a blindfold I wanna try-”

“Are you really prepositioning me in the middle of a panic attack, Colt ‘Profesh’ Seavers?”

“I flirt when I’m nervous.”

“Hm.” She strokes a hand through his hair with a smile so soft, so fond, that he feels safer in this moment than he’s felt in the last nineteen months.

Suddenly his back flares in burning heat. The pain always starts there, and always ends there. It shoots up his spine to his head, which always hurts second-worst. The migraines he gets – he’s learned to push through them. Is that safe? He doesn’t even know. You can still park cars with a headache, even if you are miserable, so it hasn’t really mattered yet.

The change isn’t generally terrible for most wolves. Uncomfortable, sure. Unpleasant. But Colt’s changes will always be agonizing. 

His spine snaps, and Colt screams. He screams, and screams, staring up into the lights, the distant beams on the skylights, the lines of his rig taut above him; he can’t move. He can’t turn away. His voice shrieks in his ears, or is that Jody? Was she screaming? He tastes copper.

“Colt, Colt, stay with me.” She said that, remember?

He’s shaking. He squeezes his eyes shut. It hurts to breathe. His face feels wet.

He’s falling again.

He’s falling again.

Again.

Again.

His body crumbles apart.

He pants for breath, the fire in his back dimming to a low throb. A hand brushes through his fur, and he shivers. “I shouldn’t have said that. I hate reusing old lines.”

“Even- even the- margaritas?” his voice is half moan, half snarl. 

“No,” there are lips pressed to the corner of his mouth. “That’s one for the ages.”

Colt squints his eyes open, and there she is. She looks so small like this. Small, and worried. She trails her hands through the blond fur at his throat. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

He shrugs, using a claw to delicately push a strand of hair behind her ear. She catches his hand, and presses a kiss to the black pad of his palm. He’s so stupid. So, so stupid. He could have had this a long time ago. He cups her face, dwarfed now by the size of him. “How did you know?”

Her lips part, amused and tender. “You aren’t exactly subtle. And I could hear it in your howl.”

#i didn’t know i needed a werewolf au so badly until now #i fucking love this omg #colt seavers #jody moreno #colt x jody #the fall guy #the fall guy fanfiction

[ryanspinkfuzzyblanket]

good boy | driver.

summary: you didn’t think driver would be so good at listening to orders.

pairing: sub!driver x afab!reader

warnings: not sfw minors dni, pain kink, praise kink, smut, reader has a vagina, orgasming, dry humping, mild swearing, slight fluff, kissing, dom-sub dynamics

word count: 1.1k

notes: this wasn’t supposed to become smut, but it was inevitable. apologies if its shitty, and thank you if you thought it wasn’t. enjoy :)

You were still a little bewildered as to how you ended up here in this hotel room, seated on Driver’s lap.

He didn’t tell you his name, but Driver worked just as well.

One moment, he had asked if he could drop you off at your room for your safety, and the next, this was happening.

There were better ways of phrasing this, but you were too lost in the heat of all the sensations to care.

His mouth was moving against yours with a passion you didn’t think he had, seeing how broody he had been the entire trip to here, but God, you loved it.

As you kissed him, your mind went further with imagination, wondering how he’d react if you took control, made him beg, and your fingers clutched painfully tight onto his collar.

There was no harm in trying.

He brought his hands up your thighs, and you found it to be the perfect moment to sate your curiosity. You pushed them off, and pulled away from the kiss.

Driver didn’t expect that. He gave you a perplexed look, and teasingly, you traced his perfectly red, swollen lower lip.

“Don’t touch me unless I tell you to,” you said simply, your tone bare but your words commanding, and it did something to him.

“Is that clear, love?”

You words clicked a switch. Something carnal spurred inside him, a feeling that had been buried under years of silence.

He nodded, and let his hands fall behind, but his dark gaze was forever tethered to yours.

“Good boy,” you cooed, and the softest of sighs left his mouth, his eyelids fluttering closed with a look of pained longing on his face.

You just wanted him even worse now.

You slid a hand into his dirty blonde hair, fingers gently caressing, nails barely scratching at his scalp. 

“Relax,” you whispered, and he did.

You leaned in, hand still in his hair, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips, on his chin, on his throat that bobbed when you did, and as you sunk lower to his collarbone, you unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt, pushed the cloth aside, and pressed your lips  to the jutting bone. 

You heard Driver take in a sharp breath as he attempted to keep composure, and you couldn’t help but smile. How hard he was trying.

Gently, you nipped at the skin, hard enough for it to leave a scarlet mark on his flesh. 

Driver groaned under his breath, the sound only providing more incentive for you to keep going.

“D’you like that?” you asked quietly, and you saw him hesitate.

But then you cupped his jaw with your hand and tipped his head upward, and brushed your thumb over his chin, and he nodded eagerly.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, swallowing thickly.

“Yeah, what?” you goaded. A look of defiance flashed past his eyes, but then he gave in.

“I… I like it when you hurt me.”

Oh, that was beautiful.

At those words, you tugged at his hair, hard, and he jumped, letting out a small cry of pain.

A rush of concern. “Are— are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No.” He paused, and then swallowed, his finger grazing over your knee. “Do it again.”

Oh.

You massaged his scalp with the tips of your fingers and tugged again, harder than last time.

A moan escaped Driver’s mouth that you could only describe as ecstatic, and when you felt him harden through his jeans, you just chuckled breathily.

“Oh, you love this,” you purred in his ear, “You’re so needy, hmm?” and he just noiselessly nodded.

“Please—“ he mumbled, voice laced with pure want.

You really couldn’t hold back any longer.

Softly, you started to grind against him, and you almost lost your mind when you heard him let out the neediest moan yet, rutting back instantly. 

“G-Good boy.”

His head fell back against the headboard of the bed, his hands came to your waist, holding you down, and his legs spread, allowing you to pleasure the both of you better.

His breathing was erratic, fluttering, and you took the opportunity to grab him by his shirt collar and crash your lips against his in a kiss that wasn’t like the rest of them; it was hot, needy, and absolutely out of your control.

You felt him say something unintelligible against your mouth.

“Hm?”

His eyes were barely open when he requested something that knocked the breath out of you.

“Choke me, please,” he said, hooded eyes looking up at you like a puppy.

“…Fuck,” you found yourself muttering, the tautness in your lower stomach only tightening. “Of, course, love, yeah.”

As you rutted against him, your thumb trailed from his chin to his Adam’s Apple, before your fingers clutched onto his throat, firm but unhurting.

He looked beautiful and so fucking needy under you with the way his skin glistened with sweat, eyes rolled to the back of his head, gasping for breath, his hips bucking further and further against yours, faint, meaningless little pleas falling from his swollen lips.

You should’ve found him so long ago. You should’ve done this ages ago, making him surrender to you, letting you do as you pleased, hurt him, make him feel things that turned his vision hazy.

It only took a few more moments for you to come undone, faintly whimpering, and your fingers curled against his throat hard enough for it to hurt. You could feel your panties wetten, your legs feeling weak.

But you couldn’t stop, not when Driver was clearly so close to his own orgasm. You could feel how damp his jeans had become.

You started to grind faster, unrelenting, choking him harder, teeth finding the skin beneath his ear as you nipped it, and that was the last straw for him.

The lowest, darkest of growls rumbled from his mouth as he came, hard, his thrusts reaching a sloppy end, the denim becoming warm and soaked.

You let your hand slide lower to his chest, and you could feel his thudding heart.

“You did so well,” you mumbled, entirely spent. You let yourself rest against his form, taking in deep breaths. “Good job.”

A gentle rumble of a ‘thanks’ echoed into your ears, and you felt him press a hesitating kiss on your head. A smile tugged at your lips at this.

“You were such a good boy, hm?”

You looked up at him, running a hand through his sweaty hair and pushing the strands from his face.

He smiled back, barely, but it was something.

tags: @barbiehandlrr @hollandstrophyhusband @officer-kd6 @bimbocoreblonde @webbo0 @sixyphus @ken-dom

#FUUUCKKKK #FUCK #MY GOD #thank you for this i know i will be rereading #drive 2011 #driver x reader #driver

[ryanspinkfuzzyblanket]

Music in Film: The Fall Guy (2024) dir. David Leitch

#i’m getting withdrawals #i need to watch this movie again #ITS NOT A WANT ITS A NEED #the fall guy #ryan gosling

[ryanspinkfuzzyblanket]

abouta go ham tonight (catching up on the fanfics i haven’t read)

[ryanspinkfuzzyblanket]

jesus fucking christ i haven’t been on tumblr for a fat while and the amount of fanfic i’ve been blessed with is insane

#i literally cannot for the life of me find the time to read fanfic and go on here atm #i need to be less busy right now

[ryanspinkfuzzyblanket]

► Easy lover

Colt Seavers x afab!reader || Masterlist

Wordcount: 3,488

Summary: You've started visiting Colt on set during his breaks and, hey, why not make the most of it?

A/N: Someone requested Colt smut and then I went and accidentally deleted the ask. I would like to also partially blame tumblr, though, because this site is broken and the circumstances in which the ask ceased to exist were rather suspicious. Title is from here.

Content (Warnings): nsfw, piv, fingering, hickeys

There's something to be said for visiting Colt at work.

If you're lucky you catch a glimpse of a stunt or two before he goes to take the break you often share together.

Colt Seavers is most at home when he's being hit by cars, driving a motorcycle, or falling out of windows. He's a vision like that, all sweaty, tousled hair and bright eyes, and you're glad when you get to see it.

You can't be there all the time, though, because you're trying to keep your relationship on the down-low. It’s not necessarily because there could be any serious consequences for you or Colt if it came out that one of the stunt people is dating one of the writers, it’s just that you don't need everyone asking questions and being nosy when you've only just started something. It's still new. Fragile, even though you can feel the sheer potential you and Colt have together. You don't want it to burn itself out, but it's hard with Colt being who he is. He's so desperately earnest, about ten times as impressive as he thinks he is, and just about the best partner you've ever had.

Being with him is comfortable and he's safe. He'd never hurt you. The coffee incident doesn't count even though you know Colt is still beating himself up about that. He's weirdly clumsy. If you didn’t see his skill for yourself on a weekly basis you would seriously question his choice of career path. But there's a calm that settles over him as soon as he's on set. Shoulders falling, breathing evening out, hands relaxing at his sides, and then he's letting himself fall out of a fucking helicopter of all things.

That day wasn’t great for your nerves, but he immediately texted you ‘All good 😎👍🏻’ after safely landing on an absolutely massive airbag and being patted down by his fellow stunt people for injuries, despite being only like 20 yards away. You appreciate that he doesn't ridicule you for showing fear in the face of your boyfriend doing breakneck stunts day in and day out, even if he doesn't exactly understand it himself.

He's already on break when you arrive today. By the time production starts, writers are really only needed for small changes to the script and the writing room is empty and dark most days, so you've found yourself a bit of free time. You've been enjoying it, but today you had woken up restless and bored already. You had shot Colt a quick text, asking if he was around and wanted to see you. He was of course and, yes, he did.

So, with a small smile, you got your things together and drove down to set.

You're most of the way to his trailer already when something interrupts you.

“Hey!”

You turn around, a smile brightening your features as you see Colt jogging towards you, holding two cups of what you assume is coffee in his left hand.

He gives you his right hand to shake and you roll your eyes but indulge him. “What was your name again?”

“Colt.”

“That’s right, I remember now.”

Colt rolls his eyes good-naturedly, squeezes your hand one last time before letting it go to instead root through his pockets for his keys to open the door of his trailer for you. He’s having a bit of a hard time with it, though, considering his keys are in his left-side pocket and said hand is occupied.

You could take the coffee, but instead, you take a step closer and bat his hand away. His eyes snap up to yours as you snake your hand into his pocket with a teasing grin you can’t hold back.

“What are you doing?” he asks with his own small smile.

You shrug. “Nothing, just,” you lay your hand flat against his thigh, warm even through the fabric, “getting the keys.”

“Careful,” Colt says, voice low and playful. “Someone's gonna see.”

You shrug but you also remove your hand from his jeans, keys held in your grip.

You turn around and he crowds up against you like an impatient puppy wanting to be let in.

“Patience,” you admonish him, trying to fit the key into the lock.

It requires a bit of effort to focus the needed amount of attention onto what you're doing in front of you instead of letting all your attention flee to what Colt is doing behind you. Which actually isn't much. He's just… Very big and very warm.

You finally manage to get the door open and you've barely stepped past the threshold and let Colt in behind you, when you turn around with every intention of kissing your boyfriend within an inch of his life.

“Woah, woah,” Colt says, leaning back, “careful!"

You look at him a bit confused until you spot the two coffee cups he's holding behind his back, shielding them from you and any more attacks. You roll your eyes. “Really?”

“It took me nearly an hour to get these,” he hisses. “I don't know why but the goddamn coffee machines keep vanishing.”

“Do you guys need a room?” You ask, point from him to the coffees and back again. “Because I can go.”

Now it's Colt's turn to roll his eyes. “Don't be like that,” he says, carefully placing the coffees on the table to his left. “You know I love all of you equally.”

You huff, mock offense in your tone when you say, “I see how it is.”

“That's a compliment!” Colt insists. “You know how much I love coffee.”

You do, actually. He's not subtle about it. It's not that he even needs it to function, not really, he just really, really likes coffee.

“I need it to live,” Colt adds, then realizes what he's just said. He goes a bit red, but he doesn't take it back.

“Is that so?” you ask, stepping closer again until Colt is all the way pushed up against the door.

“Yep,” Colt says, not at all focused on your eyes anymore.

“Can I have that kiss now?” you ask.

Colt doesn't reply.

“Colt?”

His gaze snaps back up to yours. “Yes?”

“Kiss me,” you demand, deciding to forgo any more asking.

A grin breaks out on Colt's face, and in the next second he's pressing his lips to yours.

You can feel his grin against your mouth, which prompts an answering smile to tug at your lips. It turns the kiss into more of a messy ‘breathing the same air’ situation.

“You're so pretty,” he mumbles when he pulls back, quiet and earnest.

You hum, feeling warm. He's never skimpy with compliments, more likely to overdo it a bit, but he always means them.

“Let's try that again,” he decides, forehead laid against yours.

You nod, “Yeah,” and the next time you meet in a kiss it's better.

The slow, easy movement of your lips against each other is comfortably familiar by now, but it still sparks something low in your belly. His right hand cradles your cheek while the other is a warm weight on your hip.

Colt manhandles you around, gently but firmly pushes you up against the door instead and you let him with a laugh. The hand on your hip wanders lower until he can comfortably cop a feel of your ass, and pull your hips closer to his at the same time.

He grinds your hips into yours, just once, then stops and pulls away.

He looks flushed, hair standing in all directions from the hand you've still got buried in it. It looks good on him. Colt is never all that put-together but you still like taking him apart even more, making him properly messy.

“Sorry,” Colt says, but his hand is still on your ass, “Got a bit carried away.”

“Oh, you think?” you ask, trailing a hand down his dusty shirt to the crotch of his jeans.

You can feel his dick straining against the fabric and when you press down a bit Colt lets out a surprised noise, hips bucking in an effort to chase the friction.

“Rude,” he gasps.

You laugh, removing your hand from his crotch to instead brush his fringe to the side so you can properly look into those blue eyes of his.

He squeezes the flesh he's still gripping with one hand. “Wanna fuck?”

You snort. “That's very nicely phrased.”

Colt has the decency to look a bit sheepish. But only a bit.

He shrugs. “Wanna make love instead?” he asks, voice too low to be natural. He breaks a second later with a snort and you can't help but join him.

“How about,” you say, lightly scratching your nails through his hair in a move that you know sends shivers down his back, “we do neither of those and instead just have sex?”

“Sounds great,” Colt breathes and then he's on you again, pressing you against the door and pushing his tongue into your mouth.

You gasp into the kiss but the noise gets lost somewhere between you. Colt, with both hands on your ass now encourages you to roll your hips against his. It feels good, sending slow waves of pleasure through your body that build and build until you're just as flushed and turned on as he is.

He pulls back again, tugging you with him. “Alright, come on,” he says. “Let's take this to the bedroom.”

You muster the bed at the far end of the trailer skeptically. “I wouldn’t call that a bedroom.”

Colt rolls his eyes, turning you around again to push you down onto the mattress.

“You know what?” he asks.

“What?” You reply, breathlessly, staring up at him from the sheets.

“I really don't care,” he says, crawling onto the bed after you, his body easily covering yours.

Colt toes off his dirty boots at some point, awkwardly helps you get rid of yours too, even though the sheets are already kind of a lost cause. This is what happens when you fuck a stuntman.

“Come on, up,” he says, gesturing for you to raise your arms.

He helps you take off your shirt, groaning when he sees that you're wearing decidedly nothing underneath.

“Have mercy,” he says and you laugh, tugging him close for another kiss.

When you break apart he shrugs off his own shirt, baring tanned skin to your eyes. You trail a hand down his chest, hook your fingers into his jeans for a few taunting seconds just to let your hand fall back down onto the mattress.

“Have to do everything myself, huh?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say simply, then settle back to watch him unbutton and push down his jeans.

“Off with those,” you demand when he's left in only his briefs, snapping the waistband against his skin.

You send a vague prayer to whoever is listening when you're faced with an uninterrupted view of his hard cock, framed by thighs made thick and muscular from the work he does day in and day out.

Colt looks up from where he's carelessly dropping the rest of his clothes to the floor, his gaze meeting yours. He must see something in your expression because there’s suddenly a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

He bends down again, dick grazing your bare stomach, and kisses you deeply.

When he pulls back you let him, because he's moving down your body efficiently ridding you of the rest of your clothes too.

He taps your left knee. “Spread your legs for me, please.”

You do and he shuffles between them. You don't miss the hungry look on his face, so different from his usual easy-going, kind of dopey expression. You swallow heavily, legs subconsciously falling open more.

Under your watchful gaze, Colt pops two fingers into his mouth, gets them wet and glistening.

He moves even closer, hand disappearing between your legs. He takes a few moments to circle your clit. You sigh, laying back into the feeling, hips grinding slowly up against his fingers.

After a while, he pulls away and then you can feel his fingers at your entrance instead.

“Yeah?” Colt asks.

“Go ahead,” you tell him, feeling relaxed and open in exactly the right way, and he does, carefully pushing his fingers into you.

As he works up a steady rhythm to get you ready for his dick, he leans down, peppering kisses over your chest, pressing little bites to your skin here and there that have you gasping and squirming.

He’s mumbling something into your skin as he spreads and crooks his fingers inside you, sending tingles up and down your spine, his breath fanning warm over you, but you can't make out the words.

You use the hand that you had buried in his hair somewhere along the way to pull him off of you. He looks at you, lips spit-slick and slightly open as he tries to catch his breath. You have no idea how he's already panting when all he's done is fuck you on his fingers, but you're definitely not complaining about his wrecked state.

“I’m ready,” you say.

Colt's eyes widen. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He looks at you like you've just given him the world. It's always like that with him, his focus always so intense in its adoration, and your breath hitches.

Colt wipes his slick fingers on his dick, gives himself a few strokes before he finally lines himself up, one hand on your hip to keep you steady.

He pushes in slowly, giving you more time to adjust than you really need, considering how well he's prepared you, but you let him. He's always been the one slowing things down. Kissing you all soft and sweet instead of hurried and hungry. It's endearing. Makes you feel precious and adored.

But so does this. So does Colt, thick and so, so warm inside you, filling you up right to the brim.

When he's bottomed out he folds down on top of you, hiding his face in your neck as he catches his breath, letting himself adjust too.

This time when he mutters soft words into your skin you catch them. “You're perfect.”

You softly card a hand through his hair, keeping him close to you for a few moments. Then you lightly tap him on the back with your free hand.

“Move,” you tell him.

Colt props himself up, hands on either side of your head. “Can I?”

“I'm asking you to.”

“Alright,” he says with a smile.

He bends down to give you a surprisingly chaste kiss, pulling out almost all the way just to press back in, steady but too slow for your liking.

You let out a small ‘tsk’. You know he likes it faster than that. He forgets himself sometimes, loses control a bit when he's either very desperate or drunk, or both, and you love it. Slow and sweet is good, it is, but God you need this man to fuck you like he means it right now.

Which is exactly what you tell him.

“Oh, that's how it is?” he asks.

You roll your eyes, clenching down on him just because you can.

He lets out a broken noise and you can't help but grin.

“Yes, that's how it is.”

“Fine,” he says. “Hold onto the headboard for me.”

It's not really a headboard. More of a frame made up of a single iron bar but it serves its purpose well enough. You move your hands to hold onto it and Colt takes that as the sign to let go.

And let go he does, because when he’s pulled his cock almost all the way out he snaps his hips forward, quick and sharp.

You let out a punched-out moan, then another as he does it again.

He quickly finds a rhythm that works for both of you, settling easily into fucking you hard and fast, strokes deep enough that your head would be meeting the headboard if you weren’t pressing yourself down with your arms.

There are some undeniable perks about fucking a stuntman, too, you think to yourself, thoughts dizzy and jumbled up by the red-hot arousal that's washing over your body.

Colt is letting out little grunts and low noises that make a shiver spring up at your nape and chase down across your body to where the two of you are connected.

“Good?” he asks, looking down at you through the blonde strands of hair that are falling in front of his eyes.

A strained, “Yes,” is all you manage in return and he grins, keeping up the strong grind of his hips.

You can't bite back the noises he's fucking out of you anyway, so you give up completely, moaning and gasping into the air of the trailer. You can hear it when he pulls out of you and the noise when he pushes back in is even clearer, wet, and vulgar.

You had your suspicions when you first started dancing around each other that he would be reasonably good at this, but he blew all of your expectations clear out of the water and continues to do so. His normally straying attention is fully centralized when he has you spread out under him, and it shows.

When both of you get close, he lets himself fall to his elbows, molds himself along your body, pressed together from hips to chest.

He buries his face in your neck again, bites and sucks at the skin there, then seemingly remembers the whole ‘on the down-low’ thing and tries to pull back.

You try to keep him there but he's considerably stronger than you.

“Someone's gonna see,” Colt gasps.

You nod. “Yes. Let them.”

His eyes brighten and when you try to pull him down again he goes willingly, latching onto the sensitive skin you bare to him.

You know you're going to have a hickey right there, high on your neck, but you don't care. It feels good. Colt's lips on your skin, the short bursts of pain he teases out with his teeth.

And like you said. Let them see.

There’s not going to be any question what you've been getting up to in his trailer anyway because you're both a fucking mess by this point.

Both of your hair is mussed and you're sweating. The new position doesn't exactly make that better, not that you care, but it does make everything else better because Colt is so, so close like this. With the comforting support of the mattress beneath you and Colt heavy and warm above you, you know it's not going to take long.

He cums first, with a low groan, and you can feel him twitch and pulse inside of you. He keeps fucking you through his peak, unceremoniously pushes a hand between your bodies to get two fingers on your clit. Despite the strength of his thrusts and how hurried this has become, he's gentle when he brings you to your peak, guiding you through it with rhythmic movements, burying himself deep again so you can clench down around him as your orgasm rushes through your body.

You shudder in his hold, head thrown back against the pillow, Colt's face pressed to the bared line of your throat.

He keeps you close until your muscles have stopped contracting, until you go almost completely lax in his grip. Only then does he carefully pull out and collapse next to you on the bed.

You turn your head to look at him and when you meet his eyes there's a bit of shock in them.

“What?” you ask him.

He winces. “I might have overdone it a bit,” he says, pointing to your neck.

You prop yourself up on one elbow and raise a hand to it. The skin is warm and still slightly slick under your palm.

You let your hand fall away again, instead bending down to kiss Colt who eagerly meets you in the middle.

“Sorry about that,” he breathes.

You shake your head, pushing the sweaty locks off his forehead. “It's fine. I don't care.”

He smiles at you, easily pressing up into your hand. “Alright.”

“When do you have to be back?” you ask, fingers absently carding through his hair.

“I have no idea what time it is, so,” Colt shrugs, throwing a glance at where his phone is probably lying among the pile of clothes on the floor.

“I'm not getting up,” you say before Colt can even come up with the idea.

Colt rolls his eyes. “I'll do it,” he gives in, shuffling down off the bed, still completely naked, to root around for his phone.

“I have to be back,” he says, straightening back up, phone in hand, “in twenty minutes.”

You nod, patting the space next to you. “Come back here.”

He grins at you and does just that.

#bouncing off the walls and clawing at the bars of my enclosure #colt seavers #colt seavers smut #colt seavers x reader #the fall guy #colt seavers fanfic #ryan gosling

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just rewatched la la land. god i love that movie

#sebastian’s such a bastard i love him #colour theory goes crazy in that movie

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RYAN GOSLING CHARACTERS

AS HOZIER SONGS [by @foxdev1l, @ken-dom & me]

Julian: Take Me To Church

Driver: From Eden

Colt: Jackie & Wilson

Ken: Unknown / Nth

Dean: Tell It To My Heart

Richard: Dinner & Diatribes

Dan: Sedated

Noah: Talk

Lars: Wasteland, Baby!

Sebastian: All Things End

Henry: In The Woods Somewhere

Luke: Someone New

Six: Who We Are

Jacob: Why Would You Be Loved

Holland: Francesca

K: Like Real People Do

#i absolutely adore this omg #need to make a playlist rn #i need to hurry up and write my hozier song inspired fic of six and claire oml #ryan gosling #hozier

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finally got an ao3 account!!

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Stay Quiet, Stay Near, Stay Close

Colt Seavers x gn!reader

2.2k words

∘₊✧ Summary: You help Colt unwind with a hot bath and a massage.

Can be read as a part two to my previous Colt fic or can be standalone.

∘₊✧ Author’s notes: I don’t know what it is about Colt Seavers (particularly with long hair) that makes me desperately want to soothe him via handjob but here you have the second version of exactly that — unlikely to be the last! @heresthestorymorningglory was my partner in crime as usual and gave me the perfect Colt song for the title, from Hands Down by Dashboard Confessional.

∘₊✧ Warnings/content: nsfw, hot bath, hair washing, massage, handjob, praise, crying, before during and aftercare!! Long hair Colt!

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

Even beneath the shimmering softness of warm, soapy bath water, Colt’s body lays heavily against yours as he sinks further into your safe, massaging hands.

With your legs either side of his waist and his back to your chest, you can feel every breath he takes, slow and steady. It’s kind of like a physical meditation that soothes you from the outside in, and you wonder how heavy you’ve become, too, while you’ve been soothing his aches away.

His head rests, lolling in the crook of your neck with long damp strands of blonde sticking to your flesh among the rising steam, slightly darker where the tips have met the water.

Kneading the flesh at his broad shoulders in a soothing rhythm, you bite your lip to resist the urge to let your fingers wander. You want to slide them further down his muscular arms and caress those firm contours, but that would be purely for your own pleasure and this is about Colt.

You can’t quite see his face from here, just a glimpse of his handsome profile out of the corner of your eye, but you can hear the infrequent little catches of breath and feel the way he tenses up for a moment every time he bites back a moan.

You can see the rest of his body clearly enough though, golden in the warmth of the candlelight. His slowly rising and falling chest, his knees protruding from beneath the bubbles where his legs are spread, feet planted firmly beside yours. And you can see the way his body is reacting to your touch; as your eyes drag over his form again, you notice his fingers tighten their grip around the rim of the bathtub.

‘Huhng-’ he grunts, knuckles turning white.

‘Sorry,’ you breathe, withdrawing your fingers and gradually resuming the more measured pace you’d set before letting yourself get carried away with his big strong arms carrying you and the way his muscles might flex as he touches you, and accidentally pressed your thumbs just a little too sharply into his shoulders.

‘S’alright,’ he slurs, dropped against you again, far too relaxed to bother much about separating words unnecessarily. ‘Felt good.’

Oh.

Despite sharing a hot bathtub, your naked bodies pressed together under hot, steamy water, you’re very aware that you’re here because you’re trying to help him relax, to ease his pain and hopefully to get a good night’s sleep. But the way your body reacted to those two innocent words that dripped off his tongue like warm honey — Felt good —  isn’t exactly conducive to focussing solely on Colt’s shoulder tension.

You close your eyes and recompose yourself.

‘You… want me to do that again?’ you offer, hands hovering, and Colt nods his approval with a quiet hum.

Watching his hands closely, you dig the pads of your thumbs firmly above his shoulder blades, loosening the knots you can feel there with a little more force than before. You feel him jolt as you work them out, and see his knuckles turn white again as his fingers grip the edge of the tub.

And you hear him moan.

Oh no.

You know Colt’s moans exceptionally well. They’re always so loud and unrestrained, and you’re surprised he’s lasted this long through a massage without one or two escaping until now. No mistake, you want to hear them – of course you do! But you’re not sure how good of a job you’ll make of soothing him for a restful night when all you can think about is the way he sounds when you pleasure him.

Please him, you correct yourself.

Then again. Perhaps that would help…

You slow the rhythmic circles to a stop. It’s reluctant, but necessary if you’re going to at least attempt to concentrate. You can always return to rubbing steady patterns into his supple flesh as he lays in bed beside you later. With that in mind, you grab the shampoo bottle to move things along.

‘Scalp next, handsome,’ you say softly, mindful that he’s already somewhat of a puddle and the last thing he needs is a bolt of your over-enthusiasm at getting your fingers tangled in his luscious hair.

‘Mmmh,’ he hums, not even bothering to nod this time. He can feel himself melting against you, feel how heavy he must be becoming while he actually feels like he’s floating.

You wonder if washing his hair will finally send him off to sleep and you’ll have to drag him out of the bath after somehow managing to slide yourself out from underneath his burly frame… but whatever. He needs it, it’s working, let him have it. Worry about the rest later, post-hair wash and scalp massage.

You squeeze out a dollop of shampoo, warming it between your palms, sliding your fingers from the nape of his neck and up, deliberate and so sensual that Colt begins to hum again. It’s a little more high pitched this time. Whiny.

He shivers against you, skin prickling with tingles, and with some effort, he lifts his head to allow you the space to continue exactly what you’re doing. Don’t stop, he thinks, but he isn’t sure how to say it out loud. Maybe he is saying it? He can’t quite tell. It doesn’t matter. You’re not stopping. He knows you won’t stop as long as he needs it. 

A low groan drags from his throat, though, head as heavy in your hands now as his torso feels against yours, and his hair tangles around your fingers as they drag, slow and mesmerising, over his scalp. Another little moan.

You allow your eyes to drag over what you can see of his body again. As a treat. The way the light dances on the contours of his chest, those husky arms, the tip of his thick cock appearing from beneath the bathwater…

Oh.

‘B-blended… ice…’

You’re brought back to your senses by Colt’s incoherent muttering, realising that your fingernails are scraping quite harshly against his scalp, but he mustn’t mind it too much because there’s still a low groan lacing his stuttered words.

‘Spicy…’

Margaritas. He’s putty in your hands, achingly hard, and muttering about margaritas. 

This is the man you adore. And he needs you.

You rinse the shampoo away as best you can at this angle, and reach for the conditioner, squeezing a helping onto your palm.

‘Wanna make margaritas later?’ he drawls. It's the most coherent he’s sounded since insisting that you use the neroli and amber bath bubbles he likes, but that was before climbing into the tub and immediately melting, mind and body, against you.

Even Colt isn’t sure where his question came from because all he can think about now is how he wants your hands, soft, clever, precise hands, between his thighs now instead. Another question he isn’t sure how to translate from hazy thought to speech. But margaritas, sure. That appears out of nowhere.

Maybe he isn’t sleepy at all but just… zen? Random thoughts he matches up with feeling close to you spilling out while he feels safe enough to let them?

‘I think we can stretch to margaritas if you’re not too relaxed to sit up,’ you appease him.

‘Mmh. I’ll manage.’

‘You sure about that?’

You finally allow a hand to glide down over his chest, soft from the steam, and rest it at his belly where the water gently laps against your movements.

Your breath catches in your throat at how firm he feels under your palm, the way he trembles just slightly as your hand travels lower. The way he whines.

His breath catches at the exact same moment; your touch sending tingles coursing down to his core. The hazy air thickens in the split second that you both freeze, and he grits his teeth, seeming to regain some coherence now you’re doing exactly what he wanted. Kind of embarrassing though, right? To get a hardon from a scalp massage and the way your fingers pulled at the long strands in the process…

‘Was kinda hoping you wouldn’t notice.’

‘Pretty hard not to,’ you reply under your breath, but he hears you and you can practically feel his smirk. ‘You know, I’ve heard that hair conditioner has some excellent… other uses.’

‘Oh?’

You slide your other arm around his waist, revealing your palmful of the silky product.

‘Trust me?’

‘Yeah-hhhnnng-’

Your fingers close around his length, conditioner-covered palm coating the half of him visible above the water. He shifts to reveal more and you begin to stroke, long and slow, kneading lightly, just as you had with his aching muscles.

But it’s easier to massage with the addition of this impromptu aid, the thick, glossy liquid allowing your hand to glide over his skin with ease.

‘Feel good?’ You press your mouth to his neck, keeping the pace of your slicked up hand steady as your tongue slips from between your lips and drags over the sensitive flesh, lips closing now and again to nip at his skin and feel him shudder.

His cock twitches inside your grip, strong enough that you can feel it begging you to jerk him faster before his blissed out brain catches up and he moans, ‘Please- please-’

He’s bucking his hips enough that the gentle lapping of the water escalates to loud sloshing against the sides of the tub and hot, scented water splashes over onto the floor, steaming puddles quickly cooling against the tiles.

Every laboured breath Colt takes in is exhaled laced with a grunt or a low whimper, echoing around the room and surrounding you both with the sounds of his pleasure. It’s turning desperate though, and you don’t want him desperate. You want him to enjoy the journey, ride it out with nothing but bliss.

‘Shhh,’ you soothe him, working the heel of your other palm over his shoulder again as you stroke his cock in the same rhythm. ‘It’s ok. Tell me what you need.’

The combination of the soothing touch at his shoulder and the electric touch lower down – the one setting something ablaze in his gut – is driving Colt wild.

You can feel it radiating from his pores and don’t require a verbal response to decipher what he needs. He needs exactly this, until he doesn’t anymore. And then he’ll need you.

‘You need to cum, don’t you, baby? Is that it?’

Colt’s head drops back against your shoulder, heavy again as the tension that’s been coiling, hot in his gut, subsides with the increased speed of your hand and the languid swipes of your thumb over his steadily leaking tip.

He manages a low hum, and you don’t push it. You could carry on, slow your hand back down and force him to use words, to beg, before you’ll allow his release. But that’s not the point of this, and it’s not what you want. You want him sated and comforted and safe. 

‘It’s alright, let go for me,’ you coo, and without a beat, he does, a thick creamy rope splattering up over his chest and dripping down, mingling into the bath water.

A growl tears from his throat as his peak hits, tapering off into a weak little whimper, and he slumps, his weight almost crushing you if it wasn’t for the small volume of water still in the tub with you. Colt wonders if you’ll notice the tears dropping into it.

You do, but you say nothing. In another position, you’d have wiped his cheeks, so instead you file it away.

You manage to release the bath plug with your foot, letting the water drain as you hoist him forward and upward, clumsily reaching around for a jug of fresh, warm water to rinse the both of you off. Untangling your bodies, already sweaty from shared heat, you climb out and wrap yourself and then him in a fluffy towel and help him climb out of the tub.

Colt’s legs feel wobbly, and his head is spinning a little as his blood finds its way back from his core to his extremities. The heat of the water he’s been soaking in for probably too long isn’t doing much to help matters. He feels woozy, but still safe.

Before he knows it, you’ve dried him off, guided him onto his bed, plumped his pillows to support his back, and slipped his favorite joggers on for him. He can’t remember if he saw you bothering with underwear, and he doesn’t care. He can feel aftershocks in his soft cock, and it’s reassuring, somehow.

You realise as you sit on the edge of the bed that you didn’t actually condition his hair. You’re careful not to cause any knots where it’s still wet as you brush through it for him. It doesn’t matter. Next time, you will, if the feel or smell of it doesn’t get him too excited and distract you both again.

Colts whole body feels incredibly silky against the fabrics, and he can’t remember ever feeling quite this good as he wriggles against the sheets, settling in. 

‘Still want that margarita?’ you tease, and with his eyelids too heavy to keep open now, he just huffs a gentle laugh and lets sleep wash over him.

#well aren’t you just an angel sent from heaven #the absolute most perfect fic i needed after a long day #colt seavers x reader #colt seavers smut #colt seavers #the fall guy

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$$$

#PLEASEEEE I LOVE THIS #the fall guy #colt seavers #ryan gosling #the fall guy fanart #colt seavers fanart #ryan gosling fanart

[ryanspinkfuzzyblanket]

third and final chapter of my sebastian/jacob fic is posted! hope i managed to land the ending, lol

#i have no words. i have zero words #omfg #for the third consecutive chapter you have made me sob like a baby #i adore your writing and i adore them #please revisit them soon because my heart can’t take this #la la land #crazy stupid love #sebastian wilder #jacob palmer #sebastian x jacob

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humble offering or something, except nothing humble is in this fic– it's a colt/richard fic

put this on while reading;

#someone help me up because i’ve just been blown away by a master at work #this is absolutely delicious #colt seavers #richard haywood #the fall guy #murder by numbers

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Cold Showers // Officer K

Content/warnings: Some wandering hands in the shower. Brief mentions of a fight with K. Soft smut/ light nsfw. Technical hurt/comfort. Cliffhanger ending because how the fuck do you end a fic.

Notes: Oughh I want him. This movie is porn and if K tripped me I'd apologize for brushing his shoe.

Word count: 355

K's fingers, softened by the hot water, slowly trail the length of your shoulders. Curiously, he watches the way your skin dips when he lightly presses them into it, equally careful and attentive. He makes sure to avoid the little bruises and cuts, from previous encounters, and smooths the flat underside of his palm over your shoulder blades.

He can't help but trace invisible little patterns into your flesh, hoping it might soothe the anger left over from your argument. K is sure you can feel the light tremors in his unnatural system when he wraps his arms around your torso, to bury his nose in the crook of your neck.

The rivulets of falling water that roll down his own back are starting to run cold, and the steam of the shower has begun to dissipate. Even as you turn the valve for it to stop, K is afraid to release you for even a minute. Neither of you had even cleaned off, aside from him running his fingers through your hair to rinse it, through kisses you'd not returned.

Sharply, he inhales. You still smell like the soap you'd used, just this morning before work.

“Are you still upset?” K asks, softly, swallowing the knot in his throat. Your quiet answer of ’no,’ doesn't assure him in the least. Doubt lingers in the lowest parts of his belly, and he shifts his trembling hands to the curves of your waist. ‘Are you sure?’ He wants to ask, but the words seem to weigh too heavy for him to really get them out. It feels unnecessary.

Instead, he gives up on communication at all. His lips press against the back of your head, and K allows his hands to wander. The almost immediate following whimper makes the Replicant tense, and he releases the breath he forgot he'd been holding. It's a shuddering exhale, shaky like the rest of him, and he almost wants to squirm at the new sudden heat that settles in his lower half.

Harshly, he swallows, before it's interrupted by his own sinful moan when your hand curls around his cock.

#i love this and k so much #officer k smut #ryan gosling x reader #officer k x reader #officer k