#-_- its a fucking blue mullet. its blue. who is he

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - handle with care

warnings ; oral (f recieving), he hits it from the back, hair pulling, blue collar dick🚨🚨

prompt ; in which your landlord sends an electrician to fix your power, and you end up learning firsthand the magic of blue collar dick.

note ; if you are reading this.. this is a queue’d post while im in MEXICO!!!!! you horny little sluts really thought i would leave you alone for 5 days.. i would never. i figured — hey if i can’t post part 5 of tpod i can at least give a life lesson on blue collar dick, right? backstory here is that the other day my best friend and i had a conversation about our sexy ass landlord and that got me thinking… jungkook..? blue collar..? big dick..? so anyways this is the product of that convo! (and also a standalone one shot bc yall be loving these!)

Later, when someone asks you to recap this story, you’ll say that in your defense, you weren’t expecting the electrician to look like he walked straight off some cringy Pornhub set. You’ll say you just wanted your electricity fixed, not to be spiritually humbled by a man who smells like sawdust and pine.

Your apartment is the kind of place that builds character. And by character, you mean mild trauma.

The kitchen light flickers like it’s been possessed since the day you moved in. The ceiling creaks when your upstairs neighbor sneezes. Your shower only has two settings (arctic and molten lava). There’s a weird stain on the ceiling you’ve been ignoring for three months. And today, of all days, the universe decided to cut the last thread holding your sanity together: the power.

No lights. No working outlets. No WiFi. Which means you’re sitting on your couch, in a hoodie and shorts, trying to hotspot your laptop with 3% battery left while rage-texting your landlord like you’re filing an official grievance with Satan himself.

You immediately text your landlord, fully expecting a five-day delay and a $30 deduction off your next rent.

You: hi. respectfully. what the FUCK is happening?

You: i work from home. i pay rent. i have needs. pls fix ASAP.

He replies five minutes later like he’s doing you a personal favor.

Landlord: sending my guy over. 15 mins.

Your landlord is somehow both your greatest nemesis and your weirdest emotional support system. He’ll ignore three maintenance requests, ghost you for a week, then show up unannounced with a half-eaten bag of Hot Cheetos. You’ve threatened to sue him in writing and sent him a happy birthday meme in the same month. And you’re already halfway into a mental spiral about “his guy” being a 60-year-old with pants that don’t stay up and opinions about the current political climate when there’s a knock at your door.

You swing the door open, fully expecting to see a crusty old man with a clipboard and a wheeze, and instead, you see… (and you’ll remember this moment until the day you die.)

Lip ring. Tattoo sleeve. Tool belt slung low over cargo pants. A black tee stretched across broad shoulders. Jesus Christ, the hair. Dark, slightly shaggy, pushed back on top but long in the back, curling at the nape of his neck in a way that should not be allowed near unsupervised women.

“Hey’,” he says, like this isn’t a pivotal moment in your sexual awakening. “I’m here about the outage?”

You blink at him. You are officially unfit for conversation.

This man has a mullet. A tattooed, lip-ringed, mullet-wearing man is standing in your hallway holding a voltage tester like its foreplay.

Suddenly, your pajama shorts feel too short for this moment. You fumble with the doorknob, “Uh. Yeah. Come in. It’s, uh.. yeah.”

Brilliant. Shakespeare could never.

He steps inside, and holy shit, he’s even taller than you thought. The kind of tall that makes your ceilings feel shorter. The kind of tall where you have to crane your neck just slightly to look up at him, which is offensive because you’re not exactly short yourself. He smells like a mix of sawdust, a hint of pine, laundry detergent, and a 2002 Nissan Altima. It’s oddly specific.

He glances around like he’s surveying a battlefield. “Power cut out completely?”

You nod, shuffling behind him as he moves farther into your apartment with the kind of confidence like he’s somehow been to your home before. His boots thud across your hardwood floor, scuffed and loud. The tool belt clinks. His shirt rides up when he stretches his arm to check something near the ceiling and there’s a flash of golden skin and low-slung cargo pants and—

You’re not doing well.

He pops open the panel in the ceiling like it’s nothing. “Y’all been having issues with this before? Flickering? Dead outlets?”

“Sometimes the kitchen light hums like it’s possessed,” you say, which you regret immediately. “I mean, not literally possessed. Not like.. haunted. Just… you know. Buzzing.”

He chuckles. It’s a low, gravelly sound that sinks its teeth into your spine and doesn’t let go.

“Probably a loose connection in the junction box. Nothing too crazy,” he says, grabbing something from his belt that you will now dream about tonight. “You work from home?”

You nod again, helpless. “Yeah. Marketing.”

He glances back at you. “Tough with no WiFi.”

You turn around under the guise of “letting him work” but really just to text your roommate, Sana, with trembling fingers.

You: help. our power went out and the electrician we got sent is so hot

You: he has a MULLET. a mullet, sana. he said “junction box” and i almost moaned

You hear him grunt softly as he stretches to reach something and you nearly drop your phone.

Sana: SEND A PIC RN

You sneak a glance back — he’s perched on your step stool, arms flexing as he reaches into the ceiling. His hair is curling perfectly at the back of his neck, a little messy from the heat.

You don’t send a pic. You can’t. It feels criminal. You feel like you’re watching live porn with consequences.

Then he speaks again, casually. “You smell something burning last night? Or anything weird before it cut out?”

You nearly say “just my ovaries,” but God reaches down and slaps your mouth shut.

Instead, you clear your throat. “Nope. No sparks, no smell. It just… died this morning.”

He nods, focused. “Might be a fuse then. I’ll check the basement in a sec.”

He drops down from the stool with a casual thud and wipes his hands on that rag in his back pocket. That ass, that rag. This is no longer an apartment. It’s a crime scene.

You glance up just in time to see him walking toward your front door, lifting the back of his shirt to wipe his forehead. You black out for a second.

You: he just wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his shirt. i saw ab muscle. like cut definition. i think it smiled at me.

Sana: you need jail or a CONDOM stat. get his number???

You’re halfway through typing “I don’t even know his name yet” when the front door opens behind you, and you almost launch your phone across the room like it’s a grenade.

He steps back into your apartment with that casual, unbothered energy he’s so good at carrying. Hair slightly damp at the edges now, cheeks pink from the walk up your stairs, tool belt still jingling.

“Basement breaker’s fine,” he says, brushing his palm down the front of his shirt. “Might be a wiring issue. Gonna check one more thing.”

You blink. Nod. Attempt human speech. Fail. “Cool. Yeah. Check… stuff.”

Christ. You sound like you learned English from Duolingo five minutes ago.

He smiles then, actually smiles. Full teeth, little bunny front ones peeking out. His lip ring glints as he does it, and your brain goes completely static for a second.

“Want some water?” you blurt, and immediately hate yourself. “Or iced tea? Or, whatever I have in the fridge that isn’t expired?”

He huffs out a little laugh, shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. But thanks, sweetheart.”

You freeze like you’ve been slapped by a porn star. He walks past you again like nothing happened, reaching for something in his tool bag, completely unaware that your soul just evacuated your body.

You unlock your phone immediately, fingers trembling, and text in all caps.

You: HE CALLED ME SWEETHEART.

You: arrest him. make him marry me. i don’t care just make it LEGAL

You barely get the message out when he turns slightly and casually, and says, “So… you live here with your boyfriend, or…?”

You blink hard.

The question hangs there, just slightly too relaxed. Like it’s not loaded with potential. Like it’s not every Wattpad plotline you’ve ever read come to life in front of your half-broken Ikea bookshelf.

Your brain short-circuits harder than your kitchen socket. Is he flirting? Was that… are you being flirted with? It’s been a minute. Like, a long minute since you’ve had someone show genuine interest in you. You can’t tell anymore. He could be asking because he needs to know whose ass he’s about to get chewed out by if he knocks something over, or because he’s just curious.

You manage to croak out, “Just my roommate. Sana.”

He nods and doesn’t press. He lets out a low, distracted, “Hm,” like that’s useful information. Like it slots into place somewhere in his head and he’s okay with it.

You, meanwhile, are mentally drafting a will because you’re not sure your heart’s going to survive the rest of this visit.

He leans over your couch armrest to reach the outlet near the floor. His cargo pants pull slightly tighter around his thighs and you look away so fast you give yourself whiplash. You try to look normal, like a woman who isn’t catastrophically horny over someone adjusting your voltage.

You: HE ASKED IF I HAD A BOYFRIEND

Sana: I AM SCREAMING. I’M IN LINE AT TRADER JOE’S. OFFER TO MAKE HIM LEMONADE OR SIT ON HIS FACE IDK CHOOSE FAST

He stands back up, wiping his palms on that stupid fucking rag again, and glances over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t take much longer,” he quips with that lazy, dangerous smile.

You nod, eyes wide, pretending you’re normal. “Cool. Thanks. No rush or anything. It’s not like I need power to… survive.”

He quirks a brow at that, like he finds you kind of funny, or kind of tragic.

You sit on the couch, phone hidden in your lap like it’s a shameful secret. He crouches near another outlet, testing something with one of those little gadgets that beeps and blinks.

“So, marketing,” he says over his shoulder. “Like… ads?”

You blink. “Uh. Yeah. I work for a beauty brand. Mostly social media, some campaign strategy. Lots of pretending I know what I’m doing and hoping the algorithm doesn’t hate me that day.”

He chuckles. That low, amused sound that makes your toes curl. “That why you’re so good at talking?”

You freeze. “What?”

He glances back, smile creeping in slow and lazy. There’s an unfortunate amount of sarcasm behind his tone. “You seem to stumble a bit over words.”

You blink again, officially out of working brain cells. “Sorry. I—I can stop. I don’t mean to be annoying, I just—”

“I didn’t say it was annoying.” He doesn’t look at you when he says it. He crouches lower again, tapping something against the outlet. But you hear it anyway and feel it, low in your stomach like a dropped elevator.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, blessedly interrupting the moment before you combust.

Sana: girl. do i need to walk around the block or are you gonna fuck him. be honest.

You bite your lip so hard you nearly draw blood. He straightens up, wiping his palms again. “So do you like it? The job?”

“Oh. Um. Yeah. It’s… stressful. But fun, sometimes. I guess,” You scratch the back of your neck.

“You good at it?” He grunts out, looking for something in his toolbox.

Your mind blanks. “What?”

He turns to look at you full-on now, arms crossed, shirt clinging to the curve of his shoulders. “Marketing. All that stuff. You good at it?”

You let out a nervous little laugh. “I mean, I hope so. I’ve been doing it for a few years now, and nobody’s fired me yet.”

“That’s not what I asked.” His tone isn’t aggressive. It’s low and relaxed. But something about the way he says it makes your pulse skip.

“I… I think I am,” you say, slower this time.

He nods once as if that answer pleases him. “You seem like you’d be.”

You’re gonna die. You’re going to actually die. This man is being nice to you, and it feels like your body isn’t prepared for that level of stimulus.

You glance at your phone again.

Sana: WHY ARE YOU TAKING THIS LONG TO RESPOND??? IS HIS DICK OUT. BLINK TWICE

You look back up and he’s leaning against the doorframe that divides your kitchen and living room now, arms still crossed, lip ring catching the light. “So your roommate…?”

You nod, trying not to choke. “Yeah. Her name’s Sana. We’ve lived together since college.”

“She at work?” You swear he looks at your legs in your shorts, but could also be wishful thinking.

“Not right now. She works night shifts at the hospital 15 minutes away from here.,” You twiddle your thumbs in your lap.

He hums, still watching you. “So you’re here all alone today.”

It’s not a question. It shouldn’t be hot. It’s just a sentence. But, the way he says it? The tone? The slight lilt at the end, like it means more than it says?

You let out a strangled sound that you hope reads as a laugh. “Yeah. Just me. Alone. In this… apartment. Where you are. Currently.”

He tilts his head, smiling again. “You’re kind of funny for someone with no electricity.”

You hesitate. Then, blurting before you can stop yourself, “And you’re kind of cocky for someone who still hasn’t turned my lights on yet.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk slowly appearing. “Hm?”

You shake your head way too fast. “I mean—just—like, you’ve been here for a bit now and you’re fixing my power and it is taking quite long, but I promise I’m not mad about it.. I’m sorry.”

He lets out a real laugh this time. Full, low, and stupidly hot. He pushes off the wall and walks back toward the kitchen like he didn’t just wreck your central nervous system.

You take another breath and text Sana.

You: he’s flirting. he’s literally flirting. i want to crawl inside the oven

Sana: girl. jump on the counter and say “while you’re fixing things, i’m also broken.”

Almost like he was trying to prove a point to you, the lights come back on with a quiet click, a whirr of electricity humming back to life through your walls, and you swear the sound might as well be a death knell.

He steps back from the panel in your hallway, tapping the side of it with a knuckle like he just fixed your entire infrastructure. “There we go,” he says, “Should be good now. Might’ve just been a loose connection behind the breaker, it’s common in these old buildings.”

You nod slowly, like you understood a single word of that. All you really heard was competency and your brain whispered: breedable.

“That’s… great,” you reply, way too softly. “Thanks.”

He wipes his hands again on that same rag and starts packing up his tools, metal clicking together as he slips things back into place. His forearm flexes with every movement, tattoos shifting across his skin like they’re in on the joke.

“Need help with anything else?” he asks casually, not looking at you as he zips up the tool bag. His voice dips slightly.

Your heart stutters. You should say actually, yeah, my back is acting up and I think the solution involves that couch and maybe you using me like a handrail. But instead you go, “Nope. That’s all.”

Your phone vibrates against your thigh, dragging you back to earth.

Sana: have you ever heard of blue collar dick??? this is ur chance

You squint at that text, thumbs pausing mid-reply.

Blue collar dick.

The phrase unlocks something buried deep in your brain. A memory. A TikTok you watched half-asleep one night at 1:37AM, under the glow of your LED lights, while eating dry cereal out of a mug. The girl had looked straight into the camera, wide-eyed and deadly serious, and whispered: “Blue collar dick is not just a concept. It’s a lifestyle. It’s the kind of unholy grip someone develops on you after a man with calloused hands and a union paycheck fixes your sink and rearranges your soul in the same afternoon.”

You’d laughed. Scoffed, even. How dramatic.

He zips up the last pouch on his tool bag and stands tall, glancing toward the door like he might head that way but he doesn’t. He stays.

He rolls his shoulder a little, absently adjusting the strap, and you watch his fingers drag across the curve of his neck.

“You think everything working alright?” he asks, voice low and unhurried like he’s trying to fill the silence. Like he knows you’re still stuck in some sort of horny trance and he’s being generous enough to let you catch up.

“Yeah,” you say, breathier than intended. “Power’s on. Looks like the WiFi is back. I can check if my laptop came back to life.”

You gesture toward your computer like it matters. Like any of that is worth focusing on when he is standing six feet from you.

He hums, looking around your living room where you’re still on your couch. “Place is cute.”

You blink. “Oh. Uh. Thanks. It’s… falling apart slowly, but charming.”

He doesn’t really acknowledge that. “Anything else broken in here?” he asks, stepping away from the wall a little. “Leaky faucet? Shaky table leg? My dad taught me how to fix a ton of stuff, I’m pretty handy with anything. You want me to check something else?”

Your mouth opens and closes. Your brain struggles to find the words, and the words you want to say are not coming out easily, so you just respond with, “No. I mean… no, I think we’re good. You fixed the lights.”

His eyes flicker and stay on you just a second too long. Then he shifts slightly, sets the tool box down again with a thud, and stretches his arms overhead like he’s got nowhere to be. Shirt rides up just enough for you to see the line of his waistband and the shadow of toned skin beneath it, and you almost bite your tongue off.

“You sure?” he asks again, tone casual, almost amused now. “You looked kinda… bummed when the lights came back on.”

Your head jerks up. “What? No. I wasn’t.. I mean, not bummed. Just surprised. Happy. Grateful. Electrified, if you will.”

Electrified. You’re going to throw yourself off the balcony.

He laughs again, and you swear it vibrates in your chest. “I could hang out a sec,” he offers, and it’s not subtle anymore. “Just make sure everything stays stable. Sometimes the lights will turn back off randomly.”

Everything’s stable, you repeat in your brain like an idiot. I am not.

He’s leaning one shoulder against the wall now, lazy and relaxed, eyes still on you like he’s just waiting to see what you’ll say next.

Before your brain can stop your mouth from doing anything reckless, you blurt out, “Have you eaten?”

His brows lift. “What?”

You clear your throat. “Lunch. Have you had any?”

He tilts his head, eyes flickering down to your mouth for one half-second too long. “Not yet,” he says, “Didn’t get the chance.”

You nod like this is normal. Like offering sandwiches to electricians with tool belts and stupidly sexy mullets is part of your daily routine. “I can make you something if you want.”

His mouth curves, slow and teasing. “Yeah? You feed all the guys your landlord sends over?”

You roll your eyes so hard they nearly eject from your skull. “Only the ones who save me from having to live in darkness.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Then yeah. I’m kinda hungry.”

He walks over to where you’re sitting, drops his bag beside the couch, stretches with a casual groan that shoots straight between your thighs, and flops onto your couch like he’s done it a hundred times. Like your couch is a perfectly acceptable throne for his man-spreading, bicep-showcasing, very-much-staying presence.

You twiddle your fingers, “If i make you food, it’s only right if I get your name.”

Smooth. Real fucking smooth.

“Jungkook,” He looks over to you, trying to bite back a grin. “And yours is [Y/N], right? Saw it on the assignment sheet.”

“Cool,” You gulp down some saliva that was lodged in your throat.

You march to the kitchen like a woman on a mission, flinging the fridge open with the determination of someone prepping for an exorcism. It’s not that you want to impress him. It’s just that… okay. No. You do want to impress him. You want to serve this man a sandwich so good he files a formal complaint against your thighs for being too far from his face.

You find good bread. Not the sad white slices. You find turkey. Cheese. Lettuce that isn’t slimy. A tomato you aggressively pat dry with a paper towel like a psychotic housewife. You toast the bread and add a little mustard. You even cut the sandwich diagonally, because if you’re going to be delusional, you’re going to be domestically deranged about it.

Your phone buzzes for the billionth time.

Sana: DID YOU FUCK HIM YET

You ignore her. You grab a little paper plate with a cup of water and a napkin and present this meal like you are some Michelin chef. You walk it out carefully, feeling like you should have a white linen apron and one of those vintage Coke ads playing behind you.

“Damn,” he says when you hand it to him, voice warm with surprise. “You really went all out.”

You shrug, trying to act chill. “Just a sandwich.”

He takes a bite and groans.“No, this is next level. Wife-tier sandwich.”

Your face goes hot. You sit down beside him on the couch, one cushion away, legs crossed, heart racing. You grab your phone and finally reply to Sana before she drives to the apartment and physically removes you.

You: sana i need you to take a lap. actually take a five-mile lap. this house needs to be mine for two hours minimum.

Sana: i will literally be gone until sunset

You set your phone down and glance at him again. He’s halfway through the sandwich already, clearly enjoying the hell out of it, crumbs on his fingers, lip ring glinting as he chews.

“So,” you say casually, “how’d you get into electrical work?”

He swallows, wipes his mouth, and shrugs. “Started out helping my uncle with his crew back home. Learned enough on the job that I stuck with it. Took the exam, got certified, picked up my own clients.”

“That’s hot,” you say before thinking.

He pauses, blinks, then smirks again. “Yeah?”

You want to shrivel into the cushions. “I mean, just like the hands-on thing. Fixing stuff. Being good with your hands.”

He glances at you, faintly amused. “It’s a bold choice… Flirting with the guy who knows your wires inside out better than you ever could.”

You’ve made your decision. You’ve committed to the bit. You’re going to have him. You don’t care how. You don’t care if it’s a terrible idea. You’re already halfway there, and if blue collar dick is a myth, you’d like to be the one to confirm or deny it firsthand. You smile, tilting your head. “I like living on the edge.”

He finishes the sandwich and sets the plate on your coffee table with a little sigh. “Damn. Guess I should’ve been in this line of work sooner.”

You let out a soft laugh, glancing at him through your lashes like you’re not actively in the process of losing your mind.

He shifts slightly on the couch, one arm thrown casually along the back cushion, knee brushing yours now, and your whole body tightens at the contact. You look down at his hand, rough, calloused, fingers spread just enough to imagine what they’d feel like anywhere else.

Focus. Focus.

“So,” you start, aiming for casual but landing somewhere around unhinged, “do you, like… do this for a lot of people?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Fix electricity?”

You laugh too fast. “No! Well, yeah. I mean. Yes. But like… do you do this for one person a lot? Regularly? Like… someone special. Like a client. A consistent client.”

He’s still watching you, brows slightly raised, clearly trying to follow your logic. “Huh?”

You look down, embarrassed. Shit. Too subtle. You double back. “Sorry, I meant… like… is there someone who, you know, gets their power fixed all the time? Like a… girlfriend?”

Oh my god. Girlfriend. You say it like you’ve never spoken English before, like the concept of casual inquiry never existed.

His lips tugging up like he knows exactly what you’re asking. “Nah,” he replies. “No girlfriend.”

He reaches for the glass of water you’d set on the coffee table earlier, and you watch his throat work as he takes a slow gulp. His lip ring catches the light again, and your brain completely flatlines.

No girlfriend.

No girlfriend. That’s… fine. That’s great. That’s also dangerous.

Your heart is pounding so loud in your ears you barely register that he hasn’t looked away. When he sets the glass down again, his eyes don’t drift back to his phone or the room or the vague distance.

They stay locked on you.

You shift slightly, suddenly hyperaware of how close you’re sitting. His fingers are still relaxed against the couch cushion, a breath away from the curve of your shoulder.

“Should I expect a full background check with your next outage?”he says, voice low now.

You’re officially in the danger zone now with no intentions of stopping. “Already ran yours. Five star reviews all around. “

He chuckles, quietly. “I’m honored.”

Your breath catches. It’s a small sound. Barely audible. But his gaze dips lower at the sound of it, flickering between your mouth and your throat. He doesn’t hide it anymore. There’s no playfulness left.

“Stop staring” you mutter, trying to keep your voice even.

He lifts a brow. “I’m not.”

“Are you… thinking about kissing me?” This is worse than that one time in 10th grade when you got put in a closet with your crush and you practically slammed him against the door begging him to kiss you.

However, Jungkook doesn’t smile or smile. His gaze lingers on your lips still like he’s counting the seconds. “Would that be a problem?”

Your stomach drops. The air between you turns solid. “No,” you say softly. “It’d be the opposite of a problem.”

He doesn’t move right away, or lunge and lean in. He lets the silence fill with heat, with potential, like he wants you to feel the choice stretch out and make sure you want it just as much as he does. (Is he insane? Of course you do)

You want him to kiss you so bad it’s physically painful. Every nerve in your body is waiting for it, screaming for it, for the weight of his hand on your jaw, the feel of his lip ring pressing into yours.

You inch just slightly closer and your knee brushes against his fully now. Your face is tilted up toward his without even thinking.

“Are you gonna?” you whisper, voice barely there.

His eyes flicker again and then he smiles. “Thought you’d never ask.”

He leans in, not in some clumsy rush. He drags it out just long enough for you to feel your whole body tense with anticipation. His hand finds your jaw first, thumb brushing your cheek, fingers curling gently under your chin.

And then his mouth is on yours.

He kisses you like it’s his job, like he’s done this a thousand times but still finds something new in the shape of your lips. His mouth moves with intention, none of that awkward fumbling, none of the soft, shy hesitation. It’s confident. His lip ring drags against your lower lip and you actually whimper, because of course he knows how to use it.

He groans low in his throat when your fingers knot in the front of his shirt, tugging him closer. One hand slips around the back of your neck, the other finding your waist, pulling you across the couch and into him like he can’t stand even a breath of space between you.

He tastes like faint mint and the sandwich you made him. Your legs shift, tangling with his. His hand is already on your thigh, rough palm skimming under the hem of your shorts, gripping hard enough to make your breath stutter into his mouth.

You gasp when he bites down lightly, but enough to make you feel it. He soothes it with a kiss immediately after, dragging his mouth down your jaw, and murmurs into your skin, “You’re a good kisser.”

You could die. You could die right now and it would be worth it.

You tilt your head back to give him more access, voice breathless. “Yeah? You’re not so bad yourself.”

That earns you another groan, this one deeper, more possessive. His hand slides up your side, under your hoodie, fingers grazing bare skin and making your back arch instinctively.

He kisses you again, messier now and wetter. Tongues tangling, teeth clashing. His fingers sink into your thigh, pull you closer until you’re practically straddling him on the couch and you feel him, hard beneath his cargo pants, pressed against your hip like a threat.

“You sure you don’t need anything else fixed?” he murmurs against your mouth.

And all you can do is nod, eyes heavy, hands trembling against his chest as you whisper: “Hmm. I think my body is out of order. Needs fixing.”

Big hands grip your thighs, and with one swift, greedy motion, he’s pushing you back into the couch cushions. You land with a quiet gasp, hair fanned out, lips swollen, hoodie riding up over your stomach.

He’s hovering, body caged above yours, weight pressed into one arm braced beside your head, the other skimming up your waist and dragging your hoodie even higher. His silver chain dangles loose from his neck and every time he leans down to kiss you again, it smacks against your throat, cold and heavy, sending a shiver straight through you.

He groans when you arch up into him, letting your hips roll slightly, needy and desperate, and he feels it, feels how bad you want him and how worked up you are.

His bicep flexes beside your head, holding himself up so he doesn’t crush you but you kind of wish he would. You let your hand drift up, fingertips grazing the muscle slowly, shamelessly.

Holy fuck, he’s strong.

Strong in the way that makes your thighs press together, that makes you want to find out what else those arms can hold you down against. You squeeze just a little, test the resistance, and he grins against your lips.

“That’s what you’re thinkin’ about?” he murmurs, dragging his mouth to your neck now, teeth grazing your jaw. “My arms?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your brain is literally melting.

He licks a stripe up the side of your throat and bites, just enough to make you whimper, and the damn chain swings again, cold against the same spot.

“You like that?” he asks, “Hmm?”

You nod frantically, whining. You’re gone.

His hand slides down to grip your thigh again, hiking it up around his waist, and the angle has you gasping. His hips dip into yours just enough to make it obvious: he’s hard, and he’s not even trying to hide it now.

“You gonna let me take care of you?” he mutters, biting your earlobe. “Since you fed me and everything. Feels only fair.”

You nod again, breathless. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, lips brushing yours. “Been thinkin’ about kissing you since the second you opened that door.”

His hands are already slipping under the hem of your hoodie, thumbs dragging across the skin of your waist as he mutters, low and sinful, “Lift your hips for me.”

You do instantly and he slides your shorts down so slowly it feels like punishment. They snag slightly at your thighs before he gets them off, flinging them somewhere over the armrest, and then he just stares. Lets his eyes drag from your knees to the place between your thighs like he’s about to pray and commit a felony in the same breath.

You’re not even fully naked, but you already feel exposed. Every part of you twitching with anticipation because the way this man looks at you? It’s like he already knows what you taste like.

He lowers himself, right between your knees and spreads your legs open with two hands and drags your body closer to him.

“You’re already shaking,” he whispers, lips brushing along the inside of your thigh. “What’s got you so worked up, sweetheart?”

You want to answer. You try to answer. But then he presses a kiss right above your knee, then lower and lower. It’s like he’s savoring every inch of you, kissing a trail up your thigh like you’re dessert and he’s been starving all day.

When he finally gets to your underwear, he lets out a low hum.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, thumb dragging along the edge. “You’re soaked.”

You choke on your own spit. He hooks his fingers under the waistband, and looks up at you, eyes dark. You’re propped up on your elbows, watching him like you’re in a live-action fantasy, because that’s exactly what it feels like.

“Gonna take these off now,” he says, almost too gently.

You nod like a bobblehead. “Please.”

He tugs them down painfully slow, and when they slip off your legs and drop to the floor, he doesn’t even hesitate. He just dives in.

Tongue flat, broad, ruthless against you, dragging through your folds. You jolt, hips bucking off the couch, and his hands immediately slide up to pin you down, fingers bruising your thighs as he holds you in place.

He moans into you, tongue curling, lips wrapping around your clit with slow, maddening pressure. The suction makes you cry out, hand flying to grab at his hair, soft, messy strands you curl your fingers into.

“Fuck, J-Jungkook,” you gasp. His grip tightens on your thighs in response. He flattens his tongue again, licking long and slow, nose nudging against your clit just enough to make your legs shake. Then he shifts, tilts his head just slightly, and flicks the tip of his tongue in tight, fast circles.

You swear you see God.

He doesn’t stop, and it’s obscene how good it is. You can hear it. Mapping out every flick, every swirl, every suck that makes your thighs twitch and your head fall back in helpless, high-pitched whines.

He’s so good at it, it’s almost infuriating. Like he’s been training for this specific moment, like he knew your body before you ever laid eyes on his goddamn toolbelt.

“Shit,” you whimper, your fingers gripping the edge of the couch like you’ll fall off the earth if he keeps going.

He pulls back barely, enough to murmur against your soaked skin, “What’s that, sweetheart?”

You look down at him, wide-eyed and desperate, and the sight makes your stomach flip.

His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, locked on yours with zero shame. His lips are wet, his lip ring gleaming, his chain dragging down your thigh. His hands are still gripping your legs tight. “You’re already shaking,” he taunts, “You gonna fall apart before I even get my fingers in?”

You let out a sound you don’t recognize. Your hips buck without permission, trying to chase more friction, more pressure, anything, and he laughs.

“Thought you were gonna take it,” he mutters, kissing your inner thigh again, right where it’s already slick. “Thought you were tough.”

“Jungkook,” Your voice breaks.

“Yeah, baby?” he smiles, “Want more?”

You nod frantically. “Please. Please, please.”

“Mmhmm.” He drags his tongue back up, slow and torturous. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want—” you gasp as he suckles your clit again, just hard enough to make your legs spasm. “I want your fingers please. I can’t—”

“You can,” he says, way too calm. “You’re gonna. Not done with you yet.”

He slides one hand down between your thighs, dragging his fingers through your slick folds, slow and unhurried. You feel the first press of his fingertip at your entrance and it’s over.

When he finally pushes in just one thick finger, your mouth drops open in a silent gasp. It feels so good, too good.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he notes more to himself than to you. “Fuck. Gripping already.”

He curls his finger and you practically wail. You slap a hand over your mouth but he sees it, and then lowers his mouth back down to your clit like he’s starving for it.

His tongue and his finger move in tandem. Circles and pressure and heat all at once, building you up, pushing you higher, dragging desperate sounds out of you that you’ve never made before.

“Jungkook, fuck, please,” you sob, grabbing at his hair. “Please, I need—”

“You need what?” he murmurs against you, adding a second finger slowly, the stretch perfect, his mouth never leaving your clit.

“I need, need to cum, please—”

“Nah,” he says, eyes flicking up to meet yours as his fingers start to fuck into you even deeper, “Not yet.”

You’re near tears at this point.

He flattens his tongue and moans into you, and your hips jerk off the couch. Your hands are clutching at him now, your stomach tightening, thighs trembling around his head as he talks you through it.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he exhales, eyes locked on your face. “All needy and loud. Fuck, baby. I could eat you all day.”

You’re so close it hurts. He can feel it, the way your walls clench around his fingers, sucking him in.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, voice hoarse against you. “Come on, pretty girl. Cum for me.”

And you do, embarrassingly hard. It crashes over you like a power surge, hot and fast and blinding. Your hips jerk, your mouth drops open in a silent cry, and you’re cumming so hard you forget your own name.

He doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, until your legs are shaking uncontrollably and you’re pushing at his shoulder with a broken gasp.

Still, he doesn’t let up. His tongue is relentless, fingers even more ruthless. You’re sweating, teary-eyed and so close you’re practically vibrating, when you finally snap.

“Jungkook,” you moan, throat raw. “I need you to fuck me. Please. I can’t—“

That gets him to cease. He pulls back, mouth soaked, lip ring gleaming. His hand lingers between your thighs for a second longer before he pushes himself up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, panting.

You reach up, fingers clutching the front of his shirt, dragging him down so you can kiss him. You taste yourself on his tongue, and it just makes it worse, makes you needier.

He stands up, stripping down as fast as humanly possible. The black tee comes off first, revealing a chest that’s all muscle, abs that flex when he tosses the shirt aside. Then the cargo pants get shoved down, and…

Holy fucking shit.

It swings free and heavy into his palm, and you gasp.

That’s what they meant by blue collar dick. Thick, veiny, the prettiest goddamn cock you’ve ever seen. Long, curved just right, flushed and leaking at the tip as he wraps his hand around the base and starts stroking himself, slow and lazy.

He tilts his head back with a low groan, lashes fluttering, chain swinging over his chest and you just stare.

You’ve seen good dick before. You’ve had great dick, even. This is different. This is the kind of dick that installs central air and breaks bed frames. The kind that fucks through creaky floorboards, says “good girl” like a prophet, and pays in cash everywhere.

“Yeah?” he rasps, still jerking himself slowly, eyes dark as he looks down at you. “You want it, baby?”

You nod like your life depends on it. “Please. Need it so bad.”

He doesn’t waste another second. “Turn over,” he says, voice commanding. “Face down, ass up. I want that spine arched.”

You scramble to obey, flipping onto your stomach, shoving your hoodie up out of the way. You bury your face in the couch cushion, arms stretched forward, hips high in the air and the sound Jungkook makes behind you is inhuman.

“Fucking hell,” he licks his lips, hands gripping your hips, thumbs spreading you open. “Look at you.”

You feel him line up behind you, thick head sliding through your slick folds, teasing but not pushing in yet, and your whole body twitches.

“You’re perfect like this,” he says, one hand sliding up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades until your arch deepens. “Back all pretty, ass in the air, soaked for me. Fuck, baby.”

He leans forward, voice rasping hot in your ear. “You gonna take it for me like this, yeah? Gonna let me fuck you nice and deep?”

You moan out, whimpering into the pillow. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Atta girl.”

He pushes in slow, allowing you to feel every inch. You feel the thick, burning stretch of him as he sinks in deeper, splitting you open around his cock. Your breath catches on a whimper, eyes rolling back as he fills you.

“Fuuuuck,” you choke out, voice strangled. “You’re so big.”

Behind you, Jungkook lets out a guttural groan.

“Yeah?” he rasps, still sliding in, forcing your walls to open around him. “That too much for you, baby?”

You shake your head, barely able to breathe, cheek pressed into the cushion. “No, no, it’s so good, just, fuck—”

He bottoms out, hips flush against your ass, and you swear you see stars. You’re so full it’s almost unbearable, like he’s in your stomach, You’ve never felt anything like it; your walls clenching, dripping, pulsing and he’s barely even moved yet.

He pulls out halfway and slams back in, then does it again… and again… and again.

His pace is brutal, deep, pounding thrusts that send shockwaves through your spine and bounce off the walls. Skin slapping, the obscene wet squelch of your cunt sucking him in over and over, the couch creaking beneath you. You’re a full mess under him, and he’s moaning now too.

“Fuck,”Jungkook growls behind you, breath ragged. “You hear that? You hear how wet you are for me?”

You do. The sound of your pussy squelching around his cock is loud, echoing with every thrust as your juices coat his length and drip down your thighs onto the couch cushions below.

“Fucking soaked,” he growls again, hips snapping into you.

His hand finds your hair, grabbing a fistful at the base of your neck and pulling. Your head lifts from the pillow you grabbed from nearby in a panic, back arched to its limit, body bent like a bowstring as he fucks into you harder now that he has you right where he wants you.

“Taking it so good, baby,” he pants, yanking your head back just enough to make you moan. He keeps pounding into you, dragging that cock so deep it feels like he’s carving himself into your soul, keeping your head held high by your hair, whispering filth that makes your legs shake.

“You wanna cum, don’t you?” he growls, tone thick and mean. “Wanna fall apart right here on my cock?”

You’re shaking too hard to answer, all that’s coming out are some babbles you nor him have any energy to interpret. Somehow, your brain flashes back to that fucking TikTok. That girl that described “blue collar dick” like it was some natural disaster.

Now you’re living it.

You’re bent over on your own couch, spine arched, tears in your eyes, unable to even think as Jungkook wrecks you with his cock and whispers filthy praise in your ear like it’s his job. This is blue collar dick. This is the goddamn thesis statement of that TikTok. You’re going to send that girl flowers.

“Please,” you cry, “Please, Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” he pants, breath hot against your neck as his fingers reach down and work your clit cruelly enough to keep you from tipping over. “That desperate for it, sweetheart?”

You nod, choking out sobs, your body twitching around him, clenching hard enough that he starts to fall apart.

“Fuck,” he groans, cock twitching inside you. “You’re so tight. Keep squeezing me like that and I’m gonna cum before you do.”

You moan loud into the pillow, your whole body wrecked and burning, still locked in this purgatory he’s created, his cock fucking you deep and hard, his fingers rolling over your clit with precision, holding you right there.

“Say it,” he growls, “Tell me how bad you need it.”

“I need it, please, I need it so bad. I can’t, I’m so close, please let me cum.” Your self -control has exited the apartment.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he grits out behind you, “Fuck, baby, feel how tight you are? How bad your pussy wants to cum for me?”

You can’t answer. You’re drooling into the pillow, gasping, your body jerking with every thrust like you’re being electrocuted.

“Let go,” he groans, voice shaking. “You’re gonna cum for me now, yeah? Go on, baby. Fucking cum.”

The second his thumb presses tightly just right against your clit, you shatter. It hits you like a wave. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, back arching so hard it lifts your hips even higher as your orgasm rips through you, hot and overwhelming. You scream as your pussy clenches around his cock, pulsing and gushing as you cum so hard your vision goes white.

Your arms give out completely. You collapse forward onto the couch with a breathless sob, ass still arched up as your cunt throbs around him, wetness dripping down your thighs in sticky trails. Your face is buried in the cushion, your legs are trembling.

“Oh my fuck,” Jungkook groans, “Just like that. You feel that, baby? Feel how good it is when you cum on me?”

He curses, pulls out fast and you let out a weak little cry at the loss, at the ache he leaves behind.

But then he’s jerking himself over you, his hand wrapped tight around his cock, wrist snapping fast, hips stuttering as he pants over you, chasing his own high.

His head tilts back, bottom lip tucked under his top teeth. A deep, broken moan is ripped straight from his chest as his hips twitch forward and he spills across the curve of your ass in thick, hot ropes. His chain swings with the motion, clinking gently as he fucks his fist through it, painting your skin in messy, perfect streaks.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he groans, his eyes squeezed shut. “You’re… fuck, baby. You’re unreal.”

You’re too far gone to speak.

You stay face-down on the couch for a full minute post-impact, naked and glazed like a donut.

Jungkook exhales somewhere behind you, like he too is processing the life-altering events that just occurred in your living room. You hear his body move as he leans back, chest rising and falling, the distinct sound of a man who just came so hard he forgot his social security number.

There’s cum on your ass. Your hair’s stuck to your cheek. The throw pillow has a bite mark in it. You are not well.

You finally lift your head a fraction of an inch. “I think I just met God.”

Jungkook lets out a soft, post-nut laugh. “Yeah?” he rasps. “Tell him I said hi.”

You look over at him from where you’re sprawled out on the couch, now on your stomach. “���So do I owe you money, or…?”

He snorts. “For what?”

“For fixing my power?” You say it like it’s obvious.. which it should be.

Jungkook leans over and smacks your ass, casual, affectionate. “Nah. This one’s on the house.”

Eventually, he helps you sit up, grabbing the nearest clean towel in your bathroom like this is all completely normal. You look at each other and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry or call your landlord and thank him for being so aggressively useless.

You’ll deal with that later.

Right now, you accept the towel, take a shaky breath. You blink at him, dazed, legs still jelly. “So if I break something else… just a hypothetical, should i call you..?”

He smirks, tugs his pants back up without bothering to button them, and says, “Depends. If you break something else, I expect a personal invitation. No middleman this time.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[thehealthyfearofeverything]

The Kitchen Sink

SYNOPSIS;  “This event was like any other school-sanctioned dance, except sometimes a camera would be shoved into your face.”

Or

You get stuck in a Joker attack.

Chapter Two || Fear Never Fixed Anything.

Warnings: depression, violence, panic attacks. 

It was a charity event, a city-wide raffle for the underfunded schools in Gotham. Three schools were chosen to attend a gala funded by some wealthy families that wanted good publicity. And your small, overcrowded, underfunded school was selected. It was hard to believe.

Yet here you were.

“I’d bet the air smells fresher.” Anessa, or Nettie as she insisted on being called nowadays said. Jamie nodded in agreement bouncing along beside you.

“Like roses and whatever the opposite of blood is.” He added the smile and excitement clear in his voice. Then he paused and gave you a questioning look.

“Does blood have an opposite?” He asked as if you had all the answers to all of his questions. It was a given, over the years you had earned the reputation of being a know-it-all. Still despite the stupid question, you took the time to humor him.

“I don’t know,” you said after a second.

Nettie and Jamie grew up together.

Nettie is a pretty girl with white skin, blue eyes, and blond hair, she was born with albinism. She was wearing the standard school uniform, the white shirt, and khaki-colored skirt, her hair was tied back with a glossy black ribbon, and around her neck hanging limply against her chest were her glasses.

Jamie is high energy, with a bright smile, shining eyes with a face that refuses to let go of its baby fat, and he’s probably the shortest boy in the entire fourth grade. His hair was cut boyishly short, and there was a band-aid over the bridge of his nose. He too was wearing the standard white shirt and khaki-colored pants.  

“ Not bleedin’, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Nettie groaned, she pulled Jamie’s ear who in return pulled her hair. Despite walking faster to get to the yellow school bus, you couldn't stop the smile from forming. Tobey was waiting by the bus looking up at it as if it was some scientific marvel. 

You came to a stop beside the brown-haired boy. “ First time seeing a bus?”

Tobey changed too, he was taller, entering into that gangly limb phase that all adolescent boys seemed to undergo. His hair was longer and shaggier taking the shape of an indecisive mullet. He was wearing a Red Robin-themed bomber jacket over his white uniform shirt, and his pants were riddled with holes and rips. 

You hugged his arm leaning against him and basking in his warmth. Absentmindedly he patted your head. In the distance just a few feet behind you and Toby you could hear Nettie: “ This is why! This is why people think we're dumb!”

Tobey snorted. “Nope, first time seeing one in front of this shithole though.”

A TA hobbled out of the bus and announced that it was time to go.

“I call window seat!” Jamie yelled pushing past you and Tobey. you stumbled and Tobey caught you.

“As if! I'm the older sister so I should have the window seat.”

Jamie blew a raspberry as Nettie bounded after him. You sighed, Tobey sighed too. Huffing you got on the bus with Tobey trailing after you. Technically you were the older sister, but you’ll let Nettie have this. Tobey let you have the window seat, before sliding into the seat next to you.

Jamie and Nettie stood in the aisle engaged in a quick game of rock–paper–scissors for the window seat. 

Nettie won.

“ You know if you're going to sit by the window you should wear sunscreen,” Tobey said as he peered over the seat to stare down at Nettie. 

“I have some in my bag,”

“ Hey Birdie, your mom is a chaperone right?” Jamie asked. 

“Yeah, why?”

“ I didn’t see her.”

“She’s probably on another bus, the younger kids need more attention than we do.”

You stood in a gymnasium. The floor was varnished wood, with circles and stripes painted on it, for the games that were played there. The hoops for the basketball nets were still in place, but the nets themselves were gone. A balcony ran around the room, for spectators, and lingering faintly like an afterimage was the pungent scent of sweat and the sweet tang of bubblegum.

You tugged at the band around your wrist, it was a safety procedure, something to note that you were a student and what school you attended. A group of parents gathered in the back, some had the care to weave through the crowds of students and be chaperones, others sat at tables saving them for their kids.  

You sat at a table, picking lamely at the white tablecloth. The music was thumping from speakers, a live band was stationed in front and a guy with a camera made his rounds around the gym stopping to talk with a few students and parents.

“ Not having fun baby?” Mama asked as she pulled a chair to sit next to you. She looked sweaty and out of breath, Jamie and Nettie had pulled her onto the dance floor, and their dancing consisted mostly of jumping and spinning. You were out of breath just looking at them.

“Not really, I was expecting something more… Fancy.” shrugging you leaned back in the chair, and looked up at the domed ceiling of the gym. This event was like any other school-sanctioned dance, except sometimes a camera would be shoved into your face. 

Over the music, you could barely make out the hum Mama let out.

“I know Birdie, but don’t let failed expectations stop you from having fun.” Mama pulled you into a side hug and then placed a gentle kiss on your head.

“ Okay mama, I'll go find Tobey.”

You got up from the table and made your way into the crowd. 

The speakers had too much bass; just pounding, pounding, and pounding, your head along with it. Children screeched, somewhere air horns blew, but the bass of the speaker drove them all. The noise echoed off the rafters. The parents and children ate, drank, and shouted at each other. You avoided Jamie and Nettie because you didn’t want to be pulled into the chaotic movement they called dancing.

Eventually, you spotted Tobey near the snack table, he looked out of it.

“ Are you okay?” You asked, almost yelling over the music. His bomber jacket was tied around his waist, he was slumped against the wall breathing heavily, his body sweaty. 

“Just hot,” he muttered. It was warm in the gym, most of the heat came from off the bodies of the students, jammed in so thick along the edges that every person who tried to move poked their neighbor in the ribs. The place was almost to full capacity, it was stupid to invite the entire student body of three different schools. But the majority of the children were having fun and this was a publicity stunt.

“Okay umm…” You trailed off eyes darting around the room, the exit was being guarded by two men dressed in all black. Security you guess. “Let's go outside for a bit, standing in the hallway should help you feel better.” 

Grabbing his hand you pulled him to the double doors.

“Excuse me, my friend isn’t feeling well. Can we step out for a bit?” You asked, the man on the right didn’t even look at you.

“Can’t, no one leaves until the party’s over.” The man on the left said. 

“Can we just stand in the hallway? Just for a bit?” You pleaded. Lefty shook his head.

“No can do girlie,” Lefty said, then he smiled as if someone just told him a joke.

“Boss’s orders.” Lefty grinned as he shooed you off. 

You opened your mouth, something crude sitting on the tip of your tongue. Tobey pulled you away, his sweaty hand holding onto your arm. 

“Shit, your nose,” You cursed, pulling Tobey towards the bathrooms.

“ What’s the matter with him?” Nettie asked a thin sheen of sweat coated her skin. Jamie bounded up beside her a cup of watery punch in his hand. 

“ He has a nosebleed and the fuckfaces over there won't let us out!” You yelled over the music, gesturing vaguely to the two men by the doors. Nettie hummed and looked at the men, she was fanning herself with her hand. Jamie frowned.

“Yeah, I heard a couple of people complain about that too, apparently it's for security,” Jamie said, taking a seat by Tobey, handing him more of the fancy cloth napkins. Nettie scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“ That’s fucking stupid! This is like a medical emergency!” Nettie’s brows furrowed further. Jamie nodded in agreement, you only hummed; eyes drawn to the balcony. There was someone up there, moving in the darkness.

“I’m going to go find the owners or something, Jamie, you go to Miss Rosetta. Birdie can stay here with Tobey.” With that Nettie stormed off and Jamie dashed to the tables. Under all of the thumping of the music, dread began to build in your gut. You sank to the floor right beside Tobey, Your heart pounded, and your chest felt tight. Grabbing his hand you traced circles on the back of his hand.

“It’s going to be okay? We're going to get out of here.” You said it more to yourself than to Tobey, still the brunette nodded.

“I just need some fresh air.” His voice was muffled, almost lost in the music, but you heard him. 

“ I know.” You said the words lost to the current of the music.

You saw Jamie pull Mama through the sea of students, her face painted with concern and motherly fury. Faintly you could hear Jamie yell; “ I Found her!”

He sounded so distant but he was so close, Mama was there too right behind him trying to get past the dancing children. 

The lights went out first, then the music.

Children were screaming, and of course, they were, what child wouldn’t scream when suddenly doused in darkness? You held onto Tobey hugging him close to your chest as you curled into him. 

The strobe light came on; all flashing green lights that took snapshots of children and their parents running to the doors. You saw Mama and Jamie being swept away in the stampede, you heard the speakers come to life and the manic cackle of the Joker.

Tobey squeezed you tighter, his body trembling. This would be the second time of him going through this. He lost his mother to a Joker attack.

Shit!

Shit!

Shit!

You were no hero, you were just a depressed transmigrator, a bystander. You weren't witty enough to draw attention to be a distraction, and you sure as hell weren't brave enough either. But you didn’t want to die, not this yet at least. You liked the life you were living, you were happy, and content. And you wanted it to last a little bit longer. 

There was nothing you could do. You were a fourth grader, small and poor, just another girl who had the misfortune to be born in the narrows. You figured that sooner or later you’d be just another casualty, reduced to a number. 

Men in green suits and clown makeup tore Tobey away from you.

You struggled, kicking and screaming, as you clawed at the hands holding you.

“No! No! Let me go!” 

The man was saying something, his voice gruff. You’re slapped across the face so hard it makes you dizzy, his cackle sounding a lot more distant than it was in your dizziness.

Your body went slack, the hammering of your heart consuming your hearing.

Tag List:

@jsprien213 @vxsire

A/n: ask box and tage list is open!

Part 1 HERE

[sadhours]

simmer down

billy hargrove x f!reader

masterlist • requests are open! • read on ao3

summary: being tommy hagan’s sister had it’s perks, but when the new kid from California catches your attention, it seems like more of a curse than a good thing

warnings: 18+ minors dni, Steve x Reader, underage drinking, partying, smut, p in v, angst, Billy is a mystery, Steve/Nancy, slow burn, forbidden romance

Being Tommy Hagan’s sister had its advantages. Your freshman year of high school, you had a guaranteed spot with the cool kids and an invite to every party. Tommy wasn’t protective by any means. You two were buddies, you and Carol were buddies and of course, you and Steve Harrington were buddies. Freshman year was a blur, until Nancy ripped Steve away from the group. Still, the three of you were determined to keep the good times rolling. Sure, you spent every single Saturday, Sunday and Monday hungover but it was worth it. You think.

Maybe you didn’t remember the parties very well but hell, you knew you’d had fun. Plus, you were lucky enough to lose your virginity to the King on your fifteenth birthday and even if he pretended you didn’t exist once he started dating Nancy, it was worth it. Okay, so you weren’t totally over Steve but you were coping just fine. Carol didn’t let you mope for long. There were too many parties to go to.

Then one day, Steve Harrington is pushed to the very back door of your mind. Perched on your brother’s car, sharing a cigarette with him and his girlfriend, a pretty blue Camaro whips through the parking lot and slides into the parking spot across from you. A small, angry redhead bolts out, slamming the door and zips up to the middle school on a skateboard. Every head in the parking lot is turned to the muscle car and the gorgeous, denim-clad, mulleted blonde motherfucker. He takes your breath away. Takes Tommy and Carol’s breath away. The guys dripping in cool. Not another person like him has stepped foot in this midwestern hell hole. The three of you can’t wait to sink your claws in him. He flicks his cigarette away, a small hint of a smirk curling his lips and your eyes follow the Marlboro as it tumbles to the ground. The fucking guy didn’t even smoke half of it. The nicotine fiend in you is tempted to snatch it up, but that’s like, super uncool.

You watch as Tina and her girls eyes linger on the stranger, practically salivating at the way his ass looks in his jeans. It must take at least ten minutes for the fucker to pull his pants up.

“Who the hell is that?” Carol wonders aloud for the group.

“One bitchin’ dude,” Tommy scoffs, an impressed tilt to his voice.

;;;

Tommy moves fast. You know this. He had an easy way about him, friendly even though he was the biggest asshole you knew. That blue Camaro is parked on the curb in front of your house. Your parents are outside, doing the yard work necessary to prepare for the cold front sweeping in. Your whole life was spent in Hawkins so you know nothing else but god, do you yearn for year long summers.

You were eager to listen to the new record you’d just bought. A quick wave to your parents and you’re opening the front door, flooded with the sound of Metallica’s The Four Horsemen. Tommy’s pulled out his only metal album to impress the new kid. The feeling in your gut isn’t new. You used to get the same excited feeling whenever Steve was over. However, this was different because Steve knew you. He watched you grow up. You’d known him since you were little. This new guy hasn’t played Barbie’s with you from the age eight to twelve.

You take a deep breath before heading towards Tommy’s room, leaning against the doorframe. Tommy’s head banging obnoxiously, Carol is checking her nails looking bored and the blonde boy is nodding his head along to the bass line. He’s got a cigarette pinched to between his fingers and as he’s bringing the filter to his lips, he sees you.

He takes a drag, smirks and says, “Hey.”

You’ve never loved your brothers ability to make friends more.

“Hi,” you try to say in the coolest way you can.

Tommy pauses his thrashing and motions to you, “Oh, Billy! This is my sister.”

“Nice to meet you, Tommy’s sister,” he drawls.

You tell him your name, awkwardly lingering in the doorway before Carol’s tugging you inside.

“Whatcha got in the bag?” Billy asks, fingers pressing to the brown paper.

You swallow, “Uh, just a record.”

“Which one?”

You pull out the cellophane wrapped vinyl, displaying the copy of Out of the Cellar by Ratt you’d just excitedly purchased with your allowance.

“Oh, fuck yeah! Atta girl,” he cheers as he snatches it out of your hand.

The praise causes a flutter downstairs. Five minutes into meeting this fucking guy and you’re already a puddle. The excitement at impressing him is unmatched.

Billy shimmies around you, places a strong hand on your hip as he passes to stop the Metallica record and replace it with your new one. You plop down on the floor next to Carol, eyes drawing back up to Billy as he turns the volume up, cigarette hanging between his lips. He bobs his head, his earring dangling against his wispy curls and you don’t like feeling this arousal while in the same room as your brother and his girlfriend.

“Did you see Steve with the princess today? Ugh, gag me with a spoon,” Carol nudges your knee while mimics gagging herself.

Billy snorts, “What’s the deal with that guy? People kept telling me I was gonna be the new King, whatever the fuck that means.”

Tommy chimes in, “He used to be the King. We were good buddies until he started sticking his dick in the priss.”

“Steve’s nice,” you shrug. Only Carol knows what happened between the two of you and you’d sworn her to secrecy, too embarrassed to let your brother know you’d fallen for his best friend. She gives you a pointed look before rolling her eyes.

“He used to be cool, now he’s nice,” Tommy deflects, wiggling his fingers for emphasis. He pulls a beer of the sixer and tosses it to you, which you fumble to catch.

You tap your nail on the tap, trying your best to rid the memories of Steve kissing you late at night from your head. You know if you glance over to Billy, they’ll dissipate but then you’ll be imagining kissing him and you don’t want that either.

“So where’d you move from?” you ask, not looking up from the beer.

Billy sits next to you with the thud, his knee knocking yours which absolutely does not shoot heat to between your legs. He lifts his can to you, indicating he’d like to cheers you. Sometimes Tommy’s friends did things like this with you and while he wasn’t protective of you, he made you promise that friends were out of the question. You could not hook up with any of them. Acquaintances were fine and while Billy was only that right now, you know Tommy wanted to be good buddies with him so you were awaiting the conversation. You were getting ahead of yourself. A cheers does not mean Billy’s attracted to you.

“California,” he replies as you clink aluminum cans. “Much better than this shithole.”

“You’re telling me,” Carol whines, “I fucking hate this place.”

Billy drops his cigarette in the empty beer can sitting in the middle of the floor, apparently the designated ashtray. He leans his head back to look at you, “What’s there to do here?”

You feel shy under his gaze, almost choking on your swig of beer once your eyes meet his. You clear your throat and swallow hard, “Uh, parties, mostly. Hang out in the woods. Go to convenience stores.”

“Ah. I expected more hick shit. Ya know, tipping cows, shooting guns, kissing cousins,” Billy chuckles, biting his lip as his eyes dart between your brother and his girlfriend.

“Carol knows about kissing cousins,” Tommy sneers, throwing his girlfriend under the bus.

“Do you have to tell everyone?” she hurls a rolled up sock at him. She turns to Billy, “He’s exaggerating. We’re not even blood related.”

Billy laughs, a cackle that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You can’t help but giggle. You’d heard the story a million times. Carol was at a family reunion and didn’t even realize the guy was a distant cousin. However, shit, it’s a family reunion. Who’s trying to get their rocks off at a family reunion?

“You guys smoke grass?” Billy changes the subject and the three of you nod in unison. “Know where I can get some?”

“Eddie “The Freak” Munson,” Tommy tells him, “I think I have some, though. Hold you over in the meantime.” He gets up and sifts through his sock drawer, returning with a tied off ziploc bag to hand to Billy.

“And now,” Billy takes it and shoves it in his pocket, “We’re best buds.”

Tommy beams at the declaration. And with those words, Billy Hargrove has just become verboten. Damn it.

Tommy tells you as much when Billy leaves, rattling off about his dad being an asshole and he’s got to get home before he does.

“I saw those eyes,” Tommy raises a scolding finger at you, “Don’t even try it. He’s too cool.”

“Aw, Tommy,” Carol pouts, “Let her have some fun.”

“No,” you raise your hands defensively, “You didn’t see any eyes. I don’t even think he’s cute.”

Tommy scoffs, “Yeah, right. Even I think the guy is hot.”

Carol raises an eyebrow, “You going queer on me, big boy?”

“Me? Queer?” Tommy laughs, “Let me show you how untrue that is.”

“Okay, ew, I’m leaving,” you push yourself off the ground and run out of the room, closing the door behind you.

;;;

“Does Tina throw bitchin’ parties?” Billy asks you, taking a drag off his cigarette before passing it.

You take it and try to ignore the tingling feeling on your lips as you take a hit. You’re leaning against the trunk of his Camaro, Carol and Tommy are nearby but too busy making out to listen to the conversation.

“I guess?” you reply, “All the parties here kind of bleed together. They’re fun and all, just… the same thing.”

Billy looks over to your brother with his tongue down Carol’s throat, “They do that all the time, huh?”

“Yeah, you’ll get used to it,” you shrug.

“What about you?” he turns slightly towards you, “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

You can feel the way your cheeks redden, “I don’t know. No one’s really caught my attention, I guess.”

“Is he protective?”

You shake your head, “No, the opposite. Tommy doesn’t give a shit what I do. I just haven’t met anyone I like in that way.”

“Yeah,” Billy muses, “I know the feeling.”

That catches your attention. Every girl at Hawkin’s High is throwing themselves at him but not a single one special enough to tickle his fancy. You included.

“I’m young, anyways,” you deflect, “I have plenty of time to find the man of my dreams.”

“Oh, yeah?” Billy digs his canine into his lower lip, “What’s the motherfucker you’ve dreamed up like?”

You, you don’t say. “Oh, I don’t know!”

“You’ve thought about it. Is he nice, like King Steve?” Billy raises his eyebrows, “Is he a freak like Munson?”

No, he’s blonde with a mullet and pretty eyelashes.

“He hasn’t made himself known yet,” you urge, “Maybe he’s a millionaire, maybe he’s a rockstar.”

“You want Vince Neil?” he knocks he elbow into yours.

“I wouldn’t mind,” you shrug.

Billy cackles, “All you chicks are the same.”

You scoff, “Oh and guys aren’t? Like you’re not pining over Lita Ford.”

“Nah,” he laughs, “Not my thing.”

“What is your thing then?” you ask, eyes meeting briefly before you can’t handle the heat of them. Billy’s eyes are too pretty. The bluest you’ve ever seen.

“Someone real,” he says, sincerely and it tugs your heartstrings.

“Billy, the romantic,” you tease, shoving your hands in your pocket.

“Far from it, sweetheart,” he pats your shoulder before pushing himself off the bumper and heading into the building as the bell rings.

Sweetheart drips down your throat and curls around your heart.

;;;

It’s not much of a costume. It’s a short skirt, fishnets and a too tight top. You can say you’re Madonna but how many girls are going as Madonna. You just want to look hot. Want Billy to look at you like you’re more than Tommy’s little sister. Like you’re some video vixen and he just cannot keep his hands to himself. It’s a flourishing thought that you push deep down. Tommy can’t control you but you think of the conversation you’d hand the day before. Billy isn’t into you. He had the opportunity to say something and he didn’t. And one thing you’ve learned about boys your age is if they want it, they’ll make it known.

“Are you ready yet?” Carol’s asking as she peers into your bedroom. You scan her outfit up and down, you think maybe she’s channeling Madonna as well but you can’t pin exactly what she’s dressed as.

You wipe the corner of your mouth, fixing the smeared lipstick.

“Yeah, just about,” you mumble, reapplying your mascara.

“Billy’s meeting us there,” she sings, grinning wide at you in the mirror.

You roll your eyes, “Carol, he’s off limits and even if he wasn’t, I don’t like Billy like that.”

“Sure,” she purrs, slapping the doorframe, “Vamoose, pretty girl. I wanna get wasted.”

Tommy’s a bad driver. He was also drinking before he left so he’s even worse, by the time you get to the party you feel like you’ve already got the spins. You hold onto Carol’s wrist to ground yourself and Billy’s rushing up behind the two of you.

“Boo!” he shouts, pressing a hand to your lower back.

Carol shrieks but you’d seen him coming. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling the two of you two his chest. He reeks of whiskey and Marlboro Reds. Seems like Billy had a bit of pregaming himself.

“Hi, Billy,” the two of you sing in unison.

Tommy barrels around the car, running up from behind to jump onto Billy’s back which causes all of you to tumble to the ground. Carol screams, scolding Tommy about ruining her hair but you’re distracted by the laugh erupting from Billy, his lips so close to your ear you can feel his breath fanning against it. It makes you tingle all over and you desperately want to grab him and pull him closer, want to press your lips to his in a hungry kiss. Then it’s gone, he’s up from the ground with Tommy pulling him towards the keg and Carol’s reaching her hand down to you.

You stumble along with her and when you’re reaching the keg, Billy’s pumping it and filling cups for you and Carol.

“You’ve got to beat Steve’s record, Billy! Come on,” Tommy urges his friend, hands clasped tight around his shoulders.

You stand over by Carol and Tina, watching the way the brunette fucks Billy with her eyes. A pang of jealousy surges through your stomach but you chug from the red Solo cup to drown it out. You sway along with the Motley Crüe song, unable to stop your eyes from scanning the crowd for familiar chestnut hair and brown eyes. Carol must notice because she grabs your face and turns it to look at Billy. She wants you to get over Steve just as badly as you do. You notice Billy’s costume, you think he’s going for terminator but it’s laid back. An homage rather than a costume. His abs look nice, you imagine what they must feel like. Carol’s a good friend.

They lift Billy up, he bites around the tap and makes eye contact you for a brief second before beer is flooding into your mouth. He easily beats Steve’s record. Seems like he could’ve gone longer but the second he beats it, they’re pulling him down. He spits the foam out, beer dripping down his chin to his chest and it’s… a sight. They funnel inside but you stick by Carol.

“God, he’s so yummy,” Tina gushes, turning to you and Carol.

Carol agrees excitedly, winks at you and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Tina.

“What? Did you call dibs already?”

“God, no,” you say, a little too defensively. “I just have eyes and Carol wants to live vicariously through me. It’s not happening.”

“Well, I’m definitely not holding back,” Tina quips.

You imagine the two of you as cats, tails high and backs arched, ready to pounce.

“Go for it,” you shrug, holding your beer close to your chest.

You retreat first, heading inside in search of a better time. A spiked punch is in your future. It’s only slightly dampened when you see Nancy downing cup after cup in the kitchen, Steve upset and asking her to cool it. He doesn’t even notice your presence and that’s totally fine. You’re a fly on the wall like you usually are around him. Steve reaches for her cup again and they struggle for power until the force of their hands pulls the cup back and spills the sticky red punch all over her white sweater. Everyone reacts in shock and you have to still your mouth from the smile threatening against your lips as you quickly avert your attention.

When they flutter away, you copy Nancy. Downing as many cups as you can before you start to feel numb. Seeing Steve was a shock to your system. All prior feelings rush to the forefront of your brain and you want to find him, pull him into a empty bedroom and kiss him from head to toe. It’s a shame when you see him and Nancy lock themselves away in a bathroom. You linger, clutching your drink to your chest as you watch drunk teenagers dance the night away. Nancy doesn’t deserve Steve. He shouldn’t have to change to be with her. You liked Steve the way he was.

Steve opens the door and slams it behind him, he pushes passed out, shoulders colliding and when he turns to look at you, you notice tears in his eyes. The brunette is quick to swivel back around, stomping outside and you wonder what in the hell just happened in there. Half of you is tempted to follow him outside, offer comfort in whatever way you can but then you feel large, strong hands wrap around your waist. You tilt your head back to see Billy standing behind you with a drunk smile plastered on his face, his eyes are tinted red like he’s been smoking more than cigarettes.

He leans down, lips close to your ear so he can whisper, “Why are you hiding from us?”

“Hiding? I’m not hiding,” you argue, lifting your cup to explain further, “Where is everyone?”

“Backyard,” he smirks, releasing his grip and stumbling towards the sliding glass door.

He turns his head briefly to make sure you’re following him.

Tina’s backyard is trashed. You can’t imagine what the cleanup is going to be like tomorrow. As soon as you step out the door, Billy grabs your hips again and urges you to the left. You look down and see what looks like five smashed beer bottles, right outside the door. You mumble a thank you before wiggling out of his grip. The last thing you need is for Tommy to see it. The blonde guides you over to the group and you collapse down next to your brother and Carol.

“Steve and Nancy just got in a fight,” you tell them before bringing your cup to your lips.

Carol raises her eyebrows and leans closer, giving you a look you know all too well. You quickly shake your head, slouching your shoulders and trying to sink away from her gaze. Tommy lets out a cackle, leaning his body back with it.

“We heard, he threw punch on her?”

“Well, no, he didn’t throw it on her, it just spilled,” you explain, watching in your peripheral how Tina leans her body against Billy’s and whispers in his ear. Immediately, your stomach turns but you ignore it. There’s no way you could be jealous, you don’t even know the guy yet and you’re going to make sure you don’t stew on how attractive he is. You know how mad Tommy will be and besides, your brother isn’t exactly loyal to you. You imagine if you did make a move on Billy and he rejected you, Tommy wouldn’t stop hanging out with him. Or god forbid, he doesn’t reject you but instead breaks your heart and Tommy would still pick Billy’s side. You know this about your brother.

“But they went into the bathroom and I guess argued, because Steve came storming out and he looked like he was crying,” you continue, picking at a loose thread on your skirt.

Tommy snorts, “I knew they wouldn’t last long.”

Carol nods along with him, “She’s too prissy for Steve. I bet the argument was something stupid too.”

“Maybe,” you shrug, allowing yourself to turn slightly and just in time to catch Tina shoving her tongue down Billy’s throat. You’re quick to turn back to your brother and Carol.

“You guys wanna leave soon?” Carol asks, you know she’s trying to be casual but only asking to save you the displeasure of watching Billy and Tina make out for the rest of the night.

“Yeah, I’m pretty over it,” you admit, stretching your arms up.

Tommy scoffs, “You guys are so boring. It’s still early.”

It is, you don’t even feel drunk yet but you are bored and too many unpleasant feelings are swirling around you. If you get any more alcohol in you, you’re libel to throw yourself at Steve, or worse, Billy.

“This party kind of blows, though,” Carol argues and wraps her arms around Tommy, whispering something in his ear. Whatever she said has him grinning and jumping to his feet. You’d rather not know.

;;;

You’re sitting in study hall, trying to stay awake when a note lands on your desk. You turn and see Steve failing at trying to look innocent, he fake coughs in his hand while stretching his opposite arm up and then back down. His eyes meet yours briefly and he quickly looks away, a hint of smile on his lips. You unfold the note and see Steve’s messy handwriting scrawled lopsided on the top of the page.

Wanna listen to my Abba record?

You stare at it a little dumbfounded, because it was an inside joke between the two of you. It was his lame way of trying to get you alone at one of his parties. It was only the second time you guys had ever messed around and as your relationship continued, it became something Steve would say just to make you blush or laugh. Worse, though, it turned into a code for sneaking away to hook up. His fight with Nancy must’ve been more serious than you thought. This was Steve’s olive branch, and it was sleazy but it was also romantic, unfortunately.

You write back in neat, straight handwriting, Right here in study hall?

You carefully slide the paper onto his desk and turn back to your textbook. From the corner of your eye, you see Steve grinning wide as he reads what you’ve wrote before furiously writing and handing it back.

Is that a yes?

It’s a maybe. I don’t think Mr. Delfin would appreciate it.

Fair enough. The albums at my house anyway. After school then?

You chew on your bottom lip. It would be very easy to fall back into this but you have plans with your brother, Carol and Billy. However, the prospect of being alone with Steve seems way more appealing. And you can’t help yourself, you think about Steve more than you think about anything else. You absolutely miss touching him and you’ve been rather frustrated since he started going out with Nancy.

Meet me in the library after school.

;;;

You made some dumb excuse to Carol about having to work on a class project in the library. She bought it but tried to insist on you ditching it entirely to get to know Billy better. Which you knew Carol was aware you wouldn’t go for.

When Steve walks up to you, you’re standing at the window. He leans against the wall and looks at you quizzically.

“Whatcha doing?”

You watch as Tommy and Carol pile into his car and drive off, the blue Camaro following after them and you say to Steve, “Just making sure it’s… safe. Okay, let’s go.”

Steve let’s out a scoff, “Don’t want them to see you with me?”

You crane your head sideways as you look up at him, “I’m ditching them for you. They’d be mad.”

Steve nods his head, pursing his lips like he can taste your words. You keep your hands to yourself on the walk to his BMW, you’d learned to do as much when you guys were fooling around. Steve talks a lot on the drive to Loch Nora. None of it really makes much sense, or is important but you like listening to his voice. It’s adorable, he stutters every so often and rambles on, losing his thought and then rushing into a completely new thought. The reason you like it so much is you’ve seen Steve hit on girls throughout the years and weirdly enough, this is how he does it so you feel special when it’s directed at you.

His house is empty, it usually is but what always shocked you was how clean it was. A teenage boy lived there alone for eight months of the year, you expected it to be messy but then again, you’re sure they have a cleaning lady coming often. Steve leads you up the stairs and to his bedroom. It smells clean, like laundry detergent and his cologne. Your stomach is doing flips at the familiarity of it all, you’ve been in this exact position many times before and you’re anticipating his next moves. As you sit on his bed, Steve wraps his hand around your hip and lays you on your back. You shyly smile up at him, the weight of his body makes you tingle all over and his big, brown eyes look into yours. There hasn’t been a night in months that you haven’t pictured this exact moment happening, ushering you to sleep and hopefully dream of Steve.

He pushes tucks your hair behind your ear as he cracks a smile, teeth bright and white while his cheeks flush just a smidge. You want to tell him how much you’ve missed him but him and Nancy have only been broken up a couple of days, you know what this is. That’s your downfall, though, you’ll bend over backwards to have Steve. When his lips caress yours, a small moan rises up your throat involuntarily. It’s a soft, sweet kiss and he gently holds your cheek as he does it. Your fingers snake into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer so you can deepen the kiss. Steve takes things slow, he always did and you’ve always been bursting at the seams, eager for more. You drag your tongue against his lower lip, begging for entrance and he allows you easily. Your body lights up, feels like you’re on fire when he grinds just barely on top of you. His thigh between your legs presses against your center and it makes your head feel heavy, falling apart beneath him. Steve’s like a drug and you’ve been sober for far too long. Your desperation makes you feel antsy, you want things to progress much faster than they are but Steve is stubborn, he sets the pace. He’s different than any other man you’ve been with, he’ll kiss you until your jaw hurts and you’re trembling. That seems to be his intent now because when you try to pull away from it, he grabs your jaw and kisses you harder. You whimper against his lips, wriggling your hips to demonstrate how badly you need him.

Steve pulls back and smiles down at you, stroking his thumb along the apple of your cheek, “You’re so beautiful.”

You flush, grinning from ear to ear as you avert your eyes, unable to hold eye contact. With a giggle you tell him, “So are you.”

He lets out a small, breathless laugh, “Thank you.”

Steve places kisses along your jaw and down your neck, he licks against your skin but he’s always been careful not to leave any marks. Back when you two were fooling around regularly, you weren’t so careful with him and you’d litter his neck and chest with love bites. Steve could always explain them away much easier than you could.

He continues kissing against your collarbone as he starts unbuttoning your shirt. You inhale sharply, goosebumps rising all over your skin when his fingers brush against your now exposed stomach. Steve’s lips descend once he gets your blouse completely undone, brushing them against the curve of your breast. This is the area he doesn’t hold back, sucking and biting gently at the tender skin until it’s raw and sore. You know you’ll have a bruise there by the end of the night but you don’t mind. It’ll be proof this isn’t a dream. In sync, you prop up on your elbows as Steve leans back and reaches around to unclasp your bra. You dispose of the blouse and bra before reaching for the hem of Steve’s polo and pull it over his head. You smooth your hands over his head before he leans down and licks at your perked nipple, his Bambi eyes looking up at you curiously. You whine, arching into the touch as your eyes flutter shut. For a moment, you picture blonde curls and blue eyes but quickly push the thought away as shame begins spreading through your stomach. You try not to think about it too much, not willing to admit even to yourself that you want Billy in that way.

“Steve,” you pant out, for good measure.

He sucks your nipple between his lips as he hand moves to squeeze and knead at your other breast. Another moan falls out of your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut and knit your fingers into his hair. He grazes his fingertips across your neglected nipple and laps against the other. It’s intoxicating, you focus on his soft his hair feels between your fingers. Your thighs tingle as heat surges through your stomach and straight to your core. It’s quiet in the house, in the room, the only sound is Steve’s mouth on your and your paired labored breathing.

When he moves back up to crash his lips into yours and press his body close, you feel his cock hard in his jeans against your navel. He grunts softly against your lips moving both his hands to grip your jaw as he licks into your mouth eagerly. This is unlike Steve, he usually doesn’t express desperation until he’s already inside of you. It gets your hopes up, like maybe he’s been missing you just as badly as you’ve been missing him. And maybe that’s wishful thinking but in this moment, you’ll take it. You grab onto his waist and writhe up against him, letting him know you’re just as needy.

Steve pulls back from the sloppy kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips as his hands lower and he’s making quick work getting your jeans and panties down to your ankles. They hang awkwardly there, your tennis shoes are still on but you're really liking the frenzy of it all. Steve props himself on his knees and does the same with his jeans and briefs, pushing them down to his knees as his long cock springs out and slaps against his stomach. God, you’ve missed the sight of it, your mouth waters as you breathe heavy. Memories of the way it felt in your mouth flood your mind, causing your hips to jerk up in arousal and Steve smiles down at you, clearing taking the movement as a compliment. He circles his hand around himself, pumping a few times before dragging his head through your folds.

“Steve…” you moan out slowly, another surge of wetness flowing out of you.

“Yeah?” he breathes out, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes look glassy. It’s such a pretty view, you wiggle against him.

“Need you,” you admit, shyly.

He licks against his bottom lip before rubbing his tip against your fluttering hole, “You been with anyone else since me?”

You shake your head, knowing the reason behind his question, “I’m clean.”

Steve nods, his hair bouncing with the movement before he sinks his cock inside of you. You gasp out, grabbing onto his bedspread while you melt at the sensation. It’s been way too long. You’re tight, haven’t had anything stretch you out since the last time you had Steve like this. He grunts softly, eyes squeezing shut as he slowly sheathes himself completely inside you.

“Oh,” you moan out, feeling him fill you out in the most delicious way. You force your eyes to stay open, wanting to watch the way Steve’s face contorts in pleasure as he stills his movements. He grazes his fingers up your sides as he lowers himself, his chest flush against yours while his lips find yours again. The kiss is languid, matching the stroke of him between your legs. It’s sensual which is typical from Steve but a stark contrast to the short foreplay. It takes your breath away, regardless. He pulls back an inch, panting against your lips as he rolls his hips deeper, running his hand down to hold onto your hip.

You try to spread your legs further, but the clothing around your ankles makes it difficult. Your hands scratch down his back and you arch your back, moving your hips to chase your high. Steve grunts out and then bites his bottom lip hard, moving his hips faster and more wildly than before. It’s exactly what you need as the pressure building inside you is pulled taut, you’re so close you can almost see it.

“Fuck me, Steve,” you whine out and he makes a pretty, needy sound that has you reeling. It was the type of sound that was the reason you’d always loved going down on Steve.

He rocks his hips into you harder and faster, pulling out little breathy moans from you as you cling onto his back.

“You like that?” he pants out, his hair bouncing with every thrust and you nod up at him, eyebrows furrowing as your orgasm looms closer and closer.

You press your palm against his cheek and he kisses you deeply, smoothing his hands up and down your sides as he moves against you. The kiss pushes you over the edge, a sharp cry flooding out of you as you climax around him, your walls fluttering around his dick and Steve starts making the familiar sounds, desperate and whiny little noises. He pulls out of you quickly, spilling his load over your stomach with a strangled groan. You hum happily, eyes dancing across his gorgeous face. He stuffs himself back in his pants and walks over to his hamper, grabbing a shirt and walking back over to wipe his mess from your navel. He pants as he does it and when he moves away again to dispose of the shirt, you pull your clothes back on.

“You want me to just drop you at home or back at school?” he asks, his eyes everyone but on you.

“Home is fine,” you say, trying to hide the way your heart is splitting yet again from Steve Harrington.

The car ride there is awkward and when you’re a block away, you notice Tommy and Billy’s cars parked on the street.

“Just drop me here,” you say softly and Steve pulls over. As you get out, he leans over and grabs your wrist. You kneel down and lean back in the car. He kisses you gently and then smiles awkwardly at you.

“I’ll see you later,” you say before shutting the door and slinging your backpack over your shoulder.

You walk up to the front door, noticing as Steve makes a u-turn and heads back in the direction of Loch Nora. Tears are threatening to break free but you will them back down, stepping inside the house and waving at Tommy, Billy and Carol as they’re lounged on the couch, watching music videos. You close yourself in the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your hair down and fixing your makeup. Once you feel you’ve calmed down enough, you make your way back out to the living room and very nicely ask Billy if you could bum a smoke.

“I’ll join ya,” he says, standing from the couch.

Tommy moves to follow but Carol grabs his wrist and pulls him back down, leaning close to whisper something and he looks like he’s about to protest until she starts kissing his neck. You make a face and lead Billy out the back door. You sit down on the plastic furniture and graciously accept the cigarette he hands over. Billy pulls out his zippo and lights it for you. Seeing him, unfortunately, eases the way your heart aches. Deep down, you know Billy would do the same thing Steve just did to you but you try not to focus on that. You feel ridiculous that you thought things might be different this time. It’s obvious that you’ve always been an easy lay to Steve and it hurts that you’re still that.

“How was the library?” he asks as he lights his own cigarette.

You shrug, “Really exciting at first, until it sucked.”

“So what’s his name?” Billy asks, smirking up at you as he exhales the thick smoke.

You blush, dropping your head before replying, “That obvious, is it?”

Billy lets out a big, belly laugh. It’s a nice sound, you want to make him laugh over and over.

“I can always tell when a woman’s had an orgasm,” he quips, sliding his tongue out almost obscenely along his lower lip. It’s insane how quickly he’s making you feel better, no matter how blunt he is.

“Yeah, well, his name isn’t important because the whole thing,” you gesture your hands in big circles, “wasn’t important to him.”

Billy inhales sharply, gritting his teeth, “Well… speaking from experience… ‘cause I am one so.. yeah, all guys want the same thing.”

You curl your lips down in a frown as you chew over his words, deciding you’re not much better than Steve because you went along with it for the same reasons. You wanted to fuck him and shit, you got that.

“Sometimes,” you giggle softly, bringing the cigarette up to your lips, “Girls are after the same thing.”

The blonde laughs again and you wanna breathe it in, wanna taste his laughs and his lips and his whole body. He’s different than Steve, physically rougher around the edges which makes him that much more interesting. Exotic maybe. His hair doesn’t look nearly as soft as Steve’s, not nearly as cared for. You’d seen the Farrah Fawcett spray in Steve’s bathroom and you can guarantee Billy doesn’t use the same thing.

“I’ve seen my fair share of that,” he agrees, “but I think a big difference is once guys have it once, they don’t want it again but girls do.”

“Or they want it again when it’s easy,” you point out, reaching over to snatch the beer from his hand and taking a big gulp from it.

“Beware of those assholes,” he says, raising his eyebrows and looking at you seriously.

You groan softly, “I was trying to stay away from him.”

“Who is it?” Billy asks, curiously. “I won’t tell.”

“But you so will,” you gush, bringing your hand to your face, “It’s premium gossip.”

“You think I’m that type?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow up.

You turn to him, “This is juicy. It’s be hard not to tell people.”

“What? Harrington?”

Willing your face to remain still, “No.”

Billy scoffs, “King Steve. No way. That is something.”

“It’s not Steve,” you seethe, though you know your face is giving it away.

He chuckles softly and grabs the beer back, “Your secret is safe with me but uh… you could do better.”

Billy gets up from the chair, tossing his cigarette before walking back inside.

[strangerslxt]

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Devil In Disguise

“You look like an angel.”

“Walk like an angel.”

“Talk like an angel.”

You hummed along with the melody softly as you did your usual afternoon run around the block.

Head phones on your ears and Walkman safely tucked into the pocket of your polyester shorts, you jogged without a care in the world.

Oh but you would wish you did care.

A familiar Chevrolet Camaro was speeding up to you, slowing down enough so his car would be out of your sight for the time being, Billy kept his eyes glued to the round globes of your ass peeking under those shorts.

Exhaling from the Marlboro he had just hauled from, he could feel his jeans tighten.

You intrigued him, you were relatively friendly to everyone at school, except him.

“Bitch.” He muttered before revving the engine loudly enough that it came over your music.

Irritated you pulled your head phones off to see who it was that interrupted your vibe.

“Douche bag!” You holler at him while throwing up your middle finger for extra measure.

The corners of Billy’s lips turned up in a taunting smirk, you had balls, for a chick anyway.

He blew down on his horn while gritting his teeth and hitting the gas petal harshly, gravel spraying up from under his tires, right into your direction.

You cry out angrily as the tiny rocks pelted hard into your skin, and glare as the car disappears down the road quickly.

Angrily you jogged the rest of the way home in silence, your teeth grinding together as you thought of Billy Hargrove and his smug smirk.

You didn’t find him impressive or something to fawn over like all the girls at school did.

He was a jerk who just happened to have a hot mullet.

Shaking your head, cheeks slightly pink from complimenting him in your head, you kicked your sneakers off and padded to the kitchen for a cold glass of lemonade.

Looking at the little hand written note your mother had pinned under a magnet on the fridge you groaned, she was away again selling Mary Kay beauty products and wouldn’t be home till Saturday morning.

Sighing you leaned against the counter and sipped your beverage while looking out the window spacing out for a moment or two.

“Guess I should do some homework.” You murmured while taking your hair out of its pony tail and sat down at the table doing exactly that.

The next day in the school parking lot, Billy leaned on the hood of his car with a cigarette hanging from his lips and watched you with brooding eyes.

You were walking with your head down, books clutched tightly to your chest and those damn head phones over your head.

Flicking his ash, he watched you for a moment before smirking as your eyes suddenly met his, mouthing some obscenity to you which earned him a death glare but he seen the subtle blush creeping across your face.

“Fuck off hargrove.” You spit as you pass by him, avoiding his hard blue eyes.

“Panties in a twist princess?” He retorted back with a scoff.

You stop with a dirty look on your face, “You nearly stoned me to death with that stupid stunt you pulled yesterday. You drive like a moron.”

Billy gave you a crooked smile and shrugged before flicking the cigarette butt at you, “Watch where your walking then.”

Glaring, you puffed your cheeks for a moment before turning on your heel and stomped away quickly, fuming.

God he was such an asshole.

Billy chuckled to himself before noticing a tiny flash of gold on the ground near where you had been standing just a few moments ago.

Bending down he carefully lifted a small gold hoop earring, one he was familiar with.

The ones you always wore.

And now another mistake you’d come to regret…

A/N: pt.1 is finally done, I’m ngl I just wanted to get the boring shit out of the way and get into the juice😫

[bluemantics]

Julance Week One: Broadsword/Youth

I've decided I'll follow @callmelyc's Julance prompts! HI LYC i missed you lots <3 Please give Lyc lots of love and consider following their prompts too!

--

A broadsword. Lance stared blankly down at the weapon he held, red and white, gleaming under the harsh training deck lights. Its weight in his hands was unfamiliar, and yet, somehow felt right in a way he loathed. The sword had manifested seemingly at random-- one second, he'd been shooting at bots in the training room, satisfied with the way they dropped at his feet.

"Fuck yeah," he muttered under his breath as another clang sounded. The blue holographic screen lit up with a happy 'ding,' signifying another slain foe. He whipped around to face the next batch, no hesitation present in any of his movements as he dodged, shot, dodged, kicked out, moved faster, sharper, panting for breath.

So the sword shouldn’t have had any reason to appear! Really, it was all a misunderstanding. As the training drones closed in on him, their little propellers whirring in violent chirps, Lance had only barely conjured the idea for a split second. It wasn’t even a thing! Lance had been standing there, face flushed, sweat trickling down the back of his neck, his trigger finger aching. The idea came from an exhausted daze.

Man, he inwardly lamented, eyes focused on the drones closing in. I wish Keith was here.

Boom. Sword. Lance slashed through the clump of bots without pause until the program had run its course.

That thought had been purely utilitarian, of course. First of all, Keith was with the Blade, and was doing much better there! Obviously he couldn’t actually have Keith’s help in a stupid fucking training exercise. It was just that the robots seemed to get in too close for his weapon to be really effective, it being a rifle and all. He hadn’t expected anyone to be listening to his stupid wandering mind and its stupid wandering fixation on a stupid, wandering, mulleted asshole.

He should have known better. Everything about space had been freaky and magical, so why couldn’t his own goddamn gun have a brain?

Lance let out a small, quiet sigh, watching the way his wrist rotated the sword around in a move that he’d seen plenty of times between urgent missions. Rotate in. Rotate out. The tip of the blade formed little infinities in the air, while the flat of it reflected his lost expression back to him. His eyes were half-lidded and his teeth were gritted.

Lance McClain truly couldn’t have one goddamn thing of his own, could he? Doomed to have Keith’s leftovers for the rest of his life, Lance couldn’t help but draw up images of this exact moment happening fifty times before.

A starry-eyed kid who only got to be an attack pilot after a dropout punched a commander. A throwaway paladin who only assumed the red lion once the original pilot had left for brighter things. And now this.

Being the youngest in a large family meant he was no stranger to hand-me-downs, but Keith Kogane’s always left a bitter taste in his mouth. Like he was almost strong, almost talented, chasing after a perfect Grecian champion he’d never catch.

Keith always left him behind with some nagging reminder of his existence, of the fact that Lance could try as hard as he wanted and still never quite meet his standard.

The sword fell to the ground, transforming back into a bayard. Its clatter echoed off of sterile walls with resonating finality. Lance didn’t spare it another glance as he walked out of the training deck.

He was tired of running after an apparition.

[blubushie]

fanartists have psyoped the entire fandom into thinking that sniper actually has a mullet. fanon replacing canon at its finest.

I don't even mind this cuz I LIKE mulleted Sniper.

It's just people calling his canon hair a mullet that grinds my gears. No one knows what a fucken mullet is. Hands down these people see a bloke with a farmer's tan and mullet and call him a hick or some shit but look at unmulleted Sniper and go "I love mullets 😍"

This is what I meant by people getting classist about it btw. Tumblr hates southerners or anyone who's a bit too blue-collar and jump at the opportunity to shit on them. They see a bloke from the southern US with an actual mullet? He's a hick. Sniper TF2 though, who doesn't actually have a mullet, they fawn over for having a mullet. Stupidest fucking shit lmao

Fair dinkum I think the mullet discourse (FUNNIEST FUCKING PHRASE) is probably the most annoying I've ever been about TF2 Sniper and I do not care. Worth it

[favouritecyclistpoll]

Semi-Finals, Match Two: Matej Mohorič v. Jonas Vingegaard

Matej Mohorič Propaganda

Jonas Vingegaard Propaganda

He is CUTE, he is SMOL, he has a CUTE NOSE and FRECKLES and EYES AS BLUE AS THE ENDLESS SKY---

OK no but seriously, he's amazing. As absurd as it can sound since this is one of the best riders in the world, he's always the underdog in people's minds. Somehow, no one ever thinks "OK I think Jonas is going to win this stage today", and when he does, they're like "OK he won but he still wasn't out of this world, it's because the others were having a bad day", and when he has a stellar day they're like "HE'S DOPING FOR SURE". It's like nothing he ever does is good enough and YET he doesn't give a fuck and keeps performing despite the pressure.

Being consistently good when everyone expects you to win is talent, but being consistently good when everyone hopes you'll lose is something else too.

And he's an incredible human being to boot. He's kind, he's compassionate, he's sensitive, he doesn't have a mean bone in him, he's affectionate, thoughtful. Remember that time during TdF 2022 when he asked Grischa to tell him if he could slow down at the end of the TT to let Wout win the stage? Yeah. He's that kind of guy.

More under the cut:

He's a crier. It's cute and it makes me want to hug him. He loves his family and he always has a good word for his rivals and he's humble and I relate so much to his introverted personality and he's a cinnamon roll and a cutie patootie. But when he puts on his sunglasses, he looks like A WAR MACHINE.

(but a cute one)

He got a lot of heat when he didn't wait for Sepp on the Angliru during this Vuelta, only the instructions of the team before that clusterfuck stage were to battle it out between them and he probably liked it even less than us because he wanted Sepp to win the Vuelta from the beginning.

And need I say anything about the absolute sportsmanship of this man? When he lost his balance in the Col of Spandelles, TdF 2022, Tadej didn't miss the opportunity and powered away from him, but when Tadej was the one who crashed two minutes later, he waited for him. HE WAITED FOR HIM.

And he made the sport all the better for it and gave us one of the finest images in cycling history.

if you like MvDP, consider that though in these days when van der Poel is showing up with a mullet, Jonas did long hair earlier and better.

though there has been a change of style

If you like WvA, consider that some of the BEST hug pictures only exist due to Jonas being the kind of teammate whom others want to hug AND eminently sized for hugs/lifts

(we've all seen this but we can look at it again)

He's got sportsmanship. He's got incredible skills. He's even a dad! Maybe he's not always good at smiling for the cameras but he can sure smile for his family

Most importantly, he's a TdF winner with the time trial of the year and he cannot ride his goddamn bike without hands without his body language screaming oh god someone help me

[bbybearcubbs]

Hyunjin Hairstyle Tier list

I made a Tier list of Hyunjin's hairstyles because I'm bored <3

My unwanted opinions on these rankings are below the cut😙❤

S Tier

#1 - I freaking LOVE when he ties his hair like that😍 Its so Hwang Hyunjin. I'm also generally a sucker for when he does black hair so-

#2 - All of y'all that said Hyunjin looks bad with short hair should compete in a contest to see who can swallow the biggest cactus🤗 LOOK AT HIM. LOOK. AT. HIM. If you think he doesn't look absolutely gorgeous you're blind as fuck and that's coming from someone who can't read a sheet of paper that's more than a foot away from their face.

#3 - Mother. Need I say more?

#4 - I'm a sucker for long blonde haired Hyunjin and as I said before, when he ties his hair up like that? I'M GONE😵 (If Mother didn't exist it would've been in the #3 spot)

#5 - Can we have shiny brown mullet Hyunjin back?🙏🏼 Please JYP?😃 I'm asking nicely😁🔪 No because this was a one hit wonder- GIVE HIM BACK TO ME PLEASE!! I NEED HIM BACK😭😭😭

#6 - They need to stop letting him wear headbands. To Hyunjin it might be a simple "Tsk, hairband" but to me it's "Oh no, hairband"🤕 My health is put in jeopardy every time he wears one.

A Tier

#1 - Controversial opinion, Red Hair isn't Hyunjin's best hairstyle😶 He looks absolutely fantastic, in that picture and all other variants of styles he's worn the red hair in but personally, it just doesn't hit like some of the others do for me. Not S Tier but definitely at the top of A Tier because those concert pics and clips of him with the messy red hair? [The rest of this message has been redacted for the safety of this users image]

#2 - The plaites on one side and then letting the rest fall wavy and its blonde? Someone save me from the Skater boy!Hyunjin thoughts because they are not healthy thoughts to be having😔

#3 - Venom Skz are something else to discuss another time on a very different blog but for now, the wavy curls? Its blonde? Its long? I've begun to see a pattern here🤔

#4 - The long blonde with the red streak? This hairstyle was also a one hit wonder and we passed over it WAY TO FREAKING FAST. Look at him😍 I- Are we sure this guy didn't get isekai-ed into the wrong fucking universe?

#5 - Ah yes, Thunderous Hyunjin. The one that had my mouth on the floor when he appeared on screen with those hair clips. Time has pushed it this far down in A tier but it still holds a precious place in my heart💝 He looks like a historical Princess be so fucking for real

#6 - Once again, I say this with the most sincerity I can muster, all of you that said Hyunjin looks bad with short hair should really try cactus swallowing! You guys could make the record books! Because who looks at his short blue hair and goes "Mmm, he doesn't look good" like are we looking at the same person here? Get outta here with that total bullshit thank you very much😘

#7 - Honestly what an iconic way to end 2023 and start 2024. I really like Berry Flavored Hyunjin💜 Its just iconic lol I don't have much explanation for this one it just fit right here

#8 - Whenever he did the short jellyfish hairstyles I always cave😩 He does it in a fee different colors I think and he looks so damn boyfriend with that hairstyle😭 If we were ranking these of straight boyfriendism then it'd definitely be in S Tier

B Tier

A lot of these from now on are ranked solely on the fact they don't make me wanna [Redacted] liked those in S Tier make me wanna do or how [Redacted] those in A tier make me feel but rather on the fact they look great, they don't hit pack the same punch yk?

#1 - Look at him and his cute little pigtails😍 I was gonna put it in C tier which ironically houses a few of his goofy ass hairstyles BUT this one specifically activated my cuteness aggression❤❤❤

#2 - Short black hair Hyunjin is a gem but it doesn't hit as hard as all I've previously mentioned

#3 - Wavy platinum blonde?😩 Ugh truly a treat❤

#4 - Pink haired Hyunjin isn't necessarily behind platinum blonde, I'd say they're more equal grounds for me. Unique and gorgeous styles that I think sit comfortably in B Tier but that's just for me

#5 - I really liked this hairstyle and needed it on the list but I was having trouble figuring out where to out it😅 I think its in the right place, its a very cozy? hairstyle. I think cozy is the right word for it, yeah

#6 - Look at baby Hyunnie😭💔💔💔 He's so freaking cute stop it!💘 I love the waves over his forehead and I just love his wavy hair in general, that's why I included it

[Edit: It just now occurred to me as I'm writing this, despite saying I love his wavy hair I completely forgot to add 5-Star album Hyunjin with the black wavy hair, yk the one that performs S-class? Y'all know what I'm talking about. Anyway, that style would most definitely be in A Tier for me between #3 & #4]

C Tier

#1 & #2 - Hehehe he's so goofy I love him😭💕

D Tier

#1 - Hyunjin and his Geto cosplay😂 Personally, not among my favorite styles from him but it's definitely a look you had to be there to appreciate fully and boy am I glad I was here when he surprised us with it😭

#2 - It isn't my favorite hairstyle of his nor do I think it's his best BUT 1. That's my personal take & 2. It's literally RULE that no one looks good with a bowl cut and yet here Hyunjin is still somehow managing to not look as ass as this hairstyle usually has its wearers looking😭 Like I agree it's not his best but my man does NOT look as bad as some of y'all were saying. So stop being jerks and go take a walk <3

[Note: Was the yellow bowl cut his best look? No. Did he deserve to be absolutely dragged on the internet to the point he became self-conscious about wearing his hair short because of it? Absolutely fucking not. Y'all are jerks and Hyunjin deserves a thousand apologies from each and every one of you. There's a difference between critiquing someone's hairstyle and just being an asshole. Y'all are just assholes.

[mmmmalo]

I never thought of Equius being coded/headcannon as indigenous/

the idea of the classist, casteist, boy who submitted to his socially assigned supieor and was killed.

but it was the Saggtirus coding, he also is coded as a white/ nobility. a literal blue blood

Nobility yes, and Equius is accordingly confused by the compulsion to submit to someone he views as inferior -- he expresses this conflict in conversations with both Gamzee and Aradia. I tend to think that the noble status of rap on Alternia serves a similar purpose, offering the impression that social inferiors (from a racist POV) have achieved cultural dominance. The same goes for the nobility of archery, if you buy into the idea that the bow and arrow can be deployed in Homestuck as a stereotyped symbol of indigenous peoples (obscured though it may be by the unobjectionable motif of Sagittarius).

My strongest direct example of association between archery and Native Americans is probably this series of puns by Roxy, in conversation with Dirk. More abstract examples would involve Hussie's use of the 4th wall to depict racial tensions and the related use of the command arrow ==> for colonial motifs.

Tangentially, I'd note re: Equius white-coding that he owes his design to Nicolas Cage in Con Air -- the mullet, widows peak, and wife-beater are all very Cameron Poe. Vriska later underlines this resemblance by calling Arquius a "national fucking treasure", which is the title of another Cage flick. Hussie's deployment of racial ambiguity is still something of a mystery to me (outside of its ability to invoke anxieties about race mixing), but I'll say that stuff like the Cage-coding forms an interesting contrast to Equius's racially-charged inability to touch various feminine-coded items (milk, "bows", Karkat) without destroying them

[alykatsevents]

I saw your match-ups open and I had to try because I think I know who i'd be matched with, but its interesting to see if other people see the same- But also doing multiple cause i'm curious

Could I get a romantic Male match-up, for Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, and FNAF?

I'm Genderfluid (leaning heavy masc and non-binary), 20+, Panromantic and Pansexual. I've got a mullet hair style, brown with some pink dye tips, blue eyes, about 5"8 who tends to wear platformed boots. I tend to wear alt / rock / punk style clothing, lots of silver chain jewellery. I have an Australian accent.

I game a lot, play guitar, drink too many energy drinks, and am fairly silent in real life. I'm the designated driver and father friend in my social circle, the person they call if they are out drinking and need to leave. Scary dog privilege haha. I'm really social if i'm comfortable with someone but will usually let others do the majority of the talking. The king of resting bitch faces. I am very much someone who doesn't take shit from anyone.

I have ADHD, constantly moving and fidgeting, get bored easy. I like modern and old rock music but have a soft spot for soft indie music.

Hope that's enough! Excited to see how you pair me up :)

I match you with....

(Hazbin Hotel) Adam

~Okay for this one I had to get help from @veethewriter so big thanks to them, Now lets get started to the actual stuff:

~Wont say it, But thinks your style is cool as fuck

~He tried your energy drink once and now he's addicted to it

~You kinda scare him, again, he won't say it

~You're taller than him in platform boots and he hates it but secretly thinks it's hot

~He tried on your boots once but he fell

I match you with...

(Helluva boss) Stolas

~He LOVES your jewelry

~He thinks your accent is hot and will make it known that he thinks that

~He likes listening to you play guitar

~While he's really like, flirtatious and horny, he's also a big romantic

~He'll see your resting bitch face and think your pissed off or something

~He adores your music taste

~Loves showing you off if you're comfortable with it

I match you with....

(FNAF)Bonnie

(Lmao how I do a write a robot)

~Doesnt talk at all, even if this is a human au, Mute. Uses a notepad

~For a robot he's surprisingly quiet, Be prepared for that

~Hes a fellow father friend lmao

~Steals your guitar and plays it

~His music tastes consists of just, music played at the pizzeria

[laplacesdevil]

The peculiar new hire and ecstatic cashier, Kale Schmidt! A wondrous guy, I can say.

MAIN REF:

Kale is fine being called whatever anyone thinks he is and doesn't care for labels either! He uses any pronouns, althought most people refer to him with he/him or it/its. His age and nationality are scratched out. He is 6'8"/203 cm.

TabbyKat's Playground's new hire!

Tends to talk long and flowery

Has extremely good hearing

ALWAYS wears an animatronic head, in and out of work. Changes it each day.

Looking for Fazbender's last owner, Jack Kennedy.

Hates liars!

Usually found around Naomi and Aster

Has dotted tattoos(?) around body

OUTFIT REF:

[Diagram]

Kale has his arms outstretched, showing off his markings. His whole head is overshadowed, with only a white eye and a toothy grin visible. A necklace is shown next to him, reading "ALWAYS worn under his shirt." On the bottom are two braided bracelets, orange and purple. A note is under them and reads "Kale wears these matching bracelets from Aster on his left wrist!"

A clear diagram of all of Kale's markings! Think of them as sectioning off body parts. There's ALSO the marking around his neck

There's NEVER a situation where he'd need to be bare, but y'know. Just to keep in mind

His chest and arms are hairy! I just left it bare to show off his markings fully

[Base]

Kale is now fully dressed, although his head is still obscured. There's a note next to him that shows how his hair can be drawn, with the steps in colored order.

His hair... it's strange. picture waves. The inside can be described like horns

Sorry guys! Kale told me that it's a little camera shy today, teehee! No full face! XP!

VERY RARELY changes out of his work outfit. Seen with it in and out of work

Kale had to redo his name tag a few times. They were too big!

[Terry]

Very commonly worn head! The one he started with!

Somehow got the hat off of Terry...?

[Ramona]

Kale wears the head of Ramona, a red robin with a curvy black marking on her face and a yellow beak.

The visor should be a little bit harder to adjust with her head, but Kale manages just fine...

[Haylie]

Kale wears the head of Haylie, a light blue hyena with a blue mullet, pink nose, and underbite fangs.

Kale's favorite head! (Thought Haylie was some kind of blue dog before Naomi clarified)

He likes to fluff the hair sometimes with Haylie and Beth's heads

[Beth]

Kale wears the head of Beth, who has a black bob. She has pale pink skin, a heart-shaped nose, and brown patches on her face, as well as a little snaggletooth.

Kale's fuck ass bob <3 He had no idea what beth was at first

[fawnpawn]

(Not actually end of chapter) graphics for my fic Mimicry of a neuron chapter 13

I didn't want to learn coding and skins so I cheated. There's 18 total and are less stand alone images so I'm not trying to display them artistically in this post. Get album cropped idiot (unless you're on my blog then apparently it doesn't do that-)

Does it make sense for twice to be using iphones? Not at all (that shit would be so easy to trace-) but all of my other ideas looked weird so imessage style it is.

note on the profile pictures: I don't really consider those my art. The Izuku is mine but the hand+action figure comes from a canon screenshot. Same with the side profile of twice, and the rest of the pose and the van is just fully traced off a stock image and an actual photo.

Also I'm new to ID-ing so if the formatting is trash, tell me.

1st Image ID: A recreation of an imessage conversation between clones of Jin from MHA. Usernames are Buba (Taxi duty), Buba (Lazy ass), Buba (Baby duty), Buba (Clinic duty1), Buba (Clinic duty2), and this chapter’s Jin who has no shown username and a blue text bubble.

Taxi duty’s profile picture is a white van with "free candy" painted in red to look like blood. Lazy ass’s profile picture is of a cropped picture of Jin pointing a middle finger to the camera. Baby duty’s profile picture is of a young Izuku holding an action figure of All Might up to the camera and smiling. Clinic duty 1 and 2’s profile picture is blank, showing their username initials "BC".

1st image Taxi duty: [Baby update @ Baby duty.] Lazy ass: [Baby update @ Baby duty.] Baby duty: [STop fyckn spammn me asshols.] Clinic duty2: [Baby update @ Baby duty. Not sorry.] Baby duty: [Its going better, but he still doesnt wanna leave the house.]

2nd image Jin: [Fuck it. I’m getting icecream for the lil guy] Lazy ass: [Your paying for it.] Lazy ass: [Your paying for it.] Taxi duty: [We all pay for it dumbass.] Baby duty: [Better not be texting and driving.] Taxi duty: [Fuck off. I’m waiting for food.]

3rd image Jin: [Does anyone know a gal with piercings who knows us and the kid? Brown mullet, no vis morphs.] Baby duty: [Oh she might be the chick that stepped in last month at the park. Atorura? Atomi??]

4th image Lazy ass: [Shit I think shes waved at me before. Maybe.] Clinic duty2: [Please tell us you waved back.] Clinic duty1: [@ Clinic duty2 dude get off your phone. It aint lunch yet.] Lazy ass: [oooo u slacking?.] Clinic duty2: [Stfu.] /End 1st ID

2nd Image ID: A recreation of an .exe prompt window titled "Interface Prompt". Text is light grey on a black background with some text coloured red. The rest of the images in this post are of this style.

5th image "<Initialising… Identified Connective Tissue. Identified Muscle Tissue. Identified Blood vessels. Identified Bone.

Starting Exploratory Search… Detecting DOC system. Bone Structures: Phalanges[R], Metacarpals[R], Carpels[R], Ulna[R], Radius[R]…

[Leave]

Exploratory Search cancelled. Starting Disconnect Sequence… Disconnection successful.>" "[Leave]" is in red.

6th image "<Initialising… Identified Blood vessels. Identified White Matter. Identified Grey Matter.

Starting Exploratory Search… Detecting DOC system. Brain Structures: Frontal lobe, Parietal lobe, Limbic lobe, Occipital lobe…

[How hard is it to breed rats.] [Could I hire someone to do it.] [That's definitely more expensive.]>"

7th image "<[There they are.]>"

8th image "<Monitory Search Initiated… Start Blood Test…

[What if they got out.] [Don’t want to risk infesting my properties with rats.] [Won’t ask Jin to do it.] [We can afford to keep buying them.]

Identified Quirk Factor. Starting Exploratory Search… ... ... Exploratory Search unsuccessful.>"

9th image "<[I feel like a futakuchi-onna.]

[Pause]

Starting Pausing sequence… Pausing sequence successful.

Waiting…>" "[Pause]" is in red.

10th image "<Initialising… Identified Connective Tissue. Identified Muscle Tissue. Identified Blood vessels. Identified Bone. Identified White Matter. Identified Grey Matter.>"

11th image "<Starting Exploratory Search… Closest known system : Rat system.

Identified Glutamate Identified Serotonin Identified Epinephrine Identified Dopamine …>"

12th image "<Heart rate : 80 Blood pressure : 0.3 mmHg Heart rate falling. Blood pressure falling.>"

13th image "<[The possibilities…]>"

14th image "<Exploratory Search unsuccessful.> <Exploratory Search unsuccessful.> <Exploratory Search unsuccessful.>"

15th image "<[He would have been so excited if he knew this was what Izuku’s quirk is.] [I wish he was here to see it.]>"

16th image "<[He’d have loved that term]>"

17th image "<[I can practically feel their confusion.] [I wonder if they’ll figure it out.>"

18th image "<Heart rate : 0 Blood pressure : 0 No neurological activity.

[Leave]

Monitory Search cancelled. Starting Disconnect Sequence… Disconnection successful.>" "[Leave]" is in red. /End 2nd ID

[lavenite]

okay the characters i really really want dolls of would be from ‘time and again’ cause thats what im mostly focusing on PLUS its modern so i wont have to make too many clothes except for like karina but shes a dirty little crustie so ill have fun with that ANYWAY MAIN PROBELM ! actually under the cut let me rant

okay so the main characters ARE :

KARINA ROMERO : white / scary bright blue eyes / long black hair but Might be dyed…shes an ooglepunk so her fashion sense is easy BUT i could also go like rabbittail abigail type of way…

MATTHIAS O’RILEY : basically adam from priscilla queen of the desert / twink but def muscular < hes a stripper lol that shits hard WORK / keeps hair super short but not quite buzzed / kinda blends into the crowd a bit

MIMI : YAYYAYYAY MIMI !!!!!!! sorry i love her a lot shes so fun. / shortest of the group / fat / black / also a stripper ! probably the most fun fashion wise and loves constantly changing her hair and doing braids and adding beads and just its great / is def one to go with the trends tho

JACK ALVEREZ : im so sorry jack i dont have a clearly defined um idea ? hes mexican. his weight fluxuates a lot as he gets older and through diff periods of his life. has a mullet at some point. maybe he dresses like a nondescript 90s white rock musician SORRY hes kind of boring but we support him ❤️

anyway thats not even getting into lulu or julia or isiah or god forbid any of their parents or fucking matthias’ FOUR BROTHERS ! tho alan is really the only important one currently OR IRENE ! OR KARINAS LITTLE UNNAMED CRUSTIE HOOKUP / TRAVELLING PARTNER …. or lulus son. and im sure theres more characters im not thinking of or havent added yet basically massive cast and i like to say its pretty diverse which pretty much only like. barbie at this current point fits what im looking for but also for older characters like lulu or isiah or i mena fuck like the whole cast is mid twenties but they also timetravel to their teen selves so ummmm yea idk

anyway i have to find dolls for them but ANNOTHER PROBLEM !!!!!! i hate hate hate male barbie dolls. ken i am killing you with my mind. i have to reconcile with the fact that matthias is very obviously a ken stereotype and he himself would put himself as ken to oh god would karina be barbie? thats horrific i mean hes gay and karinas a dyke but yhey kind of have this weird love triangle thing with mimi (who hates karina with all her heart (they literally never interact shes just like that)) also they arwnt even friends. matthias doesnt really like karina….um anyway lost the plot TRAIN BACK TO THE STATION !!!

i need dolls for them but theyre so specific. i might have to order specific barbies online that i think would look like them….anyway ill stop ranting nowwwww i just love my characters ❤️

[vampirefucker-69]

Willow creek chapter 1

Hanks eyes slowly opened, he brushed his straightened dark brown hair out of his eyes. The tall boy sat up, black and red bedsheets falling off his chest. He pushed the sheets off the bed and stood up, still half asleep, he lazily grabbed his outfit for the day; a black joydivision shirt, baggy jeans, and a dark purple zip up hoodie. Hank carried his outfit into the bathroom to take his daily shower.

After 5 minutes he let out a yelp and tried to rub the shampoo out of his eyes.

“Fuck.” Hank groaned as he quickly got out of the shower and dried himself off. Once he was dressed, hank walked over to the mirror and wiped away the steam that covered it, he looked at his now frizzy hair and grabbed the hair straightener, plugged it in, and began to straighten his hair. He had to straighten it every day or his hair would revert to its original texture. Hank attempted to avoided burning his skin and the two dreadlocks in front of his ears, but accidentally burnt the back of his head. Hanks hair had grown into a longer semi mullet over the years he’s been dead. Hank had lost count of how long it had been since he died. He had started straightening his hair when he was 12 to look more like his dad, hank had always felt a disconnect from his Indian roots as a second generation immigrant. His birth dad was Indian and his birth mom was black, hanks hair had always resembled his bio moms hair, but his nose and facial structure matched his bio father’s.

Despite having new parents in Willow creek, he still missed his old family and the small apartment they all lived in. at least in Willow creek he could do pretty much whatever he wanted, and his new dads were cool. Hank finished spacing out looking at the mirror and walked back to his room to grab his phone. Hank picked up the warm phone and turned it on. A text notification from his best friend and crush. He read the text out loud to himself, “do you wanna hang out today? I found a cool building in the woods.” Hank muttered, in such a short text Steg managed to spell almost everything wrong.

‘Sure dude’

Steg grabbed his phone the second he got a response from Hank, his face lit up reading the text. Steg rushed to start getting, he pulled a sweater off the rack he kept in his room, it was light blue with a big white swirl on it, pulled dark blue baggy jeans out of a pile under his bed and quickly got dressed. Steg rushed out of his room to the bathroom across the hall and aggressively brushed his teeth, put leave in conditioner in his har. He checked his face in the mirror, wanting to make sure he didn’t have anything on his face. Steg was a dark tan like his older sister clover, and just like her, he had black hair that was in tight coils.

Steg rushed out of the bathroom, he passed by Clover who was laying on the couch watching some trash tv, “Clover! I’m gonna go hang out with Hank!” Steg shouted over the tv as he laced up his sneakers. He ran out the front door, down the street, and towards Hanks house. Steg blushed as he thought about hanging out with Hank, Steg has had a crush on Hank since a month before Hank died, and the month Hank was dead before Steg was hell for him. But Steg was happy they were together now, he couldn’t handle losing Hank the way he did again.

Once Steg arrived at hanks house he knocked on the door excitedly waiting for an answer. One of Hanks dads, Lucifer, opened the door, “Hi Steg. Are you here for Hank.” Lucifer said, he slowly walked away. Steg nodded, “is he uh.. ready?” Steg asked, leaned in the door following Lucifer with his eyes. Lucifer looked up the stairs, “he’s upstairs, I don’t know what he’s doing.” Lucifer shrugged and walked back to the kitchen where he was sitting alone. Steg ran up the stairs to Hanks room.

No matter how many times he’d been in the room, Steg always noticed something cool. the walls had a few posters, plants, Hanks guitar, CDs, and the papers all over his floor. Steg sat down on the black and red sheets that covered Hanks bed, the coffin shaped pillows were soft. Steg sat there waiting for a few minutes before Hank walked in. “AAHH! Oh hi Steg!” Hank smiled at Steg.

The two boys decided to walk down to hanks aunts house to pick up his cousin, Lizza, she was a short girl with short black hair that curled outward. “Hello Hank, Steg.” Said the tall lady who opened the door, she had dark red skin and horns on her head, her sharp black hair was put up in a bun with lose strands in her face. She towered over the two boys and smiled warmly. “Hi aunt Irus! Can lizza hang out with us today?” Hank asked, Irus nodded, “I’ll go get her.” She Said before walking into the kitchen. From the opposite direction came Hanks other aunt, she had tan skin and a huge healed burn scar covering the right side of her body. “Hello!” She exclaimed happily, “how’s my brother been?” She asked. “Hi Pastell! Dads doing fine like usual” Hank responded, Lizza ran out from the kitchen and stopped in front of everyone, she wore a dark green tank top, green zip up hoodie with three pins on the left and the sleeves were sewn shut at the shoulder. “Hey dude!” Steg said with a smile.

The three of them walked into the woods that surrounded Willow creek, “ok ok, yesterday while I was walking around here i found a big ass building that’s abandoned and it looked so cool and I’m so excited to show you guys it and maybe we can clean it up and-“ Steg continued talking while flapping his hands excitedly, flapping his hands is one of Stegs stim’s, hank watched as Steg talked about his plans for the building. Lizza, only partially listening, glanced around at the dirt looking for something. “And then we can, what are you looking at lizza?” Steg asked cutting himself off. “Frogs.” Lizza responded. hank noticed Stegs hands were still again, he held his breath and grabbed Stegs hand cautiously. Steg looked at Hank and blushed, he glanced down at their hands and moved his away, Hank frowned and look away from Steg. The cold feeling of his empty hand only lasted a few seconds, Stegs hand held his again but was readjusted so their fingers were interlocked, “it’s more comfortable this way hank.” Steg said blushing.

Lizza turned around at the sudden silence and looked at their hands, then jokingly glared at the display of affection, “fruit cakes…” she muttered and rolled her eyes, hank laughed and squeezed Stegs hand before pulling him forward, “you can’t say shit, your moms are lesbians.” Hank laughed out, Lizza rolled her eyes, “doesn’t make you guys less gay.” She responded. “Dude you’re gay too, remember that girl from,” Steg started to say smugly. Lizzas face turned red and she yelled.

After around ten minutes the three kids wound up behind the large wooden church that hanks other aunt lived in, “it’s further this way, ew what the fuck is that smell?” Steg groaned plugging his nose with his free hand. Hank squinted at the side of the building, his eyes widened as he let go of Stegs hand, quickly walking over to what he saw. “What the fuck.” Hank yelled, he took a step back from the pile. It was all dead animals, rabbits, mice, dogs, cats, every animal was nearly unrecognizable with the heads were bashed in.

Lizza and Steg followed hank, at the sight of the monstrosity Lizza vomited. Some of the flys that swarmed the pile moved over to the puddle of throw up. “Why the hell is this here? Dude this is disgusting…” Steg muttered, before Hank could try to respond, a tall woman walked out from the church, carrying a dead lamb, its head was smashed in like all the other ones. The woman threw the lamb onto the pile before wiping the small amount of blood onto her long black dress, she turned around, not noticing the others presence. Her long curly black hair held up in a tight bun. “Uh… aunt Elizabeth..?” Hank said quietly, Elizabeth quickly spun around. Her face was covered by a mask that resembled an old pinup models makeup, Hank had never seen her without it on. She flinched, startled by the others “I think it’s time for you three to go home.” Elizabeth walked back inside calmly.

Hank, Steg, and Lizza, started the walk back to Hanks house, still confused about the pile. “Dude why did your aunt have those fucking corpse’s?” Steg asked in a panicked tone. Hank shrugged, still in shock of what they saw, “I can uh… ask my dad if we go to my house? I have no idea dude.” Hank responded slowly. “There’s still vomit in my mouth.” Lizza muttered, trying to spit out chunks of regurgitated food out of her mouth. “Oh shit, right.” Hank said. They hurried back to Hanks house.

“Lizza, you can go wash your face in the bathroom, we’ll ask my dad about Elizabeth.” Hank said as he and Steg walked into the kitchen. Lucifer stood over the sink, he had his long green hair in a ponytail and had rubber gloves on while scrubbing the dishes in the sink. “Hey dad?” Hank said quietly, “hm?” Lucifer hummed in response, “why does uh… why does aunt Elizabeth have dead animals behind her house ..?” Hank questioned. Lucifer took a moment to think about his response, “it’s… it’s how she copes I think. With the cult and everything.” Lucifer responded in a monotone voice, blurting out the last sentence absentmindedly.

Hanks eyes shot up at the mention of a cult, “the what?” Hank asked nervously, Lucifer’s face went pale and he looked around the room, then at Hank, “go to your room please, and take them up with you.” Lucifer said, there was a hint of panic in his voice. Hank could see him shaking a little, “uh ok…” he mumbled grabbing Stegs hand before making his way to the bathroom to get Lizza. As soon as everyone was upstairs he looked at Lizza with wide eyes, “Elizabeth was in a cult. That means my dad was in the cult. So that means your mom was in it too. Did Pastell ever say anything about it?” Hank managed to say this all in one breath. “Uh I think she did, I heard her talking to mama about the shit that happened growing up,” lizza recalled, “and she started crying when her dad was mentioned.” Hank frowned, “anything else?” He asked. “Nope”

[maelihi]

hi evan! so this isn’t a drawing request of course but you’re my absolute favorite person on this app so i am basically using your excellence to explain my favorite characters descriptions (they’re werewolves ofc and ima slo high so forgive me if im rambled together lysm tyty)

Dottie:

tanner skin, since she is dominican and korean in my rewrite

she’s shorter for a werewolf, only at about 5’11 when most female werewolves are about 6’2-6’5

healthy weight, she’s more pear shaped, because i love her.

in my rewrite, wolves have a more human passing version, and her human version has more natural, dark blue instead of the neon ones she usually has, and her hair is a very dark brown, on the verge of black

she has many freckles on her nose, and a larger dark brown birthmark on her left cheek

she has a sternum and thigh tattoo, one of more plants (thigh) and one of more coral like shapes (sternum)— (she loves nature in its entirety).

she usually wears tshirts (she takes them from her friends) and flared jeans, or tracksuits (juicy couture vintage because she likes 2000s).

honestly she would wear platform heels- i like them, she likes them. she’s very feminine in my rewrite

usually carries around a purse, and she wears a lot of bracelets and her ears are pierced twice in the lobe (tongue piercing and belly buttonnn)

she wears hearing aids!

Daniel:

fair skinned, he is thai and irish

his hair is longer, and he doesn’t trim his bangs often so they kind of fall into his eyes

his human version has brown hair, though lighter- and his eyes are a more hazel color

he’s tall 7’0 (tall for even a male werewolf)

he has a bit of a tummy, and he has firm alrms and legs

covered in freckles, and missing one of his canine teeth

he has a belly button piercing, and a lip piercing

he wears mostly hoodies and baggier sweaters, and black starched slacks (his momma makes him do it)

he doesn’t shower a lot, so he wears beanies to cover his hair sometimes.

Rylan:

pale skinned, russian.

his hair is kind of a mullet length, but he doesn’t cut his bangs or and of his hair except for the bottoms when his grandmother makes him

he’s tall (about 6’8)

in his human form his hair is the same, yet his eyes are a dark brown.

very thin and a bit scrawny but we love him

has a his ears pierced, and his tongue is pierced

vitiligo, yet its kind of hard to see because he is much paler.

has a tattoo on his finger of his mothers name (who’s passed away)

he wears jeans constantly, and dumb sweaters that have cringe sayings (eat, sleep, game)

has the shittiest fucking blue sneakers that are torn to shit.

i hope you don’t mind me using this evan, but those are just basic stuffs <3

no spellcheck :)

I’ll be honest if people send me their fic/rewrite versions of characters I will draw them all.

Be you send me drawings, or just descriptions (pls send colour pallet tho bc idk colours dude) I will do it. Every time. Without fail.

I just love other people’s versions of characters (especially aphmau idk why) so I want to… spread some love I guess??

[borealing]

Im a simple person, i see wang yibo with a mullet, i start crying