#Sometimes I even have a ribbon in my hair

[almoststedytimetravel]

I hope people know that when they diss how Athena dresses, they're dissing me. I dress like that.

[hinasho]

Something that really gets me is the simple fact that Ariel has locs.

It’s very recently that mainstream media portrays Black actresses with natural styles. And even then, those styles are usually the same ones: loose curls, box braids, maybe twists.

It is extremely rare for not only a female character to have locs, but for them to also be characterized as soft, delicate, and dainty. More often than not, female characters with locs are depicted as “rough” or “laidback”. If not high in masculinity, then simply uncaring of their appearance.

So for Ariel to have locs AND be framed as cute, as pretty, as sweet, just really hit for me. Because locs typically aren’t given to those kinds of characters. I saw a post on here that referred to Ariel’s hair as “pretty princess hair” and had to take a moment.

[chososrightnipple]

❝𝐤𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 + 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬❞

a/n: as usual, afab!body w/no gendered language. y'all i swear i'm back surely... i totally don't work five eight and a half hour shifts in a row after this... not at all.... anyway didn't include all of the hashira just because i don't want this to feel too overcrowded, might do a part two though if anyone wants a specific character. enjoy!

── დ ──

. *. ⋆ SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA

▸ face fucking. he loves taking his frustration out on your poor throat, especially after particularly drama filled hashira meetings. watching the way the spit dribbles past your lips and how your eyes roll into the back of your head so unashamedly.

▸ spit kink. he goes crazy for it fr. having you kneel in front of him as he takes ahold of your jaw. forcing your mouth open and instructing you to stick your tongue out before spitting. he moans so beautifully when you readily accept his gift and swallow.

▸ choking. he loves the feeling of wrapping his hands around your throat and squeezing, seeing how your cheeks redden. enjoying the choked gasps you struggle getting out with every thrust inside of you.

▸ degradation. he's got a mouth on him, that's for sure. insults upon insults thrown at you, practically babbling about how much you're a dirty whore- his dirty whore- the closer he gets to his orgasm.

▸ brat taming. breaking you down until your nothing but a shivering mess. you always just have to give him attitude, don't you? running your mouth until he's forced to put you back in your place.

. *. ⋆ GIYUU TOMIOKA

▸ hair puling. both giving and receiving. shamelessly moaning anytime your fingers brush against his scalp, yanking at the hair while his tongue licks at your trembling walls.

▸ body worship. he's so fucking in love with you and that's especially in the bedroom. he spends hours memorizing your body, trailing your curves, kissing at the dips in your skin. all before he even thinks of fucking you.

▸ bondage. intricately tying your wrists and ankles to bedposts, the roughness of the rope scratching at your skin with every pull. he'll stand above you for a few seconds after, just watching how you squirm against the restraints.

▸ cock warming. sometimes he's just so bone tired from it all. he just needs to feel you, nothing more. sitting you on his lap and sinking his cock into your welcoming walls. face burying into your neck and savoring the feeling.

▸ sensory deprivation. goes kind of hand in hand with his love of tying you up. he has an extensive collection of silk ribbons, in all kinds of colors, that he'll have you model for him later that night.

. *. ⋆TENGEN UZUI

▸semi-public. he's so daring with it, really. when he wants you, he wants you, and he's not ashamed of that. fucking you in too small closets as maids at the butterfly mansion pass by, or on the top of a roof where nightlife bustles below.

▸ size kink. he's fucking huge, towering over you in every sense of the word. seeing how your lips struggle stretching around his cock or how small your hand is compared to his- it drives him absolutely insane.

▸ breeding. my god please don't get me started on this.., he wants to cum inside of you so bad, anytime and every time he fucks you. thinking of how sexy you'd look all round with his baby!!

�� humiliation. just like sanemi, this man has a mouth on him. seeing how your cheeks redden and you stutter anytime he calls you out on being such a whore for him- it's adorable, he just can't help it.

▸ orgasm denial. such a tease with it, too. lets you think he's gonna let you cum this time around, only to pull completely away from your skin as soon as your on that edge. cooing at how you cry at him, apologizing for being so mean, even if he doesn't really mean it.

. *. ⋆KYUOJURO RENGOKU

▸ breeding. best friends think alike, right? pls just make this man a daddy already. he's so desperate for it. rutting inside of you for the third time in a night, all to cum inside your pretty pussy.

▸ cunnilingus. oh, he is such a big pussy eater. sometimes it's just so much with him. large arms wrapping around the thighs that squeeze either side of his head, lapping at your pussy like it's his last meal and he's a man starved.

▸ eye contact. grabbing at your jaw, forcing your gaze to his, instructing you to keep it there. he's eyes are so intense, so fiery. boring into you with every thrust inside- taking in the dilation of your pupils and the flutter of your pretty eyelashes.

▸ overstimulation. most times he doesn't even mean to do it, y'know? you just feel so good, and he's chasing that high over and over again until you're jelly in his arms, feeling pleasure so painfully.

▸ dry humping. his favorite foreplay. the atmosphere thick as you both huddle close, grinding and frotting against each other. anything for friction. until he gets so desperate for your touch that he's ripping your clothes off right then and there.

[lokischocolatefountain]

Warning || Men Like Me

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girth age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), gratuitous descriptions of Joel Miller's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, breaking and entering, playboy magazine, objectification, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 6.2k Summary: Joel's warnings about what men like him would do to girls like you only makes you want him more. A/N: Back in the depths of hell again, you guys. Now this isn't the most depraved thing I've written by any means but it's up there. Come say hi in my chat or inbox, I'd love to talk. Keep a look out for follow up parts and pleeeeease give me comments. I am very very desperate.

Joel Miller was a bad man. That much he knew. 

Even as he fixed taps and renovated houses that were falling apart, he could see the blood on his hands. The very hands that packed lunches for Ellie snapped necks, pistol whipped men, stole from a starving child so he could feed his grown brother. But there were lows even he didn’t stoop down to. 

Not that he didn’t have the opportunity. Men always did. And in this world, opportunities had only tripled. Even the Boston QZ, as strict as it was, had an underground brothel. He knew Tess to frequent it and never asked questions. Sometimes she needed to bury her face between a good pair of thighs and wrap her lips around a pretty pussy, and this wasn’t something he could give her. There was a lot he couldn’t give her.

Being in Jackson should’ve civilized him. It did in many ways. He’d reverted to the southern gentleman with table manners. ‘Yes, Ma’am’ spilled out of his lips effortlessly when he spoke to women. He held the door for anyone walking in after him. He even went to Church– sorry, the multifaith house of worship–to help renovate. 

That was where his troubles began. 

There was no point in him going where people prayed. Being back in civilization did not erase his decades of disbelief in a cruel God who would take his baby and keep him on this accursed Earth. But he did because he was back to being a contractor and Tommy asked him to go fix up the pews instead of him. He didn’t have much time, being a new dad and all.

He was on his knees checking out the rotting wood and evaluating how much wood he’d need for building new ones when he was confronted by a pair of legs and a sweet voice. Yours. 

“Lemonade, Mister Miller?” 

He looked up, his eyes traveling up your legs, bare until he got to your knees where the hem of your flowery skirt sat. Pure, unblemished knees, never taken a fall, didn’t fucking creak, and never knelt before anyone but God. You looked down sweetly, eyes wide and innocent like a newborn cow. Everyone had a kind of darkness about them in this world. Everyone except the kids who didn’t know a world outside the insular walls of Jackson. And you, it turned out, even though you weren’t a kid.

He wiped his sweat off with the greasy rag he carried and looked up at you once again. You had a pitcher and an empty glass in your hands. A sweet smile on your lips and hair falling down your shoulders and reaching your breasts. A yellow ribbon sat in a bow where your neckline dipped between your breasts, adding to the innocence of your look.

“Yes please, Ma’am. Thank you,” he said, giving you a nod. Your pretty plush lips curled up, a giggle escaping them as you poured him a glass of lemonade. 

His hand brushed against yours as he accepted the glass, his hand too large to curl around it without making contact with you. You giggled again before retracting your hand and occupying it with adjusting your hair. 

“I’m younger than you, you know? Don’t have to call me Ma’am.” 

“Just being polite. Ma’am.” He took the glass to his lips, mindful to take only a small sip instead of downing it in desperation. Another adjustment to make when food was no longer a scarcity. Sweet, sour, and salty danced on his tongue before it glided down his throat. Just a sip refreshed him. And the sight of a nice girl didn’t hurt the cause either. 

It’d been so long since he had a nice refreshing glass of lemonade. Summers meant worse infestations of infected, not the barbecues, lemonades, and swimming of past. When surviving each hour was under threat, small luxuries like this became out of reach of even one’s dreams.

“Well, guess I should call you Sir then,” you said, leaning against the wall. You held the pitcher up to your chest and the tails of the ribbon on your chest dipped into it, the soft shiny yellow turning dark, tainted.

His mouth watered and fucking hell, it wasn’t the lemonade you just gave him. He took a sip of the drink and licked his lips, imagining how you’d taste if he wrapped his large hand around your neck and pressed his chapped lips to your plush ones. Better yet, if he held your legs apart and devoured you other pair of lips until you were leaking down his mouth. Would you call him Sir then? His cock twitched in his jeans as he pictured you bent over one of these pews, your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair as he slid his cock in your hole. 

Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him? 

“Made the lemonade yourself?” He asked,  groaning as he managed to get himself back up on his feet. His knees creaked like the floorboards of the houses he renovated, but ultimately supported him as he stood. He towered over you, making you appear smaller, more fragile. 

“Depends. Do you like it?” 

“It’s wonderful, of course. Hot summer day like this…I really needed it,” he said, raising the glass up a little before taking another sip. 

“Well then yes, I did make it.”

He chuckled, feeling himself pulled in by your easy charisma. It was nice to have normal conversations like this once again. No agenda, no need for establishing himself as someone who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone up if even mildly threatened. It was just…normal. 

“It’s very sweet, Ma’am. Like you I assume,” he added, mentally dusting off the part of his brain where he stored skills for conversing with pretty girls.

You laughed, holding your free hand up to your mouth to cover your lips that widened and revealed your teeth. 

“Is that the southern charm that I hear our townspeople talk about?” 

“They talk about my charm? I didn’t hear.” 

“Oh yes, they do… Joel Miller, charming pants off of everyone in town.”

“Pants? Well that’s disappointing. I was hoping I’d charmed some pretty skirts off.” 

“Lots of experience with that, Mister Miller?” you asked, sliding your hand over the soft fabric of the skirt of your dress. Such delicate fabric. He could fist the hem and give it one tug and it’d rip right off.

“More ‘n what you got for sure,” he said, loath to hint at how infrequent his encounters had become in the recent past. Tess died, he did a cross country hike with an annoying kid, he needed to maintain a good reputation in his new town. One buried after the other. Enough to leave a man with nothing but his fist and his imagination. He would kill for a fucking Playboy magazine. Literally. He’d killed for less.

“What do you know about how experienced I am?” 

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.” 

“Oh well. Nothing I can’t learn.” 

He laughed nervously and stuck his hand in his jeans pocket. Surely you couldn’t be flirting… Why would a young thing like this flirt with him? He was in his late fifties looking like mid sixties and you were… He didn’t know. Young.

“If you could teach me, Mister Miller. Give a girl some experience?”

“I’m sure you can find someone else.” 

“Oh. Not your type, am I?” you asked, and he deluded himself thinking you sounded disappointed. No chance. 

He didn’t have a type. Long time since he thought of frivolous shit like that. But you shouldn’t be his type. 

“There’s much more eligible men in town is what I’m saying,” he said, suddenly hesitant to lie. Lying had never been an issue for him. The right thing was to lie, say you weren’t his type so he wouldn’t cross lines. It’d been a long time since he did the right thing.

“I’ll be the decider of that,” you said with a shrug of your shoulder before taking the empty glass from him. “Have a good rest of the work day, Mister Miller.”

Later that night, he wrapped his fist around his cock in the privacy of his room. His mind flooded with images of you spread out for him, sweet lips and a sweeter pussy milking him. He couldn’t even recall the last time he was with a woman. It was Tess, of course. Sometime before she got thrown in FEDRA jail for the last time. Too fucking long ago.

Surely it was only because it’d been a long time since he got his dick wet. He’d never, in his entire life, pictured a woman so much younger spreading her legs for him. Sucking his cock. Crying out his name. How old was she even? Not past mid twenties for sure.

It was wrong, he knew, as white hot spend spurted out of his cock and covered his hand. A sour tang took over his mouth as the fog of unadulterated lust cleared up to reveal the ugliness in his head. He shuddered, feeling like something had crawled under his flesh. He hadn’t felt guilt like this in so long. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

You weren’t even as old as his kid would be had she been alive. 

He’d known men like that back in the day. Grays in their hair and skin like old leather, but pretty young things old enough to be their daughter hanging off their arm. It was obvious that none of them kept these girls around for love or for their personality. It was always sex and the feeling of self-importance when a sweet young thing paid attention to balding heads, beer bellies and limp dicks that needed a blue pill to get up. 

Fucking disgusting. 

He began avoiding you whenever you happened to be in the same space. At the house of worship, the town clinic where you interned, trading days when people exchanged what they had for what they wanted. His eyes never met yours and he always quickly looked away when they stared too long at your uh…feminine features– pretty legs, cute ass, round tits. Where the fuck did you get sundresses anyway? Who kept that shit around in this world? 

He didn’t know that when he avoided you, you took note of him. When he took glances of your features, you memorized his for later in the night when you buried your head in your pillow and pushed your fingers inside your pussy to simulate what it must be like to be with a man. 

He was older. That much you knew from his grey hair, sun-damaged skin, and gait that exuded bone-deep weariness. You knew Tommy had just turned fifty. Hard to miss occasions that meant a free slice of cake from the canteen. Joel had to be in his mid-fifties at the very least. At first glance, he wasn’t what you’d consider handsome. There were younger men in town. Fit and muscular. Didn’t groan and scrunch up their faces when they got up. Didn’t have lines on their foreheads. No bags under their eyes. 

Yet there was something about Joel that was more entrancing. 

After your first meeting when you offered him lemonade, you made sure to visit under the guise of worship. You didn’t know much about religion and were conflicted about embracing a god. The only faith you had rested in your medical instruments and the medicines the town’s chemist concocted. But it was a nice place to meet people, to check on healing patients.

The visits were worth it for a glimpse of Joel’s large hands wrapped around his carpentry tools. When the sun was the hottest, he sometimes stripped down to his tank top, giving you a show better than any film played in the community theater. His broad back looked masculine enough in his flannel shirts. But you didn’t know desire like the first time you saw him in a white tank, showing off his muscular arms as sweat dripped down his tan skin.

When you pleasured yourself in your room, it took time, imagination, your fingers, and a lot of effort to make slick pool in your pussy. That day, all it took was the sight of Joel Miller working. You sat with your thighs pressed together, rubbing them against each other in the most inconspicuous little movements. 

Could it be blasphemy if the God who was supposedly orchestrating everything made this man take his shirt off in front of you?

It made no fucking sense. Joel was old. He looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed every goddamn day. He had been chewed up and spat out by whatever the fuck was outside Jackson these days. Hardened expressions, graying patchy beard, hands calloused from carpentry and decades of using weaponry. Features that only indicated a long life lived, not attractiveness.

You were supposed to be attracted to the soft, sweet ones like the guys in the worn out copies of romance stories that the previous inhabitant of your house stashed in the basement. Even his little brother would be a more reasonable target for your lust. Younger, taller, softer, head full of dark, silky hair with few grays. But you wanted Joel Miller with his rough graying beard that would prick your skin were you to cup his cheek like the women on the novel covers. 

Something about him just screamed Man. Something that none of the other guys in town had. There was nothing wrong with any of the other Jackson men, but none of them made you want to take the plunge and lose your virginity. It wasn’t the lack of offers, per se. You’d gotten looks from many eligible Jackson bachelors. You had drinks with a few of them. Dinner with fewer and shared a kiss with more than one. Alright, two. But anything beyond that had you trembling in anxiety. 

It wasn’t anything precious to you, virginity. But you’d waited so long. Focused so long only on survival and then helping to build this town and now training to become a doctor. Whatever passed for doctor these days. With all your life dedicated to everything but your love life, you simply had no experience. What if you messed up and they laughed? You knew anatomy, but that didn’t translate to practical stuff. What if you couldn’t make them feel good? You’d have to see the guy all the damn time in the small town. There would be no escaping the awkwardness.

Sure it was counterintuitive to keep pushing away sexual encounters because you had no experience. But you didn’t know what else to do. You were too old already to not have done anything. But each day that passed with you rejecting perfectly nice men meant you were getting even older for your first time. 

You didn’t know where Joel fit into your need for exploring your sexuality, but it didn’t hurt to stare. God knew everyone else in Jackson did. 

So you stared. Work with his carpentry tools. Riding on horseback into Jackson after patrol. Helping with the fucking sheep. Walking around with Tommy. Carrying his nephew around town. It should be inappropriate to be fantasizing about a man when he was doing something as innocent as carrying a baby. But seeing his large hand cradling the baby’s little head made you want to scream into your pillow and kick your legs. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” 

Your heart fluttered and you let out a nervous laugh at being caught. You smoothed out the wrinkles on your clothes just to make it look like you were alright. Unfortunately you were wearing a pair of fucking jeans. You didn’t even want to know how awkward you looked. 

“‘m alright, Mister Miller.” 

“Joel’s fine,” he said, rocking his nephew in his arms.

Oh fuck, his fucking arms!

“Oh I don’t know,” you said, fidgeting with a belt loop on your jeans. “Wouldn’t want to be impolite addressing you by your first name like that.”

He smiled, recalling your conversation from the house of worship when you called him Sir and had him fucking himself in the shower to the memory. “Ah. ‘cause I’m an old man,” he said, more as a reminder to himself to fucking behave. 

“You’re not that old…” you trailed, looking him over in a way that set fire to every inch of skin that you laid eyes on.

Behave, Miller. You’re out with your nephew. 

“That so?” he asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Mhmm. You don’t look a day over seventy.” 

He snorted, making Miles stir in his arms just a little. That stung a little. It shouldn’t. Your estimation of his age, whether you were serious or not, was reminder enough that he was too old to be lusting after you.

“Thanks. I’m actually eighty-two.” 

You giggled your pretty little giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground and looking back up only when it had turned into a wide grin. “How old are you actually?”

“Old. Fifty six.” 

“Fifty-six isn’t that old…” you trailed as you brought a hand up to his bicep. Joel gulped, praying to the non-existent God that you would stop before praying to the same God that you would keep your hand right there. God answered his second prayer. You squeezed, licked your lips and looked up at him with your doe eyes.

“Checking if the hardware is still working, Doctor?” 

“I’m not a doctor yet.” 

“When do you become one then? Ain’t no Harvard handing out medical degrees in this town.”

“Howard?” you asked, squinting at him. Ah, of course you didn’t know. Harvard didn’t mean the same thing to you. Now it was just like every other building in Boston. Run over by infected. These ones were just the nerdy kind with glasses on.

“That was a thing, too. But I said Harvard. They were big universities back then.”

“Ah. Did you go there?” You asked, with no malice or bite. Oh, bless your heart. No one expected a dummy like him to have gone to university at all, much less Harvard. No one in his family had gone. Sarah was meant to be the first.

“Yeah. Traded some oxy and threw molotovs at clickers in the campus.” 

You rewarded him with a giggle and that was incentive enough for him to keep going. “Guys like me didn’t get into Harvard. Or Howard. Didn’t even go to community college. I finished high school and got a job in construction.” 

“You didn’t go to uh…construction college?” You asked, cocking your head and raising an eyebrow as though testing out the term.

“No such thing. Well, there were civil engineering programs, but I just learned on the job.” 

“Like me.” 

“Guess so. I see you reading from all those fat medical books. But there’s no need to study any books in construction. ‘cept if you wanna be an engineer or architect or something, which I’m not.” 

“Maybe you should write one. We could all do with some knowledge from before. It’s important to document it, pass it on to Ellie and little Miles over there.” 

“I ain’t writing books, sweetheart. Don’t think I even remember how to write much. I’ll just keep to fixing things up in this town. So, if you need some help with your place…I’m happy to help.” It was the least he could do. Maybe as some kind of penance for having impure thoughts about you. Or as a fucked up trade for starring in the mental images he conjured to jack off in the shower.

“There is something, actually. But I don’t have anything to trade for, so I’ll wait until I do,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying in place in an endearing manner.

“Nonsense. You patched me up just last week. You’ve done enough for the town’s health to not have to trade for anything ever again.” 

“Well, no. That’s not how it should be… It’s people’s health. Can’t put a price on that.”

“Believe it or not, health had a steep price back in the day. Cost four thousand something just to give birth. Double that if they had to cut you open.” And that was just how much it cost when Sarah was born. He was sure it had only gone up by 2003. If he hadn’t worked his ass off, there was no way he could’ve escaped debt. It helped that his Ma and his then wife’s parents helped with childcare. Would’ve been even more expensive without that.

“Damn. I don’t know how much that is, since…y’know we don’t have money now. But that sounds like a big number. It shouldn’t cost anything just to be born.” 

“Tell me about it,” he said, shaking his head. “But listen. Anything you want fixed, I’ll help out. You can give me something later if you’re worried. I know Ellie’s always on the look for new books to read and you seem to have a lot of them.” 

“Nothing Ellie would like. Not like the special limited edition of Savage Starlight or anything. Just medical textbooks and romance novels.” 

“We could trade for the lemonade from that afternoon,” he insisted, desperate to do something for you. Take care of you as you took care of everyone who walked into the clinic be it papercuts or a fucking knife in their abdomen. 

“Alright. Trade for the lemonade it is then,” you said, giving in to his pressure.

“Now tell me. What d’ya need fixed?” 

⌘⌘⌘

It had been a few days since Joel promised to fix your shower for you. Each time he came by and rang your doorbell, you hid somewhere away from your windows. When he caught sight of you in public, you quickly walked away or engaged in conversation with someone else. You didn’t need shit fixed. Everything in your house was perfectly alright. Tommy and his guys had given the place a complete makeover just a couple months before Joel and Ellie arrived. 

You were no paragon of honesty, but you didn’t make lying a habit. There were a few white lies here and there and this was meant to be one of them. It just didn’t fucking hit you that if you lied to a contractor that your shower was broken, he would eventually come over to fucking fix it. All your desperate sex starved brain wanted that day was for Joel Miller to come use his tools in your room and flex those muscles while at it.

So invested were you in that particular fantasy that as you unwound after a long shift at the clinic, it was with Joel’s beefy arms in mind. You stood in front of your mirror, taking in your reflection. One of the magazines you’d found in a box under your bed laid open on the dressing table. Playboy. Entertainment for Men. Each had a scantily clad woman on the cover. And many more inside. 

You made comparisons to yourself and the woman in the center page of the issue.

She stood in front of a dressing table too, but much different from how you stood. Her legs were on either side of her dressing table chair and her hands on the top of it. Between her arms were breasts, big and round and with smooth skin. They didn’t have any marks on them like yours. No moles, no stretch marks. Just plain. And she just stood there, soft brown hair down, tickling the top of her breasts and her lips parted as she gazed at you. No, at the men she was meant to entertain in this men’s entertainment magazine. All she had on was panties that went high up to her flat belly that connected to high transparent socks.

You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, wishing that you had something nicer like the woman on the cover of another one of the magazines. Bright red and showing off her breasts wonderfully, but pulled down to reveal almost everything. What was the point of a bra then if it didn’t cover or support anything? Entertainment, you decided. Men seemed to be very entertained by breasts. 

Many a man had stared at yours even though you had them behind layers of fabric unlike the naked women of the magazines. Many had conversations with them instead of your face. Some brushed up against them ‘accidentally’. Joel thought he was being covert, but you felt his brown eyes rove all over them. You thought maybe that he too would brush up against it sometime, but he never did. Maybe entertainment stopped at just looking, as in the magazines. 

You wondered if Joel sought out men’s entertainment magazines like this. He was from before everything went to shit, so it was very possible that he did. Did he like the women in these pages, sticking their asses out and looking through the pages at him? Would he be entertained if he saw you like this? 

You didn’t know that if you turned your head to your bedroom door, you would have your answer. Joel’s cock strained against his already tight jeans as he stood awestruck by your figure. He swallowed as you held on to the top of the chair and lifted your knees, one after the other and placed them on the plush seat. You arched your back, a little too much at first before reducing the curve. Your ass stuck out enticingly and he didn’t know whether to grab, squeeze, slap, or spread your cheeks apart and fuck your ass. 

He should leave. 

It was stupid of him to walk into your house with a box of plumbing tools to fix your shower when you hadn’t yet given him a date or time for it. Plus you were avoiding him. Running away with your little friends and picking up stuff to hide your face from his view. He was plenty sure that when he’d rung your doorbell, you weren’t always away from home. 

He should leave. 

Fixing the shower could wait. He could confront you some other day. 

But you were putting on such a pretty little show in nothing but your panties and he was only a man. A bad one. 

His boots stayed put on your hardwood floors as you enjoyed yourself in front of the mirror. You spread your knees and let your fingers between your thighs, eyes closed, lips parted and low whines escaping your lips in just a few minutes. He palmed his growing erection over his jeans, consequences of being caught be damned. He was a foul beast already. What bad was another sin on the list? Besides, you were the one who’d left the fucking door open. 

Your soft whimpers grew into moans as you brought yourself closer and he forced his feet to stay put despite their urge to walk up to you and give you something to really moan about. 

“Fuu– mmm Joel, pleeease.”

He let out a gasp, all his restraint flying out the window as soon as he heard his name from your lips. You couldn’t actually be doing this… There had to be another Joel in town. Younger, better looking, smarter.

Your voice grew needy and the pitch higher as you kept at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gimme it, Sir.” 

No, it couldn’t be anyone else. 

Joel toed his boots off and took quiet steps towards you, emboldened by the filth that spilled from your lips. If this old man was what you wanted, he wouldn’t stop himself from reaping the benefits. He wasn’t a goddamn saint. Never was. 

He stopped in front of you, surprised you still hadn’t sensed his presence. As though the universe heard his thoughts, it had you open your eyes. You gasped as soon as you saw him and buckled off the chair, but Joel caught you. You shuddered, unable to cope with the sudden touch. 

“J-Joel?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, touching your cheek with the back of his hand. You whined, your body molding itself against his chest. You brought a hand to his arm, feeling the rock hard muscles underneath his sleeves and your other hand worked between your legs.  

Your fingers no longer felt adequate as you felt his large fingers on your cheek. “Want you, please,” you whined, desperate to return to the edge where you had been right before you saw him. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me…” he spoke dangerously, soft brown eyes clouded with a kind of desire you had longed to see in him for weeks. 

“Want you…want you to be with me,” you repeated stupidly, your desperation clouding your senses too much for you to say anything else. While in the past you only wanted to get rid of your virginity, your goals had become more specific with his arrival. You wanted him. You wanted his big hands and broad shoulders, to hold on to them as you rode him. To watch his grumpy expressions turn to ecstasy under you. 

“Tell me not to touch you,” he said, his tone low and almost threatening. Any other threat from him, you would’ve heeded. But not this one. 

“Touch me!” 

It was as though something in him snapped at your words. While darkness only loomed over him before, it now completely took over.The hand that previously only caressed your cheek now wrapped itself around your neck. Before you could completely process the move, his other hand slapped yours away. He replaced two of your puny fingers with his middle finger, eliciting a strained moan from you. 

“Touching yourself to a Playboy magazine, huh?” 

You only nodded, unable to form words now that a fantasy of yours had finally come to life.

“Dirty little thing…Thought you were a nice girl and all. Helpin’ out at the clinic, head buried in books all the time. Turns out you actually got your head in dirty magazines.” 

You whined, your pussy clenching and gushing around his finger at the way he was speaking to you. The same man who insisted on calling you Ma’am despite your protests was calling you a dirty girl now. The veil of respectability seemed to have floated away at the sight of you naked and pleasuring yourself. Had you known that this was all you needed to get Joel Miller to touch you, you would’ve done it much sooner.

He added another finger, the girth of him enough to stretch you more than you had done for yourself. You brought a hand up to his shoulder and fisted his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself to. 

“You ever been taken by a man, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone too cool and casual for what he was doing to you. You shuddered, partly from his phrasing– taken, he said. Taken. Like you were a thing. Like the women in the magazines positioned so uncomfortably just so their breasts could look a certain way for the picture. Printed on the cover page with the words Entertainment for Men written on top. You shook your head, feeling small as you confessed it for the first time. 

“Any man?” 

“N-no,” you managed to breathe out, whimpering at the way the bulge beneath his jeans twitched at your simple answer. He took a step to position himself behind you, letting you lean your back against his chest. The angle at which he touched your pussy changed, opening your world up to a wonderful new kind of pleasure. 

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me,” he whispered in your neck, making you shiver. His thumb roamed between your legs as far as they could reach, caressed you gently, his softness with you contradicting his warning about men like him. The hand around your neck slithered down your torso, cold air forcing you to face your new desire of having your breath kept hostage. 

He took your left breast in hand, squeezing the flesh like someone starved would hold on to a piece of bread. It felt more like a punctuation to the warning he issued than a part of sex. Just then, his thumb between your legs stopped its search, stopping a little above the fingers inside you.

A moan you didn’t recognize as yours at first filled the room and you buckled forward. Blunt nails sunk into the flesh of your breast as he saved you before you could fall. He hauled you back up, making you collide against his chest. 

You gasped and quickly grabbed the hand between your legs, the sensation too intense for you to know what to do with. His thumb kept on, rolling over something there that set your person on fire. 

“Fuuuck! Joel– I– I– hnnng–”

“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned, keeping at whatever the hell he was doing to make you feel this way. 

“Please… I don’t– what was that?” 

You felt his chest rumble before you heard his laughter. Heat rose to your face and your throat felt strained though there was no hand around it anymore. 

“Never touched your clit? Do you even know what that is?” He mocked, the cruelty somehow not repelling you from him. He forced you to look up at him. Your heart lurched at how close you were to his face. You could see every gray hair, every minute blemish and line.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man? You don’t know what you’re handing me on a silver platter. I ain’t like the other guys in town. I walked across the fucking country and lemme tell ya, there’s no pretty things like you out there. I’m starved.” 

“Take me, then,” you begged, using his own words from earlier. “Please. Whatever you– a-aaah!” 

He ramped up the pressure on that spot– your clit– and with it, took your ability to speak coherently. It was as though he’d done it on purpose. You hated it. To be so bereft of control. To be a puppet in someone’s hand. For someone to acquaint themselves with parts of you that you didn’t know of. But it was too much to fight, so you let go. Let him play with you. Take you. Like a thing.

You renounced control of your lips too, his name slipping out effortlessly like it did when he caught you. Then you renounced what was left of your dignity and began begging relentlessly. For what, you didn’t know. In his hand, you’d gone from woman to pupper, your strings pulled by a man, your voice now his. Sounds that would be indiscernible from that of a wounded animal emanated from somewhere deep within you. 

Perhaps none of this was real. Why else did your own voice grow so distant from you? Why did your vision become blurry? Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Your eyes clenched shut, depriving you of your blurred vision. Your toes curled. You wanted to shrink into yourself, shrink away from all this goodness. You went higher and higher, soaring like a bird. Every nerve ending in your body felt electrified, awoken like one switch turned on every light on last winter’s Christmas tree. 

You let out a loud cry, the soaring bird in you reaching its peak before beginning its fall to the ground. You could hear your breaths again, labored but doing everything to stabilize itself. Your thighs still shook. Your chest rose and fell. A hand caressed your hand. Behind you, something strong supported your back. Kept you from falling backward. 

“Joel…” 

“I know, I know…” he whispered into your head. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, surprised to see a softer visage. He picked you up off the chair like you’d seen him lift giant logs before. With ease. You didn’t protest as he carried you. Didn’t protest when he laid you out on your bed. 

He bent down and picked something up. No questions, no instructions. He simply spread your leg away from the other. Cold air touched the gushing mess dripping out of you and you shivered, feeling a sudden need to cover yourself but unable to defy him. His hand was on your pussy again. His hardened, calloused fingers behind a soft fabric this time. He wiped upwards, collecting the mess he made out of you. When he lifted the fabric up, you realized it was your panties. 

He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and then looked back at your face, the intensity of his gaze making you want to run. Problem was your weak legs wouldn’t take you anywhere. You didn’t screw your eyes shut. You didn’t pull your blanket to conceal yourself. You looked back at him, defiant. Like you were trying to prove something. I can handle a man like you. 

“Be a good girl from now.” 

That and a condescending pat on your pussy and he was gone.

⌘

Part 2

[merakiui]

thing.

yandere!skully j. graves x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, stalking, fear/paranoia, brief mention and description of dead animals note - "he is there—and there again, but you cannot see him plain, for the shadow lies so darkly on the hill."

There is a bundle of black roses propped against your door. Thirteen of them, devoid of thorns, but the threat is still there—nestled within the petals, a foreboding symbolism.

A stupid Halloween prank, you think, gathering the roses and tossing them out.

Come tomorrow, there is a new bouquet waiting for you. These are white, but they have their thorns. A small card accompanies the gift. There’s a message printed in an old typewriter font: No good?

Like before, you discard these flowers. You have no time for secret admirers or daft nonsense.

So the roses stop blooming at your door, tied up with pretty twine and ribbons. Instead, you receive bones and carcasses. A mouse skull. Deer teeth. A mangled bird, its wings snapped and bent at the joints. A rabbit’s foot, warm and still bleeding, the bone jutting out from severed flesh. The roses, you think, were a preview of what was to come—of what you’d soon be mourning.

These macabre presents are wrapped sincerely, shrouded daintily with frilly cloth. They come with their own set of cards, each one typed just like before. 

I can see you.

Good luck on your exam today. Carry this rabbit’s foot with you and you shall know fortune.

This naughty bird is always cawing outside of your window. It wakes you up, so I silenced it for you. It is most beautiful in death, is it not?

Are you going to bring that friend of yours around again? I don’t quite like the scent they leave on your sheets. :(

So you share these morbid anecdotes with your friends over dinner. They don’t believe you.

“You’ve one persistent dog after you,” one of them remarks, eyeing the pictures with a curious, doubtful eye. “A real rotten mutt.”

“But I don’t have a dog,” you reply.

“Well, something’s coming home to you every night.”

“It’s just me. I live alone.”

“Do you? You sure nothing’s following you? You don’t hear the jingle of a collar? The soft padding of paws on tile, loyally trailing after its owner?”

At the time, you thought these were foolish questions.

“The flowers? Definitely a person,” your logical friend suggests. “The dead stuff? Probably a wild animal. A hawk once dropped a mouse in my yard. It’s normal. Someone’s just making a nasty time out of it, leaving those notes to scare you.”

That sounds reasonable. You choose to believe it even when there are inconsistencies and clues that prove otherwise.

You check the locks on your doors and windows. You consider buying cameras, but maybe that’s misplaced paranoia. No one’s inside your house. No person or thing could possibly get in. You’re not sure what would be worse: a tangible human being with human hair, human eyes, and human teeth, or a thing. A thing with claws and a razored maw. A thing with inhuman strength and the eerie quietness of a phantom, plucked right from your nightmares and dropped in reality.

A human being is tangible. A thing could be anything. It could also be nothing.

“I’m not interesting enough to have a stalker,” you tell your logical friend. “Not special enough or rich enough. Not attractive enough.”

“You don’t have to be,” they tell you. “Sometimes all you need to be is alone and vulnerable. Sometimes all you need to do is exist so that they have something to latch onto—something they can covet no matter what.”

“Do you think they’ll kill me?” you ask next, hesitating around that word. Kill. It’s so final and exact. “If they can do such gruesome things to those animals…”

“Or it could be a dog. Dogs don’t kill their owners. They’re loyal.”

“But it’s not a dog. I don’t even think this thing is domesticated.”

“Then what is it?”

“Something.”

It is something malevolent. It is something malicious. It is something you can’t quite fathom—something you can’t picture in your mind because it is always swapping shapes. One minute it’s a nest of mice dwelling within your walls. The next it’s a shadow creature—a demon or a monster. The next it’s a human with strange proportions, too-long legs and too-long arms and a too-long torso. The next it’s a dog with a long, long snout and very human eyes, with human hands for paws, with a curling smile that reveals gaps in its pointed, bloody maw. It feasts on flesh and hunts little, defenseless songbirds, and it’s after you because it wants something you can’t give it.

What does it want? Is this thing even real? Perhaps the anxiety is making a monster out of nothing.

You twist and turn in the dark, wrapped up in sheets that feel more itchy than they do comforting. You’re cold all over, sweating an ocean in your bed. You think your heart might burst out of your chest at any minute. Every creak and groan of the house unsettles nerves that are already pulled impossibly taut. You gaze into the dark doorway, squinting through shadows that look like they’re waltzing in and out of focus.

Or…

Is the door breathing? Is someone there?

You rub your eyes and relief filters in. There’s nothing.

Or…

Your phone cuts a slice of light through your bedroom. You shine it towards the door from where you cower on your bed. There’s nothing.

Your friend—the unfunny one—texts you then, and the vibration scares you more than your imagination. A text is tangible, easily categorized, and yet it’s the scariest thing you’ve just received at this moment, however ghoulishly playful it may be.

u need a leash for ur dog?

You drop your phone. It illuminates the space beneath your bed for a second before the screen shuts off.

You think you hear someone breathing or a heart beating. It’s yours.

Or…

Swallowing thickly, you reach for your phone. You feel soft, fluffy hair. At first, you think it really is a dog when a warm, wet tongue laves over your palm. But you don’t have a dog, and it’s then when you feel the rest of this…thing. Human ears. Human nose. Human mouth. Human teeth. 

Another text brightens your phone. The screen flickers on.

You peek over the edge of your mattress to find a distinctly human face smiling back at you.

might as well get a collar too yeah?

[inkskinned]

it is the first snow today. i think we should all have off work, even though it didn't stick. i think there should be 4 national holidays, one for each season. happy first snow, go home and make cookies. for spring it can be the first crocus. for summer the first lightning bug. for autumn, the first golden leaf. go home, kiss your dog, feed your cat (who is absolutely already-fed but somehow still starving.)

i think we should all take more showers together, but i mean that in the soft way. i mean it like taking a nap. two years ago i had 5 adult friends in my queen bed, all of us laying across each other, head over belly over thigh over hand. any time one of us would giggle, it would ripple over each of us, like pulling on a spiderweb. kim actually needed to nap and didn't get to sleep and i am still sorry for it even though this is one of my most precious memories.

i think we should all wash each other's hair, i mean. i walk my dog and i watch someone put up twinkle lights around their front porch. alex and i just moved, and i love the neighborhood. already so many of our new neighbors have stopped by to say hello. the nice lady downstairs also collects plants, like me. she gave us her number on a pink post-it note. i am trying to decide whether to make her cookies or brownies.

i am going through a very hard time. something bad happened this weekend that i do not wish to discuss. it is hanging over me. i think of the green ribbon, and the woman who had her throat cut. it feels like that sometimes, inside of my body. like i am walking and talking despite being half-corpsed. like i am hanging on by a ribbon, standing on some kind of cusp. i keep saying - at least it wasn't worse. we are so lucky it wasn't worse. the idea is river-rock smooth now, all the edges worried off.

in this very dark night - the sun sets by 3 now - people don't need to, but they try anyway. they paint the missing light into things. i have an embarrassing number of missed calls and texts, but i feel the love from them nevertheless - hey. if you need something, i'm here. i will bring you food/puzzles/anything. i got you.

i think we should all have a big group chat where we do errands with strangers. this week i got lost in a home depot, which is wild because i'm a lesbian and we are actually hatched in a lowe's lumber section. there were two other women in the whole store. we ended up shopping together, at first by accident (we all needed things in the same aisle), and then because, well, why not. one of the ladies was taller than me, so she pulled down the screws i needed. i am agile and have the personality of a raccoon, so they sent me after anything below 3 feet. we talked about holiday plans and never learned each other's names, but did learn all the drama about each other's families.

i am making you cupcakes, because i have so much affection i want to pour it into batter. you ask me if i am eating enough per meal. i wrap your gift twice, trying to do it prettily. i get excited to give it to you, just because i hope you'll be excited too.

my parents drive an hour just to see the new apartment and to do the parent thing; standing in the kitchen saying things like "oh you'll get so much use from this dishwasher" and "well, you could paint that" and "when your mother and i moved it was uphill both ways and in a snowstorm and of course your brother was an infant." my mother brought me a plant for housewarming. i always say i love you before she leaves.

i play dnd on tuesdays still, after all these years. we all keep that night free. at one point, between grad school and marriage and all of it, we had to have a serious discussion about how to keep it running. we will keep going, we decided eventually. just to see each other, even if we don't play - you are all important to me. sebastian is not prone to affection but last night he stole my usual sign off - i love you all, be good, he said. he was laughing.

i don't love the winter, actually. i like snow in theory, but i grew up in the north, and am too-familiar with the season of "mud and sludge". i don't like being cold. but i do love something kind of soft and rare: every year around this time, people remember oh yes. you and i are human together. and i have love to spare.

it is the first snow, and something in my heart is finally warm again. i have spent what felt like the last 18 months just going-through-the-motions. it has felt blank and immediate, like i would never actually feel again. that sounds extremely trite and stupid - but that is the boring and familiar experience of depression. life just washes up against your windows, and you watch it happening. you see things that should be lovely and affecting, and it just whispers too-thin. i was desperately uncreative. uninterested in my hobbies. unimpressed by my writing. i told my therapist, often, i don't know how to find hope again.

almost sheepishly, something strange and lovely is burning in my chest. i keep not-looking at it, worried it will scamper back into the shadows again. it is skittish and wild, but it is so warm i want to sink my hands into its fur and feel it breathing. i love-hate it: if it's real, it can hurt me when it leaves again. but i am icarus-born, sun-lover and poet: i can't help myself. despite my best intentions, i am falling in love with life again.

i am planning to make cookies for my friends. alex and i are going to go christmas tree shopping. we picked out matching dish towels last night, and they have little mushrooms on them.

i love you. it does come back. yes, even after a long time. even for you. i promise. keep trying. you will wake up and it will be a day you can smile about.

write me when you get there. we will take the day off of work, and i will wash your hair, and we will both be laughing.

[pillowspace]

Could we get more audience of Vaugarde???

ISA: As for Stardust... Uh... // MIRA: Is-- is it just me or is there something super personal about the way Loop says Stardust? // ISA: Yeah, that felt uncomfortable coming out of my own mouth.

ODILE: I don't see any problem in just referring to him as "this Siffrin." // MIRA: I guess, but... isn't that a bit impersonal? // ODILE: Are we... supposed to be personal with a Siffrin we might not ever meet? It's more personal than how Loop refers to this world's versions of us, "Housemaiden." // MIRA: Okay. Well.

BON: Sometimes I call em Starfrin.

ISA: Starfrin... Heh, that's cute. // MIRA: Hehe, feels a bit wrong considering which one's the star out of the two! // ISA: I can't tell if it'd be more embarrassing to have Loop or Siffrin-two overhear me say Starsif. // MIRA: Honestly? I think Loop!

BON: I WISH they'd hear us for once. // ODILE: Mh... yes, that would be nice... // ISA: ... // MIRA: ...

I don't have strict thoughts on how the audience refers to Siffrin, I imagine they switch it up a lot (not "Stardust" though). My only thoughts on it are that if someone does just say "Siffrin," the others will know who they're talking about anyway, so it doesn't matter too much. Sometimes they do just say Siffrin. And if there even are two "Siffrin"s is uncertain throughout the loops because they can't ask Loop if they still want the name or not

( other posts in this AU: Audience of Vauguarde | Mira's ribbon | Loop's name | txt: extra info | classic mistake | Bonnie's wishes | *unshadows your hat* | long hair | isaloop comfort | not entirely canon but | txt: headband | universe: nah | a ghost! )

[borathae]

↳ Index [Day 04 - Nipple Sucking]

Pairing: Brat to Good Boy!Jungkook x Mommy Domme!Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU

Kinks: nipple sucking, breast worship, thigh grinding, clothed sex, vaginal fingering, cumming in his pants, subby boy tears, drool, he accidentally bruises her nipple from being too eager, he is a lil brat at the beginning and bites her nipples jfsdjf, masochist!Jungkook, tongue spanking, hair pulling, subspace, cuddling & praises for aftercare

Wordcount: 3.8k

a/n: this is inspired by anonie’s idea this was actually not planned to be included in kinktober at first but i suddenly felt the unbearable urge to write this and so i did <3 have fun besties i’m a whore for him

You and Jungkook have been arguing. It wasn’t a terrible fight, nor a very burdening one, but it was still a fight. You say that Jungkook was in your magic kitchen and messed up the papers on your desk, while he insists that it wasn’t him. You know for a fact however that it was him and that he is being stubborn. You know because you noticed the ink stain on his shirt from accidentally dunking it into your inkpot. 

“I don’t understand why you want to keep up this stubborn farce.” 

“It’s not a farce, it’s fact. I didn’t mess up your papers.”

“So you were in my magic kitchen?” 

“Ye- No? No, that’s not what I meant.” 

“Mhm sure and I’m the queen of the moon.” 

Jungkook huffs out air, pouting. 

“Even if I was, theoretically, it doesn’t mean I was the one who messed up your papers. Maybe they were already messed up when I got there.” 

“We’ve been over this, Kookie. How the hell did the ink stain get on your shirt then?” 

“It’s from the love letters I was writing to you.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you. Flirting isn’t gonna work right now”, you say, but chuckle.

Jungkook grins boyishly, closing the distance between you and him.

“What’s a few papers anyway, right?” he says, fluttering his lashes at you.

“No, no stay away, you stubborn walnut.”

“I’m not stubborn.”

“Yes, you are. You’re even more stubborn than I am.”

Jungkook gasps, clutching his imaginary pearls.

“You take that back.”

“I’m taking it back once you admit that you were in my kitchen and messed up my papers.”

Jungkook sits down on the sofa and crosses his arms in front of his chest. He pouts, looking to the side like a sulking baby.

The thing is. You weren’t angry, nor really frustrated. In some weird way, you were amused. The fight is silly and so obviously not taken seriously by either party. In a peculiar sense, it almost feels like flirting. You and Jungkook find yourselves in a weird yet exciting dance of “who breaks first?” and you know exactly how to break him. 

You begin opening the front lacing on your dress. Jungkook notices from the corner of his eyes, shifting on the sofa as inconspicuously as possible. 

You sometimes like to wear pretty dresses from earlier time periods when at the estate. Your dress today consists of an outer layer and a flowy under dress. You let the outer dress fall to the floor, stepping out of it. 

Jungkook shifts again, clearing his throat. He turns his head further to the side, acting as if he can’t see you. 

Your under dress is made of a very thin cotton fabric, making it so perfectly translucent at the parts of your body which were more sinful than the rest. Yes, we are talking about your nipples and pubes here. Jungkook has a very hard time not looking at you. The collar of your under dress is closed with a ribbon. You open it as you strut to Jungkook.

You straddle his lap. His meaty thighs tense, jaw tightening. 

One skilled move and the dress slips down your shoulders, revealing your chest to him. 

Jungkook tries to turn his head even more but you stop him, nudging him to face you with two fingers gripping his chin. 

His eyes ghost over your breasts but flit up to stare at your face obsessively. Even now he is stubborn enough not to admit that you have him charmed.

“Do I really have to force you to confess, sweet one?” you say, caressing him under his chin. Your eyes race between his.

“I didn’t mess up-”

“Hush now”, you silence him, stuffing your nipple into his mouth. 

Jungkook mewls in surprise, eyes widened and hands stretching from his body. One second, two. He whimpers and sucks, eyes falling closed and hands grasping your waist. His thighs tremble as his body makes sense of the almost drug like effect your nipples have on him. 

“There we go”, you get out, playing with his hair, “now you can’t lie anymore. You’re so much sweeter like this.” 

Jungkook breaks away, craning his neck.

“I’m not ly-”

“Pssst.”

You force his head down and shove your other nipple into his mouth. Jungkook keens, sucking on it instantly. He drags his hands up your bared back, tickling goosebumps to the surface. 

He feels good. Really good. His touch is so gentle while his mouth is so eager. He is still trying to hold back, to pretend as if he wasn’t utterly into this, but his mouth begins to betray him. He sucks but he also licks. Very sloppily and messily. And whenever he licks, he lets out a throaty purr, thighs tensing under your weight. 

Jungkook changes sides, sliding his hands to your breasts to hold them. His tongue darts out, circling your nipple quickly while his fingers knead the flesh. 

“That’s good. Your mouth is put to so much better use like this. It’s too pretty to be used for lying.” 

“Shut up”, Jungkook murmurs and takes your nipple between his teeth to tug. 

“Ah, hey”, you gasp, arching your back. 

He grins against you. This little shit has the audacity to grin after biting your nipple. 

You can’t let him get away with it. You twist a bundle of his hair and tug. Jungkook’s head tilts back, revealing his boyish grin and cloudy eyes. His lips are glossy from spit. 

“Did you just bite my nipple, you little brat?”

“And if I did?” 

“Then I might need to punish you.”

His grin turns into a smirk, his eyes glimmer. He slides his fingers to your nipples and pinches them both.

“Ah”, you flinch in surprise.

He chuckles, pinching them again. 

“Hey, brat”, you gasp, slapping his hands away. 

He laughs, looking so pleased with himself.

“That’s it. Tongue out.”

Jungkook obeys, sticking it out as far as possible. He can’t wait to have your nipples on it. Except that you don’t give him what he craves, you give his tongue a spank. 

“Ahng”, he lets out, pulling it back instinctively. So you grab him by his chin and pull him closer, spanking his tongue as you do. 

His wet muscle trembles and tenses. He mewls and sticks it out some more, accepting the next spank with a tense of his entire body. It was a tense of pleasure, the kind which builds up fire in one’s stomach. 

One last spank and then you soothe it by dragging your tongue over it. Jungkook moans, fingers cradling the back of your head and lips closing around your tongue to kiss you. You kiss him back for one second, two seconds. No longer than that. It makes him desperate. Good. You like him desperate. 

“Mhm”, you hum and pull him down into your chest by holding his cheeks between your thumb and fingers. 

Jungkook returns to heaven in a mewl and his mouth wide open to take you in. He holds your breasts, wasting no time this round. He sucks as much of your softness into his mouth as he can fit, then moves his head back so you would slip out of him again. He sucks the entire time, resulting in pressure around your nipple so wonderful you sigh his name. 

Jungkook purrs, repeating what he did on your other side. His name falls from your lips a second time, your hips grind back and forth on his thigh. 

You had a fight once, didn’t you? Jungkook can barely remember. Neither can you. The charged tension which is still present keeps reminding you however. You want each other like crazy yet are too proud to give in already. That’s good though, means that Jungkook can suck on your breasts until you are sensitive.

“So good. So much better than when you’re bratty.” 

Jungkook loves being punished though. He has a thing for it. He bites your other nipple and tugs. 

You squeal and writhe, instantly pulling him away by his hair. 

Jungkook looks up at you, grinning goofily.

“You did that to yourself, Mommy.” 

“Do I have to punish you again?”

Jungkook sticks out his tongue and nods his head. Look at him waiting so eagerly. He wants to be punished and you want to punish him, but where is the fun in a punishment that is wanted?

No, you are going to ruin him another way. You lift your butt from his thigh to make up for the difference in height between his lips and your chest. Once in position, you slap your tits on his tongue, watching in delight how his eyes roll back and his mouth goes slack. You lift yourself and slap his tongue again then change sides to repeat it with punishing strength. 

Jungkook moans, tongue shaking under your nipple. He curls the tip each time you are in contact with him, trying to get a feel of you that way. It is so good because he is shaking so much when does.

You lift yourself and slam down, pressing yourself closer afterwards to grind your nipple over his tongue. 

He gurgles out a sound of need, fingers dimpling your hips as he grips you desperately. 

You’ve got him. You wrap your arm around his head and push, smothering him with your breasts. Jungkook moans, sinking his face into them gladly and when you keep him there? He swears he actually spills into his pants. He moves his head from side to side as his eager mouth begins trying to be everywhere at the same time. His tongue is just as restless, wetting your entire chest as he swirls it over you aimlessly. He just loves to be like this. It is so obvious that he is currently worshiping your tits with no goal in mind. All that he lives and breathes for, are your breasts. And that he can use his mouth on them. 

“So good, such a good wet mouth you have. So good” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair. You rock back and forth, coming to realise that there is something missing. You instantly make up for it by dropping down on his thigh again, pulling his head with you to make sure he wouldn’t leave your chest. 

Jungkook lets you move him gladly, mewling into you as he mouths at your tender flesh eagerly. He is so dizzy. You smell so good and feel even better.

You rock your hips, moaning in bliss now that there is finally something that brings you pleasure. Now granted, Jungkook’s mouth already feels like heaven, but you want even more. His warm, wet mouth and  his strong thigh in contrast. It is so good. 

He is wearing a pair of white cotton pants today, they are oversized and comfortable and they feel so good against your warmth. Just a little rough, but still soft enough, also perfectly thin to let his body heat through. How goddamn addicting.

“Fuck this is so good now that you’re quiet. So good”, you moan, fingers feeling up his scalp and neck while Jungkook mewls into you, licking you eagerly. 

He doesn’t even want to be really bratty anymore. Okay, maybe he tries it a little by grazing his teeth against your nipple but one corrective tug on his hair and he already gives up on it, burying his face in your softness with a defeated keen. His tongue soothes what he wanted to bite, his drool runs down your breasts but instantly gets slurped up by him.

“So good, fuck…” you moan breathily, hips dancing on him eagerly. 

You didn’t truly think about the concept of grinding for pleasure before you met your lovers. How could something like that be fun? You were wrong. You were very wrong. You could honestly jump them all day every day. It is so addicting to find pleasure this way, to use their bodies until you find your highest peak.

Today is such a day. You can’t get enough of the friction and the pressure and how little movements are enough to build pleasurable tension in your stomach. 

Jungkook is gone as well, high on a different kind of drug. He loves quarrelling with you when it is so obvious that it wasn’t serious. He loves it because he can be bratty and tease you and therefore get punished. He also loves the tension and how you look at him when you pretend to be annoyed. He loves it, but he can’t win against your breasts. He feels submissive and stupid and good. So good. As if he never ever wants to be bad again. 

He whimpers, glossy lips sucking on your right nipple helplessly while his fingers grasp your hips. He sucks with such eagerness that hot electricity shoot through you. 

“Is that nice?” 

He nods his head, changing sides because he doesn't want to neglect even an inch from your perfect chest. 

“Nice enough to confess your sins?”

Jungkook makes a sound. 

You twist his hair and pull, denying him of the only heaven he craves right now. 

“No please”, he gets out, looking up at you teary eyed and pouty lips parted. His cheeks are flushed, his dark hair messy. “Please.” 

“How much do you want it?”

“So much, please.”

“Then confess.”

He mewls, shaking his head. You stop it with a thug of his hair. You lift your hips, guiding your nipples to his lips. He moans and opens his mouth, drooling in anticipation. He is panting quicker the closer you come. 

Stop. 

Jungkook tries to make up for the last inch of distance but you hold him in place by his hair.

“No please”, he squeaks out, spilling tears. He looks agonised and tortured, fighting your grip helplessly. 

You cradle your right breast in your hand and move it around, showing him what he can’t do right now. 

He pulls an expression of pain, letting out  a sound which borders a sob.

“Confess and I’ll make all of this go away.  The pain, the withdrawal, you can be freed of it.”

“Mommy please.”

“I know sweet one, I know”, you coo, caressing his cheek, “Mommy can help you, but you have to be honest with me.”

Jungkook sobs softly, squeezing his eyes shut. You broke him. 

“I lied. I ruined your papers. I, I tried to look for a pen and, and accidentally knocked over the inkpot with my sleeve. I’m sorry.”

“See? Doesn’t the truth feel so much better?” 

“Please”, he cups your tender breasts, eyes widening in pleading, “please I did what you asked of me.” 

“You did. Go ahead then”, you allow him, letting go of his hair.

Jungkook takes the freedom instantly, burying his face back in your breasts with a loud moan. He squeezes them together in his hands, sucking and nibbling on you hungrily. 

“Fuck, that’s so good”, you sigh, rolling your hips against his thigh. You bury your hands in his hair and drop your head against his own head, closing your eyes. “You feel so good, sweetie. Keep going.” 

Jungkook agrees with a mewl, slipping his hands under your dress so he could hold your bared hips. No more fabric, he needs the sensation of your warm, soft skin. No panties. Sometimes in long dresses you go pantieless. Jungkook traces the naked paths where normally a piece of cotton would sit with tingling fingers. So soft. All of you. 

“Why are you so soft, Mommy?” he mewls into you, lips trembling as they suck on your left nipple.

“You’re so sweet”, you sigh, smiling blissfully. You scratch his scalp slowly, melting in his touch. “Ah fuck”, you breathe, hips desperately trying to search for more friction. You are dripping on him, soaking his pants. It feels good, but starts to feel like not enough. You feel so empty, so goddamn empty. 

He notices that you are using his thigh to pleasure yourself. His pants leg became very wet all of a sudden and your sweet scent tickles his nose. He wants to come up for air and ask if you feel good, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to miss even one second of your chest. But he has to. You are restless as if you are searching for more. 

“Is it enough?” he asks, mouth barely gone from your chest.

“I don’t know, I ahm.”

“Lift your hips, Mommy.” 

You follow his wish. Jungkook wiggles his arm under you so he can rest his hand on his thigh. He turns his palm up and sticks two of his fingers up. 

“Holy fuck. Holy fuck, baby, holy fuck”, you babble, claiming what he offers instantly. You sink down on his fingers, pulling him into your chest at the same time. 

You yelp in pleasure, Jungkook matches your enthusiasm, moaning into your chest  as he takes your nipple back inside. Your walls are throbbing and trembling around his digits, taking him in eagerly.

“Holy fuck, Jungkook”, you croak, arching your back and twisting his hair. 

This is finally scratching that itch. You are so stuffed, so goddamn full of him and it’s heaven. You chase the explosions of pleasure with eager rocks of your hips, filling the silence with moans and gasps. Like this, your clit is grinding on his lower arm while your spots inside are grinding on his fingers. They are so long, so perfectly girthy and groomed.

“Jungkook baby. Baby, this is so good, holy fuck”, you moan, dropping your face into his soft hair. 

“Mommy”, the word is muffled and barely audible, his mouth is sloppy and restless on your chest. Even more than before. It is as if he was experiencing more pleasure as well, as if this is scratching his itch as well. 

Truth is, it feels like that for him. You are so wet and so warm around his digits and so goddamn fucking soft. Jungkook goes insane because of it, lost enough in you that his own mind is betraying him and he swears that he can feel you on his cock. It’s impossible because he is crammed into his pants, but it feels like it. Wet, soft, warm. 

“Mommy, soft. Mommy”, he whimpers, curling his fingers desperately.

“Urgh fuck”, you get out and drop into him, forcing his back to fall against the sofa cushions and for your nipple to leave his lips. “Sorry.”

“Is okay”, he mumbles, free hand rubbing your back and eager mouth sucking on your breasts in the new position. 

“Curl them again.” 

Jungkook obeys, moaning with you when this makes you shake and keen. Your hips move on him sloppily, your pussy keeps tightening around him. 

“Fuck baby”, you rasp, grabbing the pillow edge and twisting it. 

Jungkook spills tears, thighs shaking under you and cock throbbing in his pants. Your heart is racing like crazy. He can hear it, feel it too. He tries to get to it with eager sucks and wiggles of his head. It not only forces his lips and tongue to grind against your nipple but his nose as well. You are so sensitive at this point, you genuinely can’t feel any difference between stimulation on your clit and your nipples. 

“Holy fuck, holy fuck, urgh fuck”, you chant, convulsing and shaking on him. You are close. Dangerously close. 

Jungkook knows that you are feeling so ruined by it that he can barely move his mouth. He is ruined, running on nothing but you and everything that happens to your body when you are experiencing pleasure. Your raised pulse, your choppy breathing, your higher body heat and the array of sweet scents. He also swears that your skin becomes even softer than usually, contradicting the spots where the electricity is bundled. Your nipples hard and swollen, your clit enlarged and throbbing, your folds heated and engorged. So soft yet so plump in pleasure. Jungkook swears this is heaven and he promises silently to never ever be bratty again (he will be bratty again).

He curls his fingers and knows that this was it.

“Jungkook, baby”, you get out, tensing up as your pussy begins throbbing and clenching. Your voice pitches, coming out as squeaks and mewls. Your fingers twist his hair and hold him oh so close. This is so intense that you can’t see as it happens. Every single spot of concentrated pleasure was set off, forcing your entire body to be engulfed in flames. 

Jungkook’s eyes roll back even closed. He sobs, truly sobs, losing against the warmth. He orgasms in his pants. No touch, no grind, no lick just your breasts and your pussy on his fingers was enough. He accidentally bruises your nipple from sucking too aggressively, free hand leaving a bruise on your waist as well. You don’t mind, riding the waves with him until you both come down together.

“Oh god, baby”, you get out, slipping off his fingers. You nudge them down into a relaxed position, sitting on his hand. You grind as slowly as possible, wanting to enjoy the warmth and pressure just a little longer. 

Jungkook calms down in twitches of his body and little whimpers into your chest as he mouths at your breasts tiredly. He is so ruined, head dizzy and vision blurry, and your chest comforts him beyond comparison. 

“How…” You clear your raspy throat. “...how are you?” 

“Good”, he squeaks and shakes, sobbing softly as he hugs you closer, “feeling submissive.” 

“Mhm”, you scratch his scalp soothingly, holding him safely, “good boy. You were such a good boy. Let it happen, you’re safe with me.” 

“Mommy.”

“My good boy. You made me feel so good.”

He agrees with a nod of his head, hips twitching up. It calls your attention. You need to check something.

“Can Mommy touch you for a moment?” 

He nods his head.

You cup his clothed and softened cock, squeezing it a little. Jungkook whimpers, hiding deeper in your chest to handle the overstimulation. 

“Just as I had thought. You came in your pants. It’s soaking the fabric.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“That’s okay, sweetie. Did you enjoy yourself?” 

“So much.”

“Then that’s all that counts.” You give his soft dick one last caress then use the hand to ruffle his hair. “My good boy.”

Jungkook tugs his hand free and wraps both arms around you in a tight hug. He whimpers, dimpling your skin as he practically tries to melt you with him.

“I’m sorry for ruining your papers. I want to fix it, please.” 

“Mhm, we’ll find a solution together. But for now, hush, okay?”

“Okay, oh god. Can we hold each other? Please, Mommy.” 

“Of course, my baby.” You melt into him, resting your cheek on the crown of his head. “Let’s relax like this.” 

“I love you so much ” 

“I love you too, my baby. So much.“

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

Want You Back

If you’d ask Wonwoo if he regrets divorcing his ex wife, he’d normally say no. They’re on good terms and make a great team co-parenting. But there are little things that make him miss what it was like back then. 

Pairing: Wonwoo x female reader

Genres: mostly angst, a little fluff, a little smut, exes to lovers, second chance

Word count: 7k

TW/CW: MDNI, contains smut with no mention of protection. Discussion of unplanned pregnancy, birth complications, postpartum depression, and divorce. I tried to handle these topics delicately, but if they’re sensitive for you, maybe skip this one.

A/N: Wonwoo is so girl dad coded.

On Saturday morning, Wonwoo barely has time to knock on the door before it's flying open and a little body is flinging to his legs. Jieun is five and insists she’s not a baby anymore, but he still leans down and picks her up. She’s got pink, glittery ribbons in her hair and even a little bit of glittery makeup on her eyes and it makes Wonwoo smile. “Hi sweetheart,” he says, kissing her cheek. “Been into Eomma’s makeup?” 

She’s squirming out of his arms as soon as the door is closed behind him. “She did it for me! It’s for our daddy daughter day!”

“Well, I love it,” he says gently. “What did you want to get into?”

Jieun is thinking seriously. He’s seen that face before, but usually not on her. He’s about to get hit with a big ask. “I can’t pick between ice cream or boba. Or the park or the museum.” 

Okay. Not a huge ask. Wonwoo shrugs. “Why not all of it?” This elates Jieun and she’s sprinting for the door. A couple tongue click make her halt when her hand hits the door knob. 

“Shoes and coat, baby. It’s cold out.”

Wonwoo faces his ex wife. Y/N is dressed in comfy clothes for a day at home. Despite the light scolding, she looks entertained by Jieun’s excitement. Y/N smiles at Wonwoo. “She’s been up since 5am, yapping about the day with you.”

Her words aren’t spiteful at all, but sometimes he wishes it was. Maybe he’d know what to do with it then. Wonwoo slaps on a smile to hide his uncertainty. “So that means you’ve been up since 5am,” he says simply. 

Y/N rolls her eyes. “The princess wanted her hair and makeup done.”

“She comes by it naturally,” Wonwoo teases. Y/N has stepped closer to take a pair of sandals from Jieun and replace it with sneakers, but on the way, she shoves at Wonwoo playfully. He can’t help but laugh because he barely rocks on his feet at the force.

Once Jieun’s coat and shoes are in place and she’s been smothered in kisses, Y/N steps back. Wonwoo waits for the typical warning. “Be careful, drive safely, and don’t let her have too much sugar or else none of us will be sleeping tonight. You’re included in that. Call me if you need me.”

Wonwoo nods lightly. He’s never been offended by these reminders because he’s aware some men in his position might be reckless (and that might be the entire reason they’re in his position in the first place).  Y/N’s warnings don’t come from a place of lack of trust, but rather overwhelming concern for Jieun. “I think I got it, but you know you’re my first call. Relax today, okay? You’ve had a long week.” Jieun is tired of their chatting, and tugs hard on his hand towards the door. Wonwoo loads Jieun into the car and then glances back and waves to Y/N one more time before he gets into the car himself. 

~

It was over before it really began. They met at a bookstore approximately seven years ago. Wonwoo was debating on picking up the latest in a series he’d kept up with for years but had kind of fallen off the wagon for, and had even been flipping through the book to help make the decision when he heard a curse from the end of the aisle. He blinked repeatedly because it was clear the curse was directed at him and she was pretty. Really pretty. Y/N had frowned as she approached. “You wouldn’t happen to be buying that, would you? I think it’s the last in stock and I can’t find it anywhere else.” Wonwoo had made his decision pretty quickly after that, handing the book over to her, but not before starting a conversation. 

They’d hit it off quickly. Wonwoo wasn’t the type to ever be described as warm, at least not to someone that didn’t know him well. But Y/N was very warm and it did something to him. He laughed and smiled more. He was more emotional. He grew an appreciation for things he’d never cared much for, if only because he liked seeing her happy. 

And then came the surprise. Within a year of dating, they were pregnant. They were in agreement to keep the child, but they had a hard time agreeing on what things would like in this new life they were catapulting towards. They felt pressured to get married and it only seemed like a reasonable choice at the time. It was a small wedding, if only because Y/N had wanted to do it fast before she started showing much, afraid of the reactions that they might get if she was farther along in a wedding dress. They bought a small house and moved in together. 

The last trimester of pregnancy was Y/N’s personal hell. She was at a high risk for birth complications and no amount of bed rest made her feel better, mentally, physically, or emotionally. Wonwoo did the best he could to comfort her but he felt helpless. And then the birth… It was traumatic and Wonwoo had been asked at one point to make some hard decisions. Ultimately, none of that had mattered because both mother and child recovered quickly after a couple weeks in the hospital. 

But that experience had changed him and he didn’t know how to articulate it. Still didn’t five years later, really. So he was there, but not really. He got up to change the diapers and make the bottles in the middle of the night, but there was an insurmountable distance between him and Y/N. Y/N had been struggling with postpartum depression and was like a zombie most days because of the medications she was on. When Y/N had candidly asked him late one night if he was happy, he’d been honest and said no. 

He didn’t fight her on it when divorce papers were placed in front of him later that year. Jieun wasn’t even a year old yet. It was a peaceful separation because they really felt no bitterness towards each other and wanted to keep it that way for their daughter. Wonwoo eventually moved out to an apartment nearby, but he was present at the home they once shared at least a few times a week. He and Y/N split daycare runs and now elementary school runs. If one parent couldn’t take time off with a sick JIeun, the other would work it out. Somehow they made a better team when they didn’t have to think about what they were to each other. Their connection was Jieun and Wonwoo was fine with that. Most days, anyway. 

~

On Sunday morning, Wonwoo knocks on the door. It’s Y/N that opens it this time and she’s already scolding him to just let himself in because he has a key for a reason, but he shoves an iced coffee in her face. She moves out of the way, taking a sip of it. He can tell she’s judging it. “I know your coffee order, Y/N. I made sure they got it right,” Wonwoo huffs, lugging in a bag of dirty laundry. He hates using the shared laundry room in the dingy basement of his apartment complex and Y/N had insisted he just bring it over here for years. Today he’s taking her up on that offer because the machine here seems to eat fewer socks. The coffee is a bribe in case she’s suddenly changed her mind. Regardless, he starts a load before she can think to argue. 

Y/N slides him a plate of pancakes when he sits at the kitchen island. “Thanks,” he said simply. “Any plans today?” 

Y/N sighs. “I have to go get my car serviced. Check engine light came on a couple days ago and I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. I guess it’s good you’ll be here with Jieun?”

Wonwoo doesn’t glance up at her as he eats. “Leave me your keys. I’ll do it today. But next time, just let me know. We could trade cars for the day while I take it in.”

“Wonwoo, you don’t have to do that,” Y/N insists, frowning at him. She hates to inconvenience him, always has. It drove him up the wall when they were together and it still does from time to time, because she’s never once been an inconvenience. 

He stares at her for a few beats. “I’ll just take your keys, Y/N. I don’t want you or my child in a car that might give you problems.” 

When he’s putting his plate in the dishwasher, a keyring slides across the counter in front of his face. “Tell me how much it is and I’ll pay you back.” He knows she only gave in because he mentioned Jieun. He won’t be telling her how much it is and he hopes she forgets. 

~

It’s Wednesday and it was Wonwoo’s turn to pick up Jieun from school. Y/N is flying down the hall and to the front door and Wonwoo thinks it’s to scoop up Jieun - and it is, at first. When Jieun whines and squirms away from her, Y/N moves onto Wonwoo, gripping his elbows excitedly. “It’s here!” Wonwoo can’t help but raise an eyebrow and smile. The ‘it’ in this situation could be so many things. A cute magnet for the fridge. A new keyboard for her desk. A new blanket with some anime character printed on it. It takes so little to excite Y/N and it’s something that Wonwoo’s always loved. 

He lets her lead him to the dining table where she must have been working today. Her laptop is set up alongside multiple notebooks and a box. She whips something out of the box and puts it two inches from his face. Once he can finally see it, he gleams. “The advanced copies are here?” Y/N is a writer and has published a few works, but this one has been a labor of love that Y/N had asked him to beta read last year before it got sent to her publisher. He thinks she’d be his favorite author even without their previous relationship or shared child.

Y/N is grinning widely. “Yep. Open it!”

Wonwoo gives her a look before flipping a few pages. He knows what’s coming because she’s done it for each printed work so far. The title page is always left blank save for the printed text, because she prefers to sign the dedication page for his copies. Wonwoo’s eyes water a bit behind his glasses because he’s mentioned in this one too, just like the last three, along with a kind handwritten message. He can’t spend too much time looking at it now in front of her but he will later. He closes it and admires the cover. “This is great, Y/N. I’m still buying a copy though.”

Y/N gasps. “Why? You’ve already read it. And you always get the first advanced copy.”

Wonwoo shakes his head in entertainment. “Y/N, I preordered it weeks ago. Another copy is coming either way.”

Y/N huffs. “Wonwoo, what you already do is enough. You don’t have to do that.” 

This is an old fight, one that’s come up every time she’s published something since the divorce. She thinks he still purchases her books because he wants to financially support her in anyway he can. It’s never been about that truly because that’s just a given. He’s just proud of her work and wants tangible reminders of it. Besides, he wants to say none of it is nearly enough. Guilt has been gnawing at him for years that he doesn’t do enough for her and maybe never did. Jieun is sprinting back into the room with a binder and pencil. “Appa, can you help me with my homework?” They drop the argument. 

 ~

It’s Friday and Wonwoo lets himself into the house, apologizing profusely. He got caught up in something at work and it had almost slipped his mind that he had agreed to keep Jieun for the evening while Y/N went out. However, his apology falls on deaf ears because no one is in the living room, or even on the first floor. “Where are you guys?” He yells at the foot of the stairs. ‘Bedroom’ is shouted back, so that’s where he goes. 

He tries not to come in here if he can help it. It doesn’t feel like its his space anymore because it’s not. So he hovers in the doorway of their once shared bedroom and smiles at the sight. Y/N is sitting with her back to the door, but Wonwoo can see that Jieun is the picture of concentration as she puts some blush on Y/N. It draws him into the room further than he normally would dare to go. “What’s happening here?”

Jieun narrows her eyes at him like he’s blowing her careful concentration. “I’m doing Eomma’s makeup for her date.” 

Y/N’s tone is admonishing, as if they’ve already had this discussion. “Ji, it’s not a date. I told you, we’re just getting some dinner as friends.” Her explanation doesn’t matter because Wonwoo refuses to acknowledge how his heart plummeted. It’s been four years. It’s a totally reasonable time to start dating again. 

Jieun doesn’t care for the explanation either, because she’s done with Y/N’s makeup, prancing out of the room. Y/N looks a little embarrassed when she stands up and Wonwoo bites back a laugh. “That bad, huh?” 

“It’s… bright,” he says gently. Y/N huffs, picking up the makeup bag and going into the bathroom. Wonwoo trails her. He feels like he has to say something. He supports Y/N. He always has. He’s happy for her, whatever she chooses. He’s determined to be. “So, a date, huh?”

Y/N’s embarrassed smile sinks a bit in the mirror as she tries to tame the artificial pink on her cheeks. “Not a date… But he’s nice. We met him in the park the other day. Jieun really enjoyed playing with his dog, so we got to chatting.”

“And his name is?” Wonwoo teases, though it kind of burns his tongue.

“Seungcheol. It really is just as friends. It’s what I insisted on,” Y/N presses and it makes Wonwoo shake his head. 

“But you don’t have to. If you want to go on a date with him, you should.” 

They’re staring at each other intensely. He doesn’t understand her. She’s the one that got a lawyer first and started divorce proceedings. So when she frowns and asks, “And you’d be okay with that?” He isn’t sure how to respond. He doesn’t know what kind of answer she’s looking for.  He settles for, “If you’d be happy, then yes,” but it feels unsatisfactory for so many reasons. 

Y/N looks like she wants to say something, but Jieun is yelling about someone being at the door and that she’s not supposed to open it for strangers. Y/N curses, patting her cheeks in the mirror one more time before grabbing her sweater and rushing down the stairs. She doesn’t thank him anymore for taking care of Jieun when she has something to do, mostly because it always leads to an ‘equal parent’ conversation. Another old fight. Wonwoo stays in the kitchen as to not have to face Seungcheol picking her up. He simply yells bye from there and sighs deeply when he hears the door close behind them. 

~

It’s two weeks later on a Saturday. Wonwoo is out with Mingyu for lunch. He’s checked pretty far out of the conversation because he’s made the mistake of mentioning Y/N’s non-date. Mingyu offers to set him up with a friend of his. He promises she’s sweet and funny and reads. When Wonwoo doesn’t react to these promises, it becomes a lecture about moving on and being happy. Wonwoo insists that he is happy, but it falls on deaf ears. 

His phone buzzes violently on the table and he holds up a finger to Mingyu with an apology. “Hey Y/N.” He pointedly ignores Mingyu’s eyes narrowing.

“Appa?” Jieun asks.

Wonwoo frowns. She’s not using an excited ‘steal mom’s phone to call dad and ramble about what happened in the park today’ tone. She sounds so serious that it makes Wonwoo’s gut twist. “Ji, honey. Everything okay?” He tries to keep the tone light, so she’s not afraid to answer. She might clam up if he shows his anxiety and he’s determined to be a person she can go to for help.

“Something’s wrong with Eomma.” Wonwoo’s already standing up to put on his coat. 

“Hold on, baby.” Wonwoo gives a short excuse to Mingyu, who despite his mixed feelings about Y/N does seem concerned. Enough to offer to go with him to help anyway. While Mingyu goes to pay the bill, Wonwoo steps outside. “Tell me about it. What’s wrong?” Wonwoo asks gently.

“I don’t know,” Jieun says worriedly. “She says she doesn’t feel good. I don’t know what to and she won’t tell me.”

Wonwoo all but busts into the house with Mingyu on his tail. Y/N is in the downstairs bathroom vomiting and Jieun is doing her best to comfort her, but she looks incredibly relieved when Wonwoo enters the room. Gently, he guides her to Mingyu and takes her spot. Y/N must be able to tell it’s no longer Jieun rubbing her back and holding her hair after the door closes because she starts crying. She’s always hated being sick, but she hates making Jieun worry more and she was holding it back while Jieun was in the room. Wonwoo knows because he feels the same. 

When she sits back with his help, he doesn’t really think much of her leaning into him. His arm is already around her anyway. “Been a while since we’ve been here, huh?” He teases if only to lighten the mood and get her to stop crying because it’s painful to see. She elbows him weakly. “What was that about?”

“Migraine. I woke up with it. You know how it goes when it gets bad.” 

He does. Between the horrible morning sickness with Jieun and the migraines she suffered from anyway, they’d found themselves just like this on many occasions in this very bathroom floor. 

“Thanks for coming.”

Mindlessly, he presses a kiss to the top of her head. “All you or Jieun have to do is call.”

~

It’s Christmas Eve and Wonwoo has just put Jieun to bed. Y/N says she has a long night ahead of her wrapping presents for Jieun. Wonwoo considers leaving because there are just some things that he doesn’t want to push. This feels too ‘Mom and Dad are together’ of them, even if Jieun isn’t even awake to see it. They’re still a team, but they rarely work on anything together. They tend to split the jobs between them instead. 

Still, the mountain of boxes in the bedroom floor makes him second guess leaving. He leans against the door frame and watches Y/N sort through the sea of boxes. “Did we go a little overboard this year?” He jokes. Y/N gives him a sheepish smile. 

“What can I say? She’s at that age where she can tell us what she wants, and we’re both total suckers.” 

She’s right. All Jieun has to do is bat her big eyes and pout up at either one of them. A good, “Appa, please,” usually does the trick even he was trying to be strong. 

“Do you need some help?” Wonwoo finds himself asking. He’s not a great gift wrapper, but he can hand her boxes and tape. And it feels totally unfair to leave her with all of this when he’s contributed half of these boxes to the pile.

Y/N smiles and shakes her head. “No, you should go get some rest. You said you’re visiting your family tomorrow, right?”

The question burns and he knows she doesn’t mean it like that. She doesn’t have family around so it would just be her and Jieun tomorrow morning. Wonwoo said he’d visit family, yes. But he finds himself biting the inside of his cheek. “You two are my family too.” 

Y/N releases the box and frowns at him. “Wonwoo, I promise I didn’t mean it like that. You’re welcome here anytime, literally. But you see us all the time and you don’t get to see anyone else that often.” 

“And if I want to bail on them and help you wrap presents instead? And watch Jieun open them in the morning?”

Y/N gives him a long look, before finally picking up the tape dispenser and holding it out to him. “Then come on.” 

~

Much later, Wonwoo finds himself somewhere he hasn’t been in four years. Y/N had insisted it was too cold to sleep downstairs on the couch. “It’s not like you haven’t slept in this bed together before.” She means it as a joke but his mind races when she shoves some of his old clothes into his hand. 

It must be weird for her too, because she’s still awake. He’s about to excuse himself and find a couple blankets to take downstairs when she speaks up. “I’m sorry for how that sounded earlier. You are my family. I know we’re… complicated sometimes. But that doesn’t change anything.” 

Wonwoo glances at her. He hasn’t seen her like this in a long time, lying next to him with messy hair, and it gives him a rush of emotions that he has to beat down. “I know. I know we’re complicated sometimes, but I still love you and Jieun more than anyone else in the world. Of course, I’d rather be here.”

Y/N chuckles. It sounds a little watery and he’s not ready to see her cry. “We love you too. You’re the greatest dad and there have been so many times I wish things were different for us. For Jieun.”

Wonwoo rolls to face her. “Do you regret it?” He’s afraid of the answer.

“I don’t know? Neither of us were happy. I’d hate to think that we might still be like that if we had stayed together, and what it might have done to Jieun. But sometimes the lines blur for me.”

“Me too,” Wonwoo says simply. He gets it. The urge to hug and kiss and hold her like when they were together. The desire to take care of her. The need to fall into bed with her like they did in their tragically short relationship and let her warm him up. He recognizes that some of it is just what he should do for the mother of his child. A toxic relationship between them would negatively impact Jieun and they’ll have none of it. But every time he leaves the house to go to a quiet apartment, he feels a mixture of relief and pain. Sometimes he wants to stay, like he is tonight, just to get over the fear of getting close to that blurred line again and see what happens. 

“Wonwoo? Have you dated any?”

“No,” Wonwoo says bluntly. “Mingyu tries to set me up but I’ve avoided it.” 

Y/N hesitates. “If you say it’s okay for me to date, then it would be okay for you as well. There’s no double standard here.”

He can’t imagine being with anyone else, so he says so. Y/N finally looks at him, eyes a little watery. “Still?” He simply nods and she bravely slides over to him. His arms fold around her automatically. “It gets lonely, doesn’t it? Our situation?”

“Lonely?” He questions though he gets it. He just likes to hear her thoughts. 

“It’s not just about things like sex. It’s about the daily intimacy. I don’t get nearly enough hugs anymore because I’m too busy giving them. How silly is that?” Y/N chuckles into his chest. 

“It’s not silly at all,” he says easily. The second part doesn’t come out so easily. “So there’s been no one in any capacity?” Y/N shakes her head in his chest. Something possesses him to press a kiss to her head. “Me neither.” 

His words make her lift her head and look up at him. Out of habit, no matter how old it is, he grazes the side of her face. It’s also an old habit to lean down and kiss her. Warmth blooms in his chest when she kisses back. It takes very little thought to see where this is going. She starts shedding his clothes and hers are right behind his. When he pushes himself into her, he thinks he could cry at the little sounds she makes because they’re the same. It’s the same when he tells her he loves her and she says it back. It’s the same when she comes hard around him and he follows quickly after. It’s also the same to shower together afterwards. 

They don’t talk about it. Wonwoo wonders if she’s just as lost for words as he is when they climb back into bed. They don’t talk about it in the morning either, but Wonwoo can’t resist finding little reasons to touch her. Brushing up against her in the kitchen while they make breakfast. Sitting close with an arm around her as they watch Jieun open gifts from the couch. Sneaking a little kiss on her cheek on his way out later that night. Once he’s had a taste after so long, he remembers how much he loved it. It’s like a knife in his chest to go back to his quiet apartment. 

~

It’s the middle of January, in the middle of the night, when Wonwoo’s phone rings. He’s groggy but his eyes shoot up when he sees who’s calling. She would never call this late if it wasn’t an emergency. “Y/N?”

Her breathing is a little jagged on the line. “Wonwoo, Jieun is sick.”

He knows this, Jieun has had the flu for a few days now, but Y/N wouldn’t panic like this for just anything. He’s up and pulling on clothes fast. “Talk to me, baby.” The name comes out before he realizes it but Y/N doesn’t say anything about it. 

“She’s got a high fever and I think she’s dehydrated. She’s so out of it that she won’t really talk to me.”

Wonwoo doesn’t know exactly when he hung up the phone or how fast he drove, but he finds Y/N hovering over Jieun’s bedside. He decides they’re out of their element when he sees the thermometer and scoops up Jieun. “Let’s just go to the hospital.” 

Y/N grabs her things swiftly and they’re in the car within a couple minutes. Wonwoo’s nerves are shot already. He doesn’t want to take Jieun to the hospital because it brings back too many memories. But hospital staff say nearly an hour later that it was the right decision. They want to keep Jieun for a few hours at least to reduce the fever and get her rehydrated. 

Outside of the exam room, Y/N cries into his chest. He does his best to soothe her, but everything he says is to soothe himself too. How Jieun came into this world was traumatic and both parents feel raw about it to this day, particularly since they’re standing in the same hospital that they were in five years ago. 

The next morning, Mingyu brings him a bag of clothes because he won’t be going back to his apartment any time soon. Jieun will still need a few days of careful monitoring at home and Y/N’s hands haven’t stopped shaking, even when they’re on the way home later in the afternoon. He reaches over blindly and holds them in her lap as he drives. 

~

It’s Valentine’s Day and Wonwoo is regretting agreeing to this. Mingyu’s been applying a lot of pressure lately to date. He has no excuse not to go when Y/N encourages him to, saying she doesn’t have any plans and will be home with Jieun having a girl’s night. Wonwoo hesitantly asked if Seungcheol hadn’t tried to make plans with her and she’d simply shrugged and said ‘It wasn’t going to work’.

So Wonwoo finds himself seated in front of a woman named Seoyun. Mingyu didn’t lie. She’s pretty, seems sweet, has a good sense of humor, and likes to read. Wonwoo is entirely unsettled by all of it but does his best to be polite. When he says nervously that it’s been a while since he’s dated, she waves it off and asks about him. He keeps it simple. He talks about his job and his daughter. Seoyun doesn’t seem put off by the mention of Jieun but carefully asks if the mother is in the picture. He smiles and simply says, “Yes, she is and we’re on good terms.” If he were to ever entertain bring someone else into Jieun’s life, Y/N’s presence is a non-negotiable and they should know it right away. 

“Do you mind if I ask why it didn’t work?” Seoyun asked hesitantly. It occurs to Wonwoo that Mingyu might not have mentioned this little snag. She might not have agreed to go out with him if she did. 

Nonetheless, Wonwoo keeps that answer brief as well. “We were only together briefly before we found out Jieun was on the way. We rushed to get married but quickly decided that it wasn’t making us happy.”

This seems to make Seoyun relax. He’s sure she was expecting some sob story about infidelity or money problems - the typical things that make people divorce. She tells him that she owns a bakery. When she tells him the name, he has to pretend like he’s never heard of it, despite the fact that his and Y/N’s little wedding cake came from there years ago and Seoyun probably made it herself. 

He walks her to her front door at the end of the night and Seoyun smiles at him. “I don’t expect a second date.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “Oh. Was it something I said?” He’s not hurt, just curious. 

Seoyun chuckles. “No, nothing like that. I had a great time and you seem like a nice guy. I knew you would be because Mingyu had so many nice things to say about you. I just know when someone’s still in love with someone else.” Wonwoo feels his face pinch and Seoyun chuckles again. “It’s okay, really. I get it. You and your ex have history and you still care. Maybe you can even fix it one day.”

Wonwoo’s mouth is dry. “I don’t know if she wants that.” And the idea of asking feels like standing on a ledge. 

Seoyun smiles kindly. “Just think about it. People have stressful periods of their life and some relationships don’t endure. But I’m a believer in right person, wrong time.” She wishes him good night and goes inside. He’s a little dazed the rest of the night. 

~

Mingyu calls Y/N and says he needs uncle time a few weekends later and Y/N promptly hands Jieun over at the door an hour later. Y/N and Mingyu aren’t exactly friends, but they have some mutual respect for each other. Mingyu is suspicious when Wonwoo calls to ask if Y/N indicated what her plans were, but simply says ‘chores’.

Wonwoo lets himself into the house. Y/N is standing on the kitchen counter when he enters the room and jumps when he grabs ahold of her legs. “Hey! What are you doing here? Jieun is out with Mingyu.”

“I know,” he says vaguely. “The better question is what are you doing all the way up there?”

Y/N huffs. “Switching out my mugs.” Wonwoo hums. She’s collected coffee mugs for years and brought a not-so-small collection with her when they’d moved in together way back when. She had seasonal and holiday mugs that had to be shuffled around between the rack on the counter and the upper cabinet periodically. 

“Wish you would just let me do that,” Wonwoo teases, though it does make him nervous to find her climbing on things. It always has. 

Y/N snorted. “I would have if I knew you were coming over. But I’m almost done.” When she closes the cabinet, Wonwoo lifts her off the counter and places her on her feet. It makes her giggle and his chest feels warm. 

“What? Didn’t think I could still do that?”

She shoves him by the chest but he stays stationary, his hands still pinned at her waist. Y/N picks up two floral mugs. “Which one do you want?” 

“Black,” he answers shortly just to piss her off and he’s delighted when it works. 

“You took those with you. Bright, seasonal mugs are all we have here.” She twists towards the coffee pot and starts it up because she knows he doesn’t actually care what the coffee is in. Wonwoo is still standing close, hands on her waist. “Not that you’re not welcome anytime, but what brings you here? I just have chores to do today so you run the risk of being put to work if you’re here,” she jokes with her back to him still. 

“You, actually. Can we talk?” 

She peeks over her shoulder, looking up at him. She looks confused. “Oh, okay. What about?”

“Us?” 

He feels her stiffen and she turns to face him fully. “Is this a good ‘us’ or bad ‘us’ conversation?” It’s a fair question. She needs to know if she needs to gear up for a fight. 

“I think it depends on how you take it, but I’d like you to hear me out.” 

“Vague as ever,” Y/N huffs and he can tell it’s mostly a joke. “Let me get coffee for us first.” 

~

They’re seated on the couch next to each other and Wonwoo doesn’t know where to start so he starts lamely. “I’m sorry.”

Y/N’s eyebrows pinch together. “For what?”

“For not being a good husband. I wish I could go back and do so many things over again.”

Y/N bites her lip. “Wonwoo, we were both at fault.” Wonwoo shakes his head at her. 

“No, not equally anyway. You were suffering. With the pregnancy, with the birth, and with the postpartum depression. You needed my help and I checked out mentally and emotionally. I might have still been here physically, but I offered so little otherwise.”

Y/N’s eyes get watery and she puts the mug down on the coffee table, because her hands are shaking a bit. They always do when they talk about that period of time. “You were suffering too. The whole thing was just as much of a surprise for you. And then the pressure you were under at the hospital that night. It was a lot. All of it was.”

Wonwoo shakes his head again. “That’s just it.” He swipes a hand down his face. He hates thinking about that day much less talking about it, but he’s held onto this for five years now. “Things moved fast before that, yes. But something clicked off in my brain when that damned doctor asked me to pick between you or the baby. It’s an impossible decision that I felt like I’d get wrong no matter what. And I couldn’t even talk to you about it because you were a little busy bleeding out.”

He has to stop talking about the details because it feels like a knife twisting in his chest. He’s about to cry, something he rarely does, but this has been building for years now and he doesn’t want to stuff it back down anymore. “And then we get home and all I could picture is what it might have looked like if it hadn’t all worked out. What would I have done to come home without either of you? Or neither, totally alone?” He chuckles bitterly. “It’s so stupid because I have no room to complain. You were the one that almost died. But I couldn’t unsee it. The panic was all I could feel for months afterwards. It just wouldn’t go away and I was numb to everything else. So when you asked if I was happy, I said no, but I should have explained.”

Y/N is silently crying now. “What would you have said?” 

“That I love you too much to lose you. So I let you go. God, it makes no fucking sense when I say it like that. I thought it was what you wanted when you handed me the papers so I signed them.” He’s crying in frustration now, and he feels like he doesn’t deserve it when she wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in. She runs a hand through his hair and he breaks. 

She’s one of the few people he’d let go like this in front of, but he’s still embarrassed when he pulls away. She stays close. “So, what now?” She hesitates. “Do you… want things to change?”

“Selfishly, yes.” 

Y/N chuckles. “First of all, you don’t have a selfish bone in your body.” She cuts him off when he opens his mouth to argue. “Second of all, what do you have in mind?” 

“Can we try again?” The question is weak but she nods and he feels like he could cry again. She’s crawling into his lap just as fast as he’s pulling her in. Once she’s straddling him, his arms fly around her and his lips slam into hers. It’s desperate and fast and it takes a single tug of his shirt from her for him to yank it off impatiently. She’s matches his impatience perfectly, tugging at their clothes to get the most important pieces out of the way until she’s crawling back into his lap and sliding down on him. He moans loudly into her neck at the warmth. 

And then she’s riding him fast and he feels blinded by it. The intensity of it has him hurtling towards an orgasm fast and he reaches for her clit to get her there too. Afterwards, they sit boneless on the couch. He’s still buried inside of her and she’s laying on his chest. “I love you.” 

His heart is in his throat when he says it back, and then he’s standing up with her still attached to him. She squeals and it makes Wonwoo feel so fucking light as he climbs the stairs, throwing her onto the bed. He’s on her in seconds and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough. He doesn’t know how he’s lived without it for four years. She urges him into a brutal pace that has her crying out and coming hard more than once. When he’s done, he moves to get them into the shower and she pulls him back down and curls into his side. “No way, we’re staying here for a while.”

Wonwoo laughs, kissing her hard again. 

~

It’s another small wedding, but this time it’s relaxed without all of the pressures they had before. Jieun is the flower girl, but she’s still kind of confused by the whole concept of them getting married. She doesn’t understand how things would even change. Wonwoo moved back in promptly after he and Y/N got back together. Jieun didn’t really seem to notice, which Y/N assured Wonwoo was a good thing. That meant he’d already been so present that the change was imperceptible to her. 

Mingyu is giving a speech. Wonwoo and Y/N didn’t do the groomsmen/bridesmaid thing, but Mingyu still felt compelled to give one because he was certain he would have been the best man If the wedding had been any bigger. Mingyu is surprisingly warm to Y/N now. It seems he’s seen the error of his ways and accepted that being with her makes Wonwoo happy. There was a lot that Wonwoo didn’t tell him back then that he’s told him now. 

Wonwoo looks at Y/N when they toast and clink champagne glasses, but raises an eyebrow when she just pretends to sip it. He grips her thigh lightly and leans over when the music starts again. “You don’t have to pretend to drink it, baby. I don’t want you to get sick again.”

Wonwoo had gotten a call from Y/N first thing this morning. She was late and she was panicking. He abandoned the rule that the bride and groom shouldn’t see each other before the ceremony and went to her hotel room. A few tests later and the results were confirmed. She’d tearfully asked if he wanted to call off the wedding and his vehement denial had startled her. She’d asked him a dozen times and he had to kiss her breathless for her to get it. 

She still looks nervous sitting next to him. “Don’t have any regrets, do you?” 

He pulls her face to his and kisses her hard. He can be soft later, but she needs to understand the intensity of his love right now. “I’m with you. We’ll figure it out.”

“You’re not upset? Really? Even after how things were with Jieun?” She’s getting tearful again. 

“No, I’m not upset. I’d love to have another child with you. But I’ll be picking you if I’m asked again, okay? It’ll always be you.” 

Y/N nods and this time she’s the one kissing him hard. He won’t be letting her go again.

[sturnsdoll]

𝑮𝑰𝑹𝑳𝒀 𝑮𝑭 ˚୨୧⋆｡ - C.S

(headcannons!)

warnings: hc's, chris x hyperfeminine/girly reader, sfw and nsfw but they are labelled as such. nsfw warnings: dom!chris, brat!gf, teasing, mostly suggestive.

authors note: i had fun with this so if y'all want a pt2 or any other hc's pls send reqs for them!

SFW !

₊⊹⤑ chris always admired how in touch with your feminimity you are. he always loved the bows, dainty necklaces, skirts and lace, it made you seem so delicate and sweet.

₊⊹⤑ chris will always jump at an opportunity to help you braid your hair (which you taught him.), clip a necklace for you, zip the back of your dress. he loves helping you out no matter how big or small.

₊⊹⤑ anytime you're doing your makeup or picking out an outfit you can always find chris watching with adoration.

₊⊹⤑ even when chris didn't understand something, he still loved it. did he know what the difference between cream or powdered blush? nope. but nonetheless, he thought it looked pretty on you.

₊⊹⤑ did he know what the hell the difference between coffin or square was? also no. but he paid for your nails anyways because he knew it brought you joy.

₊⊹⤑ he'll find any reason to get close to you so he can take in your familiar sweet scent..

₊⊹⤑ from your hair to your clothes to your perfume, you always smell like candy, cake, anything and everything heavenly.

₊⊹⤑ sometimes your delicate appearance comes back to bite you in the ass though.. you and chris will get into small arguements and he'll just stand staring at you, a small smile growing on his face..

₊⊹⤑ "what's funny jackass?" "jus' can't take you serious when you look that cute" he'd tease you.

NSFW !

₊⊹⤑ despite your delicate exterier, chris knows you have another side to you. ₊⊹⤑ chris would casually congragulate you on things infront of friends with a nonchalant "good girl." or "you're doing so well" that would make your thighs clench. ₊⊹⤑ chris knew exactly what he was doing though. he would say the same things when you were on your knee's for him or when you asked him before you came. ₊⊹⤑ what did you love more than chris' praise though? ₊⊹⤑ being a brat.

₊⊹⤑ on days where you'd wear your short skirts and dresses, you'd always make sure to tease him. sitting on his lap, bending over near him to let him catch a glimpse of your lacey thong. ₊⊹⤑ you especially loved doing this in public where he couldn't do anything about it.

₊⊹⤑ he'd whisper in your ear "keep it up sweetheart, i'll bend you over my lap the second we're home." and he would. ₊⊹⤑ he loved how your attitude betrayed your sweetness, but you know what he loved even more? to fuck it out of you. ₊⊹⤑ "such a dirty mouth for such a sweet girl. maybe we should fix that hm?" and next thing you'd know you were on your knee's, doe eyes looking all fucked out as he filled your perfectly glossed lips.

₊⊹⤑ skirts were also a weakness of his for other reasons. easy access when you were sitting in his lap asking for attention or when he wanted to tease you under the table at dinner with friends.

₊⊹⤑ it was nearly impossible to say no to you though.

₊⊹⤑ you'd come to him while he was getting ready. "chris. i need you" "i need to film in a few. later okay baby?" "chris please." then he'd catch sight of you.. ₊⊹⤑ pretty little top with your clevage peeking out, your hair pulled back with ribbon but little pieces framing your face. a desperation in your eyes that only he can fix.

₊⊹⤑ how could he say no to you?

₊⊹⤑ so before he'd film, he'd lay you out across your bed on your fluffy blankets. his head would dissapear beneath your skirt till your perfectly manicured nails were dug in his scalp, till you were more than satisfied. ₊⊹⤑ matt and nick couldn't help but giggle when he entered the car. ₊⊹⤑ "dude.." nick started. chris looked at his brothers confused "what?". "you have pink lipgloss ALL around your mouth.." matt would tell him knowingly.

₊⊹⤑ wonder where that came from?...

tags: @mattsrod @sturncakez

[gladiatorcunt]

Feral feral Anakin fucking you every second of the day because he can’t get enough of you and is overly obsessed

send me coryo, luke castellan, or anakin asks (this is a threat)

implied canon compliant prequels and childhood friend afab royalty reader (basically in padme's place) based on an upcoming fic

This is canon Anakin behavior actually, he's like a big dog with his favorite chew toy. The dog obviously loves the toy a lot but it's because of his love that the toy becomes well used. No matter how tattered it becomes, the dog will still curl around it and spend its days licking the hell out of it until it withers away.

I think that because of how he grew up, just a little boy on some ball of sand whose life really didn't belong to him, as soon as he's free from that he just unravels. I love Anakin being written as more unhinged or even slightly like an eldritch horror, because suddenly he has this big destiny laid out in front of him and the tethers holding his soul together inevitably come unhooked. I think that he's wired like that from the beginning, very passionate but without a means to express it.

So, when he meets you, little royal heir with all the stars of the galaxy in your eyes, he tells a familiar story about an angel and from then on, it's over for him. Every moment of his life orbits around the sun in his solar system, you.

The first think he thinks when he sees you again, is how your moans would echo off the windows when he eats you out on one of the couches. Then he imagines your perfectly manicured hands clawing delicious ribbons down his back while he rabidly pounds your sopping wet pussy against the wall of your huge walk-in closet in your apartment. He'd have to hold a hand over your mouth, but he wouldn't do a thing to clean up the slicks that drips out of your pussy onto the floor. You'd pout as you'd rush to get ready before Obi-Wan came back, and all he'd be able to do in response is hook his chin over your shoulder and smile.

"No, it's because I'm so in love with you."

You're leaning against a balcony overlooking a lake in Naboo and all he can think about as he strokes a shy finger down your back is hiking your dress up and bending you over it. You're chained to a pillar in between him and Obi-Wan, and when all is said and done, he wishes he killed everybody that was relishing in your suffering in that arena and fucked you with their blood coating his body. He could go on forever until the last grain of sand on Tatooine flies away. He'd have gotten you barefoot and pregnant immediately if the leash around his neck was any looser.

No matter the fantasy or the moment, you always have at least one mark on you. He's not patient enough for hickies and his fingers move too quickly for any serious bruises to form on your body. He favors bite marks, near perfect impressions of his teeth etched in your soft skin. He doesn't bite to tear, just does his repeated 'chomp!'s without a single thought in his head; your thighs bear the brunt of it. Anakin likes when drops of blood bead at the surface of the bites, because then he can lick the bites soothingly. You usually have to run your fingers through his hair to get him to come back to himself when he starts doing it on autopilot with his eyes rolled back.

"Yes, yes, yessssss.... love fucking my cunt, missed making love to my sloppy pussy. Taking my dick so well, keep breathing with me, my love. That's it, just like that."

His way of saying good morning is languid strokes deep in your guts. His way of saying good night is crazed thrusts that have him putting it back it when his frenzied pace causes his length to slip out. He has is so hard sometimes, determined to carry the entire galaxy on his shoulders with you on top of it. You can the rising anger that builds within him when everything he does to prove himself goes unrecognized. The best way he has to ignore all of that outside responsibility is knocking your sweaty body up the bed while you're clutching the headboard for dear life.

Anakin's emotions bleed from him so openly, and all you have to do is drink them in. Because even though he wasn't free when he met you, you owned him them with his gift around your neck. You own him now, your cervix kissing his mushroom tip in its own display of affection. He is supposed to live his life with the intention to be the force's son, but he is burning to ash faster than he is fulfilling his destiny; at least he can keep you and your future children warm.

[leaderwonim]

smart, sexy, lacy, i’m losing it lately.

pairing. student!yang jungwon x student!fem!reader

summary. jungwon has always hated you, right from the start. you were too nice, too smart for your own good, and lately—you’ve been starting to get too pretty for yang jungwon to handle.

author’s note: HAPPY BDAY YANG JUNGWON WOOOOO here’s a post dedicated to my bias, the loml. this fic is entirely based off of olivia’s song “lacy”, one of my favorites off her guts album!

Yang Jungwon thought you were the most insufferable person he met. Not only were you overly nice, but you were so smart that you got the highest scores unlike bitter Jungwon who always managed to score second place.

“I’m losing it,” Jungwon whispers underneath his breath as he lifts his paper up into the air. A big red 99 was scribbled on top of his paper.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset.” Sunghoon, a friend of Jungwon’s, took a seat next to the mess of a boy who was currently ruffling his hair in stress. “A 99 is good Wonie!”

“No it’s not,” he mumbles, placing his head against the table. “No it’s not. Song Y/N managed to get a 100 again.”

Almost as if the universe knew Jungwon was talking about you, you passed by the two boys, waving a quick hello to Sunghoon.

“Don’t wave back.” Jungwon mumbles, lifting his head up slightly to glare at Sunghoon.

“What? Why?” Sunghoon whines, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t know why you hate her, she’s a sweetheart.”

“Look at her,” Jungwon mutters in disgust as he finally straightens his posture to look at you. “God’s favorite child—Song Y/N. Those stupid ribbons in her hair make me want to barf.”

Sunghoon doesn’t say it, but he’s ultimately very concerned for Yang Jungwon. He’s known the boy for years and it confuses him on why he hates you so much. You have been nothing but nice to the both of them since freshman year of high school.

“Why do you care so much Won?”

“I don’t.”

It’s a lie, one that Sunghoon detects from a mile away.

Yang Jungwon cares. He cares a lot. He lets his hatred of you take over his life, and it leaves him feeling miserable.

When Yang Jungwon walks into creative writing, his favorite class of the day, he is hit by the overwhelming smell of your perfume.

He’s practically memorized it by now because everytime it’d come into his presence, his nose would flare up and his body would tense. Vanilla and macadamia, of course you’d wear something like that.

You probably don’t notice—or at least Jungwon hopes you don’t notice—but he’s always staring at you, quickly looking away when you make eye contact. Sometimes, he’d huff under his breath about how ridiculous you look with your ponytail, even though Yang Jungwon knows it looks adorable on you.

Being around you was like sweet torture in the young brunette’s eyes.

“Jungwon!” You say as you make your way to him on one afternoon. “Congratulations on making it as class secretary! I knew you could do it!”

Jungwon bites the inside of his cheek, not expecting your input.

You’re too nice. You’re way way too nice to him. He thinks.

“Thanks.” He clears his throat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Although you were complimenting him, it felt like bullets piercing through his skin.

“I dyed my hair, do you like it?” You give him a smile, oblivious to the current crisis that Yang Jungwon was going through.

You did dye your hair. It was a bright blonde now, kind of reminding him of Regina George, you know—minus the bitch part.

“It’s… okay.” He mutters. “Listen Y/N, I have a lot of work, do you mind?”

You shake your head quickly, muttering out a small apology before taking off to find your friends.

Yang Jungwon wouldn’t ever say it out loud, but you looked dazzling in your newly dyed hair. You looked like Bardot reincarnated, and Yang Jungwon was so fucked because he knew that he couldn’t escape you wherever he’d go.

It was almost as if you were made out of Angel dust.

“Are you out to get me?” Yang Jungwon slams his hand on your table, jolting you from your work.

“What are you talking about?” You say, still putting on a smile despite being confused.

“Are you out to get me?” Jungwon feels out of breath now that he’s all up close and personal to you. “You poison everything I do!”

“What do you mean?” You frown, the feeling of sadness suddenly seeping over you. “Jungwon?”

“You know that I just loathe you lately? Do you Song Y/N?” Jungwon looks away in distress, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “My mind, it’s like I can’t get you out of it, and I don’t know what to do. I hate you—I swear I do—but I don’t know anymore! My mind practically worships you Song Y/N!”

Jungwon’s eyes widen when he realizes he’s said too much, especially when he comes in contact with your face that’s bright red in shock.

“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—”

“Jungwon, it’s okay.” You take his hands into yours, rubbing it comfortingly. “I kind of knew for a while, Sunghoon told me. I know all these feelings must be confusing but you know I’m here for you regardless.” You smile at him. “I like you Yang Jungwon.”

Jungwon’s mouth goes dry, and for the first time, he can’t think of anything to insult you with. “I.. I like you too Song Y/N.”

“Finally.” Sunghoon emerges suddenly from behind you two, making Jungwon gasp in shock.

“Yah! Don’t do that hyung!” Jungwon complains, hands still holding on tightly to yours.

“Sorry, had to get my two favorite kids together.”

Yang Jungwon wasn’t sure of many things, but he was sure of 2. One: he liked you a lot, and two: he was definitely going to kill Park Sunghoon for telling you everything.

[lovhrin]

𓇻   ॱ˖ 𝑂ℎ, 𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑘 ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟, 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑛𝑜 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎

──ॱ˖ ❀ enhypen hyung line and their pink obsessed girlfriend. genre fluff. warnings pet names, swearing, yn is like a pink pinterest girl | enhypen x fem!reader.

lee heeseung ( 이희승 )

to be honest you weren’t really his type.

he mostly went for girls that had a style more similar to his.

when he first met you it was kinda overwhelming just looking at you LOL

you were jays older sister, he didn’t even know jay had a sister until the day he met you.

you were picking jay up from one of their hangouts.

in a pink car…

heeseung cringed when he saw that not only were you in a pink car but also your whole entire outfit was pink.

but he was also like “she’s kinda hot…”

that night he did some digging through jays instagram following and found his pink obsessed sister.

“unintentionally” of course.

he also unintentionally messaged you as well.

and the rest is history.

“this is totally ruining my street cred.” heeseung whined as he sat in the passenger seat of your pink convertible, “I feel like a passenger princess.”

“you’d be the prettiest passenger princess ever.” you teased kissing his cheek before staring the car and backing out your driveway.

“I should be driving you, why are we taking your car anyway?”

“because I need you to take photos of me, and the car needs to be in the view, it completes the outfit and makes me look good.” you respond like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“you always look good, why does that matter!?”

park jongseong ( 박종성 )

he feeds into your pink obsession like no other

he tries his best to act like he doesn’t want too but somehow, he’s always the one pulling out his card at the cashier.

it’s like the angels brought you to him because you always make his days less boring.

“if you like the scent with the blue bottle why am I paying for that one?”

“because it’s pink!”

when he’s out with his friends at the mall, he’s always picking up pink little trinkets that he feels like you’d like.

sometimes they’re not so small.

“you got me the pink chanel bag!” you exclaimed as you opened the box he passed to you, “with the bow too!”

as soon as he came through the door after his hangout he had a smirk on his face and silently passed you a black shopping bag.

“I was gonna save up and get it.” you say leaning into his side as you examine the bag, “what the hell jay.” you say to your boyfriend who just shrugs his shoulders in a I don’t care way.

“you have too much money to waste.” you lecture causing jay to laugh.

“yeah, and I love wasting it on you.” he teases before leaving a kiss on your forehead.

sim jaeyun ( 심재윤 ) cd is playing

literally lets you do anything to him.

he loves his pink obsessed girlfriend.

even if that means she’s putting pink bows in hair every second.

finds the way you like pink so much endearing.

he let you decorate the apartment you both live in together.

“bro you have a pink toaster?”

“oh yeah, yn picked that up the other day.”

remember when I said he will let you do anything to him?

he would definitely let you do those tiktok trends on him.

“babe what are you doing?” jake asked you as you picked up a roll of pink ribbon and sat on the couch beside him.

“just something…” you said grinning before cutting the piece of ribbon and gesturing towards his arm, “pass me your arm.”

he looked and you confused but leaned over towards nevertheless.

he watched as you tied a perfect bow around his upper arm, “uh yn?”

“isn’t it cute! wait let me get my phone.”

he couldn’t help but laugh as he watched you run into your shared room.

park sunghoon ( 박성훈 )

you were a youtuber

you were known for your, grwm, room yours, day in my life and loving pink

he doesn’t even know how he pulled you

in his eyes you were kind of a celebrity.

he could’ve sworn he seen you on his sisters pinterest once.

he’s been in a few of your videos.

most of the time he holds the camera for you.

your viewers love how different you guys are.

he’s the most funny in your shopping videos.

“this whole cart is pink yn.”

in the background of your videos when you’re going your grwm’s all you’ll see is a man decked out in all black sleeping in a pink bed with fluffy pillows surrounding him.

sunghoon held the camera for you as you walked through the store for your new video.

“oh my gosh!” you say before rushing towards the thing that caught your eye, “wouldn’t this be so cute for my place?” you said asking your boyfriend who gives you an unimpressed look.

“do you really need a pink kettle?”

“I don’t know how I didn’t get one sooner.” you say smiling innocently as he shakes his head.

“just put it in the cart.”

[pumpkinbxtch]

— keep drivin' ∘⁠˚⁠˳⁠° (headcanons)

• what kind of drivers are the hoo guys?

who's here: percy, jason, frank & leo

warnings: none

— percy

☆ radiostar is playin': malibu by the driver era...!

Percy's a solid driver, always opening the door for you and spoiling you rotten.

He doesn't mind your stuff scattered around; he just loves having you around, even if you're not physically there.

If someone else hops in the car, they'll notice something poking beneath their thighs and raise their leg. "What the hell, dude?" they say, lifting the object. Percy checks the rearview mirror and grins widely seeing your lip gloss.

There are hair ties in the glove compartment and a mini version of your perfume.

As you hum along to the radio, he nods along, hands on the wheel but stealing a kiss on your cheek at every red light.

Sometimes, when you open the door yourself, you find a flower on your seat.

— jason

☆ radiostar is playin': keep drivin' by harry styles...!

Jason's a different vibe.

He also opens the door but ensures everything's tidy before you get in.

He likes having a spare change of clothes for you in the trunk, just in case.

He drives carefully, paying a lot of attention, never forgiving himself if anything happened to you.

Yet, he can't help but place a hand on your thigh, softly squeezing while you talk.

He wears special glasses to avoid glare,

and when you're gone, he puts your things back in place.

When he flips down his visor, he sees the kiss you left on the mirror, keeping it until you replace it with another lip color.

— frank

☆ radiostar is playin': overdrive by conan gray...!

Frank does all the boyfriend basics but always goes the extra mile.

He'll open the door and adjust your seat before you sit, making sure you're comfortable.

He cares if you buckle up or if the sun bothers you.

He drives with both hands on the wheel, but

you notice he's always tensing up a bit when he drives, so at every stop, you give him a kiss on the cheek or peck on the lips in traffic.

He gets easily distracted by you, so he tries his best not to sneak glances.

You're the one who puts a hand on his leg and gently strokes it while you chat.

Definitely has a "pet on board" sticker, finding it amusing.

His car's equipped for easy pet hair removal, even for a bear.

He keeps your things in compartments by the door and

hangs one of your bracelets on the rearview mirror.

— leo

☆ radiostar is playin': our song by taylor swift...!

Leo loves his car, but he loves you more. He can build any car model by himself, but there'll never be another like you.

That has nothing to do with it but I had to say it, lol

Opening the door, he bows and says, "Your carriage, my lady," a total gentleman.

He may act cool, but he always sneaks a peek to make sure your seatbelt's on. Even if he frequently checks his car for damage.

He's got one of your ribbons you use in your hair tangled on the steering wheel.

You're everywhere in his car, with a Polaroid of you stuck to the visor mirror. He loves seeing it when you're not there, and on the other side, there's one of you both.

While driving, he holds your hand on the gear stick, sometimes explaining gear shifts in his velvety voice.

He'll also place his hand on your thigh or lean in for a kiss, saying "beso¹," and you quickly oblige, both keeping your eyes on the road.

beso¹: kiss

[isak-dot-gov]

Spoilt Rotten

Pairing: KK Arnold x Reader

Word count: 1127

My Masterlist :)

..................................................

The sound of wrapping paper crinkling caught your attention as soon as you stepped into the living room. There it was again—a package. Big and bold, the box sat atop your coffee table, tied with a ribbon that probably cost more than your weekly grocery bill.

You sighed heavily, already knowing what this meant. KK had done it again.

It wasn’t like she meant to overwhelm you, but it seemed like every time you mentioned something, even in passing, KK found a way to get it for you. Whether it was a bag you admired while scrolling online, a pair of shoes you tried on once, or even a limited edition gadget that you could easily live without—KK made it her mission to track it down.

And here it was. Another luxury gift.

With a heavy heart, you stepped closer to the box, trying to fight off the small flicker of excitement. Of course, you wanted to see what was inside. KK always had impeccable taste, and deep down, it made you feel special that she cared enough to remember the things you liked. But it was still too much, too often.

You couldn’t shake the thought: How much did this cost her?

Sighing, you sat on the couch, running a hand through your hair as you stared at the package. You didn’t need this. You didn’t ask for this. But KK? She never listened when it came to gifts. 

Right on cue, the front door opened. KK strolled in with her usual confident energy, her presence filling the room as soon as she walked through the door. She was beautiful— an athletic build, with sharp features softened only by her easygoing smile. She carried herself like someone who could handle anything life threw at her, and when it came to you, she treated you like a queen.

"Hey, babe," she called, her voice lilting with amusement as she saw you sitting on the couch, your eyes on the package. "You seen it?"

"Of course I saw it," you said, shaking your head. "KK, seriously? I told you I don’t need all this stuff."

KK grinned, not at all fazed by your exasperation. She slipped off her jacket and walked over, sitting beside you. "But you want it, don’t you?"

You groaned softly, leaning back against the cushions. "That’s not the point. It’s expensive. I don’t want you spending all your money on things I don’t need."

KK leaned in closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with the kind of gentleness that always made your heart flutter. "You deserve nice things. What’s the harm in that?"

You stared at her, feeling the familiar tug between guilt and affection. KK had always been this way—generous to a fault, especially when it came to you. It wasn’t about showing off or proving something; she just genuinely enjoyed spoiling you. It was her love language, but sometimes it made you feel like you couldn’t keep up. 

She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing playfully as she reached out to tug the ribbon loose on the box. "Aren’t you curious?"

“KK…”

“Just open it. I promise it’s something small this time.”

You raised an eyebrow, knowing she was probably lying. But the sparkle in her eyes made it hard to say no. So, with a reluctant sigh, you started peeling away the wrapping paper, half dreading and half excited about what you’d find inside.

Your fingers hesitated as the box revealed its contents. Inside, nestled in a bed of tissue paper, was the designer purse you had admired months ago—a limited-edition piece from a luxury brand you could never justify buying for yourself.

“Oh my gosh…” you breathed, your hands lightly grazing the buttery leather. It was even more beautiful up close, the detailing intricate, the quality undeniable. You looked up at KK, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and guilt. “You remembered this?”

KK’s grin softened into something more genuine, a flicker of pride in her eyes. “Of course I did. You couldn’t stop talking about it for days.”

You swallowed hard, guilt gnawing at you again. “But this must have cost a fortune, KK. You really didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to.” Her voice was firm but kind, her hand coming up to rest on your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I don’t care about the price, babe. I just want you to have the things that make you happy. You work so hard, and you never let yourself have nice things. So I’ll do it for you.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, emotions swirling inside you. KK always made it sound so simple, but the truth was, it wasn’t easy for you to accept this kind of generosity. It felt unfair, like you weren’t pulling your weight in the relationship.

“I don’t want you to think you have to buy me things to make me happy, though,” you said softly, placing the purse back in the box. “I already have everything I need with you.”

KK’s eyes softened, and she leaned in closer, her arm wrapping around your shoulders as she pulled you into her side. “I know that, love. But it’s not about having to buy it. It’s just… my way of showing you how much I care. If something makes you smile, then it’s worth it to me. You don’t have to feel bad about it.”

You rested your head against her shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing. KK had this way of making you feel safe and loved, even when your thoughts were tangled up in guilt. She was so confident, so sure of herself—and, more importantly, of her love for you. 

After a long pause, you sighed, letting the tension drain out of you. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

KK chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “You deserve it, baby.”

You couldn’t help but smile at her confidence, at the way she always made you feel like the centre of her universe. “Just… maybe next time, talk to me before you go spending crazy amounts of money?”

KK raised an eyebrow, clearly teasing. “We’ll see.”

You gave her a playful nudge, and she laughed, wrapping you tighter in her embrace. Even though you knew KK wasn’t going to change anytime soon, part of you was okay with that. She was stubborn, but her love for you was unshakable. And, in the end, that was worth more than any gift she could ever buy.

As you leaned back into her, the two of you relaxing in each other’s presence, you realised that maybe being spoilt wasn’t so bad after all—especially when it came from someone like KK.

...........................................................................

[nvuy]

Boothill is a “your pleasure is my pleasure” kind of guy do u agree 🎤

mdni. im snatching the mic. i got carried away ty anon for giving me an excuse to ramble about this loser.

he takes pleasing you very seriously. this is serious business. it’s like his day job.

he’s half-convinced he was given a second life just to cross paths with you, so once he’s got you, he’s not letting you go. not for a while, at least. he’s stuck to your hip like glue. wherever you go, he’s most likely right next to you.

he’s always making sure you’re catered to first.

it’s the same in bed.

he’s extremely touch starved, so while he’s got his hand between your legs, he’s also busied himself nuzzling his cheek to yours to feel you helplessly panting against his skin. or, his ear is resting against your heart. whatever works for him in the moment.

he’s absolutely smitten with how warm you get. he’s always, always, pressing himself against you one way or another. just touch all over his face, please and thank you.

he’s all for kisses too. sometimes, when he’s having a bit too much fun, he’ll get all mushy and gross. not that he already isn’t, but it somehow gets worse.

he’ll bite too. not enough to make you bleed, but enough to leave an angry mark for the next few days.

actually, he just nips you all the time. it’s a weird thing he does. don’t point fingers in his face. he’ll try eating them. he’s very strange in that way. sometimes you can be gesturing at nothing while you talk, and if your fingers get too close to his face, he’s trying to nip at them like a teething puppy. you got used to it.

great tongue too. bonus points because it’s actually real. he works his magic with it, but only after you beg enough. you gotta work to get your hands on the merchandise. his mechanics are expensive, so play nice.

if we’re getting into unserious business, the robocock is great fun. it’s got smooth ridges and it’s cold. probably customisable, too. it’s definitely possible, but whether he’s gonna wander up to some poor mechanic and ask them to add some special features… well.

either way, your pleasure is always his priority. his hobbies consist of biting every single exposed expanse of your skin and exploring new ways to make you squirm.

it’s bad enough you having to deal with this lump of steel and scrap—frankly, he doesn’t even understand what’s so appealing about it—but if you enjoy bouncing on his lap, go ahead. do it all night for all he cares. as long as you have that pretty dizzy smile on your face by the end of it all. it makes him melt into a puddle of liquid metal knowing how good he makes you feel.

he’s also VERY susceptible to puppy eyes. they’re your greatest asset, and his biggest weakness.

you figured that out after you pleaded with him to put on these clothes you bought him (and, yep. these clothes have just as many cut outs as his usual attire). you can also use them if you want to do his hair. please convince him to wear it in a high ponytail more. he has such a nice face, and it also stops his neck from overheating. those poor fans need a vacation.

it takes some convincing, especially when you show him the hair tie is actually a red sparkly ribbon. you’re going to ruin his tough guy persona. but he’ll drop anything for you, so he’ll comply. on the condition that you give him smooches afterwards. it’s also an excuse for him to indulge in how your fingers feel against his scalp.

puppy eyes, crying, begging, whatever, usually get people he’s apprehended nowhere. he doesn’t care for theatrics. not at all. a criminal is a criminal at the end of the day.

but you? aww, how can he say no to your angel eyes? wanna fuck his face? you didn’t even have to ask! just watch the teeth. and feel free to pull his hair. wanna ride him until he short circuits? sure! if you can keep up. he’s all yours.

and when you’re done, his aftercare consists of coddling and pinching your cheeks. he’ll prattle on about nothing. the subject will change to gushing over how pretty you look in his bed, to the weather tomorrow, to how he misses the taste of spaghetti. he’ll even kiss all over the marks he’s left on you. probably kicks his feet too.

he’s still so energetic it’s mind-baffling. he’s so casual about it too, acting as if he didn’t beg for you to cum on his face just ten minutes ago.

but that’s robot stamina for you. or maybe it’s just a boothill thing. who knows?

after a while he’ll calm down. i still haven't decided if he can sleep, but once you’ve fallen asleep, he’ll lay next to you and draw patterns on the nape of your neck with his fingers.