#anyway. damn thas hot

[forged-in-kaoss]

[honkowo]

wheeeee figured out a couple of plants for angel homeworld!!!! + a little beast youll find in just about every biome on that damn planet

cherubs are the result of a wild subspecies of angel mixing naturally w a meat car(this was not intentional). cherubs build their nests via ripping up/off whatever plantmatter is available. nestbuilding is a group effort, often involving 30-50 cherubs building elaborate structures in whatever crack, crevice or cave system is available. angels use these guys to teach their children about teamwork & the importance of choir-building(which may or may not involve colourful puppet cherubs lmao).

the 2 plants shown here(1 moreso than the other) are seen most often on angel homeworld. one is a single leathery leaf that joins up with others of its species to create giant colonies of the same plant. angels often uproot them due to the fact that they make climbing cliffsides really fucking difficult(they r both tightly joined together & VERY SLIPPERY). the other plant is a treelike plant that grows inbetween cliffs & large crevices. their stringy bark is favoured by cherubs.

[seilon]

every newer gen kpoppy who calls it revolutionary every time a big name bg member wears something vaguely skirt-like should be required to watch lee sungjong of infinite putting his whole pussy into performing coming of age ceremony by park jiyoon wearing the song's classic form-fitting black side-slitted dress with zero gimmicks way back in 2012

[zweigsangel]

ballerina!reader and chris fluff with strict ballet teacher?

you’re standing in the ballet studio, ankles aching, breath coming in frustrated little huffs as your teacher drills you yet again on the same sequence. she’s pacing back and forth, tapping her stick against the floor with that familiar, grating rhythm.

"you’re not grounded enough," she says, in that disapproving tone that’s somehow both ice-cold and like fire scraping along your nerves. "you’re light in the wrong places and heavy in all the wrong ones."

you roll your eyes, but only when she’s turned around. you don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much her words bite. but she catches it anyway, glancing over her shoulder and raising one perfectly drawn eyebrow. “you got something to say?”

you’re about to mutter something half-hearted in return, something safe, when the door to the studio cracks open and chris peeks his head inside. his eyes meet yours, and just like that, a smile creeps across his face. “angel,” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear.

your cheeks heat instantly, and for a second, you can’t stop the little grin that escapes. you might be exhausted and sore, but the way he says it—like he really thinks you’re his angel, even here, sweaty and frustrated—melts some of that tension right out of you.

your teacher notices the shift immediately, spinning around to see what’s changed. “oh, i see,” she says, gaze sliding over to chris with that pursed-lips look. “so, we’ve got an audience now?”

“wasn’t planning on it, but if you insist.” chris winks, giving her a cheeky grin, and before she can tell him off, he’s slipping further inside, hands shoved casually into his pockets. he’s wearing that damn leather jacket you love, and he still has his skates slung over one shoulder, like he’s always ready to hit the ice if needed. he looks a bit out of place here in your ballet studio with its polished floors and wall of mirrors, but he couldn’t care less.

you can tell she doesn’t love the interruption. but she’s not gonna tell him off either. she sighs, glancing at the clock, and seems to decide she’s had enough of you for the day. “fine,” she says, looking back at you with that critical eye of hers, the one that says i’m letting you off easy. “we’ll continue this next time. get some rest—and stretch, for god’s sake.”

you breathe out, a shaky little exhale of relief, and give her a quick nod. but as soon as she’s gone, chris crosses the room, wraps an arm around your waist, and pulls you close.

“god, angel, i swear she’s out for blood.” his fingers trace along your spine, gentle but firm, and you feel that familiar warmth under his touch, the tension seeping right out of your muscles as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“you’re tellin’ me,” you mumble into his shoulder, letting yourself lean into him a bit. “she’s a nightmare.”

he laughs, soft and warm, his thumb rubbing little circles against your lower back. “well, you looked pretty damn good to me. but she’s right about the stretching thing.” he pulls back just a little, eyes meeting yours with that mischievous glint. “c’mon. floor. i’ll help.”

you groan, rolling your eyes, but he’s already guiding you down, practically dragging you to sit with your legs outstretched. he doesn’t care that you’re half-grumbling; he settles right in front of you, scoots up close so he can grab your ankle, and then starts to gently work on loosening you up, pressing just enough to stretch without pain.

“seriously, chris, i’m fine,” you say, a little bashfully. you’d been ready to drop straight to bed, not get a post-rehearsal stretch courtesy of your boyfriend.

he gives you a look, a smirk quirking at the corner of his lips. “don’t argue with me, angel. lemme take care of you.”

and damn it, you can’t argue with him—not when he’s looking at you like that, all soft and adoring, like he couldn’t care less about the sweat in your hair or the fact you’re probably a hot mess right now.

so you let him, because that’s easier than trying to fight back the smile creeping onto your face. his hands work their way down your calf, soothing and gentle, then up again to your thigh, lingering a little longer than necessary.

“this some sort of tactic?” you murmur, eyebrows raised as his thumb presses slow circles against your thigh. “maybe,” he says, that grin back on his face. “figure if i can’t come in here and defend you from the wicked witch herself, i can at least help you feel a little better after she’s done with you.”

you scoff, pretending to be exasperated. “you’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“and yet, here you are,” he murmurs, leaning in closer. his voice drops, softer. “and here i am. looks like you’re stuck with me.”

his forehead rests against yours, and he’s looking at you with so much warmth it’s almost overwhelming. but it’s exactly what you need—what you didn’t even realize you were craving after the hellish day. he’s right here, grounding you in a way no one else could. the ache in your body starts to fade, replaced with this soft warmth that only he seems able to give.

“hey,” he says quietly, still rubbing his hands along your legs, “don’t let her get in your head, alright? she doesn’t see what i see. she’ll never get it. but you’re… you’re somethin’ else, angel.”

you feel the heat rush to your face, like it always does when he talks to you like this. you try to deflect, roll your eyes, make a joke—anything to stop yourself from melting right there on the studio floor. “yeah, yeah. i’m sure you say that to everyone you stretch.”

he laughs, tugging you closer so you’re practically sitting between his legs now, his arms wrapped around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. “nah, only my favorite ballerina.” he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “now, let’s get you home.”

he stands up, offering you his hand, and you take it, feeling the warmth and the solidness of him as he pulls you up. even with the sore muscles, the exhaustion, you feel lighter as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, holding you close as you both head out.

“i don’t care what your teacher says,” he murmurs, squeezing you tight. “you’re perfect to me, angel.”

and in that moment, with his arm around you, his words soft in your ear, you believe him.

[corvidcrossbow]

~•♡•~ Intruders

➳ Summary: Getting moments to yourselves is hard when you have pets (Daryl x Fem!Reader)

➳ Setting: Alexandria, anytime during 6 year timeskip or after

➳ Word count: 1.6k

➳ C/W: Half-assed oral (f!receiving) & p in v

➳ A/N: I just wanted regular casual sex smut (I'm lazy) (By lazy I mean I have like 40 drafts but I'm so busy for the next two weeks I'm going crazy) (I had to take a picture of my own damn socks for this ☠️)

Daryl's hands dragged roughly over your clothed waist, you giggling some against his lips then cheek as he hastily stumbled down the hall with you towards your bedroom, kisses moving down to your jawline as his groping descended to your ass.

“God, sunshine… yer so damn sexy,” He mused, shoving open the door and hitting his heel back against it in an attempt to get it to shut, too focused on peeling your shirt away to take note of any success: closely followed by his own. “Make me need ya so bad.”

Just as he pushed you down, landing you on your back with your legs dangling over the edge of the mattress, a brown blur bounded into the room and up onto the bed.

“Nah-, Dog-.. stop tha’!” Daryl grunted, waving his hand while the shepherd was basically stepping all over you, excitedly wagging his tail and mouth hanging open as he tried to lick your face.

“Hey buddyyy,” You purred, bringing hands to both sides of his head and rapidly scratching the fluffy fur beneath his ears, forcing him back a little so he wasn't directly in your space.

“Don’ indulge him. Want ‘em outta ‘ere!”

“You didn't close the door.” You couldn't hide your playful grin as you sat up, ruffling the dog's scruff and laughing as Daryl scoffed, clapping his hands to try and redirect Dog’s focus from you.

“I tried. Now c'mon … Dog, c'mon. Out.” He patted his back a couple times, earning a look and light cocking of his head. The man raised his eyebrows, snapping his fingers and aggressively pointing towards the exit. “Out.”

Dog turned, nearly hitting you in the face with his tail and jumping from the bed, trotting out of the room as Daryl immediately shut the door behind him. He spun back on his heels, undoing his belt as he'd been intending to before and dropping his jeans to pool on the floor.

He loomed over you, finding your lips in another kiss as he worked the button on yours and helped you wriggle out, hoisting you up the bed so your head rested on the pillows. “See? Got fur all over yer tits. Gon’ have'ah hairball lickin’ it all away.”

“I dunno, maybe you'll be a hot dry-heaver, archin’ yer back ‘n all.”

“Shuddup.” He shook his head, pressing a wet kiss to your neck that cut off your taunting giggle by drawing out a moan. His palms smoothed up the curves of your figure, reaching under and undoing the clasp of your bra before tossing it aside.

“M'tha only one who should be all over these like tha,” Daryl murmured, cupping both breasts and smothering his face between them before taking one of your nipples into his mouth and rolling the other between calloused fingertips.

“Mmm, mhm? They all yours Dixon?” You trilled, to which he gave an affirming grunt and sucked a bit harder, sliding a hand down under the hem of your panties and beginning to circle your clit.

As he was starting to set his rhythm, there was an odd scratching at the door and the sound of metal clicking, before it burst open and Dog came running right back into the room, shoving his maw into Daryl's face and driving him back as he tried to pounce on him.

“How tha hell ya-? Dog, stop.”

You were snickering at this point, propping up on your elbows to watch, Daryl leaning up and straddling you as he tried to ward the canine off. “Did you lock the door?”

He bowed his head a little, failing at obscuring his embarrassment with his hair. “Thought I did…. He'sa dog anyway! Shouldn't be openin’ damn doors..”

“He's a smart dog, baby. Don't know whatcha expect from him.”

“I expect him tah not break in ‘ere like ‘es rabid or sum'thin’,” He huffed, slouching for a moment in defeat before grabbing the dog and gently pushing him off the bed, a little harder when he resisted. “Dog. S'aint gon kill ya tah be outta tha room fer thirty minutes.”

“That's cause he knows ‘thirty minutes’ turns into two hours.” Daryl gave you a look, and you traded back an innocent but knowing smile. He begrudgingly swung his leg to have them on one side, sliding off the bed and forcing Dog with him: placing hands on either side of his chest and literally walking him out of the room, once again closing the door, and putting emphasis on the little ‘clink’ when he set the lock.

He let out an exasperated sigh, resuming his position but skipping ahead on his ministrations, having grown impatient. He hooked fingers around the band of your panties, groaning a little at the way you wiggled while he brought them down, flirtatiously biting your lip and covering your breasts.

“Don’ be actin’ like'ah tease.” He parted your legs, hands feeling over your hips and thighs while he lowered his head and drew a slow lick up your center to spread your folds, openly moaning at the taste.

“Fine. Only now cause Dog's been doin’ it for me,” You chuckled, and the archer just narrowed his brows, grasping harder at your flesh as he traced circles around your clit before lapping again and sucking it into his mouth.

“Ya always so fuckin’ wet for me, always gon’ love tha’,” Daryl hummed, tugging you flush against his mouth and delving into your enterace for a quick moment with the thrust of his tongue. Your fingers wove through the roots of his locks, and his eyes flicked up to meet yours. “You gon’ tell me how good it feels tah have me eat'cher perfect pussy?”

You opened to respond, but were interrupted by an obnoxiously loud whimper outside the door, left saying his name for the wrong reason: “Dar…”

“I know, jus’ ignore it,” He said, voice muffled against you, trying to hone both your attentions only on the feeling of his tongue working your core. But the malinois grew noisier, scratching at the hardwood floor and struggling to shove his nose beneath the small gap in the doorframe.

“Daryl.”

He groaned deeply, placing another kiss to your cunt before releasing his hold and unwinding his arms, going to deal with it. “Ts'aint tha kinda whinin’ I wanna be hearin’.”

Turning the handle just slightly to shoo him, Dog barged right back in again, leaped onto the bed again, and just twirled around with a clueless grin to look back at Daryl, confused with how displeased he appeared. He took steps towards the shepherd, hands out, and Dog growled just a little when he moved to rid you of him.

“Ay! Ts'ma woman! Not yers. Get tha hell outta here ‘nd quit buggin’ me,” The man snapped, Dog completely unphased as if the frustration in his tone didn't resonate at all. Daryl gave up and grumbled something under his breath, going to the top drawer of your shared dresser and retrieving a pair of his socks.

He dangled it in the air, the pup immediately locking in on it like he was hypnotized. He barked once, excitedly following as Daryl walked down the hall and threw the bundle down the stairs, which was essentially throwing them into the pits of Hell. Far too many pairs of his socks had met grim fates when Dog would steal them from the laundry, either of you finding him later surrounded by shreds of fabric. But the sacrifice was necessary.

“Lemme have sum damn privacy when Ah'm with yer ma!” He shouted down the steps as that brown flash scurried to descend them. He scoffed again and how simply Dog'd abandoned his efforts, then returned to you, closing the door and locking it once more.

“You finally get him gone?” You taunted as Daryl discarded his boxers and settled over top of you and between your legs once more, silencing your amused remarks as his mouth found yours. You latched your arms around his neck, bringing him close to deepen the kiss as he slicked the tip of his near weeping cock between your folds, edged by all the disturbances.

He waited for a few seconds, like he expected something more, then thrusted into you, head falling to your chest with a pleasure-filled exhale. He maintained the stillness, another beat passing.

“Jus’ go, angel. He's distracted,” You reassured him with a kiss to his hairline, and slowly he pulled back before rocking in again. Daryl kept a steady hand on your hip, the other propping him up by your shoulder as he began to relax, garnering speed and listening to every filthy noise your bodies made when you connected, his grunts reverberating against your collarbone.

“That's the kinda gruntin’ I wanna be hearin’.” Daryl chucked at your comment, palm leaving your curve so the pad of his thumb could press against your clit, massaging it in pace with his movements and drawing out a whine from you.

He threw his head back to clear the strands of hair from his face, looking down to watch you for a moment; watch himself disappear in and out of your walls then came near again. “Shit, ya feel so fuckin’ good…”

But then another something hopped onto the opposite side of the bed, much lighter and more sophisticated. Door was still shut, still locked.

“Sweetheart… you forgot the cat.”

Daryl didn't even glance back, rolling his eyes and muttering another curse. “Ion even care anymore.” And he just found you in another kiss.

©corvidcrossbow 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified or adapted to other platforms. My work may be translated only if asked and with proof of given consent.

[shookuna]

// HEATWAVE! // T FUSHIGURO

a/n: first post on tha new blog !!! eeee !!! this is dedicated to the lovely mickey @teddybeartoji <3 ty for being my FIRST OFFICIAL MOOT ! MY DAYONE ! take a lil soft!toji fic pls and thank u 🤲

wc: ~ 1k oops

summary: tired grumpy bf!toji is needy and annoying w/o cuddles. cw: nsf(w) ment, plus some tooth-rotting fluff <3

cuddling with toji was becoming a rare occurrence.

it was mid-july and swelteringly hot outside, even in the wee hours of the night. the a/c in your shared apartment was threatening to give out, and the shitty fan toji sloppily assembled did little to improve matters. so, deviating from your usual routine, you and toji fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed.

toji noticed the distance immediately, cracking one eye open to find you not curled into his side, like usual. the sight of you dead to the world, hair messily splayed across the pillow was enough to make his heart flutter. but even still, a frown tugged at the corner of his lips.

because goddammit, you did not get him used to this "cuddling" shit just to bail on him now.

you and toji met months ago at the dawn of fall, when the days were getting shorter and the nights were growing colder. your relationship was initially a fateful coincidence, a grocery store meet-cute that was as romantic as it was awkward. his series of brazen pick-up lines went right over your head (surely, you assumed, no one would tell you how good you'd look receiving backshots in the fucking frozen food aisle) but you still ended up giving toji your number that day.

and he's never been a religious man, but he was praising every god in the damn sky that you did.

one date was all it took for both of you to be locked in. he was a bad habit, an itch you couldn't help but scratch, irresistible. he was reckless, cocky at best and an asshole at worst, everything you weren't. needless to say, dating toji was against your better judgment. but for him, being with you was the first good decision he's made in a long time.

that's not to say things were perfect, or even easy. being with someone like you was so unfamiliar for someone like toji. loving you came as easy as breathing, but choosing you, choosing to work towards being a better version of himself... that was hard as shit. even small things took time, like physical intimacy. his body count was through the roof, so he had no issue when it came to having sex with you - but affection was a whole different story. it made him feel like he was in someone else's skin, someone weaker, someone who needed to be taken care of. it took til' mid-december, when the temperatures were practically sub-zero and frost crusted the ground, to get toji to warm up (no pun intended) to cuddling.

and now you'd gone and gotten him attached to this shit just to leave him high and dry?!

it didn't matter that your boyfriend was practically a walking furnace, heat radiating off of him in waves when he caged you in his strong arms. temperature be damned, toji thought, you started this, so you had to finish it.

"wake up." his gruff voice sounded out, a stark departure from the blanket of silence the night offered. when you only stirred slightly, he gave you a little shake. "oi, get y'r ass up. i'm talkin t' you."

at that firmer command, you rose your head, a displeased frown taking the place of your previous serene expression. "fushiguro, what in the ever-loving fuck are you doing waking me up at..." you paused, fumbling for your phone on the nightstand and checking the time. "...at three in the damn morning."

"don't gimme that shit. girl bye," toji grumbled, not sparing you so much as an apology for disturbing your sleep. you simply gave him a deadpan stare, making him scoff and roll over to his other side. "'s fine, not like i needed to hold ya to fall asleep anyway." he muttered bitterly into the pillow.

your eyes were already halfway closed when he turned around, but they immediately shot open when you heard his grumblings.

"what did you say? you need to cuddle me to fall asleep?" you perk up, pressing your hands on his shoulders to coax him into turning back around.

"i sure as hell didn't say 'cuddle'," he groused, but still turned around anyways. his voice might have sounded annoyed, but you knew your toji. the flicker of warmth in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

"heh, you said it just now, dummy." you grinned as you snuggled up to toji's chest, earning a flick to your forehead from the man in question. but you were unbothered, simply humming, "thought ya didn't like cuddling."

"y'r makin' assumptions," toji grumbled, the low, gravelly timbre of his voice sending shivers down your spine. "now quiet down so i can sleep."

at that, you scoffed in playful offense. "so you can sleep? you literally just woke me u-" you started, but he silenced effortlessly by pressing his lips against yours in a lazy, heated kiss.

when he pulled away, chest heaving with each hot puff of air, you were warm from way more than just the heat outside.

"go the fuck to sleep before i put you to sleep myself." he growled out, but there was no malice in his words - more of an invitation than a threat.

deciding to resist temptation this time, you settled back into his hold, your back flush against his chest. as you began to fade back into sleep, you heard toji whisper out, "meant what i said, y'know that? can't... can't sleep w' out you now."

the next words out of your mouth were simple, but they were all it took to put him at ease.

"i know, toji."

dawww <33 hope u like this fic everyone (esp mickey mwah mwah mwah) reblogs + comments appreciated !!

© shookuna ! toji header edited by me too tehe

[pedroshotwifey]

Hello

My drabble ask is infidelity 🫣 with Joel.. but readers current bf is really toxic and doesn't treat her well and she's planning on leaving him anyway and Joel says that he doesn't want to share and that he wants to be with her 🥺

Oh I can't tell you how excited I was for this 😈 I might have to make another infidelity fic bc holy shit 👀 (obviously I don't condone this behavior irl, but ooo is it hot in fic)

*****

“Oh shit,” Joel grunts. “Little wider for me, baby, you’re too fuckin’ tight. Poor lil pussy ain’t been gettin’ fucked right.” 

Your face heats at his words, but you obey, whimpering as you help him spread your legs further apart, your muscles aching in a delicious way paired with his cock dragging in and out of your slick cunt. Your back arches, your head getting thrown back onto your pillow as he hits something devastatingly deep inside of you. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you whine, pussy fluttering around him. You feel like all your senses have been cut off, your sole focus on the way he’s stretching you out for him. 

“Tha’s right, baby, call my name. Sounds better than that fuckin’ boy you think’s so good for ya. You know he can’t make you feel like this. His dick’s probably as shriveled as his damn brain.”

You hate the way your pussy clenches upon hearing Joel talk shit about your boyfriend. It’s wrong—god, it’s so wrong—but it feels so fucking good. You know he can hear the way you fake coming around Liam’s cock most nights, knows the difference between the way you moan Joel’s name so gutterally and the way you have to say your boyfriend’s like it’s an obligation—a chore. 

It took him a few weeks to get you into his bed. A few weeks of him comforting you after fights and tantrums from your boyfriend. A few weeks of you trying to hold back your lustful gaze from your much older next door neighbor. A few weeks of you ignoring how he looked at you the same way. 

It took your boyfriend hitting you for you to finally listen to what Joel was telling you, what you knew was true. 

Joel was there waiting at his door when he saw Liam leave the apartment. It’s a good thing he didn’t see what happened before, because he probably would have killed him. You slept with him that night not only to distract him from your freshly blackened eye, but also because you came to that realization. 

Joel would do things for you that your boyfriend would never even consider. It wasn’t until he split you open on his cock for the first time, gave you four orgasms, then fed you, showered you, and held you tenderly until you fell asleep, that you understood that’s what you deserve. What Joel kept insisting you deserve. 

You deserve the way he’s making you drool right now, using your legs as leverage to pummel into you at an ungodly pace. You deserve the way you both fall apart at the same time, clinging to each other and moaning and licking into each other’s mouths like you’re trying to consume each other. You deserve the way Joel showers you in dirty praise as you pant and catch your breath after coming for a third time. 

And Joel deserves the way you’re going to go back to your apartment and pack your shit tonight.

****

More drabbles here

[zevrra]

—sweet & pathetic

syn: tonight, gojo wants you on top.

includes: fem!reader, bottom!gojo, pegging, overstim, crying, begging, praising, multiple orgasms.

“you’re doing so good baby.” you coo ever so sweetly in the shell of satoru’s ear. moving your lips along his shoulder, placing well deserved kisses in the middle of his shoulder blades, right on his spine. your fingers grip his small, slutty, waist as you slowly sink into him.

he had begged you to take control tonight. wanted so badly to try out the new toy you had just gotten. was all too eager to let you kiss him onto his back, rub his thighs, stroke his cock until he leaked at the tip. he even let you tie his wrists together with a pretty blue ribbon so he couldn’t touch without permission.

now he lays face first into the bed. arms tied behind his back, waist held high with an arch to his back as he moaned pathetically into the white sheets. his cock drools between his thighs as your new strap inches further inside of him. a fruit flavored lube coats the pretty blue silicone of the toy as you sit on your knees behind him. admiring satoru’s pale skin turning a pretty shade of pink with arousal.

you lick your lips at the sight. his head turned to the side to allow you to see the tears clinging to his pretty white eyelashes. he cries at every inch he takes but he takes it like the good boy that he is. you pour more lube onto the shaft of the toy as you’re coming up onto the thicker part of the flared base. wanting to make sure he could take it nice and easy.

his blue eyes open ever so slightly to look back at you, bottom lip trembling as he whines for you. “more, i-i need more my love.” he cries with a jolt of his hips, trying to get you to move faster. always so eager and you loved it.

“satoru…what do you say?” you hum sweetly as your hands move along his hot, sensitive skin. trailing from his waist to his arms, where you grip his strong biceps. he could so easily break free from your half ass attempt at bondage but he doesn’t. he could turn his infinity on and send you flying backwards but he wants this. wants to give you every bit of control he can. he’s no longer the strongest, he’s just your lover who wants to be fucked senseless.

“please! fuck please, baby, please. i-i need you to fuck me.” satoru whimpers, his fingers flex and un-flex against his restraints, hoping his slightly muffled words are enough for you. and you smile in return, not that he could see it, but do so anyway as the man you love begs for you to make him feel good. your hands move to grab hold of his wrists, widening your position on the bed as you prepare to fuck him just like he asks of you.

you lean back, pulling the new toy out from within his trembling body, before snapping your hips forward and forcing satoru to take every inch of your pretty new strap to the very base. a broken sob rips from your lover boy as he trembles under the weight of your toy fully sitting inside of him now.

and little to no surprise, gojo cums the moment he takes every inch of you. body spasming as a dry orgasm rips through him and leaves him gasping for air. his pleading sobs turn into needy groans once he finishes riding out his premature orgasm, his dazed blue eyes looking back at you. “tha—thank you,” he cries between hiccups of the lingering pleasure coursing his veins.

“mhm, what a good boy.” you hum before your hips begin to move as fast and as harsh as you can. fucking into him once more at his wish. using your grip on his wrists to help fuck into his overly sensitive prostate with plenty of well angled thrust.

he damn near screams at the overstimulation setting in his lower half. makes you lick your lips as you watch his head lift and snap back while tears finally break free of his lashes. he weeps at the pleasure you give him. broken sobs of your name fall from his lips as you fuck him into your mattress. “yes! god, yes, please…please let me cum again…please baby i can’t!” gojo cries pathetically, causing you to smile once more.

you lean forward, planting hot kisses against his shoulders and neck, picking up the roughness of your thrusts as you slide a hand around to grab ahold of his aching cock. you time your strokes with your thrusts while giving him the pleasure he oh so deserves. “come for me.”

satoru weeps as he comes with the help of your hand. he erratically thrusts his own hips into your hand with each new onslaught of his orgasm. your hand nor your hips never stop moving as you fuck him through his second climax. can already tell with each stroke of his dripping cock that the sheets beneath the two of you were definitely going to be stained at this rate. didn’t matter one bit as he stutters and sobs until he can’t take it anymore, finishing his orgasm with a weak cry.

you hum sweetly as you remove your hand from his cock. using your other hand to turn your lover onto his back to view your handiwork. some of his cum splatters across his stomach while the rest makes a mess against your bed. his cock limps against his thigh, bright red from cumming back to back, while his face is stained with pretty little tears and you smile faintly at the sight. moving your clean hand to brush across his face, catching his attention. and he looks at you with those gorgeous blue eyes of his; hazy and fucked as senseless as you want him to be. you lick your lips as the meal before you, pressing your thumb gently against his lips in return.

“can i keep going, satoru?” you ask in a sultry tone. it was never enough when you got to hold him like this. you always ended up being the greedy one. wanting more and more like a sex-craved lunatic.

satoru blinks at your request, probably trying to blink away the fog in his eyes, before his lips breaks out in a wild, lust filled smirk. “yeah. fuck me some more baby.”

[gutsby]

Mr. Dixon

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Your efforts to seduce the DILF next door have all failed spectacularly, so you decide a wet hot car wash in front of his house is in order. Mr. Dixon is less than impressed with your antics and plans to teach you a lesson in good manners and ‘neighborliness.’

Warnings: NSFW. Dad's friend Daryl! Drastic age gap!! Daryl's a dirty old pervert in this one :-) Voyeurism. Masturbation. Descriptions of oral sex (m!receiving). Dirty talk. Degradation. Slight misogyny. Daryl may or may not masturbate out a window at some point.

You had an old pair of Daisy Dukes and a dream.

Faded, frayed, and two times too small for your frame, the shorts hiked an inch up your ass every step you took across the room. Made it damn near pointless bending over before the man in front of you—he could see every inch of your butt regardless—but you did it all the same.

This was Mr. Dixon, after all.

Cool blue orbs illumined by candlelight took the sight of you in and flitted away just as fast. His hands busied themselves with the gun he was taking apart, while you reached for the bullet that had just rolled onto the floor.

“Here you go, Mr. Dixon.”

Your voice had a charming lilt as you held the round out to him.

“Over there,” Daryl grumbled, jerking his head toward the end of the table, “An’ what’d I say ‘bout callin’ me tha’?”

“I feel weird calling daddy’s friends by their first names.”

You shrugged and chucked the tiny piece of lead into the pile of ammunition like Daryl had told you to. Then you sat down beside it, crossing your arms.

He could be so cruel sometimes. Just fooling with his pistol and barking orders like a drill sergeant. Never looking at you longer than a second, and if he did, just shooting you a glare or wounding you with a scowl.

He’d been the toughest nut to crack out of all your father’s friends. No matter how straight-laced and upstanding the men around Mr. Grimes had made themselves out to be, you’d always found the fault line—the weak spot that got you access to the filthiest parts of each one. You’d teased and you’d flirted, earned a couple groping touches and open-mouthed caresses from the likes of the late Mr. Walsh and many others. But never Mr. Dixon.

Even now, sitting across from him in your skimpy Wrangler cut offs, wedges, and a skintight, starch white tank top stretched so tight over your tits the fabric was practically see-through, it was like you were invisible to him. You kicked your feet out in front of you as they dangled from the table and actually felt yourself pout at the feeling of frustration bubbling in your chest.

“I wanna help.” Sounding pitiful.

“No use,” Daryl said as he studied the barrel of the gun with an inscrutable expression, “Already told yer dad, ain’ no use for little girls on the range.”

Your nostrils flared as you started back on your feet.

“I am plenty useful, Mr. Dixon. And I— I’m not the little girl you think I am,” you fired back, sounding more miserable and juvenile with every word you spoke.

At the last, Daryl looked you up and down. It was hardly more than a passing glance, but deliberate enough to be expressive. Emotive.

He looked repulsed by you.

And, rather than dignify you with a response, he simply discarded his firearm on the table and left the room. You trailed behind him into the kitchen and watched him swing the refrigerator door wide on its hinges. Blue eyes surveying the shelves for a can of PBR, most likely.

“I can do anything you need me to,” you rejoined in a huff, desperate to be heard, “I’m twice the shot my old man ever was at my age, I can track if I need to— hell, I’m always doin’ stuff, Mr. Dixon. Things.”

You weren’t sure what rattling off your talents to a man who clearly had no interest in hearing them would accomplish, but you tried it anyway. You sounded like your father. When both of Mr. Dixon’s eyebrows raised in mock surprise and he plopped down on a bar stool opposite you, you wanted to melt right into the floor.

“Doin’ stuff, huh? Thangs?” he mocked your twang.

You gripped the door frame so tight your knuckles turned white. Daryl took a couple swigs of beer and stared you down through every swallow. He brought the can back to the counter, near-empty now, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I got a couple thangs for ya ta do,” he started, grinning, “Why don’t ya put those pretty hands ta work, throw a little apron on, and just...bake me a fuckin’ cake?”

“Funny,” you spat. You felt a surge of bile rise in your throat at the sight of his smug expression.

“Wash my car?”

“Fuck you.”

Daryl’s amusement only grew as the forbidden F-bomb flew from your lips—a word he knew Rick would never tolerate if you’d been in his presence. Presently, his eyes raked over your slight, shaking form at the threshold of the room and figured himself pretty lucky to have provoked such a strong reaction from you. He polished off the last of his drink in a single gulp.

“No need ta get all foul-mouthed, Ms. Grimes, I only—”

“Fuck. You.” Your reply came slower and a touch more measured than he’d expected. Even punctuated with a hint of a smile, making sure to stretch that Southern drawl when you added, “Dar-yl.”

It was the first time you’d ever used his first name.

You weren’t sure you liked it.

Daryl, on the other hand, felt quite certain the sound of his name suited your mouth just fine. A subsequent stir in his jeans wiped the smirk clean off his face, and he began to shift in his seat.

Before he could speak, you were already turning on your heels to leave. Formalities escaped quicker than your anger, and your fingers seemed to move of their own accord to flip Daryl off over your shoulder as you strode out the door, far out of his sight.

Meanwhile, and much to his chagrin, Mr. Dixon was already growing ill with the sounds of your parting wishes bouncing loud off the walls of his skull. Before the front door had even closed, his fingers, too, seemed to move involuntarily and do a thing they probably shouldn’t have done: touch the mound in his jeans.

He rubbed his clothed erection and groaned.

You were such a fucking brat.

Daryl had always thought with a father as eagle-eyed and attentive as Rick, you’d never reach this level of naughty, haughty, and straight up cunt-like, but here you were. Doing Lori proud the way you’d gotten another one of Rick’s best friends wrapped around your little finger.

You were good like that, and still too dense to understand a fraction of the effect you had on him while you did it. The way you’d been looking at him earlier, Daryl was sure you’d convinced yourself he hated you.

If you could only see him now, spitting in one hand and unzipping his fly with the other, freeing his cock, and finally, finally getting his fingers wrapped fast around his shaft with the sole thought of you on his mind as he did. If you could watch him shudder, close his eyes, draw a deep, jagged breath through his nose to scour the air for the faintest trace of your scent lingering there—maybe you’d get it.

Daryl slid his hand down his cock and exhaled a shaky breath. You would simply never “get it,” because he’d already promised himself he wouldn’t let that happen.

As his thumb grazed the head of his red-hot, leaking cock and imagined it was your tongue doing all the work, he had to remind himself this was nothing but a fantasy for him. There was just no way in hell he’d sink to Shane’s level and actually lay his hands on you, no—he was better than that.

He was a man of principle, furiously jerking his cock in his kitchen with the thought of his best friend’s daughter on his mind. He just couldn’t touch you.

Damn if those tits didn’t sit nice under that top, no bra to hold ‘em in. And those shorts…

Daryl felt his head drop back as a wave of pleasure coursed up his spine. In his mind, you were sucking him now, hollowing those soft, sweet cheeks around his member and bobbing your head up and down, again and again, eyes never leaving his. Maybe you’d know to cup his balls, use your tongue to draw a couple lazy shapes down his cock. Any way you wanted it done was exactly how Mr. Dixon needed it, he’d decided.

He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and fucked his hand like a man half his age.

Someone like you.

Scarcely nineteen and so oversexed they might burst.

The difference was Daryl would explode any second now; he had only to hunch over, pump himself a few more times, and finally shoot his load, pretending it was spraying your insides and not the floor of his kitchen.

He’d intended to do just that, clenching his jaw at the filthiest thoughts of you yet, when suddenly, a sound shook the house.

Daryl dropped his cock and looked right out the window.

Down below, outside, you’d laid heavy on your car horn. Let the noise blare a couple seconds before Daryl came bounding over to the window.

When he did, the man thought his legs might buckle.

You were standing beside his truck in the driveway, sponge in hand, soaked head-to-toe in water and soap and smiling brighter than he’d ever seen you. The fabric above your tits was translucent now, clinging like a second skin and affording his lustful gaze every inch of your torso. Your free hand was waving up at him.

Daryl inched the window open with trembling hands.

“Mr. Dixon, this truck is filthy!” you shouted from down below.

Swallowing and blinking was all he knew how to do, it seemed. Finally, Daryl managed, deadpan:

“I know.”

You placed your hands on your hips and narrowed your eyes up at him.

“Have you always been such a dirty old man?”

Fuck. It was like you knew what he’d been doing, crouched over in the privacy of his home while he drooled and dreamed of fucking you stupid. He watched you cross the front of the car.

And lean down to start rubbing your sponge across the hood.

Daryl sincerely feared you might hear his loud groan the second it rose to his throat. He gritted his teeth, tried to fight the sound, but came up short with nothing to show for his efforts but a whimper slipping past his lips.

You started swirling your sponge in circles, tits shaking with every movement you made.

“Too bad little girls ain’t good for nothin’,” you sighed.

When you leaned flat across the metal surface below you, Daryl pictured himself standing behind you, taking his dick and shoving it deep between your folds. Stretching you out and making you scream into the space in front of you.

Slowly, discreetly, Daryl’s hand drifted back to his cock.

“Yeah. Too bad,” he mumbled as you bent over to soak your sponge once more. When you straightened up, you made sure to squeeze the thing over your chest so the water would douse your front. Daryl took the window frame in one hand and his cock in the other, leaning out just slightly to ask, “This the ‘stuff’ ye’s talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Thangs, really,” you answered dryly.

The two of you exchanged a brief smile, and Daryl’s hand started stroking his length.

Lucky for him, and unlucky for you, the size of the window wasn’t primed to make you privy to the sight of him pleasuring himself. At most, you saw a forearm moving gently back and forth. You bit your lower lip and kept your sponge moving in loops.

“Well these ‘thangs’ are gonna get ya in a whole heap of trouble with yer daddy if ya keep this up, girl,” Daryl warned, nodding toward your house with a wary look.

“It’s empty, Mr. Dixon. Whole place is mine for the weekend,” you replied with a sly intonation.

Finally, you stopped long enough to get a hand back down to your shorts. Facing Daryl still, you popped a button on your denim cut-offs and looked up at him with a glossy, innocent stare. You pretended to feel for something that wasn’t there, snagged the band of your light pink thong, and lifted it up to Daryl’s hungry gaze. You saw his bicep visibly strain as he jerked his cock even faster.

Back inside, Daryl was panting, groaning, reeling at the thought of you all alone in your house next door, splayed out across your bed in a baby pink panty set. He soaked in the sight of you and curled his toes into the floor as a new jolt of pleasure broke out through his body.

He was closer than he’d ever been. He rested his head against the window and watched you run your hands over your body, down your front, in your shorts. He imagined your fingers grazing your cunt and how wet you must’ve been then, imagining him right back and fucking him steady with your eyes.

For a moment, your eyelids fluttered, and a blissful look crossed your features. Daryl rutted his hips at the thought of you finding your clit in front of him—desperately wanting to be the source of that pleasure himself—and pumped himself even faster.

“Darlin’, I…I need ya. In such a bad fuckin’ way.” He couldn’t keep the tender term of endearment from dancing on his tongue. The sight of you alone had his brain on the fritz.

You slipped your hand out of your shorts and brought a couple honeyed fingertips to the edge of your lips.

“How bad, Mr. Dixon?” you asked, eyeing him intently.

Daryl whined and felt his insides churn with the threat of release. He knew he couldn’t hold on much longer.

“So— so bad. Need to fuck ya so bad.”

That satisfied your affirmation-hungry itch well enough. You pushed two digits between your lips and started to suck.

From that point on, you didn’t need to see him or hear him or be there waiting patiently on your knees to get a mouthful of his cum—you knew it was coming. Daryl’s face contorted with a blissful, fucked-out expression, and suddenly he was pumping that space below the window full of his load, likely spraying the whole damn thing on the wall.

You stood back and admired your work. Daryl had all but collapsed with both hands planted on the windowsill, wet, brown locks hanging low in his face as the aftershocks of his arousal washed over him.

He was panting and barely able to meet your gaze. You couldn’t quite read the expression.

At any rate, you knew your job here was done.

With a hand waving sweetly back up at him once more, you eyed the mess of a man—your father’s best friend—and started to reach for your bucket and sponge. You buttoned your shorts back up and took a step from his truck. When it seemed Daryl was just then starting to open his mouth to speak, you beat him to it and called out, cheerfully,

“See ya around, Mr. Dixon!”

[granddaughterogg]

So, you're the newest addition to Task Force 141 and you Make a Move on one of the boys. How will they react?

Johnny Soap MacTavish: With utter glee. "Took ya long enough, lass! Thought you'll never shoot your shot!" He'll announce with amusement. Our perky Scotsman is an absolute Sexpot - and he knows it. He is also a master of Living in the Moment aka Seizing the Day. Rules and regulations be damned. "So what do you say?" He'll ask, filling your personal space with all that muscle and clasping those strong hands around your waist. "Wanna go on a date first…" Johnny wiggles his painterly eyebrows. "...Or shall we skip to the good part?"

Ghost: When you confessed that you'd like to spend some time with him in private, he didn't seem thrilled. As is usual case with Ghost, he didn't seem like caring one way or another. All you got in the way of a reaction was his hand, holding the cigarette and now stilled halfway to his mouth. He threw you one of his Stares - Simon Riley's eyes are as beautiful as they are cryptic, you've never been able to read those dark peepers surrounded by white, seemingly frosted eyelashes of dizzying length. Then he muttered something under his breath and walked away. You didn't hear a word from him for the next three days, apart from work orders anyway. Disappointment and embarrassment tormented you in turns. You were silently cursing your big, reckless mouth. On the fourth day he approached you as if nothing had ever happened and said: "Allright". "Allright what, Sir?.." You asked, dumbfounded. "I agree. We should fuck."

Gaz: Oh, this beautiful boy. Out of the whole squad he's probably the one best adapted to Living in a Society. He reacts as any sensible man would: with a charming smile, a proud, joyful gleam in his eye, a trace of a blush almost. "Gosh, Private, really…Me? Well, girl, you got outstanding taste." "Don't I know it," you answer boldly. "Look, babe," he says in a hushed voice, coming closer and putting his hands on your shoulders, "Cap will rip my head off and piss in my neck if he finds out that I'm fooling around with a subordinate...so we're gonna have to be extra careful, 'kay? Can you promise me that?" You nod enthusiastically. This is so exciting!

Captain Price: So you like to live dangerously. There is no safe way that you can Put the Moves on your commander. You know that...right? On the other hand - if you're gonna break the rules, break them hard and break them for good. Tell him that you desire him. That you can't stop thinking about him. Pick a moment when the rest of the guys won't be within a kilometer radius. Say your line and look into those hard, cloudy sky-coloured eyes which have just grown big and round with shock. "Kid," says Price, his voice suddenly a little breathy, which is oh so hot: "Are you out of your goddamn mind?" "Only for you, Sir." Flutter those eyelashes. Come on, lay it on thick. It's been some time since anyone has thrown themselves at the old man. He will sigh the mother of all sighs, then drag one hand across his tired face. "I am you commanding officer." "That you are, Sir." He will come closer, both hands behind his back. Then he'll reach out and gently, oh, so gently touch your cheekbone. "You do realize tha' I could tell you to pack up and send your arse home?" His voice is very meticulously level, but you can feel the volcano bubbling underneath. "I do, Sir. But I just couldn't live a lie. I want you." That boldness will earn you another sigh - this time more ragged. He'll trace his finger over your upper lip, say: "Well fuck me sideways..." like a man who has just experienced a miracle - and then John Price will embrace you in a kiss, shameless, deep and hungry.

This man has been criminally touch starved. Congratulations, you'll have your hands full from now on. Not to mention your…other regions.

[justcallmesakira]

Bsd men with a childish s/o part 2!

Sypnosis: Bsd men with a very silly and goofy s/o with ranpo, akutagawa and nikolai! Genre: Lowkey fluff, crack

Warnings: poisoning with peanuts, sliding down a metal Rollercoaster railing, implied doxxing a Mexican kid, blasting, teeth 😇

A/N: Okay so my last post got loads of likes so I decided to do a part 2 because why not? I don't think I will do part 3 but you can request if you want..?

Ranpo-

Wow... look two autistic lovers challenging each other who can eat the most sweets without getting cavity!

You one time tried stealing his candies,, so he kept you in those childrens tents filled with colorful balls😧😧😧 yk those silly cages made for children so they think they are meant to have fun?

Nahh fukuzawa gunna call the CPS

If you think he will be all sweet with you.... No shit bro your in for a ride, AND I MEAN A LITTERAL RIDE-

"uhh ranpo I don't think we should use a Rollercoaster as a slide" "shut up you kid! Sliding not a crime xD"

Two grown up adults found sliding down a roller coasters rail

BRO let the news reporter have a break 😭

He's kinda like dazai but a bit more childish with you (awh how cute...)

One time he tried to play with a kid on the sandbox but he refused so you came and gaslighted the kid to eat a peanut butter lollipop 🍭🥜

Turns out the kid had allergy to nuts

Kid: AUGHHH AGUH AGHGh AEEEEUGHH you: :3 Ranpo: god must be happy

FAMILY GUY Reference??? YES

And so two totally romantic lovers go on a journey to poison little kids!

Hohoho if aomeone bullies you he's gonna go "Hello (first name) (middle name) (last name) who lives in (full address) and was born in (birth hospital)" on that Mexican kid who tried to bully you

That's hot😋😳🤭

One time you lost your left glove in the winter so he took your left hand and slid it in his gloved hand

YES THAT'S POSSIBLE I DID THAT TO MY hopeless romantic ass Self!!!!

Akutagawa-

....

How did you get him to date you bro 😀

He does not even understand what wrong with you so he always has be the one saving your ass during a mission just in cas3

OH it's not for your protection.... It's him protecting the building so you don't blow it up

😁😁😁

You know how he goes ◉ - ◉ sometimes? That's exactly how he questions your silly antics

"I can't wait for the tooth fairy to come for the teeth under my bed!" "◉-◉" higuchi: you are too old for fallen tooth what are you sa-- Y/N WHO'S TOOTH IS THA--"

He only glared at higuchi telling her to not question it with you behind him ":3"

Sometimes you play with his rashoumon by putting make up on it

Idkdontaskmehowyoudidthat-

"sir we bombed up the plac-" "good" 💁‍♀️💄👹---🧑

GUYS THE DEMON IS THE RASOUMON AND DON'T QUESTION IT

If anything akutagawa is questioning why he has to keep you in a children's daycare

BRO give him a break-

When dazai met you and you two had matching energy he was just staring at you two with respect... He felt a bit felt out though

HUG HIM RIGHT NOW👿

Other then that he tries to understand you and protect you from danger because of your goof :)

Nikolai-

This is gonna get messy.... 😨

Honestly you have matching energy butttttt- BONUS POINTS IF YOU ARE A TERRORIST WHO Goes >:3 WHILE BLOWING UP A BUILDING-

Fyodor is questioning his life choices because you two acCidENtaLly burned his kitchen

"Damn.... It's 7 am..." Fyodor said calmly as he saw his only house burn down

Your gonna become his pretty assistant in his circus or sth🤡

Anyways you know those bumper cars? You two ride those and bump each other with it causing a friction and blasting the whole place

He will let you lay on his thi- I mean lap if you are too tired but don't be surprised to wake up with pigtails and heavy makeup :>

NIKO I love you but if you do that... Things are gonna get way messier😊😊😊

If

If you want anything he Wil just open up his portal and bring

"oioioioi koala (the name you gave him because of kolya) I want to drink shrimp and lollipop soda" *opens up portal and takes out a golden can* "here you go! :3" "Oh tank yew :3"

Totally sane and normal!!

Yes you call him koala instead of kolya but he always goes 😳🤭

I would too bbg wann-

Overall I think it's sort of good to be cheerful I mean at least you get too get away with his pranks (slightly)

Just make sure he doesnt sigma 3 breakdown hair you

A/N: I know this wasn't good but I am not in the mood to write yk--so sorry it's not funny or anything anyways I am not sure whether I WI will write part 3 or not

Tag: @silverbladexyz

Reblogs and likes are very much appreciated!

[earthearthearththearth]

⚾Scout Dating Headcanons⚾

And I could probably think of more

💞It takes him a surprisingly long time to ask you out 

💞He lives fast, probably dies fast, but romance? He wants that to be quick too. Fortunatly for you, he learned a few things from spy’s lessons. Like taking his time a little bit. 

💞Being too forceful is why he things Miss Pauling was a no-go. By the time he starts to like you, he’s completely over her. He can only handle so much in his tiny little brain. 

💞I can’t tell whether he would try to have another prom with you. Probably not. I think he would stick by your side and show off a lot.

💞”Need help carrying that?” It’s a loaf of bread.

💞He carries it anyways. Sometimes it embarrasses you, but the rest of the guys know his ways.

💞After a while, probably when you two finally get a moment alone-he’ll be damned if he hears about this from the team-he finally asks you out. And it is stupid.

🗨"Hey toots, how about we make like a two piece chicken and be together.”

🗨"Hey, you like things that are fast? Cause I know a guy.”

🗨"Can’t spell scout without u”

🗨”You’re hot and I like that”

💞So you say yeah, you’ll date him. Maybe at first you’re a little questionable, but it’s not like you have a lot of options anyway.

💞At first it’s what you would expect. Wanna bang? Do you wanna bang? Do you want to bang? Or perhaps you want to bang. And do you want to bang?” 

💞You probably say sure at some point, but that takes a while. You’re not exactly jumping in.

💞He’s cute and he’s friendly to you, like a dog in some ways, but you are constantly on a battlefield. You hadn’t had this planned exactly.

💞So the actual dating.

💞Always touching you. Hand on the waist, butt, shoulder, arm around the shoulder or waist. He probably wants you to sit on his lap, but he can’t sit still for two seconds. Lots of quick kisses.

💞A fan of sloppy makeouts. It’s very him-ish. This has lead to sex on more tha one occasion, but it’s nice when it’s just some smoochin’ too.

💞I’ve seen a lot of people say he twitches like a dog in his sleep. He does. 

💞Likes to pick you up and swing you around if he can. Sometimes he can, sometimes he can’t. Depends on the time of day. 

💞Very cheesy pickup lines. The amount of times you hear, “Come here often?” is actually insane.

💞Movie nights! No he can’t sit still, but I think he loves zombie movies. You guys talk through the whole thing lol. 

💞He infodumps to you and you do the same. He is a suprisingly good listener. A very active one yes, but he remembers everything. Or at least he tries to. 

💞He is constantly staring at you. He is such a goober. 

💞All in all, he is just so in love and just has a great time knowing you are his.

[im-the-reader-of-which-you-speak]

Cool Cut

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Reader wants a cool, unconventional haircut, but is too shy to get it. Or at least that would be the case, if she wasn't dating Eddie Munson.

Word count: ~1,000

Notes: Reader is implied to have hair long enough to cut. The hair cut they want is described in the first sentence. Not sure if it will work for all hair textures. I think the details are pretty vague otherwise. -- Eddie calls Reader "Babe" and "Baby." -- No pronouns used, but the haircut they want is on a girl. -- Y/N is not used.

Her hair was long in the front and short in the back, like a reverse mullet. The magazine she lies in is a few years old at this point, the cover reads "August 21, 1984." That's how long you've been thinking about the damn haircut.

It was weird. It was unconventional.

It was cool.

You run your fingers through your hair, imagining what it'd be like to have a cut like that. Eddie pokes his head over your shoulder.

"With how much you stare at that lady, I'm starting to think you have a crush, babe." He kisses your neck. "Should I be jealous?"

"No no- don't worry, it's nothing like that! I've only got eyes for you, promise." Setting the tattered magazine down, full attention now on your boyfriend... Only for Eddie to pick it up again and flip right to the page.

"Ya sure? This is the third time you pulled that thing out this week. You study this page like Picasso painted it."

"She just has cool hair 'is all. Don't think I've ever seen anything like it."

He lets out a knowing hum, playing with his curls. "Think I should get it? Would ya like it shorter?" He shines a playful smile.

"No!" You snatch away the magazine before it gives him anymore ideas. "I love your hair exactly how it is!" You grab two fists full of his locks as if that will protect them.

He chuckles, gives you a kiss on the forehead and grabs your hands. "Yeah I love it too. Don't worry, this mop isn't going anywhere." He gives his crown a good shake, relishing in his abundance of curls.

"So do you want a cut like that?"

"Oh uh. Ha, I don't think real people have that sort of hair. That's reserved for like, rockstars and models. Not us lowly serfs."

"Says who? What, are the fashion police gonna stop us?" He hops off the sofa, finger gun pointed in your face. "Place the shears on the ground! We have you surrounded!"

"Officer! I was only getting a bob, I swear!"

"Likely story. With a cut this stylish, you're looking at a lifetime of conical bras high-waisted suspenders."

"Noooo!" You throw your hands up, surrendering to Officer Munson.

Grinning from ear to ear, Eddie ends the scene and returns to his place next to you on the couch. "I know you have shears in the bathroom. The style doesn't look that hard, I bet I could do it if you want."

You thought about it again. Feeling the breeze on your neck. How the long bits in the front would frame your face. You sigh. "No... Thanks but, nobody has hair like that. I'm not trying to put a target on my back." You fold in on yourself. "Probably wouldn't even look good on me anyway."

"Woah. First of all, you'd look hot wearing a fishbowl on your head. You'd look even better embracing your own style." You shy away from his words, but he pulls you right back to him.

"Second of all, what with this target? You're already dating the Freak of Hawkins High." He hops out of his seat, putting on the theatrics. "Are you gonna let them suppress you? Stamp out your individuality? Mold you into a drone like them?"

"Yes."

"So not metal." He rolls his eyes, shot down by words. His body drops down like a sand bag, weighted by disappointment. "I can't control you, babe, but I hope you know I love you. No matter the hair style."

"Even if it's matted and ratty?"

"Even if you were bald. And I think anyone worth a damn would too. 'Cuz you got good taste, baby. And anyone who thinks differently can fuck off!"

How does he make it look so easy? He dances through life like no one is watching. He screams to the world that he's a nerdy metalhead freak every day. He doesn't give the backlash a second thought.

If you were Eddie, you would have had this haircut for years now. And here you are longing for it. What to you is a dream, for him is a reality. You loved Eddie. You loved his style, every little weird thing about him, all his unconventional hobbies. To you he's the epitome of cool.

Man, how did you score a piece like him?

"Okay let's do it."

"Wait what?" Eddie tuned out while you were admiring him. It takes a second to process what you're saying.

"We have hair clippers. Let's do it" You hand him the magazine for reference.

"Fuck yeah baby let's do this!"

You wash your hair and throw on one of Eddie's shirts, one that you don't mind sacrificing to the prickly hair gods. You look in the bathroom mirror. Eddie stands behind you, pulling goofy faces, pretending to be some crazed killer with the scissors.

"Ready babe? Standing firm? Don't move around too much, I don't want to cut your ear off." You take a second to ground yourself, you're really gonna do this. Grasping the sink, you look at Eddie's eyes and he gives you a reassuring smile in the mirror.

"Ready."

He combs through your hair, separating a bit from the back.

Snip!

There's a drop in your stomach as you watch the wet loc fall to the ground.

"Hey could you pull your head back a bit?" He gently guides your face back up to the mirror. "Stay still, let me work my magic here."

Snip snip snip

Eventually you close your eyes-- you can't keep looking anymore. Deep breaths, you focus on Eddie's guiding hands. His fingers lightly scratching across your scalp. The long inhale he takes before holding his breath as he focuses. The long exhale that leaves his mouth as he makes the last cut.

"Done!"

You open your eyes, but he covers them immediately.

"Uh oh Munson, what did you do?"

"Gave you the perfect hair cut. But don't look yet! Let me comb it out and dry it first."

Your eyes mostly remain closed as he gets rid of all the stray hairs, but you manage sneak a little peek while Eddie is blowdrying your hair. His tongue pokes out as he concentrates.

"No peeking!" He blasts your peeping eye with the blow dryer.

A final brush out later he finally announces that you can look.

"What'd'ya think babe? Lookin' like a rockstar?"

Any reasonable person would probably not let Eddie cut their hair. Any reasonable person would probably lock away any sharp objects in his line of site.

But good thing you weren't reasonable, because it was perfect.

"Wow. Eddie, when did you go to cosmetology school?"

"So you like it?"

"Eddie, it's exactly what I wanted."

"Yeah, but how do you feel?"

Finally seeing yourself with the hair you always wanted, only one word comes to mind.

"Metal."

"Damn right you do babe." He squeezes your torso and places a fat kiss on your lips.

If there was any question amongst the student body of Hawkins High that you two were dating, there isn't anymore. Because you two freaks belong together. You guys were too cool for the rest of them anyway.

[sshewonders]

WARM BODIES

Chapter 05: Doubtful

chapter synopsis: Daryl and Merle arrive with supplies. When you ask Daryl to teach you hunting, he dismisses you. Frustrated, you turn to sketching in your tent for emotional release.

chapter warnings: Social isolation, rejection, and self-doubt themes as the protagonist struggles to fit in, seeking validation and finding solace in art.

word count: 1.4k words

author's note: Don't you just love it when writers depict Daryl Dixon in Season 1 just as Norman Reedus portrays him? He's an annoying jerk in Season 1, and I kind of hate it when writers make him out of character, suddenly super sweet. Anyway, enjoy reading!

MASTERLIST

NEXT CHAPTER >>

The Dixon brothers set their tent at a distance, out of sight from the others. You could still keep an eye on them, given that your and Glenn's tent wasn't too far from the Dixons'. While Daryl was busy skinning the squirrels he had caught, Merle had gone off somewhere, probably into the woods to retrieve their pickup or something. Daryl wasn't exactly the sociable type, and when Carl approached him to ask about his cool crossbow, Shane sternly instructed the boy to stay away from the Dixon brothers. You couldn't blame Shane, though. He was just looking out for Carl, right?

Later around lunchtime, Merle returned with a red, worn-out pickup and a motorcycle on the back. A group of men, including Shane, Jim, T-dog, Dale, Morales, Glenn, and others whose names you didn't know, gathered around the pickup. It was loaded with a small arsenal of guns and ammo, enough to provide a bit more security but not nearly sufficient to arm everyone.

Daryl began frying some squirrels, and you observed from a distance while hanging your laundry, which had been washed by Carol. You had a plan - to talk to Daryl and ask him to teach you how to hunt, so you could help bring food to the table and not leave him hunting alone.

After finishing your chores, you made your way to the Dixon brothers' tent. Merle was still absent, probably indulging in who knows what in the woods. The sun was slowly descending in the afternoon sky.

"Hey, Daryl," you started, your voice slightly shaky due to nervousness. You weren't great at socializing, especially with strangers, and there was an unfamiliar lilt in your voice. You cleared your throat, hoping to ease your awkwardness. "I just wanted to thank you for giving some squirrels to Dale. He's cooking them for dinner now. So, thank you."

Daryl, his eyes hard and unreadable, looked up from the pan where he was frying squirrels. An uncomfortable silence hung between the both of you as you tried to decipher his expression.

Then, Daryl scoffed, still focused on the squirrels. He plated more of them, his gruff voice expressing his reluctance to chat. "It's nothin'. It's part of the deal, what tha' cop said, and my brother agreed to it."

After a moment, his gaze returned to the pan, fixated on the sizzling squirrels. He then put a few cooked ones onto a plastic plate, adding another batch to the pan, which crackled with the sound of frying. You kept your distance from the hot oil.

As the oil sizzled and popped, you flinched, your frustration growing. Daryl didn't seem to care much about your unease, and you clenched your fists in frustration.

"Damn it," you muttered to yourself, releasing a heavy sigh. You felt like you were failing at this whole conversation thing.

Daryl glanced at you, a hint of curiosity in his hard eyes. "What?" he asked.

You gathered your courage and got straight to the point. "I need you to teach me how to hunt," you said, causing Daryl's eyes to lock onto you. "Please."

Daryl stared at you, as if you had lost your mind. He offered a disdainful glance and finished frying the squirrels before transferring them to a plate. "Ain't a damn teacher, girl," he scoffed, making his way toward his tent.

Unwilling to give up, you followed him, an anxious expression on your face. "Please. I really need to learn how to hunt. I want to be useful here."

Daryl's harsh tone continued, making your heart sink further. He spat out, "Why don't ya teach yourself? You're an archer, ain't ya? Or are you too delicate for that too? Some people just ain't built for this world."

You felt your heart sink, his response making you upset. You mustered up your resolve and replied, "I may know how to shoot a bow, but I don't know how to track, skin, or prepare game. That's why I need someone like you to show me. Please."

Daryl continued to give you the cold, harsh stare. His annoyance was apparent as he sneered at you, "You ain't cut out for this kind of life, girl. You should stick playin' with your bows and let the real hunters do their job. Ain't nobody got time to babysit you."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment and anger, but you kept your composure and replied, "I may not be cut out for it now, but I'm willing to learn. So, sorry for bothering you, Daryl." With that, you turned away, your eyes glistening with unshed tears, and walked back to your tent, leaving Daryl to his squirrels.

Inside your tent, you stared at you recurve bow with a sense of hopelessness. What was the point of begging someone, especially a skilled hunter, to teach you how to hunt if they clearly despised you? It felt futile. You couldn't help but feel proud of bringing Daryl and Merle to the camp, securing a valuable source of food and weaponry. Still, a small part of you had hoped that Daryl would agree to teach you.

You had always excelled in archery. You had won numerous awards and accolades before the world fell apart, both at school and in town events. But now, in the damned new world, everything was different. Target practice on stationary darts was nothing like aiming at moving and dangerous creatures like the geeks.

You grappled with a deep sense of inadequacy in the camp. Every time you attempted to help with chores, the older women insisted on taking over, believing the tasks were too strenuous for you. When you expressed interest in gathering firewood, the men gently discouraged you, stating that such labor wasn't suitable for someone of your stature. Trying your hand at cooking resulted in laughter and ridicule, with a past incident involving almost setting a pot on fire being the source of the amusement.

You despised it all. You couldn't stand being treated like a child. You were twenty-seven years old, after all. You and Glenn were of the same age, yet he had been remarkably useful to the camp, taking on various tasks like firewood collection, car repairs, and even venturing into the city for supply runs. For you, it was an ongoing cycle of feeling inept. You had been seen as useless before the world turned to chaos, and it seemed that nothing had changed since.

You couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by a sense of self-doubt. You thought about your brother, who had always been there to support you and push you to be better. Your eyes began to well up with tears as you reminisced about those moments.

Your voice cracked as you muttered to yourself, "Why can't I just be strong and useful like Glenn?" You wiped away a few tears and took a deep breath. It wasn't just about being strong physically; you felt a deep need to prove your worth to the group.

You set your bow aside, your trembling hands reaching for the worn leather bag beside you. With a deep sigh and tears glistening in your eyes, you carefully unzipped the bag, revealing the art materials within. The act of unzipping the bag felt like unearthing a piece of your past life, one that was filled with colors, inspiration, and dreams.

The sketchbook, its pages slightly yellowed with age, felt cool to the touch. You opened it gently, revealing a blank canvas waiting to be filled. Your charcoal pencils, meticulously organized by size, lay beside the sketchbook. The variety of pencils, from 4H to 6B, held the potential to capture the depth of your emotions.

In the dim light of your tent, illuminated only by a flickering candle, you began to draw. Each stroke was a release of the tension that had built up inside you. Your hand, guided by your emotions, moved with nothing but sadness.

Tears streaked down your face as you allowed your emotions to pour onto the paper. The sketch took shape, revealing a face with furrowed brows and eyes heavy with sorrow. The lines of the sketch mirrored the turbulence within your soul, the turmoil you had been trying to contain.

Time seemed to stand still as you poured your heart into the artwork. By the time you put down your charcoal pencil, the sketch was complete. You gazed at your creation, your tears now dried on your cheeks. The intensity of the emotional release left you feeling drained yet strangely relieved. The sketch captured a glimpse of your inner world, a silent cry for understanding and acceptance.

Art had been your solace for as long as you could remember, and it was a reminder that even in the darkest of times, you could find a way to express yourself and heal.

@celtic-crossbow @maackiimoo @duckmania127 @xmaeyonaiise @richardsamboramylove55

[shroudandsands]

Prompt #25: Perpetuity

The wind rushed past him. Colors bled into an unintelligible stream of light. A swirl of sight and sound that lasted for just as long as he could stay lost somewhere between the air and the water below- Which rushed to take him in its gentle embrace.

It’d be easy to think that the swim back to shore was his least favorite part of his life. To climb his way to incredible heights, at times clawing his way up them. To crest the peak of it and stare out upon the distance and the sky and the setting sun. To throw himself from it to experience the greatest thrill any person alive could, feeling every piece of him come alive from the sheer rush of it. To sink deep into the waters below and come to something of a kind of peace. Of course. He’s had those thoughts a million times by now. It was an easy, constantly satisfying routine. At this point there were coastlines off of Vylbrand that he could count every stone. Trace every crack in the cliff as he was falling. And name every plant as he climbed up once again. It was familiar. It was comforting. It was, in some ways, a calming piece of a hobby meant only for the absolutely fucking nuts. And he was pretty high on that scale. So. The swim back to shore.

He let the roll of a wave pull him in towards the shoreline until he could get his feet down and steady in the sand. His hair pushed back to get seawater out of his eyes, his drenched shirt pulled off and wrung out once he could finally stand, his boots yanked off so they could drain out for a little while. The whirl of the wind was still in his ears as he watched Sif while away the mid-day sun with the latest of their takes- Swiped coconuts from a merchant and a few jars of lye that would shore up the stockpile for the next few moons. He could feel the salt on his skin as she looked up at him. A wave of the spoon from in front of their fire. A roll of her eyes as she saw him stripping before he could even make it all the way out of the water. “Y’ really think yer gonna be doin’ this forever, Walker?” She shouted out, the spoon pointed at him in that judgemental way that only a wooden spoon could really manage. “Tha’s the plan, lass! That’s the plan.” She clicked her tongue as she returned to stirring the pot whilst he slowly made his way across hot sand and rock to reach her. His shirt badly tethered to a makeshift line, his boots dropped onto a flat rock in the sun, a towel pulled into his hands and left to sit on his head while he dried off.

“How far along are y’ yet, lass?” He bumped her- she bumped him back before making a noise of frustration that he was still wet- and looked over the edge of the pot. “Ain’t far. Since we’re settin’ up early fer yer fun li’l death defyin’ hobby- yer still a maniac, by th’ way- I fig’red I’d just get us started. Yer gonna be takin’ over soon enough anyways.” She tapped the spoon a couple of times over the pot before chucking another piece of wood into the flames underneath. “I need m’ beauty rest.” “Yer beauty rest.” “Aye, y’ain’t the only one here needin’ enough sleep t’ stay pretty an’ prime fer public appearances.” “An’ ‘ere I thought you were jus’ naturally funny lookin’ all the time. Now yer sayin’ y’ have t’ work to look like tha’?” He got whacked with a boot. “Alrigh’, alrigh’ jus’- Jus’ ‘and m’ the damn spoon an’ get yer clown-y sleep y’ darlin’ lass-” He got whacked with the other boot.

The swim back to shore, if you took everything individually, was certainly not the best part of the whole event. Salt water all over him. Drenched clothes. The annoying task of fighting the waves and the tide as he made his way back to land. But he supposed (inwardly, at least. It’s not as if anyone was having this conversation with him.) that if taken as a part of the whole moment, the whole day, the moment from climbing up to starting over again… He glanced into the pot as the oil within slowly started to thicken. He pulled it off the heat for a moment as he searched for their jar of lye crystals… An eyeballed handful and another toss onto the fire for stirring.

Yeah. He liked this part. “That’s the plan, lass,” He murmured to himself. Even as the salt stuck to his skin. Even as she laid against a tree, hat over her face. “That’s the plan.”

[kaizenkhaos]

Okay so as soon as I saw the pool boy Billy post from @ariesbilly, I had to sit down and write something. And lo and behold, half an hour later, here comes my contribution in the form of a ficlet :D Because Billy needed a second job and Steve's mom was looking for a pool boy. And like Billy is ever going to miss a chance to "torment" the pretty boy ;) Brief mention of Billy's home life and his job at Hawkin's Pool. Otherwise it's the boys all the way ^^

It was that time of year again. Summer. And Billy had not just one gig this time but two. Cos apparently being in the house at all during daylight was a red flag and being a man meant being out all days of the week, earning money for the household. There weren't enough hours going at the pool, and Billy hadn't wanted to spend any more hours around damn screaming kids and horny moms anyway. There was only so much he could handle for either of them. The screams setting his teeth on edge, his jaw tightening, and the stares stirring the pit of his stomach in an unpleasant way. So when a notice was plastered outside of the Harrington house, saying somethin' about needing a pool boy, well like hell Billy was gonna give up that opportunity. Nor was he gonna let anyone else scoop it up. With his best smile and swiping the ad from the wall, he'd strode up to that door and sweet talked Mrs Harrington, who'd given him the job on the spot. When could he start? Right away ma'am. Earning money from the rich boy's household and getting to torment him? Maybe this summer was shaping up to be somethin' after all.

He'd not seen him the first couple of days, him or his car. But then one Saturday, the pretty boy had come rolling up the drive. Cu the engine before going through to the back and dumped himself on one of the loungers. Billy had been working on cleaning the edges, looked over at where a smoke trail started to head towards the sky. Wolf grin emerged as he slowly picked himself up. His eyes locked onto Steve as he strolled over to him. Lording over him until Steve finally rolled his eyes in his direction.

"Harrington! So the lord of the manor decides to finally show his face." The look that descended on Steve's face made Billy's grin twice as wide. Well, well, well. He clearly had no idea about the new arrangement. This could be fun. Momma Harrington apparently hadn't let her little boy know that they now had a pool boy. Or who he was.

"What the hell you doing here? Decide that breaking and entering is more your thing?" "Nah, though your pool is worth it any day of the week." Billy cast his eyes over it. How the other life lived. But now he was here, legally, and could do what he always liked to do. No escaping him now huh Harrington.

"You know, you always think you're something special. With your big house and your pool and your hair and all. Swanning around school and this place like you're hot shit. But…." He paused, his grin turning to a sideways smirk as he eyed up the ex-King. "There's always one that's hotter Harrington." An eye roll and Steve took a slow drag of his cigarette before he tilted his head in Billy's direction. Billy watching the snark and all flashing behind his eyes. Wondering what comeback the pretty boy of Hawkins High had in store for him this time. But when all he got was a glare and that, 'Yeah, your point is?' look, Billy leaned further towards him. "Hawkins' a small place man and you know that better than anyone. Being a purebred and all. But you know, I can't help but wonder if you're slipping further. Like it's clear that you don't know the deal I have with your mom, so I can't help but wonder what else you don't know." Now Steve was sitting up and Billy knew he had him just where he wanted him. "Oh, ho ho. King Steve really has fallen. Did Hagan not tell you our deal either?"

"What the hell you going on about?"

Now Billy was so close, he could inhale the smoke fully. It disappeared up his nostrils and puffed back into Steve's handsome face. "Well, one that your mom hired me as your lifeguard to make sure you don't go and drown yourself in this fancy pool of yours. And second, that seeing as you've been putting your ass out there, if I took a liking to you pretty boy. Then I'd get some too."

Steve's face, as Billy pulled back to see the effort of his words. A kleidoscope of emotions crossed the jock's face as he rapidly got to his foot. Fight mode active, eyes blazing. The side of King Steve Billy loved to provoke out of its slumber. The side he wanted to see. He wanted Harrington every which way, but he craved the pushback today. "Hit a nerve? Didn't even have to tell you to get up. But I can tell you somethin' else." "Oh yeah?" "Yeah. Take your damn clothes off. Now."

A snort and he wondered for a brief moment if Steve was gonna tell him to fuck off or would actually comply. An eyebrow crept up his face as Steve's hands went to the bottom of that top which showed off his body. Yeah pretty boy, that's right. Take the bait…. "You want my clothes off huh?" Yep. All nice and riled now wasn't he. Playing right into Billy's hands. "You know that I fucked him right. Him and the whole basketball team. And the cheerleaders. Sometimes at the same time." Billy had of course heard the rumours. That Steve had been practically pimping himself out and it had only taken a few nights with Hagan and Perkins to apparently have switched King Steve back on and put him back in the game. Billy didn't care at all. It's not like he had any room to judge number of bed partners. He just wanted to get his name to the top of the list. And stay there.

"But fine man, you wanna see my ass? Fine." The top was off and finally Billy got to gaze at that fine body whilst getting paid for it. Looking disinterested on the outside, as if it actually bored him to see it. But inside he was running hot, feeling himself swell inside his shorts.

"Get em off Harrington."

A slight pause as Steve slung his top onto the lounger and then worked on his jeans. A fluid motion which Billy wanted to see over and over. A sight which would play on his mind late at night and early in the morning.

"I don't need this shit….. You want this ass? You can have it." Just what he wanted to hear, and see that big bulge waiting for him. It was going to be all his and Billy managed to just keep the eagerness off his face. Couldn't let Steve know how much he'd wanted to be another notch on his bedpost after all. Make him think this was just another fling, another write off and not the start of something else.

"Haven't got all day man. Show me that fucking dump truck of an ass."