#give me this prompt I grab at it with need

[redvdress]

Ahem katsuki taking care of you when your sick? 🫣

I’m so sick lately I need something to devour rn to survive (you don’t have to tho dw bb)

DUMBASS FLU PATROL

A/N: i’m SO SO SO SORRY this and all the other requests are taking so long but i’ve been running out of ideas and school took a lot of time from me. This prompt was just so fun to write ‘cause I can perfect picture bakugo taking care of reader..in his own way..I’ve been sick to after hanging out for halloween night, we all need a bakugo to take care of us🦇

It starts with Bakugo noticing something off about you during class.

He wouldn’t say anything right away, but he’s sharp enough to pick up on small changes. You’re quieter than usual, your eyes look a little glazed, and you keep rubbing your temples.

At first, he thinks you’re just tired from all the late-night study sessions you two have been pulling together, but when you keep sniffling and coughing under your breath, he starts to get annoyed.

Not at you—no, he’s irritated because you’re clearly sick and trying to tough it out, which to him is just stupid.

As class goes on, he watches you like a hawk out of the corner of his eye.

You’re shivering slightly, even though the room isn’t cold. Finally, during a brief break, he leans over, his usual scowl firmly in place as he mutters,

“Oi, what the hell’s wrong with you? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

You give him a tired smile, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine, Bakugo. Just a little under the weather.”

“Bullshit,” he snaps, barely lowering his voice. A couple of classmates look over, but Bakugo doesn’t care.

“You’re sick, dumbass. Why didn’t you stay in bed?”

You shrug, trying to play it off like it’s no big deal. “Didn’t want to fall behind.”

Bakugo grits his teeth, muttering curses under his breath.

The fact that you’d drag yourself to class, even when you’re clearly unwell, pisses him off more than he’d like to admit.

Part of him is frustrated that you’re so stubborn, but another part—the part he doesn’t like to acknowledge—feels a strange pang of concern.

After class, he’s practically glued to your side, his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched as he escorts you out of the room. You insist you’re fine, that you just need some rest, but Bakugo’s having none of it.

“Shut up,” he growls when you try to brush him off. “You’re goin’ back to your room, and you’re not leavin’ until you’re better. Got it?”

You try to argue, but Bakugo’s glare is unyielding. His hand finds the small of your back, firm but surprisingly gentle as he steers you down the hall. He’s not usually one for soft gestures, but something about seeing you weak and vulnerable sets off an instinct he can’t ignore.

Once he gets you to your dorm room, he practically shoves you inside, crossing his arms as he stands in the doorway, blocking any chance of escape.

“Get in bed,” he orders, his voice rough but laced with an unmistakable note of concern.

You sigh, knowing better than to argue with him at this point.

You climb into bed, pulling the covers over yourself as he watches, his eyes sharp and critical, like he’s assessing just how sick you are.

After a moment, he grumbles, “You got medicine in here?”

You nod weakly, gesturing toward your desk where you have a small stash of over-the-counter meds.

Bakugo grabs them, inspecting each bottle with a furrowed brow, clearly reading the labels with more intensity than necessary.

He pours out the recommended dosage and hands it to you along with a glass of water, his expression a mixture of irritation and reluctant care.

“Take it” he says, watching closely as you down the pills. You can’t help but chuckle softly at his intensity, which only makes him scowl harder.

“Quit laughing, idiot. You’re the one who’s sick,” he mutters, almost to himself.

Bakugo doesn’t leave after that.

Instead, he grabs a chair from your desk, dragging it over to sit beside your bed, his arms crossed as he watches you. You raise an eyebrow, surprised by his persistence.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” you murmur, your voice a little hoarse.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Like I’m gonna leave you here to get worse just ‘cause you’re stubborn as hell. Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t do somethin’ stupid.”

There’s a warmth in his tone, buried under layers of gruffness, but it’s there.

The corners of his mouth twitch, almost like he’s considering a smile, but he quickly forces his expression back into a scowl.

You settle under the blankets, feeling a strange sense of comfort in his presence.

For the next few hours, Bakugo stays put, occasionally checking your temperature with the back of his hand (grumbling something about “damn germs” every time he does it) and making sure you’re drinking enough water. At one point, he disappears for a few minutes and comes back with a bowl of soup he somehow got from the cafeteria.

It’s barely warm by the time he returns, but the gesture makes your chest feel warm.

“Eat” he commands, holding the bowl out to you.

You take it, giving him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Bakugo.”

He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, whatever. Just don’t get used to it.”

As the day goes on, you start to drift in and out of sleep, your fever making you drowsy. Each time you wake, Bakugo is still there, watching over you with a mixture of irritation and quiet worry. At one point, you feel his hand gently brush your forehead, checking for any sign of improvement.

The touch is warm—maybe a bit too warm, given his quirk—and you find it oddly soothing.

Just as you’re dozing off again, you hear him mutter under his breath, “Stupid… makin’ me worry like this…”

It’s barely audible, but it makes your heart flutter.

You feel yourself drifting back into sleep, a faint smile on your lips as you listen to him grumble, his voice softening in a way you rarely hear.

When you wake up again, it’s late, the room bathed in the dim glow of your bedside lamp. Bakugo’s still there, now slouched in the chair, looking half-asleep himself. He’s fighting to stay awake, his arms crossed, head nodding forward slightly.

You feel a pang of guilt, realizing he’s been with you all day. “You should go rest..” you whisper, not wanting him to feel obligated to stay.

He snaps awake, scowling. “I’m fine. You’re the one who looks like crap.”

You can’t help but smile, too tired to argue with him. Instead, you simply reach out, your fingers brushing his arm. He stiffens for a moment, surprised by the contact, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Thank you… really,” you murmur, your voice soft.

He looks at you, and for a second, his expression softens, his usual harshness fading just slightly. He lets out a small sigh, leaning forward to gently press his hand against your forehead again, feeling your temperature one last time.

“Tch. You’re still warm,” he mutters, but there’s a tenderness in his tone that he can’t quite hide. Not with you.

You close your eyes, feeling yourself drift back into sleep, his presence comforting and grounding.

Just before you drift off completely, you feel his hand linger on your forehead, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. It’s such a small, unexpected gesture, but it speaks volumes—his way of showing he cares without saying a word.

As you fall asleep, you can just barely hear him mumbling under his breath, his tone low and almost affectionate.

“You better get better soon, idiot. Can’t have you fallin’ apart on me.”

[doeeyeseddie]

Piaaaaaa "brushing their arm against the other's, hoping the other would finally catch their arm and hold it close" please, we already know they constantly brush arms anyway!

fridaaaa this took me, once again, many months to get to and i sort of only vaguely filled the actual prompt, but i hope you still enjoy it <3

5+1 things, rated t, wc: 4k

[read on ao3]

I.

Eddie’s first day as a probationary firefighter is…interesting. Captain Nash welcomes him with the same warm smile he gave him the first time they talked, then leads him inside and shows him around the app bay.

“We’ll give you the full tour later,” he promises, “after you’ve met the rest of the team. You’re the first one here, if you want, you can change into your uniform now.”

He points towards the locker room – which has glass walls for some reason – and Eddie nods.

He’s just finished buttoning up his shirt when Captain Nash ushers a group of firefighters inside. Eddie runs a hand through his hair to make sure it’s tidy and smiles as Hen and Chimney introduce themselves to him with warm smiles and handshakes, welcoming him to the team.

There’s a third person with them, hovering in the background and glowering at Eddie. He’s young, probably around Eddie’s age, tall and very built, and despite his hostile expression, he doesn’t give Eddie the impression of being an asshole. It’s like the expression doesn’t fit on his face, like he’s not used to wearing it.

Chim grabs him by the arm and pushes him forward, giving Eddie a commiserating smile.

“And this guy is Buck,” he says. “He was our probie before you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Eddie says politely, stretching a hand out to offer a handshake. “You’ll have to show me how things work around here, then.”

Buck glowers down at his hand, and when he finally grabs it, he squeezes it too tightly, like he’s trying to prove something. Eddie squeezes back, amused by the pretense this guy is clearly putting on.

Behind Buck’s back, Hen rolls her eyes, but she’s also wearing a fond look, which only confirms Eddie’s assumption that Buck isn’t half as bad as he’s pretending to be.

From Captain Nash, he knows that they’re supposed to work together a lot of the time, so that’s gonna be interesting. He doesn’t know why Buck is acting like this, but he’s gonna find out, and then he’s gonna figure out a way to work with Buck anyway.

He didn’t come here to make friends, but he’ll be spending 50 hours a week with these people, and he has to trust them with his life for a lot of that time, so they at the very least need to bury whatever hatchet Buck is carrying right now.

Eddie lets go of his hand with a nod and a polite smile, and gives himself a week to figure Buck out.

II.

The days between the accident and the funeral are kind of a blur.

There’s too much to do and think about, too many decisions to make, too many people to call, too much to organize. He has help – Abuela, Pepa, the entire 118, but it still feels too much.

Shannon was 27, she didn’t have a will, they never talked about any of this. How is Eddie supposed to know how she would like to be buried, or if she’d rather be cremated? What kind of music she would want them to play at her funeral? This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not for a very, very long time.

But it did happen, and now Eddie is somehow supposed to know all this about her, his wife, the woman he’s only just let back into his and Christopher’s lives, the woman who asked him for a divorce and completely pulled the rug from under his feet just a day before she died.

Sometimes, he feels like he didn’t know her at all.

His parents are here “to help”, which should be a relief but really isn’t. They never liked Shannon and aren’t making a secret of it, even now that– now that she’s gone. So Eddie can’t involve them in the funeral planning, and he can’t even leave Christopher with them because he’s scared that they’re gonna take the opportunity to grab him and run, and someone needs to make sure that Shannon’s memory is honored, but she didn’t have any family except him and Christopher, and Chris is seven, so Eddie has to be the one to make this funeral beautiful, something she’d deserve, but he doesn’t know– there’s so much–

“Eddie,” someone says next to him, snapping him out of his spiral. “Come on, breathe with me.”

Eddie stares at Buck’s chest as it rises and falls with exaggerated breaths, trying to match him. When did Buck get here? He doesn’t remember letting him in, doesn’t really remember what he was doing before he started hyperventilating on his couch.

“Chris,” he gasps when he realizes that also means he’s not sure where his kid is. And of course he’s the kind of father who would do that only days after his kid lost his mom, maybe his parents are–

“Is with Hen and Karen,” Buck says firmly, grabbing his forearm. “He’s gonna spend the day with them and Denny, probably getting spoiled rotten. I borrowed Pepa’s key when we went over there so they could pick him up, she told me you might not open – sorry for barging in here, but I’m glad I did. I know you– I wanted to– Bobby and Athena are running interference with your parents. And I’m here to help you with all that.” He gestures towards the couch table that’s covered in forms, leaflets from funeral homes, and cards from grief counselors. “After Abby’s mom– I helped plan her funeral. So I’ve got some experience.”

Eddie just stares at him, biting the inside of his cheek hard to stop himself from crying. He trusts Buck, but he still doesn’t want to cry in front of him, doesn’t want to cry in front of anyone. But he does think that maybe he should give Buck his own copy of a key, so he won’t have to borrow Pepa’s next time.

Buck squeezes his forearm and gives him a small, sad smile. “We’re all here for you, Eddie. I got your back, remember?”

Eddie blinks against the tears in his eyes and swallows around the lump in his throat that’s keeping him from saying anything.

Instead, he twists his arm from Buck’s grip and grabs his hand instead, squeezing it in a silent thank you.

Buck squeezes back and keeps holding on.

III.

Buck gets to go home earlier than anyone expected, but Eddie has been to his new apartment, so he isn’t surprised when Buck texts him a picture of his couch with a sad face. It’s not ideal, but at least he has a bathroom downstairs and a girlfriend who can help if he struggles with anything.

Until he doesn’t have that girlfriend anymore.

Eddie doesn’t find out until after his shield ceremony, days after, actually, once his parents have finally gone home to Texas.

Buck says he’s fine, obviously, but Eddie starts going over every day he doesn’t have a shift anyway, because he knows Buck and can see how much he’s struggling with the whole situation, with the uncertainty of when and how he can return to work.

He brings Christopher most of the time. They’re not having the best summer either, Eddie still worries that he’s not doing enough to help Christopher deal with his grief, when he can barely keep his own head above the water of grief, guilt and fear.

Carla is doing what she can, watching Christopher whenever Eddie’s working, she found him a grief counselor and is even looking into more permanent therapists.

None of it changes the fact that they’re grieving. 

But when Christopher gets to hang out with Buck, he lights up every time, and so does Buck, which makes this a two birds with one stone kind of situation. Hanging out with Buck helps them both, too, makes their grief not the first thing on their minds for a little while.

Buck can’t move much, so they play board games and try to find one they all enjoy equally – it’s not easy, since Eddie likes luck-based games (he plays poker with his abuela and tía whenever he can), Buck prefers trivia and games relying on knowledge, while Christopher likes strategic games most.

But everyone gets to pick sometimes, and when they don’t want to play board games, they switch to video games instead.

Eddie knew that Buck and Chris get along well, they have ever since the first time they met, when Buck drove Eddie to Chris’ school after the earthquake during Eddie’s second week at the 118. But with how much time the three of them are spending together now, he can see them growing closer every day – and he loves it.

Buck is his best friend, and he genuinely cares about Christopher in a way that feels completely independent from Eddie.

One evening, while they’re playing a few rounds of Christopher’s current favorite video game after dinner, the kid falls asleep between them on the couch.

Buck smiles down at him and lowers the volume of the TV, which means he loses even more clearly to Eddie, but he had the win in the bag anyway, he’s sure.

Buck rolls his eyes at him when Eddie celebrates his victory with big, silent gestures, but he’s smiling, too.

Eddie grins at him, resting his arm on the back of the couch behind Chris, and Buck twists a little to face him. His leg, resting outstretched on the couch table in front of them, moves with him, and Eddie slides Christopher’s glass of water out of the way in a practiced move.

“I know you’re here to keep an eye on me,” Buck says, “and I should probably be annoyed. I– I was kind of annoyed, at first. But it’s hard to stay annoyed when he’s here, right?” He nods down at Christopher. “And I guess you’re okay, too.”

“Wow, thanks,” Eddie says, but he knows his glare isn’t convincing. “To be clear, we’re all keeping an eye on each other.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Buck reaches for Eddie’s hand, still on the backrest between them, and squeezes it – just for a moment, like he’s trying to get Eddie’s attention, like he doesn’t already have it anyway. “Thanks.”

IV.

Everything sucks.

It’s the uncertainty that gets to Eddie most, the not knowing how to help, how to stay safe, how to keep his loved ones safe. How long this is gonna last.

Every day, they have to see people die from a virus they know nothing about, and can’t do anything against.

And afterwards, they can’t even go home.

Christopher is part of a high risk group, and Eddie risks exposure at work every day, so obviously, he can’t endanger him by living with him. Chimney feels the same way about Maddie, and Hen also wants to keep her family safe, which is how the three of them ended up at Buck’s apartment, where they’ve been camped out for the past three weeks.

It’s generous of Buck to let them all stay with him, but the loft is not made for four people to live there, and they’re all feeling it.

Eddie loves his friends, but spending every minute of every day with them is starting to wear on him. They all try to give each other space, using the balcony as an extra room or going for runs outside, but there’s only so much they can do. 

He hates being separated from Chris, it makes him feel like he’s breaking his promise to never leave him behind again. Christopher says he understands, but Eddie worries anyway. He trusts Pepa, who’s working fully remote and offered to stay with Chris, and they talk every day, but it’s not the same as being there.

Whenever he talks to Chris on the phone, he feels better in the moment, but worse the second they hang up. While they’re talking, he can almost pretend that things are normal, but it all comes crashing down afterwards.

He hasn’t hugged his son in weeks, and he has no idea when he’s even gonna see him in person again.

Buck joins their calls most of the time, at least for a few minutes, and he sits next to Eddie on the bed now, shoulders slumped where they’re touching Eddie’s. In a world where he has to keep his distance from almost everyone, except the patients he’s treating and the people he’s living with, touching and being touched by Buck is a real comfort.

“This won’t be forever, Eddie,” he says, almost desperately. 

“But for how long?” Eddie asks, and it comes out sounding a little wobbly.

He’s not embarrassed by it anymore – Buck’s seen him in all kinds of situations, and they’re currently sharing a bed, so he’s seen him cry anyway.

“I–I wish I knew,” Buck says. “I wish I could– fix this.”

Eddie wipes at his eye and laughs a little. “The whole pandemic?”

“If I could, yeah.” Buck shrugs.

Eddie presses even closer to him for a moment, a gentle pressure of their shoulders, arms and thighs against each other. “I wish you could, too. But even if you can’t – I’m glad you’re here.”

“Of course.” Buck smiles at him and places his hand on Eddie’s thigh, palm up.

Eddie smiles back and grabs his hand, squeezing tightly.

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath. “I think it’s our turn to make dinner tonight – you ready?”

“Ready when you are,” Buck says, but he doesn’t let go until Eddie does.

V.

After Chris has gone to sleep, after Eddie has finally stopped crying, after Buck has wrapped his knuckles and cleaned up the worst of the mess in Eddie’s bedroom – the shards, the pieces of drywall, the fallen furniture, he makes up the couch for Eddie to sleep on. Eddie wants to help him, to tell him that he’ll just sleep in his room, but he can’t seem to move from his seat at the dining table.

Everything feels like too much, his hands hurt and his head worse, and he can’t stand the thought of Buck leaving. He’s exhausted, but he knows he won’t sleep if Buck goes home now.

But he can’t ask him to stay, not after Buck already dropped everything because Eddie couldn’t keep it together. He probably had plans, and Eddie ruined those too.

He can already feel the hot burn of tears behind his eyes again and drops his forehead onto his arms, folded on the table in front of him.

Buck’s hand lands on his back, warm, then travels up to squeeze the back of his neck gently.

“You ready to sleep?” he murmurs, and Eddie makes a noncommittal sound. “Come on, you must be exhausted.”

Eddie shrugs and Buck’s thumb brushes along his hairline.

“You don’t have to go in there, I can get you anything you need,” Buck says quietly. “And I’ll be right next to you in case you have a nightmare.”

“You’re staying?” Eddie asks, lifting his head. Buck’s hand stays where it is.

“Of course, Eddie,” Buck says, like it’s that easy.

And maybe it is that easy, Eddie thinks when they settle in next to each other in the living room, Eddie on the couch and Buck on a makeshift bed next to it. He’s pushed the couch table to the side to make room for it and it looks like he’s dragged Eddie’s mattress here, so at least Eddie doesn’t need to worry about him sleeping on the floor.

They’ve been by each other’s side through so much shit, maybe it’s not such a surprise that Buck wants to be here now too. He’s just not sure he deserves it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, staring up at the ceiling instead of looking at Buck. “You had plans– I’m sure you didn’t want to–”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Buck says firmly. “Of course I’ll come whenever Christopher calls. O–or if you need me. I’m here, okay?”

“I keep thinking about her,” Eddie mumbles, pressing the heels of his hands to his burning eyes. “Mills. Last August– I should’ve– if I’d picked up the phone earlier–”

“This isn’t on you.” There’s rustling and then Buck is gripping Eddie’s forearms, trying to gently pull his hands away from his face. “I d-don’t know what Mills was going through, but I know that you couldn’t have known how bad it was. It’s sad, and it’s unfair, but it’s not your fault. And I know you’re feeling all these things now, but Eddie– I’m so happy you’re still here. I need you to– know that. Okay?”

Eddie finally lowers his arms, but instead of letting go fully, Buck just grabs his right hand and holds on. His eyes are wide and scared, and Eddie has scared too many people he loves tonight.

“Okay,” he says, even though– well. What makes him special? Why should he be the only one to get out? He’s not a better person than any of them, he doesn’t have a right to happiness or whatever he’s been deluding himself into believing he could have. 

But he knows that he can’t tell Buck that now (or ever), knows that it’s a dark road to go down.

Maybe for tonight, with Buck by his side, he can keep the thoughts at bay for a little bit longer. After that– he has no idea. But Buck is still holding his hand, and Eddie may not deserve him, but he trusts him.

He thinks it may just give him enough hope to get through this night.

+ I

“This was nice,” Buck says, holding the door for Eddie as they leave the restaurant. “You, uh, you really didn’t have to pay, though.”

“I wanted to,” Eddie says with a smile, glancing right towards their cars and then left to where the beach is only a short walk away, and finally back to Buck’s face, finding him already looking back. “How do you feel about taking a walk?”

Buck grins, turning left. “Let’s go.”

They’re not on a date, or at least they haven’t called it that, but Eddie has been thinking that it feels like one all night. Technically, they’re two friends trying out a new restaurant together. They drove here separately, no one pulled anyone’s chair out, they talked the same way they always do.

But Eddie spent half an hour picking something to wear tonight, Buck is wearing a shirt that looks new and gorgeous and fit for a date, and every time their eyes caught across the table, Eddie thought that maybe, Buck wouldn’t pull away if he reached out and took his hand.

It’s not the first time Eddie has thought that. Ever since Buck and Tommy broke up, it’s felt like maybe they’re heading towards something, familiar touches lingering and turning into something new, gazes catching and then holding instead of looking away.

Buck was upset for a little while afterwards, but he admitted to Eddie that it was more about another failed relationship – and his first one with a man, after he thought he’d finally figured out what was missing, than about Tommy as a person.

He went on a couple of dates, with men and women, but nothing ever stuck.

Eddie was going through his own stuff at the time – he eventually came out to Buck a week before Chris finally came home, and Buck hasn’t been on a date since.

Sometimes, Eddie wonders (hopes), if the two things are related.

Still, neither of them has called tonight a date – yet.

Eddie glances at Buck’s profile while they’re walking, and wonders what he’s waiting for.

Yes, it’s scary because Buck is the most important person in his life right after Christopher, but it’s also not, because this is Buck. Who has been by Eddie’s side through the worst, most painful, most humiliating times of his life, and is still here. Buck, who Eddie trusts with his life, and his son, and his heart.

Buck smiles at him and Eddie smiles back, heartbeat picking up. He’s doing this, he’s gonna tell Buck how he feels. Any minute now, he’s gonna be brave enough.

“Hey,” Buck says, “it’s just me.”

“I know,” Eddie says, and his heart thumps against his ribs. He lets his fingers brush against Buck’s on their next swing and watches as Buck bites his lip, smiling down at the ground. Hushed, like a confession, he adds, “Are you nervous, too?”

Buck looks back up at him then, eyes glittering in the dark. “Y-yeah. I am.”

They’ve reached the edge of the beach by now and bend down to take off their shoes without having to talk about it.

When they start walking again, they’re even closer than before, the backs of their hands, their elbows and shoulders all brushing with every step.

Eddie keeps stealing glances at Buck, and almost every time, Buck is already looking back.

There aren’t many people at the beach at this time of day, so they don’t come close to anyone else, and all they hear is the sand beneath their feet and the waves crashing a few feet away. The moon is big enough to be reflected on the sea, a beautiful sight, but Eddie still can’t look away from Buck for long.

“So, this is, uh, kind of romantic,” Buck blurts out after a few quiet minutes. “Right? I–I’m not misreading that?”

“No,” Eddie says. “I mean– you’re not misreading it.”

“But you’re nervous.”

When their knuckles brush again, Eddie stretches out his fingers and catches Buck’s, holding on. Buck’s own fingers tighten immediately, and it gives Eddie the last bit of courage he needs.

“Well, yeah. Buck–” He stops walking, and Buck follows, turning so he’s facing Eddie. He’s close enough that Eddie can see his expression despite the dark, and he looks terrified, hopeful, nervous and excited at the same time, all of which Eddie feels, too. Eddie takes a deep breath. “I’m nervous because– nothing…no one’s ever been this important.”

A smile spreads out across Buck’s face, slowly deepening the crinkles around his eyes. “So this was a date?”

“Did it feel like one to you, too?”

Buck’s smile widens. “Yeah, i–it did. And I’m–I’m nervous too, of course. Eddie, if we do this, there’s no going back for me. I can’t– lose you. You and Christopher, you’re too important.”

He pulls on Eddie’s hand a little, and Eddie takes another step closer, drops his shoes in the sand and places his free hand on Buck’s shoulder, thumb resting against his collarbone.

“It’s the same for me,” he says quietly. He shivers when Buck grabs his waist, the warmth of his hand seeping through Eddie’s shirt. “I– We don’t know what’s gonna happen. But, Buck– I love you. I love you so much, I have for…way longer than I was aware of it, and I just don’t see that going away. And I don’t think it’s fair to us to deny ourselves when I really think we could make each other– so happy. I know I can make you happy, and I want to prove it to you every day of my life, Buck.”

Buck is just staring at him with a dazed expression, his lips slightly parted, and Eddie suddenly can’t stand not kissing him for a second longer.

He slides his hand from Buck’s shoulder to the back of his neck, watches Buck’s eyes flutter shut and feels his fingers tighten on his waist, and then he’s finally, finally closing the distance between them.

Buck makes a soft sound against his mouth, like he’s still somehow surprised this is happening, but he gets on board very quickly, and Eddie stops thinking entirely.

When they pull back breathlessly, Eddie’s hair is a mess – he can feel the loose strands on his forehead – his lips are still tingling, and Buck’s got both arms wrapped around him tightly.

“In case that wasn’t clear,” Buck gasps, and lifts a hand to cup Eddie’s cheek. His thumb brushes over Eddie’s chin and caresses his lower lip, and Eddie presses a kiss to the pad of it. “I love you, too.”

[kaliforniahigh]

NSFW thots incoming

NNN but the boys said uno reverse and it's you that isn't allowed to O. Teasing, edging and lots of O denial.

Jolly is probably the sweetest about it and close to breaking, especially when you invite him to join you in a shower cause you just need to feel him close and on you in some way.

Matt would be the worst, making fun of you and being mean when you're practically rubbing against him like a cat in heat asking for something anything.

How each member + Matt would behave during No Nut November, but instead of them, it's you who can't cum. Smut below the cut.

Warning: orgasm denial, edging, mocking, spanking, fingering, thigh riding.... you get the gist, this is basically just filth. The boys are a menace in this.

Jolly was a weak resolve when it comes to you whining in that sweet voice of yours, eyes big and pleading. He starts to feel bad, so he does what he can to make you feel better. Warm showers where you can feel him pressed up against you is the closest he gets to satifying you without actually giving you an orgasm.

He runs his hands over your wet body while you rest your head on his shoulder. He can still feel your quick pulse from a few minutes ago, when you were in bed. He had put his hand under your panties, but his movements were so slow, you could feel youself just on the edge of the precipice, but unable to let yourself fall.

"Why don't you let me come? I've been so good", you'd whine against his chest.

"And it's because you've been so good that you won't come, right? That's the rule baby", he'd whisper in your ear and that would prompt tears to gather on your eyes.

Before he could feel too bad for you, though, he slips his hand out from between your legs, which prompts another whine to scape from your lips. He shushes you softly and takes you in his arms to the bathroom, sitting you on the toilet, he adjusts the temperature just the way he knows you like.

Matt would be so degrading towards you. Sometimes he would even refuse to touch you, telling you that if you wanted to make yourself feel good, you could rub yourself on his thigh. It was a lesson on self-control, he told you. You could ride his leg all you wanted, but you couldn't make yourself cum.

As he watches you, face twisted in pleasure and agony at the same time, you'd tell him that you can't do it, that it's too much for you.

"If you knew you couldn't do it, then why did you agree, you stupid girl?", he'd respond in a tone that made you feel guilty, because you did agree, you brought this upon yourself.

Meanwhile, while you were rubbing yourself on his thigh, he'd take his dick out of his pants and start fisting himself with a thight grip.

The sight of you on top of him, knowing you weren't allowed to come, but he was, gave him a twisted type of pleasure, and after a few more strokes, he was cumming all over his stomach.

You had to phisically distance yourself from him, the sight too much for you, and you laid down on the bed, back turned to him.

"You're so mean, Matty"

He only laughed at your misery.

Noah would be the more agressive kind of mean, but he would give you such good aftercare.

He starts with you nice and slow. Bending you over his lap and running his hands over the supple flesh of your ass.

Instinctively, you lift your ass from his lap, trying to get some kind of pleasure. That's when he delivers the first hash smack. You weren't expecting it, so you let out a surprised yelp.

"I decide when I touch you, you understand that?", he grabs you hair and yanks your head back, you only nod in response, which doesn't please him at all, because he removes his hand from your ass to give you a slap across the cheek.

"Don't you know how to use your words?", he says through gritted teeth, mouth close to yours.

"I understand, Noah", you whimper in his mouth.

"There's the good girl I know", he said in a slightly softer tone this time.

He dropped your head back on the matress, and put his hand back on your ass. This time, he didn't waste much time, slipping your panties to the side and teasing your slit with the tip of his fingers.

If you ever misbehaved, he would deliver a quick slap to your pussy, making you jump on his lap at the feeling.

When you're a complete mess and your makeup is smudging the white conforter underneath you from the tears of frustration falling from your eyes, he'd take you in his arms, the slightest touch from him making you tremble.

"You did so well, you were so good. Just gotta wait 'till November is over ok?", he'd reassure you, eventually running his hands down your back in soft strokes, and soon enough, you were falling asleep in his arms from the exertion.

Folio would be the closest one to breaking in my opinion. He'd question many times if this No Nut November thing was even worth it. What kind of man was he, if he didn't make his girl come?

You'd be having sex, and you'd have to stop him, because you were about to cum and you could tell in his face that he was about to throw this whole out of the window just to feel your walls tighten around him.

You find out that this is worse for you. There is nothing more frustrating than feeling the first waves of your orgasm, just to have him pull out, and then everything goes away in the blink of an eye.

He starts enjoying it when you start begging. You even sprinkle a little bit of praise in there to try and sway his resolve. But he finds it more fun seeing you squirm for him. He's getting the hang of this thing.

One night, you're out at a restaurant when you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. You're washing your hands when you hear the door open beside you. Thinking nothing of it, you dry your hands, but someone grabs you and pulls you into one of the stalls.

You're ready to scream when a hans covers your mouth, and your eyes finally make contact with Folio's.

"I'll need you to be quiet, baby", he says and makes a low "shush" sound. You nod and uncovers your mouth.

You can feel his hand travel down your stomach, making it's way under your dress. He hitches your leg over his hip and slips your panties to the side.

He doesn't start slow this time, since you both didn't have a lot of time on your hands. You gasp when you feel his fingers plunging inside of you, and he uses his thumb to rub circles on your clit.

You have half the mind to register the door to the bathroom once again and someoe getting in the stall beside you.

"Beg me", Folio says in your ear. You look at him with wide eyes. "Beg me and I'll let you cum right now".

The offer was irresistible. "Please, can I cum?", you whisper back to him.

"I can't hear you", he has a glint of mischief in his eyes. He's gonna make you beg out loud, when someone else is in the stall right beside you.

"Please", you try once again. The feeling of his fingers starting to become way too much for you, and you can feel yourself slipping into the abyss way too fast.

"You'll need to do better than that", he's looking right into your eyes, and before you can beg him once again, the feeling between your legs disappear, and this time, the whine that comes out of your lips os loud and very audible.

"Why did you do that?", you lean on him and he supports you by holding you by the hips.

"Girls who don't listen to instructions don't get to cum", he gives you a kiss on the forehead, his wicked way of mocking you, and then he makes his way out of the stall, leaving you behind.

Ruffilo makes the whole ordeal more artistic than it has to be. This man likes to sprinkle a little bit of art when you're fucking.

So, not only does he deny you of your orgasm, he needs to have you tied up to the bed. Hands and feet.

First, he starts with sensory stimulation. Maybe he grabs a rose on the way home, just to drag it along your chest, abdomen and thighs. Then, he moves on to little kisses all over your body. And he's slow with it too. He starts on your neck and descends to your collarbones, stoping to give attention to your perk nipples.

He continues with this until he's all the way down to your calf, and then he finally makes his way up again to where you need him the most.

He begins with the tip of his tongue, and you can barely feel it. The ropes tying you to the bed doesn't let you buck your hips, so all there's left to do is wait until he decides to give you what you want.

After a while, he's finally making you feel so good, you almost forget you're not allowed to cum. But he makes sure to remind you.

With one finger inside of you, he can feel that you're close. So he pulls his finger out and removes himself from the bed completely.

"What are you doing?", you teel him. You're breathless and a little irritation, a certain edge to your voice.

"I spoiled you too much", he shook his head at himself. "I think it's time we take a little break", he says, sitting on his computer chair. You're laying on the bed, completely stunned. Your body that felt on fire seconds before, now laid there void of any warmth, and you actually start shivering a little from the contrast.

"You can stay there and watch, baby", he gets comfortable on the chair, lifting his hips and sliding his shorts and boxers down, grabbing his length in his hand.

"It's my turn to feel good now".

[iamgonnagetyouback]

hii ivy!! i was thinking for the 1k celebration, the prompt "I'm not cute" "sure, keep telling yourself that" for James??

I love your thinking very much, love! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ Thank you so much for requesting <33

ivy's 1k celebration ❄️ navigation ❄️ prompt list

ˋ°•*⁀➷ JAMES POTTER #48: "I’m not cute." "Sure, keep telling yourself that."

It was a regular weekend, and you and James had somehow ended up at Madam Puddifoot’s. Not by choice, mind you, but because Sirius had practically shoved the two of you through the door, cackling as he held it shut from the outside until you resigned to staying put.

You glared at James from across the small, heart-covered table, wrinkling your nose at the frilly pink tablecloth. “This is your fault, you know.”

He grinned, dimples out and completely unbothered by the absurdly decorated café. “How is it my fault?”

“You’re the one who made me come to Hogsmeade with you. If I’d known we’d end up here, I’d have stayed in the common room.” You huffed, crossing your arms as he laughed. “I am not cute enough for this kind of place.”

“Oh, really?” He cocked an eyebrow, leaning in with that smirk that was just begging to be slapped. “I think you’re very cute, love. In fact, the cutest.”

You shook your head, scoffing as your cheeks flushed. “James, I am not cute.”

“Mm, sure.” He leaned back, crossing his arms and looking you up and down like he was challenging you. “Keep telling yourself that.”

You groaned, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response and instead busied yourself with your teacup. “No, really,” you said, setting it down with a soft clink. “I’m a Black. Black sisters don’t do cute—they do cool, mysterious, edgy.”

James snorted. “Oh, yeah, definitely edgy. When you fell down the stairs last week, that was really mysterious.”

You swatted at him across the table, your face heating up at the memory. “That was a one-time thing!”

“And when you tried to hex Snivellus and ended up accidentally hexing yourself?”

You pursed your lips. “My wand slipped.”

“Mhm. And when you spilled pumpkin juice on McGonagall?”

“I slipped again,” you mumbled, crossing your arms tighter as he dissolved into laughter.

“Oh, love,” he said, reaching over to grab your hand, his thumb tracing circles along your knuckles. “You are the cutest, whether you want to admit it or not.”

You scowled at his hand over yours but didn’t pull away. “Stop calling me cute. I’m intimidating.”

“Yes, absolutely terrifying,” he agreed, nodding seriously before cracking a smile. “I mean, look at those fierce little eyes and that tiny, scrunched-up nose. Positively horrifying.”

You sighed dramatically. “I’ll hex you if you keep this up.”

“Sure you will.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “I mean, you’ve done it so successfully before.”

You lifted your chin, doing your best impression of a dignified, aloof Black sister. “I don’t need your cheek, Potter. I am not cute.”

He raised a challenging eyebrow. “Right. So if I said, ‘Merlin, you’re adorable,’ you wouldn’t blush?”

“Exactly,” you said firmly, ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks.

“Merlin, you’re adorable,” he said instantly, eyes trained on your face.

The color rushed to your cheeks faster than you could stop it. James laughed, squeezing your hand as he watched you squirm.

“You know what, Potter?” you muttered, feeling like an absolute fool.

“What’s that, darling?”

You leaned in, narrowing your eyes. “I think you’re cute.”

“Oh, now she’s trying to dish it back,” he said, beaming at you. “Sorry, but cute’s your title around here.”

You pouted, biting back a smile as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. It was enough to make your heart do an embarrassing little flip.

“Keep pouting, love,” he murmured, his voice low and soft. “It only makes you cuter.”

You groaned, but this time you couldn’t hide the grin. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you’re cute.”

“Stop calling me cute,” you said, leaning forward to poke him in the chest. “Or I’ll start telling people you sleep with a stuffed lion.”

James gasped, feigning horror. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would.”

“You wouldn’t expose Leonard like that,” he whispered, clutching his chest.

You blinked. “You named it?”

He colored slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well—uh—what do you expect? I’m not a monster.”

Unable to keep up the act, you burst into laughter, nearly doubling over as James turned a charming shade of pink.

“Alright, alright,” he said, laughing along with you. “Maybe you’re a little mean.”

You smirked. “Thank you.”

“But still cute.”

“James!”

“Sorry, love,” he said, leaning over the table to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Can’t help the truth.”

You sighed, finally giving up. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re cute,” he repeated cheekily. “But don’t worry, it’ll be our little secret, yeah?”

You fought the smile that threatened to take over. “Fine. But if you call me cute one more time, I’ll tell Sirius about Leonard.”

He chuckled, resting his chin in his hands and looking at you with adoring eyes. “Worth it.”

[bokettochild]

🎶For the twelfth day of Christmas, my Ketto gave to me-🎶

Closure!!!!!

So, I've been talking about this for a fair bit now and debating the logistics, and I have decided to do it: A Christmas of Closure!

I have so many unfinished/on hiatus fics, some that never got past the first part, and this is my effort to (1) relieve myself of the guilt of not finishing them and (2) give a bit of closure to the readers who still wanted more from the story.

How does it work? You guys can choose any story of mine that you wanted to see more of, and the first twelve will get a little love this holiday season, with me posting one update every day leading up to Christmas, and ending on Christmas day with either whatever I was most excited to share, or what took me the longest and I needed more time for LOL

They key to this is that it's stories I've already started, so rather than spending half my writing time trying to figure out what it's going to be about, I'll hopefully just be giving words to something that's sat in my brain for the last few months/years. I'll get to share with you what was supposed to happen, while maybe jump-starting my own creative process so maybe (no promises) I'll actually be able to finish the story! (Again, NO promises, but also I hope so!!!)

(Specifics below)

All stories are on the table with the exception of TBBU, since that's already a work in progress and I will get there independently (*she lied, like a liar*). There might be others that have reached their natural end as well, and I'm not up to making zombies, but I can't name any right off, so go nuts and choose whatever you feel has been on life support for too long :)

Whumptober/Sicktember/Febuwhump prompts are up from grabs, but only in the form of continuations of already written pieces. I will not be writing prompts that I failed to post on time in this challenge (maybe another time)

The age of the fic doesn't matter, but be aware I might not be able to capture the same voice as I used to use. My writing style has changed and developed, but I will try and match my own freak when I can.

You CAN ask for specific things! I will not take unkindly to you popping in to say "write an update for story XYZ and maybe have ABC happen?" I can't promise that ABC will happen of course, because maybe that's not what was meant to happen, but I promise to consider any and all suggestions regardless, and try and make a Christmas present that you'll enjoy :)

The stories will get posted starting on the 14th of December and ending on December 25. There will not be an Ao3 collection, but I will have a master-list here on tumblr.

I hope that covers everything, but if you have any questions I didn't answer, please feel free to send an ask, so I can answer publicly, in the case others had the same question <3

[iloveelvisss]

"Oh, don't stop on our account."

Prompt writing!! I found a prompt list on Pinterest, and I wanted to try one of them. Lmk if you like it and want more prompts, oh and give me prompts if you want!! Xoxo, your author <3

Arguing. That's what you and Elvis were doing, and the best part? You had both forgotten that you had company, and said company just so happened to be the author doing a book on your marriage.

"I oughtta wring yer neck, woman! Stop accusin' me of shit that ain't true! It ain't an affair if ya knew the whole time!"

"Oh?! Is that right?! Ya think that I was just happy as can be that my husband was fuckin' his backup singer?! I only knew 'cause she thought I wanted to leave ya!" You were far beyond shouting, so it was more properly full on fighting— not just arguing.

The author looked back and forth between the couple in front of her, eagerly listening to everything that spouted from your mouths. The King and his sweet lil' Queen weren't as perfect as the press made it seem.

All she had asked was what your thoughts were on all the traveling Elvis had to do for his career, and she unknowingly sparked a dorment flame within you. Memories of the phone call that you accidentally answered that day— Kathy Westmoreland's innocent voice telling you thank you for letting her experience Elvis' love too. Poor woman had no clue you were in the dark— she was in the dark too. And when you confronted the man himself, he said he forgot to mention he was seeing someone like every other time.

"Baby, I didn't plan on keepin' it from ya like that! And it ain't my fault she made her own assumptions! I never told her we weren't happy, she just thought we weren't!" Elvis tries, and fails, to grab your flailing hand. You yank it away and smack his hand away from you.

You run your hand through your hair, messing it up. "The fact that ya let her assume that is just as bad! I would've let ya pursue her if ya had just asked! I would've happily told her how I felt if ya had just let me know ya had another gal! I ain't one to judge ya for yer adventures, Elvis, ya know that! But being lied to hurt me!"

"And I said I was sorry, Satnin! That should be the end of it!"

Your eyes snap up to his immediately, the anger absolutely radiating off of you in waves that could rival the ocean. "End of it, huh?! I couldn't'a said it better! I'll serve ya the papers as soon as I can!"

You turn and get three steps to the arched threshold of the living room before you're yanked back. Your face flies into his chest before he grabs it and holds you steady.

"Now you listen here, woman, and listen good. I. Am. Sorry. But, so help me, if ya ever threaten me like that again, ya won't walk for weeks. I'll tan yer hide somethin' nasty, y'hear?" He lowers his head so that he's eye level with you, and his voice evens out to an almost scary calm.

And then it seems to hit both of you, your heads slowly turning to the one-woman audience. The look on her face makes you think all she needs is a coke and a popcorn, and she'd be all set.

You go to apologize or say literally anything to save you and your husband from the hole you've so obviously dug for yourselves, but she raises a hand and stops you. Her response shocks you, "Oh, please, don't stop on my account."

And the smirk that accompanies her statement is simultaneously friendly and wicked.

You can't help but feel as though the book that is due to come out in a year will have a chapter documenting this... interesting insight into the lives of the world's power couple. It makes you wince in premeditated embarrassment. And yet Elvis just laughs— a hearty laugh, and it only enables you, and soon all three of you are giggling like children.

I know it’s super short, sorry! But I liked it, and wanted to get it out before I started hating it. Please either comment or leave requests in my inbox if you want!! I’d like to do more prompts or even just requests for regular fics. Love all of you, my lovies!!

[maddy-k-reads-all-day]

When You Get Sick

Hey everyone! Here's a short little Amanda the Adventurer fic of a tape idea I had.

After completing the latest puzzle, a tape pops out called “When You Get Sick.”  Riley walks over to the tv and puts the tape in. It begins. Amanda and Wooly are standing outside their house. 

“Hi everyone *cough* I’m Amanda!” Amanda says cheerfully, giving a little wave. Wooly looks over at her worriedly. 

“And I’m Wooly!” he chimes in nervously. 

“And today we’re going to… ACHOO!” Amanda sneezes loudly, Wooly flinches. 

“Oh… bless you.” 

“Thanks… ahem. *cough* Today we’re going to… we’re going to… ah… ah… ACHOO!” 

“Amanda, are you okay?” 

“Yeah I’m just feeling… a little *cough cough* bleh… today…” 

“Um…” 

“I’m fine. Today we’re going-” Amanda sneezes one more time, much louder than the other two, into her hands. 

“Amanda, I think you might be sick.” Wooly says, reaching out to feel her forehead, she swats his hand away. He keeps trying and it eventually turns into a kiddie fight. “Just stand still!” He places his hand on her forehead and quickly pulls it away. “Wow Amanda, your forehead is really warm.” 

“I’m fine Wooly. Let’s just go on with the adventure ACHOO!” 

“Nuh-uh. When you’re feeling sick, you should get some…” Wooly prompts Riley, they type in rest. “That’s right! Rest! Let’s head inside!”

“I don’t wanna go inside… I wanna go on our adventure…” Amanda whines. 

“Nope. You’re getting some rest.” Wooly replies, taking Amanda’s hand, which is covered in snot. He drags her inside. They go into Amanda's room. “Alright, where should Amanda rest? In the bed, the chair, or the closet?” Riley clicks on the closet. “Haha you're silly, but seriously.” Riley clicks on the chair. 

“That could be a good place… but there might be somewhere better.” Amanda sighs. They click on the closet. “I’m not sleeping in a closet.” She snaps. Riley finally clicks on the bed. Amanda gets in and Wooly tucks her in. “Alright Wooly, you can go home now. Riley can take it from here.” 

“No Amanda, it’s fine I can help.” 

“You don’t need to be nice to me, it’s weird.” 

“Fine then. I’m not doing it to be nice, I’m just doing it because that’s what the episode is about.” Wooly retorts. 

“Fine.” 

“Fine.” Wooly pouts, “First, let’s check Amanda’s temperature. I think there’s a thermometer downstairs. Amanda, you stay here.” Suddenly, we’re in the kitchen. “Stupid Amanda. Why’s it weird for me to be nice?” Wooly notices us, “Oh heh heh. Hi. Where do you think Amanda left the thermometer? In the cupboard? The fridge? Or the sink?” Riley clicks on the fridge. “No, I don’t think it’s there.” Riley clicks the sink. “Amanda is sick, we need to help her feel better!” Riley clicks the fridge again. “Look I’m already dealing with a stubborn Amanda, I would really appreciate it if you just help me out.” Now only the cupboard is available. Riley clicks it. “Thanks for nothing.” he grumbles. Wooly grabs the stool and opens the cupboard door. “I can’t really see, can you tell me where the thermometer is?” The options are the thermometer, the sugar, and a box of cereal. Riley clicks the box of cereal. “That’s not a thermometer.” Riley clicks the sugar. “I’m not stupid you know.” Riley clicks the thermometer. “Finally,” he sighs, rolling his eyes. “Now let’s get this to Amanda!” he says cheerfully. 

“What took you so long?” Amanda asks. Wooly glares daggers at the camera. He goes over to Amanda and puts the thermometer in her mouth. The thermometer turns all red and makes a sick face. 

“Wow you’re really sick Amanda, maybe you should go see a doctor.” 

“C’mon Wooly there are no doctors here that’d just be a waste of time.” 

“I know…” Wooly sighs, “Okay then, let’s do our best to make Amanda feel better at home! Amanda, are you hungry?” 

“A little I guess…” 

“Alright, how about I make you some chicken soup? When I was sick my mo-” The tape glitches, Wooly’s expression becomes perplexed “Would… always make… chicken soup…” the tape glitches some more and Wooly looks kinda sad, the music runs down and the tape turns kinda gray, “would always make… chicken soup… and… and…” 

“Wooly?” Amanda says, sounding a little worried. The music suddenly starts back up again and Wooly perks up “And it would always make me feel better! I’ll go make some now!” 

“Alright… could you make me some toast too?” 

“You got it!” Wooly beamed, giving her a wink. We return to the kitchen. “Alright… to make chicken soup we need some chicken and some broth. I think we can find both in the fridge! Can you tell me where-” The tape suddenly glitches. “You know what, I’ll do it myself.” Wooly walks over the fridge and opens it. “Where’s the chicken and broth?” Riley, sensing that they’ve gotten on Wooly’s bad side today, decides to play along and click the right answers. “Good! Now we need a pan to cook it in.” Wooly grabs the step stool and climbs onto the counter “Don’t do this at home, okay kids.” He says winking at us. Then he opens the cupboard. “Can you tell me which pan would be good for soup?” Riley clicks the correct one. “Great!” Wooly grabs it and carefully climbs down. “Now we need to turn the burner on and heat up the broth! Usually, we should always do this with an adult present but since there’s no adults in this world…” Wooly’s tone turns agitated, “I guess we’ll do it ourselves!” the tape glitches and the soup is done. Suddenly we’re back in Amanda’s room, Wooly has a plate with soup, toast, and some ginger ale. 

“I wanted milk.” 

“It’s not good for you to drink milk with an upset stomach.” 

"Where's the carrots?" she asks. "My --- always made it with carrots."

"Oh... I thought you didn't like carrots?"

"I always like my veggies." Amanda replies.

"Then who didn't like carrots?" Wooly ponders. He is silent for a bit. Static slowly covering the screen. "who...?"

“Wooly… I’m feeling really warm.”

“You don’t have to have that blanket on you, you know… and maybe you should change into your pajamas. While you do that, I’ll get you a cold face cloth. Sounds good?” 

“Mmmhmm…” Amanda nods. Wooly runs off. She slowly gets out of bed, the tape glitches and three pajamas appear. Riley clicks the short sleeved ones. The tape glitches again and suddenly she’s laying down in bed with the pajamas on. “Thanks Riley…” she mumbles and falls asleep. Wooly comes back in. 

“Oh… she’s finally gone to sleep. That’s good.” he says. He gently places the face cloth on her and sits beside the bed on the floor. “Get better soon Amanda. It’s no fun having adventures without you…” the tape turns gray and fades out. Riley thinks the tape is over, but suddenly it comes back on. Amanda and Wooly are standing outside again.

“Hi friends! I’m Amanda!” 

“And I’m *sniffle* Wooly.” 

“Thanks to you and Wooly I’m feeling all better now! So now we can finally go on our adventure! Isn’t that great?” 

“Yeah… ah… ah… ACHOO!” 

“Oh Wooly.” Amanda sighs. The tape ends.

[featherlovesrobots]

These are all spectacular but I absolutely had to write something for the second prompt :)

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊

“You can’t keep doing this.”

Healer sighs, tugging the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I was expecting a ‘thank you.’”

Teammate gave her the blanket soon after the spell was over. It doesn’t help her trembling much, but she clings to it. She looks so small, sitting there on Teammate’s hospital bed, one hand pressed to the mattress to keep herself upright. The sight of it turns Teammate’s stomach.

“This is why I hate it when Leader lets you use your powers!” Snaps Teammate, throwing out her hands. “You could’ve really hurt yourself— you did hurt yourself!”

“Listen, I’m sorry I scared you. But it couldn’t have been avoided without sacrificing you, and it’s not like it’ll leave a lasting effect. I’ll recover in a week, probably.”

Teammate laughs bitterly. “Only a whole week without any healing magic. What a blessing.”

“You were going to die!” Healer cries. “I’m glad you feel fine now, but you should’ve seen yourself! You wouldn’t wake up, you were shaking, I— I had to do something—”

“Okay, fine, but why do you always have to be such a perfectionist?!”

“I am not a perfectionist,” Healer growls. “I can’t control it.”

Teammate scoffs. “Sure, you say that, but have you ever actually tried to improve at rationing?” She gestures to her middle, emphasizing the clear skin under a torn, bloody shirt. “You could at least make some kind of effort to leave a scar.”

“Ugh. Not this again,” Healer mutters, lifting a trembling hand to pull at the blanket again. “For the last time, I can’t just not heal you because you’re worried about your image.”

“It’s not about our image, Healer. It’s about you. If the public knew we had a magic-user on our side—”

Healer tenses, springing to her feet and stomping towards Teammate. The blanket around her shoulders falls forsaken to the floor. “YOU SOUND JUST LIKE LEADER! CAN’T YOU JUst–” Healer’s breath rushes out and she keels forward. Teammate rushes to catch her by the shoulders. “Healer? Healer! Hey, stay with me, alright?”

Healer tries to speak, but it comes out as a shaky wheeze. Teammate slides her hand down to Healer's upper arm, eyes widening at the feel of her skin. “You’re frigid,” she breathes. “You need another blanket.” She guides her back to the bed and sets her down. “Don’t move.”

“No,” Healer chokes out. She grabs onto Teammate’s sleeve and tugs. “You’ll… be seen.”

Teammate sighs. Healer is right — it’s a public hospital, and fifteen minutes ago she had severe blood loss and internal damage. She can’t get caught walking around like normal. Still, Healer’s skin feels like ice; like every ounce of warmth was sapped from her blood when she did that cursed spell. There has to be something Teammate can do.

“Okay, here,” Teammate says, lifting the blanket and settling next to Healer, then pulling the fabric around both of them. “Maybe this’ll help.”

Healer chases Teammate’s warmth, leaning into her chest and setting her head in the crook of her neck. Teammate tentatively moves her arm to circle around Healer’s waist, careful not to put down any pressure.

“I’ll tell Leader I’m okay when she comes back,” Teammate promises. Okay?”

“… Yeah.”

“She’ll give you a well-deserved earful for this.”

Healer huffs a chuckle. “Because I really needed another one.”

Hospital whump where everyone is really injured, including the character with healing magic, but they still pull out their IVs and sneak out of their room to pay everyone a visit and heal them, one by one.

Do they get caught? If they do, how long does it take? How far do they get? Do they get caught right before being able to visit the last person, the one they're the most worried about?

While they're searching the hospital for everyone's rooms, do they get sidetracked? Do they stumble into rooms of people they don't know? Sick or hurt strangers they can't help but heal too? Do they end up spending every drop of energy they have because they can't stand seeing so many people suffering? Or do they turn away, apologetic but knowing they need to stay focused, there are only so many people they can help and they know where their priorities lie?

I don't know I just think there's some potential here

there is totally potential, this is a great scenario!!

maybe they get to the last room and heal their friend, but collapse immediately after. friend wakes up startled, then terrified when they see healer on the ground collapsed, then anger at them for putting themselves last when they realize that their wounds are gone.

i love what you're doing here. unfocused, nonspecific healing that they can't control is a great trope, especially when it means that they exhaust themselves by accidentally healing something or someone that shouldn't be healed. their teammate is angry that the healer heals them all the way back to normal rather than just getting them out of the woods. like was it worth all your energy to make sure you healed every last bruise or scrape??

if they don't heal the team to conserve their magic, maybe their friends don't know that healing takes energy and don't understand why they're just not helping. and/or maybe they're up all night with guilt, so when their teammate gets up for a sip of water because they got that Night Thirst(TM), they're very concerned and upset that the healer isn't sleeping. maybe they're conserving magic energy, but they're certainly not preserving regular energy.

this prompt watered my crops!!

[sandstimegender]

one of these days ill write a religious coded chuuran fic !!!!

[luveline]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky. 

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely. 

Total quiet. 

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?” 

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?” 

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…” 

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?” 

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.” 

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.” 

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh. 

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated. 

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry. 

“Spencer?” you ask quietly. 

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?” 

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?” 

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups. 

“Where are you?” 

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him. 

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.” 

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?” 

“Where was I?” 

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed. 

“Still where?” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.” 

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk. 

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.” 

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.” 

“…What?” 

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.” 

“I annoy people.” 

“You don’t annoy me.” 

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here. 

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?” 

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection. 

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?” 

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly. 

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?” 

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.” 

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says. 

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room. 

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark. 

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly. 

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!” 

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer. 

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask. 

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again. 

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.” 

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year. 

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.” 

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.” 

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!” 

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.” 

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly. 

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says. 

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway. 

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” 

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates? 

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess. 

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.” 

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol. 

“She kind of looked like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

“Is that why you make all your jokes?” 

“What jokes, babe?” 

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.” 

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” 

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.” 

“Spencer, you remember everything.” 

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.” 

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him. 

You’re happy to. 

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled. 

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse. 

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully. 

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally. 

“Can I come home with you?” he asks. 

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.” 

— — 

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.” 

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.” 

“So you want three?” 

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.” 

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time. 

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?” 

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him. 

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory. 

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that. 

The avocado is making him feel sick. 

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?” 

“I think I'm gonna throw up.” 

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes. 

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button. 

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.” 

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.” 

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.” 

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now. 

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said. 

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say. 

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again. 

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.” 

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. 

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask. 

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

[hayatoseyepatch]

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Description: Getting kinky with the windbreaker boys. I have so many thoughts about these men and I just needed to get them out of my system. Characters: Toma Hiragi, Ren Kaji, Haruka Sakura, Hayato Suo, & Yamato Endo. Word Count: 2.2k Tags: fem!reader, brat taming, praise, somnophilia, edging, mommy kink, dacryphilia, consent non consent, choking, degradation, oral (fem!receiving), penetrative sex, dirty talk.

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a/n: These are more like thirsts than headcannons but oh well. I might expand on some of these eventually and turn them into full fics if I can sit down and commit to it. It the mental illness, innit? Regardless, I hope you enjoyed these little blurbs! Special shout out to @foxyfiction & @to-eden for helping me with the prompts for some of these, you both are amazing. <3

I also have a masterlist now, if you’re interested that could be found : HERE

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Brat Taming

Hiragi had enough of you today, your skirt pulled up high, a constant switch in your hips while on patrol today with the Tamon team. Constantly teasing him, whether it was pulling him into an alley for an impromptu make out session, bending over in front of him letting him catch a glimpse of your already wet panties, or rubbing against his perpetually hard cock as you “just needed to slip past him real quick”. He was patient, tension building throughout the day coming to a fever pitch when you had both made it back to your shared apartment. He was on you in moments, lifting the back of your skirt to lay a harsh lap to you ass. Grabbing a fistful of your hair as he growls in your ear. “ I want you on that bed and I want you completely bare, do you understand?” He releases you hair, watching as you strip for him, climbing on the bed moments after you do.

Grabbing a hold of your cheeks with a rough hand he forces you to look up at him, eyes glazed over with arousal. Squishing your cheeks he props your mouth open, shoving a long digit past your lips. He grins as your mouth instinctively wraps around the digit, pumping the finger in and out of your lips, eyes rolling back as he feels your tongue wrap around the digit. Sucking his teeth as you shoot him a wink as he stuffs a second digit in your mouth. “Such a fucking brat, you know that?” He forces your thighs apart, free hand punctuating his words with a harsh slap to your dripping cunt.

His fingers sliding down, his fist two digits using your saliva that coated them to rub fast smooth circles against the sensitive bud. “Don’t forget your still getting punished baby.” He tsks giving you a sharp toothed grin. “Look at your pretty cunt, clenching around nothing, poor baby.” He coos, leaning down to your ear, lips grazing the shell to whisper. “You’re going to have to come from just my fingers before you can have my cock baby, think you can do that for me, hmm?”

Praise (Receiving)

Kaji had lost his temper once more, today a fight had broken out. One of the members of the opposing gang had harshly grabbed your arm, tugging you against him spitting extremities about the things he plandded to do to you. The words coupled with the fear in your wide eyes had Kaji seeing red. Completely blacking out in a fit of rage, he hated his, he especially hated you seeing him like this. The few times he had lost his temper in front of you, he ran, unable to face you. But not this time, you wouldn’t let him run from you. Grabbing the sleeve of his jacket you were quick to take him back to your apartment, silencing whatever apologies or exasperations with your lips against his.

Walking him backward toward your bedroom you wait for the back of his knees to hit the mattress. Pushing him to sit down as you climb on his lap. Mouths entangling in a heated embrace, clothes being pulled from each others bodies in a rush of passsion. Kaji trails kisses down your exposed body, lips wrapping arount a perked bud taking your nipple into his mouth. You rocked your hips against his, gronaing into the air. Your hands unfaten his pants, and with his help you pull his cock from his pants. You give him a smile, stroking his cheeks, eyes soft with fondness. “You're such a good boy Ren, always so good to me.”

You coo, the praise falling from your lips as you place one more kiss to his lips. Moving to grab him by the base, positioning him at your entrance, the desperate look in his eyes is all the confirmation you need to sink down on his length. You bite your lip, letting out a whimper at the feeling of his thick cock filling you to the brim. You tangle one hand in his hair, pulling lightly on his blonde strands, while the other moves up to his shoulder, nails digging into the skin. Pulling away only far enough to mumble into his lips. “Fuck, Ren.. Feel so good, you fill me up so good baby. I love you so much.”

Somnophillia

You wake feeling something warm between your legs. It isn’t long before your head is thrown back against the pillows you were once sleeping soundly against, voice crying out in pleasure as your boyfriend’s tongue draws slow patterns on your sensitive clit. You look down at him eyes lidded with sleep and now lust. “Haru.. what are you doing?” You mumble, blinking the sleep from your eyes. Between your thighs you can feel his cheeks heat up, a feirce blush on his features. He barely pulls from your cunt, mumbling against your center. “Couldn’t sleep, needed to taste you, ‘m want you so bad.”

He groans, hips rutting into the mattress, desperate for some friction to his aching cock. Any further arguments are silenced by a loud moan erupting from your lips, Sakura licks a fat stripe up your clit brfore reattaching his lips fully to your nub. He eats your cunt with such desperation, as if he needed to conume you to keep air in his lungs. His tongue is soon replaced by the rough pad of his thumb, head ducking lower to slide his tongue inside of your entrance, sliding against the silk walls of your pussy. He groans deep in his throat, the vibrations of the noise only enhancing the pleasure you’re feeling. ”Always taste so fucking good, need more..” He groans, pulling from your center, he slides up your body lips attacking yours with reckless hunger. He slid the material of his boxers down in one swift motion, grabbing himself by the base of his cock, collecting your wetness on the tip of his cock using it to ease himself inside your velvety walls.

He lets out a loud groan as he fully sheaths his cock inside you, head dipping to capture your lips with his own. The kiss is immediately laced with hunger, teeth clashing and tongues dancing in each others mouths. He pulls away, heavy breaths fanning against your lips as he sets a harsh steady pace from the start. “Fuck baby… can’t even sleep without you consuming my thoughts. Need you desperately… constantly.. feel like I’ll lose it if I’m not inside of you.”

Edging/Mommy Kink

You place a delicate kiss to his lips, trailing your kisses down his body until you were situated between his thighs. Looking up at him with hooded eyes from your current position. “You weren't lying baby boy. Look at how hard you are.” You grin, not letting him answer as you gave a few experimental tugs to his cock. Leaning up to lick a fat stripe from his base to his tip, collecting the pre come that had been steadily dripping since you had begun. Pulling away and leaning up once again, you grab his face in your hand, forcing his mouth open before letting your saliva mixed with his precum drip from your mouth to his. Placing a hand over his mouth, you lean down to his ear. “Swallow baby, I want you to taste us.”

You take his shock as an opportunity to lower yourself back down between his legs, swirling your tongue around his sensitive mushroom tip, taking as much as your throat would allow, hollowing your cheeks. Beginning to bob your head up and down on  his cock. Choji tugged at the cloth around his wrists, restraining himself as much as he could to not buck his hips. Failing miserably as his body writhed under yours He cried out as he felt your warm mouth around his cock, tears collecting by the corners of his eyes. Whimpers and cries falling from his lips as he found every ounce of restraint to not let his body betray him. The could in his stomach building once more for what seemed like the umpteenth time that evening. He didn’t want to fuck all of this up and receive punishment even further. “Mommy, please your mouth is so warm… be careful. I dont wanna come.. too soon.”

You grin around him, looking up at him through your lashes, nearly removing yourself from him before plunging back down, taking him until you feel him hit the back of your throat. You do this a few more times before pulling yourself off his cock with a 'pop'. You make your way up his body, getting impatient yourself, feeling your cunt clench around nothing. Straddling his abdomen, right above where he needed you most,  pressing your lips against his in a heated kiss. Desperately trying not to show that you were just as affected by your actions. You grab a fistful of his hair, tugging harshly, effectively separating your lips as you speak against his lips. “Tell mommy what you want baby boy. Go on, use your words I want to hear you.”

Dacryphillia

Each one of your pleas fog his mind with uncontrollable lust. Wram brown irises drowning in it. “So desperate for me already, darling, we havent even begun the main event.” He teases, directly into your ear, as he finally lines the tip of his thick cock with your entrance. Suo had been teasing you for what seemed like hours. Pulling orgasm after orgasm from your overstimulated cunt. Having made you come undone on his fingers and tongue several times, your pussy having felt desperatly empty without his cock filling you. He grins as you whine, his head just barely probing your entrance. “Please, Haya.” You whimper desperate for him to do something, anything, tears blurring your vision as they collected at your lashline.

“Please?” He tiles his head in mocking obliviousness. “Please what princess? Gotta tell me what to do or I cant help you, tell me what is it that you want?” He coos, free hand sliding up your stomach, thumb circling a pert nipple. Grinning he leans down tugging on your earlobe with this teeth, breaths fanning against your ear as he continues to speak. “Want me to fill this pretty pussy up with my cock? Feeling you flutter against me, whimpering out my name from those beautiful lips. Is that what youre asking for my pretty little bunny?”

He grins eyes lithe with mischief as you continue to babble, words coming out in a jumbled mess of pleas and calls of his name. Fat tears stream down your cheeks, desperation for him consuming your entire being. Suo’s hand coming up to caress your cheek. Thumb swiping at the tears that cascaded down your face. “Oh, sweet baby” He purrs, slipping the same thumb past your lips, letting you taste the salty wetness of your tears. “Crying for me already? We’ve barely even started.” He giggles, hips lurching forward, slamming into you to the hilt with one swift movement of his hips. Groaning as your back arches from the bed, eyes rolling back with a scream of his name being forced from your lips. “As much as I’d love to hear you beg for it, ive been waiting for too long for you my princess.~”

Cat and Mouse/CNC

Your breaths come out in heavy pants, your heart racing in your chest, your feet slamming against the grassy terrain as you run as fast as your legs can carry you. The shadow of the figure on your tail looming behind you. You pushed further, weaving in and out of trees to shake your assailant. The dark wooded area was easy to get lost in. You had only paused your running for a moment, attempting to take in your soundings, looking for a route to escape. Attempting to catch your breath, you were sure you had lost him. Just as you were about to turn on your heel and take off once more your eyes shoot wide, feeling fingers of a large hand wrap themselves around your throat. Your attacker using their grip as leverage  to shove you roughly against a tree, the larger figure looms over yours. Tattooed fingers squeezing just enough to make gaining air flow a bit difficult. Lips grazing your ear as he leans down to your height. “Gotcha~”

Endo’s piercing blue eyes lock with yours, leaning down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. Tongue invading your mouth, free hand coming up to cup your dripping cunt. Fingers circling your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. He smirks against your lips as you moan into his mouth. Pulling from you, he quickly removes your soiled panties, running his finger between your soaked slit. Bringing his finger to his lips taking in the way you taste, moaning around his fingers.

“Fuck doll, you taste so fucking good. Already so fucking wet for me.” He uses his thumb to force your mouth open, spitting a glob of saliva between your parted lips. “Go on babydoll, taste yourself.” He chuckles as you instinctively swallow, turning you in his embrace so your bent over. Flipping up your skirt, he leans back to take all of you in, eyes hungrily wracking over your exposed sex. Parting your folds with a thumb, watching as your entrance contracts around nothing a large grin splits across his face as he lands a harsh slap against your ass. “Gotta remind you who this belongs too huh? This cunt is mine princess.”

═══°∴,*⋅✲════〖✰〗════✲⋅*,∴°═══

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed! I already have a part two in mind for this, so keep an eye out. Until then, see you later!

[fandombrainrots]

If anyone can find a video/audio that is remotely similar to this, I will animate it

DP x DC crossover where the Justice League finds out about Danny because of a flashmob video going viral.

And by that I mean that Danny, in Phantom form after just finishing a ghost fight, happened to stumble upon a flash mob to a mashup of old movie songs happening in the mall. Kinda just floated there invisibly watching for a bit and then. Ghostbusters song. And Danny just CANNOT resist, turning visible and doing his own lil retro dances above the flash mob, eventually landing and joining in when the choreography matches something he knows.

Multiple people falter a little at his appearance but overall it makes the flashmob like 100 times better.

Anyways someone recorded the flash mob and uploads it with a title like “Retro Flashmob in old mall!!!! Ghostly Small Town Hero joins in?!?!” and the video just ROCKETS into popularity.

One of the batkids happens to find it, and when looking at the comments, finds a pinned comment linked to a petition to get rid of the anti-ecto acts, which of course leads to them finding out what the anti-ecto acts are, and well.

The idea of the kid in the video, who very obviously looked like he was having the time of his life (or after life) having to suffer that from the government is just…. unacceptable. So of course the Justice League gets involved.

Upon confronting Phantom he’s like “????? how’d you find out about me??? as far as I know stuff that happens in Amity Park Stays In Amity Park??”

to which someone bring up his dance moves and Danny just stands there for a second, blank faced, and they only see his face and ears light up green for a second before they blink and he’s GONE

Danny then proceeds to do all that he can to avoid the Justice League because. Earth’s Heroes??? Found out about him through his dancing???? so not cool (in Danny’s opinion)

This becomes all the harder as he keeps getting dragged into having to fight alongside them for multiple disasters.

[gloomwitchwrites]

You introduce your husband as your "boyfriend" to annoy them.

Anon! This prompt has me screaming! I really enjoyed writing for this one because it's such a fun idea. Sure, our 141 boys might be a little mad that they aren't being called by their proper title, but you know they'll just love punishing you for it.

I went a little different with this one. Instead of introductions, I made it so that reader is constantly referring to them as "boyfriend" in public settings. Depending on the situation, introductions wouldn't make sense if it was with friends, family, or coworkers because they would likely already know that they're "husband" and not "boyfriend." So i changed it up a bit in that way!

Some of these fall into spicy territory without being descriptive.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, suggestive themes, non-descriptive mentions of sex, fade to black, brief dirty talk

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon shakes his head and you roll your eyes.

“We can ask someone for help,” you suggest, scanning the massive wall of televisions.

Simon grunts and crosses his arms. “No.”

Sometimes Simon’s stubbornness is cute—even sexy—but right now you’re just annoyed with him. It makes you want to stir up trouble, to cause a little chaos just for the fun of it. Pouting, you turn, eyes narrowing to find an associate of the electronics store. When you spot one near the HDMI cables, you take off, not caring if Simon follows.

“Excuse me.”

The man’s head perks up. “How can I help you?”

You gesture behind you, your hand smacking into Simon’s chest. “My boyfriend—”

“Boyfriend?” growls Simon, but you ignore him.

“—can’t decide on a television.”

Simon is not your boyfriend. He’s your husband. But he’s being stubborn, not making a decision, and you want out of this store.

Shifting, you place one hand on Simon’s large bicep, grinning like you haven’t done anything at all. Simon’s hand immediately grabs your ass, squeezing hard. A warning. One that you ignore.

“I can help with that,” replies the associate. You glance at the man’s nametag. Jim.

“Thank you so much, Jim.” You lean against Simon, giving Jim your best smile. “Getting this guy to commit to anything is so hard sometimes, ya know?”

Jim makes a noncommittal noise as he walks toward the wall of televisions. You start to follow but Simon’s hold on your ass tightens, keeping you pressed against him. Simon leans down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“What are you doing?” he whispers.

You elbow Simon in the side but it’s not hard. He lets go, keeping close to you as the two of you follow Jim over to the televisions. Standing back, you watch with glee as Simon is forced to talk to Jim. You stay out of it, but notice Simon’s gaze switching to you every so often.

You already know what he’s thinking. He’ll likely want to punish you, and sometimes those punishments are so sweet.

Once Simon selects something and the two of you are at the car, there is no safety net. Simon shuts the trunk and then you’re pressed against the car, your body trapped between it and Simon’s massive form.

“Boyfriend?” he accuses.

You shrug. “What do you mean?”

The growl in Simon’s throat comes out a groan. “Get in the car.” He lightly slaps your ass as you open the passenger door.

As you start to slide in, Simon’s hand returns, this time slipping under your skirt to find your thin, lace underwear. He tugs sharply, ripping the fabric.

“Simon!”

He stuffs the underwear into his pocket. “You don’t need these.” You feel your face growing hot.

Simon shuts your car door and walks around the driver’s side, hopping in. He reaches out, placing one large hand on your bare thigh. It roams upward, squeezing, sending a shiver of lust up your body to make your head spin. “When we get home, I’m fucking that boyfriend nonsense right out of you.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“I’m so sorry, but this isn’t what my boyfriend ordered.”

Kyle frowns and glances up from his phone’s screen. That’s your voice he hears, but the term of address isn’t right.

Boyfriend. Not husband, as it fucking should be.

Kyle glances in your direction but you’re not looking at him. You’re smiling sweetly at the barista behind the counter.

“It should be hot. Not iced. I might have messed up. I’m so sorry. I can pay for another.” You raise your hands in a placating gesture but the barista doesn’t appear fazed at all.

“No biggie. Keep that one. Won’t take me more than a minute or two.”

“Thank you so much.” You glance at Kyle, and your smirk tells him all he needs to know.

You’re being a tease. You’re doing this on purpose. The drink order is wrong, and you’re using this as an excuse to poke at him.

Kyle locks his phone and casually slides it into his pocket. Do you think you’re going to annoy him by doing this? Maybe. The little smirk on your face tells him that’s entirely what you have in mind.

But the joke is on you. Doesn’t matter if you refer to him as “boyfriend,” because all it’ll earn you is a punishment.

As the barista slides the new drink across the counter to you, you thank them profusely. “Thank you so much. My boyfriend will really appreciate it.”

The barista only nods and turns back to the espresso machine.

As you approach with the coffee, Kyle gentle removes the drink from your grasp.

“Boyfriend?” he asks, amused.

You shake your head like you have no idea what he’s on about. “What?”

Kyle laughs and snags the other drink from your hand. With shock on your face, he strides up to the counter. “Can you set these aside for us? Be right back.”

They only nod and continue working. Kyle snags your wrist and drags you to the little hallway that curves out around. There are a few private corners in there, and the hallway itself opens up into the nearby bookstore.

Kyle checks the handle on the unisex bathroom. Finding it unlocked, he draws you inside.

“Kyle,” you hiss, but he’s not having any of it.

Kyle engages the lock and presses you up against the door.

“You owe me an apology,” he says.

“For what?” Kyle tuts, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. “Get on your knees,” he murmurs, undoing his belt buckle with the other hand. “Apologize with that gorgeous mouth of yours.”

John Price

John leans back in his chair, agitation irritating his spine.

House hunting isn’t something he’s particularly excited about. He is happy that it’s with you, his wife, but the tediousness of it all is exhausting to him. John would rather have you select a few places to tour and then be done with it all. Money isn’t the issue. He just wants you to find a place you like and the two of you can go from there.

He’d live in a tent if that’s what you want.

“My boyfriend isn’t all that picky.”

Boyfriend? John is tugged from his inner musings by your voice and that term of address. Boyfriend. Why the fuck would you call him that? John isn’t your boyfriend. He’s your goddamn husband.

You reach out, planting a hand on his thigh. You squeeze softly as you always do when you’re trying to reassure him, but John frowns down at it, and then looks up at you. You’re not looking at him. You’re staring at the realtor, completely ignoring him.

John licks his lips, considering whether to correct you or not, or leaving it up to a simple mistake, but you do it again.

This time, John didn’t mishear you.

Your hand squeezes his thigh again and Price rests his hand over yours. His fingers enclose your palm and he holds firm. You glance at him and John shoots you his best warning look. You don’t even react. Don’t event blink.

No. He’s going to correct you. He is absolutely fucking correcting you.

The realtor pivots the computer monitor. “I think any boyfriend would agree that these are excellent selections.”

That’s fucking it.

Price shoots up from his seat, keeping a tight grip on your hand. “I need to speak with my—” John pauses, swallowing down his annoyance. “Girlfriend. Privately.”

The realtor shrugs, smiling, but John is already turning around, dragging you out the door. Outside, the stuffy, summer air does nothing to soothe his annoyance.

“Boyfriend? Fucking boyfriend?” John crosses his arms over his chest, looming over you.

You shrug. “What’s the problem?”

“Behave yourself,” he says, lowering his voice.

“Or what?” you ask in mock innocence.

So, this is what you want. John understands the moment the words leave your mouth. You’re fucking teasing him. Fine. He’ll make you learn.

“We are gonna go back in, thank the kind woman for her time, and then we’re leaving.”

“No. I want to stay.”

John leans in but he notices the way you glance away from him and back, clearly flustered. “Good girls don’t play games.”

“Funny,” you reply, head tilting slightly. “That as my boyfriend you have any authority over me.”

John pivots, blocking the view of the front door from you. “I will bend you over that bench so fast, wife.”

“You won’t,” you stammer.

John arches an eyebrow and you visibly swallow. “Want to test me?”

You pout, and then playfully shove him in the chest. “You’re terrible.”

As you turn for the door, John grabs your waist pulling you close. “You started it.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“My boyfriend and I are redesigning our bathroom.”

Johnny’s attention splits. The associate showing him floor tiles is a distant thing. He might be talking about the newest ones on the market, but Johnny is no longer interested.

Did he just hear you right? Did you just call him boyfriend?

“That’s wonderful,” comes a reply, and Johnny notes an older woman talking to you near the laminate flooring that mimics wood. “Where is he?”

“Over there,” you wave at him, a smug smile on your face.

Boyfriend? Johnny is your fucking husband.

“Sir?” prompts the hardware store associate. “What do you think of these?”

Johnny grunts. “Fine. We’ll come back.” He waves the man off and starts for you even as you continuously refer to him as your boyfriend.

You’re doing it on purpose. You’re doing it to annoy him.

And it’s fucking working.

Johnny saddles up beside you, snaking his arm around your waist, pulling you taut against him.

“This is the boyfriend,” you begin, smiling.

“Husband,” corrects Johnny, flashing the same devious grin. He holds up his left hand, showing off the simple gold band. “Happily married to this one.”

The older woman’s eyes round.

“She likes to joke,” continues Johnny. “Come on, love. Better get home.”

Johnny easily guides you away. He leans down, whispering. “You little terror.”

“Bite me,” you reply.

“Oh. I will. Everywhere. When we get home.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @miaraei

@coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @unhinged-reader-36 @enarien

@miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @sapphichotmess @enfppuff

@berarenado @saoirse06 @haven-1307 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu

@thewulf @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos

@sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d

@heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez

@gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie

@tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair @nomercyforthewarrior @dakotakazansky

@talooolaaloolla @hantheconqueror @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @umno-yeah

[anonymous-existences]

DPxDC Prompt 8:

Danny is a streamer but, this is a philza situation where he is an internet Dad. Dani is his adopted daughter and they've been staying in Gotham for a long time, Danny has a lot of money saved up with being a ghost king and his job as one of the professional engineers in WE.

Dani Befriends Damian in Highschool and Ever since then they've acted like any siblings would until Dani introduces Danny's streaming platform, Danny started to stream out of boredom and to share his interests. Damian gets hooked onto it especially with the Older man's obvious care for the environment as well as his honest and upfront opinions and statements but also his gentle father demeanor. Damian shows Tim just because Dani said it'd be good for Danny's platform.

Bruce wanted to be a cool dad and understand why Tim and Damian are suddenly all so close about one specific topic and why they have similar merch they buy. Damian gives in and finally introduces Bruce to the internet, and Danny.

Shenanigans Ensue, he finds out Danny works at WE but decided to take the slow route as to not scare the pretty older man. >:) you get the gyst from here.

Damian and Tim are distraught, Danny and Their Dad are hitting it off and now he's their dad's boyfriend, Elle is exasperated and in denial. Damian, Tim and Ellie are all in denial and would like to live in their normal delusion thank you very much.

Something like this with Damian and Tim are bonding over their distraught with Danny(favorite streamer) and their dad hit it off but also still their usual much more subtle arguments.

"This is all your fault Demon Brat." Tim sighs exasperated, staring at Danny and their father from afar having a sweet and lovely chat in a cafe.

"I regret accepting your offers of learning from internet Danielle." Damian sneered glancing over to Ellie who was with them, stalking their fathers. "Not my fault you obliged to my question." She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

Damian and Tim gasped, Ellie Grumbled as Danny gave Bruce a kiss on the cheek, causing Bruce's face to flush up a tone of red.

"Drake, end me now, honorably stab me in the heart before I commit it myself." Damian said grabbing Tim by the cuffs of his neck and weakly shaking him, visibly distraught and in disbelief.

"I need Bleach in my eyes..." Ellie groaned and dragging her hands to her scalp as she crouched on the ground.

Tim was frozen, malfunctioning mentally trying to erase the scene he had just witnessed.

"Drake! Snap out of your measely trance you imbecile!" Damian shook him harder as he held back the urge to slam Tim to the wall as Ellie continued to groan and grumble in agony.

[rafesangelita]

⋆˚✿˖° scare actors in a haunted house weren’t the only thing that made bambi!reader scream.. in which you and rafe accidentally stumble into an empty room while running away from a group of ‘killer’ clowns.

warnings: haunted house setting, slight teasing, ft. topper and kelce, getting chased, dirty talk, fingering, quickie, unprotected sex, semi-public sex

a/n: this is a collab fic w/ my mootie @fae-of-prey & my first ever collab on this account <3 please go check out the fic she posted to see the prompt i gave her 🤍 happy early halloween!

“rafe, i told you i didn’t want to do this!” you cried, clinging onto his arm as you two neared the doors of the haunted house. he took your hand in his, an amused expression playing on his face as your heart pounded in your ears. “baby, you’re with me. absolutely nothing could happen to you, ‘swear.” rafe reassured you, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. it didn’t help in the slightest when one of the scare actors crept up on you in the line, tapping your shoulder before screaming in your face. rafe, along with topper and kelce all laughed, your cheeks heating with embarrassment.

rafe saw a flash of hurt cast over your features, quickly shutting up his friends as he pulled you to his side. “alright, how about this; you walk through this haunted house with me, and i’ll finally take you to that pumpkin patch, ‘sound good?” you looked up at him, a pout on your lips. “..and you have to dress up as whatever i want you to be for halloween.” you added, both of you moving up in the line. refraining from cursing under his breath, rafe agreed. “alright it’s a deal.” he nodded, both of you locking pinky’s. soon, you two were at the front of the line, a man with a clipboard stood outside of the doors.

“if you could please look over this waiver, we need the signatures of all participants before allowing anyone inside.” rafe signed the waiver without hestation, passing the clipboard over to you. “you didn’t even read it..” you whispered, looking over the paper. obstruction of vision, flashing lights, small spaces, nothing too bad. you signed your name, giving the clipboard to the man before he opened the door for you and rafe. “have fun!” he shut it behind you two. you clung onto rafe, your boyfriend holding onto you tightly as he guided you through the dark room.

“you’re alright, just keep walking.” as soon as you took a step, a man in a grotesque mask popped out in front of you and rafe before allowing you two to go down the hallway. “i can’t even see anything!” you screamed, nearly tripping over your own feet. rafe cursed under his breath as he helped you balance, his hands holding you tightly to his side. “fuck, i didn’t think it was going to be this dark.” he looked around, your eyes shining with fear as a weeping lady started making her way down from the end of the hallway. “i think we should run.” you gripped rafe’s fingers, your heart pounding with every step she took.

just as rafe was going to agree, the lady in a bloodied white dress bolted towards you two, a piercing scream leaving her lips. “they’re coming!” you and rafe flashed each other a look, a metal door creaking open to your right. before you could turn, a pair of hands grabbed you by the back of your dress, the death grip you had on rafe’s arm making him tumble inside the room with you. “shit!” rafe fell, dragging you down with him. just as you two were getting up, the lights turned on, your eyes widening as you realized you and rafe were surrounded by at least eight clowns.

rafe eyed the various weapons they carried. from baseball bats with nails, to bloody chainsaws, he swallowed thickly at the menacing sight. “alright, this is a little scary now i can’t lie..” you whimpered when they started circling you two. “you only have one chance to get out.. make it count.” just then, they made way for you and rafe to run through a set of double doors, their heavy footsteps clashing with the cement flooring as they chased after you and rafe. the lights were flashing rapidly, making everything look as if it moved in slow motion. “y/n! over here!” rafe shouted, reaching for your hand.

you grabbed onto him, a gasp leaving your lips when you two ran past a sign that said ‘employees only’. “wait! i don’t think we were supposed to turn in here!” you were panting, looking behind you as rafe broke through the door. “who cares? at least we lost them.” he laughed, pulling you inside the dimly lit room before twisting the lock shut. he flipped the light switch on, and instead of being surrounded by clowns this time, you two were surrounded by racks of costumes. “yeah, we’re definitely not supposed to be in here.” you sighed, watching as rafe plopped down on a chair in the corner of the room.

taking a moment to inspect your dress, you grimaced as the once sparkling white material was now dingy and stained, your shoes matching the mess. “i look disgusting..” you whispered, your skin damp with sweat. rafe looked up, his eyes scanning down your figure. “no you don’t.” he scoffed, motioning for you to sit on his lap. you obliged, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as you took your seat. “what made you want to wear a dress for a haunted house, hm?” he pressed his nose against your neck, his hair tickling your skin. you giggled, resting a hand on his chest as you shrugged.

“just thought it would look nice..” rafe hummed, pressing a kiss to the underside of your jaw before you felt his fingers slip underneath the fabric of your dress. “what are you doing?” you caught onto rafe’s ministrations, your eyes darting around the room as his fingers inched closer to your underwear. “we’ve done it everywhere else.. why not add the annual ‘kildare haunted house’ to the list?” you gasped softly when he started rubbing you over your panties. instinctively, your thighs opened for the man at your side, your head falling on his shoulder while he continued rubbing hard circles onto your clit.

“rafe, what if someone walks in?” your cheeks heated at the thought. “they’re not.. will you please stop worrying and just let me take care of you?” you swallowed thickly, nodding as he brought your leg over his thigh so you could straddle him. “it’s not my fault you look so fuckin’ pretty every time we go out somewhere.” he said through gritted teeth, hiking your dress up around your waist. finally taking your lips with his own, you whimpered when you felt him move your panties to the side. “being scared gets you this wet?” he slid a finger between your folds, his digit gliding with ease.

you hummed, your hips moving to grind on his hand. “being chased seems to turn you on..” he teased your entrance, “at least now i know i could chase you around tanneyhill and if i catch you, i could do whatever i want to you.” you moaned at his words, the idea igniting a fire in your belly. “that sounds good?” before you could reply, you felt rafe’s finger slide into your soaked cunt, a half-scream falling from your lips at the delicious stretch. “fuck, bambi,” he smiled wickedly, using his other hand to hold your dress out of the way, “you’re gonna let everyone know we’re in here.” rafe laughed.

you didn’t care at this point, your eyebrows knitting together as rafe pumped his digit in and out of your needy pussy. despite you buzzing with pleasure, your clit ached to be touched, the lack of friction making you whine. as if reading your mind, rafe unzipped his pants, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance before you sunk down on him, both of you letting out a moan. “even with fake blood on you, you’re gorgeous.” rafe wiped away a red streak from your cheek, his eyes swimming with lust as you moved on top of him. “thank you.” you hiccuped, grabbing onto his shoulders for leverage.

rafe’s hand snaked down between you two, his thumb stroking your sensitive bundle of nerves as he whispered filthy obscenities in your ear. “ride that fucking cock, baby. show me how bad you want it.” you cried out, your nails digging into his skin as he sped up the ministrations on your clit. the sound of your juices squelching with every movement of your hips turned rafe on beyond belief. within minutes, rafe felt his release approaching, your own high not too far away as you started trembling in his arms. your thighs burned for some relief, rafe could tell by the way your hips stuttered that you needed a break.

“rub your clit for me, bambi.” he guided your hand down to where his thumb once was, locking his arms around your waist before thrusting up into you at a brutal pace. you squealed in pleasure, both of your orgasms hitting each other at the same time. “son of a bitch..” rafe hissed as he spilled into you, your walls milking him for everything he had. you bit into his shoulder, the stinging sensation making him pinch your thigh. “oh my god,” rafe’s chest rose and fell with each breath, “are you okay?” you nodded weakly, resting your head on his shoulder.

rafe got both of you up, the two of you examining yourselves in the full body mirror to make sure you two looked presentable. “so i was thinking.. what if you dressed up as woody from toy story and i’ll be little bo peep?” you fixed your dress, batting your eyelashes up at him. once rafe fixed his belt, he flashed you a glare. “jesus christ, y/n..” he shook his head. “you promised!” just as you were going to clasp your hands together and beg, the door knob started rattling. “open the fucking door, man!” rafe recognized the voice immediately. “it’s locked, dumbass!”

“is that kelce and topper?”

[wintaerbaer]

bottle up old love (jjk) (m)

summary: Jungkook may have broken up with you a year ago, but that's not going to stop him from coming to your rescue when he sees you being cornered by a creep.

pairing: Jungkook x Reader

rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

genre: exes to lovers, the holy trinity of angst/smut/fluff

word count: 4.6k (this was supposed to be a drabble 💀)

prompt: JK + exes to lovers + "I'm sorry" + "I hate you" + "Don't fucking touch me" + "Leave" (for @btsborahaee <3)

warnings: language, a short harassment scene at the beginning (nothing too intense), explicit content including: unprotected sex (DO NOT), fingering, praise kink, biting, marking, spanking, cum eating (sort of?), big cawk soft dom jk, cowgirl (yeehaw), creampie, cockwarming, i think that's all but this also wasn't supposed to be too smutty so clearly idk what's going on lol

MASTERLIST

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

You spit the words at the man in front of you, pushing him back as he tries to make another grab at your arm.

“Why do you gotta be like that?” Seungcheol whines. “I thought we were having fun.”

“You and I have very different ideas of fun.” You take a step backwards towards your building. Somewhere down the sidewalk, footsteps clatter against the pavement.

“C’mon.” He matches your movement, reaches for you again. “Invite me up. You enjoyed the last time, didn’t you? I told you that was just a warm-up.”

The building’s brick wall is closer than you thought, and you bang your shoulder against it as you try to sidestep him. “Last time you didn’t follow me to a bar I didn’t even invite you to. How did you know where I was anyway?”

“Let me come up, and I’ll tell you,” he rumbles with a flicker of his eyebrows. He has you fully backed up against the wall now, and you press against the muscle of his chest to no avail.

“Stop!” you shout before he’s ripped away from you so suddenly that you’re left blinking in confusion, huddled against the brick.

There’s a thud–the sound of a fist hitting flesh–and a yelp before Seungcheol is reeling back with his hands clutching his nose. Blood seeps out from beneath his fingers, black even under the glow of the streetlamps.

“What the fuck?” he shrieks, and it’s only then that you take a proper look at your savior, looking every bit like he’s stepped straight out of the shadows with his dark hair, ebony clothes, and deep brown eyes.

And a lead weight drops into your stomach as you recognize him.

Jungkook sets himself between you and Seungcheol, looming over the latter as he continues to cover his face, whining. “I’m giving you ten seconds to get out of here.”

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“Ten,” Jungkook growls, taking a step in Seungcheol’s direction. “Nine.”

Seungcheol straightens–clearly a last-ditch attempt to look intimidating. Spitting blood onto the concrete, he peers at you over Jungkook’s shoulder. “This isn’t over, bitch.”

Then he spins and takes off running down the street.

Your hands grip your elbows. It may be a balmy summer night, but you’re shivering where you stand, unsure whether you’re more affected by Seungcheol’s behavior or the ghost who’s unexpectedly in front of you.

“Are you okay?” he quietly asks, gaze fixed on your face. You stare at your shoes and give him a brisk nod as a response before turning away, punching in your building code, and walking through the front door.

He follows closely, slipping in behind you and trailing a few feet. You let him for a little while, guiding him through the modest lobby and up the first flight of stairs. But when you’re halfway up the second stairwell–almost to your floor–you pause on the landing, spinning his way.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

His eyes are gentle, sincere. “Making sure you get in safely.”

“There’s no need for that,” you assert. “I’m already in my building. There’s a keypad. I’m good.”

“The keypad does almost nothing. I followed you in no problem.”

“So I should be worried about you then?”

He flushes, the tips of his ears going pink. “Please just let me see you inside.”

You want to argue back, want to shout at him and make a scene, but you know it’s no use. Know that he’s stubborn as a bull and will get what he wants one way or another.

It’s how he broke up with you after all.

You say nothing, only hustle up the last set of steps and down the dimly-lit hallway until you’re in front of your door, Jungkook tailing you the whole time with his hands in his pockets. You practically fumble your key in your haste to get it into the lock, letting out a satisfied sigh as the latch finally clicks open.

“There. I’m in,” you say as you step over the threshold, waving a dismissive hand at your unwanted companion. “Leave.”

But he hesitates just outside the doorway, teeth chewing at the corner of his lip. “What are you going to do if he comes back?”

“That’s my problem, isn’t it? I stopped being your concern when you dropped me out of nowhere a year ago.”

Your eyes sting at the memory, tears threatening to spill over. You don’t want him here. Don’t want to see him or have him anywhere in your vicinity. Not when it still hurts like this.

Though, truth be told, you don’t expect to ever be fully over him.

“We’re done, Jungkook,” you murmur. “You made sure of that.”

And you close the door in his face.

The distress subsides quickly once he’s out of sight–like he was never there to begin with–and you don’t linger, dropping your bag on the sofa and heading straight for the bathroom. This is how you’ve made it a year without him; it was weeks of crying before you realized that wallowing was doing you no good, only fueling your misery instead of providing any kind of catharsis. So you’ve done your best to simply push past it and cast away the anguish that bubbles up every time you think of him. Not allow it to linger like the shadows at the edges of the room.

You shed your clothes and turn the shower to a temperature that you’ll probably regret later. But for now, you savor the way the water sears your skin as you wash away the day with all of its unpleasant surprises. Taking your time, you scrub every inch of your body and carefully shampoo your hair (trying not to fall back into the fantasy that’s plagued you on occasion where it’s his hands and not yours spreading the bubbles over your form).

The self-care continues as you step out of the shower and leisurely work through your skin care routine, even taking the time to blow dry your hair. By the time you exit the bathroom, the fog on the mirror has dissipated, and you’ve once again successfully tamped down the memory of Jungkook and his hands and eyes and everything you ever felt for him.

Or so you think.

After popping into your bedroom to pull on some pajamas, you pad back into the living room for a glass of water, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the front door. Regret attempts to push its way into your consciousness against your better judgment. The man broke your heart, yes. But you do feel a little guilty slamming the door in his face after he just fought off a creep for you.

And speaking of Seungcheol, what if he does come back? You’re pretty sure he saw you punch in the building code the night you brought him home with you, and given his behavior, you wouldn’t be surprised if he filed it away in his head.

Anxiety winning out, you creep to the door and peer through the peephole. The hallway looks empty, drab beige walls taking up most of your field of view, but you jump as you spot a hulking shadow to the right. Your heartbeat races then slows, a closer look revealing hunched, unmoving shoulders wrapped in a familiar black t-shirt.

Jungkook swings his head to look at you as you open the door and glare down at him. His legs are pulled up, arms resting on his knees, and it might be endearing if not for the fact that he absolutely, positively should not be here.

“What are you doing?” you ask him for the second time tonight.

“He might come back.”

“And you’re going to what? Fight him?”

He shrugs. “If I have to.”

“Yeah?” You raise an eyebrow, challenging. “You’re going to sit out here all night?”

He shifts where he sits, wiggling his hips like he’s firmly planting his butt into his chosen spot. “Yes.”

You roll your eyes at him but don’t doubt that he would. Again, if there is anything you know this man to be, it’s stubborn. “You’re going to scare the neighbors.”

“Who, Mrs. Kwon?” A tiny smile plays on his lips as he glances in the direction of your elderly neighbor’s apartment. “I think she’d be delighted to see me.”

If you’re being honest, she probably would be. She’s always adored Jungkook and praised him as the “kind, handsome young man” who helped her put away groceries and fixed her leaky faucet one time. In the months following your breakup, she’d asked about him once or twice, patting your arm reassuringly when you awkwardly told her she wouldn’t be seeing him anymore.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “He’ll come around.”

Well she’s turned out to be right in that he’s certainly back here again, still watching you from his spot on the floor. And you don’t know whether it’s his big doe eyes or the fact that he really would guard your apartment all night if you let him or the genuine fear that one of the other neighbors will make a fuss at his presence, but you feel yourself softening.

Turning abruptly, you stride into the kitchen for your glass of water, walking out of sight of the door, which is still wide open.

“You coming?” you call, pulling two glasses down from the cupboard.

There’s a rustle as Jungkook stands and shuffles into your apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft thud. For someone who was so determined to defend you tonight, he seems uncertain now that he’s actually inside. His hands are once again stuffed in his pockets, and his eyes flicker around like he hasn’t been here a thousand times. Hasn’t cooked you breakfast in this kitchen in nothing but his boxers. Hasn’t watched The Notebook with you on this TV and held you as you both cried.

Hasn’t made love to you on the couch.

You slide a water his way, and he murmurs his thanks, sipping at it lightly. It’s strange–seeing him here again–and you can’t help but think about the last time he stood in this room. It’d been a maelstrom of accusations and hurt feelings that culminated in him storming out, the slam of the door echoing in your ears.

“You never cleaned that?” He gestures at the rug that covers most of the sitting area in your living room, eyes on the dark purple stain roughly the size of your hand.

You gulp down your water and try not to follow his line of sight. Try not to remember how you’d knocked over a glass of wine in your haste to get his clothes off during another movie night less than a month before your breakup.

“I kind of forgot about it,” you say. “Stopped noticing it after a while.” 

It’s a lie. There was never a time when you didn’t notice it, the memory of him haunting you every time you sit down on the couch and stare at the garish stain. And still, you haven’t been able to bring yourself to try and erase it.

Silence worms its way between you again. With only the soft light from the tabletop lamp glowing next to the couch, Jungkook’s face is cloaked in shadow. And so you barely see his lips move when he speaks. Barely hear it with how quietly his whisper slips into the room.

“I’m sorry.”

Your glass almost drops from your fingers, droplets splashing across your knuckles as you catch it at the last moment and steady it on the countertop. Turning to face him, you find his gaze already on you, melancholy tinting his expression.

“What?”

He tongues his lip ring, shoulders dropping a fraction. “For how things ended. I’m sorry.”

You can see the sincerity in his posture, can see the sadness in his form. And yet, his words only fill you with a hot anger that bubbles out of you before you can swallow it down.

“I don’t know why you would be,” you challenge, “being that you didn’t even respect me enough to give me a proper reason.”

Jungkook huffs at that; you think he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Did it really matter?”

“Yes.”

He gnaws at his lip again, no longer looking at you, and his lack of an answer only riles you up further.

“Was there someone else?” you demand, causing him to flinch. It was the same thing you asked him when he told you he thought you should break up, standing in almost this exact same spot.

“No,” he murmurs after a moment. “There wasn’t anyone else.” He pushes a hand through his dark, silky hair. “There hasn’t been anyone else since either.”

This surprises you. Jungkook is, in your eyes, the handsomest man you have ever come face-to-face with, but even from an objective standpoint, he is exceedingly attractive. There is no doubt in your mind that he would easily be able to land a woman if he so desired.

“So then why?”

He sets his jaw, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and fixes his stare out the window. And it’s this final refusal, this steadfast dedication to not explaining himself, that finally has tears tracking down your cheeks.

The sight of you crying has his attention snapping back your way, hands reaching out as if to hold you.

“Don’t touch me,” you gasp, recoiling until you’re out of reach. “I…I hate you.”

It almost seems as if your voice lands physically, and Jungkook staggers back like you’ve slapped him, remorse immediately wiggling its way between your ribs. You know you don’t mean the words even as they fall from your mouth, but it feels pointless to take them back now, the sentiment already thrown out there and hovering in the hollow space between you.

Jungkook muddles towards the couch–more of a defeated slump dragging his steps than anger–and you think he’s going to sit down before he whirls back towards you at the last second.

“The gala,” he mutters. “That’s when I decided.”

You know which one he’s talking about. Hosted by your medical school to celebrate the end of the academic year, it had been a night of food, dancing, and socializing. You had, of course, brought him as your date and introduced him to your friends and classmates, excited to finally allow him to put faces to names. As you comb through your memories of the night, you can’t pinpoint any warning signs, only remembering the way he’d smiled at you throughout. The way he’d pulled you close and danced you around the room.

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair again, tossing strands of night over his forehead. A sad chuckle looses itself into the thick air of the room, and the final dregs of his resolve flicker away. “I realized that I didn’t deserve to stand next to you. That you could do much better than me.”

Whatever you thought his reason had been–whatever theories or thoughts had kept you up night after night for the past year–this is not even close to what you expected. And while you always thought finally receiving an answer would be freeing, would offer you some semblance of understanding, you’re surprised at the rage that boils in the pit of your stomach, bile rising in your throat.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” you growl, taking an angered step towards him. “You were feeling insecure, and you made the decision to break up with me without even thinking to, I don’t know, discuss it with me first?”

His hand goes to the back of his neck now, embarrassment showing its face as he peers at you from under his lashes. “I was stupid–”

“No, shit.”

“But can you blame me?” he presses. “There we were: you, about to be this incredible doctor with all of your doctor friends…” His voice falters, sorrow lacing his tone. “And I’m just a tattoo artist.”

The defeatist way he says it helps to dampen your ire some, even if a heap of frustration remains–the sad shape of his doe eyes softening your edges.

“Just a tattoo artist,” you repeat. “Jungkook, I have always been so, so proud of you. I was never anything but proud to have you as my partner. You must’ve known that.”

His teeth worry his lip, and though he nods, he doesn’t seem fully convinced.

So you continue on, closing the distance between you a fraction more. “You started your own business from nothing. And I saw how hard you worked: to get the building, to hire other artists, train your apprentices.” You shake your head–half in irritation, half in awe. “And look at you now! You’re thriving. The last I heard, if you want an appointment at Golden Tattoo, you need to book months in advance.”

His eyes are alight now, some hidden emotion glimmering under the surface, but he stays quiet as he soaks in your words.

“So how can you possibly act like you weren’t enough?” you push. “You are amazing, Jungkook. And I never gave a shit about any job comparisons people may have made.” One more step, and suddenly you’re almost chest-to-chest. As always, you’re unable to resist the pull of his gravity. Yanked right back into his orbit. “I only wanted you. I’ve only ever wanted y–”

He cuts you off with his mouth, strong hands snagging your hips to pull you against him, and your own fingers reflexively tangle in his black hoodie as your subconscious gives itself over to him. Like it’s been waiting for this.

“I’m not. Not thriving,” he mumbles against your lips. “Not without you. Been miserable without you.”

And in spite of your anger, in spite of the fact that you were ready to kick him out a mere hour ago, you find yourself kissing him back, relishing the slick glide of his tongue as he licks into your mouth.

You startle as the backs of your knees suddenly bump against the couch, and then Jungkook is spinning as he settles onto the plush seat, pulling you along to straddle him. He sucks at your neck until you can feel the blood blooming under your skin, painting you like the pretty ink on his arm.

Speaking of.

The fabric of his hoodie whispers as you pull it up and over his back and head, tossing it over his shoulder and into a corner. His arms now bare to you, you gloss over his tattoos with your eyes and fingers until you find the one you’d picked out for him; the lovely orange of the flower petals seem to glow even in the dim light of the room.

“Beautiful,” you whisper.

“Just like you.”

You look at him then, the twinkle of tiny galaxies in his eyes betraying his hope. And before you can go any further, you need confirmation.

“You left.”

“I did.” Fingertips press lightly against your waist like he’s afraid you might be the one to disappear now. “I’m sorry.”

“Jungkook, if…” You lick your lips. Can almost taste his regret. “If we do this and you leave again–”

“If we do this, I'm not going anywhere,” he insists, tugging your hips down to grind against him and ghosting a kiss at your jaw. “Just wanna be here with you. Just want you.”

And it’s all you need to hear.

You shed the cotton shirt you had thrown on after your shower and move to yank his own off, tossing it in the same corner as his hoodie. The muscles of his pecs and abs shift under your hands, burning hot where your fingers trace the contours of his torso. 

“God, I missed this,” he groans as he buries his face between your breasts, nipping at the skin there before laving the spot with his tongue.

You’d agree–echo the sentiment that your body has been aching for this–if not for the fact that you’re too busy trying to get the two of you naked, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts.

But a tattooed hand covers yours, eases it away to take its place. “No,” he rumbles. “Let me.”

Wide palms and long fingers span your hips and thighs, grasping as much skin as possible even as he drags your shorts and panties down your legs and helps to steady you as you kick them off. They join the tangle of his own clothes

“Fucking gorgeous,” he growls at the sight of you finally naked in front of him. And with such speed that it almost seems like it’s involuntary, an impulse outside of his control, he’s immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs.

“Baby, this wet for me already?” A breathy sigh passes from his mouth to yours, almost laughing at the ease with which he glides through your folds. “Hell, I could just–”

A finger slips in and you gasp, Jungkook smiling wickedly at you as he quickly adds a second and curls them against your walls. You force your eyes closed as they roll back in your head, and you keel forward, babbling incoherently against the line of his collarbone.

“Use your words, love; you can do it.” He says it as if his fingers aren’t currently buried in you down to the knuckle. As if he’s not making you see stars behind your eyelids right now.

You choke down a breath, desperate for the oxygen. “Insane,” you pant. “I said you’re fucking insane.”

“Only for you,” he says before sliding his digits out of you and dipping them into his mouth. He moans at the taste, and even with his lips closed tightly, you can see the way he’s working his tongue around each finger, unwilling to waste a single drop of your essence.

Like you said. Insane.

He gives you a moment to catch your breath until you’re the one who’s getting impatient, hastily undoing his belt and tearing it from his pants with a hiss. But as you shift off of him so he can slither out of his pants and boxers–his length springing free to slap against his smooth stomach–you’re hit with an untimely realization.

“Jungkook, I don’t have condoms.”

He freezes, the color draining from his face (though admittedly, that may be because all of his blood has clearly gone south). The two of you stare at each other for a long second before he suddenly leans over, rummaging back through his pants pockets. He pulls out his wallet, rifles through it, then tosses it across the room in frustration, head tilting back against the couch as he groans at the ceiling.

“Fuck, me neither.”

You chew at your lip, a loaded quiet settling over the room as Jungkook wipes a hand over his face.

“I’m still on birth control,” you whisper, and Jungkook whips his head around, eyes wide and questioning like he’s not sure he heard you right. But you don’t repeat yourself, only hold his stare until he’s tentatively reaching out to graze his fingertips along your thigh.

“I told you. There’s been no one else.” His expression is earnest, eager. You trust that he’s telling the truth, and yet you also know that if you refused him, if you said you weren’t comfortable, he wouldn’t push.

So you swing a leg back over his lap, drag your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, but he leans in to bite at your lower lip with a growl before pulling back to search your face.

“You?”

It hurts that he even feels the need to ask. Because how could you even want someone else? Who could possibly measure up?

You brush a reassuring, barely-there kiss against his already swollen lips. “No one else for me either.”

This seems to please him, but you still see hesitation behind his eyes as he asks, “What about the guy downstairs?”

A drunken mistake was what that was. All sloppy lips and fumbling hands that had left you feeling more empty than anything, and which resulted in you sending Cheol away before he had even gotten a peek at your bedroom.

“We made out once,” you admit, hating that you’re even having to think about another man when Jungkook is here in front of you. “But nothing else happened.”

“Good,” he grunts, but his fingers dig into your backside like he’s trying to reclaim you. And just a fraction of a second later, he’s devilishly tonguing his lip ring as he winds his palm back to bring it down harshly against the meat of your ass, the smack echoing between the walls almost endlessly.

“Ride me, baby.”

You’re quick to line him up–desperate, at this point, to have him inside of you–and begin to ease yourself down slowly, trying to give your body the space and time to adjust to the burning stretch of his girth. He’s always filled you to your absolute limit, tested the furthest boundaries of how much your body can take with his size.

“Yesss,” he hisses, nipping at your neck once again. “You’re doing great, love. Always take me so fucking well.”

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push of him. If you were a betting woman, you’d put money on your intestines being somewhere in the area of your throat right now.

He wraps his inked arm around your waist, continuing to whisper his praises against the shell of your ear as he starts to guide your body up and down. Intoxicated by the smooth slide of his length, you soon find your pace, and your shared moans fill the room–the whole city probably able to hear you right now.

You move that way until the pressure building becomes too much and your legs start to tremble, quivering against Jungkook’s own muscled thighs.

“It’s okay; I’ve got you.” He bands his arms around you and presses you to his chest, holding you in place so he can thrust upwards.

Hard.

You’re practically screaming now, burying your teeth into his shoulder so as to muffle your sounds and not scare the neighbors. It’s all you can do to hold on for dear life as he rapidly pistons his cock inside of you, the slap of your hips like a metronome.

It builds and builds until it breaks and you’re falling apart in his arms, the spasms of your inner walls pulling him over the edge with you as he empties his seed deep inside.

The silence that follows in unlike the others you previously shared this evening–tension traded for serenity as you sit on the couch holding each other, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. He traces the ridges of your spine in a soothing pattern that has your eyelids drooping, your cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck.

“I missed this,” you whisper once your brain has finally remembered how to construct human speech.

“I missed you.”

You pull back so you can rest your forehead against his and gently run a finger over the lines of his face. “Where do we go from here?”

He hums. Tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “Take it day by day?” he suggests. “We don’t need to rush into anything if you don’t want to.”

“Mm, that does seem like a problem for tomorrow.”

A dark eyebrow quirks, teasing. “And what about right now?”

“Now?” you ask. “Do you remember the way to the bedroom? Or…” You shift your hips, already feeling him twitching inside of you.

“Or.” He jolts forward to capture your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it, whole again. “Or sounds good.”

a/n: pls like, reblog, reply, and/or send an ask if you enjoyed! <3