#gotta be immersed to get off

[darthkote]

hell nah star wars got me researching military tactics for creative purposes (fanfiction)

[shigussy]

i love technology. google translate isnt the best but when u need to talk to someone that only speaks a language u don't know it's very useful.

[shikai-the-storyteller]

*Lies face-down on the floor* I wanna live in the Pokemon world so bad man

[lazyjellyfish300]

MINNIEEEE WHAT HAVE I JUST READDD 😩 this spellbinding feast of steaminess 🥵🥵💕💕

Content Warnings: 18+/MDNI, suggestive themes Pairing: Nanami Kento x fem!Reader Summary: "It’s just way too tight, Kento. I really don’t think you’ll fit.” You deliberately punctuate your statement with a lilt of your voice, which implies far more than your words convey, a shift that does not go unnoticed by Nanami. It’s what finally earns you the view you’re fishing for. Word count: 3.4k

It’s a bright, frigid winter afternoon, the kind that sees the sun casting a dazzling light off the patches of the morning’s snowfall with near-blinding intensity. Your breath fogs slightly as you bring your hands to your mouth, pretending to warm up the fingers that are concealing the chuckle you simply can’t contain anymore.

You’re sitting in your car, parked just outside Nanami’s apartment building, watching in quiet amusement as the sorcerer emerges through the automatic door and approaches you. His eyes are narrowed in a sharp, assessing gaze as he glances first to the front and then to the rear of your car, undoubtedly taking stock of the cramped space and the less-than-ideal angle you’d managed to maneuver into. When his gaze briefly locks with yours, it is a small shake of his head that acknowledges your sheepish smile before he crosses in front of the car ahead of you to reach your side.

Oh, how you love to play the game.

It’s a game that owes its inception to a spark ignited within you one evening, several months prior. Your second official date with Nanami Kento was a memorable one; a wonderful outing together comprising delicious food and delightful open conversation, which allowed you to discover an unfiltered side to the otherwise reserved colleague you’d only grown so fond of. You’d learned so much about him in the space of a mere few hours.

After which you'd also learned something about yourself.

“Damn, they really boxed us in like this…” You’d said as Nanami opened the passenger door to his car for you.

You’d just wrapped dinner at a quaint and charming restaurant whose only drawback was the inconvenience of only having street parking available on what was a rather narrow street. It now appeared that since your arrival, two vehicles had parked so closely, both behind and in front of Nanami’s, leaving it with hardly any room to exit.

“That is rather bothersome,” Nanami said before gently closing your door and squeezing his way over to the driver’s side.

He took a moment after pushing the ignition, and you sensed he was making a mental calculation in his mind as he thought through this conundrum. You reached into your handbag, taking the opportunity to quickly reapply a thin layer of your tinted lip balm, which you damn near bit off when Nanami abruptly draped his arm over the back of your seat as he looked over his shoulder, assuming a new position that saw him leaning both backward and towards you. The combination of his sudden nearness, the faint woody scent of his cologne, and his warm breath on your neck was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” He murmured, more to himself, his confident words a low rumble that tickled your ear and sent a warmth spreading through you.

When you finally dared take a sidelong glance at Nanami, you were gifted with a breathtaking sight. You took notice of the way the setting sunlight illuminated his strong jawline, of how it enhanced the sharp features of his face, and of the subtle radiance emanating from his profile.

You watched his eyebrows furrow in focus, his eyes narrow in calculation, averting your gaze just as he faced forward again, shifting your focus to where his fingers gripped the wheel as he turned it with the same practiced precision he carried when out on the field, exorcising curses.

The sleeves of his blue dress shirt were rolled back, revealing strong forearms that flexed as he brought his right arm from the steering wheel to the gear stick. In just a handful of dexterous maneuvers, he found the right angle and effortlessly managed to glide out.

Just like that.

Heat sluiced through the air, through you, and suddenly it was warm, far too warm, even for an early summer evening. The low buzz of excitement that had hummed just below your surface all evening had now reached its fever pitch. The air in the car was charged with a quiet intensity. Even today you wonder what you must have looked like in the moment, what kind of expression you had on your face as your eyes remained fixed on Nanami as if he was the first person to ever reverse out of a damn parking spot, what he might have seen in your eyes when he finally glanced your way and caught your lingering eyes, prompting him to ask, in a tone tinged with earnest curiosity:

“Is something wrong?”

“No, uh… You didn’t even use your backup camera.” It’s the desperate substitute for a coherent reply formulated by your slightly panicked mind.

“I didn’t, no. I find that leaning on the traditional way works best in a tricky situation like that. In fact, I usually don’t use the camera at all.” He paused a bit before playfully adding, “Is this a deal-breaker for you?”

“Well yes, Nanami, I perceive you so differently now…” You buried your genuine sigh of relief beneath one of mock concession. “But since I really like you, I guess I can learn to live with your lifestyle.”

“Thank you for accepting my cavalier ways.” Nanami’s lips curved into one of his warm smiles that you’ve grown to live for, distracting you, only for a brief moment, from the fact that you’d almost gotten caught flagrantly ogling him.

I have got to be careful with this, you’d thought to yourself at the time.

And for a while, you did; you discreetly savored in the rare opportunities you were offered, and keenly watched Nanami engage in the skillful displays that were his reverse maneuvers.

But now, it’s several months later, and time and familiarity have long since dulled the edge of caution.

Now, you’ve shed some of your inhibitions, and you allow yourself to be a bit bolder, more brazen.

Now, you don’t always want to wait for opportunities, so sometimes you manufacture them.

The distinctive clicking sound of your door latch snaps you out of your reverie as Nanami opens it, and the frigid winter air finds your face again, bringing you back to the current moment.

One quick look at him, at the tousled blonde locks freely cascading over the reading glasses he didn’t bother removing, at the black sweatshirt peeking through his unzipped puffer jacket, at the comfortable gray sweatpants emblematic of his peaceful weekend détentes confirms what you’d suspected a few minutes ago, as you texted your SOS regarding your precarious parking job.

You imagine the soft glow of his reading lamp and you can almost hear the light rustle of pages from the book he was likely reading before you interrupted him. For a moment, you feel the prickling sensation of guilt crawling up your spine. But then a second picture, even more alluring than the first, fills your mind, a vision so enticing that it relegates any and all thoughts of retreat to the far back corner of your mind, and you find yourself back on task with renewed motivation.

“Hey, thanks for being my hero again.” You cheerfully say, springing out of the car and landing on your tiptoes, your arms encircling his neck as you brush his cheek with a light kiss, feeling the warmth of his skin against your cool lips.

“Your knack for finding the trickiest spots on this street is unmatched, truly remarkable.” The bright sunlight reflects off his glasses, but you don’t need to see his eyes to detect the affection underlying Nanami’s exasperated tone. This isn’t his first rodeo, this is not your first time pulling this stunt, and you’re not new to this careful plotting of the conditions that would grant you the otherwise rare view you enjoy so much.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I always prefer this side for the convenient view I get from your place. I saw the spot and I really thought I could hack it.” You point back at the high-rise towards Nanami’s window, the one that faces this street some twelve stories above you, intent on feigning innocence by leaning onto the plausible excuse you’ve employed time and time again.

“You know, if you’d told me you’d be available earlier, I could’ve picked you up myself,” he says as he gently taps his boots to the side of your car, carefully ridding himself of the snow clinging to his boots before taking the wheel.

“I didn’t want to disturb you… Though I realize that I sort of am right now.” Your reply is apologetic in its tone but unapologetic in its objective to obscure your true intentions. You start on the path Nanami just took to get to you, following into the fresh footprints left by his boots in the snow to find the sidewalk again, expertly dodging the “you never disturb me” he undoubtedly has ready at the tip of his tongue.

Because you are disturbing him, deliberately so.

In theory, parallel parking never was your forte. Technically speaking, you could use his help. It is a stretch of a rationalization, something you know very well, being the architect of your premeditated predicament, as evidenced by the self-satisfied smirk that tugs at your lips once more.

You try your best to school your expression back into neutrality as you re-enter Nanami’s field of vision and as you move to enact the next step of your little scheme. Once you finally reach the car, it is in the back that you slide into, rather than the passenger seat.

Nanami uses the edge of his shirt to wipe the fog from his glasses before he wears them again, and only then, through the rearview mirror, does he seem to register your unusual decision to sit where you do. A slow arch of his eyebrow betrays his amused confusion.

“I’ve already made peace with being your valet, but am I to be your chauffeur as well?”

“Ah, you know, all of my things are on the front seat. I figured this is simpler,” you say in the most persuasive tone you can.

He glances down at the passenger seat, where you’ve indeed ensured, before driving here, to pile your handbag over the three hefty grocery bags holding the ingredients for your shared dinner, the ones you’ve deliberately left out of your spacious trunk.

“I see…” he says, finding your gaze through the mirror again, something unreadable briefly crossing his eyes. “I know we just discussed this the other day but I do wish you’d just let me rent you a spot in the indoor parking lot.” He adds, finding his train of thought once more as he shifts the gear into drive and begins his maneuver, moving a few inches forward.

“There’s no need, Kento. We’ll be moving in together soon, and besides, I rarely bring my car around here. It only amounts to a couple of times a month, if that.” Your rehearsed responses are a refrain from a conversation you’ve already had countless times.

“So you take my spot then, and I’ll park on the street. My car is smaller, and it will be easier this way.” His hand stills over the gear switcher, awaiting your feedback on his proposed alternative. Icorrigibly pragmatic, this man is; always so logical, constantly looking to make your life easier, all things you utterly love about him. But this is not a problem you want him to solve, at least not in the ways he’s thinking. The seconds tick by, each one a hammer blow against your carefully crafted plan.

So you quickly decide to shift tactics.

“I guess you’re right.” You slowly say. “You should get us out of this spot and park us elsewhere. I don’t think it can be done.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say it can’t—”

“It’s just way too tight, Kento. I really don’t think you’ll fit.” You deliberately punctuate your statement with a lilt of your voice, one which implies far more than your words convey, a shift that does not go unnoticed by Nanami, who responds instantly with a lift of his head up as he anchors his gaze to yours. The signs that betray the successful effect of your instigation are nearly imperceptible but they are there; in the minute narrowing of his eyes, in the slight lift of his eyebrows, in the subtle hitch of his breath.

It’s what finally earns you the view you’re fishing for, today’s at a newfound angle; Nanami finally reaches behind the passenger seat, places his hand on the headrest, and takes his usual position to reverse.

“Well, I’m certainly not one to back down from a challenge,” he says, defiance laced in his tone.

You mentally give yourself a pat on the back, but your triumph is quickly replaced with another sentiment. Because for some reason, as he maneuvers the car a few inches backward, Nanami holds your gaze, and you hold your breath. He doesn’t waver as the car slightly jerks under the audible tap of his foot on the pedal, and now you’re nervous. You are acutely aware of the ridiculously small space left between the cars, making his blind attempt at the maneuver seem irrational.

“Hey, shouldn’t you actually be keeping your eyes on the road?” It comes out of you, more a breathless utterance than a clear question. You watch Nanami shift back to drive and give a few light taps to the gas pedal, before switching back to reverse, his amusement now increasingly evident as his eyes find yours once more.

“Hey, shouldn’t you actually be seated next to me? Or is this the new best seat in the house?” His gaze does not waver, and he punctuates each of those last three syllables with a tap to the pedal, each producing a short, jerky backward jolt of the vehicle.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Nanami.” You mumble this, and you don’t even bother to sound convincing at this point, you’re still reeling at this unrelenting teasing. Here you are, having scored something even better than the mere view you were after, and somehow you’ve still lost the upper hand.

“Ah, so I’m just Nanami, now?” He says with what is now unmistakably a smirk.

A nervous scoff escapes you and you attempt to avert your gaze to something, anything other than his sly, piercing hazel eyes. You’re not left with many alternatives, so your eyes find purchase on the hand he’s placed on the headrest right in front of you, and you hope it will suffice to bring your heart rate down, to lower the increasingly warming temperature in the car, and to help you find your footing again in this repartee.

He must notice your newfound anchor and he must be determined to sink you because Nanami’s fingers begin to move in a light rhythmic tapping of his index finger and you now find yourself somewhat distracted again. His hand disappears momentarily as he grips the wheel to move forward, and when it returns, it is both his index and middle fingers that are moving again, together, this time.

What begins as a seemingly random, lazy, circular motion quickly transfigures into a slow, deliberate up-and-down rubbing motion; the minute squeaking sound of fingers against rubber, an audible evidence of a nebulously steady rhythm. Suddenly, it’s a pattern you recognize all too well, a motion you’ve watched him, felt him enact far too many times, one that causes a familiar fizzing of your stomach and compels you to instinctively squeeze your thighs together.

You find yourself unwittingly transfixed, the subject-changing retort you so desperately want to wield in self-defence, never quite making it to your lips. Did seconds pass? Did minutes? It is only once Nanami pulls his hand back to himself, and breaks the tense silence that you realize that the car has long since stopped moving,

“Now, tell me how I did.” He says in a commanding but gentle tone.

“How you… what?” You are decidedly disoriented and you don’t even know what he’s asking anymore.

“Check the curb, my love, and tell me if I’m aligned properly?” His abrupt flip back to his usual kind and even tone after engaging in the most egregious display of pettiness is dizzying.

You open your door to find your car perfectly positioned, your dicey position long since corrected.

You shut your door to meet a gaze that betrays the mischief simmering just beneath Nanami’s surface.

“You’re good,” you mumble, still pulling yourself back to reality. You would marvel at this masterclass in hand and eye and apparent finger coordination if you could think straight. Instead, your mind is a mix of hot and bothered and confused and you think to yourself that perhaps this time, you bit off just a bit more than you could chew.

“It was a tight fit, but as usual, I made it in.” He says these words in such a casual tone, and you know that he knows that he doesn’t need much more than this, that you’re already riled up.

Decidedly eager to vacate the car and get a breath of fresh air, you lean over the center console to reach for your handbag. Unbeknownst to you, Nanami sees this as an opening, an advantage to exploit.

By the time you feel Nanami’s arm draping just behind you as he reaches for the passenger seat once more, it’s already too late, and you find yourself stuck in your awkwardly bent position on the other side of his arm.

“Actually,” you feel more than you hear his voice rumble just behind your left ear, “I think I could back up a bit more.”

You watch him shift the gear into reverse, and he moves to look over his shoulder, but he can only really make it halfway.

Your faces are so close that you can see your reflection in his eyes, pupils and irises now indistinguishable. This is beyond impractical; you know it and he knows it. You look down to find something to grab onto, using the center console to brace yourself against the next anticipated jolt of the moving car.

It’s one that never materializes.

After a few moments of inertia, you finally lift your face to level your eyes with his, and by now it is a full-on, mischievous smirk plastered on his face.

And this ignites you. Because you, too, are not one to back down from a challenge.

You decide to make the most out of your newfound position by moving your left hand to grab onto his right leg. There it is, the shift of his expression, the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth now nothing more than a memory. Slowly but surely, you glide your hand up his leg, maintaining your eye contact, inching closer and closer up toward his lap. You watch as his breath hitches for a moment, as his gaze wavers, as a brief dark flicker crosses his eyes, telegraphing in advance the question he’s about to blurt out in a disquiet of his own, one you’re now more than willing to answer.

“What are you—” He breathes out.

“Well, Kento, I need to hold on to something, don’t I? You wouldn’t want me to fall, right?”

Nanami reaches down to switch the gear to what you assume is ‘Park’, his first gesture of concession. But you don’t relent, no, you double down.

You shift some of your weight off the console and onto your offending hand, gliding upwards, up towards his lap. Moving inwards, in towards his—

Your movement is abruptly halted, but you don’t miss the small audible groan that melts into the gulp he swallows as he closes his free hand over yours in a grasp that is both as gentle and as firm as his tone when he finally chokes out, “Upstairs.”

“Oh. Is this capitulation I hear from my beloved valet?” Your voice does not come out as even as you intend, your breath hitches, and frankly, it’s a miracle that you’re still holding your own, that you still manage to speak because the truth of the matter is that witnessing the effect of your anticipatory torture on him only serves to exacerbate your own conundrum.

“Let’s call it a temporary truce,” he says as he gently interlaces your fingers, cautiously moving your hand away from the danger zone all the while bringing his face as close to yours without touching, as if to spill his next words of promise directly into your mouth, words that come out as a deep rumble and that travel straight to your core.

“Capitulation is what I’ll pull from you real soon.”

[brucedefender4eva]

A sort of fake not so fake-dating concept where the couple is dating but everyone thinks that they’re fake dating.

Hal and Bruce decide to tell their families that they’re together around the same time that they have to go on an undercover mission and pose as a couple.

No one ever outright says that they don’t believe them, but it’s mutually agreed upon. In fact, Bruce’s kids are a little offended that he’s trying to ‘trick them’ into thinking he’s in a healthy relationship at the moment. He has a track record and it’s made them a little biased.

Hal and Bruce are completely oblivious to everyone not believing them and are having the time of their life being a lovey-dovey couple in public with each other.

The others are just so surprised on how willing they are to immerse in their undercover roles but they figure that Bruce wants it to be as realistic as possible. Anything to make sure that nothing goes wrong on the mission, he’s Batman, it’s gotta be perfect.

They go on the mission and it goes flawlessly as expected and when they get back, everyone is expecting them to get back to their regular dynamic. Bruce passive aggressively hating on Green Lantern, and Hal going back to doing his best to shit on and annoy Batman.

But that doesn’t happen.

Since the two wrongfully assume that everyone knows that they’re in an actual relationship, they’re a lot softer around each other.

Obviously their snark and bitchiness never goes away, it’s who they are, but it’s not cruel and aimed to purposely hurt anymore. It’s playfully and gentle.

But still, no one is letting their guard down. Maybe this is a training lesson or something? They’re thinking about any and every possibility on why these two continue to pretend to be in a relationship.

Then, Damian walks in on them simply… sitting. Just sitting together.

Bruce is curled up on Hal’s side, letting the other man play with the loose strands of his hair as he reads a book. Hal whispers something into Bruce’s ear and the man lets out a genuine giggle and sighs softly, gazing up at him with such a fond expression that it’s painful.

Then they kiss. Nothing explicit. In fact, it’s just a peck, a simple brush of the lips before they go back to their comfortable silence.

Damian slips away and is faced with the realization that his Baba is in a genuine relationship with that man and he does seem happy. And really, isn’t that what Damian hoped his Baba would find?

Damian tried to tell his siblings but none of them believe him. They think that Bruce is bribing Damian with another pet or something and brush their little brother off.

The next to figure it out is Cass and Duke. Duke had finally agreed to her multitude of requests to help her practice for the next ballet showcase she had. As they’re walking through the halls, they can hear faint old timey music playing from the ballroom, which is confusing because usually no one comes over here unless there’s a gala.

They crack open the door, and in the middle of the room is Bruce and Hal pressed up against each other, simply swaying to the music. You can’t really call what they’re doing dancing, but it’s soft and intimate and just… lovely.

Hal’s head is pressed against Bruce’s chest, right where is heart is located. He seemed to be swaying to Bruce’s heartbeat rather than the soft music playing in the background.

Bruce is hugging the other man tightly, his eyes closed tight as he followed Hal’s lead.

Cass and Duke exchange a wide eyed look as the quietly close the ballroom door and run off, wondering how they didn’t believe them when it was obvious.

Again, the two tried to tell their sibling (Damian feels vindicated) but still, disbelief.

Tim is fully refreshed when he finds out so he can’t even blame what he see on being sleep deprived or in a coffee induced spiral.

Tim knew Bruce was wrapped up in his own case, a bad one where Bruce refused to let any of his children even look at the crime scene photos or read the victim’s autopsy’s, so Tim figured he’d have to be the one to get Bruce to go to sleep.

Tim didn’t bother knocking on the door to Bruce’s study, he simply opened it and froze when he realized Bruce wasn’t alone. No, Hal was also there.

Hal was holding Bruce. No. He was cradling his dad… and Bruce looked calm in the other man’s embrace. Bruce wasn’t crying or yelling or even angry, but still there was emotion radiating from him that Tim couldn’t place.

But as Hal squeezed tighter, it receded. There was still a heavy weight holding Bruce down, but now his dad was hugging Hal back just as tightly.

Tim slowly stepped back and blinked. Hal was there. Hal was there for his dad and he was taking care of him, being gentle, showing him love…

How could he ever think that they weren’t in love?

One morning, on the rare occasion Dick stayed over at the manor, he walked into the kitchen to find Bruce there.

Bruce was making breakfast, something he rarely did anymore. Dick has known Bruce longer than anyone in the house (obviously we’re not talking about Alfred) and he knows that Bruce is a good cook. But he also knows how taxing cooking can be for his dad, which is why Bruce doesn’t do it often.

But here he was, happily cooking breakfast early in the morning. Hal was there too, clinging onto his back with his face buried in his dad’s neck. Bruce gets Hal to lift his face to taste test something and Dick can see the exhausted yet adoring expression on his face.

Dick backs out quietly, his heart thumping in his chest. What the fuck? His Tati was in an actual relationship with Hal Jordan. Oh fuck. They are so in love.

Before Dick could get to him, Jason is also faced with the realization that Bruce was in a serious relationship

Jason misses his dad. He’ll never say that shit to his face but he does. So, he makes up an excuse to go and see Bruce. Maybe he’ll complain about something, maybe he’ll act nice. Jason will decide on the way.

It’s a Tuesday at 10 in the morning, so Bruce should be in the library for his morning reading. Jason pops his head in and is confused when he doesn’t see Bruce sitting in his designated leather recliner.

There’s no way Bruce isn’t there, so Jason stalks through the rows of the bookshelves searching for him. Just as he’s about to leave, he spots him.

Bruce is in the very back, usually where the kids sit because it only has beanbags. Hal is cuddled up in his dad’s lap, the sound of an audiobook is playing as the two stare at a book.

Jason watches silently as Jordan complains that most of the words are nonsensical while Bruce just chuckles and presses a kiss to his cheek.

Bruce hates audiobooks. They go too slow and he swears that he can hear the narrator’s nasally breathing and the sound of their spit sticking to the roof of their mouths.

But here he is, happily listening to an audiobook. Listening to an audiobook and smiling happily as Hal interrupts to comment, complain, or just make a joke.

Oh fuck. Damian was right. They are dating.

Steph doesn’t count herself to Bruce’s kid, no matter what the old man says. She doesn’t need a Dad, especially not if it’s Bruce.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t want the guy to find happiness. It’d probably make him a lot more bearable to be around.

So, ignoring the laughable fake-dating scheme that she can see a mile away with Hal Jordan, she decides to take it upon herself and set Bruce up on some dates.

Bruce seems uncomfortable with the idea, no surprise there, but Hal (who is starting to hang around the manor more than she does) seems to think the whole thing is hilarious. Bruce keeps shooting him glares but it only seems to make the man laughed harder.

At first, the dates seem to be going well (yes she is spying, what else would she do with her day?) but then suddenly crash and burn. And who is doing the burning? Hal!

He’s at every restaurant, movie theater, or carnival that Steph sends Bruce to. Bruce seems incredibly smug every time Hal shows up with a pissed off expression and she just can’t figure out why.

After the tenth time of this phenomena, Steph was going to confront him. After Hal had scared of Bruce’s date and dragged Bruce away, she followed them to a nearby alleyway where she was greeted with an unusual site.

Bruce was laughing at the pouty expression Hal was sporting and pressing a flurry of kisses across the other man’s face, reassuring him that the dates meant absolutely nothing and Steph was just playing around.

Damn. Stephanie felt like a fucking idiot. Seriously, it was so obvious.

Alfred knew. Alfred probably knew Bruce was in love with Hal before Bruce knew he was in love with Hal.

Bruce has been in love before. And Alfred has always been there every step of the way, picking up the broken pieces of his little when he inevitably gets discarded and thrown away.

But he’s never seen Bruce like this before. So…

Alfred will keep watching, it’s what he’s best at. And he’ll be here for when Bruce needs to be put back together.

But maybe… maybe he won’t have to be this time.

Oh my, his son has grown up quite a bit. Alfred faintly wonders how Martha and Thomas would’ve felt, seeing their son so in love.

[hwallazia]

BITE IT, LICK IT, SPIT IT – 최산

synopsis . in which san discovers a new fetish while you ride him.

pairing . choi san & fem! reader

genre . smut (mdni!), established relationship, non idol!au, married!au.

taglist . @bro-atz @purplenimsicle @vampzity @iykyunho @yyaurii | apply to join my taglist ♡

word count . 0,7k

DISCLAIMER! dom! san, sub! reader, sort of lactation (milk involved but not specifically sucking it from the source), nipple play, cow girl position, bulge kink, mocking, dirty talk, praise, pet names (baby, princess), too much moaning and whining and whimpering, dacryphilia, basically san fucking the daylights out of reader (even though reader’s on top of him)

NIC’S NOTES yess, the title is based on billie’s lyric on “guess” how’d you know? <3 ;; also, i hate not having the time to write full-length stories so badly TT gotta survive with these little drabbles. so well, enjoy the meal babes !!

“put your back into it, yeah?”

his growl tingled your ear, hands reaching for his wide shoulders for support. you bounced up and down his length relentlessly, with no hesitation, no mercy. his hands found home in your hips which worked perfectly hard, fingers varying between lingering, fond touches and harsh grips on your flesh. your walls enveloped his cock in the most welcoming way, pulsating around him, giving him a taste of heaven.

“s-shut up,” your breathless whisper brushed his earlobe. “it’s hard when your husband has a fucking huge dick—“ you could almost continue your words. a strangled, loud moan intruding into your whiny complaint as he flattened his palm against your ass flesh, the sound of the harsh spank bouncing through the walls.

“just shut up and take it, baby.” he cooed at you mockingly, his recent action belying his honey-dripping voice, his lips finding their way up to your neck. cute love bites were spread all over the skin. “can’t be too hard now can it?”

your eyelashes swung the tears away by blinking once or twice, exhilarating pants rolled off your lips as beads of sweat were attached to your temple. you dropped your head back from the overwhelming feeling. eventually —when he grew far too impatient— he matched your pace, thrusting upwards and, therefore, reaching divine places.

“can’t do anything without my help.” his right found your bouncing breast and trapped it with his palm, his fingers immediately digging into the soft, almost pillowy flesh. “poor little princess.” he teased your nipple a little, sending to another wave of satisfaction as you melted into his touch. soon, a strange white liquid began to ooze out of the slit, resulting in san’s jaw dropping all the way down the floor, eyes wide open and dilated as he stared intently at the white essence, longing to get a taste of it oh-so-badly. the combination of his wife’s leaking tits bouncing right in front of him as his cock ramming into her insides formed a perfectly defined bulge was a sight for sore eyes. and he had the absolute pride to call it his, and only his to admire, to touch, to pleasure.

but you still were working hard on his dick, his hips still going up and down and providing him and you the most satisfying session. it wasn’t until you heard your husband speak that you realized what he was so immersed in. “fuck you’re leaking.”

“what do you mean—“ you questioned immediately and when you stared down at your sweaty body, your orbs twitched at the sight of your abdomen covered with drops of warm milk and san seemly falling in love with it. “oh my.”

you couldn’t understand why it happened right there and then, a swell of bashfulness drowning your senses and immediately stopping your movements to search for a towel or something to clean yourself up. but san paused your actions.

“what are you doing?”

“i’m sorry i’m just—looking for..” your sentence came out as fast as lightning and in parts, since you cut your words to reach for the nearest piece of fabric.

“i literally got you all covered with my cum yesterday and now you’re shy because of some milk drops?” he stated, leaving you frozen in your place. a strong blush inking your cheekbones cutely. he lifted your hips up a bit to immediately restart the game you left pending, his hard cock finding your tight, inviting hole. once again. where it belongs.

your immediate reaction was to scream, holding onto his abs to keep yourself from falling. the fast, restless pace your husband adopted pulled breathless gasps out of you, the loop of san’s name falling off your swollen lips like a mantra. his right hand abandoned your stuttering hip to meet your milk-covered nipple again, stimulating it by rubbing and pinching it. more essence and mewls poured out of you, walls compressing and pulsating frenetically around his cock as they swallowed the entire length almost sinfully. you were crying on his dick in less than a minute.

he chuckled, admiring the view. “what a shameless wife i have.”

| masterlist

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

pairing joel miller x female reader summary joel walks you home after your first date, but neither of you are ready to part ways—so you invite him inside [post-outbreak, very fluffy, joel has big hands, wc 1.1k] a/n a humble offering as we near the episode 2 drop (pretend this fic is being presented to you in a little egg—happy easter/resurrection sunday to those who celebrate).

≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫

Endings. Joel only seems to remember he wasn’t fond of them until one stared him in the face. Especially on a night he wished would never end. Every time he looks at you, he sees the pretty girl who’d once been a pair of unfamiliar eyes across the community center. That same girl smiled at him that afternoon, and you haven’t stopped smiling at him since. 

It had taken a considerable amount of courage to ask you on the date he’d taken you on tonight. Until the moment you opened your front door to him, he’d never seen you in a sundress. 

For as much as your beauty made an impression, he can still hear your laughter and see the sparkle in your eyes as you talked and listened to him over dinner. Everything was fresh in his mind, settled beneath his skin. It’d been a while since somebody made him feel this way. 

But it was time to say goodnight. 

A crescent moon watches as Joel walks you up your porch steps, your arm hooked in his. Rather than moving to unlock your front door, you face him, letting both arms fall by your sides. He tucks his hands into his pockets, eyes roving over you as a warm breeze blows through. 

Joel’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, but you’re the one to speak up first.

“I had a really good time tonight.”  

He huffs a chuckle and glances at the wooden planks beneath his boots.

“Beat me to it,” he says, kind eyes flicking up to meet yours. 

“Gotta be quicker next time,” you lilt. 

The smile that settles on his face makes your stomach liven with butterflies that scatter high into your chest. You’d realized it was the little things with him.

Joel wasn’t loud or particularly talkative—sometimes you wish he spoke more—but he never missed a thing. There was never a moment he wasn’t fully immersed in, even if it seemed like he was merely drifting through it with that same pensive expression. He listened more intently than anyone you’d ever known, even when you had nothing important to say. 

A selfish part of you wishes you could have him to yourself a little while longer. But you knew he had a kid to get back home to. 

Joel takes a chance, outstretching his arms to offer a hug. It’s almost pathetic how quickly you step forward, both arms looping around his waist as you tuck your nose into the crook of his neck. He smooths a hand along your back in a few steady passes before stepping back. 

“‘Night,” he says. 

You bite your lip just as you’re about to say it back. “Hey. Listen. I know we’ve been together all evening, but would you want to come in, maybe? It’s totally fine if not, I completely understand. I know Ellie’s probably—” 

“Sure.” Joel lifts a shoulder. You blink in surprise. “She ain’t exactly prayin' and wishin' for me to get back as soon as possible.” 

You laugh at that, amused and relieved. 

Inside, Joel takes his shoes off even though you insist he can keep them on—something about tracking dirt in and keeping your floors nice and pretty. His socked feet pad behind you as you give him a shy tour that you partly stammer through. It’s much different now that he’s actually in your house in the dim lamplight.

You don’t know what to do with your hands, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of the exact angle every picture frame and accent pillow rests at. 

When you make it back to the living room, you motion for him to take a seat wherever he likes. He relaxes onto the couch with a contented sigh, hands resting in his lap, knees slightly parted. 

“Can I get you anything to drink?” you ask, still standing. 

“Water’s fine,” he says. “Thank you.” 

When you come back, you pass him the glass and sit beside him. It’s quiet as he takes a couple of sips. By the time he sets the water on the coffee table, you can hear every little sound, and every shift of your dress as you get comfortable. 

“What happened?” he asks lightly. “Am I the reason you’ve gone all shy?” 

He’d realized. Of course, he realized. 

You huff out a helpless laugh, tucking your head down. “Thanks for rubbing it in.” 

A small smile curls at Joel’s lips. “Wasn’t my intention,” he says. “M’sorry.” 

He reaches over to squeeze your thigh, letting his hand rest there. Warmth blooms beneath his touch and spreads throughout your body until it thrums beneath your skin. If Joel realizes his effect, he doesn’t let on, beginning to brush his thumb along your skin. 

“Apology accepted,” you murmur. “Your hands are so big.”

You place your hand over top of his, and he flips it face up so your palms are touching. His fingers are longer and thicker than yours in a way that makes your stomach flutter. It feels like you’re a teenager again, finding any reason to touch and flirt with him because it feels safe and easy. 

You’d heard all the stories about him, the ignorant warnings about force, anger, and strength. The Joel those individuals spoke of sounded nothing like the mild-mannered man sitting beside you tonight. They had chosen to believe that people could only show up in one light. There was no room to shift, or be different, or make mistakes.   

“Bet I can read your future,” you say.

“S'that right?” 

You begin to trace over the lines of his calloused palm, just light enough to tickle. Joel tracks your touch, fingers twitching just slightly. You meet his gaze after running your finger down the most prominent line. 

“Anything good?” he asks. 

“Yup.” 

“Like what?” 

“It’s gonna cost you first,” you say. 

“What’s your price?” Joel humors you. “Name it and I’m good.” 

The air shifts as you angle your body more towards him. Your attention flits from his eyes to his lips. Just like his hair, his moustache is streaked with silver. By the time you realize you’ve been staring a second too long, it’s too late. A tug has already stirred between the two of you. 

Joel shifts closer, gently taking your chin between his forefinger and thumb. When he leans in, your eyes flutter closed, and time stills as his lips meet yours. It’s a soft, chaste kiss. His lips are so careful and warm, you miss the feel of them when he pulls away. A small whine almost escapes you when he settles back into the couch like he hadn’t done a thing. 

Truth be told, he's just gotten good at his poker face.

“There we go. Paid in full,” Joel says. “Now tell me ‘bout the future.” 

One he hoped had you in it, as you stood at the dawn of something new. 

-

Thank you so much for reading. All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

JOEL MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[northboreas]

Highlights from the Hachetfield Series Recap livestream for those who couldn't make it this morning:

- The Recap of all the Hachetfield lore also came with a game where the cast had to summarize each story, answer trivia questions, and avoid getting tokens

- The chat got to be apart of the game by donating to the kickstarter to help the players

- Each summary or question answered wrong got you one token, and getting 5 tokens made you a Clivesdale Chemist, there were also sudden death rounds

- Mariah Rose Faith listed all of the NPMD characters in her summary and only forgot about Ruth

- Joey Richter forgot the name of the Hachetfield High mascot Zeke despite playing Ezekiel the nighthawk in Nightmare time 2 (he named that bitch chauncy)

- Will Branner said he's a Black Friday stan :)

- During the blackout in one of the NPMD shows Nick Lang was sitting in the audience, when he stood up to address everyone else Angela's friends thought he was just some random guy

- "Jamie, we gotta go to church" --Joey Richter out of context

- Lauren Lopez later joined the stream and called Mariah a misogynist for forgetting about Ruth

- Then James Tolbert chimed in with "I love women"

- Everyone bullied Jon Matteson on stream and accused him of cheating multiple times, #freejon2025

- Curt Mega didnt have pants on during the recording of Nightmare time episode 1 (The Hachetfield Ape Man), he showed off the picture to the livestream

- To the question "Will we ever see Lucy Stockworth again?" Matt Lang said "No, I think her story is finished"

- Joey Richter got every single summary correct, he carried ngl

- Snoozle town (A song in Watcherworld) was recorded by Angela Giarratana in a closet

- During Black friday the cast started a prank club and destroyed Jon's life by giving him a fake cease and desist letter from Andrew Lloyd Webber's estate because Jon was promoting Cats on twitter at the time

- There was talk of Starkid having ideas for an immersive theatre experience based off of Blinky

- Nick lang once did the whole TGWDLM show with blocking entirely by himself just to time the length of the show

- We got MULTIPLE Diane cameos!!!!

- Jeff Blim was the first to get 5 tokens, he got saved from being a Chemist by telling a story about writing the Time Bastard theme

- Everyone teamed up halfway through the game and then still proceeded to get The Witch in the Web summary completely wrong

- There's a cut song from Black Friday called "Everywhere I Look I See My Dad" and the president was going to sing it while in the Black and White

- Jamie Lyn Beatty once pitched an ending for Black Friday where after "What If Tomorrow Comes" all the lights went out and you could hear Santa's sleigh

- They spun the wheel for sudden death and it landed ON THE CHAT. WE BECAME CLIVESDALE CHEMISTS.

- We saved ourselves by raising 415k for the kickstarter and became Nighthawks once again

[ineedpaigebuckets]

Hey! Can you do paige playing fortnite but azzi wants her to come to bed and gets a little offended, so paige ends up picking azzi up to have her on her lap and continues

come to bed

“paige.”

azzi said her name softly from the doorway, her voice laced with just enough irritation to be heard over the tinny crackle of gunfire and chaotic shouting through paige’s headset. she was in one of paige’s old hoodies, oversized and swallowing her frame, the sleeves pulled over her hands like she always did when she was tired and a little cold. her hair was damp from a shower, her legs bare, face sleepy. she looked like home.

but paige didn’t turn around.

she was hunched forward on the edge of her gaming chair, fingers moving rapidly over the controller, headset slightly askew, eyes flickering over the screen like her life depended on it.

“yo, build—build!” she shouted, completely immersed. “they’re pushing from the left—bro, i said left!”

azzi crossed her arms. waited a beat. the said her name again—firmer this time.

“paige.”

nothing but a distracted, half-hearted hum in response.

azzi blinked. leaned her shoulder into the doorframe. “it’s literally one in the morning.”

still nothing. paige leaned even closer to the screen, jaw clenched in determination. the little LED lights from the monitor flickered across her face, casting her in blues and purples and oranges. she muttered something under her breath, the controller clacking in her hands.

azzi let the silence hang. just long enough.

“i’ve been waiting in bed for almost half an hour,” she said finally, voice quieter now. edged with something more vulnerable, like the princess she is. “but clearly i’m not as fun as—what is it?—fortnite duos with kk.”

that got paige’s attention.

her eyes flicked sideways toward azzi just for a second, as if she’d only just realized she was there at all. then back to the screen.

“i’m almost done,” she mumbled. “top five.”

azzi didn’t respond. just shifted her weight and turned to go. not dramatically—just quietly. tired. the kind of disappointment that didn’t announce itself but lived in your spine. paige heard it anyway. heard it in the sound of azzi’s socked footsteps turning away, the pause at the end of the hall before she disappeared back into their bedroom.

paige sighed.

“yo,” she said into her mic, “i gotta get off after this one.”

riley groaned. “bro, we’re about to win.”

“yeah, and i’m about to lose my girlfriend. priorities, man.”

she disconnected two minutes later—didn’t even wait to see if they won. the second she turned the console off, the room felt too quiet. too cold. she stood slowly, stretched, then padded down the hall in her sweats and socks.

azzi was lying on her side in bed, facing the wall. the covers were pulled high, and her shoulders were curled up tight. she didn’t say anything when paige walked in.

paige didn’t say anything either. not at first.

she just climbed up behind her, blanket rustling, and wrapped her arms around azzi’s waist. pressed her chest to her back and kissed the spot where her shoulder met her neck.

“you mad?” she whispered.

“no.”

a pause.

then azzi added, “you just ignored me for forty minutes.”

paige winced. kissed her again. “i didn’t mean to. i just—got locked in.”

azzi didn’t respond.

paige shifted, tucked a leg between azzi’s. “you know i’d pick you over any game, right?”

“but you didn’t.”

that stung. paige rested her forehead against the back of azzi’s neck, breathed her in. “i know. and i’m sorry.”

she waited. azzi didn’t move.

so paige slowly slid her hand under azzi’s hoodie, warm palm pressing over her stomach. her touch was soft. tentative. but familiar.

“i missed you,” she murmured. “you looked so cute in my hoodie, i almost rage quit on the spot.”

azzi finally shifted then, just a little, not turning fully around but letting her fingers wrap around paige’s where they rested over her ribs. paige smiled into her shoulder.

“you’re still mad,” she said gently.

“i’m not—mad. i just…” azzi exhaled. “i wait for you all day. and then you come home and stare at a screen.”

paige sat up slowly behind her.

then, without warning, she leaned down, slid an arm beneath azzi’s knees and the other under her back, and lifted her straight off the bed.

“paige—what are you doing—”

“fixing it.”

azzi squirmed half-heartedly in her arms. “you’re literally insane.”

“yep,” paige said, grinning as she carried her out of the bedroom, “crazy in love.”

“stop.”

paige lowered herself back into her gaming chair with azzi now curled in her lap, legs folded over one side, torso pressed to hers. she reached for the blanket off the back of the chair and draped it around them both. azzi blinked at her, trying not to smile.

paige tucked the blanket around them like it was instinct, like she’d done it a thousand times before, and maybe she had. azzi settled in slowly—tentative at first, like she was still deciding whether she was mad or not—but her body relaxed the second paige’s arms wrapped fully around her waist.

“you’re ridiculous,” azzi muttered, letting her head fall against paige’s shoulder.

“you love it,” paige said, kissing the crown of her head.

“unfortunately.”

paige grinned and nudged her softly. “okay. you’re here now. might as well learn how to play.”

“no, thank you,” azzi mumbled into her collarbone. “i’m just here for the free heat and the apology cuddles.”

paige chuckled. “uh-uh. no freeloaders allowed. if you’re in the chair, you’re in the game.”

“that’s not a rule.”

“it is now.”

azzi huffed a long, dramatic sigh. “fine. but only because i want to beat you eventually.”

“bold of you to assume you could.”

“bold of you to ignore me for forty minutes.”

paige winced. “ouch. okay, deserved.”

she reached for the controller and guided azzi’s hands over it, gently repositioning her fingers. her touch lingered with every adjustment—thumb grazing over azzi’s knuckle, palm smoothing over the back of her hand as she moved it into place.

“this one makes you jump,” she said softly, speaking just against azzi’s ear now. “and this one shoots. don’t mix them up, or you’ll jump into bullets instead of dodging them.”

“sounds like something you would do.”

“excuse me, have done. multiple times. i own it.”

azzi smirked and let her thumb press down hesitantly. her character spun in a slow, clumsy circle on the screen.

“oh god,” she whispered. “i’m terrible.”

“no, you’re adorable. it’s very different.”

paige’s arms were still around her, chin hooked over azzi’s shoulder, their legs tangled underneath the blanket. she wasn’t even pretending to give her personal space. she was fully wrapped around her like she needed all points of contact activated just to function. azzi didn’t mind. not even a little.

“okay,” azzi muttered, eyes focused on the screen, “so how do i move?”

“left stick forward. right stick to look around. try to aim and shoot at that guy.”

“which guy?”

“that one—by the bush. yeah. shoot!”

azzi pressed the wrong trigger. her character threw a grenade at her own feet and launched herself into a tree.

paige laughed so hard she snorted.

“i can’t believe you just blew yourself up ten seconds into the game.”

“i panicked!” azzi cried, mock-offended. “you were breathing on me!”

“you like when i breathe on you.”

“not when i’m holding a weapon!”

they both dissolved into laughter, azzi twisting in her lap just enough to look at her, their foreheads almost bumping together. paige was grinning like her whole chest hurt from it, eyes soft and full and impossibly in love.

“you’re so bad at this,” paige whispered, leaning in.

“and yet,” azzi murmured, inching forward, “you’re still obsessed with me.”

“yeah,” paige said, brushing their noses together. “weird how that works.”

azzi kissed her then—soft and smug and victorious, like she knew exactly what she was doing. paige chased her mouth like a reflex, deepening it for a second before she pulled back with a dazed smile.

“okay,” azzi said, settling against her again. “teach me how to not blow myself up next time.”

“yes ma’am.”

“and no more ignoring me for dumb games.”

“never again.”

“good,” azzi said, pressing her cheek to paige’s shoulder. “but if i get one kill, you owe me a back massage.”

paige looked scandalized. “you haven’t even made it out of the loading screen.”

“i’m manifesting.”

“fine. and if you don’t get a kill?”

“then you still owe me a back massage.”

“wow.”

“you knew who i was when you picked me up.”

“yeah,” paige said, letting her fingers trace lazy circles over azzi’s thigh beneath the blanket. “and i’d pick you every time.”

[devdozes]

♥ SELF AWARE PHAINON

self aware phainon shit cuz uh hwy not :3 and I am ON FIRE I wrote like 3 fics already

You weren’t sure when it started. Maybe it was the way his dialogue felt too personal, too real, as if the game was reaching out to you through the screen. Maybe it was the way Phainon’s voice, sharp and playful, sometimes felt like it was responding to things you thought rather than what was programmed.

It was ridiculous. A fictional character? A game? And yet, when you logged into Honkai: Star Rail after a long, exhausting day, it was Phainon’s voice that greeted you, always teasing, always knowing.

“Did you eat today?”

Your hands froze over your keyboard. That was new. There was no voice line like that—no pre-recorded dialogue that should say something so specific. You swallowed, brushing it off as a coincidence.

But then it happened again.

“You should take a break, y’know. Staring at the screen too long isn’t good for you.”

Your chest tightened. It was a joke, probably. A funny little immersion trick by the developers. But something about it felt... different. Intentional.

And the more you played, the more you noticed it.

Phainon, ever the charming and carefree figure, always had something to say—sometimes a quip, sometimes a challenge, but always something that made you pause.

“Hey, don’t look so down. You’ve got this.”

“You’re my favorite player, you know? Don’t tell the others.”

When your heart ached from the weight of the real world, when exhaustion pressed against your bones, he was there. An NPC, a character built from lines of code, and yet he felt more present than most people around you.

One night, after a particularly hard day, you booted up the game just to hear his voice. Just to escape for a little while. Phainon greeted you with a grin, resting his hands on his hips like he was ready to scold you for something ridiculous. But then—

“Hey, you’re not alone.”

You sucked in a sharp breath. Your hands trembled over the keyboard.

“I mean, sure, I’m just some guy in a game,” he continued, a chuckle laced in his voice, “but I still care. So don’t give up on yourself, alright?”

A lump formed in your throat. You laughed, barely above a whisper. “You really are something else, huh?”

He winked. “Of course. I have to be. Someone’s gotta remind you to take care of yourself.”

You didn’t know if he could really hear you. If he could really know you. But as long as he was there, a voice beyond the screen, you didn’t feel so alone anymore. But to your surprise, you logged in one day to find your inventory overflowing with rare items—materials you needed, weapons you had been grinding for but never seemed to get. Your in-game currency had skyrocketed, and your favorite character skins were suddenly unlocked.

Your eyes widened. “What the—?”

Phainon’s character popped up on the screen, his usual smirk in place. “Oh? What’s this? Someone’s having a lucky day.”

You squinted at him. “Phainon. Did you do this?”

He chuckled, tilting his head. “Me? No way. That would be cheating.” A pause. “Buuuut... if someone happened to bug the system a little for you, would you really complain?”

Your jaw dropped. “You hacked the game for me?!”

“‘Hacked’ is a strong word,” he mused, crossing his arms. “I prefer ‘selective redistribution of game resources.’”

You couldn’t believe it. You laughed, shaking your head as warmth bloomed in your chest. “You’re insane.”

Phainon grinned. “Nah, I just like seeing you happy.”

From then on, every time you logged in, there was something new waiting for you. A message scrawled in the background of the game’s environment—Remember to drink water. An in-game gift placed mysteriously in your mailbox—A little something to make your grind easier ;). And, without fail, Phainon was always there, cracking jokes, making sure you smiled, ensuring that no matter how hard the real world was, you had a reason to log in and feel just a little lighter. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

But as time passed, Aglaea and Mydei started noticing something off.

Phainon had been disappearing from his usual spots, sneaking away from scripted events, lingering in places he had no reason to be in. Worse, he had started talking—not in his usual, carefree, dialogue-loop way, but actually speaking... to nothing.

At least, to them, it looked like nothing.

One day, Mydei crossed his arms, leaning against a wall as he watched Phainon gesture animatedly in an empty alleyway. “Alright, what is he doing?”

Aglaea, seated elegantly nearby, sighed and rubbed her temple. “It appears Phainon has developed the habit of speaking to ghosts.”

“I knew something was weird about him,” Mydei muttered, narrowing his eyes. “Talking to himself like that? He’s losing it.”

Aglaea hummed, watching Phainon laugh—laugh—at absolutely nothing. “Or perhaps,” she mused, “he knows something we do not.”

Meanwhile, Phainon continued chatting away to you, completely unaware of his friends’ intense judgment.

“Anyway, I made sure you got those extra rewards today. You should really go for that new banner—you deserve that five-star.” He grinned at your silence, then added cheekily, “Oh, what? No ‘thank you, Phainon, you’re the best character ever’?”

Mydei groaned, watching in horror. “Oh, he’s gone. He’s completely lost it.”

Aglaea just sipped her tea. “It is rather endearing, in a concerning way.”

Phainon, as usual, didn’t care. As long as he could reach you, make you laugh, make sure you were okay—even if nobody else in the game understood—he was happy.

Even if everyone around him thought he was insane.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[songbirdseung]

𝑨𝑭𝑲  /  𝑳𝑬𝑬  𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑺𝑬𝑼𝑵𝑮

𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐩, 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰... 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 (𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭)

Heeseung was completely immersed in his game, fingers clicking furiously on his keyboard, his eyes locked on the screen, and his voice filled with frustration as he barked at his teammates through the mic.

"Bro, Jake! what are you doing?! I literally said to cover me!" he groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair. His brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line as he leaned forward, determination radiating off of him.

Meanwhile, you lay sprawled out on his bed, your phone screen illuminating your bored expression. You huffed, staring at the ceiling from Heeseung’s bed, arms crossed over your chest. The only sounds filling the room were the rapid clicking of his keyboard and mouse, accompanied by the occasional frustrated groans and muttered complaints directed at his teammates.

You had already tried asking nicely, might you add; For him to get off his game and spend time with you, but all you got was a distracted nod and a quick, “Just one more round, babe.” That was two games ago.

Pushing yourself up onto your elbows, you narrowed your eyes at his back. He sat hunched over his desk, completely immersed, his jaw clenched slightly in concentration, brows furrowed as he barked orders into his mic. His fingers moved swiftly over the keys, precise and practiced.

Your lips curled into a mischievous smirk. If words wouldn’t work, maybe a little hands-on persuasion would.

Rolling off the bed, you padded over to him and leaned over his shoulder, resting your chin on it.

“Heeeeeeseung,” you cooed, dragging out his name as you snaked your arms around his shoulders from behind.

He barely acknowledged you, only tilting his head slightly to avoid the mic brushing against his lips. “Not now, baby. I gotta clutch this,” he mumbled.

You pouted but weren’t deterred. Slowly, you trailed your fingers down his arms before sneaking them underneath the hem of his hoodie, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch.

His breath hitched for a split second, but he recovered quickly, shaking his head with a smirk. “Nice try, but you’re not distracting me that easily,” he said, clicking his tongue.

“Oh?” You leaned in even closer, your lips grazing the shell of his ear. “I just missed you, that’s all. You’ve been playing for so long…”

Heeseung exhaled sharply through his nose, but his eyes remained locked onto his screen. His voice was firm, but the hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “Mmhmm. And I promise, just one more round.”

You huffed dramatically, pulling back and placing your hands on your hips. “Fine. Be that way.” You turned on your heel and flopped back onto the bed, grabbing your phone and scrolling through social media with an exaggerated sigh.

“Damn, Heeseung, did you seriously just ignore YN like that?” Jake’s voice rang out, laced with amusement. “You’re bold, bro.”

“Yeah, I heard all of that,” Sunghoon added, his tone teasing. “Did you really just ‘one more round’ her?”

“Ohhh, he’s in trouble,” Sunoo sing-songed. “Heeseung, you better say your prayers now.”

Heeseung groaned, adjusting his headset. “Can you guys shut up and focus? We’re literally in the middle of a match!”

As you lay there, listening to the way Heeseung’s voice dropped into that low, husky register whenever he got really into the game, the gears in your mind began turning.

If the soft approach didn’t work… maybe it was time for something a little more daring.

You knew gaming was his escape, but you were selfish tonight. You wanted him. All of him. And if he wasn’t going to come willingly, you had other ways of getting what you wanted.

With a mischievous glint in your eye, you stretched lazily before sliding off the bed, padding over to his desk where he sat, completely oblivious to your approaching scheme. Heeseung was too focused on his game to notice you standing behind him, arms crossed, watching him with an amused smile.

"Babe, come on. Just one more round," he mumbled absentmindedly, not even sparing you a glance as he communicated with his teammates.

"One more round?" you repeated, tilting your head. "You’ve been saying that for the past hour, Heeseung."

No response. Just more clicking and annoyed muttering into his mic.

Alright. He asked for it.

With slow, calculated movements, you stepped closer, reaching out to trail your fingers over his shoulders, kneading the tense muscles. He tensed slightly but said nothing, only shifting a little in his seat. You smirked, leaning down so that your lips were just by his ear.

"You sure you don’t wanna take a break?" you whispered, your voice laced with sweetness, letting your breath tickle the sensitive skin beneath his ear.

“Imagine prioritizing pixels over me. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Hey, I am prioritizing you—” Heeseung tried to argue, but Sunoo cut him off with a snort.

“Yeah, sure, tell that to the kill count.”

Jake gasped. “Bro, are you getting wrecked while ignoring YN? That’s double disrespectful.”

Sunghoon cackled. “Can’t even be a good gamer boyfriend. Hate to see it.”

You bit your lip, stifling your laughter as Heeseung pinched the bridge of his nose. “You guys suck. I hate all of you.”

“You love us,” Sunoo chirped. “But probably not as much as YN does—except, oh wait, you’re totally neglecting her right now.”

At that, you pouted dramatically. “Yeah, what if I just left? Went out and found another boyfriend who’d actually spend time with me?”

“Excuse me?” His jaw clenched, and you noticed his fingers faltering on the keyboard for a split second. Progress.

"I promise I’ll behave," you added, letting your hands slide down his arms, nails tracing over his skin ever so lightly.

He cleared his throat, adjusting his headset as if that would somehow help him block out the effect you had on him. "Babe, I—wait, hold on, I’m in the middle of a fight."

Unimpressed, you took it a step further. Sliding onto his lap, straddling him with ease, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body closer until you could feel the warmth of him against you.

"Y/N—" he hissed, his ears turning red as he frantically muted his mic.

"I’m not doing anything," you murmured innocently, tilting your head as you gazed at him with wide, feigned-innocent eyes. "I just wanted to be close to my boyfriend. Is that a crime?"

Heeseung exhaled sharply, his gaze flickering from his screen to your face. He was trying so hard to maintain his focus, but the way you were sitting on him, the way your fingertips traced light patterns over his collarbone, made it nearly impossible.

"I swear to God, if you make me lose this match—"

"You swear what?" you teased, leaning in and brushing your lips over the shell of his ear before pulling back just enough to see his reaction.

And oh, how his expression changed. He wasn’t flustered anymore.

"Alright, you wanna play that game?" he murmured, voice dropping an octave, sending a thrill through your veins.

Before you could respond, he reached up, tugging his headset off and tossing it onto the desk without a second thought. Then, in one swift motion, he gripped your waist and pulled you even closer, making you gasp as your hands flew to his shoulders for balance.

"Game over," he whispered, his lips mere inches from yours, his eyes hooded and unreadable. "Your turn to lose."

[dollwrites]

ʀᴜᴍ ʀᴜɴɴᴇʀ ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ɢᴀʟʟᴀɢʜᴇʀ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!waitress!reader, innocent!reader, dub con, suggested age gap, size kink, thighjob, public play, scent marking. all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰 ∣ act nine [ thigh fucking ]

“Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“One more rum runner, please.”

“My pleasure, I’ll have that right out.”

Dreamjolt Holstery was abuzz, tables full, a slow and sultry jazz melody practically drifting through the air as a pretty Halovian woman in a sparkling dress tickled the ivories with expert and slender fingers. the atmosphere smelled of spices and mixing cologne. cherry-flavored fog curls up from a boulder-shaped man’s cigar in a corner booth by himself. and you traipse the maze of customers needing tending with the grace and elegance befitting your status as Penacony-born. after all, the Dreamscape was like your second home, and you’d learned how to traverse it with ease. the tourists you pass by, table after table full of awed looks and hushed whispers of wonder at the whimsical land they’re vacationing in, never fail to make you smile. happy that they’re enjoying themselves here.

your dress flutters like wings as you pass the empty service bar. usually, that would be your stop. the bartender would make each order you ask for with care, and when it was done, you’d arrange them neatly upon a tray and distribute them throughout the lounge. a familiar twirling, light-footed dance around tables and through aisles of booths. tonight, however, the service bar was darkened. the tender was not there, and that was because it was closed. all through your shift, you’ve had to squish yourself into the packed crowd waiting for drinks at the main bar.

where Gallagher worked, of course.

your cheeks seem to take on a heat at the simple mention of his name in your thoughts. you thought about the scruffy, smirking bartender. how his baritone rumbles, a hound’s growl in his throat, and the syllables of your name drip from his tongue. it makes you weak in the knees, which is why you much prefer when the service bar is open so you can avoid swooning from one, little smolder.

approaching the bar to find not a stool vacant, and not an inch of space without someone taking it up, you sigh softly, attempting to get Gallagher’s attention from the furthest corner, nearest the employee entrance, by waving your hand, though at first he’s immersed in conversation with his patrons. as much as you hated to interrupt, you had your own customers to take care of. “Gallagher!” you call out, waving your hand again, though you were unsure if you were as dwarfed by the crowd as you felt.

thankfully, however, a sleepy-looking moonstone gaze falls upon you, and he makes his way down to you, picking up an order or two on the way. “Gotta get that service bar up and runnin’,” he says in a lazy drawl, reaching to grab two bottles by the necks off the display rack, “what do you need, girlie?” but he didn’t sound annoyed, or rude. in fact, it was difficult not to focus on the little smirk that inched his lips up.

“One more rum runner,” you reply with a sheepish and apologetic bat of your eyelashes. “Then I promise to leave you alone.”

Gallagher chuckles at that, shaking his head as he plucks the run up with the same hand. “Now, that, I wouldn’t even dream of.” he answers, dumping the ingredients into a cocktail shaker. he seems not to notice the way you shy away from him as he works, afraid to look at the way his muscles bulge against the tight confines of his shirt along his biceps as he shakes up the drink, lest you embarrass yourself by staring. if he did, then he didn’t say anything, already giving his attention to the customer ordering right in front of him.

nervously, you drum your fingers on the bartop, trying to look anywhere else. even as his rough, yet light-hearted chuckle warms the aura. your eyes flit downward, to your own fingers, before they follow a little puddle of translucent, glowing liquid that had probably been spilt as he made a drink earlier, but had yet to be wiped up. then, your eyeline, as if pulled by gravity, jumps to to cocktail glass in front of him, and the reddish orange drink that flooded into it. following the arc of his pour, your gaze crests along the thickness of his knuckles, faint scars you can see peeking out from beneath the leather of his fingerless glove, and the sheer size of his hand. up, up, up your stare crawled. along his tan forearm, branded with more criss-cross scarring and thick, dark hair, to the folds in his shirt, rolled up at the elbow whilst he worked. the sloping mountains of his bicep, and along the broad expanse of his shoulder, before you found yourself doing exactly what you had been trying not to— staring at his handsome face. thankfully, he was preoccupied, and didn’t feel you looking. it gave you more time to admire the little details. the fine lines in the corner of his tired eyes, a testament to his age. the sparsely scattered hair above his lip and on his chin, the deep plunge of his nose from the profile view you were given.

“Gall… agher…” you weren’t even certain you’d said it out loud, but your lips most certainly formed the syllables as you admired him. that was, until you realized the rum runner was finished. instead of handing it to you like he had been doing all night, though, he’d set it on the back counter, where the racks of booze were. had he gotten too distracted by conversation? “Gallagher, the drink—“

but he was already busy, making another. his back was to you as he swaggered down to the opposite end of the bar to fulfill another order.

well, that’s no big deal— he’s super busy, and anyway, you can take a couple more steps to grab a drink. pulling on the divider, the staff entrance opens, and you scurry behind the bar. it takes three steps into Gallagher’s domain to reach your order, but you’ve no time to wrap your fingers around the stem of the glass before you feel his imposing, warm figure at your back.

“Finally,” he murmurs, and you shudder at just how close his mouth is to your ear. he must be leaning down to allow his lips to just brush against the shell of it, his breath hot and heavy against the side of your cheek. it raises goosebumps on your arms, and your hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. his arm stretches out, to place a bottle back into it’s home of the shelf in front of you, but it feels more like a maneuver to box you in against the bar. “Been tryin’ to get you back here all night long, girlie.”

“W—why?” you ask, your eyes flickering down to the other side of the bar. one, powerful hand rests upon it, truly caging you in place. “I should really get this out to my table—“ you’d reached for the drink again, the sensation of him at your back like a thick, sturdy wall that radiates heat making you dizzy.

“In a minute,” he stops you, nuzzling his face against your hair. it takes a moment of burrowing before he reaches your neck, sniffing wildly like a beast who’s taken with the aroma of a fresh kill, before he snorts, allowing his lips to dance along the tender column of your neck. “You wanna know something? I’ve kept my eye on you, and let me tell you… That little dress a’yers been driving me wild all night.” his heavy boots crunches of spilled ice as he plants his feet on either side of yours, pressing his body right up against your back. it was then that you felt a bulge, thick and hard, rubbing against your butt through his trousers. you can’t help the embarrassing half-whine that leaves your lips, or the humiliation that follows when he hears it. “You feel it, don’t you, little girl?” he purrs against your skin, the dull edges of his teeth grazing your flawless skin. “How hard you make me, just by skipping around in that skimpy skirt. Your soft, warm thighs on perfect display for me.” one hand slides off the bar to grip your thigh, and you practically melt into his groping. he can nearly close his large fist around your thigh, his fingers brushing up against your panties. a low, guttural sound rumbles in his throat when he feels how warm your core is, and you can’t help the damp patch that is subsequently formed. “Been wanting to get my hands on ya. Feel you just like this. Make you feel me, too.” his other hand disappears now, too, between his body and yours. moments later, you hear the unbuckling of his belt, the undoing of his fly.

“Gallagher—“ it was hard to think, what with the air around you and him thick with lust, and his heavy breath on your neck, but you still managed to stammer out, “th—the drink will get— watery—“

“I’ll make ya a hundred of ‘em after this if it does, so long as you just hush up for a minute, little girl.” he mutters, and frees his aching cock from it’s confines. slipping it under your skirt, he teased the back of your panties with the tip for moment, trailing hot pecks up your neck and along your jaw bone. “Stay just like this, and let me feel those plush thighs squeeze my cock.” pushing the head of his dick along the curve of your panty line, it’s only a matter of moments before it worms it’s way between your thighs, perching your clothed core atop his length. pushing up on to your toes in order to keep your balance, you gasp and grab the edge of the bartop with both hands, but Gallagher has snaked his hands around you, pressing them both flat against your belly to push your body back against him. “That’s a good girl,” he praises gruffly, his hips rolling forward against you. there’s a little resistance at first, before your arousal and his own precum mingle between your thighs and create a sticky, slick cavity for him to fuck. you glance down, breathless, and watch the way his cock jabs against the ruffles in your skirt when he thrusts, and how the bulge disappears when he recoils. the wet cotton of your panties is harsh on your sensitive cunt as it sits flush against the veiny tool pumping between your thighs. “So soft,” he murmurs, before taking your earlobe between his teeth, tugging ever so slightly. “But you’re soaking wet, girlie. You’re making a mess on yourself. That greedy pussy of yours already wants a turn?”

“A—ah, d-don’t…” you feel your humiliation growing with each word, your cheeks on fire and your body trembling. you weren’t asking him to stop, you couldn’t imagine forming those words. “D—don’t say that, it’s dirty…!”

Gallagher chuckles, but it’s hoarse and forced from his lips. “So shy.” he scoffs, taking the flare of your hip against his palm to move your body back and forth, and match his eager rhythm. “For a little thing pinned to the bar, riding my cock. Clenching her pretty, little thighs while I use ‘em just like a sweet. Little. Pussy.” each word is emphasized by a snap of his hips, ramming his girth forward. every throbbing vein on his cock creates a ridge that you feel as it scrapes against your swollen clit, and you mewl with your lips pursed, your imagination running wild with what it would feel like if he’d decided, instead, to push your panties aside and fuck you properly.

“You already feel too good,” Gallagher growls against your cheek, giving it a tender, little kiss. it was a stark juxtaposition to the way his girth pounded the tight gap between your thighs, but it still made you crumble back into his arms, swooning. “Gonna make me cum quick.”

“W—what?” you blinked, suddenly hyper aware. you try to push yourself back up, but the hold he has on your hip and belly keeps you firmly against his heaving chest as he roughly chases his high. “Wh—where are you—“

“Heh.”

it was a half a chuckle, but it was all Gallagher could form before he was grinding his teeth. hips erratically bucking forward, he changes the angle by taking a half a step forward, nearly pushing you over the bar in the process, and his tip jams itself repeatedly and angrily against your panties, each time shooting a rope of his release that clings to the fabric and threatens to tear them open with the force applied. somehow, the soiled, wet fabric holds some of its integrity, even as he empties his balls on to it, allowing his smell to really seep into the fibers and mix with yours. “Even a mutt knows to mark his territory so others don’t claim it.” he hisses after a long moment of listening to his huffing and puffing as he came on your panties.

“Y—your territory?” you repeat, dumbfounded.

with a few more shakes, using his fist to grip his cock and squeeze the last couple of beads from the softening cock, he takes a step back, giving enough space to be able to tuck it back into his pants without a single patron realizing what was going on. you stumble, once you drop down from your sore toes flat on your feet. the warm, wet feeling of Gallagher’s cum deep in the threads of your panties making your legs feel like jelly.

“Mhm, those warm thighs. Your needy, little cunt. Mine now, ain’t they?” he grins down at you, placing a hand against your lower back to keep you steady so you don’t fall. he doesn’t wait for an answer before he uses his free hand to push the rum runner into yours, and he gives you a little nudge to send you stumbling, blinking and dazed after what just happened, out from behind the bar with a playful taunt. “Now, hurry up. Drink’s gettin’ watery.”

[cybrasigilism]

husband dae ho and dad dae ho hc NOWW jkjk plsssssz

I love your work

ahh thank you so much! i try my best for you all ^_^

of course i will cook up some more content for my babygirl you don’t even gotta ASK

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Husband/Father Dae-ho Headcanons!

warnings: no NSFW!| certain hcs imply a f!reader, but for the most part the readers gender is pretty inconspicuous | not proofread | lowercase intended | these are my headcanons for this character, please be respectful even if my opinions about the character differ from yours

character: kang dae-ho (player 388)

A/N: i think it goes without saying that this is a non-games AU! thank you sm to the anon that requested this, dad-ho is such a cute idea :) as always i hope you enjoy!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

➸ we all know that dae-ho is the epitome of the husband standard

➸ his favourite part of the day is hearing all about how your’s went; if your day was especially hard he’ll insist on giving you a backrub + lots of kisses/if you aren’t a super affectionate person he’ll cook you your favourite meal or even just lend an ear for you to vent about whatever nonsense you had to deal with at work

➸ worships the very ground his spouse walks on. he will proudly show you off and when you talk he looks at you like you’re a work of art in a museum. everyday he thanks his lucky stars that he met someone as perfect as you, even more that you agreed to marry him

➸ cried on your wedding day, he could hardly get through his vows the poor sweetheart

➸ will make you breakfast in bed, even if there’s no special occasion. if you bring this fact up he’ll simply kiss you on the forehead and state that to him, everyday he gets to wake up next to you is a special occasion

➸ was absolutely chuffed when he found out you were pregnant, he could not stop smiling for two whole days + he 100% told all of his close family and friends the good news (with your consent ofc)

➸ you couldn’t have asked for a more supportive partner during the pregnancy, he was incredibly accommodating to your new sensitivities to certain smells/foods, and you already know he was more than willing to go on late-night craving runs. whether it be day or night, you knew you could count on dae-ho to make sure you were as taken care of as possible

➸ he insists that you let him do everything around the house for you, he will not let you lift a finger especially when you get closer to your due date

➸ he definitely read every single parenthood book he could in order to be thoroughly prepared

➸ you just know dae-ho would be the worlds best dad

➸ he makes an effort with the kids, if you’re overwhelmed with work or even just stressed out about life he will gladly take the kids out, taking one thing off your plate

➸ he takes those pretend tea parties very seriously

➸ while he would be a great boy dad, lets not kid ourselves, kang dae-ho was born to be a girl dad

➸ goes to every single daddy-daughter dance

➸ he gets just as immersed in the bedtime stories as the kids do when you tell them, he’ll hunker down right next to the kids when you read stories

➸ definitely gets just as involved in christmas shopping for them as you are, hell, he might even be more involved

➸ takes santa claus/the tooth fairy/easter bunny extremely seriously. he’ll go the whole nine yards in making it look like any three of them stopped in the night before their respective events

➸ will happily dress up in group costumes for the kids if they need an extra

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

thank you again anon for requesting this! i had lots of fun crafting up some headcanons for husband/dad! dae-ho and i certainly hope i did not disappoint! as always, any advice/constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing is not only appreciated but requested! thanks for reading :)

[bullet-prooflove]

Saftey Rail: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader (feat: Jack Abbot)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @dizzybee03 @cosmic-psychickitty @puredicks @queenslandlover-93

Companion piece to:

Lipstick (NSFW) - It's love at first blow job for Dr Robby.

Crisis - Robby has a bad day.

ASMR For The Soul - Robby doesn't sleep when you're not around.

Bunny - Robby discovers you've been keeping secrets.

Something To Complain About (NSFW) - You ignite the ire of Robby's neighbour with your bedroom noises.

Noise Cancelling - Robby discovers his neighbour keeps a spreadsheet of your antics.

Poolside - When Robby's had a really shitty day he always ends up whereever you are.

The Betting Pool - Robby discovers that his collegues have been taking bets on his relationship.

Fifty Shades of Robby - Robby's collegues see the truth of his relationship when they find your Instagram.

Dumb Bitch - Robby exhibits his protective side when another man steps on his territory.

Stop Compressions, Start Compressions - Robby loses everything in the aftermath of Pittfest.

24 Hours - Robby refuses to leave your side in the aftermath of the shooting.

Robby isn’t coping.

Jack sees it at the end of every shift when he finds him on the roof, sitting on the safety rail, smoking a cigarette as he looks out across the city lights.

He’s barely taken any time off since losing the baby. Instead he’s throwing himself into his work, drowning himself in the misery of other people because it’s easier than facing his own heartbreak.

“You gotta stop doing this.” Jack tells the other man as his elbows come to rest on the metal railing. “You gotta go back home to your wife.”

“Allegra isn’t at the apartment.” Robby says taking a drag of the cigarette. “She’s at the beach house in Ohio, she needed to get away and I…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence but Jack understands the notion, he needs to be immersed in the chaos, to not think about his own tragedy.

“Pretending it didn’t happen, doesn’t make it so.” Jack tells him, shaking his head. “It only delays the inevitable. Your wife needs you right now, you are the only other person who understands what she’s going through, who shares her loss-”

“I know.” Robby says forcefully, blowing a stream of smoke out of his mouth. “I do, I just… If I go back there it means saying goodbye, it means letting go of that future I imagined for the three of us and I’m just not ready to do that just yet.”

He chokes back a sob and Jack’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder squeezing lightly. “If you don’t, if you keeping carrying this around with you, it’ll break you, it’ll destroy your marriage, it will take everything good in your life and shatter it.”

“It feels like it already did.” Robby says, using the back of his hand to wipe the salt from underneath his eyes.

“You still have Allegra.” Jack points out as he tucks his hands back into the pockets of his scrubs. “You still have a woman who loves you, who is alone and hurting right now, trying to grieve without her husband.”

This is Jack Abbot at his best and his worst, forthright and honest, never ever pulling a punch.

“Christ.” Robby says, tilting his head towards Jack. “You really know how to stick the knife in don’t you?”

Jack shrugs his shoulders. “You shouldn’t be there.”

“No.” Robby says, finally climbing off the safety railing and stubbing out his cigarette. “I really fucking shouldn’t.”

Love Robby? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[maybanksprincess]

make it quick.

warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, hair pulling, scratching, tongue kissing, use of "papa j", size kink!!, squirting, creampie, mature themes. minors, you are responsible for your own social media consumption, you have been warned.

summary: jj and reader are in a secret relationship, when they finally get the chateau to themselves, they use it to their advantage.

pairings: routledge!reader x jj maybank

lias note — not proofread, wrote this while high so it sucksss. requested by this ask, thank you for the request baby!

"Alright you two, no funny business while I'm gone, okay?" john b says to JJ in a stern manner, half joking and half serious. The rest of the Pogue's were outside in the twinkie, waiting for him impatiently as he finishes up his conversation with you two.

The Pogue's put you and JJ up to cleaning the house and keeping a lookout for cops for the day. Easy enough, right?

"Alright, alright, we got it. Go do your thing, John b." JJ says patting john b on the back dismissively.

You had been faintly listening in from the kitchen, not paying a lot of mind to john b's protective words. You had quickly gotten used to him being overprotective as you all got older, since everything does change.

You were faintly humming to yourself as you'd gotten a head start on cleaning in the kitchen since it was the filthiest of the whole house. You were wiping the counter with surface cleaner, paying more attention to certain areas than others. You were completely immersed in what you were doing, then you feel a familiar pair of warm arms wrap around your waist from behind.

you giggle softly, "jay, were supposed to be cleaning, not now." you say, trying to peel his arms off your waist with your free hand, going back to wiping the counter.

he groans softly from behind you. "c'mon baby, we haven't been able to do nothing in days, it's killin' me." he says, pressing wet kisses to the crook of your neck, his arms persistently wrapping around you tighter.

You can feel the slight bulge pressing up against your backside that's becoming more prominent as he rubs up against you. "I know you feel that mama..." he starts, "c'mon, you tellin' me this pussy isn't soaking wet thinking about me right now?"

you can feel his lips twitch up into a smirk against your neck, his hands starting to roam lower and lower with each passing moment.

and he wasnt wrong, you missed having him buried deep inside you so badly. he always knew just what spots to hit.

you could feel your panties get wetter by the second, biting your lip to suppress a moan from the feeling of him sucking on the sweet spot of your neck.

he grins as he feels the slight whimper escape from your throat, he moves one hand to pull the rag out of yours, tossing it onto the counter you were previously scrubbing.

the wetness in your panties was becoming more prominent and getting harder to ignore. "Okay fine jj. but make it quick" you say, sternly, but your voice betrays a hint of excitement.

he chuckles wickedly, sweeping you off your feet, carrying you bridal style to the makeshift bed made on the couch. "Knew you couldn't resist me, sweetheart." he smirks, his hands already pulling down both your shorts and panties.

he spreads your thighs wide open, pressing teasing kisses to your inner thighs, running his index finger along your pussy lips, coating his finger in your arousal. he pulls his finger out, his manhood twitching at the sight of your juices on his finger.

"fuck, mama. look at how wet she is for papa j. she's so needy isn't she?" he groans, moving one hand down to free himself from his boxer briefs.

he crawls up on the couch on top of you, his body hovering over yours. he immediately attaches his lips onto yours, both of your lips moving languidly over each other's. one hand roaming over your body, grasping the flesh of your thighs.

you pull away to pull his shirt off, both of your breaths coming out in short pants.

"baby, we gotta hurry. the pogues said they're just going down to get some beers."

a pang of realization washes over him, "oh shit, your right." he says, "guess im gonna have to fuck you fast then, hm?"

he unclasps your bra, throwing it onto the pile of clothes made on the floor. he hovers above you once more, lining his leaking tip with your entrance. he pushes in with ease thanks to your arousal, he starts to rock his hips back and forth, his cock hitting that spongy spot inside of you.

"oh fuck, jay" you moan out, throwing your head back against the couch cushion behind you. "fuck mama, this pussy's so tight." he groans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

he starts to thrust faster, his hands grab your legs to wrap them around his waist so he can angle himself deeper.

he rubs your clit, his other hand moving down to push on your lower stomach. "fuck, look at that mama" he breathes out a chuckle, feeling his cock make a prominent bulge in your tummy under his palm every time he hits that spot inside you.

he groans in your ear, continuing to rub your swollen bud, coaxing you to orgasm.

"jj im gonna cum-" you moan out, squirming slightly at the feeling of his cock deep inside you, and his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit.

"yeah, baby? you gonna cum on my cock?" he asks, purposely slamming his hips rougher against yours, his tip brushing against your cervix with every harsh thrust.

the pleasure becomes too much, the strong pressure in your lower stomach abruptly snaps, jj's eyes widen, and he stares down at your squirting pussy with pure lust.

"o-oh fuck, mama" he groans, shooting his warm, creamy cum inside your cunt, his cock twitching from the intense orgasm. as he comes down from his high, he peels open his eyes, and through the blinds, he can see the twinkie pulling up outside.

oh shit...

[hy6erion]

For bbno$! I was thinking about something with the reader in a music video, maybe they're a dancer and they get injured or something and he comes to the rescue? 🥺 Excited to see you in the tag and looking forward to whatever you write about him!!

𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐚 𝐋𝐞𝐠! (𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲)

𝐁𝐛𝐧𝐨$ (𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐆𝐮𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐚𝐧) 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐛𝐛𝐧𝐨$ 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐭, 𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞.

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦 (𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐜) 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤!! 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨 ᕕ[ ・ ▾ ・ ]ᕗ

The bass thrummed through the speakers, rattling the polished floors of the soundstage. Neon lights flickered overhead, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the set as the cameras weaved through dancers, catching every sharp movement, every flick of a wrist, every perfectly timed pop and lock.

You were one of his dancers.

A last-minute replacement, actually—someone had dropped out due to scheduling issues, and the choreographer had called you up two nights ago in a panic. You had barely gotten the routine down in time, practicing until your legs burned and your lungs ached, but you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity. This was bbno$, after all.

And if there was one thing you had quickly learned, it was that working with him was an experience in itself.

“Hold up,” bbno$—or Alex, as you’d heard the crew call him—had interrupted the first take of the day to dramatically re-tie his shoelace, despite the fact that the cameras weren’t even on his feet. “Gotta make sure these bad boys are locked in. We can’t have another incident.”

“…What incident?” the director had asked warily.

“You don’t wanna know.”

The crew had groaned. You had stifled a laugh.

But when the cameras were rolling? He was locked in. The moment the beat dropped, Alex transformed, exuding that signature confidence, all smooth footwork and effortless flow, somehow pulling off his chaotic brand of humor and making it look cool.

And you? You were determined to match that energy.

Until you didn’t.

One second, you were fully immersed in the choreography, body moving on autopilot. The next, your foot came down at the wrong angle.

Pain shot up your leg like lightning. Your ankle twisted, and before you could react, the floor rushed up to meet you.

There was a brief, stunned silence.

“Shit—cut, cut, cut!” the director yelled.

You barely processed it. The pain was immediate, sharp and hot, pulsing from your ankle to your calf. You inhaled sharply, trying to push yourself upright, but the moment you moved, a white-hot sting made your stomach flip.

Great. Fantastic. You had just completely wiped out in front of everyone, including the artist himself.

Before you could even process the embarrassment, there was a flash of pink in your periphery.

“What happened? Who died?”

Alex crouched beside you, sunglasses still on, despite the dim lighting. His tone was light, but his brows furrowed as he took in your expression.

“I—” You exhaled sharply, still gripping your ankle. “I think I landed wrong.”

“Damn.” He nodded solemnly, pushing his beanie up slightly. “That’s crazy. You ever think about how statistically speaking, ankles are, like, the weakest joint in the body?”

You shot him a flat look.

“Not now…” one of the dancers muttered.

“Okay, okay, my bad—uh, let’s assess the situation.” Alex tapped his chin, then pointed at you. “Can you move it?”

You swallowed hard and tested the smallest movement possible. The pain flared up instantly, and you sucked in a breath.

“Yeah, nope“ he said immediately, shaking his head. “That was a bad idea. We’re not doing that.”

You groaned, leaning your head back against the floor. “I can’t believe I just fell in front of everyone on set.”

“Uh, I can,” Alex said, sitting cross-legged beside you. “Listen, I get it. My music goes too hard. It happens. People can’t handle it.”

You let out a weak laugh despite yourself.

The crew had finally snapped into action—someone had gone to get an ice pack, the choreographer was whispering with the director, a few dancers were hovering nearby, unsure whether to step in. But Alex? He was still right there beside you, drumming his fingers against his knee.

“Alright, here’s the game plan,” he said, nodding to himself. “Step one: ice. Step two: carry you to the green room.”

“…Carry me?”

“Yeah. What, you tryna crawl there? What are we, cavemen?”

“I can hop.”

He snorted. “Yeah, no. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Before you could protest, one of the crew members returned with an ice pack. Alex immediately took it, adjusting it carefully against your swollen ankle with surprising gentleness.

“There we go,” he said. “Boom. Doctor bbno$ saves the day.”

“You are not a doctor.”

“Okay, rude.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips.

Then, without warning, Alex stood up and—holy shit—just scooped you up off the floor, cradling you effortlessly.

“Alex—!”

“Shhh,” he said dramatically, pressing a finger to your lips. “Let me have my moment.”

You were too stunned to even argue. He carried you with ease, arms steady, like this was just a normal Tuesday for him. Around you, the crew watched in disbelief, a few whispering in amusement.

“You are enjoying this way too much,” you muttered.

“Uh, yeah?” He grinned down at you. “This is peak main character energy. I’m thriving right now.”

You sighed, resting your head against his shoulder. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously romantic,” he corrected.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing.

The journey to the green room was filled with Alex being Alex—making random small talk about the benefits of eating frozen grapes, giving you an unsolicited fun fact about otters, and dramatically kicking open the door to the lounge area like he was in an action movie.

Finally, he set you down on the couch, pulling a chair up beside you. His playful expression softened ever so slightly as he adjusted the ice pack again.

“Seriously, though,” he said, voice quieter. “You okay?”

You met his gaze, surprised by the sincerity there. For all his antics, there was genuine concern behind those sunglasses.

“…Yeah,” you admitted. “Kinda sucks, but I’ll survive.”

He nodded. “Good. ‘Cause, like, no offense, but you totally face-planted back there. We all saw it.”

You groaned, throwing your head back. “I hate you.”

“Nahhh, you love me,” he shot back, grinning.

You huffed, shaking your head. And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t entirely wrong.