#he just doesn’t like that he can hear me on the other floors

[kashverse]

based off of this request ☆ kunafamily masterlist

ah, marriage. truly a blessing, a union of souls, a sacred bond forged through love and commitment.

or whatever.

because there is nothing beautiful about it when your twelve-year-old daughter stomps into the house, still in her dusty-ass middle school uniform, drops her backpack by the door with the weight of a woman who has seen the horrors of war, and announces—

“mama. papa. i am getting married.”

...

there is a silence. a deafening, suffocating, air-sucked-out-of-the-room silence. the only sound is the low hum of the AC and the softest shuffle of mr. pickles, your ancient maine coon, who, for the first time in what seems like eons, flops in front of babykuna’s feet. a humble offering. a plea for mercy. baby the tabby? he lets out a single, horrified, “YEEEOOOWWWWWL—” like he has just witnessed a first-degree felony right before his very eyes.

you? you’re laughing. not because it’s funny, but because your brain is short-circuiting. “babe,” you choke, eyes darting to sukuna, who has gone uncharacteristically still. you swear you can hear the windows error sound effect echoing inside his head. but he blinks, snaps out of it, and suddenly—

“THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN MARRIED?”

you jolt, clutching your chest. “sukuna, for the love of god, inside voice.” but he is hyperventilating. actually hyperventilating.

he stumbles forward like a man on his last legs, dropping to his knees so that he is face-to-face with babykuna. “baby,” he starts, voice tight, shaking, the desperation of a father who has just been emotionally gutted. “marriage is a big deal. are you sure about this?” 

babykuna, bless her obnoxiously stubborn heart, crosses her arms.

“yes.”

sukuna visibly deflates. “but—but why?” he croaks, rubbing his face as if this is causing him physical pain. “what happened to all the other snot-nosed brats?”

babykuna huffs. “they were gross, papa.”

“EXACTLY.” he seethes. “they’re all gross! including this one!”

“nuh-uh. he’s different.”

sukuna looks like he’s about to throw up. he grips her little shoulders, voice dropping to a low, grave whisper.

“listen, babygirl. i will give you anything. anything you want. you want another cat? i’ll get you another cat. you want half of my company shares? done. a custom labubu line with your name on it? consider it already in production.”

babykuna’s brows knit, lips pursed in deep thought. there’s hope. hope that maybe, the dreaded king of the corporate world will win this negotiation. but then—

“no.”

babykuna stomps off to her room.

and as she marches away, victorious, baby the tabby lets out a final, gut-wrenching shriek, a soulful cry that echoes down the halls like the mourning of a thousand fallen soldiers. mr. pickles lets out a deep, ancient sigh, the kind only a being who has lived through generations of turmoil can muster.

and sukuna? he just slumps to the floor, lifeless, broken, defeated.

“i’ve lost her,” he whispers, staring blankly ahead. “i’ve fucking lost her.”

you pat his head. “there, there. at least she didn’t pick a finance bro.”

the next day, there is a shift in the air. you sense it first, the way the walls seem to breathe easier, the way the atmosphere in the sukuna household isn’t shrouded in impending doom. and then you see it.

babykuna walks in, her steps just a bit heavier, like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her tiny shoulders. mr. pickles, who has been mourning nonstop since yesterday, immediately flops next to her feet, a slow, dramatic descent that speaks volumes.

please, his weary, ancient eyes seem to say. do not get rid of me when you are married.

baby the tabby, however, is far less sentimental. he doesn’t even look at her. doesn’t even acknowledge her presence. babykuna notices.

“baby,” she calls. baby the tabby flicks his tail and turns away. the ultimate betrayal. she frowns, drops her backpack on the floor, and then—

“i’m not getting married anymore.”

silence.

mr. pickles exhales a long, tired sigh, as if the very gods have heard his prayers. baby the tabby, however? ecstatic.

he springs onto babykuna like he’s just won the lottery, tackling her to the sofa and kneading her chest with such fiery, unbridled passion you fear he might actually give himself a heart attack. but the real show? sukuna.

because the moment those words leave babykuna’s mouth, he goes dead still. and then, slowly, so slowly, he turns to you with the wide, gleeful, demented grin of a man who has just cheated death. “babe,” he breathes. “call a baker.”

“...a baker?”

he nods, eyes gleaming.

“i’m getting a cake.”

you blink. “for...?”

“us.”

he grips your shoulders, voice thick with emotion.

“a congratulations cake. for us. we fucking did it.”

[gold-onthe-inside]

debriefing

v. def. the systematic questioning of individuals to procure information to answer specific collection requirements by direct and indirect questioning techniques.

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader summary: the one where you finally confront the thing between you and spencer content warnings: none word count: 2.5k

You couldn’t sleep, restlessly turning in bed as flashes of Spencer torment you - vaguely remembering his hand on your ankle as he slid your heels off, kneeling in front of you with his hands grasping yours, his firm grip on your arm, his hand on your lower back, guiding you downstairs. “The team knows that my priority is you.”

You feel like a teenager trying to decipher whether a boy likes you. More importantly, you have to go back to work in 5 hours, and if he doesn’t like you the way you think he does, then there’s no point losing sleep over it. A wave of frustration washes over you, stuffing a pillow in your face as if that could remove the imprint Spencer’s made on your brain.

The pillow falls to the side, leaving you staring at the ceiling with a desire to kill or kiss Spencer, and since neither of those were options to you, you did the next best thing. You knocked on the partition between Penelope’s room and the living room. She had dragged you through Lord knew how many thrift stores and flea markets to put together this magical room that was a cross between Turkish royalty and California in the 60s. The woman, your best friend, bless her heart, woke up with a slight grumble, pushing the unicorn kitty eye mask up (apparently it reduced dark circles, and seeing as she didn’t have any while you were left to suffer, it must work) to attend to your distress.

“Honey, it’s 2 in the morning, can we talk about this in daylight?” Penelope asked, her saccharine voice a soft rumble in her sleep.

“It’s about Reid,” you said, hearing how pathetic you sounded, standing on the step to the raised platform that led to her bedroom. But it seemed to perk her up, and she got up faster than you’ve ever seen her wake in the 10 years you’ve known her.

“I’ll put on a pot of tea,” she announced, moving to the kitchen.

“I-I don’t need tea,” you said uselessly to the whirlwind you called your roommate, trudging across the floor to the kitchen.

“Do you even remember the last time you came to me with boy problems?” Penelope asked you, grabbing her teapot and dropping bags of masala chai in it before setting it to boil on the stove while you parse through your memory, coming up empty. “That’s right. Never. Not once in the entire history of our friendship have you ever come to me about a boy,” Penelope continued and you sink into a seat on the bar stool.

“Because there’s never been anyone worth talking about,” you replied, rubbing your face. “God, how did I let this happen?”

“Let what happen?” Penelope asked, sitting next to you.

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “I don’t lose sleep over guys, and it’s like Spencer just… snuck up on me and now he just lives in my brain or something.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Yes, it’s horrible and embarrassing and—”

“You really like him,” Penelope finished for you, watching your hands fall to the kitchen island.

“I really like him,” you admitted, letting out a disgruntled sigh as you dropped your head into your hands.

“Sweetie, it’s okay,” Penelope assured you, trying not to laugh as she rubbed your back. “And for what it’s worth, he’s a really good guy. A little nuts, but a really good guy.”

“He’s not nuts,” you muttered and Penelope really wants to laugh. The idea of you defending a boy from Penelope’s words was such a far stretch from who you were as a person…

“He also really likes you,” Penelope told you, tilting her head to try and find your eyes. “Seriously, he was hounding me the other day asking if you were into that Jack Ryan-esque new guy or not.”

“He was hounding you?” you asked, looking up with a skeptical brow.

“As in took up residence in my office until I gave it up,” Penelope clarified and you sighed, rubbing the back of your neck as the teapot whistled. You watched as Penelope poured you a cup of tea with a little milk, just the way you like it.

“What if it doesn’t work out?” you asked, taking the cup and slowly spinning it as you waited for it to cool. “I don’t want to have to avoid him forever. Or put you in a weird position with me and him.”

“What if it does work out and you fall in love and have adorable genius babies?” Penelope countered, making you furrow your brow.

“That sounds so much scarier,” you muttered and she sighed.

“Look, sweetie, as much as it pains me to admit it, he makes you the happiest I’ve ever seen you,” Penelope told you. “Seriously, I have video footage.”

“Delete it,” you tell her immediately, putting on your most serious face, but after 10 years, she’s grown immune.

“You’ll never find it,” she sings, sipping her tea. You suck your cheek in, staring at your tea.

“So… what, I just… tell him?” you asked and you looked so clueless that Penelope had to giggle just a little. “Don’t laugh.”

“I swear to God, you two are so meant for each other, it’s written in the stars,” Penelope said, laughing. “Yes, baby doll, you tell him. Because Lord knows he’s not gonna tell you. He’s been dancing around his feelings so long, he could be Kevin Bacon in Footloose.”

“But I don’t want to,” you protested childishly. “Can’t I just ignore it?”

“Not if you want to sleep at night,” Penelope said, tucking a stray hair behind your ear and you pursed your lips.

“I hate this.”

“Yeah, that’s what being in love is,” she replied. “Welcome, it sucks.” You hummed, disgruntled, and sipped your tea.

You’re close to clocking out for the day when Penelope’s heels clack against linoleum, rapidly approaching your cubicle. “The time is now,” she hissed and you frowned immediately, pressing the back of your hand to her temple.

“Are you okay?” you asked and Penelope shook her head.

“Morgan’s setting Reid up on a double date, I couldn’t talk him out of it,” Penelope said rapidly.

“Wait, what?” you asked and Penelope growled in frustration, pulling you out of your desk and towards the elevators.

“You remember the blonde girl who worked with us last year, her father was a serial killer, she transferred to Swann’s unit? Ashley?”

“Yeah,” you said hesitantly. You’d helped Penelope bake cupcakes for Ashley’s graduation from the Academy — and swatted Kevin when he tried to swipe more than he was given.

“Yeah, well, Morgan’s got a date to this Hitchcock Festival, and he wanted to make it a double date—”

“Why? Double dates suck,” you interrupted, completely missing the point and Penelope shook your shoulder.

“Do you hear the words coming out of my mouth? Spencer is going on a date and it’s not with you.”

Passers-by look at the two of you strangely before walking off and you pressed the button to the lift in an attempt to look normal.

“So what?” you asked half-heartedly. “I’m sure Ashley’s a great person.”

Penelope looked like she wanted to pry open the lift doors and throw you down the shaft. “Her father is the Redmond Ripper, is that what you want for Spencer? For his future father-in-law to be a serial killer?” she demanded, the last few words coming out as a hiss and your lips part. Words, you remind yourself.

“It wouldn’t go that far,” you said, sounding weak even to yourself as you both step inside the lift.

“You don’t know that,” Penelope retorted. “Maybe they go on one date, maybe two. Next thing you know, he’s asking Charles Beauchamp for his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

You’ve just been following Penelope’s lead, and it doesn’t strike you that you’re headed to the BAU until the lift opens again and you’re standing face to face with half the team. Spencer’s brow furrowed as he recognised you, JJ glancing at Penelope curiously and Derek grinning at the both of you.

“Hey, what are you doing up here?” Derek asked, with a lot more charm and casualness than Spencer could have mustered.

There’s a shove from behind you, Penelope pushing you out as she chirped. “She wants to talk to you,” she said, ambivalent to your horrified expression as she pointed at Spencer.

“Me?” he asked, meek and slightly alarmed, going through every interaction of the past 7 years to check if he’d done something wrong. Derek and JJ shared a glance, with every intention to stay and listen, until Penelope pulled them both inside the lift.

“Bye!” she chirped, immune to your glare, waving as the lift closed. You stared at the lift, your escape route disappearing before your eyes, Spencer’s glued to you. His fingers drummed on the belt of his satchel, lips pursed in anticipation, heart hammering in his chest as you take a breath and look at him. Of course he had to wear purple today.

“Um… Penelope said you were going on a date,” you started slowly, hands sliding into your pockets despite your sweaty palms.

“Yeah, Morgan kind of roped me into it,” Spencer said, his expression turning pained. “We had this practical joke war and the truce agreement means I have to go on a double date with him. It’s a… whole thing, what did you want to talk about?”

You sucked your cheek in, a telltale sign that something was making you anxious. “So… you don’t want to go on the date?” you asked, tentative and Spencer furrowed his brow.

“Not… enthusiastically, but Seaver’s- I mean, Ashley’s nice, so…”

“But you don’t like her,” you reasoned slowly, gauging his responses so analytically that you could have your own desk here.

“I don’t not like her?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling more and more as the conversation went on.

“Right,” you said quietly, having run out of questions. “Cool, so… I’m gonna go. Have fun on your… date?”

He’s never seen you this unsettled, this flustered, especially around him, and cute as it is, it worried him, his hand reaching out to nudge your elbow before you could run off. “Are you okay?” he asked, deeply concerned.

“Yeah, no, Penelope’s just… um…” You closed your eyes, took a breath, and internally went, Fuck it. “If you don’t like her, don’t go,” you said, looking at him again. Bad decision. You really want to kiss him.

“Okay… But I kind of already agreed to go,” Spencer said, shifting where he stood nervously.

“I… I don’t want you to go,” you said, hoping he would extrapolate the meaning, but of course he doesn’t. He just narrows his eyes in confusion.

“You don’t—”

“I’m asking you not to go,” you insisted, your heart in your throat. You might actually cry if he goes anyway. A beat passed, Spencer just looking into your pleading eyes.

“Okay,” he said eventually, moving to press the lift button, and it’s your turn to frown.

“Okay? That’s it? I asked you not to go and you’re not going?”

“Pretty much,” he replied casually, moving to call up the lift. “Besides, Hitchcock movies don’t really have the same appeal after you know who the murderer is. I mean, it’s nice to appreciate the cinematography of the whole thing, but once you know who the killer in Psycho is, there’s only so many times you can rewatch it before it becomes predictable. Now, if it was something like a novel, that’s a different story, because literature can be interpreted so many ways, and Arthur Conan Doyle still appeals after the third or fourth time you read—”

“You’re not going?” you repeated, standing there, completely struck by him and he looked at you, as though puzzled that you were still stuck on it.

“You told me not to,” he said, concerned again. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His hand flitted up to press against your temple and you freezed, his hand drifting down to your neck to check your pulse, which fluttered when he touched it.

“Why would you just… I mean, how can you just listen to me like that?” you managed to ask and he dropped his hand, slightly amused.

“You’re impossible, you know that,” he said, the lift opening and he waited for you to get in first, his arm keeping it open. “I mean, I don’t listen to you, you argue with me. I listen to you, and you’re still arguing with me. Is there any way to win with you?”

You ignored the easy avenue into a catfight, still looking at him. “She could be the love of your life and you’re just not gonna go because I—”

“She’s not,” he said, his voice plain and firm. “Will you get in so I don’t have to hold this forever?”

“You don’t know that she’s not,” you continued, frowning at him. “She could be the woman you spend your life with—”

“She’s not,” he said again, just as firmly as before. Fact. Not opinion. Not doubt. He looked at you intently, your throat moving as you swallow, not that there’s anything there with your mouth completely dried out.

She’s not the love of his life.

The team knows that my priority is you.

Whatever happens next, I am here. I won’t leave, not unless you ask me to.

You have people. Even if you can’t see them.

How many times had he told you how he felt without saying it? “I’m such an idiot,” you murmured, shaking your head. “I have no business calling myself an intelligence analyst when you…” He frowned at you as you trailed off, still holding the stupid lift open. Penelope was right. All along, she was right. You crossed the foot between the two of you. “Spencer Reid, will you go out with me?” you asked, your voice calm, finally finding yourself on even footing with him. “Properly, I mean. On a date.” No more cryptic codes to decipher, no more dancing around each other. Everything had been decoded, deciphered, plain to see.

“I…” He blinked at you in surprise. “Really?” he asked, almost in disbelief, then checked down the hall like someone was watching him.

“Not a practical joke, I promise,” you said, your heart settling back in your chest. “We could get a drink, see a movie, I couldn’t care less what we do, I just… Spencer, I like you. A lot. And if you don’t want to, which, I mean, fair enough, your call, but—”

He crosses whatever gap is left between the two of you, pressing his lips to yours and grasping your jaw and your hands emerge from your pockets, holding his waist as he takes your breath away. His fingers threaded into your hair, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world, and you kissed him back, pulling away only when your lungs ached for air. His eyes are bright and dilated when he looked down at you, lights glittering in his clear gaze. “I want to,” he murmured, a slight rasp. “Very much.”

[emmyrosee]

i think play fighting with shidou would be a glorious experience. tbh. it could fix me. i don’t even have any other thoughts abt it this time, I just know it’d be amazing 🤧

anon <3

NOOOOO IT WOULD LITERALLY HEAL MY SOUL I LOVE HIM AND IM ACTUALLY FROTHING AT THE CHOMPERS OVER THIS-

bc here’s the thing. HERES THE THING-

Shidou doesnt play fight. He straight up wrestles. Like there are sometimes where he’s gentle and just manhandles you around and pins you down and pokes and prods at your sides, just to hear you giggle and squirm, but like… sometimes, he needs to put you in a full Nelson and power bomb you, tickling you until you’re crying and quite literally tapping out.

“Quit poking me with your dogs,” he snickers, swatting at your foot that once again prods his side. “‘Feral behavior.”

“Coming from you? That’s rich,” you tease.

He flashes you an offended look, but there’s challenge in those pink eyes, a spark of excitement that entraps you, and you know that right now, you’re too playful for your own good, this can only backfire, but damn, if it doesn’t course through your body at the speed of light, filling you swiftly to pester him into snapping.

“Excuse me?” He growls, grinning behind gritted teeth.

“You heard me,” you sass once again. “I’ve seen the things you say to Sae, I know the things you yell on the field, and don’t even get me started on the way you do your hair in the morning.”

“You tryin’ to fight?” He asks, rising to his feet. “You trying to start something?”

“What’re you gonna do if I am?” You hum, rising to your feet too.

“Im gonna give you a five second head start,” he says, and you squeak and make a break for it. “Then im gonna make you regret talking all that shit!”

In your apartment, there’s only four good hiding spots; you’re both extremely aware of them, this not being a new dance for either of you.

You decide on the one in the closet, that’s always the one that gets you both riled up the most, not being able to actually see each other and being protected by an actual barrier than keeps you two apart.

“Where, oh where, could my bratty baby be?” He sings, and judging by he leisurely pace, you know he already knows which hiding spot you’re in. Your hands clasp over your mouth to hide your laughter. “Ohhhh, my bratty baby, you think you can hide from me? I can smell the fear coming from you.”

From the closet, you can’t see Ryusei, but you hear him as if he’s right next to you, his steps clear and calculated and whistling loud enough to send shivers through you. You hear him getting closer, feel the way the floor shakes under his massive frame, and you watch as a shadow comes from under the door and pauses. Your heartbeat picks up, fast, and your breathing stops as if that’ll help the inevitable.

He flings the door open after about seven seconds of anticipation. “Found you,” he sings. You shriek and try your best to scramble out of the closet for safety, only for him to laugh and grab your ankle out from under you, “oh, I don’t think so.”

Your fingers try to grip onto the floor, as if that’ll help you, but Ryusei is strong, much stronger than you, and he wastes no time in hauling you up and over his shoulder before slamming your back onto the squishy mattress, already snickering at your expense while you whine in giggles and flail your legs to try and ward him off.

He merely catches your foot and traps the other leg under his thigh, blunt nails scraping down the sole to make you nearly kick him in the nose. “Careful, it’ll come off,” he teases. You merely fight him off harder.

He tosses your foot to the side and makes a break for your torso, flopping down onto his side to pin your arm under his weight, but careful to distribute the weight so there’s no pain and you can only continue to giggle helplessly. With one of your arms rendered useless, you try and shove at him with your free arm, which gets gobbled in his grip before he positively pulls it taut, free hand now able to squeeze and poke your sensitive muscles to his delight. Your nerves are electric from the pinning to the tickles, and you’re hyper aware of him being so close to you, cheeks split into a massive smirk as he torments you.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone so ticklish,” he points out. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you like pushing my buttons like this, just to make me snap and tickle the snot out of you. You like riling me up for this, hmm?”

Despite his words, he stops, hand smoothing up your side to calm the phantom touches still shooting through your muscles. His legs untangle from yours and he raises his body enough for you to regain control of your arms, which causes you to curl into his side, still giggling softly. “So mean,” you mewl in between your titters.

“You made fun of my hair, what did you expect?” He scoffs, wrapping his arms around you to cuddle you. You bury your nose against him, relishing in the smell of his shirt and being more than content in his arms. “Besides, I know you like it.”

“You dont know shit,” you grumble, but your smirk tells him everything he needs to know.

Play fighting and you? Inseparable.

Good thing he’s there to always indulge you.

[ledbet]

The amazing thing is as soon as you start feeding info to a child this way, it expands their own understanding (logically) of themselves and their behavior and they are able to verbalize better back at you. Meaning, in high emotion moments they can better talk through with you and you can better regulate yourself as a result and help guide them to better choices without losing your fucking shit.

my sons were wrestling last week, for example, and the younger one got bounced off of a beanbag and knocked his head on the floor. He was fine (more than, he wanted to go right back to fighting) but I called time out and rather sternly told my older son that if they choose to play that way against my wishes then he was responsible for preventing that sort of thing, whether it was fair or not. He didn’t like getting scolded on this and started to talk back with some choice words. I asked him what he thought he was doing, talking to me like that. And he paused, and thought about it, and said “when you get really firm with me like that, it makes me not want to be around you.” And, yeah, tough to hear, but dang what an amazing thing to be able to verbalize. This kid is 6, mind you. And it let me better understand what he was feeling, and we were able to talk about it. That he might feel that way, and that’s ok, but it’s still more important to keep them both safe than to let them have fun and like me all the time. That his feelings are ok and so are mine but we still can’t be mean or nasty to each other just because of them. That I have to be firm when they don’t listen and are doing things that might be dangerous. That they’re allowed to take breaks from me and each other. That if I’ve been firm and he doesn’t want to be around me…he doesn’t have to be. He can go to his room and cool down and come back when he’s ready to talk or to play a different way. That’s ok. I do the same thing, sometimes, too.

it really changes the whole family dynamic, and your kids’ dynamic with themselves. Communication. Who would’ve thunk it?

I am exceptionally lucky in that my parents never hit me, grounded me, confiscated my things, banned me from my hobbies or threatened any of these actions to make me behave as a kid. as an adult it has made me realise how very very long a road most people have to traverse before they can take a statement like 'no rule that must be enforced by threat is legitimate' seriously.

[sleepychenle]

wc: 722. genre: fluff, enemies to ???. tags: haechan's friend!chenle, uni au, mentions of alcohol, kinda mean!chenle. [a/n]: yn is me. i sip on my drink everytime i feel awkward and end up drunk. it’s like a reflex istg. i still struggle w tags btw... lmk if these are not it lmao.

you have no idea why you decided to accept haechan’s invitation.

you’re not the type to party, but somehow it felt like you should go. as if you were going to witness some crazy drama or someone’s entertaining canon event tonight. if you only knew…

as you make your way to the entrance, it hits you. you don’t know anyone here besides haechan, who will be hosting the party and, of course, won’t be with you all night.

“oh hi, yn!” you blink as haechan makes you snap out of your thoughts. “come with me, i’ll introduce you to my friends so you’re not bored while you’re without me” can he read minds? you follow him with no response other than a nervous smile and a small nod.

and it wasn’t that bad! even, you thought you could get along with them… specially with renjun. just for the fact that neither of you wanted to be there. they were all pretty chill guys. all except chenle. the guy that you got paired with to do some calculus homework a couple days before.

he was so stubborn and full of himself… he wouldn’t wait for you to finish and he would lose it whenever you made a mistake. you couldn’t stand each other so you both agreed to work on it separatedly.

you’re not sure when it happened, but now you have a glass of who-knows-what in your hand, sipping every time you felt like chenle was staring at you, probably hating at a distance… and that was, pretty much all the time. that’s how you started to feel tipsy. what a good idea yn! drink every time you feel awkward… what were you thinking? you think to yourself as you sigh.

you decide to go to the bathroom to freshen up a bit. so you excuse yourself and try to make your way there. you are currently in a state where you can’t fully control your body, often bumping into people. but at least you could still think straight… right?

suddenly, you bump into another person. causing you to trip and fall to the floor. or that’s what you thought would happen. you open your eyes and see chenle. you never fell. you can feel his arm wrapped around your waist, and something else… his whole body pressed against yours.

“watch out, yn” he says, with a hint of worry in his tone, but you wouldn't notice anyways. his gaze intense on your features. why isn’t he cursing? why is he looking at me like that? he doesn’t look too bad... not at all.

“you’re kinda hot when you’re not grumpy…” you murmur your thoughts out, gripping his shirt as though you’d fall if you didn’t. he hums. “am i now?” “…can’t say it happens often, though” you press your eyes closed, regretting what you just said. it looks like it’s the only body part you have control of now.

he helps you stand on your feet again, finally (and reluctantly) letting go of you. he bows slightly, as if signaling he is about to go. but then, you call him almost… desperately? “wait!” you don’t even know why you stopped him, and now you have to make an excuse for it. “uhh… did you finish the exercises?”

he turns around “i did… why? you need help with yours?” chenle says with that smug expression he always seems to save just for you. “no… i didn’t want that” your voice get quieter. he raises an eyebrow and gets closer again… incredibly close “oh? what did you want then, yn?”

oh how i love when he calls me by my name… why am i even thinking about this? there is no use in hiding it anymore, right? no, wait yn. think for a moment- “a kiss” you manage to say, so low that only him could hear it… as if it was forbidden.

his smirk widens. and his face is a mixture between amusement and surprise. he leans down and you close your eyes, preparing for the so-wanted kiss. but instead, his mouth hovers right next to your ear and he whispers “ask me again when you’re sober, will you?” he pulls away with a smile and walks away. leaving you there, stunned, flustered and cursing at yourself for not being sober enough.

[junkpuppet225]

note: This is just something that came to me. It’s basically just smut with no plot. Minors beware. You’re responsible for the content you consume. Enjoy!

Daryl clutches the door handle to his bedroom so tight you swear you hear wood cracking from the force of his hand. Shit. You were just having fun - pretending you weren’t living in absolute hell where the dead walk.

It wasn’t the first time Daryl caught you doing stupid pointless shit but the first time you were only trying on wedge sandals at a department store you and the archer were scavenging. This time you were standing in front of a floor length mirror in his bedroom wearing a luxurious black dress that slid over your skin like silk - hugging you tight in all the right places.

“I’m sorry—- I just wanted to see the whole thing and your room is the only one with a mirror like this. It was in the back of my closet and I didn’t have anything going on right now—-, I thought you were on a run.”

You’re pretty sure that entire statement came out in one long rush of air escaping your lungs - standing frozen in place with your eyes locked on his in the mirror’s reflection - your hair still gathered in your hands above your head.

Daryl hasn’t said a word - his lower lip grinding between blunt teeth as he watches you.

He’s going to yell at you again. Tell you that none of this materialist shit matters anymore and that it’s stupid to waste time thinking it does. He’s going to make you cry again. Not loud and sobbing, the worst kind - a single tear betraying you as he paces at your back or the tremble of your hand while he reminds you of all the walkers surrounding the place while you’re in here wasting fuckin’ time!

…except he doesn’t say anything and his eyes are burning into yours from across the room. The only sign of life coming from him is the slow rise and fall of his chest.

“Daryl?”

He blinks, finally letting his eyes fall from yours to take in every inch of your body. You let your hands fall from the soft strands of your hair, moving them down the silky material as his ocean eyes linger on your ass a moment too long before he looks down at his feet with a grunt.

“I’m sorry I was in your room—-, I’ll go change.”

You try to push past him but he grabs your arm roughly - jerking you to his side as he pulls the door shut with the other. This close to him you see there’s nothing slow about his breathing, his chest expanding deeply to try and drag air into his lungs as he lifts his eyes to your parted lips causing a groan to rumble in his throat. He smells so fucking good - like pine, earthy and delicious and you can’t help but step closer to him to breathe it all in.

“Daryl I—-.”

Before you can register another thought he crashes his mouth to yours, pulling you to his chest as his other hand sinks into your hair - holding you to him. His kiss is hot and desperate - his tongue demanding yours as he pushes your back into the door hard causing a gasp to rush from your chest. Your heart is pounding so hard you worry you’ll pass out as you slide a shaky hand up Daryl’s chest, savoring his kiss as your fingers caress his jaw and he wraps a strong arm around your middle - brining your hips together to sink his body further into yours. The feel of him - all of him - has your mind spinning as you try to get a grasp on what the hell is happening.

Daryl has never kissed you before - he barely even speaks to you and when he does you wouldn’t call it friendly. You press your palms to his chest but his kiss has you to weak willed to push him away - all you can focus on is his desperate mouth on yours and when you try to jerk your face from his to make sense of this he grabs your throat - holding you in place while he kisses you.

It’s so fucking hot you have to press your thighs together to try and dull the ache he’s causing between your legs. You curse the dopamine that surges inside of you - your heart pounding against Daryl’s chest as he presses his hard length against the inside of your thigh, his fingers tightening around your jaw as his tongue continues to assault yours and stars dot your vision.

“Daryl.” You need to catch your breath. You need to make sense of whatever this is but he can only allow one, pulling away just enough to take in his own needed breath before his mouth is on you again. This time he kisses a wet line down your throat - still grasping your jaw tightly as his teeth graze the sensitive skin just below your jugular and a soft moan falls from your lips causing his grip to falter slightly as he pushes his leg between yours still pressing you to the door.

“…want to fuck you…” He grunts against your lips - it’s the only thing he’s said since barging in on you admiring the dress - groping roughly at the silky fabric clinging to your body, cussing against your throat as he tries to gather it around your hips with no luck. It’s tight in all the right places and unzips from the side so he’s going to have to back off an inch so you can fumble with the mechanics a moment. Or, he just grabs the material in his hands and yanks hard - ripping the dress at the narrow thigh slit causing you to gasp before his mouth is on yours again. You spread your legs for him slowly as he palms your hip before slipping between your thighs to brush his thumb against your damp panties, a cry escaping you as he runs his fingers over the soft material and whispers some inaudible words about how wet you are for him before ripping them off without a thought.

Good thing you aren’t living in an apocalyptic nightmare with limited goods like nourishing food and clothes that actually fit.

Daryl kisses you until you’re lack of underwear disappears from existence - barely clinging to reality as he works two fingers inside of you - beckoning you to come for him as your insides begin to quake. His chest is heaving with desire and his words are whisper quiet between you. “…please let me fuck you.” It’s not a question so much as a statement and your heart seizes in your chest as he finally pulls away to look in to your eyes. There’s an unmistakable longing between the two of you as you nod and lean into his kiss once again.

With your dress ripped all the way to your waist now it’s easy for him to gather the ruined material in one hand - fumbling with his belt with the other before lifting your leg to thrust into you with a deep moan. He stretches your soaked cunt slowly, pushing further until he’s buried deep - your nails digging into his arms as you try to steady yourself from the feel of him. “…feels so fucking good.” You slide your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck as he thrusts up into you hard and fast - tightening his fingers in your hair as he swallows your moans with his rough kiss. He has to pull away again to take in a breath - looking between your bodies as he sinks himself inside of you over and over, low desperate grunts filling your soul.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before - waves of pleasure filling you as he fucks up into you desperately, one hand back on your hip - bruising delicate skin as you feel yourself come undone around him, eyes closing tight as a surge of euphoria explodes inside your core chased by Daryl’s own release as he fills you with a quiet groan, chest heaving as his eyes lift to yours and a slow smile creeps to his lips.

“That’s some fuckin’ dress, sunshine.”

[eoieopda]

in limine (teaser) | wjh

in limine (latin): at the threshold, in the beginning

synopsis: you think that by remaining single this year, you’ve found a loophole in your string of shitty valentine’s days. the universe thinks you should lose your paralegal on the eve of a major trial and see if you wouldn’t rather have all of those untimely breakups and missed dates instead. pairing: wen junhui x reader au: law firm, coworkers to something genre: fluff, minor angst, smut word count: 1.2k (teaser), est. 11-15k (fic) content/warnings: attorney!reader, attorney!junhui, pov switches, civil litigation (derogatory), forced proximity, discussions of shitty relationships, i haven’t practiced in this field of law in years, recreational drinking, explicit sexual content. reader notes: afab, no pronouns used, no descriptions of hair/complexion/body/ethnicity/nationality/etc., canonically queer. a/n 1: this fic will be posted by 2/17/25 as part of the lonely hearts club café collab, hosted by @camandemstudios! please check out the rest of this masterlist, as well as their previous collabs! 💕 a/n 2: it took me *checks watch* over two (2) years for me (an attorney) to write a fic about attorneys — and it’s not even the area of law i practice. asdfghj. everything here is based on u.s. law, even though the setting is nondescript. family law attorneys: i’m sorry.

As soon as he crosses the threshold into that sole, lit room, Junhui stops. The massive table that normally occupies the center of it has been shoved up against the interior wall, along with all its chairs. In its place, evidence boxes form a haphazard little fairy circle on the rug. You sit cross-legged in the middle, nose all but buried in a case file, wearing leggings and a crewneck instead of the suit you likely came here in.

“You look comfortable,” he muses.

It becomes abundantly clear very quickly that you, too, thought you were here alone. You jolt at the sound of his voice. All the papers you were holding drop and scatter, both across your lap and the floor you’re monopolizing.

Junhui’s hands fly up. “Whoa, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

The look on your face is far from startled, though. Even from a few meters away, he can see how tightly your jaw is clenched. If he listens closely, he’d likely hear your teeth grinding one another into dust. 

He can also sense how stiff your posture is, now that you feel his eyes on you. His gaze shifts to the piles of paper near your knotted limbs; and he tells himself that he’s averting his eyes out of respect, not the tiny tremble of intimidation he feels working its way down his spine.

At this point, Junhui knows you by reputation only. He’s rarely at any of the courthouses you frequent, and his specific line of work keeps him out of the office, more often than not. Whenever he is here, you’re not — too busy with that massive caseload of yours to catch much of a breather.

The two of you may be passing ships in the night, but you have a lot of people in common. He can’t say that he’s made much of an impression on them so far. You, on the other hand, are both widely known and discussed. 

So far, anyone that’s ever mentioned you to him speaks about you as if they’re describing a force of nature. It’s the kind of awe people usually save for something fearsome yet worthy of respect, like a tsunami — with the sole exception being that sanctimonious cunt, Tom Santi, who most recently described you as a nightmare bitch from hell.

Of course, Junhui has no firsthand knowledge to back any of these claims up, but he figures it can’t be that far out of character for you to be here now, working too hard. For all he knows, it could also be on-brand for you to snap his neck for distracting you.

“Do you…?”

One of your eyebrows arches quizzically. His question dies on his tongue, halfway finished, because he doesn’t know where it was headed in the first place. Just the same, he can’t tell if that expression on your face is due to stress, annoyance at being interrupted, or some secret, third thing.

…Want me to leave?

Junhui points awkwardly to the espresso machine in the corner, which you’ve unintentionally barricaded behind the conference room table. Like a fucking buffoon, all he says is: “Espresso?”

Your face scrunches a tiny bit. For the second time, he finds himself completely unable to read you. Is it disgust? Suspicion?

No, he realizes, it’s neither. He sees the tiniest flicker of it when the corner of your lips twitch: amusement. While the smile doesn’t overtake your mouth, there’s a glimmer of it in your eyes. It’s reason enough for Junhui to breathe for the first time since he walked in.

“Yes, I do espresso.” You nod with your lips bitten between your teeth, like you’re seconds away from laughing. 

Too eagerly, Junhui nods, too. “Right. Got it. Order up.”

Order up?

Running away isn’t an option; and he can’t dig a hole to hide in without a shovel. All he has left to do is shuffle over towards the corner and slink through the obstacle course you’ve built. With what he feels is impressive agility, he makes it all the way to the machine before pausing suddenly. 

Under his breath, he curses, “Fuck.”

The jig is up now. Junhui has no idea which buttons to press or where the espresso beans are. Unfortunately for both of you, the only way for him to find out is to interrupt you further. 

Whoever handles his eulogy better leave out how little time it took him to provoke you into killing him.

Bracing himself for impact, he squeezes his eyes shut and smiles sheepishly. “Do you happen to know how to… use this?”

There’s a groan from the center of the room. Junhui cracks one eye open and searches for the fist coming his way. Instead, he finds you on your feet, twisting at the waist and stretching.

While twisting, you lock eyes — well, eye — with him, then you freeze with your torso still rotated in his direction. Your hinged arms stay where they are, held up at your sides.

“I’ve been sitting here like a goblin for too long,” you explain, tone self-conscious. “If you just heard every joint in my body pop…. no, you didn’t.”

Before Junhui can think of a quip in response — he’s capable of coherent speech, he swears — you step over the shoes you’ve discarded and make your way over to him, patterned socks clashing with the neutral carpet below. He steps back on instinct, although there isn’t really anywhere left for him to go. 

You either don’t notice how close you get to him, or you don’t care. Entirely unfazed, you set to work, grinding and tamping like it’s all second nature to you.

Junhui knows he should use this time to observe your processes carefully, but he doesn’t. That’s not to say the learning opportunity is entirely squandered, though. 

And he’s a quick study.

In less than a minute, he learns more about you than he has in the last three months. His first discovery is that you’re wearing a watch on your dominant wrist, which is weird as hell — until he spots the small tattoo hiding beneath it. He catches the very faint notes of patchouli at the base of your perfume, too, underneath the cassis and freesia.

It’s nice, he thinks, even better than the overwhelming scent of coffee that swoops in to drown it out.

“This goes here —”

The silver piece in your hand twists into place with a click, drawing his attention back to where it should’ve been all along. 

Fuck. 

Have you been talking this entire time?

“— and then you press the start button to release the hot water.”

You glance up at him then to confirm that he understood you. Junhui blinks, buffering while he tries to play this out.

“You’re good at this,” he improvises, although he admittedly has no idea if this is true. 

“No compliments until you survive drinking it.” You offer him a wry smile to go with the drink you’ve made him. “I’ve quite literally never touched this thing before in my life.”

With your vaguely expectant eyes on him, he takes a small sip, then he murmurs with his lips still hidden behind the glass, “I don’t think I believe that.”

“Why?” You smirk and tilt your head to the side. “Because it’s just that good?”

No, in fact, it’s terrible, but you don’t need to know that.

Junhui nods his head towards the center of the room. His reply is simple, and despite not being the full truth, it’s not a lie: “I’d expect more practice from someone who seems to live here.”

[arcadia-smith]

Falling out of love. (I know how this feels, and I am sorry in advance.)

Bucky Barnes x reader

It was the small things you noticed first—how he stopped reaching for you when he woke up in the mornings, how the soft smiles had turned into tight-lipped ones, how he barely held your hand anymore. How the nights were always colder.

You tried to fix it. You always tried. You stayed up late, writing him letters, hoping he would talk to you about the ghosts he couldn't outrun. You cooked meals he liked, did everything to make him feel safe, loved, wanted. But it wasn’t enough.

You don’t remember the last time you felt at home in Bucky’s arms.

Maybe it was weeks ago, curled up on the couch, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back. Or maybe it was months ago, when he kissed you in the rain and promised he wasn’t going anywhere.

But now, standing in your shared apartment, you realize something awful—you’ve been losing him for a long time.

And he let you.

The air is thick with silence, the kind that presses against your ribs and makes it hard to breathe. Bucky leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, looking at the floor. He won’t meet your eyes. Won’t say anything to stop this.

You swallow the lump in your throat. "You don’t love me anymore."

His head snaps up, eyes wide. "That’s not true."

"Then say something, Bucky." Your voice cracks, and you hate it, hate how desperate you sound. "Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me this—this thing between us isn’t dying."

His metal fingers curl into a fist. His jaw clenches. But he doesn’t speak.

Because you’re not wrong.

You let out a trembling breath. "I keep waiting for you to fight for us. But you won’t, will you?"

His throat bobs like he’s trying to swallow back something sharp. When he finally speaks, it’s barely above a whisper.

"I don’t know how."

You close your eyes, and for a moment, you wish he’d lied. You wish he’d told you that things would get better, that he’d try harder, that he wants to fix this. But he won’t. He can’t.

And the worst part? You understand.

You step closer, reaching out like muscle memory, like maybe if you touch him, you can remind him what you are to each other. What you were.

Your fingers brush against his vibranium hand, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky pulls away.

It feels like a bullet to the chest.

Tears burn in your eyes. "You don’t get to do this."

His breath shudders. "Do what?"

"Let me love you just enough to keep me here but never enough to make me stay."

Something in his expression cracks. You see it—the regret, the pain, the love that still lingers but isn’t enough to hold onto.

Bucky Barnes, the man who once held you like you were the only thing keeping him breathing, is now standing in front of you, letting you go.

And that’s what breaks you.

You nod slowly, like you’ve finally accepted what your heart refused to believe. "Okay."

His eyes snap to yours, panic flashing in the blue depths. "Okay?"

"You don’t have to say anything else," you whisper. "I get it now."

You grab your bag off the counter, fingers trembling. You’re still hoping, deep down, that he’ll stop you. That he’ll say something, anything, to make you stay.

But Bucky just stands there, silent and still.

And that silence is the loudest heartbreak you’ve ever heard.

Your voice wavers. "I love you, Bucky."

He squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body tensing. When he opens them, they’re red-rimmed, full of everything he won’t say.

"I know."

That’s it.

That’s all he gives you.

You let out a choked laugh, shaking your head. "God, I wish that was enough."

Then you walk away.

You make it to the door before you hear him whisper your name, so soft you almost think you imagined it. But you don’t stop. Because if you do, you might never leave.

The door clicks shut behind you.

And this time, Bucky doesn’t chase after you.

Because he never has.

And he never will.

[wolvndmouth]

okay ya’ll hear me out

x-24

and this wade

x-24!logan is rescued by worst!logan and wade (laura was extremely convincing). it’s early enough in the timeline that x-24 isn’t the animal we’ve seen before

worst!logan and wade have no idea what to do with him (neither of them thought that far ahead tbh); he’s not 100% a danger to others, but he’s not 100% safe to be around. he is still mute, still quick to anger, but has not yet been broken into the rageful, feral weapon rice trains him to be in the future

he’s more like an angry dog who doesn’t know why they bite; all they know is that they can and will

wade, logan and al also can’t manage one more person in the apartment, much less someone like x-24, who can not only NOT pay rent/bills, but is still pretty volatile at the absence of a proper handler. it’s too fucked up of a thing to ask worst!logan or laura to take the role, and wade is just not the person for this job

but wade knows the exact person for this (and has them on speed dial just in case his logan ever wants to save a horse by riding a cowboy). western!wade knows what it’s like to live life on the run. the tva know x-24 is missing, and sending him to live with this version of wade in his timeline can buy more time

it started off as a favor and short-term shelter. this wade takes him home to his acreage in montana, and even though everyone else sees x-24 as a more of a mutt than a man, wade has a fully furnished guest room for him.

western!wade has broken his fair share of stallions, but this one is by far his toughest challenge. but western!wade is just as stubborn as x-24 and the dog keeps him on his feet, and soon enough, he’s got a bit of a soft spot for the fella

wade doesn’t necessarily handle him like an animal, but he knows how to get his way when it comes to beasts. and x-24 feels safe knowing that. the training involved is satisfying to the both of them, and they’ve both come to an unspoken agreement about how they’ll be living their life together. x-24’s guest room is no longer for guests; it’s now his own. in exchange for room and board, x-24 helps with the farm work

x becomes pretty docile. still mute, still stoic, but has been taught past his purpose of violence to feel, think, and choose. western!wade becomes more patient. still talkative, still wild, but more open to being gentle than wrenching his way. they eat dinner together every night. wade plays old westerns and silent movies one night and hears x laugh for the first time. and they both suddenly have a thought that maybe they’re the best things to happen to each other in a long time

however, the first time x-24 hears western!wade call him a “good boy”, it’s something he never wants to live without hearing again. it doesn’t fix the monster he feels he is, but for a small moment, he feels like he doesn’t have to hurt himself or others to be seen

that same day, while the pair are handling their usual farm work, the tva come for x to bring him back to his proper timeline, but wade just can’t let that happen. wade comes out guns blazing, taking down every agent that’s come without a single thought. x-24 doesn’t even have time to react; wade handles it all. x figures the least he can do is to help to wade bury the bodies and after that night, x-24 doesn’t sleep in the guest room anymore. he sleeps in a chair just outside of wade’s room, and he will not be convinced otherwise. this goes on for weeks, x-24 staying as a watch dog and wade with pistols under his pillow, the both of them ready at moment’s notice to fight for their home

it takes time, but x-24’s place moves from just outside the door, to a chair in the corner of the bedroom, to the floor at the foot of the bed. eventually, he’s sleeping on the bed; still at the foot but with the way things are going, probably for not much longer

x is getting all the horses to sleep in the barn. wade watches him from the other barn door, x petting each one as he locks up each door. every wade has their logan, but to him it almost seems wrong to want this one the way he does. after everything x has been through, it feels like he’s taking advantage. but wade has never noticed the way x looks at him from a far. he doesn’t notice that x never falls asleep first. he doesn’t see x lay awake at night, contemplating his feelings, nor does he see his dreams of their life together, but with more love and less violence. he’s never considered the loyalty that man’s grown for him as anything else but gratitude

tonight though, it’s apparent. wade’s so lost in thought, he doesn’t notice that x has left the barn. he only realizes when he feels eyes stare into him like daggers from behind. he turns around and wade swears the man in front of him looks like he wants to rip him to shreds; the feral look in his eyes could easily be confused with the desire to tear into him

but western!wade has grown to know x-24 in ways no one has ever bothered to. and he also knows what a man’s eyes look like when they look like they want to devour you in other ways. x-24 can smell the way wade’s understanding feels. they stand staring at each other, neither making a move, almost in fear of what coming together might actually mean for them

quietly and without a word, they both make their way to the house, neither one following the other, but neither one lagging behind. they make their way to the room, x closing the door behind him as wade undresses for bed. normally x would wait till wade gets into bed before taking his place at the foot. tonight, he watches as wade makes his way to him. wade looks into x’s eyes as he reaches for the hem of his shirt, asking in the only way he can bring himself to, and is still as a statue until x gives him a nod of his head in approval

both men are down to their boxers, wade taking note of every scar, stitch, and ridge left behind from x’s time in the lab. x had always taken note of how different wade smells bare skin, without all the leather and just the sweat of the day clothing him, but it’s different tonight, knowing how close they’ll finally be. wade takes him by the hand and leads him to the bed, walking him past the foot and to the other side of the mattress instead. it’s a side of the bed that’s been empty for a long time; it doesn’t smell like vanessa or cable anymore. it no longer smells like death, and in more ways than one. wade looks into x’s eyes, one last time before they craw into bed together as if to really ask him if this is okay. x smiles and nods his head, climbing in and taking his spot next to the other man beneath the covers. and as they fall asleep entwined together, they both dream of blue skies, open fields, and of a life they never knew could belong to them

[callme-holly]

OKAYY so can you plz plz do likeee an imagine where reader is just super duper clingy and is on dally’s lap clinging into him and she whispers and murmurs how much she loves and wants him, and he like teases her and is super cocky about it but it’s all playful in the end and he adores her (he just doesn’t show it too much ofc bc, it’s dally cmon)

𝐟𝐢𝐤𝐚 [𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

fika: (n.) a moment to slow down and appreciate the good things in life

The Curtis house was surprisingly settled, the TV playing on low in the background, it’s static filling the room, keeping the attention of the loudest members of the gang. Darry was in the kitchen, cooking up dinner with whatever leftovers they  had from the night before, and Pony was curled up in the armchair, dozing silently. Usually, he’d be spread out across the couch, and so would Soda, Steve, and Two-Bit; however, the three had been forced to the floor by you and Dallas, who were taking up the entirety of the small seat.

Dallas was lounged back against the cushions, looking far to comfortable and at ease, an unlit cigarette dangling between his lips and you in his lap, your face tucked in the crook of his neck.

Your breath was warm, fanning out across the expanse of his skin and sending the occasional jolt through his body. It was rare that he’d let you cuddle up against him like this; he much preferred to have you pressed up against him in a less affectionate way, but he could tell you needed this, and the other boys hadn’t said anything about it yet, so he was more than happy to just let you be. He toyed idly with the ends of your hair, twirling the strands around his finger and watching it unravel slowly before repeating the action again. The moment was strangely peaceful, your hands curled into the fabric of his shirt, almost as if you were holding onto him, afraid he'd move you and break the tranquil moment that has settled over the both of you. 

"I love you..." Your voice is a low murmur, muffled from where your face is hidden, and he glances down at you, something akin to amusement flashing across his features. You're half asleep, not fully gone, but just teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, your body pretty much dead weight against him. 

"Yeah?" he hums, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. "What do you love about me, sweetheart?" He speaks low in your ear, loud enough so that only you can hear, though everyone else is the room is drowsy in their own comfort that he doubts they'd point out his affection anyway.

You're quiet for a few moments before letting out a soft breath. "Everything. Your voice, your accent, your face..."   rumbles deep in his chest, and he tilts your chin up gently, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Is that all?" There's not an ounce of malice in his voice, just pure fondness and a hint of teasing and cockiness that never quite leaves. 

"There's other things... We'd be here a while, though." You let your head fall back to his chest once more, and he doesn't proest when you cuddle close and cling to him, instead resigning to his fate, relaxing under you with a huff.

"You're half asleep, baby."

"No, I'm not." But there's no fig our words. You know he's right; you're barely awake, too wrapped up in the heat and comfort of his body.

"You are. And you don't know what you're saying." He presses his lips to the side of your jaw, lingering for a moment, before pressing another just below your ear. A shudder passes through you, and he smiles against your skin, not pulling away as he speaks again. "Tell me more." 

And you do. With a small, sleepy smile, you pull back your head to look up at him, an almost dreamy, adoring look in your eyes. He's never seen anyone look at him like that before. Sure, he's seen people in love, seen the way they look at each other in that love-sick, wanting way, but he's never been on the receiving end of it. Not until now.

"You're one of my favourite people in the whole entire world. I always feel safe around you, and you're really tough, and you care about people a lot, even if you don't show it." 

You're smiling softly again, and he leans down, capturing your mouth with his in a searing kiss, his fingers gripping your hips tightly as he pulls you into him, relishing in the feeling. He's never felt like this with anyone until you, never felt comfortable enough to express how he feels. You see him, actually see him for who he is, for who he wants to be.

"So what you're saying is that you're obsessed with me, doll." He raises a brow, flashing you a cocky smirk that has butterflies erupting in your stomach, fluttering wildly.

"Something like that." You respond, eyes barely open by now, but still filled to the brim with tenderness. "Yeah..."  you sigh, melting into him once more. His warmth radiates off of him in waves, and you revel in it, nuzzling closer to him.

The TV continues to drone on in the background, but you two pay it no mind, and nobody pays you any mind, too caught up in their own worlds to even think about the one of your own that you're both so wrapped up in. You know it won't last; it never does, these soft moments with him... But you might as well enjoy it while it lasts, no matter how short that may be. 

[bisexualbrainrots]

Tonight, We Are Young.

so this idea ended up turning into an actual fic, as it should be, full fic under the cut and a tag list I made for those who showed interest.

Synopsis

Tommy puffs his cig and looks at his watch: 11:45. Great, another year that goes by and once again, he has no one to kiss for the countdown. He thinks it’s pathetic, it’s not like he doesn’t have any choices, it's just… he doesn’t know if he’s ready for them, if he can dive in and allow himself to kiss— The screech of the door opening takes him out of his thoughts. He looks over from his spot on the wall and smiles at the person he sees come out. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” OR, that one time in 2012 where Chimney and Tommy kissed.

Full fic:

“Tonight we are young, so let’s set the world on fire! We can burn brighter than the sun!”

Even from the back of the bar, Tommy can hear the loud crowd of drunks chanting the song, probably tripping over their own feet and spilling their cheap drinks onto the floor as they hold each other. Tommy thinks they’re dumb, and endearing.

Tommy puffs his cig and looks at his watch: 11:45.

Great, another year that goes by and once again, he has no one to kiss for the countdown. He thinks it’s pathetic, it’s not like he doesn’t have any choices, it's just… he doesn’t know if he’s ready for them, if he can dive in and allow himself to kiss—

The screech of the door opening takes him out of his thoughts. He looks over from his spot on the wall and smiles at the person he sees come out.

“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Howie’s probably just as drunk as he is, given the way he moves. He’s surprised he isn't sprawled on their booth given how much he usually drinks. Tommy’s never gotten used to drinking with Howard Han.

“Just having a smoke. What’s the life of the party doing here though?”

Howie’s one of those people that just attracts everyone, at least according to Tommy. Once he has you in his sight you are forced to become his friend. And you’ll do it gladly because… It's Howie after all.

He sees him get closer and stand beside him, leaning against the brick wall “Same thing as you apparently. C’mon give me a hit.”

Tommy smirks and reaches into his pocket, pulling out the box with their usual brand. It’s not a habit either of them are proud of, constantly being scolded by Hen and Karen when they visit and even Sal has called them out on it more than once. But what can you do, their line of work pretty much lays the foundation for substance abuse.

They will quit. One day. 

But tonight’s not going to be when that happens.

Howie grabs the box, grinning with all his pearly teeth showing. The bastard’s smile is perfect, with no proof of his smoking habits. “You are a saint, you know that?” He pulls out one of the cigarettes and puts it in his mouth, raising his eyebrows to let Tommy know he’s ready.

Tommy sighs and pulls the lighter, and is forced to put his own cig in his mouth because of the breeze that threatens the flame to extinct. Carefully covering the fire, he lights Howie’s cigarette and goes back to smoking his, putting the box and lighter back in his pocket.

Howie takes one drag and moans at the feeling, looking satisfied with the smoke reaching the confines of his lungs “God this is good. Shame we’ll probably die from this.”

“Don’t tell me, lung cancer, right?”

Howie giggles “Well, not yet, thank goodness,” they both laugh softly at the reference. Superman , 1978.

Hen likes to tease them about it, calls them cinephiles as if it’s a bad thing. So what if they love movies? So what if they know their favorites by heart? That only proves they have a liking for something. Although it is true that they may spend a little too much time watching films than the average person.

But it’s their thing, and that’s what matters.

After a few more smokes Howie looks at him “So, how are we doing tonight?”

Tommy arches an eyebrow “Apart from the fact we didn’t die last week?” Howie’s push on his shoulder makes him laugh, raising his hands as a peace offering, “Relax, I’m just teasing.”

“Not funny Kinard, not funny. And it wasn’t a bad theory!”

“I told you the basis was all wrong! How can you believe the end of the Mayan calendar is the actual end of the world?” Howie rolls his eyes at the question and takes another hit, showing his middle finger at him. Tommy just chuckles and takes a drag.

“You think Hen and Karen are already asleep?”

Howie blinks at him “Why, you wanna try and call them for new years?”

“I was thinking more like crashing on their couch,” Howie laughs at him and reminds him that they probably wouldn’t like to be bothered by a couple of drunks, especially not on New Years’ Eve. He wiggles his eyebrows at the last sentence, the alcohol letting his inhibitions down.

Tommy isn’t going to admit this out loud, but he’s sort of jealous of Hen. He’s always looked up to her on a personal level, ever since she bravely told everyone at the station off and showed how proud she’s of herself. He wants nothing more than to have even a grain of her confidence. 

He wants to know what is like to love yourself enough to go after what you want.

He takes another hit and looks at the moon, shining over them and serving as the only source of light besides a few neon signs. It's oddly terrifying, to see something that's so far away it seems foreign to you but it actually rules your life, needing it to survive. He feels as if the moon would know all of his secrets if he stood here long enough for her to get deep into his veins. 

He looks back at Howie, changing the topic “So, what are your resolutions this year?”

“Not quitting, that's for sure.”

Tommy chuckles “Amen to that,” and both men clink their cigarettes together, their own version of what they call a nicotine toast.

Howie looks at the night sky for a moment, pensive. “I think I want to find love this year,” he looks at Tommy, a sad expression on his face “Do you think that’s cheesy?”

Tommy smiles warmly and holds his shoulder for a little while. He really hopes for Howie to find someone, he deserves it. Howie has a good heart, and an even better soul.

Sometimes he thinks he doesn’t deserve Howie as a friend, especially not after the way he treated him his first months as a probie. His heart is filled with shame and regret at the memory, at the way he pushed him away just so that he couldn’t be known and found out. Nowadays he could not imagine ever letting him go, he’s been wrapped around Howard Han’s finger. And he isn’t ready to be unfolded.

“Not for one second Howie. After all, which one of us has a romcom as their favorite movie?”

Love, Actually . That’s his favorite movie, and very few people know about it. Howie was one of them.

The corners of Howie’s mouth twitch upwards, a silent nod that expresses everything words can’t “So, what are your resolutions, Mr June?” Tommy snorted a laugh, shaking his head. Howie has been teasing him about being selected as Mr June for 2013’s calendar ever since it was announced, but he doesn’t mind.

It’s actually kind of fun.

He finishes the cigarette and stomps on it before leaning back against the wall “Well… I think I’d like to take more risks this year, and obviously to amp up to 150 in the gym if I can.” Okay he is definitely trying to make it less serious, and based on Howie’s reaction it did not work.

“Tommy…” his tutting makes him roll his eyes, “That’s a good resolution, you shouldn’t try to make it more… digestible. I mean, at least yours is more doable.”

Tommy frowned, a little confused, “And why wouldn’t yours be doable?”

He didn’t think finding love in a year could be that hard, at least not for a guy like Howie. He had so much to offer, so much devotion and care that it would be crazy to think nobody would accept it. Plus, Howie's like super hot.

When a guy looked like Howie; soft raven hair, nice smile, dark eyes and crazy abs; it was hard not admire him.

Howie scoffs and gives one last drag to his cigarette before tossing it on the ground and stomping his foot on it “I can’t even get a new years kiss Tommy. I don’t think finding love would be realistic.”

Tommy blinks at him “Realistic? C’mon Howie. You,” he points his finger at him “You out of anyone here could get a kiss. Like, you could just go back in there and find any girl, easily.”

And he means it. He’s seen the way some women look at his friend, they want to talk to him, to get to know him. It’s odd to him how Howie just doesn't try to be himself around them sometimes, when he could charm them easily that way.

Howie rolls his eyes, but the rest of his demeanor shows sadness “Says the man who looks like a Greek god.”

Tommy could be taken aback, but he isn’t. Howie could be an ass whenever he was irritated or angry about something, which is why he lets this slide. He gives him that look, that ‘stop that now’ look, and ducks his head, kicking his feet against the dirty alleyway floor.

He notices Howie looks for him, leans closer to make him look at him in the eye “Hey, sorry dude I didn’t… I didn’t mean to sound that shallow. Are you okay?”

He bites his lip and raises his head, “It’s fine Howie, it’s just… you’re not the only one who isn’t kissing anybody tonight.”

Howie’s eyes widen, he looks genuinely taken back by his statement “But… W-why? How?”

Tommy hadn’t kissed anyone in so long, it was making him insane. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t just go to a club and find himself anybody, it’s just… he wanted to kiss someone who actually liked him back. Someone who would look at him as something more than just a pretty face or a good time. He yearns for that.

And it kills him inside.

He laughs bitterly “Look, Howie… I haven’t had a New Years’ kiss in like over three years. Even when I’ve dated it never lasts up to this,” he closes his eyes for a few seconds and opens them to find Howie’s eyebrows pulled together in a concerned expression “I don’t want to bother if it isn’t with someone who likes me, or that I like back.”

Howie’s lips form a soft smile, and he titles his head “There’s no one right now?”

Don’t—

“It’s not like they know I exist,” his lips tight into a fine line, preventing himself from saying too much.

Howie puts his hands in his jean pockets, his thumbs curl around the belt hoops, “Didn’t you say you wanted to take more risks this year?”

And fuck, that’s Howie poking right where it’ll hit the most. The worst is that he knows he’s right. He knows it’s cowardly to sit around and mope about what you can’t have when you could try for it. When you have the chance for it. When you could actually make a move for it.

He sighs “The year hasn’t even started yet. And it’s not like I want to kiss a stranger tonight.”

“Well that’s unfortunate, ‘cause I saw a pretty blonde out there who looked at you all night. Maybe you could try with her.”

Tommy laughs from his belly and shakes his head, if only he knew .

“Okay you don’t want a stranger, go try with someone from the B shift then, or the 133! We know some of them” And that’s the clearest sign that Howie’s drunk, because it was one of the most ridiculous ideas he’s ever had.

“I don’t think I should be kissing a coworker, Howie.”

Howie rolls his eyes “Listen man, it’s not going to be the end of the world to kiss someone tonight, regardless if they like you or not” he gets a little closer and pats him on the shoulder “You just have to enjoy it, Tommy.”

Ten, nine, eight! The countdown has started.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, feels like a lifetime has gone by and his hazy eyes meet Howie’s. He moves closer, shifting his body so that he’s in front of him.

Seven, six, five! 

He bites his lip as he sees the world in them. Sees that person that showed him he didn’t have to close himself off to new people and possibilities. And he sees the moonlight shower his face. There’s a softness that’s not easy to find in men like them, in men whose image has always been associated with roughness, where being soft means that you love.

And that made you weak.

Four, three, two!

He stays looking at those eyes. Those eyes that care for him, that love him in a way he has never been loved, that want the best for him. Those are the eyes of his dearest friend, one of the few people he thinks he’ll ever be able to trust. Those are the eyes of Howard Han.

And that… that was his mouth.

“Howie…”

‘One!’ he hears.

Fuck it , he thinks. And dives in.

He holds his jaw with one hand, curling the fingertips on his neck. It’s soft, it’s tender, it’s lips on lips that don’t kiss back. He doesn’t want to open his eyes just yet, because if he does… he fears Howie’s wouldn’t even be closed.

But then he feels movement. He feels his friend, practically his best friend , kiss him back. And that’s what truly scares him. So he pulls back.

He doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol that makes him feel like Howie was kissing back, but he can’t take it back, not now. Not when his eyes flutter open and he sees that darkness locked in on him. He’s embarrassed, so fucking embarrassed he doesn’t even think he can look at Howie.

“I-I… Howie, I’m so—” and it’s like his brain is short-circuiting.

Because Howard Han takes him by the neck and pulls him back to him, crashing their lips together. And he can’t believe it, not even when Howie’s going at it headstrong: their noses are smashing, his hand is traveling to his hair pulling it and he’s pretty much sucking his upper lip.

It’s kind of ironic that this happens with fireworks as background noise.

Tommy can’t help it but kiss him back with the same force, and one of his hands looks for stability in the wall  while the other looks for grounding in Howie’s waist. Howie’s free hand travels to his hip, keeping him there. As if Tommy was ever going to pull away from this.

He never thought his lips would feel like this, soft even when he’s trying to devour him with them. And speaking of devouring, a moan escapes him when Howie bites his lip and deepens the kiss, feeling their tongues meet sloppily for the first time. The taste of alcohol intoxicates him more than the one that courses through his veins.

Their bodies flush together, neither of them wanting to stay away for even a second. Howie’s back meets the brick wall and he groans, both from the sudden hit and the fact that their hips were closer than ever, grinding against each other.

This is something Tommy had never expected. He never thought he’d ever get to know how Howie’s dick felt like, even through his jeans. And the worst (or best?) is that it wasn’t bad.

It was glorious.

But nothing good lasts. And their stupid lungs need stupid air to breathe so they pull away, very much reluctantly if you ask them. It's in that moment where both men realize their necks hurt like a bitch, but that's not the most important thing. 

It's how they look.

Tommy's lips are crimson red and there's tiny bite marks in his cupid's bow. His cheeks have a blush that's not far off from the tone of his lips. You can't even see the blue in his eyes thanks to the way his pupils have dilated. And his hair is a mess, all ruffled and electric spikes jumping all over the place. It was going to be impossible to make himself look presentable.

Howie's not much better. Just like Tommy his lips are a burning shade of red, all plump and angry in a way that itches. There’s another, bigger kind of darkness in his eyes, the dark brown of his eyes overpowered by the black. The skin of his chin is raw thanks to Tommy’s stubble, and will probably become a problem for him in the next hours. All the signs of kissing were laid out on his face.

They were wrecked. A mess. Absolutely ruined by that kiss.

Their eyes meet, completely dazed from what just happened. It takes a while for both of them to process what they’ve done, but when it does they start laughing.

More like, burst out laughing.

Tommy hides his face in the crook of Howie’s neck, his shoulders shaking as the cackle turns into a wave of giggles. His hands hold Howie’s biceps and the other man holds his back, caressing it softly. “Holy shit, Howie.”

He can’t believe this even happened, even when he still has the lingering feeling of Howie’s lips on his. Even when his jeans feel so tight it’s a little painful. Even when he still has his body plastered against Howie’s. He still can’t believe they kissed.

And he can’t believe it doesn’t even feel weird.

Howie chuckles “That… wasn’t so bad. Not at all.” Tommy lifts his head to ask if he’s sure and that he shouldn’t lie if it wasn’t good. Howie simply arches his eyebrow and looks down at… his boner. Tommy gave Howie a boner. And that makes him laugh softly.

“Well, he also thought it was good,” it should make Tommy feel embarrassed to talk about his dick in third person, but all the shame seems to have been thrown out of the window. 

Especially since Howie also laughs about it, making the air feel much lighter.

“Did you… I mean, was it really okay? Because I was afraid you were gonna punch me or something,” it makes him wince to hear himself say that. He knows Howie would never do that and it is a wild assumption to make, but that kind of fear was always lingering inside of him. And he feels like Howie catches on to it, based on the way his face softens and the hug he receives over it, arms wrapped around him for a little longer than he was used to.

“I don’t regret this Tommy, and I hope you don’t either. I also hope you don’t become a stranger any time soon over this, I like having you in my life,” the hug ends and Howie holds him by the shoulders “Besides, now you can take some pointers from me if you want to kiss someone.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad you little shit.”

And they’re laughing.

And it’s fine.

Howie sighs “Just… promise me that you’ll take a risk every once in a while. Make a move, it won’t kill you.”

Tommy smiles at him. A genuine smile. “I will, Howie. In the meantime, I think we should get going, don't you? Traffic’s already a nightmare and I’m definitely crashing at your place tonight.”

Howie laughs and shakes his head “Fine. But not before we get a few shots, let’s celebrate a little!”

And Tommy nods, and they go back to the bar and get so drunk they can’t remember anything about that night for the next week. But that’s okay. Because Tommy’s always going to agree with any of Howie’s plans, no matter how crazy they can get.

He just hopes his liver can survive them.

Taglist! @cjlouwho @rubydaiquiri

[juniperhillpatient]

I love my silly little guys who I can never get a picture of with their eyes normal

[super-done-dead]

every fucking day. every fucking day, I’m putting litter that has been kicked to the floor back into the damn litter box

[davinawritings]

A Knotty Discovery

Pairing: Male Werewolf X Fem Chubby Human Reader

Warnings: Smut, Penetration, Knotting, Sex toys, Ruined Orgasm, Creampie

Summary: You come home to find that your extremely attractive Werewolf roommate has found your collection of knotted dildos.

🖤❤️💕💕❤️🖤

When you walked into your apartment, you were surprised not to see your roommate sitting on the couch in the living room. It was Sunday night, which was your traditional movie night together. Both of you worked but always ensured you were home by five on Sundays. Since you both had Mondays off, you made Sunday your weekly pizza and movie night, staying up late and enjoying each other’s presence.

Decker and you have lived together for over a year now, and honestly, you love it. The only problem was your small, well maybe not so small, crush on him. You couldn’t help it, though; he is just so amazing. He is the exact opposite of you. You are human, and he is a werewolf. While you are short and chubby, he is massively tall and made of muscle. You are soft and gentle, while he is hard and strong.

You cherish movie nights where he wraps an arm around you and pulls you close. You love leaning against his large body and nuzzling into his soft fur. He always manages to brighten your day and make you laugh. He takes care of you and makes you feel love. Unfortunately, he has never expressed any romantic interest in you, so you try to be content with having him as a friend.

It’s already past five, and Decker is usually getting everything set up for movie night by now. You set the pizza you brought home on the counter, thinking he must be running late. You head for your bedroom and decide to take the extra time to put on your cute pajamas.

You certainly had not been expecting to walk in and see Decker kneeling on the floor in front of your closet, your box of vibrators and dildos open in front of him. There are several knotted dildos on the floor beside him, and the largest one is gripped in his clawed hand. Your face heats up immediately, and you accidentally let out a small gasp at the sight.

The noise catches his attention, and his eyes immediately meet your own. You quickly look to the floor in embarrassment at his intense gaze. “Oh, no, pretty girl. Eyes on me. How long have you been hiding this? Hmm?”. You can’t seem to push any words out of your mouth, and you hear him moving because of your lack of response. You stand entirely frozen as he stops before you, using one hand to guide your eyes up to his.

“All these months, you have never shown any interest in monsters. The only male you went on a few dates with, being that loser human, and now I find all this. My adorable little human likes monster cock, well, werewolf cock specifically”, he says with a smirk. You try to pull away, your mortification at an all-time high at his words, but he doesn’t let you budge.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think you realize how much I have been holding myself back, thinking you had no interest in a werewolf like me. From the moment I met you, I wanted you sitting on my knot. I wanted to hold your plush body in my claws and never let you go, but I thought you wanted a human male. I had to keep myself from ripping your clothes off every fucking day”. You let out a needy whimper at his words, and a smirk appeared on his face once again.

“Baby, when you wear those little pajama shorts, and I can see your thick thighs, all I can think about is holding them in my hands as I thrust my cock inside you over and over. And last Sunday, when you wore that cute little nighty for our movie night, I swear I was hard all night. All I wanted to do was bend you over the side of the couch and knot you all night long. Your body looks so fucking breedable, baby, and I just want to fill you every moment of every day” he finishes his last statement with a low growl, and it goes straight to your panties.

You wet your lips and reply, “I.. I have always wanted you, Decker. I just didn’t think you were interested in me, so I never said anything”. He shakes his head and says, “Baby, how could I not want you? Everything about you makes me want to claim you, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing, but first, you are going to show me exactly what you do with those toys over there.

You feel a twinge of embarrassment at the thought, but it is quickly overpowered by arousal and lust at the thought of him watching you. He gives you a quick pat as you make your way over to the toys and reach for your medium-sized dildo.

“The big one, sweetheart. I must ensure you are nice and stretched out when I take you. I’m a lot bigger than your little toys over there”, he tells you, his voice a low purr. You almost moan at his words, the excitement of being so filled making you crave him even more.

You slowly take off your clothing, wanting to tease him a bit. As your panties hit the floor, you see Decker take a big inhale and moan. You blush under his gaze, and he gives you his signature wolfish grin.

You place the large dildo on the floor, the suction cup base holding it in place. You kneel over it, lining its tip up with your wet entrance. You look at him as you slowly let your weight push you down on the thick dildo. His eyes don’t leave your slick cunt as he moves one of his hands to squeeze his cock over his pants. You felt your mouth salivating at the sight.

You reach halfway down when you rise up again, leaving just the tip inside you before dropping back down. You continue this until the knot presses against your entrance on each downward stroke. You moan as you watch his eyes bounce all around your body. The dildo feels so good, but his eyes on you feel even better. You release soft whimpers and moans, and you work your body up and down.

“That’s it, baby. Keep riding. Fuck I love the sight of your greedy cunt swallowing that dildo. You look so fucking beautiful, baby. There you go. Go a little faster, baby. I wanna see those perfect tits bounce faster, little one. Fuck princess, I can’t wait to fill you with my cock. I wanna see you take that knot, baby. I wanna see your greedy little pussy stretch around it”, he growls out, lust lacing his voice.

You spread your legs wider and drop your pussy down lower. You move one of your fingers down to your swollen clit and rub tight circles on it. Pleasure slams through your body, and the knot fully pops inside your tight cunt. “Fu-Fuck Decker. I’m cumming. Fuck I’m cumming”, you cry out.

Just as your cunt clenches down at the beginning of probably the best orgasm of your life, Decker wraps his claws around your arms and pulls you up and off the dildo, the suction cup keeping it secured to the floor. You cry out at the ruined orgasm, your cunt trying to clench around nothing, and your clit pulsing in need of stimulation. Tears spring to your eyes as your thighs clench together, trying to get any stimulation at all. Decker is quick to reach one hand down and separate your legs, stopping any stimulation and ruining your orgasm completely.

You look at him in confusion and a hint of betrayal as tears stream down your face. He licks up the tears from your cheeks before saying, “Sorry, sweetheart, but I’ve decided that the first time we fuck, the only knot you are going to cum on is mine.” With that, he pushes you back to lie on the bed as he starts stripping his clothes.

You stare at every glorious inch of his body that gets exposed. Your need for him increases with each second. As his cock is revealed, you audibly gasp. He wasn’t lying when he said he was bigger than your toys. His cock is so giant that even fully hard, it hangs down towards the floor, too heavy to stand upright. The knot at the base is larger than your fist, and your nipples harden even more at the thought of him forcing it inside you.

“Tell me you want it, princess. I need you to tell me now because once I start, I won’t be able to stop. I’ve thought about this for far too long to be able to hold back once I finally have you,” he says, giving you one last chance to back out.

You spread your legs wide, making sure your dripping pussy is entirely on display, and reply, “Please, Decker. Please, I want this, I need this, I need you. Please fill me. Make me yours”. He is on you before you even finish. He pushes your legs up and over his shoulders, his cock resting over your pussy and your lower belly. He thrusts his cock back and forth but holds back from entering you, just working on covering himself in your slick juices.

“Mmmm, I love how soft your body is, baby. So fucking perfect in every way. Drives me fucking mad”, he growls out. Each brush of his cock rubs your pulsing clit, and all you want is for him to push inside you. You are just about to start begging when he finally lines himself up with your needy hole and pushes in. He only goes about halfway, but you are already crying out at the feeling.

He moans your name and keeps thrusting, moving deeper and deeper with each stroke. He watches your body open up for him, mumbling the word perfect under his breath. On his next thrust, his knot hits your entrance, and he seems to lose all control. He grabs onto your love handles and starts fucking you like an animal.

You cry out in ecstasy at feeling so full, his cock slamming into your g-spot brutally on every thrust. Your hands grip his forearms, needing to hold on and ground yourself as he fucks you like he owns you. “Fuck Decker… you feel so good. Don-don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Please”.

He moans at your begging, leaning forward to cover your body with his own. Your knees are pushed up towards your shoulders, and his body keeps you in place, unable to move. You cum with a cry of his name, squirting on his cock from the pleasure.

He doesn’t give you any time to recover as he continues using your puffy pussy. You whimper at the overstimulation that sets in, but you don’t want him to stop. You need to feel him knot you. You need to feel him fill you with his cum.

“Your pussy is fucking heaven, baby. I’m never fucking letting you go. Do you hear me? You’re MINE.” he says as his thrusts speed up. His hips slammed against you and pushed you down into the mattress. You only manage to whimper and moan in response, tears streaming down your chubby cheeks in pleasure.

He pulls back almost entirely before slamming his hips down, pressing his knot against your entrance and keeping it there as he tries to push it in. Your entrance puts up a good fight, and he growls, angry at the denial of entry. You start to question whether or not he will be able to fit his knot inside when he shifts his weight so almost all of it is in his hips, pushing his knot harder against your dripping cunt.

Gravity seems to be on his side as his knot is forced into your tight cunt as he drops down against you completely. You scream out his name at the insane stretch, never having been this filled, his tip kissing your womb. Your arms wrap around his back as your nails dig into his fur. He starts his thrusts again, but this time shallow as his knot stays stuck inside of you. Each stroke causes your body to jiggle beneath him, your nipples rubbing against his hairy chest, sending shocks of pleasure to your aching clit.

He pulls his hips back, and his cock pulls your bottom half off the bed by your swollen cunt, before he drops back down. He groans with the motion and continues repeating it. You cry out each time, your pussy overfilled and overwhelmed with the sensation of him.

He slams you down once more, and your legs begin to shake with pleasure. You scream out his name as your cunt once again clamps down on his massive cock, milking him with everything you have. You feel his cock twitching as he lets out a loud growl followed by swears. His cock begins filling you to the brim with his seed. Your already too-full pussy is being filled even more. Your lower stomach bloats and hardens as he cums and cums and cums, his knot not allowing even a single drop of his seed to drip from your cunt.

You cling to him as you both come down, trying to regulate the air in your lungs. He keeps you pressed to him as he rolls onto his back, draping you over his warm chest. You stay like this for a few minutes, just enjoying the feeling of each other’s embrace. As your mind starts returning, you sit up slightly to look at him.

“Why were you going through my closet?” you ask him. He gives you a soft smile and answers, “I was setting up for movie night and wanted to get that fuzzy throw blanket you keep on the couch in the winter. It’s a little cold today, so I thought you might enjoy it. I remember you saying you were putting it in the closet, so I went looking for it.”.

You smile at his thoughtfulness and place a loving peck on his snout. “The throw blanket is in the hallway closet for future reference.” He stares at you for a moment before laughing. His chest rises and falls, causing you to shake up and down. His laughter is quickly interrupted by a moan as your pussy shifts on his cock from the movement.

“Well, we probably have another 30 minutes to rest while my knot goes down, and then we can start movie night. Although I think this time I’ll have you seated on my lap with my cock and knot nice and warm in your perfect little cunt”.

You smile approvingly, moving your head back to snuggle into his warm chest. You never thought you would be thankful that your roommate found your knotted dildos.

🖤❤️💕💕❤️🖤

Let me know what you think! I hope you enjoyed ❤️❤️❤️

[leyavo]

Ghost getting badly injured during a mission that they have to call his next of kin.

Next of kin?? What do you mean next of kin.

Mrs Riley?! He doesn’t wear a wedding band to protect you. Not even at home, worried there’ll be a mark to show he sometimes wears one.

It’s then that the TF 141 find out he’s married to you. They’re all wondering what you’re like, convinced you must be in the same line of work.

You’ve been married for six years, only to be called if it’s serious like now.

Soap’s jaw is on the floor as you walk into the infirmary, you don’t even glance their way as you rush to Simon’s bedside. Your hand on his chest as you lean down to kiss his forehead and brush back his hair.

You’re well put together, a lightweight robe layered over jeans and a simple vest. Pops of colour on your olive thick framed glasses and golden wedged heels. Hair pinned back with a pencil, leather bag overpacked with a book, filofax, purse and little cosmetic bag.

Price introduces himself, shaking your hand. A dainty diamond ring sparkling on your finger. Your silver bangles jingle as you greet each man, repeating their names and they know Ghost has not told you anything about them.

All he told you is that he likes working alone, but sometimes works with others.

You stay at the base for a while till he’s well enough to travel home. Eating with him and the guys in the canteen, they’re still staring at Simon like he’s grown another head. Watching you two squabble about little things.

“Do not put that shit on my plate,” Simon grumbled.

“It’s broccoli not a bomb.” You can’t help but roll your eyes, shoulder bumping into his arm as you try to move him along in the line.

The art director job you have takes you all around the world, sometimes you get to meet up with your husband. Simon treating it like a mission in itself, you playing along as you talk to him over the phone as you walk the cobbled streets to see him. “Target engaged, moving in,” you whisper as you spot him standing outside a coffee shop.

FaceTiming him whilst he’s at base so you can show him the little trinket you found in an antique store. He’s laying down in his bed, headphones on so no one hears.

“Nearly the same age as you luv.” Anything to see that little poutie face and brows furrowed. He loves teasing you that you are older than him, but it backfires whenever he complains at his body aching. “You’re supposed to be young and spry.”

Being a couple years older than Simon, you’ve got your shit together. Which drew Simon to you. Both no nonsense, say what you feel and work it out. No games, no silent treatment.

“Watch your tone Si, you’re not in the army here. You’re home so don’t give me that shit.”

“Watch my tone, luv. You just flooded the bathroom!”

“You distracted me!”

“Why don’t I get some towels and we both sort it out.”

Once Simon’s fully recovered, you invite his team to stay at your shared home together for the weekend.

A cottage in the countryside, there’s an eclectic mix of vintage furniture and textiles. That one rug Simon shipped back from Morocco in the living room. Paintings, pottery and sculptures scattered around the rooms. Rocky, a German Shepard trailing after you as you give them a tour of the place.

You make friends with Price’s wife who’s around the same age as you. Even try to set Gaz up with a client you think he’d get on with. Bond with Soap telling him you lived in Scotland as a late teen where you had your first art assistant job there.

Price’s wife scheduling a double date in five months time. Simon side eying John. She’s also invited you to come stay for a girls weekend at the Price house.

[wife/gf masterlist]

[mssorceressupreme]

Let The World Burn

——— Pairing: Hwang In-Ho (or Young-Il) x reader

Summary: In-Ho would let the world burn for you, developing a huge soft spot and love for you, once you die in his arms, he’s determined to make sure everyone pays for it

Warnings: reader!death, angst, mentions of gunshots, daeho has ptsd, violence, swearing, mentions of blood, deaths

a/n: reader doesn’t know he’s the frontman fyi

———

The arena was a hellscape. The air smelled of gunpowder and fear, screams mingling with the deafening sound of gunfire. Shadows darted in and out of your vision as frantic players pushed past you, some tripping over fallen bodies, others using them as shields.

Every step you took felt like a battle against the tide of selfish desperation.

You clutched the heavy bag of bullets to your chest, your heart pounding wildly. Somewhere out there, Young-il was fighting, orchestrating this mess while holding together the fragile remnants of control.

Dae-ho cowered behind the bunk beds, leaning with his legs to his chest on his bunk bed, his hands trembling as he peeked out.

You’d told him to stay put, and thankfully, he listened. You couldn’t blame him for being terrified—it was every man for himself now, and his fear was written all over his face.

“Stay here,” you had told him, squeezing his shoulder as the fear and panic grew in his eyes. “I’ll find Young-il and Gi-hun. You’ll be okay, alright? I'll come back for you, you just stay put here.” You comforted, he trembled with fear, clutching his legs tighter at every gun shot.

He nodded, wide-eyed, and you’d forced yourself to turn away before the weight of the situation could settle over you. Now, pushing through the chaos, your focus narrowed. You had to find Young-il.

“Young-il!” you screamed, your voice raw as you ran through the area, running up the stairs, dodging bullets and panicked players. “Young-il!” It felt like a never-ending maze of death.

He was there, standing in the midst of the chaos like a storm given human form. His sharp features twisted in determination, his dark eyes scanning the crowd as he dodged bullets and ran from the chaos. You called out to him again, louder, but he didn’t hear you over the deafening sounds of death and desperation.

Before you could reach him, a frantic player shoved you from behind. You stumbled, dropping the bag of ammo and as you bent down to pick it up, a sharp burning pain ripped through your side. BANG! The world spun as your knees buckled. The ground was cold and unforgiving when you hit it, the bullets spilling out of the bag and scattering across the floor.

It was a surreal kind of agony, blinding and consuming. You tried to breathe, but it felt like your lungs had been punched.

Blood was warm against your hands as you pressed them to the wound, your vision blurring as tears welled in your eyes.

You tried again, your voice trembling as you whispered, “Young-il…”

Through the haze, you saw him turn, his eyes landing on you. For a moment, time froze. His face- usually so unreadable, so carefully controlled, cracked with raw emotion. Horror. Rage. Despair. He saw you.

And then he ran.

“Young-il...” you tried to say again, but the sound barely left your lips.

When he reached you, he dropped to his knees, his hands immediately pressing over yours to stem the bleeding.

“No,” he whispered, his voice shaking as his eyes darted across your body, assessing the damage.

“No, no, no! NOT HER!” His voice rose as he turned his fury to the guards, his tone sharper than a blade. “She’s not a target for fucks sake!”

His words carried the weight of command, but the guards hesitated only briefly. Young-il didn’t wait for an answer.

His focus snapped back to you, his hands trembling as he cradled you against his chest.

“Stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “Please, you have to stay with me. I can fix this. Just hold on, okay? Please.”

You blinked up at him, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Young-il…” His name was the only thing you could manage, but it was enough to draw his gaze back to you, his dark eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Don’t talk,” he said quickly, his hands pressing harder against your wound. “Save your strength. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”

There was a desperation in his voice that you’d never heard before, a vulnerability that broke through his steely exterior. It was almost enough to make you believe him. Almost.

A small, weak smile tugged at your lips. “You… always so serious,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I wanted… to help.”

“And you did,” he said fiercely, his voice trembling. “You did more than enough. Just stay. Please stay!"

Your hand, slick with blood, reached up to touch his face. He flinched at the contact, but didn’t pull away. “Thank you,” you whispered. “For caring.”

“No, no, no…” His voice cracked as your hand slipped away, falling limply to your side. “Don’t you dare…” His words dissolved into a choked sob as he pulled you closer. "FUCK!" He cried aloud, rocking you gently in his arms.

The chaos around him seemed to fade into nothingness as he held you, now lifeless, his world crumbling in his arms. His tears fell freely now, staining your already bloodied clothes. He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath ragged and uneven. "My Y/N..." he whispered. "My Y/N..."

And then, the grief turned to something darker.

When he finally looked up, his face was a mask of cold fury. He laid you down gently, brushing a hand over your face to close your eyes. Then he rose, his movements slow, deliberate.

The guard who had shot you barely had time to react before Young-il shot bullet which tore through his chest. One shot. Then another. And another. Now limp, the guard fell to the ground, dead.

“Young-il” Gi-hun’s voice called, but it was drowned out by the sound of gunfire as Young-il turned his wrath on the rest. He didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate. For a mere second, you had given him a glimmer of hope, he had reconsidered his actions for a short moment in time. He even thought about ending the games and running away to take care of you, and only you. But no, now, he remembered who he truly was. The man who had once orchestrated the games with calculated precision was gone, replaced by someone unrecognisable—a man consumed by amplified vengeance and grief. A man with no mercy. A man with no heart. Every last bit of empathy, washed away.

“For her,” he muttered under his breath as he fired another shot. “For her.”

Young-il had lost everything before. But losing you? That was a wound that would never heal. For you, he would destroy it all. Let the world burn. Let them all pay.