#how many words for chest can i come up with

[thatonegrimm]

Fem reader calling the Saja boys (separate) her husband. Either in passing or to get some creep to leave her alone.

OH YES—this is delicious. Here you go!💌

🌙Saja Boys—Reacting to you calling them Husband

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🧿 Jinu

You: “Hey babe—can you come here a sec? My husband doesn’t like when strangers get too close.”

You say it loud enough for the creep by the bar to hear. Jinu—who was mid-sip of his drink—chokes. He’s halfway across the room but nearly teleports to your side.

“H-Husband?? Me???”

You smile sweetly, lacing your fingers through his without missing a beat.

“Mhm. Problem?”

The guy awkwardly backs off, muttering an apology.

Jinu doesn’t say anything at first, but you can feel his pulse pounding through his hand. Once you’re alone, he rubs the back of his neck.

“So… husband, huh?”

“I was trying to get a creep to leave.”

“…Right. Of course.” Pause. “...But you wouldn’t, like, hate it if I… was, right?”

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💪 Abby

You: “Back off. My husband’s literally right there and he benches small cars.”

The creep barely gets the chance to respond before Abby steps in behind you, looming.

“Is there a problem?”

The guy runs. Like, runs.

You look up at Abby with a grin. “Thanks, husband.”

“W-Wha—me???” he sputters, blushing immediately. “You—you can’t just say that!! My whole chest just did a flip!”

You laugh. “You didn’t mind it, though.”

He tries to play it cool but nearly walks into a wall on the way out. Later, you catch him practicing saying “my wife” in the mirror and flexing to himself.

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📚 Mystery

You: “Sorry, I’m taken. That’s my husband over there.”

You say it to shut the creep down fast. Mystery, who was lurking near the windows a second ago, is now right behind you. Silent. Unblinking.

The guy glances up—meets Mystery’s eerie, tilted head and that unreadable stare—and immediately nopes out.

You turn, smug.

“Thanks for playing along, husb—”

You stop. Mystery’s already halfway to the shadows again. But you catch it—the faintest twitch of his mouth. His patterns glowing, just slightly.

Later, you find a note in your bag. Scrawled in his handwriting:

“I liked the sound of it.”

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💋 Romance

You: “Sorry, I’m married. See that guy over there? My husband.”

Romance turns at the exact moment you point. Smiles. Walks straight up to you and slides his arm around your waist like it’s second nature.

“Ah, so this is the guy trying to flirt with my wife.”

The man vanishes faster than your patience on a long schedule day.

Once he’s gone, you expect Romance to tease you—but instead he leans close.

“You really called me your husband.”

You blink. “It was just for the moment.”

“I know. I just…” He looks slightly dazed. “...I liked how it felt.”

Later that night, he calls you “my love” so many times you stop counting. But once—just once—he whispers:

“Wife would suit you, too.”

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🔥 Baby

You: “Babe. Husband. Come here. This guy doesn’t understand the word no.”

The creep smirks like he thinks you’re bluffing. Baby does not appreciate that.

He steps forward, tilts his head slightly—his eyes flicker gold just once.

“The hell you say to my wife?”

The guy backs up like he saw his life flash before his eyes. Smart choice.

You loop your arm through Baby’s as he leads you away. He’s calm on the surface—but his hand is warm, jaw tense.

“You okay?” you ask softly.

“I’m good,” he mutters. “But don’t say that unless you mean it.”

You blink. “Husband?”

“Yeah.” He glances at you, dead serious. “That word does something to me.”

Later, you catch him saving the contact name in his phone. [💍 WIFE 💍]

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M-List

[woncheolisms]

who is in control? (choi seungcheol x reader x yoon jeonghan)

summary: seungcheol doesn’t want to see you with other men. he only wants to see you with jeonghan.

word count: 3k

warnings: scoups x reader (established), jeonghan x reader, smut, nsfw unprotected sex, voyeurism, oral (fem!receiving), orgasm denial, edging, dacryphilia, degradation.

There’s something unbearably attractive about Yoon Jeonghan.

Most of your friends would agree with you. You are absolutely right. Jeonghan is one of the most physically attractive people you have ever seen. Big, beautiful doe eyes, brown like caramel, and soft, long black hair that hits his shoulders and curls around the nape of his neck in a way that looks almost whimsical. He’s skinny, but anyone who looks at him as closely as you do can see how toned his muscles are. He doesn’t have a lot of energy, but he plays a lot of sports, and he’s good at them. You have watched him from the sidelines of these casual games many times, and they always left you with a bit of a thrill running down your spine.

When Seungcheol had first introduced you to Jeonghan, you hadn’t been able to see his face properly in the dim lights of the bar where you met up with your boyfriend after getting off work. He was bathed in shadows, but you could see the way he was laid back against the booth, the light scattered on the planes of his torso, and how smoothly he leaned forward to give you a thin lipped smile, a glimmer in his eyes that you couldn’t tell was for you.

Thus began the guilt. The terrible disgust in your body incited at the thought of being attracted to another man when your hunk of a boyfriend left no stone unturned to take care of you in every way you needed. Seungcheol was your exact type, buff, strong, reliable, with a little bit of a possessive streak. You had been together so long that you settled into a wonderful rhythm, fitting into each other’s lives like fated puzzle pieces. You loved Seungcheol the way you needed to breathe, like a necessity, a fact of life. There was no one in this world for you but him.

You would never date Jeonghan. But you always wondered.

There was something in the way Jeonghan carried himself. A certain self-reassurance that made him attractive to you. He was sharp as all hell, perceptive, and any minute you spent with him, you were paranoid he would figure out these feelings brewing up inside of you. What you should’ve been worried about were the knowing eyes of your boyfriend, trained on you, half lidded and clouded, as if he knew every dirty thought in your mind.

It isn’t until a few nights later, when Seungcheol is balls deep in you, that you realize he knows.

You’re panting and moaning at the feeling, knees squeezing his sides as he pounds hard into you. Sex with Seungcheol is always intense, but tonight he is being especially rough, not that you mind. You love it like this, when his fingertips dig into the flesh of your hips hard enough to color the skin a faint purple, when his thrusts are sloppier but deeper, knocking the air out of your lungs. He hits a spot no one else has ever reached, and you're already coming apart at the seams when he leans down, pushes his weight just right into your chest, and his lips brush the shell of your left ear.

“You want Jeonghan to fuck you like this?”

Your eyes shoot open, breath catching in your throat so harshly you almost choke, but Seungcheol uses that moment to slam hard into you before going still and grinding, so the tip of his cock presses urgently into your sweet spot, and you can’t help but cry out, back lifting off the bed as stars burst in your vision. Strong fingers weave through the roots of your hair as he keeps moving, tugging just enough that you’re forced to meet his eyes, to focus on how blown his pupils are, how flushed his skin is, and how his breath trembles just a bit. You almost come when you are hit with the realization; he’s enjoying this.

“Yes.” You gasp out. “I want to feel him.”

Seungcheol’s mouth tugs up, an almost sadistic glint in his eye. He pulls out, rams back inside. You force your eyes to stay open, taking in his every reaction.

“You wanna see it, Cheolie?” You coo, nails digging into his arms. “You wanna watch while your friend takes what’s yours?”

He groans, and you can almost see the exact moment he falls apart, speeding up his thrusts as he paints your insides white, low curses leaving his lips. His whole body shakes. You wonder how intense his orgasm must have felt, but your thoughts quickly fly out the window when he pulls out and immediately shuffles down, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

……………………………………..

You don’t bring it up afterwards, and neither does he. But something has shifted between you two, you can tell. Now that you know, you notice how Seungcheol looks at you in group settings when Jeonghan is in the vicinity. It’s almost like he’s goading you, wanting you to ogle Jeonghan. To talk to him, to casually touch his arm. And when you get home from these meet ups, sex is always harder, rougher, dirtier.

You are surprised when Seungcheol finally mentions, months later, that he might actually want to act on this.

“Finally.” You tease, nudging his side. He glares at you, but there’s no heat behind it. “I’m surprised, Cheol. I never thought you were the sharing type.”

“I’m not.” You almost want to laugh at how pouty he is being. “Jeonghan is….. different.”

You hum, studying him closely. You know what he means, kind of. Jeonghan is different. He’s alluring in a way that makes everyone want him. And in Seungcheol’s case, he wants to watch him fuck you.

“You need to think about this.” You say. “It’s different when we’re just using the thought to get off, Cheol. Once this happens….”

“I know.” He smirks a bit. “I know what I want.”

His confidence turns you on a bit. But then another thought comes to you, stopping you in your tracks.

“Wait-” You stare at him. “Does…. Does Jeonghan know?”

Seungcheol’s smirk widens. You gape at him.

“What the fuck?” You shriek, hands grabbing the pillow behind you so you can clobber him with it. Seungcheol laughs.

“I wanted to run it by him first!” He protests, holding his arms up to shield himself. You halt.

”And?” Your heart pounds.

Seuncheol looks cheeky as ever. “He’s game.”

…………………………………………

You sigh as the tingles of pleasure spread through your body, blinking up at the ceiling. Your toes curl, and your hips jerk as a particularly strong zip of electricity pulses in your core. Large hands close around the insides of your thighs in response, holding you in place. Unfamiliar hands.

“You move too much.” His voice is so soft it almost pulls you out of your lust filled haze. But you feel his tongue again, licking almost languidly over your clit, and you sink back into the feeling with a sigh.

“She’s really sensitive. You’ll need to hold her down.” A rough voice chimes in from the corner of the room, and your eyes travel to the chair where your boyfriend resides, head low, eyes half lidded, trained on your naked body and the head buried between your legs. He meets your gaze, and you clench hard around nothing at how he is looking at you. You can’t help but revel under his stare.

Jeonghan’s grip tightens on your thighs, holding you open. His mouth closes around your sensitive bud as he sucks hard, just once, enough to make you cry out, before his tongue peeks out again, going back to his lazy licks.

He is nothing like Seungcheol. There’s no urgency in him. He licks and sucks on you languidly, like he has all the time in the world. Seungcheol is impatient, hurried, like he needs to be inside you immediately, but Jeonghan is precise, like he wants to miss no part of you, leave no crevice unexplored. It’s just as intense, if not more.

When his tongue finally dips inside you, you moan and buck up into him again. He pulls back, giving you a hard stare.

“Stay still, princess.” He murmurs, and you almost shrink, like you’re being scolded, but it makes you clench again, a fresh wave of arousal sweeping through you. “Be a good girl and maybe I’ll let you cum.”

He bends down again, nosing at your slit before his tongue plunges into you again, deeper this time, curling a bit, brushing against your gummy walls. The feeling of his tongue combined with his words has you keening, hands fisting into the sheets beside your head to try and control your writhing movements. Your eyes meet Seungcheol’s again, and you notice, even in the dim light, the blush high up on his cheekbones, his hair like a messy mop on his head. He looks as wrecked as you feel.

Jeonghan alternates between fucking you with his tongue and sucking on your clit for the next few minutes, and by then your legs are trembling with the effort of keeping still, your eyes are moist with tears, and you are babbling incoherently, begging for Jeonghan to let you cum. Jeonghan hums contemplatively, lifting his head to look at your boyfriend. His fingers replace his mouth, rubbing and pinching at your clit, and you try not to focus on how the lower half of his face is drenched.

“What do you think? Should she cum now?”

Your head snaps to the side, peering at Seungcheol. He always gave in to you, always. He spoiled you, made you cum multiple times in one night until you had nothing left in you to give. But now, his eyes are sharp, and your heart skips, sinking.

“Not yet.”

You nearly sob, and Jeonghan returns to his torturous ministrations. He sucks harder, licks harder, and he chooses that moment to sink two long fingers into your hole, curling them up to press hard into your walls. You nearly scream, vision swimming, clamping down hard on his digits to keep your impending orgasm at bay. Seungcheol is clearly feeding off Jeonghan’s energy. And Jeonghan is cruel, pumping his fingers in and out of you while his tongue flicks over your clit again and again. He lets you claw at his hands, unfazed, lets you buck up now as much as you want, and just when you feel like you can’t hold on anymore, he pulls away, both tongue and fingers, ripping your building high from you so suddenly you can’t help but cry, hands pressing into your eyes so he can’t see your tears.

Jeonghan coos and coddles you, pressing soft kisses over your hands and gently pulling them away from your face. He licks up the tears as they spill out from the corners of your eyes. He nips at your jaw, sighing into you, running his hands down your sides soothingly.

“Such a good girl.” He whispers. “I know you’ve never done that before, and you did so well. Did exactly what I said. So obedient.”

You bask in the praise, and there’s a heady fog settling over you, numbing you slightly. All you feel is Jeonghan, his lips pressing all over your face and neck, trying to calm you down, take the edge off your neglected orgasm. You wish desperately to feel his lips on you, but it was against Seungcheol’s rules. He wasn’t allowed to kiss you.

You don’t even notice when Jeonghan repositions himself, and it’s only when his cock sinks into you that you gasp, legs drawing up instinctively to take him deeper. Jeonghan smirks at your actions.

“Look at you. Almost out of your mind but you still spread your legs for me.” He tuts. “Slut.”

You clench involuntarily, loving the degradation just as much as you had loved the praise. His cock isn’t as thick as Seungcheol’s, but it is long and curved up, and by the time his pelvis is flush against yours, you feel like you are stuffed full, jaw going slack as you relish in how good it feels to be filled up after so much push-and-pull. Your almost-orgasm has left your body quietly buzzing, until every movement of his cock inside you has sparks shooting up your core. Your vision swims and again, you are already very close to cumming.

Jeonghan grips your hips tight, setting a faster pace compared to his lazy movements earlier. You sigh in satisfaction at the stimulation, at how different his cock feels to what you are used to. He mouths at your neck as he goes, groaning into your shoulder.

“No marks.” You hear, turning your head to see your boyfriend just as still as before. You can’t believe how much restraint he is showing. You can make out the bulge in his pants, struggling against the cloth, but he doesn’t give it any attention. He is too busy watching you, listening to your high pitched moans and the wet sounds your pussy makes as Jeonghan thrusts into you.

“I’m close.” You choke out. “C-can I?”

The question is direction at Seungcheol. Even though the man responsible for your orgasm is Jeonghan, you know it’s really your boyfriend who holds the cards. He is always in control, even when he’s not the one balls deep inside you. He pretends to think about it, before shaking his head almost imperceptibly. Your face crumples and you clench, trying to stop the knot now building rapidly in your stomach. Jeonghan swears, leaning up to stare down at you.

“Fuck, look at you.” He smirks. “This is killing you, isn’t it? Not being allowed to come?”

He snaps his hips harshly, and you clench your jaw so hard it hurts your teeth.

“Beg for it.” He says next, jerking his head towards Seungcheol. “Beg him to let you cum. Come on. Be a good girl.”

And you do. You plead to Seungcheol, strong, reliable Seungcheol, who has never said no to you. You cry to him, tears now flowing freely down your face, as the knot builds and builds, and you keep begging, even as Jeonghan groans and pulls out of you, shooting ropes of cum over your bare stomach. The orgasm is ripped from you again, and you don’t hold back this time. You sob, curling into yourself, wanting more than anything to reach down and finish the job yourself, but so exhausted that you can’t bring yourself to do so.

Gentle hands pull your arms away, tug at your knees until you're lying on your back again, opening up. Your vision swims, but there’s no mistaking the scent of citrus and sandalwood. You are enveloped by the familiar weight of your boyfriend, and your mouth opens to form an ‘O’ when he sinks into you, carving into your abused hole. Your eyes roll up, you keen, feeling so full it nearly turns your brain to mush. Lips brush over your ear, warm breath hitting your skin. His hand reaches for yours, intertwining your fingers together in the most intimate gesture of the night.

“I’ll take care of you, baby.”

He sets a brutal pace, just the way you like it, just the way that sets every cell in your body on fire, until everything around you goes silent and all you feel is Cheol, Cheol, Cheol, like a mantra in your head, a prayer on your lips, and when the knot in your core tightens again, back with a vengeance, you look up at him, at the dark hair that falls over his eyes, cherry pink lips parted as he breathes hard and heavy, fucking into you with an urgency that could only be built by waiting and watching all night. He smiles at you, soft despite how rough his movements are, almost touched that despite being nearly delirious, you still ask for his green light. He reaches his free hand down, pressing harshly into your clit, forehead pressing to yours so he doesn’t miss a single expression on your face.

“Cum.”

And so you finally do. Writhing and jerking under him like your very soul is being ripped from your body. Lights burst in your vision, going white before they go black, and no sound leaves your mouth. You are almost paralyzed by the force of your orgasm, and you can barely feel when Seungcheol groans in finally and spills warm and deep inside you, a claim he would never let any man make on you, not even Jeonghan. At the end of the day, you are his only. At the end of the day, you will cum on his cock only. No one else’s.

You don’t remember how long you are out of it, but when you come to, gentle lips are planting kisses on your shoulder. You feel warm, half from the heat of Seungcheol’s naked torso against your back, and half from the blanket now thrown over the two of you. In the distance, you can hear the shower running, and a soft voice humming.

“Are you back with me, baby?” Seungcheol turns you to him slowly, and you wince at the movement. You are sure you aren’t going to walk for a while after this.

You hum and look at him, taking in his relaxed posture and clear, bright eyes. You can’t help but smile.

[honeyandruin]

A Quiet Kind of Want — dbf! Joel Miller x Reader

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Pairing: dbf! Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: At a family barbecue, you slip away to the pantry when the old insults get too loud. Joel finds you there—and somehow, his quiet steadiness makes everything feel a little less impossible.

Warnings: uhhhh, not many. passive aggressive family/comments?

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: this was requested by @glitterspark ! I hope you enjoy 💚 ((I’m not great at fluff so I apologize if it blows)) honorable mention for wanting to be on a tag list; @reidswifeyyyyyy & @kyloispunk

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Sweet corn, charcoal and the familiar scent of freshly cut grass envelopes the backyard.

You stand by the folding table, hands wrapped around a sweating cup of lemonade, nodding along while your aunt recounts—for the third time—how her son just got promoted again. How some people could stand to be more ambitious.

You pretend it doesn’t bother you. Pretend your stomach doesn’t twist every time someone asks how the “cupcake thing” is going. Like your job isn’t real. Like you’re still a kid playing house.

You catch Joel’s eyes across the yard—he’s standing by your dad, flipping burgers, wearing that same faded baseball cap and patient expression he always does. He’s known your family almost your whole life. He knows exactly how they are.

And for a moment, the tightness in your chest eases.

But then someone else laughs. Your uncle chimes in with something about “wasting that college degree on frosting,” and the heat climbs up your throat, hot and choking.

You set your cup down. You smile. You excuse yourself with a little wave.

Nobody stops you.

The house is blessedly quiet. You slip down the hall, past the photos of birthdays and Thanksgivings, and open the pantry door.

The shelves smell like flour and old spices. You step inside, tug the door almost closed behind you, and finally let your shoulders sag.

Your breath shudders out.

One hand lifts to cover your mouth, like you can hold it in, but you can’t. The tears come hot and fast, spilling over your cheeks, soaking into the collar of your sundress.

You don’t know how long you stand there. Just breathing. Just trying not to fall apart completely.

Then—soft footsteps. A familiar weight in the doorway.

You swipe at your eyes, but it’s pointless. You know he can see.

“Hey,” Joel says, low and careful. “You hidin’ in here on purpose?”

You sniff, pressing the heel of your hand to your cheek. “No,” you lie, voice wrecked.

He doesn’t say anything for a second. Then the door opens all the way, and he steps inside—just enough to crowd the narrow space, his broad shoulders blocking out the kitchen light.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he murmurs.

You try to look away, but his hand comes up—gentle, callused fingers tipping your chin.

“Hey,” he says again, softer this time. “Look at me.”

You do.

His brows pull together, that little crease deepening between them. He sighs. “You wanna tell me what they said?”

“They didn’t—” Your voice breaks, and you have to swallow before you can keep going. “It’s not… They just think I’m wasting my time.”

Joel’s eyes flick over your face, like he’s memorizing every piece of it. “And what do you think?”

You blink. “What?”

His hand drops, but he doesn’t step back. His voice stays quiet, steady, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“What do you think?” he repeats. “About your work.”

“I—” You swallow. “I love it.”

He nods. “Then it’s not a waste.”

Your throat goes tight all over again, but this time it’s not embarrassment. It’s something warm and sharp and almost unbearable.

He huffs a quiet breath and looks away for a second, like he needs to collect himself. Then he eases down to sit against the opposite wall, legs folding until he’s cross-legged on the pantry floor.

“C’mere,” he says, patting the empty space beside him.

You hesitate. Just for a second.

Then you slide down, your shoulder bumping his, and let your head tip against his solid warmth.

Neither of you talks. The quiet stretches long and safe around you.

After a while, his hand drifts up—resting over yours where it’s curled in your lap. His thumb moves, slow and reassuring.

“You work harder than any of them,” he says, voice almost a whisper. “Don’t let ‘em make you forget that.”

And when you finally breathe again, it comes a little easier.

You don’t know how long you sit there.

Long enough for the ache in your chest to dull, for your breathing to even out. Long enough for the heat of Joel’s shoulder against yours to feel like something you might start missing when he’s not there.

Finally, he sighs. You feel it more than you hear it, the way his chest shifts beside you.

“You ready to go back out?” he asks, voice low.

“No,” you admit, and he huffs a quiet laugh.

“Fair enough.”

But after another minute, you know you can’t stay hidden in here forever. With a deep breath, you straighten up. He watches you, searching your face for something you don’t know how to name.

“Okay,” you murmur. “I’m ready.”

Joel doesn’t move right away. His hand lifts—fingers brushing a stray tear off your cheek, the rough pad of his thumb lingering just a second too long.

“You did nothin’ wrong,” he says, and there’s something fierce in it, something that makes your heart squeeze tight. “You hear me?”

You nod, because it’s all you can manage.

Then he pushes up, offering you his hand. You take it, and he pulls you to your feet without effort. His palm stays wrapped around yours a beat longer than it needs to before he finally lets go.

When you step back into the kitchen, the noise of your family feels too loud. Too bright. Your throat tightens all over again.

Joel’s hand finds the small of your back, warm and steady. He doesn’t say anything, just guides you out onto the porch, like he knows you need the air.

You hover there for a second, feeling everyone’s eyes shift in your direction.

“Hey,” your uncle calls from his seat near the folding table. His voice has that familiar edge, the one you’ve been trying to tune out all afternoon. “You good? Thought maybe you’d finally realized you’re too old to be playin’ house in a bakery.”

Your heart stumbles. Heat crawls up your neck, hot and humiliated. Before you can open your mouth—before you can even breathe—Joel steps forward.

He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t even look angry, exactly. But the way he stares at your uncle—steady, flat, like he’s looking right through him—makes the table go quiet.

“You got something useful to say?” Joel asks, voice low, deceptively calm.

Your uncle shifts in his chair, mouth opening—and then closing again. He looks away.

Joel waits a beat. Long enough that you can feel the tension thrum under your skin. Then he turns his head, gaze finding yours.

“C’mere,” he says, voice softer now. “Need a hand with the grill.”

It’s not really a question.

You nod, grateful for the excuse. Grateful for him.

He doesn’t touch you again as you cross the yard—maybe because he can feel your family’s stares on his back—but when you reach the grill, he turns to face you fully.

“You okay?” he murmurs, low enough that no one else could possibly hear.

“Yeah,” you say, though your voice wobbles. You swallow. “I will be.”

He nods, jaw tight. His eyes drag over your face like he’s memorizing the way you look when you’re trying so hard not to fall apart.

And then, quieter, just for you: “They don’t get it,” he says. “But I do.”

Your heart clenches.

He looks away first, gaze settling on the coals like he hadn’t just undone you with five words.

“Grab me the tongs?” he says after a second, his voice easing back to something almost normal.

You exhale, shakier than you want to admit.

And when you pass him the tongs, your fingers brush. Just barely, but it’s enough to make you feel steady again.

The grill crackles low between you, the scent of smoke and char drifting up to mix with the warm night air.

Joel doesn’t say anything else about your uncle. About your family. About the way your voice shook when you told him you were fine.

Instead, he shows you how to watch the coals. How to feel for the right heat with your palm. He keeps his voice steady, careful, like he’s giving you something no one else ever bothered to.

At one point, you risk a glance up.

He’s already watching you.

The moment stretches—softer than it has any right to be. His eyes flick to your mouth, then back to your eyes, and something in your chest tugs tight.

You look away first, because you have to.

When your dad calls your name from the porch, you step back automatically, wiping your hands on your skirt.

Joel clears his throat.

“You need a minute,” he says quietly, almost hesitating, “you can come back out here. Nobody’ll bother you.”

Your throat goes tight again, but in a different way this time. “Thank you,” you whisper.

He doesn’t smile. Just nods, like it costs him something to look away.

You turn and cross the yard, feeling steadier than you have all day.

And when you glance over your shoulder, just once, you catch him watching you again, his hand braced on the side of the grill, eyes dark in the glow of the coals.

Like he’s making sure you get all the way inside before he lets himself breathe.

[mrs-delaney]

1st Year Down

🏈 Joe Burrow x Reader | 3.3k-ish words

Request: hi my love!! hope you are doing well. i was hoping to get a joe burrow imagine where his wife and him celebrate their sons first birthday with the whole team, but joe is reminiscing on the past one year of his sons life from newborn stage till his 1st bday.

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Author’s Note:

This was a sweet request for a Joe imagine where he celebrates his son’s first birthday with the team, while reflecting on the first year of fatherhood. I loved the idea of framing it around a backyard party, with all those little milestone memories woven in.

Big thanks to my new beta reader @crazytheoriststrawberry for the thoughtful feedback and fresh eyes, this one’s better because of you.

Also, Hide is coming (I promise). There are a few time jumps in the next chapter, so I’m just making sure everything lines up before I post. 🧡 

The matcha bar was her idea, of course. 

Joe stood near the setup, multiple milk options, little jars of honey, lavender, strawberry, and vanilla, watching his wife explain brewing techniques to Sam Hubbard. Orange and black balloons bobbed in the afternoon breeze, and a custom “1st Year Down” banner stretched between two oak trees, tiger stripes woven through everything.

His attention kept drifting to the tiny figure in the custom Bengals jersey crawling across the grass.

His son wore a miniature version of Joe's jersey, the number 9 stretched across his back. Orange and black striped socks completed the look, though one had already started sliding down his chubby leg as he made his determined journey toward where Ja'Marr and Tee squatted on the grass.

"Look at him go," Ja'Marr called out, grinning as the baby bypassed every carefully arranged toy to head straight for him.

Tee was already reaching into his pocket. "I got goldfish if he wants some—"

"He can't have those yet," Joe's wife called from the matcha station, not even looking up from the elaborate setup she'd created. "He's still working on puffs."

The baby reached Ja'Marr and immediately grabbed for the chain around his neck, tiny fingers surprisingly strong. His giggle—high and bright—cut through the party chatter.

"Bro, your kid's got good taste," Ja'Marr said, gently redirecting little hands toward a soft football. "Goes right for the good stuff."

It was surreal, watching his teammates—these massive, intimidating athletes—melt around a one-year-old. Sam was still asking detailed questions about matcha preparation. Tee had grabbed a handful of baby-safe snacks from the snack station and was carefully offering them one by one. His son was completely in his element, like he'd been charming football players his whole life.

Which, Joe supposed, he had been.

His wife caught his eye from across the yard, that smile spreading across her face—the one that still got to him after all this time. The one that said can you believe this is our life?

A year ago, Joe never could have imagined this scene. The house, the matcha bar, his teammates arguing over who got to hold the baby next.

A year ago, he'd been standing in a hospital room at 3:47 AM, holding seven pounds and two ounces of pure terror and beauty.

* * *

Twelve months ago...

Joe had been staring at his son for the better part of an hour. Ten fingers, each one barely the width of a pencil eraser. Perfect fingernails that looked like they'd been painted on.

The baby was finally sleeping. The crying had stopped around 3:30, and Joe hadn't moved since, afraid to disturb whatever peace they'd found. His wife was dozing too, the epidural still working its way out of her system.

He counted things. The baby's breaths—steady at about forty per minute, which the nurse said was normal for sleeping. How many times his tiny chest rose and fell. The way his lips moved slightly in his sleep.

The curve of his son's ear, folded perfectly against his head. The dark hair sticking up despite the nurse's attempts to smooth it down. The birthmark on his left shoulder that looked like a small comma.

Details he knew he'd never forget.

His phone buzzed intermittently—texts he hadn't read, calls he hadn't answered. Everything could wait.

The baby's eyes opened briefly, unfocused but alert, scanning before settling somewhere near Joe's face. Not really seeing him yet, but aware.

"Yeah," Joe said quietly. "I'm here. I love you."

All he could manage. All that needed to be said.

* * *

"Joe! You good, man?"

Ja'Marr's voice pulled him back to the backyard, to orange and black balloons and teammates' laughter. His son had made it across the yard and was now gripping Joe's jeans, pulling himself up with the concentration of someone attempting their first field goal.

"Yeah," Joe said, reaching down to steady his son's wobbly stance. "Just... thinking."

"About what?" Ja'Marr asked, though his attention was already shifting back to Tee explaining peek-a-boo to Sam Hubbard.

The same dark hair, still sticking up in impossible directions. The same eyes, though they were focused now, alert, tracking everything around him.

Twelve months. Seven pounds, two ounces to whatever he weighed now. Joe realized he didn't actually know his son's current weight, which felt like something he should know.

"Dada," his son said, clear as anything, looking up with a grin that showed off his four teeth.

* * *

1st Night Home

Three days since he'd been born. Their first night home. Joe had changed four diapers in the past three hours. He'd counted.

The baby was crying again—had been crying for twenty minutes—and Joe was running out of options. He'd tried feeding. Changing. Burping. Walking around the living room while making what he hoped were soothing sounds.

Nothing worked.

His wife was finally sleeping after three days of barely closing her eyes. Joe had insisted on taking the night shift, confident he could handle whatever came up. He was good under pressure. He could read defenses, make split-second decisions.

But his son wasn't responding to any strategy.

The red-faced, furious bundle in his arms was getting louder, more insistent, and Joe felt useless. He'd googled "why won't my baby stop crying" twice already.

"What do you need?" he asked quietly, knowing he wouldn't get an answer. "I'm trying everything here."

The crying continued.

Joe sat carefully on the couch edge, adjusting his hold. Maybe the baby could sense his nervousness. Maybe he was doing something wrong. Maybe he wasn't cut out for the figuring-it-out part that seemed to come naturally to his wife.

He'd watched her earlier, the way she seemed to know what their son needed before he even started fussing. Joe felt like he was guessing at everything.

The baby's cries softened slightly, more whimper than wail. Joe stayed perfectly still, afraid to move and set off another round of screaming.

"Okay," he said under his breath. "We're figuring it out."

He wasn't sure if he was talking to his son or himself.

* * *

First Smile

Six weeks. Joe had only been gone for two days, his first road trip since the baby was born, but it felt longer. He’d spent most of it checking his phone between meetings and practices, scrolling through photos his wife sent. Sleeping, eating, more sleeping.  He’d gotten home after midnight, letting himself in quietly, dropping his bag without a sound. The house was dark and peaceful. His wife was asleep, and the baby was in his bassinet, one tiny fist curled near his face.  Joe stood there for a while, just watching. Wondering if two days were long enough for a six-week-old to forget someone. Wondering if he’d have to start over.

He'd finally fallen asleep around 2 AM, but when the baby woke at 5:30, Joe got up. Let his wife sleep. She'd been handling everything alone for two days.

"Hey," he said quietly, lifting his son from the bassinet. "It's me. I'm back."

The baby blinked up at him, unfocused eyes trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Joe held his breath, waiting for crying to start, for the stranger-danger reaction he'd worried about during the entire flight home.

Instead, his son's face changed. Not the grimace Joe had mistaken for smiles before. Something different. Intentional.

A real smile. Slow and deliberate, like recognition dawning.

"You remember me," Joe said, his voice rougher than expected.

The smile got bigger.

Joe looked toward the bedroom, wanting to wake his wife, wanting her to see this. But it felt private somehow. Just between them. His son's first real smile, and it was for him. After two days away, after all those middle-of-the-night doubts about whether he was doing any of this right.

His son knew him. Had missed him, maybe.

"Yeah, buddy," Joe whispered. "I missed you too."

* * *

1st Laugh

Bath time had become Joe's thing without him planning it. His wife had handed him the baby one evening after a long day and said, "Your turn," and somehow it stuck. He'd gotten good at it—right water temperature, supporting the baby's head with one hand while washing with the other, ignoring the inevitable splashing that soaked his shirt.

Tonight was no different. His son sat in the little bath seat, slapping at the water with both hands, sending droplets across the bathroom tiles. Joe worked quickly—shampoo, rinse, soap, rinse again—while keeping up a steady stream of commentary.

"Alright, buddy, we're almost done," Joe said, reaching for the hooded towel. "Let's get you dried off."

He lifted his son from the bath, wrapped him in the soft towel, and set him down on the changing pad. The baby looked up at him, water still clinging to his dark eyelashes, serious eyes tracking Joe's every movement.

Joe draped the towel over his son's body, covering him completely.

"Where's the baby?" Joe asked, his voice exaggerated. "Where did he go?"

He pulled the towel away with a flourish.

"Peek-a-boo!"

His son's face lit up—eyes wide, mouth dropping open in surprise. Then it happened.

The laugh.

Not a giggle or gurgle, but a full, belly-deep laugh that seemed to come from somewhere much bigger than his tiny body. Loud and pure.

Joe froze, towel still in his hands.

"Did you—" He draped the towel back over his son. "Where's the baby?"

Another pause, then the towel away again.

"Peek-a-boo!"

The laugh came again, even louder. His son's whole body shook with it, arms flailing, legs kicking.

"Babe!" Joe called toward the bedroom. "Come here, you gotta see this!"

Footsteps, then his wife appeared in the doorway, hair in a messy bun, looking curious.

"What's going—"

Joe draped the towel over his son again. "Where's the baby?" He whipped it away. "Peek-a-boo!"

The laugh erupted again, and his wife's face broke into the same ridiculous grin Joe was wearing.

"Oh my god," she said, moving closer. "How long has he been doing that?"

"Just started," Joe said, already covering his son with the towel again. "Watch this."

Another pause, another reveal, another burst of pure joy that filled the bathroom and made both parents laugh just as hard.

* * *

Learning to Sit Up

The practice sessions started by accident. Joe had been trying to get his son to sit up during play time, and it became their routine. Every day after work, they'd spread the soft play mat on the living room floor. Joe would position his son carefully—back straight, legs out front, hands planted for balance—then slowly reduce his support. Hand on the back, then just fingertips, then hovering close but not touching.

The baby would wobble, overcorrect, and topple backward into Joe's waiting hands. Every time.

"Almost," Joe would say, setting him upright again. "You're getting it."

His wife would watch from the couch, sometimes offering encouragement, sometimes just smiling at Joe's patient persistence. Neither was in a rush, but Joe found himself looking forward to these sessions. The way his son's face scrunched in concentration, totally focused on not falling over.

Today felt different. The baby seemed more stable, more confident. Joe went through the usual routine—hands on his sides, then just fingertips, then...

Nothing.

His son sat there, perfectly balanced, for five full seconds. Then ten. Chubby hands resting on his thighs, back straight, looking around the room like he'd been sitting up his whole life.

"Look at that," Joe said quietly, not wanting to break the spell.

His wife's head snapped up from her book. "Is he—"

"Don't move," Joe said, still crouched behind their son, hands ready to catch him. But he didn't fall. He just sat there, proud and steady, reaching for a toy just within his grasp.

When he finally did topple over—gently, sideways into the cushions Joe had arranged—he was grinning. Like he knew exactly what he'd accomplished.

"Did you see that?" Joe asked, though he knew she had. "He just... sat there."

"All by himself," his wife said, and there was something in her voice Joe recognized. Pride, yes. But also the faintest hint of bittersweetness.

Their baby was learning he didn't need them to hold him up anymore.

* * *

"Hey baby, you having fun over here?"

His wife's voice, amused. Joe blinked, realizing he'd been staring at his son for who knows how long. The baby had made it back to the center of action, sitting confidently in the grass while Tee attempted to interest him in a football nearly as big as he was.

She slid up beside him with a matcha latte. "What's going on in your head?"

Joe glanced around the backyard. Sam was deep in conversation with one of the other wives about proper matcha whisking technique. Ja'Marr was filming their son's attempts to gnaw on the football. The "1st Year Down" banner fluttered in the afternoon breeze.

"Just thinking about the year," Joe said. "How much he's changed."

His wife followed his gaze to their son, who had abandoned the football in favor of trying to eat grass. "He really has, hasn't he?"

"Remember when we were scared to leave him alone for five minutes to shower?"

She laughed. "Now look at him."

Their son looked up at the sound of her voice and grinned, one hand still full of grass, before turning back to Tee, who was now lying flat on his back making exaggerated groaning sounds that the baby found hilarious.

"Should we do the cake soon?" his wife asked. "Before he gets too tired and cranky?"

Joe nodded, though part of him wanted to stretch this moment out longer. His teammates scattered across their backyard, his son in the middle of it all, his wife beside him watching it unfold.

"Yeah," he said. "Let's do the cake."

* * *

Six months.

Sweet potato puree on a tiny spoon.

Joe had been optimistic. How hard could it be to get a baby to eat? He'd watched videos, read articles, had the bib ready and camera rolling.

The first spoonful landed on his son's chin. The second on his forehead. The third got batted away by a flailing hand, sending orange puree across the kitchen counter.

"Come on, buddy," Joe coaxed, wiping his son's face for the fourth time. "It's good. Look." He tasted the puree himself, immediately regretting it.

Twenty minutes later, there was sweet potato on the high chair, the floor, Joe's shirt, and somehow on the ceiling. His son had managed to consume maybe two actual bites.

But those two bites—the way his face scrunched up in surprise, then curiosity, then something that might have been approval—made all the mess worth it.

* * *

Eight Months

The living room floor.

Joe had left his son on the play mat, surrounded by toys, perfectly content. He'd gone to the kitchen to refill his coffee. Two minutes, max.

When he came back, the play mat was empty.

"Buddy?" Joe called, scanning the room. A soft thud from behind the couch answered him.

He found his son there, army-crawling with determined precision toward the electrical outlet Joe had forgotten to cover. His technique was terrible—more wiggling than crawling—but he was moving with purpose.

"Oh no," Joe said, scooping him up. "We gotta baby-proof everything."

* * *

Nine months.

Crawling

It happened overnight. One day his son was doing the army crawl, the next he was up on hands and knees, moving across the room like he'd been doing it his whole life.

Joe came home from practice to find his wife in the bathroom doorway, looking slightly frazzled, their son sitting on the floor beside her.

"I found him in here," she said. "I put him down in the living room, went to fold laundry for five minutes, and he was just... gone."

The baby was sitting contentedly next to the bathtub, trying to pull himself up on the edge.

"How did you get in here?" Joe asked, though his son just grinned up at him like he'd accomplished something impressive.

Everything changed after that. Gates went up. Cabinets got locks. Joe learned to scan every room like a defensive coordinator, looking for potential hazards his son might find and destroy.

But watching him move—confident, curious, unstoppable—Joe couldn't help but be proud of the little person his son was becoming.

* * *

"Alright everyone, cake time!" his wife called, emerging from the kitchen with a small round cake covered in orange and black frosting. A single candle shaped like the number one sat in the center, unlit for now.

Joe watched as his teammates gathered around, phones already out, everyone positioning themselves for the inevitable photo op. His son was back in his arms now, having been retrieved from his latest adventure attempting to eat decorative rocks from the garden bed.

"You ready for this, buddy?" Joe asked quietly, settling into one of the chairs they'd arranged in a circle. His son looked up at him, then at the cake his wife was setting on the small table, eyes wide with curiosity.

Ja'Marr was crouched with his phone already recording, grinning in anticipation.

His wife lit the candle, then stepped back. "Okay, everyone sing."

The singing was loud and enthusiastic, if not exactly melodic. Joe found himself grinning as his son looked around at all the faces, clearly overwhelmed but not upset by the attention.

When they got to "Happy birthday, little man," his son clapped his hands together, which sent up a cheer from the entire group.

"Make a wish!" someone called out, though obviously his son had no idea what that meant.

Joe leaned forward, his son on his lap. "Help me blow it out?" he whispered, then blew gently on the candle. The flame flickered and went out, and everyone erupted in cheers.

His wife cut a small piece of cake and placed it on the plastic plate in front of his son. For a moment, he just stared at it, then tentatively poked it with one finger. The frosting stuck to his fingertip, and he brought it to his mouth.

His face lit up.

What followed was less "eating cake" and more "cake destruction." His son grabbed handfuls of the soft vanilla cake, squishing it between his fingers, smearing orange frosting across his cheeks, getting it in his hair. Some of it actually made it into his mouth, but most of it ended up on his custom Bengals jersey, the table, and somehow on Joe's jeans.

"Look at him go," Tee said, taking pictures of the mess.

Joe didn't try to stop it. His son was laughing, completely delighted with the mess he was making, and everyone else was cracking up watching him. Even when a particularly enthusiastic handful of cake went flying and landed on Ja'Marr's pristine white sneakers, he just shook his head and kept filming.

"This is exactly what I expected," his wife said, but she was laughing too, already reaching for the wet wipes.

Joe looked down at his son—cake-covered, orange frosting in his eyebrows, grinning like he'd just discovered the best thing in the world. Not the overwhelming terror of those early days, not the careful protectiveness of learning to be a dad. Just... happiness. Simple, uncomplicated happiness.

This was his life now. Cake-covered mess and teammates in his backyard and his son destroying his birthday cake with pure joy.

Joe looked over at his wife, who was attempting to clean frosting out of their son's hair with a wet wipe.

"So," he said quietly, so only she could hear. "You wanna do this again?"

She paused, looked at their cake-covered son, then at the chaos of their backyard party, then back at Joe.

"Ask me after we get through the terrible twos," she said, but she was smiling.

It was perfect.

[teliphone]

VIP

Thank you @sunshinefever for allowing me to use these pics

Summary: You’re a VIP in Squid Games. While watching the players, you notice a difference in your servant. Someone so alluring yet hidden behind a bejeweled mask. Soon you will realize this person is not your servant… but a guard seeking to escape.

Warning(s): Smut, Degradation, Toys, Oral, Edging, Slight fingering, Slight Overstimulation, Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.5k 

-

A fancy wine glass gets placed next to you gently. You take a moment to look away from the screen of players to focus on your servant. He stood still and wordless, almost doll-like. His black suit was looser on his body than usual, as if they were wearing someone else’s clothes. You slowly cross your legs, exposing your thighs within the slit of your dress. You pick up the glass and lift the rim to your nose. You twirl the glass, allowing it to send scents of sparkling citrus. You lower the glass to your lips to take a small sip before humming in delight. The taste of alcohol sinks onto your tongue. Hints of citrus and nutty undertones. You bring the glass up to your server.

“Server… What drink is this?” You softly ask, peering through your eyelashes. You can see his body tensing. Strange. But he doesn’t respond, making you upset. You begin waving your hands in front of him.

“Um, excuse me? I asked you something,” You point out. He refuses to move, not even a tiny nod of acknowledgment. You furrow your eyebrows in frustration. You paid millions of dollars for this special service… You can not tolerate disrespect. 

You get up from your seat and face your server. You stand up to his face, trying to peek through his mask. Due to his height, you have to crane your neck to look up. You feel a bit hypocritical wanting to see his face when yours is half covered by a golden animal mask. You move your hands to grip his collar, but he quickly clenches onto your wrist. You widen your eyes in shock. Judging by how small, slim, and delicate their fingers look… You realize your server is a woman. You move your eyes from her hands to her masked face. The corner of your lips begins to lift into a smirk. You lean towards her ear.

“…You’re not my server,” You whisper. Her chest begins to move up and down quicker. Your original server is a man whom you’ve picked from day one. Before you could question her, she quickly slides her hands off your wrist and returns them to her side. 

“Is there a problem here?” You hear a deep, robotic voice coming from behind. The game master stands, staring straight at you and your server. You narrow your eyes at her. Even though you couldn’t see her face, you can feel her begging you not to expose her. You smile and lift your hands to touch the buttons of her suit. 

“We're perfectly fine,” You smile. 

“I am pleased to hear that. I shall leave you alone for your pleasure,” The game master says before returning to his spot. 

You continue analyzing your new server. Many questions rush into your head. Who is she? Where did your original server go? Does she actually work here? To satisfy your questions, you knew you couldn’t do it here in public. You have to go into a room. 

“Come with me,” You order her. You bring out your hands for her to hold. She hesitates for a moment, then decides to place her hands on top of yours. You slowly wrap your fingers around hers. You begin walking, tugging her along. A couple of other VIPs giggle and whistle at you. 

-

You open the doors to the private room. You enter first, lightly twirling in the middle of the room. You softly giggle and turn to face her. She stands by the door, unsure to enter. 

“Come. I don’t plan on hurting you,” You assure. She stares at you for a moment before entering. She gently closes the door, and it automatically locks. She remains at that spot. Her posture is straight and tall. Her presence alone causes chills to run down your spine. She’s enchanting. 

“Who are you?” You question. You lift your fingers to touch your lips, biting back a smile. The room stays still for a moment. 

“I’m a guard here,” She finally says. You widen your eyes in slight surprise. Her voice is deeper and more stern than you thought. 

“Where is my server?” You continue walking around the room. She turns her head to the side, hesitating to tell you. You make it about three feet away from her when she speaks again. 

“…I killed him,” She reveals. Your blood turns cold. You freeze in your place. 

“… Are you going to kill me?” You breathe out. Death is an interesting topic to you. You’ve paid to watch players die for money. It’s entertaining. Seeing multiple people die in the most horrific ways… yet the idea of death at the end of your door scares you. It’s selfish and inconsiderate, and you know. You bathe in the inheritances of your ancestors' dirty money. 

“I won’t have to… if you agree to follow my orders,” She calmly explains. You blink. You continue to pause for a moment before lifting your hands to your chest. You start to giggle and chuckle. 

“Phew… for a moment there, I thought I finally got what I deserved,” You laugh. Following orders should be easy work. Anything to get out of death. She clenches her jaw. 

“Why are you here?” She says, causing you to stop chuckling. She wanted to understand the minds of people like you. VIP’s. Rich and inhuman. You wipe the edge of your eyes to collect tears of joy. 

“Boredom. Curiosity. Adrenaline. Research,” You drop several words. You turn your attention fully to her.

Her silence and stillness bother you. Never have you talked to someone like this. As narcissistic as you have been raised to be, you felt like you could change that. So you decide to grab onto her wrist and tug her towards the bed. She stumbled on her footing, but still kept up with you. You walk over to the luxurious bed and sit at the edge. She stands a few feet away from you. 

“This mask is stuffy,” You complain. Your fingers clench onto the edge of your mask and you take it off. You toss it at the end of the bed. You smile sweetly at her before running your fingers through your hair to fix it. 

“Your turn,” You tease. She doesn’t move again, making you roll your eyes. 

“If one of us is making it out of here, might as well go out without hiding,” You suggest, lifting your eyebrows. She hesitates for a moment, then nods her head and grips her mask. You straighten your back and lean forward in excitement. Like a drug addict waiting for their dealer to pull out the goods. 

The tiny red scratch on her cheek catches your attention first. Her plump lips are slightly pink. Your eyes follow her long nose bridge to her dark and dull eyes. Her face is stern and emotionless. Her hair is messy and slightly sweaty. You also notice the cute freckles around her cheeks. You unconsciously nibble your bottom lip. You swing your legs over to cross them. Her eyes flicker to your exposed thighs. She has no shame in eyeing your body before looking back up 

“What’s your plan? Are you trying to escape? Destroy the game?” You babble, twirling your hands around.

“Why do you want to know so much?”

“So that I can make it out alive… and maybe with you?” You lamely flirt. She lets out a soft laugh of disbelief. Her lips curl into a smile. Your heart swells in pride. You finally got an expression out of her! You lean slightly onto the bed, your chest peeking above the dress. You shyly smile while rubbing your foot against your calves. She grips her fist tightly behind her body. 

A small idea pops into your mind, and you waste time doing it. There’s no point in waiting in a place like this. You cautiously graze your legs up her thighs. You don’t know what this woman could do, but you were intrigued. She clenches her jaw, exposing the muscles in her jaw. You sneakily wrap your legs around her thighs, bringing her body closer to yours. Her core is nearly rubbing against your panties. 

“Do you do this with all your guests?” She whispers, slight curiosity in her tone. You giggle, still looking at her pants. You slowly drag your fingers along the lining of her zipper. 

“Usually with money,” You whisper. She scoffs in disgust, which sends an ache down your stomach. No one has ever treated you like a dirty scum. People usually worship the ground you step on, hoping to grab money that slips out of your bag. Or beg to be friends for privileged reasons. But here she is. Someone with a lower ranking, staring at you like you’re the worst person on the planet. You lick your lips and peer up at her. You bat your eyelashes and she grimaces, yet the pink blush on her cheeks exposes something different behind her facade. 

“Entertain me,” You purr. A slip of your narcissistic character. You’re so used to ordering people around. She narrows her eyes at your hands as you try to grip onto her clothed core. She doesn’t move, letting you roam your hands around. Your touches are light, to allow her to shove you away if she doesn’t like this. You peek up to test her expression. She gulps, and her chest moves up and down slowly. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she battles with her inner thoughts. You push it further by rubbing along her inner core. A red blush forms on her cheeks. 

“Is this okay?” You smile. She nervously nods her head up and down, signalling yes. The desperate look on her face makes you chuckle softly. 

“I guess I’m not the only dirty one,” You whisper to yourself, but she hears. She slaps your hands away and shoves you down onto the bed. She grinds her core into yours as she sharply stares deep into your eyes. Your dress hikes up your thighs and exposes your panties. Your breathing quickens. 

“I’m not,” She grunts in anger. She hates to even think about being similar to a VIP. Your hair spreads all over the bed. You start laughing harder, making her more frustrated. You knew you two weren’t so different. If she was, why is she still here… why are you even alive? Let alone allow you to entertain her. She would’ve killed you already the second you entered the room. She lifts her hands and grips your throat. She squeezes your neck, nearly making you roll your eyes back. 

“Shut up,” She snaps. She shamelessly buckles her clothed core against yours. She bites her lower lip in pleasure. 

“You’re the messed-up one. You obey me,” She mumbles while she feels herself getting wetter. Your eyelids lower and your cheeks turn red. You keep yourself silent by biting your bottom lip. The buildup in your lower stomach feels too good for her to stop. Her core grinds perfectly against the material of your panties. It rubs against your clit over and over. On top of that, her grip on your neck tightens. 

“Fuck,” You accidentally grunt out. She breathes out a laugh and snaps her hips into you. She removes her hands from your neck and places them beside your head. You reach up and wrap your fingers around her wrist. You turn your head to gently kiss her wrist.

“Look at you,” She grimaces. She feels an insane amount of power at the moment. You’re so weak and limp underneath her. She could do anything, and you would love it. She can see it in your face. She continues to rub herself against you, chasing after her own high. The wetness coating on her panties is starting to become stuffy and uncomfortable. She wishes she could feel you. 

“Please,” You cry out. She ignores your begging and focuses on how her clit rubs against her panties. She quietly examines how damp your panties have become. You could feel it. Each time she would rub against you, you can feel how easily the material slides on your clit. An embarrassing blush forms on your cheeks. You bring your arms across your face to cover your face. She stops rubbing her core to grab onto your arms. She pins them above your head. 

“Don’t cover your face,” She demands. She needs to see how she can make you come undone with your clothes still on. She dips her face into your neck and begins to kiss it. You arch your body and moan. She hums and playfully nips your skin. She slides her other hand down to your core. She rubs two fingers on the wet patch. She sucks your neck while sliding your panties to the side. Without warning, she thrusts two fingers in. Her fingers slide in easily, your juice quickly coating her digits. She jerks her hand in and out. She can feel your gummy walls trying to wrap around her. She chuckles and adds a third finger. The stretch causes you to choke out a scream. Your thighs twitch and try to close, but her hips prevent that from happening. She thrusts her fingers into you and soaks in pleasure. You moan into her ears. Words of nonsense and praise. 

“I’m close,” You choke out. The wave of pleasure builds up. Just a few more and you can reach your high. You arch your back and shut your eyes. She continues to harshly thrust her fingers into you a few more times before completely removing her hand. Your pussy clenches around nothing, sending an aching throb in your stomach. You lean up using your elbows to look at her.

“Why did you stop?!” You pant. She quietly wipes her hands covered with your silky juice onto your dress. She removes herself from your body and glances around the room. She hasn’t been in here before, but she could tell this is no ordinary room. She curiously walks to a closet. She swings the doors open, revealing all kinds of toys. She rolls her eyes at how filthy the VIP’s are. Nothing but money and sex. 

She drags her fingers along the many toys until she stops at a certain item. She lifts up a strap-on, and the toy feels nice in her hands. She tilts her head to look at you. Her eyes were still dull and tired. You sit wordlessly on the bed with a blush on your face. Her lips curl into a small smile while she uses one hand to unbuckle her pants. Her eyes never leave yours as she slides her pants off herself. She gestures with her chin at your core, signaling you to take yours off. 

You start pulling your dress over your head. You loop your fingers around your panties and pull them off your legs. The cold air touches your wet pussy, causing you to clench your thighs. She takes a moment to examine your body. So naked and vulnerable. VIP’s are so… easy. You’re so easy. 

She takes a moment to look away to focus on putting the strap on. It takes her a couple of minutes to finally settle and perfect the toy. She peers at the cock then up to you. You nervously gulp. Your mouth begins to water at the sight of her. 

“Come and suck,” She orders. You quickly slide off the bed and rush over to her. You kneel in front of her. Your chest moves up and down in excitement. You place your hands around her thighs, pulling her closer to your mouth. Desperation is written all over your face. 

“You disgust me,” She grimaces, a blush on her cheeks. You squeeze your thighs together as it throbs, but you cannot think about yourself right now. You wanted to please her. You carefully swirl your tongue on tip of her cock. She looks down at you, waiting for your next move. You take a deep breath before putting more of her into your mouth. The veiny toy slides against your wet tongue. Her stomach tenses in pleasure. You move your head up and down her cock. She tilts her head and places one of her hands on your head. She laces her fingers along your hair and grips it. You wince in pain. 

She starts buckling her hips into your mouth while keeping you in place. She leans her head back and a soft moan escapes her lips. You shut your eyes and try your best to keep still. She shoves your head down her cock til your nose brushes against her lower toned tummy. You feel the toy hitting the back of your throat. Your gasps and gagging noises were muffled by her toy. You tap onto her thighs, signalling her to pull out. She tugs your head off her cock, a saliva trail connecting her cock to your mouth. You cough and gasp for air. She lifts her thumb to wipe the corner of your lips. 

“That’s all you can take?” She taunts. You wordlessly shake your head and angle your mouth back onto her cock. She watches you slide your tongue on the sides of the toy before putting it back into your mouth. She lets out a shaky breath. She puts her hands on top of your head again. Without another warning, she shoves your head up and down while jerking her hips. Her moans are soft and quiet. Your saliva starts rolling down your chin. You allow her to set her pace without stopping.

“There you go,” She praises with a small smile. You pathetically roll your eyes back at the weak praise. She starts to rub your hair nicely instead of gripping it. She moves her cock out your mouth and taps it onto your cheeks. Your lips and eyes are wet and red. 

“You sick fuck,” You rasp. You could not believe she refuses to admit she’s just as dirty as you. She darkly chuckles and tugs your hair to stand up. You quietly cry out as you stumble to stand. She walks away and you follow her to the bed. You lay at the edge of the bed with your thighs spread apart. She angles herself between your legs. Her tip teasingly rubs the outside of your folds. She looks up at you with tired eyes. She starts to slowly push herself into you, watching your face scrunch up. The toy sank in deeper til she could no longer go any further. Your mouth opens as the stretch of the toy feels good. She moves her hips, letting the toy go in and out. She reaches her hands up to touch your chest. She aggressively grips it, leaving red finger marks on the skin. She then pinches your nub, making you whine again. Her thrusting pace starts to increase. Your body grinds against the bed at each snap of her hips. You tilt your head back and you moan loudly. The toy rubs against her clit. 

“You take me so well,” She blushes. Sweat makes her bangs stick onto her forehead. She snaps her hips into you and watches your eyes roll back. She smiles, revealing her teeth. She leans her face down to your ears.

“What makes you think you can come?” She whispers, still thrusting into you. 

“Please! Anything! I will do anything for you!” You cry out. Her teeth nibble your earlobe. 

“Anything?” She taunts in your ear. How easy was it for her to switch roles? A VIP taking orders from a guard… Who is basically a nobody in the public view. She moves her face to nip at your neck again. She knows that once she’s done with you, she is going to use you to escape the building. 

“Anything, please! I don’t care what it is. Please don’t stop,” You confess. She chuckles against your skin in satisfaction. She leans her face away and stands up straight. She wraps her hands around your thighs and pushes them up to your chest. Your core becomes more open. She feverishly snaps her cock into your core. Chasing after your high. You can feel her cock sliding so deep, in and out. Your thighs start to shake, and your lower stomach tenses. She doesn’t stop this time. You clench onto the bed sheets. Your mind becomes numb as you feel your stomach snap. You come onto her, jerking your body. Your juices drip down your thighs and onto the bed. 

She doesn’t stop. No, she continues jerking her body to chase after her own high. You thrash against her, but she ignores your cries of overstimulation. She slaps your hands away from her biceps. You feel your tears running down your cheeks. 

“I’m not done with you,” She grunts. You moan loudly. The toy continues to rub against her clit sweetly. She bites her lower lip. Her lower stomach tenses. She soppily grinds her core til she cusses and finally comes onto the toy. She lets go of your legs and nearly falls onto your body. She tilts her head down to your ear, allowing you to hear the soft whimpers from her lips. She calms down from her high and pushes herself up to look at you. Her cock still inside you. 

“Who are you?” You whisper, cheeks blushing. 

“Kang Noeul,” She replies before leaning in to kiss you.

[wlwoceaneyes]

Third time’s the charm

pairing: emily prentiss x fem!reader word count: 2 k summary: Emily Prentiss really tried to flirt with you — you just never let yourself believe it. Emily, the Unit Chief of the BAU, interested in you? That couldn’t possibly be real. Not until she cornered you after the FBI’s annual marathon and left no room for doubt. tags: shy and clueless reader, logistics!reader, flirty Emily, marathon, no mention of yn, making my dream come true (kinda :D )

The sun is merciless by midday. It burns down over Quantico like it holds a grudge, turning the blacktop into a simmering griddle and the air into something you have to wade through. You’ve been here since early morning, setting up tables, hauling cases of water, stringing up banners with zip ties that sliced into your fingers. No one notices the volunteers unless something goes wrong. And you like it that way. Quiet edges. Peripheral.

Sweat clings beneath your collar, the back of your shirt already damp where it sticks to your spine. You’re stationed near the finish line, behind a folding table that quivers if you lean too hard on it, water bottles lined up in neat rows like soldiers waiting for orders.

You didn’t sign up for the run. You signed up to hand out drinks and fold chairs and not sweat through your clothes. And yet here you are. Skin flushed, water bottles chilling your palms, watching a parade of agents cross the finish line in various states of victory, legs wobbly, chests heaving. Some laugh, some collapse theatrically into the grass. A few don’t even look winded.

You’re not FBI, not really. Contracted logistics. Mostly inside work. Digital inventory systems, procurement, the kind of thing no one thinks about unless the coffee shipment is delayed. You work down the hall from people who carry guns and flash credentials, and you’ve learned, over time, how to make yourself invisible in a building full of people trained to notice.

And then there’s her. Emily Prentiss. You know her name, of course. Everyone does. Not just because she’s the Unit Chief of the BAU, but because she carries the kind of presence that doesn’t require introduction. You’ve seen her twice before in the building.

You remember the first time you saw Emily Prentiss, not here, but in the cafeteria. You’d been waiting for your coffee, head buried in your phone, when a voice cut through the hum of the morning rush.

“Those boots? They’re not for everyone. You’ve got good taste.”

You’d looked up, surprised to find her watching you with a small, knowing smile, like she was letting you in on a secret.

“Not that I mention it often, but today? You nailed it.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Thanks. I just got them.” Your voice was softer than you wanted.

She leaned casually on the counter, eyes sparkling. “Then you should wear them more. They suit you.”

You’d laughed nervously, unsure if it was a compliment or a tease, and taken your coffee, walking away feeling like you’d just missed something important. Or maybe you hadn’t.

The second time was in the elevator. You were lost in thought, pressing the button for the second floor, when her teasing voice broke through.

“Hey, nice scarf. Matches your serious face.”

You glanced up to see her smirking like she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Uh, thanks,” you mumbled, cheeks heating.

She laughed softly. “Not many people can pull off serious and good looking. Maybe you should try to lighten up.”

Before you could answer, the elevator dinged and she stepped out, shooting you a look that said this wasn’t over.

You hadn’t known what to do either time. So you’d smiled, nodded, and tucked it away like a secret. Not because you were playing hard to get. But because, if you were being honest you didn’t think someone like her could possibly mean someone like you. You really thought it was just politeness. A passing kindness. Something practiced and habitual, not personal. Not real.

But now she’s here.

Crossing the line like she’s done it a hundred times. She’s in running gear: a black tank top, deep red compression shorts that stop mid-thigh, and a pair of worn gray sneakers that look like they’ve seen real use. Her legs are strong, defined, the kind of toned that says she doesn’t skip workouts or let herself off easy. There’s a sheen of sweat on her skin, glinting at her collarbones and along the curve of her shoulders, and her dark hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail that still somehow looks intentional. You shouldn’t be staring but here you are. Because she looks powerful. Effortless. And you’re not ready. It’s not the kind of moment you know how to stand still in, not when she looks like that and like she already knows what it’s doing to you.

Your heart rate spikes as you hold out the bottle to her, your hand steady but your breath shaky. She takes it from your hand without hesitation, fingers brushing yours, her gaze never wavering. Not even for a second. Like you’re the thing she came here for. You should look away. Say something. Do anything to break the static in the air but your feet stay rooted, your mouth forgets what language is. And all you can think is: This isn’t politeness. Not this time.

You can’t even manage to meet her eyes, not fully. Not for more than a second. Not those dark brown eyes that seem to see right through all the things you haven’t said. Not back then, not now. And definitely not while you’re still trying to convince yourself that this isn’t real.

“Third time’s the charm,” she says, unscrewing the cap with one flick of her wrist. Her voice is smooth, still shaped by the gravel of effort, but low. Too low to just be friendly. “You always look this serious when you’re saving lives with hydration?”

You open your mouth to respond but nothing comes out. So you exhale through your nose and give her a half-smile. Polite. Neutral. And most of all safe.

She tilts her head, amused by your reaction. She drinks slowly, deliberately and you realize too late that she’s still watching you. “I didn’t take you for the shy type,” she says, setting the bottle down. Her voice is quieter now. “But maybe I misjudged.”

You flinch. Not physically, not in a way she’d register unless she was looking for it — which you’re starting to realize she is. But it lands. A direct hit. Too accurate to be casual.

“I’m not shy,” you say. Except it comes out defensive which is even worse.

Emily quirks an eyebrow. It’s the kind of expression that says she knows exactly how rattled you are, and exactly how much you don’t want her to know.

“No?” she says. She steps closer, just half a pace. Enough to fold the space between you a little tighter. Enough to make your pulse trip over itself.

“I just don’t—” You fumble. “You’re… intense.”

You realize too late that it’s the wrong word. Too revealing. Too honest.

But to your relief, she laughs freely.

“Is that what I am?” she murmurs with a twinkle in her eyes. “Intense?”

You swallow hard. Her shirt’s damp. Her collar clings to her skin. There’s a bruise forming on her forearm, a line of sweat tracing the angle of her jaw. And somehow, she looks like she’s exactly where she wants to be.

You, on the other hand, feel like you’re standing too close to a bonfire.

“I meant you have a presence,” you clarify weakly. “People notice you.”

Emily grins. “You noticed. That’s all that matters.”

You don’t answer. Not because you disagree, but because you did. You do. Constantly.

There’s a sudden burst of cheers from the side. Another runner stumbles across the finish line, half-laughing, half-gasping for air. The brief commotion gives you just enough of a reason to glance away. Not because the moment called for it, but because her words hit somewhere too deep, too direct. Like she’d cracked something open you weren’t ready to show.

You fix your gaze on the runner, on the noise, on anything that isn’t her. You need a second to breathe.

The table behind you wobbles slightly as the runner grabs a water bottle without slowing down, and you seize the moment like a lifeline. You turn, pretending to adjust the bottles, pretending that the heat on your cheeks is just from the sun.

But your fingers are trembling when you restock the bottles. You pray she doesn’t see.

She stays quiet for a moment. Too quiet. And that’s what gives her away. Emily Prentiss doesn’t do quiet unless it’s intentional. Unless she’s waiting and watching you.

She noticed… of course she noticed. The way you flinched, the way you can’t hold her gaze for more than a second. And now she’s reading you like she reads crime scenes. Not out of cruelty, but curiosity.

What is she thinking? That you’re overwhelmed? That you’re scared? That she pushed too far, too fast? Or maybe she’s just confirming what she already suspected: that you’re not as indifferent as you pretend to be.

“You didn’t notice I was flirting the first two times,” she says softly.

You stop moving, water bottles long forgotten. Your breath catches the way it does when someone says your name in the dark.

She said it out loud, with no room for interpretation. And somehow, that’s scarier than anything.

“I thought…” you start, and then trail off, because there’s no way to finish that sentence without sounding absurd. I thought you were just being nice. I thought maybe I imagined it. I thought someone like you wouldn’t bother.

“I know,” she says gently. Like she’s used to people underestimating themselves. “That’s why I’m being obvious.”

You risk a glance at her. Her face holds nothing but honesty. Her words aren’t smug. She’s not teasing you. She’s waiting. Not for an answer. For a shift. For you.

And you wish you were better at this. At whatever this is. You wish you could match her stride for stride, flirt for flirt. You wish you didn’t want to disappear and stay all at once.

“I’m not good at this,” you admit quietly. “Not in public. Not… when someone’s watching.”

Emily hums. “Then we’ll find somewhere no one is.”

Simple. Like it’s not a big deal. Like she’s not reaching into your ribs and rearranging the way you breathe.

She caps the bottle. Tosses it in the bin behind her with one clean flick of her wrist.

“I’m grabbing lunch,” she says. “There’s a food truck in the lot. Not exactly candlelight, but the tacos are decent. You should come.”

It’s not the kind of thing you can talk yourself out of later. It’s not a maybe. It’s now.

And you know with a kind of dizzy certainty that if you say no, she won’t push. She won’t chase, but she would give you time.

You’ll just go back to the quiet places, to the edges, to the distance. But if you say yes…You don’t know what comes after that. And maybe that’s the point.

So you nod. Just once. It’s small, barely perceptible, but it’s enough.

Emily smiles like she’s won a game you didn’t know you were playing. It’s soft and warm, making your heart rate crease up.

She doesn’t say anything else. Just turns and walks toward the parking lot, slow, loose-limbed, in command of her space. A few steps in, she pauses. She turns slightly, just enough to glance back over her shoulder, her eyes catching yours with that same quiet pull that has followed you since the elevator.

The look is steady, intentional, and this time a little softer, like something patient, waiting to be met halfway. Then she keeps walking, without breaking stride.

You watch her go and something inside you stumbles, like your lungs forgot what to do without her standing in front of you. The air feels thinner now, heavier somehow. Your palms are damp, and there’s a tingling beneath your skin, like your nerves are catching up to what just happened. You don’t fully understand what shifted, but you know something did.

And for once, it doesn’t scare you. Not entirely.

You turn back to the table, taking a deep breath as you restock the bottles. You press your hand against your chest because everything feels too fast and too loud and too new. You have to remind yourself: it’s not a date. Not yet.

But it could be. And that’s enough to make your knees a little weak.

Taglist: @imightbethewriter

[springismss]

hi!!! this is my first time requesting for you but i LOVE the way you write dabi, especially in the jealousy one!!! you mentioned that he has a countdown until you can come, i was wondering if you could write something where you come before the countdown, what he would do in that situation? LOVE YOU BAE!!!!

ᱬ⛧ say so ~ dabi

pairing: dabi x girlfriend! reader

content: 18+ mdni. p in v, fingering, cunnilingus, marking, pet names (doll, good girl, etc), Dabi calling reader a brat, dirty talk (if you squint), implied different positions, strong orgasm denial, countdown, cock ring mention, general NSFW content

word count: 1.2k

links: request masterlist | jealousy, jealousy (dabi's version) | bnha/mha masterlist | masterlist

a/n: hello hello, i'm back with another request! thanks a bunch anon for this one, this was so much fun to write. based on a part in jealousy, jealousy (dabi's version), which you can find linked above. hope you enjoy, love you too! as always likes, comments and re-blogs are deeply appreciated!

"And remember doll, you're not allowed to cum until I reach one".

You were trying your hardest, you really were, but with how he had your back arched against him, arms gripped behind your back as he thrusted his cock deep in you, you were struggling. "That better not be you nearing your end, brat. I haven't even started to count you down yet".

Letting out a whine, you shook your head, eyes closing as you tried to focus. "N-no, hah, it's not, Dabi, I swear". His hand gripped your hair, pulling your head back so he could see your reaction. "Fuck, better not be. Always knew you had such a greedy little pussy".

Pulling his hips back until the mushroom head of his cock was barely inside, Dabi took a moment to tease you, to let you squirm back on him before he pressed his hips forward in one swift movement. The moan that ripped from your throat echoed around the room as you squeezed your eyes shut.

You were teetering on the edge, and it was becoming a losing battle. "Don't you dare".

Chest heaved more as your body shuddered, mouth agape as you felt your orgasm crash through your body, every nerve in your body feeling like it was on fire. "Tch, such a naughty brat. Going to make you pay for that".

A whimper sounded from your throat as you felt Dabi pull out of you, your body falling onto the mattress as you panted. "I-I'm sorry, I...". You felt your words being cut off as a rough kiss was placed on your lips. "How about you shut that pretty little mouth of yours, doll. It's going to be a long night for you".

Raising a brow, you pulled back and glanced down, gulping at the sight you saw. Already painfully hard, your slick covering his cock, Dabi grinned as he watched your reaction to him slipping a cock ring over himself. A hiss of pleasure passed his lips as he panted, eyes narrowing more as he looked at you. "Think it's about time I taught that pussy of yours a lesson. Now....".

The weight of your body shifted as you felt yourself being pushed onto your back, legs thrown over Dabi's shoulders as he pressed bites along the skin of your inner thigh. "...Don't you dare cum until I reach one, especially if you want me to flood that womb of yours with my seed and claim you again".

From that moment on, time seemed to warp into one long stretch. You didn't know how many minutes or hours had passed, but you were sure you'd end up succumbing to insanity soon enough.

Dabi's taunts and teasing weren't helping in any way, either.

Slender fingers knuckles deep, curling against that spongy spot. Thumb rubbing circles on your clit making you whine. Tongue switched from flicking over your clit to slipping into your cunt, body arching off the bed as you tangled your fingers into his hair. "Dabi, p-please, need to cum".

The feeling of teetering on the edge of your euphoria was cruelly ripped away, legs shaking as you panted for breath. A deep chuckle echoed as you felt something warm on your pussy, the obvious flicker of blue coming from between your legs. "You need to cum? Shame, your pretty cunt needs to be taught how to wait for instructions before you cum".

Heat spread across your legs as Dabi dragged his fingers across your skin, nails digging in. "I'm not stopping until you're a sobbing mess. When you are, I might play nice".

Pulling himself away from you, he leant over your frame, hand gripping one of your legs as he moved closer. Leg bending at the knee as you felt his cock prod at your dripping hole once more. "Hope you're ready, princess, I won't stop until every part of you feels me".

True to his word, Dabi didn't stop. Not when your body shook, not when your throat began to hurt from the desperate cries and pleas to let you cum. Not even when you felt your body being manhandled into whatever position he wanted you, your voice begging him to let you feel what you needed, even apologising.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, makeup smeared and red marks littering your skin. Your body ached and burned to feel that sweet release. "Now....". Turquoise eyes dragged over your form as you panted, body quivering. "...Are you going to be a good girl and do as I tell you?".

You couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't do anything except whimper in response. Too afraid to move, just in case you fell to your desire again.

A low chuckle vibrated up your spine as you moved your glassy stare to the one person who owned every part of you. Breath sucked in through teeth as he removed the ring from the base of his cock, mushroom head red and angry, needing release. "Now, up you go, doll".

Feeling your body being manoeuvred, you came face to face with your boyfriend. Your arms draped over his shoulders as he draped your legs over his arms, large hands gripping the flesh of your behind as fingers dug in.

Both of you took a moment to look each other in the eyes, taking a moment to feel closer. Amid all the chaos of your lives, the missions undertaken and the blood shed, all that mattered was how you felt about each other.

Feeling lips pressed to your forehead, you sighed. "Just a little longer, okay, doll". Rubbing the head of his cock against your folds, you moaned trying to hold on, waiting until he reached that number you've been waiting to hear for however much time has passed.

In one strong push, Dabi sheathed his cock deep in your cunt and began thrusting. Letting out a cry of surprise, you arched your back and squeezed your eyes shut. "Now let that countdown begin, doll. Three...".

His hips pulled back, pushing forward again against the spongy pot deep inside. "Two....".

Oh, he was so close, and you were trying to keep yourself from succumbing. Every inch of you, body, mind and soul needed to feel that sweet euphoria crash through you. You knew Dabi was holding back, desperate not to fill you until he'd reached the final number you were both waiting for.

Harsh slams of his hips into you became sloppy, the feeling of your walls and his cock pulsating becoming apparent. A deep growl from Dabi's throat sounded before he spoke. "Get ready, doll. One".

As if a magic spell had been cast, you cried out. A strangled sob as every fibre of you felt the crackle of your euphoria washing over you. The walls of your cunt clamped down on the cock inside you as you felt the heat deep within increase. Ropes of his seed spurting out to flood every part of you. "Fuck, that's it, milk my cock, take every part of me I have to offer"

Resting your forehead against his, you both panted, heart rates returning to normal. After a few minutes, you felt Dabi pull out of you, a moan of disappointment slipping past your lips as you felt your body being carried, gently placed on the bed. "Well done, doll, but maybe next time, you'll listen to me the first time before you come".

Looking to the side as the weight of the mattress shifted, you smiled half-heartedly and reached a hand out, fingers lazily tracing his scars. "Maybe I will, maybe I won't. I'll guess you'll just have to find out, Dabi".

© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

crashing into him tonight / he's a paradox

o. dazai x f! reader

after an argument, your boyfriend makes it up to you the best way he knows how. angst/smut, comfort, some emotional distance on dazai’s part, fingering + oral + light edging (fem receiving). he is so guilty as sin coded i can’t explain it. replayed tlou II and this came to mind.

song: guilty as sin

there's a lingering ache in your chest as he explains himself, cocoa brown eyes studying you the way your frown seems to deepen at each word. you can read between the lines enough to know that he is frustrated- crossed arms, a tired tone, and an unusual lack of playfulness that masks any and all residual hurt. but a part of you wishes he'd be just a little bit more worried by how much he's pissed you off, this time around.

"sweetheart." he starts again, his words somewhat dismissive, but with a soft gentleness feathering behind them, reserved for you. "i don't see why this upset you so much."

a spike of anger pierces your throat. your words slow down, as if explaining instructions to a child. "you're telling me you're going to be away for weeks, or even months somewhere in europe. and you can't tell me why?"

the crack in your voice doesn't go unnoticed by either of you. he continues again, unwrapping his arms and moving closer to you. "i told you, i'm going to be back as soon as possible. you know me."

"do i?" tears prick your eyes, unable to raise your voice anymore. "theres just so many secrets, osa. i'm just supposed to do what? wait here till you come back? if you come back?"

"when." he quickly corrects you, a calculated confidence that only comes from years of living on the wrong side of the law.

still, your doubt comes from worry. worry comes from love. "how can you be so sure?"

the calmness of his features makes the walls in the room pulse achingly. you're in fear for his life, for this mystery he refuses to unravel for you, and he seems perfectly rational. though, something in his lips quivers slightly, telling you that deep down? he's probably also afraid. he's just hiding it from you.

"what if you die?" you whisper, vulnerable enough to let him wipe your tears away. he does understand why you're upset, better than most would. he of all people knows how losing someone can ruin you.

he tilts your head upwards, making sure you're looking at him. "i don't plan on dying, bella."

"no one ever plans on dying."

"well-"

"shut up."

your quip draws a half-hearted chuckle from his lips, and a bitter, tear stained smile from yours. he presses a kiss to your forehead, lips lingering for a moment to remind you that he is there. he wonders to himself if he's allowed to cry, or if he's buried that part of him so deep down that it can only emerge during moments where he's alone.

he's known for the longest time that this would catch up to him. that the crimes of his past would be uncovered, despite his promise to be a good man. he's thrown his life to the wolves and ocean rocks, and he can count the things he's done right on one hand. holding you in his arms, in his life, is one of the few things he hasn't turned to death.

soon, he'd be tracked down again and taken to meursault. but the selfish part of him can't tell you that. he assumes that someone in the agency, someone with a better conscience than him, will sit you down and explain to you the situation. he imagines you not angry, not sad, but disappointed. and for him, its all the more reason to escape and return to you.

he pulls back to press his forehead to yours. he hopes you can't tell how his hands shake. he really is scared.

"i'm sorry there are things i haven't told you." he speaks just below his breath, like his words are intended for your ears alone. "but i promise i'll be back. and when that happens, i'll explain everything."

your head tells you the obvious: that you should be more skeptical, more angry, more wary of him. but your heart, which is so much louder and stronger, whining with a simple premise: that you're going to miss him.

you're caught between the two, so all you do is nod. he knows you aren't satisfied with his answer. but he's on a timer, but he's doing everything he can to stop the world from spinning so he can spend it with you.

as if on instinct, he starts kissing you all over your face. he keeps your cheeks cupped in one hand, tilting your head upwards as he moves down to your neck. you exhale, this time not out of bitterness, but out of relief. right now, only his actions are talking, and he wants to take all of you and savor it. he isn't sure how long he'll have to wait to see you again.

he guides your body onto the bed shivering as he feels your hands grasp his broad shoulders for stability. in an instant, his hands are on the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and discarding it like its unnecessary. he wants to feel your warmth, your skin and bones, to remember why he needs to return home.

in an instant, his and your clothes are off. and he’s positioned himself between your legs, whispering praises into your ears like this was a tryst. he spreads you open, admiring how wet you’ve gotten simply from his carefully selected words. he could tease you about it, but he thinks it’d be too easy.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

“fuck! oh~ osamu- ah!”

he has two fingers buried into you, up to his knuckles. he’s deliberate with his actions, alternating between careful, slow strokes and rapid bursts of quick thrusts that make your toes curl.

he’s good with his words and his mind, but he’s relentlessly proved that he’s fucking amazing with his hands. he watches as your body tenses with pleasure, reeling from how deep his slender fingers can reach. he adored the way your warm, wet walls greet him, enveloping him like blobs of clay.

your bedsheets are ablaze, screams of his name rolling off of your tongue. he catches a glimpse of the way your breasts have seem to radiate in the warm glow of sex, and he can’t help but reach down and take a nipple into his mouth. he moans around it as he feels you clench around his digits further, and he rewards you with a sensual rub to your clit. he makes sure you can see his tongue swirling over your nipple in circles, alternating between sucks and scrapes with his teeth before moving to and lavishing the other.

“are you still with me, love?” he breaks away from your skin momentarily, honeyed eyes looking up at you. he waits for you to say yes, but he knows the answer. based on your involuntary back arches and your moans bordering on crying. he’s dragging this out, and you can’t blame him for it, either.

“osa, i’m gonna cum.” you whine, hoping he sees how glossy your eyes are. he’s well aware, and he reaches up with his free hand to caress your face.

he’s been worshipping you all night. but it wouldn’t be him if he wasn’t torturing you somehow. “hold it for me, bella.”

a pleasured groan escapes your lips, as he works lips down your body, upping the ante. you don’t have the energy to argue with him, not when he’s about to suck it all out of you.

he’s mean, spreading the lips of your pussy with his thumb, watching your fluids run down the pretty pink walls. he knows you can feel the warmth of his breath, mingling with the cold air of the room.

keeping you spread, he drags a long, tantalizing lick up your pussy, keeping his tongue flat against the surface. he grins at the way he needs to physically hold your hips down, or else he won’t be able to enjoy his meal.

“easy.” he whispers, pressing a loving kiss to your clit, triggering your second heartbeat. “let me take care of you.”

his words are that of a gentle instruction as he starts to eat you out, switching between flat, broad licks and teasing, quick stripes. he shakes his head slightly, smiling to himself as he tastes your juices. its a conscious decision to ignore that he won’t get to eat your pussy again for at least another few months, so he’s savouring what he has now.

he laps at your pussy like he’s starving, licking up every drop like wasting it is a sin. he reaches up to grab one of your tits, giving it a lovingly rough squeeze before refocusing on the task in front of him. his lips wrap around your clit, sucking while he re-integrates his fingers.

the coil in your abdomen is ready to burst at any moment. you’re throbbing, mind an unable to form any other coherent sentences, other than the one you cry out:

“please let me cum.” you beg, and some may call it pathetic. but dazai isn’t the type to leave you unsatisfied.

but he has his fun first, pretending not to hear while he continues eating you out like his final meal. you scream his name out so he and the neighbours hear you.

“i heard you, bella.” he laughs, fingers continuing to work you while he pulls away to speak. “you’re gonna cum for me, yeah?”

“oh, yes!” you sob as he redoubles his efforts, determined to have you cum in his mouth while he swallows each drop. he swears to himself he’ll choose this over anyone else. he’ll choose you and him, your love religiously.

he knows he’s done it when you let out sharp gasp, grabbing his hair while your back arches once more. he happily laps up your pretty white juices, even licking his fingers clean after.

he sits up on his knees to watch the way your body shakes and shivers from the high. he cups your pussy, feeling the residual wetness, both of you well aware that you have a long night ahead.

“you did amazing, my love.” he praises, simply repositioning himself. he lets you tuck away the bangs on his forehead, sticking with sweat and possibly other fluids.

for a moment, you simply stare into each others eyes. theres something utterly holy about the way he holes you, even as he prepares to take you once more.

the pleasure had been so intense, the previous conversation had been almost entirely forgotten. almost.

“osamu?”

he looks uo at you, lingering on your rosy lips before making eye contact. “yes, belladonna?”

you gulp the lingering ache. “you better come back. to me.”

his stunned for just a moment before his swollen lips curve into a smile. “you have my word.”

[totallybelova]

Hard Times || Y. Belova

°˖➴ At the end of any excruciating day awaits your girlfriend and your bed.

°˖➴ Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader

°˖➴ Fluff, cuddles, reader is just exhausted tbh, a bit of reader’s struggles, reader is physically and mentally tired, established relationship, this is more so a short blurb, NOT PROOFREAD, this was written and posted lmk if there are any mistakes in spelling i will fix them!!! also some russian: иди сюда, дорогая = come here, darling & малышка = baby girl.

Exhaustion was too small of a word to describe the sensation in your body. Each muscle hurt, each move more robotic than the last. Excruciating was a nicer word to describe how you felt — not just physically. This day took an unbearable toll on you, the burdensome weight still apparent on your shoulders.

This wasn’t you. No, no.

Usually it went smoothly, or as smoothly as it could, it being the day, of course. Each passed, blending into one, meaningless and endless.

Excruciatingly exhausting. That’s what it was.

But there was something better in your life, like a sun that beamed so strong it could chase any storm clouds away. It was Yelena, your girlfriend. She had her issues, major one for that matter, but she was always someone you could count on. Her shoulder was always present when tears streamed down your face, her soothing words were always spoken when your chest grew tight and breathing became hard. She was always there. For better and worse, and lately it’s been worse.

That’s why you looked forward to seeing her. The thought making your heart warmer than anything all fay long. Just her in bed, you next to her and quiet. Peace. How you felt now didn’t matter, because in hours you would be in her arms, feelings this absolutely unforgettable sensation of tranquility. Yelena was an anchor you held onto for dear life, she was a hope, that you can feel better, because if she can make you feel that way, then you can still feel.

It was dark, cold. At least the air wasn’t stiff, it felt more relaxed as the coldness filled and then escaped your lungs. You opened the door and there she was, in her pyjamas, hair still wet from the shower, just laying in bed.

“Hey, малышка.” Yelena put her phone down, as it rested on the bed side she got up, resting on her knuckles.

Her piercing green eyes scanned your figure, slumped body, absent eyes and eye bags underneath them. She knew you weren’t okay, but there weren’t many options for her, she just chose to support you, be there no matter what. Just like you would do for her.

„иди сюда, дорогая.” Yelena mumbled, her brows furrowed, lips frowned.

She watched you take it all off, until you were left just in your underwear. Slowly, lazily, you crawled into the bed, her arms instantly pulling the covers over you.

„I’m so tired…” You managed to huff out, eyes half closed, still locked onto Yelena’s face.

„I know.” She nodded, her warm arms found your waist and pulled you closer, the proximity instantly heating your body.

„Just rest, baby.” Yelena placed a soft kiss on your forehead, your head hid in the crook of her neck, as you slowly drifted away. Hands entangled in your hair you fell asleep. Hoping the next day doesn’t bring you home so tired.

[frost-queen]

Hope only hurts // part 9 (Reader!Snow x Finnick Odair)

Tag:@harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @sweetheartlizzie07, @bellarkeselection, @shines-in-the-night, @cantbecreative, @mrsnms, @laylamarie222, @herbal-tea-and-manga, @volcanicwavecascade, @quantumorquanta , @asgards-princess-of-mischief, @muffinemmaa, @arcaneflorist, @victoria-rue

Summary: Settling in district 13, Katniss and Finnick feel lost without the one they wish was at their side. The capitol's interview of Peeta and you only causing more commotion and warfare between two victors. [series]

Finnick was pacing around, annoying Katniss. Making her more anxious than she already was. Her thumb’s nail between her teeth, elbows resting on her shaking knee. Finnick going back and forth. Running his hand through his hair once in a while.

When he exhaled loud with it, it set Katniss off. Making her jump up and lash out to him. – “Will you stop that!” – her voice louder than she expected. Finnick paused, glancing up and down at her. – “I can’t stand the not knowing.” – he responded, trying to be reasonable to her.

Trying to explain his behaviour to her. Trying to let her know he didn’t like this. Katniss lowered her gaze, knowing exactly how he felt. – “I know…” – speaking softly as she plumped back down. – “You should’ve gotten Peeta out.” – she snarled at him, unable to resist the comment.

Finnick closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath to calm himself. – “I get it! How many more times are you going to jab that at me?” – Trying to keep his voice under control, but some resistance slipped out. Katniss puffed loud, crossing her arms.

Finnick turned himself around, setting his hands on his hip. A tensing rising within the room. Filled with some regret, he dropped his hands from his hips. Ready to say something to her if the tension hadn’t been pricked by the door opening. Both previous victors staring within the second at the door.

Haymitch entering. Katniss got back up, coming to join Finnick’s side to block his path from going further into the room. They first needed answers. – “Is Peeta alive?” – Katniss asked desperate. Finnick speaking at the same time, doubling her words over. – “What about Y/n?” – both sharing a glance for the other one interrupting their question.

Haymitch moved his hands up in defeat. – “Look, we’re doing what we can, but it isn’t easy.” – he replied to give them the best answer he could. Katniss wasn’t having it, storming out without another word. Haymitch startling a bit when Finnick stood closer once his gaze had drifted away from Katniss. – “Whatever it takes, you get her out.” – he made clear. Poking at his chest. Haymitch chuckled, waving his hands a bit. – “You are taking this marriage thing very serious, Loverboy.” – he teased.

Finnick could smell the alcohol on him. Making him grab him by the shirt, pressing hard against the wall. – “Listen you drunk! You make it work! I don’t care how, but you get her out.” – giving him an extra shove up against the wall. – “Do you understand!” – making it clear to Haymitch he wasn’t messing around. Haymitch moved his hands up. Finnick letting go of him. Haymitch straightened his clothing and moved some hair out of his face.

“I’m trying.” – he grumbled out. Finnick paused in his walk, glancing over his shoulder. – “Try harder.” – leaving with those words. With Finnick’s departure, Haymitch’s blissful drunkenness faded away. Bliss changing into guilt. Pressing his palms deep onto his eyes with a sharp inhale. Knowing he failed to keep you close. Somewhere between securing packages and hiding, you got taken.

Taken by peacekeepers and he did nothing. Cowered in a corner. He headed for a cabinet, opening it. Immediately grabbing for the bottle. Pulling the top of, he took a few good sips of it. Drowning away his own cowardness. Inhaling sharply, he stumbled wonkily back. Moving the bottle higher again. Yet this time he paused at it. Staring at the alcohol in his hands.

Blinking a few times, till his eyes narrowed on the bottle. Throwing it with a clashing sound against the wall. Glass shattering and alcohol dripping down from the wall into the small pool on the ground. Pressing his palms against his eyes again, the conflicts started in his mind. Your shadow following him even here to district 13. A forgotten district everyone thought was destroyed in the rebellion.

Finnick barely gave Katniss a glance. Going to sit somewhere else in the cafeteria. Katniss sitting in silence. Staring blankly in front of her. Another boy having joined her. Dark-haired and careless for he was eating like he had no care. Like he had no weights on him. Finnick turned his gaze away from them, picking at his plate. Moving his peas around with his fork.

Sighing soft, he pushed his plate further away for he had no appetite. Not whilst he knew you were still in the capitol. Unsure what Snow would do. He was cunning. Everyone knew that. It was no secret. Hearing sudden music associated with the capitol, Finnick flashed his gaze upwards to the screens hanging above. Seeing the golden capitol’s sign appear. The image disappearing to show Caeser’s face. Purple hair and a serious expression on his face.

“Hello. Good evening and a big welcome to all of Panem.” – Caeser spoke through the screen. – “I’m Caeser Flickerman and who ever you are, whatever it is what you are doing. If you are working, put down your work. If you are having diner, stop having diner.” – speaking obeys through-out for all of Panem to hear him. Wanting all the attention drawn to him. – “Because you are going to want to witness this… tonight.”  – he announced further.

“There have been speculations about what really happened in the quarter quell and to the marriage proposal.” – he went on as Finnick’s eyes widened. – “And here to shed a little light on the subject for us are very special guests.” – his voice hinting that bit of excitement. – “Please welcome…” – the screen switching to Peeta dressed in all white. You dressed in equal white, sitting next to him. – “Peeta Mellark and miss Y/n Snow.”

Finnick stared at the screen in disbelieve. Gawking at you whilst pushing himself up. Caeser speaking in the background. Finnick neared the screen, wanting to be as close as possible. – “Set the stage for us, talk us through it.” – Caeser speaking yet paying little attention to him. Finnick glanced briefly at his side, noticing a figure had come to stand next to him. Katniss.

Her eyes glued onto Peeta. – “Well first off you… you have to… understand that when you are in the games, you only get one wish. It’s very costly.” – Peeta spoke as the interview went on. – “Peeta’s alive.” – she whispered out. Finnick’s gaze remained glued on you. Watching your behaviour very closely.

Seeing how dull your eyes appeared. The spark it once contained sniffed out. You looked healthy, but something inside him made his stomach twist. – “So… so you hold on to that one wish… and my wish that night was to save Katniss” – Peeta continued.

“You… you know I should’ve just run off with her early that day… like she wanted…” – he went on. – “But you didn’t.” – Caeser pitched in. – “No…” – Peeta’s voice faint. – “Why?” – Caeser coming in with the craving questions. Both of them started to get in a slight argument resolving Katniss and her choice of rebellion.

Peeta inhaled sharply, moving his hand to take yours. Entangling his fingers with yours and bringing your held hand to his knee. Finnick clenched his jaw, watching. He turned his gaze to Katniss with bitterness. Katniss glaring equally back at him. – “I was going to ask about the unrest but I think you might be too upset.” – Caeser spoke ending the disagreement over Katniss her part in the rebellion.

“No… no I can do it.” – he responded, looking to the side to you. Curling up a smile. You smiled back at him yet your eyes didn’t share any happiness. Peeta brought your entangled hands to his lips. Leaving a tender kiss there.

Finnick inhaled sharply. Fuming with anger. Peeta settling a bit closer to the screen, he took a deep breath before speaking. – “I want everyone who is watching to stop, and to think about what a civil war could mean.” – the words coming out of him. Yet feeling like a betrayal to everyone around.

Katniss started noticing the confusion within people. – “Everyone needs to lay down their weapons.” – he finished. – “For the sake of our own.” – turning his head, he looked back at you. The people in the cafeteria at district 13 getting unsettled. Shouting traitor at the screen. Making a scene to shout Peeta out or throw their frustrations at the screen. – “Peeta… are… are you asking for a cease-fire?” – Caeser questioned with a soft voice.

“Yes… I am…” – he answered looking directly in the camera. People started to throw stuff at the camera and shout loud. Katniss looking frightened around. Caeser was asking again as Finnick tried to listen in. The camera focusing on you.

Asking you a question, making Finnick desperate to hear your voice. Your mouth opened but he could barely hear your voice through the shouting. Face contracting with annoyance, he held it out for as long as possible. Till he burst. – “Everybody quiet!” – he yelled out as loud as he could. Voice scraping at the intensity.

The people of district 13 falling still. Staring at a panting Finnick. With the commotion settled, your voice reached his ears. – “My father kept his word for I never doubted him. I knew my father’s judgement would be righteous… and he was.” – you placed your hand over your entangled hands with Peeta. – “We hope the news of our proposal will bring joy back to Panem. To bring harmony within each.” – staring right into the screen.

Unaware of the tear rolling down your cheek. – “Oh dear… look how overwhelmed with happiness she is.” – Caeser filled in, throwing a big smile with it. Finnick stumbled backwards against a table. The people of district 13 beginning to shout once more. Throwing more stuff at the screen. Hating Peeta for his alliance to the capitol.

His eyes met with Katniss’s. Life cut into pieces. Sadness and anger hiding within their expressions. Causing warfare. – “And Snow just keeps giving.” – Finnick spoke with sarcasm and deep sorrow, looking back at Katniss. Making clear to her there was no escaping Snow’s clutches.

Even beyond reach, he still manages to torment them. Jaw clenching with bitterness at the screen. Feeling nauseated and sick to the stomach with the news, he needed to get out. Storming off to clear his head. For he couldn’t get the pictures out of his head when Peeta kissed your hand.

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Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[s1mpadd1ct]

Something Larger Than Myself

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Summary: After the failed Project Blackwing, you presumed your husband, Anakin, dead. How wrong you were.

Warnings: Non-Con blood sucking, vampires, fear, slight angst, sexual insinuations, other adjacent themes.

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If someone were to tell you that you’d see Anakin again after he turned to the dark side, you would have laughed.

If someone were to tell you that you would see Anakin ever again after the mysterious project blacking was initiated and went rogue, you’d laugh even harder.

But here he is, in your room, in the middle of the night. His Vader mask off and long forgotten, his smooth skin pale like snow, hair sweat soaked and messy, eyes blood red under his gaze.

Vampire.

Why vampire? Everyone else had died in the most horrific of ways or become undead monsters. It became all too real when he pressed his cold frame onto you and caged you in beneath him. A year ago, before he turned to the dark side, you would have giggled in excitement and ran your hands through his hair, awaiting whatever the night held in store.

But now? You felt absolutely nothing but heartbreaking fear. You kept your hands by your head in surrender, you just stared at him, awaiting his next move. Yet, he just stared back at you with a searing hunger, like he hadn’t eaten in a lifetime, like he desperately needed something to satisfy his cravings, almost as if…….

He wanted to eat you alive.

You still couldn’t register how he was even alive after the failed imperial project, but you were foolish enough to believe that he would fall short like the clones. You should have known better, Anakin was too strong to simply die to a failed experiment, it takes way more to shatter his resolve and will to achieve his goals. After what felt like forever, he spoke. His voice still rubbed over you like velvet.

“Come on baby, don’t you trust me? You know you can trust me? Right honey?” He asked, pressing his fingertips into the base of your skull, pinning you to your bed. Where there was no where for your arms or body to move.

“Anakin, please, you’re hurting me-“

“Shhhh shhhh pretty girl, it’s going to be over soon, you and I can rule the galaxy for eternity.”

His words didn’t settle the way he wanted them to, and they didn’t settle the way his older ones had when he’d proposed many decades before. His fingers dug into your neck, pulling your neck closer while baring his fangs to you, placing his teeth against the crook of your neck between your shoulder and jaw.

Scraping lightly, he sunk his teeth in.

The shrill scream you let out wasn’t loud enough for anyone to hear you, nor to symbolize the shear pain that shot through your body.

Any remaining spectre of sleep was wrung out of you in an instant. Your hands flew up weakly to push him off or to tear his mouth away from your neck. It was no use, he was far too strong.

Finally, after so long and just when you started seeing spots cloud your vision, he pulled away, faintly smiling down at you with your blood in his mouth and dripping down his chin onto your chest.

Anakin reached up and ran an ice cold hand down your face and to your neck, keeping it there for the moment. “So…..so unbelievably delicious as always. Always so good for me when I need you.” He said. There was no discernible emotion the lay beneath his words.

All you knew what that this was not the man your married, and he may never return, for now a monster lay in his wake instead of the gorgeous Jedi Knight that once held you so tenderly.

This was all that is left.

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A/n: Just gonna post my random whips and short stories.

[dabaotogo]

Wretch

yan! jing yuan x reader

wc: 1.7k

tw: yan! jy infantilizing tendencies, implied forced marriage, jy gets a little weird in a not so metaphorical mouth inspection paragraph, a little bit of predator/prey dynamic at the end, reader is implied to have done something morally questionable

age gap, but both jy and reader are long life species and it's treated as a no big deal in universe. i rewrote this so that this part was right at that start instead. it's never brought up again so you could click on 'read more' and start from underneath there

minors and ageless blogs do not interact with my post. i do check and i do block

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You share an age difference of only twenty nine years.

It's hardly a scandalous number to raise a fuss over, not when the two of you are part of the long-life species that make up the majority of the Xianzhou. Now, if he were older than you by over a hundred years and a bit; depending on when you first met, then that would rightfully garner him some comments or two regarding your relationship. People may even go so far and call him a cradle snatcher. But when you have lived for this long, you might as well have been born a year or two after him.

Yet with the way Jing Yuan often adopts such a fond tone when speaking to you, cooing and ah-ing as if all you'd ever been to him were a little scrappy stray. Pinching your cheek gently when you start to get a little nippy with him. You would have thought he was ahead of you by another three hundred years or so with the way he smothers your face with kisses, even with you resisting through pushes and shoves against his chest.

"Are we ready to come home now, my love?"

It's infantilizing; how he addresses the question.

For as long as you can remember, Jing Yuan has never once raised his voice. You think it's ironic that the man would rather end his own life than to ever behave such a brutish manner against you. You doubt there has ever been a time where he has truly lost his temper with dealing with your 'antics'.

He maybe disappointed at times; other times he may express the occasional hurt feeling. And at the very worst, he may voice his quiet disapproval beforehand, even while knowing his words will fall on deaf ears.

(He may let go of many things with a lazy smile: be it the murmur of cruel words intent on slicing deep into his heart, or the poisonous hate-filled stare you often send his way—

But — he will grab you by the scruff of your own neck should you decide to treat your own life so carelessly against his own soft warning.)

Yet even so, despite it all. Despite everything—

You think this is the furthest you've ever managed to get away from him.

This might be your best record so far.

(It might even be your last.)

You're not really sure yet.

You've been a little more difficult to chase down this time. A little harder to pinpoint. Opting to hide in the outskirts of the Fanghu Fleet. A barely populated village hardly anyone has heard of.

Perhaps it is because it has been quite some time since your last attempt that you have really given Jing Yuan a run for his money.

Honestly if anyone here is to blame, it's Jing Yuan. The fault lies with him: he should have known better that this begrudging truce — the fragile kind of peace — would not have lasted forever.

Still, you suppose you might have overreacted a little. When the whispers concerning the topic of his approaching retirement started to make their way around the Luofu.

The feeling had been unpleasant. As if a thousand insects were crawling up your spine. The noises of the chirping birds slowly fading to the background, only to be replaced by a terrible ringing noise.

You were never quite sure just how long you stood there. Facing the garden wall while the sun burned your back. Watering canister frozen in place, tilted downwards.

There had only been the cold sound of trickling water to fill the stillness.

Drowning the potted flower as the water overflowed, spilling over and onto your shoes.

The very thought of it alone. The few moments. Scraps of peace momentary. Where you could truly be alone when he was called away to meetings. To talks and paperwork he couldn't weasel his way out of tending to with his usual array of excuses.

To be easily taken away just like that.

(Just like everything else.)

"I've missed you quite dearly." Jing Yuan hums, then sighs. The usual tilt of his head, and another soft, smitten smile stuck permanently to his face once more.

"These long months really have been quite lonely without you by my side."

The man is fond of this habit. Pretending to be a harmless house cat; domesticated and of innocent intentions. When really, he was nothing but a hungry, starving lion. Intent on stalking his prey.

You see it in his eyes. The glint of his teeth catching the light. A lovesick fool he has always been even after five hundred years.

It was never a matter of whether if he would find you—

but more of a matter of when he would find you.

"Have you been well?" Jing Yuan continues, "I trust that you have been looking after yourself, hm?"

Jing Yuan never brings his men along as aide. He believes he alone is enough to coax (drag) you in coming back home with him, and he does not believe his men should have to spend their time in intervening in his own marriage strife's.

You would return home in a foul mood if he had. You don't exactly like seeing your former comrades. People who you once trained with. Fought alongside with. Giving him the silent treatment that would last a minimum of half a year — at best. It's a number that can easily be waved off by a long-life species.

But Jing Yuan is the sort of man who could not bear the wrath behind his spouse's silent treatment for even one second.

Even an incorrigible scoundrel who finds joy in pawing for reactions know when to tread carefully.

"One more game." Your words are calm. Levelled.

If you must pass the time in the gardens surrounded by his plants and the birds that adore his presence and be forced to entertain his games of star chess, then it is only fair that he indulges in your demands as well.

"One more." You insist, "And then we can go home."

The adoration in his eyes is clear for anyone to see; and in those golden eyes, constantly droopy with indolence; you can never do anything wrong in his eyes.

You could steal his card and spend his money away on extravagant shopping trips that would leave anyone to baulk at the mile long receipts of luxurious high-end clothing you'd buy and Jing Yuan would not bat an eye. After all, he has more money than he knows what to even do with it. He may be cheeky about it though, casting an faux-innocent suggestion to try your haul in front of him however.

You could destroy all his furniture to come home to, ripping the wallpaper to shreds. A debris of countless expensive antiques thrown against the wall and Jing Yuan would wave away the mess. The style of his interior was starting to become a little outdated anyways if you were to ask him, and he needed the excuse to replace the decoration. You do have an eye on these sort of things.

You could shout and scream at him. Cursing him with a foul mouth that would leave even the most hardened soldier cringe at your selection of words. Hurling insult after insult until your face went red from the exertion and your lungs burned, and your throat grew sore, until you grew quiet and weak, and Jing Yuan would swoop in then. Descending on you. Swaddling you. It feels better after letting it all out, doesn't it? Jing Yuan never likes it whenever you bottle up all your feelings. When you hide the truth from him. It doesn't do any good for your health.

You could even fake your death. Find a body. Have it be unrecognizable that it'd be impossible to identify correctly. Whether it was your doing or not, Jing Yuan would have covered it up already once he sees through the ruse. A single missing civilian and no one would raise a brow.

A missing General's spouse however? And people would be up in arms.

Regardless Jing Yuan will wait until the two of you are home before he is to gently pry the truth out of your mouth. He is a little hurt that you would do such an extreme thing to get away from him.

Still he will force you to be seated in lap, as he feeds you extravagant treats in between the moments of his learning. You will answer every question he has for you no matter how long it will take, long fingers slipping inside the caverns of your mouth as he searches around the cavern. It would be best not to get unruly, his fingers may just accidentally slip deeper than intended, now what would he do if you were to choke, hm? If you behave, it will be over quickly. But he will still voice his disapproval with the click of his tongue either way. It is inevitable. After all, it is unsanitary to be exposed to a corpse for long periods of time. Who knows what sort of diseases you could have potentially caught?

Jing Yuan holds his chin in deep thought.

"I suppose there is time for one more game."

He tilts his head once more, "The usual game, dear?" He asks, despite knowing already.

"What else?" You say.

"Very well. Would thirty minutes suffice?"

"An hour."

"Thirty, dear."

"Forty Five."

He sighs. The sound hardly has any bite to it. "Alright, forty five it is—"

You've already taken off past him. A clumsy stumble midway. Scrambling to the thick of the trees. Hoping to lose him in the forest surrounding the village.

"You spoil me, Jing Yuan. You really do." You shout over your shoulder. Making the mistake to look into his eyes.

Steadfast. Calm. Confident.

"It is simply what you deserve, my love."

He hummed.

"But do make the most of your time." He then said, and suddenly there is the cold fear inside your veins, that you've made a mistake and scared little side of you no longer wants to play this game. You could get cold feet, forfeit now and drag your pathetic side back to him. All you have to do is sniffle a little, rub your eyes and tell him you're sorry for making him come all this way to take you home and he'll be all over you in an instant.

There are other games you could play.

"Because once I start searching, I don't plan on stopping until I find you again."

You run a little faster.

Even if you know you'll lose.

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: After Ellie finds out you and Joel are intimate, the two of you struggle to keep a distance from each other…or more so Joel does. And he’s not a fan of the attention you’ve been getting from other men.]

Not Holding Back Chapter 2: Porch lights

Smut smut horny/protective Joel

Things had been somewhat normal since the day Ellie decided to expose what happened between you and Joel to everyone. As normal as it could be after what happened two weeks ago you suppose. Of course there were stares from others, it didn’t matter that you and Joel agreed to keep a distance from one another in public only agreeing to see each other at night once all porch lights were off. You really only had seen each other once since that night and Joel was growing impatient till he could see you again. He didn’t care much for the attention he got from others but he hated it for you, he hated seeing the way others would look at you, especially the other men in Jackson. You wouldn’t notice at times, the men around you sharing comments to each other just as you’d walk by. Tommy would see just how pissed Joel would get, sometimes attempting to distract him before he’d do something stupid.

“You alright?” Tommy walked up to his brother who had his eyes narrowed on one of the guys, Carlos as he walked away in the distance. Taking a walk around the town was something Joel used to enjoy but now he found himself watching men stare at you or mention your name as they passed him.

“Just fine” Joel turned back to Tommy who had his arms crossed.

“Have you spoken to-“

“No” Joel quickly cut him off, he hated that he hadn’t spoken to you. Between your schedules and his while hiding from everyone, the two of you barely had time and Joel was frustrated in more ways than one. The man was used to years without sex but from the moment he had you, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. His body ached for yours in ways he had never felt before.

“Are you gonna see her?”

“Who said I was gonna see her?” Joel responded defensively making Tommy chuckle.

“Come on, you guys can try to hide it from everyone else here but I know you”

“Anything else?” Joel responded in a grumpy manner. Tommy shook his head before Joel walked off, quickly getting distracted at the sight of Carlos having a word with you. You didn’t say much, a soft smile with a shake of your head before you walked away. His eyes narrowed on Carlos as he watched the way he stayed watching you walk off. Carlos turned the opposite way and left while Joel stood still, his hands balled into tight fists he hadn’t even noticed before another man walked past him staring at him strangely.

“The hell you lookin’ at” he snapped at the man who quickly looked away and didn’t say a word.

Enough was enough, Joel couldn’t wait till the next day after dark to meet you. He knew you had the shift at the bar that night and although you asked him to not make it obvious, he decided to show up that night and he knew you’d be pissed…at first.

~~

“Not many people here tonight, think you can close up?” Seth asked looking around the bar.

“Yeah I got it,” you nodded, Seth patted your shoulder and walked out.

Joel watched closely from outside, he saw Seth leave and knew he could go in through the back door. When he did he could see you through the small window of the swinging door, he watched as you poured a drink for someone, the sound of your laugh could be heard from where he was. He watched silently with a smirk, waiting for you to come to the back until he noticed who you were pouring the drink for.

It was Carlos.

Joel became distracted at the way the man undressed you with his eyes. So distracted he hadn’t noticed you walking towards the door until you swung it open. You gasped with your hand to your chest not expecting to find Joel in the back room.

“Joel! What the hell are you doing here?” He hadn’t even looked at you, still staring through the small glass window.

“How did you get in here?” He finally looked towards you yet his eyes distracted.

“He botherin’ you out there?”

“What? No” you shook your head confused.

“Joel-“ you whispered taking him by the hand further into the back room to not be seen by the doors.

“I thought we agreed-“

“I know” he was breathing hard, his eyes looking down at you as if he wanted to say more.

“Look, I gotta get back to work. We’ll see each other tomorrow night” you almost turned to walk away till he caught you by the hand and pulled you towards him. He knew your worries, he knew your concerns of Ellie or anyone finding you two together..again but Joel couldn’t wait any longer. All he did was think of you from the moment he woke up till he went to sleep, the sound of your voice, the touch of your skin, the way he felt inside you..

“Joel..” you whispered, his lips close to yours. His breath against your skin, it was tempting to kiss him.

“Just a kiss..” he whispered, his eyes met yours and you could see how desperate he was for it. You nodded and Joel didn’t wait a second longer instantly pulling your body against him, his lips on yours. You wrapped your arms around him, feeling how much his body yearned for you, a simple kiss making him hard against you. His arousal only exciting you, your lips parting from his for just a moment looking into each other’s eyes.

“Please..” he whispered, his hands tightening on your waist.

“Joel-“

“Just a quickie…please baby, I need you so bad” the desperation in his whisper, his southern drawl sending a tingling sensation between your thighs. You wanted it just as much as he did, he began to kiss your neck.

“Don’t make me wait another day baby…need to feel you..” your eyes rolled back at the gentle sensation of his lips against your neck, his facial hair brushing against you…you couldn’t hold back any longer. Without saying a word you quickly began unbuttoning your pants and pushed them down before reaching for his. Joel shook his jacket off letting it fall on the floor as you pulled down his pants far enough to expose his erect cock. He moved quickly, roughly turning you around and leaning you over a table just as you felt him position himself behind you. The tip of his cock sliding against your folds, he could feel you were already wet, turned on by his need for you, his touch and he didn’t wait a moment longer.

“Look at you ready for me” he whispered hoarsely.

You both gasped simultaneously with his first thrust in you. His hands on your hips, he slowly moved in a rhythm that made your eyes roll back. His teeth clenched together as he slammed himself against you, the feel of you that he so desperately waited for, was finally his. The music from the bar muffling any sound you made, you had forgotten Carlos was patiently waiting for you to come back around for another drink. Nothing else mattered in that moment. You moaned grabbing onto the edge of the table as he thrusted harder, the sound of your voice sending him over the edge.

“Yes, Joel-take me..just like that” you gasped as he unexpectedly pulled you by your hair, your body back up against his.

“I want you in my bed tonight” he whispered roughly against your ear.

“Joel-“

“I can’t wait till tomorrow baby, can’t you see what you’re doin’ to me” he cut himself off with a moan he knew he was about to cum. Looking down with one hand on your waist he watched himself slide in and out of you, your hair wrapped around his other hand as he quickly pulled out and came on your ass. You screamed as he tugged at your hair the more he came till he slowly let go. Stumbling back searching for somewhere to lean on till his body hit the wall, Joel panted with his eyes closed.

~~

“Now you have to leave” you raised your brows at him as you fixed up your hair and clothes, Joel stood dressed putting on his jacket.

“Right?” You squinted your eyes till he slowly walked towards you and yanked you against him.

“Come to my bed tonight” he whispered.

“Joel-“

“Come to my bed and I’ll leave” of course you wanted to. If it were up to you, you’d be in bed with him every night, waking up beside him every morning.

“You know I want to but let’s just..take it slowly” you whispered. Joel silently gave you a nod and leaned in for a passionate kiss and left out the back door without saying a word.

~~

“Where the hell you been? Just about to take over the bar myself and drink from the bottle” Carlos chuckled as you awkwardly rushed towards him.

“Sorry, spilled some stuff back there and-“ you turned your back to him not realizing Joel had walked in and silently sat beside Carlos.

“It was sucha mess” Joel chuckled hearing the trouble you were having to make up a lie till you turned to him and nearly jumped at the sight of him.

“Joel-“ you whispered before composing yourself, you walked towards Carlos and poured whiskey into his empty cup.

“I’ll have what he’s havin’” he looked directly at you, you could feel his eyes on you. You wanted to kill him in that very moment and he knew it.

“Sure” you spoke softly before grabbing a glass and pouring him a drink.

“Hey, honey, you mind?” Carlos shook his glass at you as you placed Joel’s drink before him. Joel kept himself still, he knew he couldn’t react, not yet at least but you could see with the corner of your eye the way he paused for just a moment. His cup close to his lips before he took a sip and remained silent.

“My ice melted, mind getting me some more?”

You nodded as you took his glass and turned around to the small freezer behind you. Joel watched as you bent over scooping a cup of ice and instantly knew what Carlos was doing.

“Get me the small chunks of ice that are all the way at the bottom-“ you reached lower as Carlos mumbled something to himself you didn’t hear. Joel turned catching the way he looked at your ass, your legs…his grip on the cup tightening. Watching another man look at you the way Carlos did was something he couldn’t ignore and when you turned back you noticed the way Joel had his eyes on him. Subtly you cleared your throat catching Joel’s attention as you returned Carlos’ cup.

“I’ll be right back” you whispered awkwardly.

“So it’s true, huh” Carlos laughed before taking a drink, Joel remained serious looking over at him.

“Excuse me?” He spoke low but the threat in his tone was loud.

“How’d you get between those legs” Carlos motioned towards the door you had just walked through, Joel could feel the heat in him rise as Carlos slowly looked back at him.

“The hell you just say?”

“Hey, we all know it” he chuckled.

“You don’t like what I’m saying? You should hear the rest of the town, every man wants a turn with her after hearing how easy she is”

Joel quickly got to his feet just as Carlos did. With a threatening glare he walked towards him as Carlos stood straight with a smirk.

“You wanna fight me over a slut-“ Joel abruptly grabbed Carlos by his collar shoving his back against the bar, you quickly noticed through the window what was going on and ran back out.

“Joel!” You yelled.

“Say another word, I dare you” Joel whispered as Carlos looked up at him.

“Joel, let go of him!” He stood still for a moment before pulling his hands away and taking a step back. Carlos looked over at you before finishing the last of his drink, he slammed his glass down and walked out the bar.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You walked around the bar towards Joel.

“Why the hell did you even come in here?!”

“I wasn’t gonna leave you alone in the bar with that creep” he explained as he looked towards the door.

“What did he say?”

“I didn’t like the way he was lookin’ at you” he lied. Of course he did, Joel already felt guilty enough with the way Ellie had embarrassed you, he wasn’t about to embarrass you more and tell you how this asshole was talking about you. But you could tell he wasn’t telling you everything… you’d heard it all.

“Let me guess, he wanted a piece of the town slut?” Joel’s eyes shot up to you.

“Yes…I’ve heard that one before” you chuckled sarcastically. What you said only angered him.

“He say somethin’ to you before I came in here?” He looked as if he was ready to go out there and react with whatever you may tell him.

“No, Joel. I could just tell by the way he was looking at me. I’m not stupid” he looked back at the door once again and around the empty bar.

“You shouldn’t be doin’ this anymore. I’ll talk to Maria tomorrow, have you moved somewhere else-“

“Joel I’m fine here” you insisted but he wasn’t having it.

“Listen I know men like him” he moved towards you.

“It ain’t gonna stop there and I’m not waitin’ for somethin’ to happen” you could tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn’t going to give up easily and maybe he had a point.

“Fine” you whispered. Joel kept his eyes on you for a moment, lost in thought until he took a deep breath.

“Im gonna make things right for you and with Ellie, she just needs some time”

“I know. Don’t worry, Joel…she’ll come around again”

Joel nodded slowly, you could tell he was hurt by it all. You knew how much Ellie meant to him but you knew he also didn’t like to talk about it.

“So you’re gonna walk me home?” You changed the subject making him look up.

“Gonna walk you to my home” he corrected with a playful look, you smiled eager yourself to spend the night with him.

Tags

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[sanjoongie]

𝒮𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝑜𝓊𝓇

🍊Pairing: Boss! Hongjoong x Arm Candy! Reader (f) 🍊Genre: smut, pwp 🍊Au: criminals, reversal 🍊Trope: boss/bimbo 🍊Rating: 18+, MDNI 🍊Word Count: 1,386 🍊Warning: bratty! sub! hongjoong, mean! dom! reader, pain kink, overstim, degradation kink, hand job, mentions of cockwarming and fingering while driving 🍊Summary: everyone sees Hongjoong as the guy in charge of a car heists operation, and you, his arm candy. Little do they know that once the two of you begin carnal relations, the roles flip... 🍊divider by @cafekitsune

“How many times do you think he’s made her ride him?” Wooyoung wonders, wistfully looking at the sole car in the abandoned parking lot. 

Yeosang shrugs his broad shoulders and kicks a rock. “I dunno. How many times does it take to fog up the windows of a car?”

Yeosang and Wooyoung stand watch as their boss fucks his arm candy in his car. It’s just another night for the heist gang, especially after a successful mission. 

Except neither Wooyoung nor Yeosang truly know what is going on inside that car. And if they did, they would have had their minds blown.

You and Hongjoong are sitting in the back seat of Hongjoong’s car. His legs are spread, shorts and underwear down on one ankle, as you jerk him off. There is already cum decorating Hongjoong’s chest, stomach and thighs. You haven’t been keeping track of how many times you’ve made him orgasm. 

“Are you gonna come for me, Joongie?” You croon. “Gonna make a mess of my hands again?”

“I’m tired,” Hongjoong whines, despite the way the head of his cock plays peekaboo eagerly with the top of your fist.

“Didn't you say you were gonna fill me up?” You mock him. “Didn't you say you were going to come inside of me so many times that your cum would be spilling out of my poor, abused hole?” You lean in to whisper against the shell of his ear. “Didn't you say I was going to be a begging, quivering mess under you?”

“Please.” There is no follow up after the word. Because Hongjoong is exactly where he wants to be. 

But the quiver of his lower lip and the wetness of his big brown eyes sends a commanding thrill right through you. 

“You can come for me again, can't you? You're my little cum slut, aren't you?” You say in a husky voice, lips moving down the line of his neck.

Once you suck a hickey on Hongjoong’s collarbone, he’s a goner. He came with an almost pained moan, weakly spurting over your hand. 

You use his own cum to coat the palm of your hand and then you drive him through his orgasm.

“It's too much!” Hongjoong protests, curling himself inward, trying to escape the overstimulation.

You sit to straddle Hongjoong’s thick thighs, using your free hand to push him back against the seat of the car and pinning him there. Your hand still runs up and down Hongjoong’s length without pause.

“You love it.”

Hongjoong’s head tilts back, Adam's apple working desperately up and down his throat, back arched beautifully.

“So good, it feels so good,” he slurs through the pleasure and the pain.

Droplets of sweat drip along Hongjoong’s jaw, similar to the way droplets run down the panes of glass in the car. 

“Don’t you look so delicious fogging up the car,” You say as you work Hongjoong towards yet another orgasm. “What will they say this time, I wonder?”

Hongjoong sports his signature kitty-cat smile, a red flag that he’s about to be bratty again. “That I fucked you so hard you won’t be able to walk from our car to the warehouse.”

Your hand leaves Hongjoong’s cock as soon as the words leave his mouth. You raise an eyebrow at him. “Really, Hongjoong?”

His hands scramble to grab your wrists and bring your hand back to his hard, aching cock. “No, please, I didn’t mean that. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

You cluck your tongue in disappointment. “When will you learn, Kim Hongjoong?”

Hongjoong watches with regret as you lick your hands clean of his cum, signaling that he has indeed ruined his own pending orgasm. “Are you really going to leave me like this?”

“Mhmm,” You hum to affirm what Hongjoong fears. “You can stew with your hard-on as we drive back to the warehouse. I like watching you squirm while you drive.”

“It’s too hot for that!” Hongjoong protests.

You get off Hongjoong and go back to your original seat beside him. “Should have thought about that before you acted like a brat.”

Hongjoong swiftly pulls up his shorts and does them back up, all the while sending you small, woeful glances, hoping you’d take pity on him. 

“Stop looking at me like that, Hongjoong,” You snap.

“I miss your hand on my cock,” Hongjoong pouts, as if that’s going to get him anywhere.

“I’m not giving into you, pout all you want,” You decline, folding your arms under your chest.

“Please, at least cockwarm me as we drive home?” Hongjoong pulls at his shorts, adjusting his straining cock under his clothes. “Please?”

You look out the window despite not being able to see anything with all the condensation. “I don’t see why I should.”

“I’ll buy you a new bag,” Hongjoong offers desperately. “A new necklace? New shoes? Pretty please? It’ll look like you’re the brat and I was punishing you. Please?”

You think about it, considering how you could both turn this in your favor and take Hongjoong down another notch, which in return will just turn him on even more. 

“You’re buying me all of those things AND--” You hold your finger up to halt any words Hongjoong’s about to say because you’re not done negotiating yet. “And! We’re going through the drive-thru on the way home. With me still cockwarming you.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows furrow together in the most delicious and satisfying of ways. “But that’s so embarrassing. You’re going to clench down on me and make me moan into the speaker!”

You turn to Hongjoong, placing both of your hands on his thighs. Your faces are closer together now. “Yes, Joongie. And aren't you gonna look so fucking cute with your red face and cock twitching inside of me, so fucking turned on I could probably bounce on your cock and few more times back at the warehouse. Even though you're probably dry by now.”

You press your lips against Hongjoong’s pouty ones, receiving a whimper as you run your tongue along the seam of his lips. 

“Are you gonna be a good subbie boy for me, Joongie?” You ask after completing the kiss. 

“Yes yes yes,” Hongjoong chants excitedly.

“Then you better get in the driver seat of the car, silly.”

Hongjoong’s got his hands on the handle to open up the back door and slides over the hood of the car before you even begin to open your side of the car.

“You two!” Hongjoong yells, snapping his fingers and getting Wooyoung’s and Yeosang’s attention. “Back to the warehouse. I'm getting some food! Don't wait up.”

“But Hongjoong! We just stood here for hours so you could--” Yeosang slaps a cautious hand over Wooyoung’s big mouth.

“We're hungry too, Boss,” Yeosang finishes for him.

“Whatever!” Hongjoong throws his hands up in the air, opening the driver's side door. “Just don't follow us.”

Wooyoung watches in disbelief as your legs precede you coming out of the car. You tug at the hem of your shirt and fluff your hair and then walk casually to the passengers side in the front.

Yeosang finally lets his hand drop when both Hongjoong and you are inside the car and couldn't possibly hear Wooyoung anymore.

“I bet she's going to give him a blowjob while he drives,” Wooyoung says glumly.

“That’s why he's the boss,” Yeosang pats him on the back to console him. 

Meanwhile, back in the car…

“What are you doing?” Hongjoong whines.

You begin to shimmy out of your underwear, peeling them down your legs. “I gotta get ready to cockwarm you, Joongie.”

Hongjoong’s eyes flit around, trying to get a good view of Wooyoung and Yeosang, who are finally climbing into their car. 

He wets his lips eagerly before he says, “Can I play with her? Make your pussy wet and messy and ready for me?”

You sigh like it's a big deal. “I dunno, Hongjoong, can you drive and make me feel good?”

Hongjoong watches as Wooyoung pulls out of the park lot, and makes his way to the ramp that leads out of the parking garage. Then he leans over in the seat to whisper eagerly, "I'm your good subbie boy.”

“Aren't you just the cutest,” You say in a saccharine voice. You pat his cheek endearingly. “Good boy.”

[silliest-sideblog]

A working factory

Pairing: Etho/Tango Length: 750 words Summary: Tango spends his time at his favorite spot in the factory, now that it is running again

Ao3 link

Note: Just some slabtek fluff for the soul, fic under the cut

It has been a few months now since Tango turned on the factory so when he flicked the switch and everything somehow turned out to be working, it was a huge relief. Originally he had wanted to try if everything was still in working order when he finished building the exterior but a day of waiting and just allowing himself to enjoy what he made.

But rather quickly, a day turned into a week, turned into a month turned into four.

So he tried telling himself that it’s fine, that he can get by with what he has in his storage but eventually he had to turn the factory back on.

And for once, things go well for Tango Tek.

He busies himself with some simple maintenance around the place, cleaning up a few chests, checking on farms he hasn’t visited in months and giving the occasionally strutting by Teknician a pat on the head.

The little guys trot along, dropping a few of the items along the way only to return moments later to pick them up again.

Everything is working as intended.

Once he’s sure he has finished most of his stuff around the base, Tango climbs up through his newly built hatch and into the noodles of his factory, manoeuvring until he sits on a pathway made of glass, water flowing below.

It’s been a while since he’s been here, but once Tango sits down with his legs crossed and his tail wrapped close around himself, he immediately feels the same comfort and joy as always. 

Watching items zoom down the water streams right below, seeing them shoot up water streams and eventually finished products rushing by. This is what exactly why he built the factory in the first place.

Of course it is nice to have everything automated and every minute not spent crafting dispensers is a minute well spent. But after all the work and frustration this project has caused him it’s nice to see this place function while also looking the part of a steampunk factory now.

So Tango sits here, watching items swim past for who knows how long. For the most part, no one can find him here, allowing him some peace and quiet while he thinks about his next projects, occasionally scribbling down notes as the factory works around him.

Unsure how much time has passed, Tango stretches his arms above his head, when a wooshing sound, alongside a faint cloud of purple, appears and quickly dissipates, leaving none other than Etho behind and only startling Tango slightly.

Trying to seem casual, Tango looks up at him, smoothing out the flames of his tail that poofed up, “Oh, what’s up, E?” and then mumbling under his breath, “Stupid nerd-pearls.”

Etho chuckles at Tango’s reaction before sitting down next to him, letting his legs dangle just above the water. “Saw that the factory was running.”

“Yeah, a miracle really.” Tango has complained many a nights to Etho when the minecarts made him want to tear his flaming hair out.

“So you sit down here and not upstairs at your fancy desk?” He can feel Etho’s curious stare, the slight tilt of his head and it makes Tango smile.

“Nah, down here is way better. Got an eye on everything right at this spot.” He leans closer to Etho and points at one of the water streams in front of them. “Got everything in view. Items coming in, seeing what’s being crafted. Lets me actually spot when items don’t get processed.” Tango’s laugh betrays just how often this has happened.

“Surprised you’re asking, considering how much time you spend at your moss farm.” Tango pokes him in his side, Etho flinching slightly before returning the favor with a laugh. “Hey, not saying I don’t get it, just thought it’s more comfortable up there.”

“You’re not wrong,” Tango says as Etho musters him before draping himself across Tango, right against his shoulder. “Or just do that, that’s fine too.” He is not panicking. No, totally not panicking.

After a moment he lets himself relax into the touch and soon after his tail wraps itself around Etho, before resting in his lap. It twitches under his touch until Etho’s hand stills again.

Sitting like this is a lot more comfortable and Tango allows himself to lounge against Etho, and enjoys the arm around him more than he’d admit.

Below them, items keep zooming by as they sit in a comfortable silence.

[leggerefiore]

cw: reincarnated mate au, abduction,

pairings: Pure Vanilla/Reader, Ananas/Reader

The sun bathing in through the window made for a comfortable sitting place as a book sat in your lap. Your husband was sitting beside you, laying with his head on your shoulder. It was a peaceful afternoon. The Vanilla Kingdom was nothing but a place of gentleness and comfort. Its founder would only intend that it be so. Your hand unconsciously found his soft locks to comb through. Custard was no doubt off bothering someone, but he would likely return to you two when he grew bored. The little boy was far too precious.

It was little wonder why Pure Vanilla had taken him in. Though you could tell a resemblance was at play, you opted against asking too many questions. The ancient hero was quite old and no doubt had done many things in his lifespan. You were simply happy to have found him and shared this life with him. Gazing at his sleeping face, your heart burst with warm. He was so handsome. Soft skin and a sweet smile.

A tapping on the window broke your stupor. Turning your head, you nearly jumped back. A giant beast was outside, staring in. Four large wings spread out while golden pupils fixated on you. Your breath hitched at the sight of what dangled from its mouth, struggling. Custard! You let out a scream, startling Pure Vanilla awake. He followed your gaze to the sight, eyes shooting open in immediate worry.

“We can take this mortal with us,” the dragon offered, desperately trying to get you to agree to come with it, “I know you care deeply for him! My island will be a fine place for him to live.” Custard struggled more and whined. He was being held up by his cape. You were at a loss for words. How much longer would this keep up!? The dragon insisted that it was your mate, and you needed to return to their side. They were desperate – trying anything from an attempted abduction of you to threatening the kingdom. You stating you would hate them forever if they tarnished these lands made them stop the latter at least. This newest methodology was concerning.

Pure Vanilla acted quicker than you expected, reaching out and undoing the cape's tie to pull Custard in. Ananas stood bewildered by this action. The boy clung to Pure Vanilla, hiding his face in his chest. You felt relief crash through you. Your hand came to rest on Custard's back. The hero spoke first. “… Custard III is under my guardianship,” Pure Vanilla spoke carefully, “Can't you accept that they do not wish to go with you?” He had tried negotiating many times. Peaceful solutions were always preferred. Perhaps that was why the dragon had also not been so forceful.

“I cannot,” they shifted into their mortal form but remained in the air, “A dragon can only love once. My mate is something I will not give up on.” Their eyes returned to you. “… My feelings cannot fade,” they seemed to take to crawling through the window, “I failed to protect you… Please, let me try again, my darling!” Before they could draw too close, Black Raisin burst in. She was ready to fire at the beast.

The dragon retreated, not particularly wanting another injury. But, they would return. Both you and Pure Vanilla knew that.

~

“… Maybe you should go with them,” Pure Vanilla spoke quietly, “I don't feel that they are lying… But, I also do not wish to see you leave…” His voice was barely audible at the last part.

Custard, who was still recovering from being snatched from the ground, whacked Pure Vanilla with his sceptre. This, of course, did not hurt since it was made of construction paper. “They can't go!” he whined, “We're a family! You said so.”

Pure Vanilla felt even more conflicted.