#i can’t help it somethin about the way he says his silly little words gets me hooked

[livfastdieyoung69]

every year for some reason i get a motley crue phase and an eminem phase. rn i am deeper than i have ever been in the eminem phase and i don’t see any signs of leaving

[astrasng]

SCRATCH || BANGCHAN

MINORS DNI!

pairing: idol!chan x female!reader

summary: thanks to chan's solo stage you finally made him yours.

warnings: blood (from scratches obv), handjob, spanking, petnames (baby, honey, angel, sweetheart) unprotected sex, cursing

author's note: from my previous breakdown post bc of chan got me in an inspired mood so i made a little somethin somethin. still what the fuck was he thinking. also, if you're a regular reader by any chance (ily) you might have noticed i write jealousy tropes, IDKK WHY THO SORRY

important!: this is pure fiction, the act in this story is by my imagination and not based off true events. please do not copy the work.

enjoy!

It isn’t like you’re not supportive of your boyfriend. You’ve always been there for every idea, even if you thought that it wasn’t the best one. The things you have to deal with him being an idol settled deep into your mind, already accepting the consequences that may come in the way. But it’s not like you would ever give up your relationship with Chan just because he’s doing risky things that you may not like. 

To be honest, it kind of became an advantage for you. 

You would watch him having fun on stage with the other members, sometimes splashing water at each other, making everyone in the crowd either cheer or laugh at their silly behavior. There were times when they got sentimental, wishing all the happiness for STAY and the members for the future. It made you emotional just in the same way as you would watch them through the TV in your shared apartment. 

And then there were times where you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together and wait for him.

“Had fun today?” 

The sarcastic tone caught Chan’s attention as he’s doing his everyday night routine, just as he’s finishing up his shaving session. He knows exactly why you’re talking and reacting to him this way, you’ve been all fidgety with him since he got home from the first day of the tour, and when he stepped inside the apartment he saw you still sitting on the couch, not welcoming him in with the usual hug he gets. 

Chan looks a little bit to the side so he can get a reflection of you changing in the room, the towel you used laying on the ground after taking a shower. Without him. 

“Of course.It’s always heartwarming to meet with STAY’s. And the kids were so hyped about getting solo stages too.”

Now that just boils your blood. 

“Oh, were they?” You keep your back facing him,not letting him see how frustrated you really are about the game he’s playing. “They were doing an amazing job indeed.” You shut your eyes momentarily before putting on your velvet nightgown, and slowly walking towards the bathroom where your boyfriend is staying. 

“Yeah, I assume you saw mine too, right? Did you see the special makeup they did on me?” With pride he chuckles while putting away his shaving equipment, patting his dry as he picks up his toothbrush. His question should have a very easy and simple answer, yet here you are ready to give him a brainwash about not caring about your mental health. Cause what the hell was that? You can’t even form the offensive words you want to say to him out of frustration, you could never say anything negative about his performances in general — but the way he’s talking about it, so full of himself, you can’t help yourself. “I wonder who made all that.” It slips out, biting down on your lip softly to stop yourself from further embarrassment. 

“It must’ve been the makeup artist of course, but I could’ve done a better job if you ask me.” You step into the bathroom just as you finish your sentence, Chan unable to answer due to his mouth full with mint scented bubbles. 

As you want to pass behind him, you swipe your delicate fingers on his defined back muscles, the photos of him painted in scratches for the performance fills your vision. 

“Makeup was unnecessary,to be honest.” 

There’s something glinting in Chan’s eyes as a lopsided smile appears on his face, looking at you through the mirror placed above the bathroom counter. As the words leave your lips, he licks his plump lips slowly, putting away his toothbrush he just used. “If I had asked you, would you do it?” 

The air stops suddenly in your throat,taking your eyes off of him as you busy yourself with something else infront of you. “Well…it doesn’t matter now.” 

“Oh it does, honey.” Chan says lowly, his voice suddenly closer as you want it to, and you know perfectly he’s only a step away from you. “If I only knew my baby just wanted to help me out in my solo,” He snakes his arms around your waist slowly, his bare chest pressing into your clothed back as he’s standing behind you, whispering in your ear. “I could’ve used some help.” With that, he pressed a slow open mouth kiss on the side of your neck. his hands caressing the skin on your stomach. 

“Should we recreate it and show it to my makeup artist?”

Chan whispers against your ear, biting down slightly on your earlobe as he makes eye contact with you through the mirror. You look already disheveled just from his touch, your nightgown scrunched slightly up as he kneads your stomach, one of his hands slowly inching up to your breasts. “Would you like that, baby?” 

“I didn’t mean it like that, Chan – mhphm…” A small moan leaves your lips as he pinches your nipple in his slender fingers, continuing to make out with your neck as you try and compose yourself. 

“How did you mean it then?” He grunts out as you push your backside on his crotch, his cock twitching already in his sleeping pants at the thought of you being jealous. “Tell me.” 

“I–I just…” You try to form words, keeping yourself together and not yet falling for his words but then Chan sneakily slides his other down towards your waiting heat, his finger immediately meeting with slickness between your pussy lips. He groans again, grinding into your ass to ease the pain from being so hard. “Baby, if you want to scratch my back that badly just say it.” There’s something hiding behind his words which makes you shut your eyes from the pleasure he’s causing, your hands flying on the counter for support. “I kind of…wanted to..” Your breath hitches, cutting off your sentence when Chan flips your nightgown upwards to expose your wet pussy, your naked ass on display in front of him as he takes his hand away from your breast and caresses one of your cheeks. “You wanted what? Do you need some help darling?” He grunts under his breath when he feels you clench around his fingers, plugging it in and out to take your breath away. You moan out when you feel his fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot that makes your back arch. 

But Chan doesn’t give in that easily. 

You suddenly feel a stinging pain on one of your cheeks, moaning out shamelessly from the sensation he just caused with his hand. When you pick your head up you see Chan already looking at you through the mirror, lust filled eyes raking over your already fucked out face. “Say it baby.” 

You can feel his hand smoothing over the place he just spanked, the air in the bathroom so humid you can feel yourself getting sweaty again. His finger never stopped working inside you, with that spank almost knocking you over the edge. 

When Chan doesn’t see you changing your mind and aófinally answers him, he only clicks his tongue and tilts his head to the side. Without a second thought, he slaps your ass again, his finger circling around your clit rapidly when he hears your pornographic moans echoing in the bathroom.

“I–I wanted to mark you!” 

And there it is. 

As you practically moan out the words, Chan’s finger is coated thickly with your cum as his words made you tip over the edge. Your whole body shaking in his arms as you come down your high slowly, trying to gather your thoughts and realizing what you just said.

When the words finally leave your mouth he can’t help but smirk, the possessive side of you finally showing for the first time in your relationship. “And why is that honey?” Chan teases you, seeing your ears red from the sudden confession you just made. 

“Just so everyone knows that you’re mine..” You mumble quietly, shame overcoming you as it paints your cheeks deep red. 

Something snaps inside Chan. He can’t help but groan out, his cock painfully hard against his pants as he turns you around and places his hands on your throat, slightly adding pressure on it. Before you know it, you’re pressed up against the wall, his lips already chasing yours. 

“Do it baby.” He kisses you, his tongue sneaks through his lips to taste your lip balm you applied earlier he loves so much. “I want you to do your worst on me,” He whispers between kisses, his hand suddenly picking you up to put your legs around his waist. Your whole body welcomes him, your mouth opens as he slides his tongue inside once again, and your fingers landing into his freshly washed hair as he devours your lips. His hand scrunches up your gown once again before he presses his hardness into your slick core. 

At the contact you moan out loudly, already wanting him inside you, to ease your pain that he caused. 

“Feel that baby? It’s all yours. Nobody else has that but you.” 

With a whine you throw your head on the wall, Chan’s lips continuing to leaves red splotches on your sensitive skin as he takes his hand and pushes down his boxers, hissing out the minute the air hits his precum covered cock, tip red from all the waiting and veins bulging with excitement. 

He drags his wet tip over your puffy lips, spreading them open more to make room for himself when he circles around your clit. As he slides his length between your folds, you feel all emotions gather up inside you, the feeling too hazy as your vision becomes blurry from the need. “Channie,,please..” 

“‘s okay baby,I’ll give it to you.” He chants when he finally pushes his tip inside you, groaning out from you uncontrollably clenching around his cock when he nearly settles halfway in. “You have to relax,angel. You make it impossible for me to–”

“Chan — I’m so sorry, I–” He hears you gasp out, your body all tensed up, your eyes wide open as you look into the mirror across you. He looks swiftly behind him to see your naked bodies melted into one, and then it catches his eye. 

With one thrust he settles fully inside you, moaning from how incredibly tight you are around his length, keeping himself back to not buckle into you rapidly. He puts his hand on your chin, making you look into his eyes and not on his blood covered back. “I asked you to do this, right?” With a softened gaze, he makes sure you understand what he’s saying, not taking his eyes off of you until he sees your lust filled expression again instead of worry ones. “Right baby?”

“Y-yes..” You gulp when you see your fingers slightly covered in red around his neck. “But I didn’t want to-”

“It’s fucking hot.” He hisses, his voice whinier than usual as he puts his forehead on your chest, his hips starting to move. “You did such a great job sweetheart.” He pulls completely out before thrusting into you again, this time harsher as he hears your cries next to his ears. 

When you take another look in the mirror, you see what you just caused. The moment you felt his cock hitting you so deeply you couldn't help but deepen your nails into his skin on his broad back, now covered with blood here and there. It softly dribbles down his defined muscles, and Chan is right. It is fucking hot. 

So you clench around him again when you feel his fingers circling around your clit, his cock hitting the perfect spot as he moans out your name. “Do it again.” He demands, his hand flying on the wall next to your head to thrust up harder into you, making you roll your eyes. As you see Chan so deeply in emotions you scratch his back again, now only deep redness showing on his pale skin. 

The pain on his skin makes him inch closer to his release. The jerks of his hips, slamming against your hips are quickening, becoming more erratic, intense and desperate. You cry out his name nonstop, feeling him twitching inside you. 

“Give it to me.” He’s breathless as he chants into the side of your neck. “I need you to come around my cock baby.” 

His demand tips you over the edge again, moaning out his name as you feel him curl against you, his shoulders on display for you to see what you painted on his back. His grunts are vibrating through your body, the pain melting into pleasure as he paints your insides with his thick cum, feeling so full of him, feeling him everywhere. Chan bites down softly on your skin,kissing the pain away quickly as you both come down from this high. 

You are his. He made sure a long time ago, but now, you made sure he was yours too as you watch the crimson red blood slowly sliding down his back, gathering it on your fingers.

“It took a solo stage for you to claim me as yours?” Chan asks when he softly puts you down on the bathroom counter, a bright smile painting his face once again.

like and reblog is much appreciated! ♡

divider by:@enchanthings

[cranberrv]

video games!

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ in which you and dallas get caught kissing

( a/n : i haven’t posted in 4ever, so im sorry this is super short but i miss posting n wanted to get smth out! adore this request xx )

the burgundy of buck merrill’s thunderbird reflected across the lake that hugged the highway. you and dallas winston are driving to the nightly-double, the local drive-in that both socs and greasers go to. usually, you two would walk, but due to construction you had to take the long way and go on the highway.

you never loved when dallas drove on highways. you knew him well enough to know that he was not the best driver in the world, and he loved to go fast. so on the highway, he drives like a maniac!

you’re holding onto his hand, and his other hand is on the wheel. dallas is swerving past cars, going inbetween lanes, and basically doing everything you shouldn’t do. you elbow him when he almost bumps into the back of a car once you reach traffic.

“christ, hate fuckin’ traffic,” he scoffs and honks on the horn.

you roll your eyes playfully. “don’t think honking will help, dal,”

“whatever, man,” he sighs and leans back. his little moment of rest doesn’t last long, though. he glances at you, sitting there peacefully, unbothered by the traffic. he doesn’t understand why you are so easygoing. “we’re gonna miss the fuckin’ movie,” he groans and smacks the steering wheel, annoyed.

“dally, it’s fine,” i say softly. “didn’t wanna watch a horror movie, anyway,”

“‘course you didn’t,” the edges of his pretty lips form a gentle smirk. “you fuckin’ pussy,”

“excuse me?”

he lifts his hands up in mock-surrender. “hey man, i said what i said,”

“you’re a jerk,” you respond, crossing your arms and pretending to be mad.

if there’s one thing about you and dallas, it’s that you two tease each other endlessly. well, more him towards you. but he can’t help it! that little pout on your face is just so cute, in his mind.

“y/n, i was joking,” he says, even though it’s blatanly obvious. “what, you actually mad or somethin’?”

you decide to go along with the bit, amused that he’s almost believing you. with a shrug, you keep your arms crossed and look out the window.

“c’mon, man, tell me if i did somethin’,” he insists. “don’t need to give me the silent treatment,”

you continue to ignore him, a smile crossing your face that he can’t see. he can be so gullible sometimes. he acts all tough and he’s always telling people that nothing can touch him, but the minute that you pretend to be mad at him, he’s practically at your feet begging for your attention.

“you want me to turn this car around? this movie is gonna be no fun if you’re mad at me,” he sighs, kicking himself for calling you a name. “at least look at me, man,”

the minute you turn your head to look at him and tell him that you’re joking and you love him, he doesn’t let you talk when he grabs your chin and kisses you.

you could say you’re surprised, but you’re not. dallas isn’t one to apologize, showing his endless adoration for you through stuff like massaging your shoulders, hugging you, kissing you, buying (or stealing) you a new necklace.

the two of you get into it too fast. you kiss him back after a few seconds of registering what’s happening, getting your pink lipgloss on his lips as you reach to grab the back of his brunette hair and pull him closer. the cigarette in between his calloused fingers burns out, and he throws it out the open window before reaching for your hand with the one that’s not holding your chin. he leans more into the kiss, trusting that you forgive him for what he said — even though you were never mad in the first place!

he pulls a millimeter away as he catches his breath, his gorgeous voice filling your ears as he whispers, “you forgive me now, doll?”

you smile and can’t hide the soft blush on your face as he whisper to you. even though you’re dating, it still feels like you have a silly girly crush on him, going pink at the most casual of words. “was never mad at you, dal,” you whisper back.

he’s about to say something, probably about how annoying you are, but you stop him before he can, bringing both your manicured hands to his cheeks and pulling him back in to continue kissing. a soft chuckle from him vibrates your kiss, he loves it when you initiate the kiss. in his mind, you’re just too cute.

but i guess you weren’t cute in the cops eyes. cars honking is all around, but you assume that’s just from this super annoying traffic. news flash, it wasn’t. the traffic is long gone, whatever accident that happened earlier was cleared up, but the two of you were still in the middle of the 6 lane highway, kissing in the thunderbird.

a cop car stops beside you, coming to speak to you. the minute you hear the deep voice echo from outside, you jump and pull away. dallas sighs and mutters something about you being a “prude” for ending the kiss so soon, until he realizes that the cop is there.

“hey, lovebirds,” the cop greets you. he doesn’t look very happy. “you’re blocking the entire highway. you know it’s illegal to stop on the highway?”

dallas gives the cop a side glare, raising his upper lip in annoyance. “yeah, we know,” dallas says harshly. “we ain’t stupid,”

“winston,” the cop groans. great, your boyfriends name is known by some random cop. “you wanna go in the cooler again?”

“you’re seriously wanting to put me in the cooler just because i’m lovin’ on my broad? huh?”

“go love on her somewhere else.” the cop says. “come on, son, you and your girl are holding up the traffic. off you go,”

“unbelievable,” dallas whispers under his breath, then he steps on the gas and drives away. a sea of cars follows. you were holding up a lot of people just by kissing.

it’s safe to say that when you got there, you didn’t catch one word of the movie.

[f1nalboys]

Memory - Sinclair Brothers

fic based off of this little idea i had <3 just the boys when they were younger!

WORD COUNT: 3050

WARNINGS: angst, general sadness underneath happy moments, abuse mention/slight description, emotional/physical/mental abuse, neglect, young!sinclairs, pre-movie, not a warning but vincent signs but idk if i make it super clear all the way through it, dead animal mention, animal cruelty? the animal is dead but just incase, underage drinking, things could be ooc but they’re kids so, twins are 13 about to turn 14 and lester is 8

Vincent sat at the edge of the forest, chin resting on his knees, arms wrapped around his legs. His mask was off, placed gently beside him on his jacket to keep it off of the ground, and his hair had fallen into his face. It stunk of his house, of his mothers perfume, and he swore it was smothering him just like she was. “Vincent!” Lester’s voice calls out for him from within the forest and he looks up from his shoes (Bo’s old ones he had given to Vincent after he grew out of them) and couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

His younger brother, a whopping eight years old since yesterday, comes sauntering out of the forest covered head to toe in dirt, a big gap-toothed grin on his face. “Hey, Lester.” Vincent signs slowly, grinning wider at the intense look Lester has while watching his hands move. Lester was starting to get the hang of understanding Vincent’s signing so long as he kept it slow. Vincent can remember just a few years ago when Bo and Vincent would fight in sign at night as to not wake their parents and Lester would sit perched on the edge of the bed, hands clasped together in his lap and his mouth open in awe as he watched how quickly the boys hands’ moved.

“Hiya!” When he’s a few feet from Vincent, Lester takes one final large hop, landing just in front of his older brother. Gravel goes everywhere and Lester giggles, kicking at the rocks under his feet slightly. Vincent notices the hole beginning to form in the front of his shoes and makes a mental note to find a pair around the house for him. “Where’s Bo? Up at the garage?”

Both boys turn their heads to the right, looking over at the garage further down in town. They couldn’t see anyone but Vincent knew that’s where Bo was because that’s where he always was these days. Vincent couldn’t help but feel slightly jealous of the time Bo spent with Charlie, the mechanic. He had grown used to his brother being by his side, kicking and screaming and hollering every second, and his absence was noticed immediately. To some, like his parents, his being gone was good. But to Vincent, it wasn’t. He knew Bo, knew that he wanted out of this town and out of this life.

He wanted to get away from it all and that meant Vincent too.

Not that Vincent blamed him; quite the opposite, actually. He grew up in close quarters with Bo, saw the way he was strapped to his high chair for hours on end until his wrists bled only for it to happen the next day and then the next. He saw the bruises and cuts that littered his body when he’d get ready for bed. He heard the things his parents said about Bo to his face and he sure as hell heard what they said when he was gone. He wanted Bo to go, but not without him.

“Knew it!” Lester says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “What’s up with ‘ya, Vin? Thought you was with momma today?” Vincent cringes at the reminder and Lester instantly stops moving, sensing it. The kid had a good read on people’s emotions, always ready to listen or help when someone, even his mom or dad, were feeling down. Vincent can’t remember the last time he did that for Lester. “Somethin’ happen?”

Vincent nods and Lester flops down in front of him, sitting criss-crossed. Lester waits for him to sign and, after shaking away the feeling of being silly, he does. “Momma got mad because I’m still not good at the sculptures. She’s getting weaker and she needs me to help her but I can’t. I’m bad at it.” His face scrunches up slightly, head tilting down further. He was embarrassed.

Here he was, 13 going on 14, telling his problems to his little brother, a kid who doesn’t need to know about how mom threw Vincent’s sculpture of her against the wall of the basement, shattering the wax into a million shards in tune with his already broken heart. He doesn’t need to know the details, he decides as his hands fall back into his lap. Lester had been spared from both their parents' rage (for the most part) thus far but only because they were too preoccupied directing that anger at him and Bo. Especially Bo.

“Well, that ain’t true, Vin! You’re awesome at all that stuff!” Lester says and Vincent knows Lester believes that, but he also knows it’s not true. He was alright at art, at sculpting things from his mind, things he had seen in movies or read about in books, but he wasn’t good at the realistic stuff, not like his mom. “Is it ‘cause of the… real stuff?”

“You know about that?”

“Yeah,” Lester is sheepish as he admits it, looking away from Vincent and down to the dirt ground underneath him. “Snuck down one night while momma and daddy were talkin’ to you and Bo about it. I ain’t telling anyone, don’t worry!”

“Lester,” Lester wonders for a brief second how Vincent was able to get his disappointment across as well as he did without speaking, but he simply thins his lips into an apologetic half-smile. “Don’t tell them you know.” There’s an unspoken sentence there that hangs in between them both. Or else they’ll hurt you. Lester holds his pinky out and Vincent’s lip curves upwards as he does the same, hooking his around his little brothers. “It was about that.” He signs when he lets go and Lester nods, eyebrows furrowing together.

Vincent can practically see the gears turning in Lesters little head and he can hear the ‘ding!’ of a lightbulb go off. “Oh, I know! Why don’t you practice!” Vincent waits for Lester to elaborate, not moving a muscle even when Lester jumps up in excitement. “C’mon! I gotta show ya’ somethin’!”

Lester holds his small hand out to his older brother and Vincent takes it, following behind him into the woods without a single question. Even if this was nothing, which Vincent was seven hundred percent sure it wasn’t, the distraction would be nice. He hadn’t been out here in a while.

The last time he had, it had been with Bo. It was a year or so ago, back when Bo and he were attached at the hip, as if the surgery hadn’t worked, and they had gotten grounded and sent to bed with no supper. Bo had suggested they sneak out and Vincent agreed; he’d follow Bo anywhere. That ‘anywhere’ ended up being the middle of the woods, just beside the creek. “I go here when I needa get the hell outta the house.” Bo had said to Vincent, his voice quiet.

The woods had been dark and it had seemed like every noise was amplified, making Vincent’s skin crawl. The flashlight he was holding wasn’t strong enough, just seemed to make the shadows jump out more, make them take the shape of the bullies at school and at home. “Bo, I’m scared.” Vincent had signed to him and Bo had just laughed, slowing his pace down to walk beside his brother.

“Ain't nothin’ to be scared of, Vince.” He said when they finally made it to the spot by the creek that Bo had set out for. “You and I are the scariest sons of bitches these woods have seen. I’ll protect ya, anyways. Just like I always do.” Bo then showed Vincent the bottle of whiskey he had stolen from their fathers a few weeks back and had grinned when Vincent took a sip without a fight. “See! You’re a man!”

It only took another small swig of the liquor to have Vincent feeling different and he stopped there, remembering how his dad got when he drank too much. Bo stopped too, tucking it back into his backpack and hiding it underneath his jacket. Then they sat there, staring off back into the town, the lights from houses flickering off as the minutes ticked by. Vincent had tapped Bo on the shoulder and when he looked at him, he started to sign.

“I’m sorry for not protecting you.”

“What’re you talkin’ about, Vince?”

“From mom and dad.” Bo’s jaw tightens but he doesn’t stop Vincent and he’s glad because he keeps going, whiskey running through his veins. “I should stand up to them for you. It ain’t fair the way you get treated, the way they make you out to be bad. You aren’t bad. You’re better than me, that’s for sure.”

“Now, stop that.” Bo says dryly. “You know I ain’t better than you. Everyone knows it.”

“You are,” Vincent emphasizes, almost like he’s desperate for Bo to really understand him. “You take care of people. You don’t have to defend me from the kids in school but you do. You don’t have to take the blame for me so mom and dad don’t hurt me. You don’t have to make sure Les and I are taken care of.”

“You’re my brother.”

“And you’re mine.”

Bo huffs but through the dimmed flashlight beam Vincent can see his words have struck him. He hopes its in a good way. “Guess I am pretty cool,” He deflects, grinning at his brother. Vincent smiles back; he’d take what he could get from Bo. Bo looked back over at the town, now completely dark. “Imma get us outta here, Vince. You, me, Lester; we ain’t getting stuck in this rotten place, not if I have anything to do about it.”

After that night, Bo seemed to change. He was quieter, more subdued. He stayed out at the garage, learning about cars and how to fix them, how to drive them. It was a part of the plan to get them all out of there but the longer it went on and the longer Bo would stay out, the less certain he was about his brother's intentions on taking them with him.

He knew who he was without his brother. He was a freak. He was the one to target, to pick on and make cry and make hurt. He was the thing to point and laugh at because there was no one around to defend him.

Without Bo, Vincent was nothing. It was selfish to want Bo back and he would end each prayer he made asking for Bo to stay with him with an apology. To whom exactly, he wasn’t sure. Maybe God for bothering him with such requests. Maybe Bo for asking for it knowing how it would hurt him. Maybe himself for not believing in his own abilities to survive.

Every prayer and apology went unanswered.

“Here we are, Vin!” Lester’s voice brings Vincent barreling back to reality. He was no longer in his bedroom, waiting for the creak of the floorboard to signify his brother's return, but instead deep in the forest, just by the creek. He recognizes the surroundings immediately. Swallowing hard he walks over to Lester who was standing a few feet away, shifting his weight foot to foot in excitement. “Lookit!”

Vincent finally reaches his younger brother and looks down at where he was pointing and tilts his head. There was a dead squirrel. “A… squirrel? You wanted to show me this?” He knew Lester was into dead animals and roadkill, knew he had a strange fascination with them, but he had never dragged him twenty minutes deep into the woods to show him one before.

“Yeah! Its not all mangled, not like the ones I find out on the road!” Lester waits for Vincent to understand and when he gets nothing but a shrug of the shoulders he deflates slightly. “I…I figured you could use it to practice. Y’know, momma surely didn’t start with people, I figured if you had something smaller to work on, you could get the tech… technique down, right?”

“You know what, Les?” Vincent bends down, grabbing a stick just next to him and using it to carefully lift the corpse of the squirrel up, surveying the damage. He swallows down the bile rising up his throat and the goosebumps raising on his flesh at the sight of it. Vincent looks up, dropping the stick and looking into Lester’s hopeful eyes. “I think that just might work.”

--------

It didn’t look right. His mother had gone to bed early and his father was surely drinking himself to death, so when Vincent and Lester got back to the house as the sun was setting, they had the basement all to themselves. “Can I watch you, Vin? Oh please, please, let me! I wanna see how you do it!” Lester had pleaded, hands clasped together and bottom lip jutted out. Vincent laughed at the sight of Lester fluttering his lashes at him and had agreed.

Hours later, well past both boys' bedtimes, Vincent had finally finished the last layer of wax, had smoothed it out carefully like he had done to his own figures hundreds of times before. It looked off, though. Too thin in some places, too thick in others, not enough detailing here and there and almost too much in other parts. Vincent grunts, arms folded tightly across his chest. Lester stood beside him, head tilting side to side like an art critic in one of the movies Vincent had seen before.

“It looks so cool!” Lester finally says, looking up at Vincent with a large grin. Vincent shakes his head, lifting his hands to begin to tell Lester everything that was wrong with it, when Lester shakes his head. “Can I keep it, Vin? It’s awesome! It looks just like a wax sculpture but you’d never know the real thing was underneath!”

“You really wanna keep this thing? I could try to make a better one…” Vincent questions and Lester nods quickly, eagerly, hand reaching out to drag along the tail of the squirrel lightly. “Well… if you’re sure you want it, then yeah, go ahead.”

Lester hugs Vincent tight, his little arms barely wrapping around the broadening frame of his brother and Vincent hugs him back, heart swirling with warmth. “Oh, thank you Vincent! You’re the best big brother ever!”

“What about me? Am I chopped liver or somethin’ Les?” Lester and Vincent turn, still hugging each other, and see Bo at the bottom of the steps, leaning against the walls with a fake frown on his face. He was wearing mechanic overalls a size too big but his name was embroidered right there on the front pocket. “I see how it is, kid.”

Lester giggles, letting go of Vincent and running over to Bo, grabbing his hand and pulling him over to the table where Vincent’s sculpture sat. “Lookit! There's a real squirrel under this, ain’t that cool Bo? Don’t touch!” Bo gasps in shock when Lester swats at his hand. “You’re all greasy! I don’t want this to get messed up! Vinny made it for me, he’s lettin’ me keep it, can you believe that?”

“Don’t hit, you little brat!” Bo says but there’s no venom behind his words. Vincent watches with bated breath as Bo leans down and tilts his head, much like Lester, as he looks it over. Vincent can see every damn flaw on the thing and he’s sure Bo can too. Bo looks over at him with a cocked eyebrow. “You made this with a real squirrel?”

“Yeah,” He signs sheepishly. “Lester thought it would help me get better if I practiced with this stuff.” Bo nods, eyes trailing off towards the corner where most of Vincent's current projects sat and he hones in on the shards covering the floor. His eyes darken when he looks back at Vincent. “It was momma. I messed up the sculpture.”

Bo sucks his teeth harshly, lips thinning into an angry line. “Sure as hell ain't true; your shit’s better than momma’s half the time and that squirrel ain’t an exception.” Lester gasps at the swear word and Bo stifles a laugh with a cough. “Sorry, Les, forgot you were here. Don’t go repeatin’ that now, alright? Not till you’re older. Now,” He picks Lester up and the young boy yawns, resting his head onto his shoulder and Bo nods his head for Vincent to grab ahold of the squirrel. “Let’s all get to bed before we get in trouble.”

After tucking Lester in his bed and placing the squirrel on his small bookshelf beside the small collection of animal bones he had begun to collect, Bo and Vincent silently settle into their own beds. “Vince? You up?” Bo asks in the darkness and Vincent lets out a soft grunt in acknowledgement. “I meant what I said about your shit being better than mommas.”

Vincent doesn’t know what to say, so he remains quiet. Bo sighs, turning over in bed so his back was no longer turned from his brother and he stares at him, waiting. “Thanks, Bo. She’s really good, though. I’m not good at the…stuff she wants us to do. No one else knows about it but us.”

“I know.” Bo hates it too, but he knows better than to disagree with his mom. He’s quiet for a minute and right when Vincent thinks he had fallen asleep, Bo starts to talk again. “I’m getting a car fixed up. Gonna be able to leave soon.”

“Really? All of us, or just you?”

“All of us.”

A million questions run through his head. Where would they go? What would they do? Where would they stay? What would happen to their mom and dad? Bo knows the questions he has but he doesn’t have any answers. Vincent grunts again and the two boys fall silent. They could leave. Really leave. He could make his own art, Bo could learn about music, Lester could do whatever he wanted. They could figure it out. They could get out from the iron rule of their parents and be who they wanted to be, do what they wanted. They could be free.

All three boys fall asleep with smiles on their faces. All three boys dream of a fire in the House of Wax.

[littleliteraturersj]

Chucky Throws a Tantrum. (HoH: DC's newest excerpt)

-“Point is?” Chucky gazed around the kitchen, spreading both palms to turn upwards; “This place could sure use some cleanin’ up.”

Well fuck you too, Captain Obvious. I crossed my arms and nodded, evenly saying; “Yeah. It really could.” I was giving him an obviously direct expression. Surely he couldn’t miss it. Any more obvious of a look and he would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind to miss it. That, or he was purposely ignoring what it insinuated. Damned if I was going to start picking up after them.

Yet instead of giving me the visual cue of understanding, he stared at me dead-on, like a fucking boulder refusing to be moved. After a moment of this, before my eyebrows could make their way to space, Chucky threw his own eyebrows at me stubbornly;

“Well, ain'tcha gonna..?”

I doubled down on the staring match. “Aren’t I gonna what?”

His head teetered from side to side, rotating his hand at the wrist; “Y’know..”

“No actually, I don’t.”

Now his arms crossed; “Are you gonna make me say it?”

“Seeing as I don’t know what you’re going to say,” But I have a pretty good idea. “Probably?”

He exhaled through his nose heavily, as if he was about to point out something I should have already had the common sense to know. A few of his fingers gestured forth from the cross of his interlocked arms to say; “You’re a woman. Innit’ this kinda thing in your genes?” Even the way he said ‘woman’ was done in such a way that it was supposed to have been self-explanatory, as if the one word explained everything.

“Excuse me?” was accompanied by a reproachful blink on my end. You did not just fucking say that to me. I REPEAT, you DID NOT just FUCKING say that to-

“Doesn’t lookin’ at all this shit make you wanna clean it or somethin’?”

My mouth parted in shock. Oh. OHH, you little motherfucker, you really did just..I can’t believe this. I openly searched around the room, looking to see if Pinhead and Jason were in agreement with this. Pinhead had a few of his fingers hiding the amused shape his lips were in while Jason had both hands on the back of his head looking down at the surface of the counter in front of him. It made me thankful that the others weren’t here to listen to this nonsense, because if they were I had precisely zero doubt that they wouldn’t join in.

I was seriously, truly getting lectured by a potentially possessed, misogynist killer doll?

What the fuck has my life come to?

“I’m sorry,” Scratch that. “Actually? No, I’m not. Did I just fucking time travel back to the 1950s without knowing it? Is this why you’ve been trying to get me out of my room all day? To get me to clean up after you and make your meals?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but..” He pursed his lips. “Yeah.”

I don't…You! Ugh, fuck!

I was gawking at him now. My gaze stuttered between him and the stove behind him across from me. Gesturing towards the stove, I strained my voice to raise it; “If you’re so hungry, why haven’t you made yourself something to eat? You didn’t have to wait on me for it!” I was about to go into a spiel about how he could have cleaned up without me too, but he was blurting out loudly;

“Oh gee, you’re right. Silly me, lemme just float on up to the counter and whip myself up somethin’ nic-I’M A DOLL!” The end part came out into a shout. Turning around in his seat to point at the stove, he continued shouting; “THAT AIN’T EXACTLY AN EASY-BAKE OVEN!”

“And you couldn’t have asked any of them to help?! They’re right there!” Now I was pointing at Pinhead and Jason accusingly. Chucky looked one way and then the other, before directing his clearly aggravated expression at me. He pointed towards Jason; “Jay’s got thumbs for fingers and Pinhead,” He glanced at Pinhead; “I barely even know the guy. I don’t let randos go stickin’ their fingers into my food!”

“You barely know me.” I pointed out.

Again, as if it explained everything; “Yeah! But you’re a woman.”

aaaaAAAAAHHH! “What does that have to do with it!” It was difficult to get my voice into a shout, but I was quickly warming up to it.

“It means you’re better at this shit than I am!” He shot back, his arms raising as a visual representation of his anger.

“Women have been far more likely to murder through the culinary arts. Poison is a popular method.” Pinhead might as well not have even spoken because neither of us were listening.

“What, are you going to tell me that I should make you a sandwich, too?" My hand extended towards him condescendingly. "As a matter of fact, you wait here, I’ll go throw my apron and heels on. Some lipstick too, and I-I’ll get right on to attending to your every need. How about that? Would you like that?” Sarcasm coated my words like a petty mucus.

Chucky deadpan asked; “Would you?”

PLASTIC! BASTARD!

[crackonhq]

As islanders all gather outside for a night of drinks, laughs, and grafting, there’s lots to catch up on from day 15: apparently now Dylan and Luke are on the outs after cuddling this morning, word has spread that Mimi and Rhys are exes, and the three new bombshells have now been grafting for nearly two days, and connections are starting to form. But it’s never just another peaceful night in paradise, especially on the night. 

Mimi’s phone rings out with a text.

SMS ➡️ MIMI: all islanders, please gather by the firepit for a recoupling. bombshells will have first choice, and ultimately, one islander will be left single and sent packing.

Islanders immediately start to gossip as they head around the firepit, only silenced when Rhys receives a text, prompting him to make his decision.

“So, chatting with this islander just felt really natural,” Rhys says, smiling as he looks out toward the group. “I’d like to see if there’s more of a spark there. So, the person I’d like to couple up with is…Dylan.”

Dylan goes over to stand with Rhys at the firepit.

Next, it’s Liam’s turn to choose.

“I think that me and this person share similar values and interests,” he says. “And I'm looking forward to getting to know them a little better. So, the person I'd like to couple up with is…Callie."

Callie leaves the fire pit and goes to sit with Liam.

Kenny stands up, surveying the islanders with an assured smile on her face.

“They're half the reason I wanted to come to the villa in the first place, so that's somethin' I've got to honor. sure, they're happy now, but they've also been in their couple since day one. I can't help but wonder if they could be HAPPIER. this is my way of giving us a fair shot to test that," Kenny says.

A hushed silence falls over the group, practically sensing the fallout of what’s about to come.

“The person I’d like to couple up with is Romi.”

There are audible gasps, open-mouthed expressions, but it wouldn’t be Love Island without a few plot twists. Romi leaves the group standing at the fire pit to go sit with Kenny.

In the wake of all of that, Mimi gets to go next. Mimi was most recently coupled up with Naomi after saving her from the public vote.

“I want to couple up with this boy, because I've never been with someone who makes me feel so seen and appreciated. I love his crazy energy, and the fact that we can be our total idiot selves around each other. He brings out this silly side of me that I haven't felt for a really long time,” she says. “We've had our ups and downs in the villa, but I'm feeling really good about where things could go with him, and the kisses and cuddles aren't so bad either.”

Luke is already grinning. It’s pretty obvious.

“So, the person I want to couple up with is Luke.”

He goes to join Mimi, kissing her as they sit down together at the fire pit.

Josh gets a text that its his turn to go next. As he takes his position at the fire pit, Naomi is already smiling at him. Everyone knows where this is going, so he makes it quick.

“I would like to couple up with this girl because from the moment she stepped into the villa, all I’ve wanted to do is be with her,” Josh says. “And I think it's safe to say we're both ready to sleep in an actual bed together. Naomi,”

He holds his hand out to her and she goes to join him around the fire pit.

Nana is the last person to be called up to make her decision. She seems to be put in this position pretty often – and she has the choice between either Marcus or Charlotte.

“I think that us fellow actors should link up again and get to know each other better,” Nana says. “So, the person I want to couple up with is Marcus.”

With Charlotte left standing at the fire pit, all the islanders run up to hug her and give her a tearful goodbye.

the exit interview prompt can be found here. 

[moemoemammon]

Ok. I need to get this idea out to someone. Solomon and mc are messing with potions for class and he accidentally gives mc a “youth” potion that makes you look younger. It turns mc into like a 4 year old for like a couple of days. What do you think would be the demon brothers (any) reaction to babysitting their master? What would they do? Idk i think it would be a little funny.

You’ve Gotta Be KIDding me, MC!

(Feat. GN!MC and the Demon Bros)

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Lucifer

He'll be exchanging words with that sorcerer bastard later. You can bet on that.

Lucifer doesn't take kindly to the idea of MC having run ins with magic in general, but at least this seems to be on the tamer side of the magical spectrum. And he had to admit, it's sort of amusing.

He intentionally watches you try to handle things on your own. Be it reaching for things too high up, stubbornly carrying things too heavy for your tiny arms, or making messes when you try to tidy up, Lucifer waits patiently until you ask for help (or until he can't take it anymore).

Treats you like he always does, despite your size. He doesn't talk to you like a child, or try to force toys and nap times onto you, but may or may not tease you when it's only the two of you. After all, you may look like a child, but that doesn't mean you are one. It's still funny to harass you a little, though.

"As independent as you may be, please refrain from trying to climb up onto the counter. If you need something, ask one of my brothers, or myself. If that isn't obvious enough, perhaps a 'time-out' is in order?"

Mammon

When Mammon recovers from laughing for twenty minutes, (and also making threats on Solomon's life) he then decides to take a billion pictures of you. Now calls you 'munchkin' and variations of it.

And if you thought he was clingy before, just wait till you see how he is now. You're ACTUALLY helpless and vulnerable. I mean, you'd hardly make an appetizer for a random demon! So Mammon's gotta keep an eye on you. Maybe even a toddler leash-

Unintentionally treats you like an actual child. His older brother mode kicks in, and he finds himself taking care of you as naturally as breathing. Mammon? Being responsible?? It's more likely than you think.

He hands you a cup of juice before you can say 'I'm thirsty'. He'll slide over some sliced up fruits before your stomach has a chance to growl. You're tired? No kidding. That's why he's got a blanket and pillow on the sofa for you.

"Where do ya think you're goin', short stack? Nowhere without ME, that's where! I already told ya, if there's somethin' ya need, just tell me!" "Huh? I'm spoilin' ya too much? S-so what if I am?!"

Levi

Solomon came in with a child in tow that looked a hell of a lot like MC, and this man nearly had a heart attack. There's no way... did those two have a secret love child?! Th-that's just-!! Oh, it's only MC.

WAIT A MINUTE...TH-THIS IS....! ISNT THIS JUST LIKE 'DETECTIVE C*NAN'? Uwaaah... Just look at you! You're still just as smart as before, but you've become super small! Talk about the ultimate gap moe!!!

Levi isn't a big fan of the idea of tiny, sticky hands touching his things, so he's glad you've still got your normal brainpower. That being said, he finds himself talking to you normally. Maybe even easier than before!

It kinda throws him off that you guys can't do the things you'd normally do together. Your fingers don't have their usual dexterity so playing games is a challenge, and your attention span is a little shorter so these TSL marathons are killing you. But have no fear, Levi knows a ton of other things you could do together! He won't let something like this spoil his time with his dear Henry!

"If you can't use the controller, let's try something that doesn't need one! I've got a new Ruri Hana VR game with REAL motion and voice tracking! If you say the spells out loud, you'll cast them in game! Ah, and it auto-adjusts to the player's height, so there's nothing to worry about!"

Satan

HES DOING HIS BEST NOT TO LAUGH. SATAN WILL HANDLE THIS WITH POISE AND GRACE, BUT MAN....

Watching you struggle to enter the House of Lamentation in your oversized RAD uniform nearly sent him to the stratosphere. He inhaled tea when you almost tripped over your blazer and had to get a couple of slaps on the back from Asmo.

Does his best to find a cure for your 'little' problem, but the most that can be done is waiting it out. In the meantime, would you like him to read you a story? Large books are probably difficult on your tiny hands.

Constantly catches himself treating you like a tot. He's not trying to, but he can't help himself when he sees your round eyes staring up at him, or when he watches you try to climb up onto an armchair.

"Up we go- There. It must be hard for you, having to climb up into the chairs like that. I've got a stool if you'd like to use it? Though, I don't mind if you sit on my lap, too." "Hm? I'm embarrassing you? I-I didn't realize how overzealous I was being. Ehem...."

Asmo

Oh that Solomon and his silly spells and potions, always making trouble! It's just one of his many charm points! And seeing as there are no permanent consequences from this harmless mishap, Asmo's enjoying it to the fullest.

Can you blame him? You're SOOOO cute~! So tiny and adorable! Why would've know that was possible?? Look this way, MC! He wants to take some pictures of you! Lowkey uses you as a photo op prop

He used to work part time at a daycare, you know? Asmo's great with kids! But that also means he's treating you like one. There's personalized snacks, cute little nicknames, and he's already gone and bought you a week's worth of clothes. Nobody tell him it'll only last a day-

He can be a little annoying with the baby talk and all the little activities he's planned for you, but you can tell he's enjoying himself.

"MC, look~! I've got plenty of ribbons to decorate your hair with! I'll let you choose your favorites, and then we can set out in town!" "Hm? Where are we going? To the playground, silly! You must be dying for a play date after being stuck in this dreary house all day, right?"

Beel

He was kinda teetering between whether or not he should throw Solomon across the yard like a football when he saw him carrying a teeny MC, but all was forgiven when he learned it was an accident.

Has now designated himself the permanent MC carrier. Your feet will never touch the ground so long as you're a child. And it's no problem for the likes of Beel, when you're as light as a feather! That makes him a little more conscious about being careful with you though-

Be it piggybacking or carrying you in his arms, he hasn't released you since he's spotted you. And don't think he's forgotten about feeding you. Beel's also taken your meal prep upon himself. You'll prefer things that've easy to eat, right? Though it kills gum to give you smaller portions than usual.... it feels cruel...

Somewhere between babying you and treating you as usual. He speaks normally to you as he always does, but prioritizes your needs over everything else. He wants to make sure you're well taken care of until this potion wears off.

"You're sure you've had enough to eat? I know I gave you a snack earlier, but... to think you really can't eat as much as before.. I'll talk to Solomon again. It must be torture to have such a tiny stomach, I'll do my best to get you back to normal."

Belphie

There's obvious opportunity here, and Belphegor won't let it go to waste. (No not for murder)

He's getting a kick about your new mini mode. How's the weather down there? Do you need him to pick you up so you can reach the high shelves? Don't worry, he'll get you a sippy cup.

When the teasing has settled down, he pays attention to a more pressing matter: you're now the perfect side for cuddling. You're a living hot water bottle, not too big, not too small, tiny and soft and adorable. Er, he won't mention that last part though.

Anyway, Belphie thinks a little kid like you should go on and take a nap now. It's exhausting having such short legs and wandering around the house all day, right? He gets it. You look tired and he knows the solution.

"Ah, you're just as cozy as I thought you'd be... Though, it feels kind of weird holding you like this. It's like holding a stuffed animal, but you're not nearly as cute." "Pfft, what's that face for? Sorry, sorry, I was only teasing."

[absolutepokemontrash]

I come bearing a request! The Brothers with an MC who's really good at cooking and baking? Like, the stuff food blogs dream of. Master-level instagram pastries. Could compete with the chocolate guy if they put their mind to it.

👀 ooooo, I do love me some pastries-

(I know you have an *ahem* distaste for Lucifer, dear moot, so enjoy Lucifer acting like a bit of a dingus in his section!)

Lucifer

Oh, the human can cook. *insert asshole eyeroll here*. Great. Wonderful. Groundbreaking. That’s what’s got all his brothers acting like- what was that word Levi used? Simps? This human has turned six of the seven rulers of hell into a bunch of simps.

Sure, the human has near godlike cooking prowess. Sure, everyone looks forward to their day for cooking. And sure, everyone thinks the human’s pretty great.

Tsk, not him though. He’s a refined demon. Some silly food isn’t going to make him a lovesick fool… did he smell eclairs..?

Lucifer peered into the kitchen to see MC carefully taking a tray of eclairs out of the oven and letting them cool off on the counter. His favourite dessert… right there in front of him…

Due to not being a total moron, MC notices Lucifer and asks him what the hell he’s doing just standing ominously in the doorway. Lucifer makes up some bullshit excuse about reminding MC to do their homework and just leaves. Okay, game plan, he needs those fucking eclairs or he will spontaneously combust.

As he snuck into the kitchen that night, Lucifer took a moment to briefly wonder why he was creeping around his own house. He was the Avatar of Pride for pity’s sake! He could eat whatever he damn well pleased! Oh shit was someone coming- no? Okay, back to sneaking.

Lucifer crept into the kitchen, saw the eclairs, and all logic was thrown out the window. Time to eat!

“BEEL NO! NOT THE- Lucifer..?” “…” “…” “…you’re very talented, MC, do you mind making more of these?”

SOMEONE SNAP A PICTURE! THIS IS THE CLOSEST LUCIFER HAS GOTTEN TO BEGGING IN THE LAST THOUSAND YEARS!

Mammon

Ugh, stuck babysittin’ some dumb human, how lame…

As Mammon was throwing a “I’m broke and I’m stuck in a pact with a dumb human” pity party, the most heavenly smell entered his nostrils. Cooking… good cooking… was Barbatos visiting or somethin’? Nah, Lucifer woulda made a big fuss about gettin’ ready for Lord Diavolo. Huh, so what was goin’ on in the kitchen?

Huh? The human? The human can cook? Well damn, maybe this whole deal wouldn’t be so bad. Oi! MC! As payment for babysittin’ ‘em, he got to have an extra big share of- OW!

Did- did the human just hit him with a spoon?! Th-they can’t do that!

Apparently they fucking can. Mammon gets told to sit the fuck down and wait for the food like everyone else. He grumbles on the way to the dining room, but he can’t fully hide his excitement to try the food.

The food even looked pretty! How did they do that?! Magic. It had to be!

After everyone’s tastebuds were blessed with the heavenly substance that is MC’s culinary exploits, Mammon decides he needs to get on this human’s good side in order to receive more food! Maybe even find some way to make a profit or somethin’!

After weeks go by of trying to suck up to the human without looking like too much of a chump, Mammon eventually realizes… hey, this human ain’t so bad. They’re nice, they make him feel good about himself, they give him headpats… he’s really hit the jackpot here!

He’ll offer to help MC bake or cook, but beware, he will try and sample the food before it’s done. Don’t let him lick the spoon!!!

Leviathan

First thought? This human ain’t shit. Thought after seeing their food? WOAAAAAAAH! JUST LIKE THAT ONE ANIME-

He was unceremoniously cut off by Beel asking demanding seconds. Humph, fine, he doesn’t actually care about this dumb normie food anyway.

…well at least until Levi saw a little something something on TV that he just had to ask MC to try and make. He shyly knocked on their door and when they answered, Levi shoved the screenshot in their face and stuttered out a dinner request.

On the day MC was supposed to make dinner, Levi poked his head into the kitchen and tried to make it look like he was just standing in the same room as MC and not checking to see if they were making his dinner request.

Not that he’d blame them for not doing that… who’d wanna make some anime dinner for a yucky Otaku- OMG JAHSHSHABA THEY’RE MAKING IT! *fangirl squeals*

As Levi continues to commit the SIN of being in the kitchen at the same time as someone else, MC eventually just asks him if he’d like to help out.

“Here! Just keep turning the takoyaki.” “R-really? You trust me?” “Yes, Levi. You watched how they made it on your show, right?” “Yes! I won’t mess up! I swear on my honour as an otaku!”

All in all, it was a very cute bonding experience for the two. Now it’s a regular thing. Levi requests something for dinner or dessert, MC makes it, Levi helps out.

Satan

So, the human can cook. That’s nice. At least someone in this literally god forsaken house can.

He makes sure to thank MC every time they cook, then he makes sure to thank whatever deity is watching over him that Solomon wasn’t the human staying with them.

As the months progress, Satan realizes, he should learn how to cook better. I mean, Levi and Mammon were somehow both improving in their cooking endeavours, and if MC could teach those two, then he would be a breeze.

Satan walked into the kitchen and simply asked if MC needed any assistance with what they were doing. MC just slid him some garlic to dice and that’s how this mentor/student relationship was formed.

Satan was a star pupil, but Mammon and Levi weren’t above trying to sabotage Satan’s progress to get him to leave.

Here’s the thing, the sabotage worked, but it only worked once, and the two idiots didn’t stop to think that maybe they shouldn’t sabotage the meal they were going to have to eat later.

Well, cooking lessons continued uninterrupted after the ghost pepper incident…

Even when he’s ‘graduated’ their little cooking class, Satan’s always willing to lend a hand if needed. He also will slyly hand over some recipe books and cute baking supplies that he finds. MC should be prepared for lots of cat related things to come their way.

Asmodeus

The human can cook? Oh frabcious day! He’s saved from a life of his brother’s mediocre cooking! And the human’s so cute too! What a bonus!

Not only is the human cute, but their food is just so… aesthetic??? Pretty???? Omigosh he just has to get a picture for Devilgram!

For the first few months, MC’s relationship with Asmo consists of Asmo not at all subtly asking to take pictures of their food and post it to his Devilgram. Listen MC, his followers would just love it!

Being the saint-sheep they are, MC lets Asmo sit in whenever they’re making anything in the kitchen. And Asmo slowly realizes “hey, this cute human with the awesome food is actually pretty cool too!”

New Mission: Make the human fall madly in love with him so they’ll want to hang out more.

Whether the mission succeeds is up to MC of course. (I mean, I’m already smitten with him sooooooooo-)

MC offers Asmo a lot of the pastries they make, but the Avatar of Lust almost always declines. Listen honey, he’s on a diet- wait, don’t make that sad face! He’ll eat it! Look! It’s- it’s delicious…

Diet cheat day is now every day MC makes dessert. The feeling of bliss Asmo gets when he takes a bite out of anything MC makes is only second of the treats is second only to the joy he feels at seeing MC happy that he likes their food. It’s just so wholesome I can’t-

MC’s food Devilgram has almost surpassed Asmo in terms of followers and honestly- he isn’t even mad.

Beelzebub

Gasp! Lucifer finally got him the pet personal chef he’d always wanted! Thanks big bro! :D he’ll be sure not to eat this human!

On the first night MC was supposed to make dinner, Lucifer needed to hold Beel back from breaking into the kitchen to see what was causing that heavenly smell. It was, difficult… especially because Lucifer hadn’t slept in three days.

When they all sat down to eat, Beel practically inhaled everything and held up his half bitten plate for seconds.

We here at Stupid Headcanons incorporated recommend that MC have as many bodyguards as possible stationed around the kitchen at all times to ward off a hungry Beel. We don’t want him eating the ingredients and half-tempered chocolate.

A cinnamon roll through and through, he’ll eat everything MC gives him with a big ol’ smile on his cute little face. He’s not the best person to go to if MC wants advice or critique because the best thing Beel can usually muster is “it was really good.”

As Luke said in Lesson 5, Beel would make an awful food reporter. But we love him.

Similar to Levi, he’ll give meal requests on what to make for dinner. (At this rate, MC’s going to have to make some kind of list).

He kind of just waits by the door like a sad puppy whenever MC is making anything because he can’t get into the kitchen :(

Belphegor

The smell of freshly made chocolate chip cookies wafting through the house did reach the attic and it only fuelled his rage more. How dare the human win everyone over with cookies?!

After the attic incident, Belphie was won over with cookies.

Belphie just stands creepily in the kitchen doorway whenever MC is making anything and just makes shit really uncomfortable. Why’s he doing that, you may be wondering, well, he’s trying to calculate the energy needed to swipe the bowl of cookie dough and sprint to safety.

He never succeeds, mainly because once he gets to the bowl, MC already has the wooden spoon ready to smack him, so he just freezes mid-theft and slowly puts the bowl down.

“Oh my gosh, it says let the bread dough rest overnight? Let’s get a headstart and go to sleep now.” “Belphie what-” “I made a pillow Fort, come in. Let’s sleep.” “In the kitchen????”

How’d he make the pillow Fort without MC noticing? Years of experience. He’s trained in the art of- MC? What do you mean you can’t sleep right now and you need to get a head start on shaping fondant?

…he may have eaten the fondant while MC wasn’t looking… whoops… Beel may have rubbed off on him a little…

[erodasfishtacos]

It’s Just Me (mini blurb)

if you enjoyed this fic - PLEASE reblog, rec, like, and come chat with me about the fic!

if you like my work and can donate as i do this for free - please consider donating to my ko-fi.

———————

It was a terrible twos kind of day. The kind of day when YN can’t tote Ivy along to a charity organization brunch because she would meltdown.

Harry had her in his office with him, she was sitting on a blanket Harry had laid out, and was quietly playing with her stuffed animals (mostly seals.)

Occasionally, she would babble to herself and get pissed of at her inatimate playmates, ending in her tossing it to the side.

He caught himself just staring at her, smiling as he watches the little human he and his soulmate created right in front of him.

When his phone rings, he automatically picks it up, professionally stating, “Styles.”

“Hi, this is Dan from Payroll,” The guys voice was already shaking and Harry knew he was about to get really pissed off.

“How can I help you?” He asks in a tone that’s was definitely did not sound like he wanted to provide any assistance.

There is a pregnant pause before Dan nearly stutters, “Er, I accidentally missed reviewing the marketing departments hours and they did not receive their last paycheck.”

Harry takes a very deep breathe because he wants to do what he normally would - scream through the phone at this idiot.

However, he can’t because his curly haired little baby is playing with her toys in the middle of the office with a smile.

“Please come up to my office,” Harry replies curtly before hanging up.

He gets up, goes over to his daughter, and squats in front of her, “Ivy, baby.”

She looks up at him with a toothy grin before reaching over to hand him a stuffed seal, “Play, daddy.”

Harry thumbs over a stray curl on her forehead, “Daddy can’t, my love. I need y’to go with Granny Dor for a little.”

Ivy had been very clinging to both YN and Harry recently. She had a fit when YN dropped her off, despite how happy she was to see her dad.

Her brows furrow, lips purse, and Harry has to laugh because she looks like a carbon copy of him with the sour face.

“Oh, no mean looks t’daddy,” He hums with his own frown, “S’just for a moment, m’dove.”

“No.”

“Ivy, y’need to listen.”

And Harry knows it coming, she sucks in a huge breathe and then just lets out a scream in protest of him.

“Ivy Elizabeth Styles, y’do not scream. Y’know better. Are we going to have to take a timeout or are you going to go sit nice with Dor?” Harry’s voice is still softer than he’d use with any of him employees but extremely firm to her.

“No timeout, daddy,” She mumbles, her volume decreasing significantly as she lowers her gaze from her father’s.

“Alright, then c’mon. Thank you for listening,” Harry praises, gathering up her toys for her and leading her into his waiting room where Dorothy is typing away on her computer.

“Dor, Dan is coming up and I need to have a private meaning. Will y’watch her for a little?”

Ivy is already clambering up into her lap, into the warmth of her arms, and nuzzling in - because Granny Dor spoiled her silly.

Harry rolls his eyes, muttering, “And you and YN say I spoil her too much. Bloody ridiculous.”

Dorothy just shoos him away, readjusting Ivy’s bow, and combing through her hair softly to simmer her down a little.

Dan trails in solemnly soon after to face his inevitable doom.

He sees his boss’ daughter perched on the secretary’s lap and he wonders how such a sweet little thing could be created from the demon of a man.

As Harry and Dan meet, Ivy gets wriggly and squirms off of Dorothy’s lap.

“Stay close,” She murmurs to the toddler as she picks up her phone to answer a call for Harry.

Of course, Ivy doesn’t listen, and she noticed that the door to her father’s office is cracked open just the littlest bit.

It’s enough for her to slip through the space between the heavy doors and toddles on, she’s blocked by the leather couches so Harry can’t see her.

“I have givin’ you so many fuckin’ chances!” Harry seethes angrily at his employee. His tone was more like a growl than anything else.

Ivy pauses, eyes widening in fear as she hears her dad speak in a frightening manner she’s never heard before.

“I…There was a coding error that I had been distracted with, it won’t happen again,” Dan insists, knowing he had actually committed a fireable offense.

“You are absolutely correct because you’re fucking fired,” Harry replies, no wavering in his raspy register.

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Dan explodes, “It’s unfucking fair treatment! It was one mistake, you fuckin’ asshole!”

There’s a moment of silence.

“I can fuckin’ show you unfair treatment. Get the fuck out of my office and learn how to do your goddamn job,” Harry retorts, his voice rising as well.

Ivy is stuck in her spot, frozen in surprise at hearing the arguing and how mad her father sounded, voice echoing through the room.

“You listen to me-“

“Get the fuck out of my office!” Harry booms furiously, this employee managing to get a rise out of him.

“I was ju-“

Both the men pause when they hear a wail from behind the sofa and the sound of Ivy plopping herself on the ground.

Harry instantly is out from behind his desk and going to round the sofa in a flash with a rose of panic in his chest.

His heart drops when he sees his baby looking up at him with fear in her watery eyes and she’s literally shaking.

“Oh, baby. Did y’hear daddy bein’ loud?” Harry murmurs in his sweetest, comforting voice - uncaring of his employee hearing him.

Harry expects her to nod sadly and ask for a cuddle but she instead wriggles backwards when he goes to reach for her - out of his reach.

“Ivy, little dove, s’just y’daddy,” He tries again, sitting down in front of her - doesn’t even look up as Dan leaves quietly.

She’s scared though and has had never felt worse in his life as his daughter backs away from him until she’s getting to her wobbly feet.

He tries again, reaching his arms out, “Ivy Elizabeth, s’just daddy. M’sorry I scared you, bub.”

Ivy doesn’t budge, crying loudly with her face pinched up as hot tears run down her soft chubby cheeks.

Dorothy appears with a worried look, “I apologize, I thought she was by the table.”

“S’not your fault I’m a shitty father,” Harry mutters, standing back up and roughly brushing off his trousers.

“Oh Harry, she’s just a little frightened,” Dorothy hums, picking the girl up when she toddles quickly over to her.

Her dad trails over, “Ivy, m’love. Can you look at daddy?”

She refuses, digging her face into the woman’s shoulder, curls bouncing fiercely as she clings onto her.

Harry loved to be feared. Not like this though. Not by the child he’d literally jump in front of a train for without a second thought.

He would rather have her screaming, pitching fits, throwing toys rather than this. She was so scared that she wouldn’t even look at him.

“Let me take her on a little stroll, okay? See if I can calm her down a bit.”

—

Harry waits patiently for Dorothy to arrive back but he automatically hears his daughter’s steady stream of sniffles and whimpers.

He goes out to the waiting room to see her reentering the room, she sighs, “I think it’s time to call mummy.”

Harry had no idea how he was going to explain this to his wife. He was I trouble and he knew he deserved it.

“Hey H, is the bab okay?” YN greets warmly, chattering in the background.

“Er, she’s okay, just upset. Ivy accidentally walked in on me flipping out and firing an employee. Now she’s scared. Dor tried to calm her down and she doesn’t want to be near me right now.”

YN’s next words were calm, Harry however did not miss the sharp edge when she replies, “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Then she hangs up on him.

Which she really never does unless she is really really upset.

—

When YN arrives, Ivy is sat on Dorothy’s lap with puffy eyes and her thumb tucked between her full lips, popping it out when she sees her mother.

“Mumma!” Ivy shrieks, tears beginning streaming down her face as she impatiently waits for her to cross the room and gives her a soft kiss to the forehead.

“Hi baby, give mummy one minute and then we’ll leave okay?” YN murmurs soothingly, thumbing of some of the tears.

Ivy nods but is standing next the secretary’s desk, waiting patiently with her thumb going right back between her lips again.

Harry’s sitting at his large oak table, looking like a guilty puppy as his wife comes in with a disapproving look on her face.

“Baby, m’sorr-“

“What the fuck, Harry? Why is our daughter out there terrified right now?” YN demands, crossing her arms to prove her anger.

“Some fuckin’ idiot messed somethin’ up and Ivy walked in while I cursed him out and fired him. She was hiding behind the couch. It was an accident,” He defends, bristling a bit.

“Even if the door was shut, she would have still heard you. You knew better than to act like that around our daughter.”

“I had to fire him,” Harry makes the lame excuse because he knows he’s in the wrong and he’s not always great at admitting he is.

“You were supposed to have Ivy for two hours and this happens. I have her all day everyday and I’ve need had an issue with controlling myself in front of others!” YN yells (quietly) at him.

“What the fuck is tha’ supposed to mean? Y’calling me a bad father? Y’have her all day with her because I work so that you can stay at home with her.”

YN rolls her eyes, “Well thank god for that, she’d be cursing and screaming at people all day everyday if she was with you all the time.”

Harry is thoroughly pissed at his wife and she is equally just as furious with him - it doesn’t happen often but when it does it’s bad.

“Y’got some fuckin’ nerve. Our baby is polite, well-mannered because of me too! Not just you, fuckin’ claiming all her good qualities,” He replies with a snarl.

“Don’t talk to me that way,” YN bites back, “I’m not one of your employees. Neither is Ivy despite you talking like that in front of her.”

Now she was just trying to push his buttons and it was well onto it’s way of working.

“Y’bein’ fuckin’ ridiculous! It was a accident and you’re acting like I did it on purpose! Fuckin’ hell!” He raises his voice in frustration.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are raising your voice at me but I’m leaving,” YN tells him, giving him one final glare before storming out of the office.

“Fuck!” He grunts, smacking cup of pens from his desk before slamming his fist on the desk.

—

Ivy was waiting patiently, whimpering when she sees her mum, and gesturing to be picked up, “It’s past your nap time, Vee.”

“Nap,” She lisps sadly, instantly curling into then familiarness that is her mother. Eyes instantly fluttering shut.

“Thank you, Dor,” YN whispers, blowing her a kiss, before trekking out of the office with the exhausted little girl.

—

Harry can’t handle the rest of the day, wants to go home, and make amends with his wife which leads him to heading out only an hour after them.

He finds YN in the den with the baby monitor propped on the coffee table, she’s watching a horror movie with a smoothie in hand.

“Hi, m’heart,” Harry murmurs cautiously, loosening up his tie until it falls limp around his neck.

She glances over at him, sarcasm lacing her tone,“So you do know how to talk without yelling at me, hmm?”

His face falls, frowning, “Hey, lovie - don’t be like tha’. Y’gonna let me apologize?”

“Come scratch my back and I’ll hear you out,” She hums, keeping a serious face.

“Y’drive a hard bargain, m’heart. Show me y’tits,” Harry begins to smile, striding over and getting her no time before he’s pulling off her shirt and sports bra.

He sits down then gently lays her down on her tummy and she rests her head in his lap, cheek pressed against his thigh.

“I shouldn’t have done that, I wasn’t thinkin’. Now I’m worried she’s gonna hate me forever,” Harry mumbles, using his blunt nails to trace up and down her back.

“You’re her favorite person. She’ll always love you more than anything,” YN tells him seriously, arching when he scratches an extra itchy spot.

“I hope so. I love her more than anythin’. A little mixture of how much we love each other. How much we worked to get her,” He sighs softly.

—

YN dozed off and Harry tucks a blanket around her bare chest.

When the baby monitor alerts that Ivy had woke up after quite a long nap, he takes a deep breath before walking up the staircase to his fate.

He’s preparing himself for her to scream and cry when she sees her monster of a father because he’d scared her so horribly.

But his mini just widens her green eyes and he looks at his world with bated breath, waiting for the scream or tears.

Instead, she just dimples happily at her father, and squeals with excitement, “Daddy! Hi Daddy, miss you!”

And just like that….

They’re best friends again.

—-

Enjoy! Come talk to me!! 💕❣️💕❣️💕❣️

[westanthewaterman]

Be Free - Yancy x GN!Reader

Rating: SFW

Word count: 1600+

Content: kissing, very slight angst but a happy ending

AO3 Masterlist

The gates to Happy Trails Penitentiary open with a loud screech. Yancy stands at the entrance for a moment, eyes fixed on the sidewalk outside the jail. Twelve years. Twelve years he spent locked up. He never thought this day would come, never wanted it to.

Until he met you.

Yancy had never cared about a life outside Happy Trails. He could never imagine himself anywhere else. But after you came along, suddenly it was all he could think of - a life, a home…a partner.

It took a year of good behavior, no stabbing, no starting fights. The warden almost didn’t believe him when Yancy said he wanted to apply for parole.

“There ain’t no place out there in the world for you, son,” he had said.

But Yancy disagreed. Wherever you are, that’s where he’s meant to be.

So he pushed and pushed until finally, the warden agreed. He had been scared to tell the gang, worried they’d think less of him, but they were all happy for Yancy. They all knew how much you meant to him. So the gang got together to throw him a going-away party; there was a musical number and everything. And after promising them he’d write often, Yancy gathered the few belongings he had and walked to the gate.

And now here he was, free for the first time since he was a teenager. He almost wants to turn around, go back inside, and tell the warden he was right.

But then a car pulls up in front of him. The driver's side door opens and you climb out, beaming at him.

“Yance!”

Yancy grins ear to ear, taking that last step through the gates and out into the world. He pulls you into a bear hug and you both laugh.

“It’s so good to see yous!”

You smile up at him, patting his arm. “I can’t believe you’re out. I…Yancy, I’m so proud of you.”

He beams.

You hug him one more time before gesturing to your car. “Shall we?”

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road.”

The two of you climb into the car and Yancy looks over at you.

“So, where’s we going?”

“First, we’re going shopping because those clothes the warden gave you are…”

You trail off, looking down at the khakis and button-up shirt that was a size too big.

Yancy rubs the back of his neck, his eyes dropping to the floor.

“Yous know I ain’t got any money.”

“Yes I do, which is why it’s my treat.”

“N-No, I couldn’t ask yous to do that.”

“Shush. We’re going shopping, end of story.”

“Alright…if yous insist. But I’m gonna pay yous back once I find a job.”

You take Yancy to one of your favorite thrift shops and the two of you take as much time as you want, sifting through the clothes racks, giggling while trying on all kinds of silly things. Eventually, you settle on a few outfits for Yancy to get him started. He walks out of the store in a pair of distressed jeans, a white t-shirt, and a nice-looking denim jacket. It’s a good look for him, very greaser style, and you can’t help but stare just a little.

“How do I look?” Yancy smiles, turning this way and that.

You lick your lips, your mouth is suddenly very dry. “Good. Yeah. You look good.”

“Feels weird to be wearin’ somethin’ other than my prison digs, but I like it. Used to have a jacket just like this one.”

“It’s very you.”

The two of you head back to the car.

“Yous really don’t mind me crashing at yous’s place for a while?”

“Not at all, Yance. You’re always welcome. My place is a little small, but we’ll make it work.”

“If yous say so.”

Instead of driving north into town, you take a turn and start down a smaller, less populated road. Yancy looks out the window curiously at the trees and fields of grass that pass by.

“We’s not goin’ home?”

“I got a surprise for you.”

“What? No, yous already done so much for me.”

“And I like doing things for you.”

Blush colors his cheeks and Yancy turns his head to look back out the window. He feels guilty that you’ve done so much for him and there isn’t any way for him to repay you. He doesn’t want you to think that he’s some kind of moocher or that he’s unappreciative.

“We’re here!”

“Huh?”

You park the car in front of a small park and get out, going around to open the trunk.

“What’re we doin’ here?”

You pull a picnic basket and a blanket out of the trunk and shut the door. “We’re going to have a picnic!”

“A picnic?”

“Yeah, I figured it’s going to take you some time to get used to being back in society and everything, so I thought we could do something a little quieter.”

“Hey, that’s…that’s really nice of yous.”

“Come on, there’s a really nice spot up the hill a little.”

The two of you trek through the park to the top of a small hill surrounded by trees. There’s a small river at the bottom of the hill and the sound of the water bubbling and running fills the air.

You lay the blanket down on the grass and put the picnic basket on it before sitting down. Yancy just watches you, suddenly very nervous but he can’t seem to figure out why.

“Are you gonna sit down?”

“I…yous didn’t have to do all this for me.”

You groan playfully. “Yance, I told you already, I want to. I care about you.”

That makes something in his chest tighten painfully. You care for him? That’s not right. Why would anyone care about him? He’s a criminal, a murderer. He doesn’t deserve someone like you caring about him. You’re too good for him. You’ll never feel the same way he does about you. He should leave, tell you to stop wasting your time on him, tell you-

“Yancy.”

He blinks and looks down at you.

“Come here.” You hold your hand out for him.

Yancy takes your hand and you pull him down to the blanket next to you. Slowly, you reach out and cup the side of his face, giving him a gentle smile. The touch sends his heart beating out of his chest. When was the last time someone touched him in such a soft way? When was the last time someone looked at him like that?

“Tell me what you’re thinking about. What’s wrong?”

“I-It’s nothing. Really, yous don’t need to worry.”

“Yancy, talk to me. You can tell me anything, you know that don’t you? Do you not like the picnic? We can go home if you want.”

“No, no, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s nothin’, okay? Just nothin’.” He pulls away from you.

You reel back, your eyes dropping to your hands. “I’m…sorry if I’m being too much.”

The sad tone in your voice makes his heart ache and he knows he should just let it be. It’s better if you don’t like him anymore, but he can’t stand the idea of hurting you. Yancy reaches out slowly and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

“You’re not too much.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I’m not worth all this. I’m…not worthy of you.”

“You take that back right now.”

He flinches at the steel in your voice. “What?”

“Take it back. Yancy, you are worth more than anything to me. I don’t care what you’ve done or what kind of person you think you are. I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about anyone and I’m not going to let you sit here and convince yourself otherwise.”

“B-But-”

“No. You are a kind man with a good heart and you mean so much to me. You have to understand that. Yancy, I love you.”

The words slip out before you can stop them. Both of your eyes grow wide as you stare at each other. He doesn’t say anything and you feel yourself starting to panic.

“Yancy, I-”

His hands cradle your face and he pulls you into a kiss. You feel fireworks behind your eyes and you grab the front of his shirt, never wanting to let go.

“I love yous too,” he says against your lips.

When you pull apart, you both have goofy smiles on your faces.

“So.” He smirks. “Was this yous’s plan all along? Take me out to the woods and seduce me?”

You can feel your face heating up and you groan. “Don’t make fun of me, okay? I thought it would be romantic.”

“Well, it is. Yous did a good job. Coulda used some candles though, woulda really helped set the mood.”

You groan, shoving him away playfully. “No. You’ve ruined it. Ruined it. Here I was, trying to have a nice, romantic date and you’re making fun of me.”

“I would never!” Yancy reaches for you but you bat his hands away.

“No, it’s too late. The moment is gone. We might as well just pack up and go home. Love is dead.”

He laughs and pulls you in for another kiss, smiling against your mouth.

“I love yous.” He whispers.

“I love you too, Yance. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too. Now.” He claps his hands together. “We gonna open this picnic basket or what? Let’s get some food goin’, I’m starvin’.”

You open the picnic basket and pull out drinks and two sandwiches.

“Alright, I wasn’t sure what you like so tuna or pb&j?”

Yancy looks at you with a fond smile as warmth fills his chest. He’s found his place in the world and it’s right here with you.

[loversandantiheroes]

Okay my whiskey fantasy. It’s a holiday, anniversary, I dunno. But he comes home. You’re in lingerie, teddy, the garter belt, the thigh high tights (I am having an absolute brain fart and can not remember the name), the high heels. you’re cooking him dinner in it. Somethin real texas for dinner. He wants to immediately fuck yiu, BUT NO he has to WAIT bc its dinner time and you worked hard. He’s waiting, and he’s watching you, you’re bending over at the stove, all that. Dinner is served, you —-

You lounge on the table to eat like a decadent and gorgeous pain in the ass, so he can see you’re whole body while he eats, forced to be patient. You’re being an absolute menace. He’s running his mouth the whole time OBVIOUSLY. Then he fucking wrecks you

No Candles Necessary

As I am a bonafide yeehonk foole (and I have the t-shirt to prove it), I could hardly resist this idea. Nonny, I hope like hell I did you proud.💗

Shameless Whiskey/F!Reader smut (18+ and yes that means you), 5.3k+ words (they just wouldn’t shut up), mildly beta’d and lightly edited.

Warnings: established relationship, unsafe food preparation practices, light foodplay (it only goes in appropriate places I swear), egregious dirty talk, improper use of a dining table, Switch!Whiskey returns, Switch!Reader by extension, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroating, PIV sex, unprotected sex (do as I say, not as I fictionalize), cream pie (bc I’m lazy quite frankly), actual pie (peach!), a little soft schmoop in between the smut just because I can.

Permatag: @missredherring​ @dovesnroses​ @astroboots​ @magpierhymes​ @alienprincesspoop​ @aasimarr​ @maythxthirstbxwithyou​ @recklesswit​

Pedro Permatag: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ (sorry bab, more yeehonk) @corvueros​ @thirstworldproblemss​ @littleferal​ @krissology​ @frannyzooey​ @forallthstarsinthesky​ @princess76179​ @keeper0fthestars​ @venusandromedadjarin​

Cooking your boyfriend a birthday dinner in lingerie is probably not the best idea you've ever had. The man isn’t even home yet to witness the trouble you’ve gone to, still wrapping up a day’s work at HQ after closing out another mission. So you didn’t jump right into cooking in your frillies. No, you did the bulk of the work in sweats and a t-shirt, only stopping to change once you were down to the last stretch and the steaks had come off to rest. You've got sense enough at least to put on an apron, not wanting to risk getting hot grease on the delicate fabric or the vast amounts of bare skin the thing doesn't cover, and while you've already donned the garter belt and stockings you've left your heels up against the island counter so you can slip them on quickly when you hear the door. Still you can't quite help but feel less sexy and more silly as you stand there carving up a pair of garlic butter basted steaks while your forehead prickles with sweat and your ass, covered by neither the teddy or the apron, feels ice cold.

The things I do for love of a goddamn cowboy, you think with a shake of your head. Your whole plan is honestly on the high end of ridiculous. But then Jack is a ridiculous man, and he always seems to drag you headlong into absurdity with him. Some days it's his only saving grace - the boyish playfulness that tempers his arrogance into something charming rather than infuriating. It seems only right to be a little ridiculous for the occasion.

Once the carving’s done you give yourself a second to go over the spread and make sure everything's ready to go. It's early yet, but you're expecting to hear Jack's key in the front door any minute. He's made no mention of returning home early, of course, but he is every bit the sort that would try to surprise you on his birthday, and you’ve developed an uncanny ability to anticipate his moves ahead of time.

As it turns out, you have just enough time to slip on your heels before you hear the front door open and Jack calls out your name. You allow yourself a moment of satisfaction - you do love being right when it comes to this sort of thing - and slip into your heels.

“In here, baby,” you call back, stepping out to lean against the door frame.

“Somethin’ smells like heaven,” Jack says, rounding the corner into the dining room. He stops dead when he gets a look at you, mouth falling open in surprise. He’s hung his hat at the door, his hair already flopping over in a revolt against the slicked-back way he styles it in the morning, his suit jacket still on and buttoned. “Looks like it, too,” he finishes, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin. “I feel overdressed all of a sudden.”

You can’t help but answer that grin. “Happy birthday, cowboy,” you tell him, beckoning him over.

He all but rushes across the room to slide up against you, hands curling around your hips and playing with the tie to the apron. “Sure as hell is now,” he mutters. His palms slide down, cupping your ass to pull you in close. You bite back a hiss at the warmth, and he gives a low approving hum at the expanse of cool, bare skin. “Looks like I don’t even need to unwrap my present.”

“Patience,” you insist, pushing his shoulders back and grazing your lips over the tip of his nose as you evade the kiss he tries to pull you into. “No dessert until after dinner.”

“Dinner can wait-”

“No it cannot. I did not just spend the afternoon trying to keep hot butter off my tits so you could get impatient and let your supper get cold.” He traces a finger across your cleavage as you talk, tugging at the top of the apron to get a better look at the skin underneath. You feel the quip coming before he even opens his mouth, so you take the opportunity to give him a little push and show him just what he’s in for tonight. You bring up your hand, fingers curling under his wrist, turning his hand away and using it to pull him flush to you, the line of your thigh landing against the covered denim crotch of his jeans with just enough force to make him jolt.

“Be a good boy, Jack,” you say against his open, breathless mouth, “or you won’t get any dessert at all.”

Whiskey pouts, but his eyes have that dark glint that says he knows he’s in for trouble and he is just as pleased as punch about it. “You mean to torture a man on his birthday, honeybee?”

The smirk you give him makes his heartbeat kick up a little faster - you can feel the quickening of it in the pulse point against your fingertips. “Absolutely.” You stretch up enough for one brief, warm kiss and then step back, jerking your chin towards the dining table where there’s already two glasses of wine poured at the ready. “Sit. I’ll bring out dinner.”

He nods, tongue rolling slowly against his bottom lip. “Yes ma’am.”

His gaze is a heavy weight on your body as you walk away, raking down across so much exposed skin. You hear him groan at the sight, low and appreciative. He’s always been fond of seeing you wrapped up in lingerie, even more fond of tearing up the expensive scraps just to get you bare for him. You’d chided him about it the first time - the bodysuit he’d ripped clean in half from gusset to tit hadn’t been cheap, even though that little display had thrilled you far more than you’d ever want to admit - but he always replaced what he ruined without fail.

When you come back, divested of the apron with plates in hand, Whiskey is sitting just as instructed, elbow on the table, chin resting on his knuckles. He tracks every move you make, every sway of your hips, a playful smile hiding the effort of his restraint as you set his dinner in front of him. He barely spares the food a glance when you elect to forego your own chair and simply hop up onto the table, setting your plate near his and dragging over your glass of wine.

“You’ve outdone yourself, honeybee,” Whiskey rumbles, sliding a hand up your knee to your thigh, and he could not be talking less about the food.

You only smile, taking an unhurried sip. “Somehow I thought you’d prefer this to a new tie. How old are you now, anyway?” you tease.

“Sweet sixteen,” he says dryly, hiking an eyebrow while he squeezes your thigh for your cheek.

You chuckle. “Uh-huh, and I’m Mother Theresa.” You lean in, spearing a slice of steak on his plate with your fork and holding it out for him. “Now, I worked very hard on this, and I am going to be very disappointed if you try to skip dinner on me just ‘cause you can’t quit eyeballing your dessert. Open.”

He tips you a wink before dutifully opening his mouth, letting you feed him. The soft, indulgent moan that leaves him as his eyes slip closed is too subdued to be anything but real. “Honeybee that is gorgeous. My compliments to the chef.” 

“The chef is glad to hear it.” You swipe your thumb over his lip, collecting the sheen of juice and garlicky butter and bringing it to your own mouth, delicately sucking it off. “Could’ve used a bit more rosemary.”

Whiskey shakes his head. “Mm-mm. This is perfection on a plate, baby. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

The smile that earns him is genuine, and you bend to give him a quick kiss. He presses it, just a little, a swipe of his tongue that you open for just enough to nip at before pulling away. “Eat.” You gesture meaningfully at his plate.

All told, there isn’t actually much on it. Steak, roasted new potatoes, and asparagus with hollandaise sauce. You’ve only served up maybe half of what you’d usually set in front of him for dinner, opting for more reserved portions. It’s a favor to you both - his patience wouldn’t last through a full meal without the need for physical restraints. There’s more in the kitchen, of course, and an actual pie for dessert if you happen to get that far. You’re both bound to be hungry again after.

Whiskey tucks in, fork in his left hand while his right stays comfortably curled around your thigh, slowly creeping higher and higher until he’s playing with the lacy top of your stocking. You give him a warning tilt of your head, your own fork poised halfway to your mouth. All you get in return is those plaintive, innocent puppy dog eyes of his, but his hand doesn’t advance further.

All in all you’re rather proud of his restraint, at least until one spear of asparagus manages to drip hollandaise down onto your cleavage. Suddenly that quietly repressed hunger cracks and he’s surging up towards you, mouth half-open and tongue peaking out, ready to clean you up.

But that won’t do. Not yet. Your reflexes might not be as good as his, but they’re nothing to balk at, either. You brace yourself back on one hand, leaning away and planting one of your high heels against his shoulder to shove him back into his seat. The look on his face is priceless; mouth agape and pupils blown. 

Slowly you shake your head. “You know better, Jack.”

His eyes track up the inside of your thigh to the crotch of your bodysuit - or rather, the lack thereof - and the split strips of lace that don’t cover your mound, but frame it prettily for him. “Fuck, honeybee,” he mutters breathlessly. 

Dinner and a show was always the plan. So you take your time, dipping your finger and swiping up the stripe of creamy yellow and holding it out to him. Whiskey stares you down as he takes the tip of your finger into his mouth and sucks dutifully, his tongue plush and soft and working against the pad of your finger the same way he worries it over your clit. A rush of heat rockets through you, leaving your belly warm and a sweet tingle tripping down your spine in its wake.

Biting your lip hard to rein in the impulse to just slide into his lap, you drag your finger out of his mouth. It’s what he wants; to make you break first, to make you lose at your own game. And where’s the fun in that?

“It is your birthday, so I’m going to cut you a little bit of slack, but if you can’t mind your manners and do as you’re fucking told, you’re gonna get a lot worse than a birthday spanking, pretty boy. Now, I told you: no dessert until you finish your dinner.” There’s precious little left on his plate; a few scraps of steak, a couple potatoes, one lone spear of asparagus. You stab this last with your fork and hold it out to him. “Last chance, baby. You open your mouth for me and be a good boy, and you can have me any way you want.”

Whiskey looks dazed; seething and starved and love-struck all at once. You don’t even need to look down to know he’s hard. But he hesitates just for a moment, whether it’s deliberate or accidental you’re not really sure - sometimes the man just really wants to be punished - but in that space you see his body jerk, hunching slightly as his abdominal muscles contract involuntarily. You follow the movement with your eyes and sure enough, there he is. Full mast and straining hard against thick denim.

Smiling sweetly, you wave the fork at him. “Your choice, Jack.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, and the roughshod timbre of his voice says it’d be a fine way to go.

Whiskey opens his mouth and takes what you give him.

You’re slow about it. Careful. Admonishing him when he tries to chew a little too quickly. Whiskey stares you down with eyes like coal seconds away from ignition. He holds your gaze while you slip another bite of food into his mouth, then lets his eyes slip down until they fix firmly on your half-exposed and already glistening cunt, and you know the moment you give him an inch he’s going to wreck the hell out of you for this.

When the last bite passes his lips he curls his hand around your ankle, squeezing. Always pushing his luck, this man of yours. You set his plate aside, glancing away like it’s no effort at all as he very methodically wipes his mouth with his napkin.

“Now can I have my dessert?” Impatience roughens the low gravel of his voice into something dangerously sharp.

You smile, leaning back on one hand. “There’s peach pie in the kitchen.”

He presses forward, left hand sliding big and warm up the inside of your thigh. The motion presses the leg you’ve used to pin him to his chair back until your knee is nearly flush with your chest, opening you up wider, the rush of air between your legs now shockingly cold against the wetness that had gathered there.

“Woman, the only pie I want a piece of is the one sitting right in front of me.”

The stretch along the back of your thigh burns, so you shift, hooking your leg over his shoulder instead. “I haven’t finished my dinner yet,” you protest cooly, reaching down to snag a strip of steak off your still half-full plate and popping it into your mouth.

Whiskey’s hands slip higher, and this time you don’t stop him, too busy sucking the buttery juices off your fingers. When the very very tips of his fingers brush the spread lace at the crux of your thighs he freezes, waiting for the rebuke, for fingers around his neck or your other heel to plant square in his chest. You consider it, sure; it’s certainly not a prospect without its merits. A man that enjoys being under your thumb is satisfying in a way that few things in life ever fully measure up to.

But honestly, you’ve worked hard enough tonight. Time to let him put in a little effort.

A tilt of your head and a curl of your foot against his shoulder is permission enough; slipping off the leash by way of a gesture, and the low smolder in his eyes blooms to a full burn. Whiskey stands to his full height, looming close enough for you to feel the heat bake off him as he shrugs off his jacket and unbuttons the cuffs on his dress shirt, rolling them up with a few quick turns of his wrists.

“Can’t let my girl go hungry now,” he hums in a voice like burnt molasses. “Lemme give you a hand there, honeybee.”

Smirking, Whiskey wraps an arm around you, brushing the tip of his nose against yours as you wriggle against solid heat of his body. His left hand wanders out of sight on the table as his lips meet yours, teasing your mouth open with the barest brush of his tongue, while his right hand trails warm and slow around your side and down and down to cup your mound.

It’s hard to believe you ever felt cold. You’re burning up now, skin flushed hot as his mouth grazes yours and breathes out: “Open up for me.”

And just like magic, you do. No input needed on your behalf; your mouth simply drops open and your legs shift wider in accommodation for him. There’s a clink of silverware and then he’s waving a fork at you, a strip of steak speared on the end. Whiskey’s eyes glitter as he pushes it into your waiting mouth. Each bite he feeds you is accompanied by a teasing dip of his fingers into your core, feeding you with his left hand while he touches you with his right. Your slickened folds part smooth and easy as he pushes his fingers inside you, a welcome but all too brief intrusion, before they trail up again to stroke at your clit. Again and again you rock your hips up, trying to encourage him to slip into you deeper, to give you a taste of the fullness and pressure of his cock, but every time his touch retreats.

You whine; a strange mix of frustration and pleasure. “Tease.”

“Takes one to know one,” he coos, the hand between your legs working faster. Heat builds quickly under his fingertips, a friction far more appetizing than anything else you’ve set on the table tonight. “You made the rules, honeybee. No dessert until after you finish supper. You do want your dessert, don’t you?”

He brings the next bite up, holds it tantalizingly close. You stretch out and he draws it back, and suddenly his fingers are rubbing a firm, determined circle on your clit. Your whole body jolts, gasping air with a pitiful little whine. There’s nothing but mischief on his face as he watches you, tongue sweeping against his bottom lip. He slows his fingers, brings the fork down again, closer this time. The food brushes your bottom lip before he pulls it away, fingers quickening again.

“Jesus,” you all but squeak. “Jack, don’t be mean.”

Whiskey gives you a considering hum, leaning forward to suck the sheen of butter off your bottom lip. “Oh darlin’ I would never,” he insists, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss that’s tender enough to be very nearly sincere if it weren’t for the fact that the motion of his hand never slows. A sweet, bright heat begins to build under his fingertips. “How could I be mean to my girl when she worked so hard for me, hm? I’m just paying that back in kind is all. You wanna come on my fingers, baby, you can do that all you like. I’ll make you come ‘til those pretty little legs can’t do much more than shimmy. You know I can. But you ain’t gettin’ nothin’ else until you clean your plate like a good girl.”

“H-ha-ah, fuck-how much more?”

He grins devilishly. “Just this last bite.”

“Oh you f-fucking jackass!”

Whiskey laughs. “Guilty as charged. Open up, baby, take what I got for you.”

He pushes the last bite past your lips and immediately delves his fingers into your warm and waiting cunt. The breath shudders out of you, fingers digging into the tablecloth as you try to hang onto enough composure to remember to chew and swallow. He’s slow for a moment, pumping and curling his fingers gently while he watches you eat. There’s a clink of silverware as he discards the fork and puts his arm around you, pressing his lips against your forehead.

“Good girl,” he murmurs sweetly.

Mouth empty now, you nudge your nose against his chin, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Jack-”

And then his grip becomes determined. The fingers inside you flex, the heel of his hand pressing hard against your clit and all you can do is cry out against the soft skin of his neck and hang on for dear life while he works you up and over the edge with shocking speed.

Trembling, you lock your legs around him as you come down, dragging his collar aside to bite lazily into the place where his neck and shoulder meet.

“Fuck,” he groans, hips rutting up against the back of his hand between your legs. “How do you want me, honeybee?”

That earns him a breathless laugh, goosebumps raising along his neck. “It’s your birthday, Jack. What do you want?”

Whiskey’s eyes drop to your mouth and he makes a considering sound, pulling back to suck you delicately off his fingers. “I think I want your mouth. And then I think I want to fuck you right here on this table until that divinely sweet little pussy wrings me fucking dry. Sound good to you, honeybee?”

“That can be arranged.” His eyelids flutter as you reach down to his zipper, not even bothering with his belt before you reach inside his jeans and the button fly of his boxers to tug his cock free, cupping your fingers to draw his balls out, too.

You move to stand and he shakes his head, caging you in. “No. Not on your knees, baby. On the table. I wanna see you all spread out for me. My pretty little present.”

He helps you. Sweeps your hair back as you lie flat on the dining table, scooting back to let your head hang just a bit. It’s not exactly comfortable. The edge of the table digs into your neck a bit, and the way the blood rushes to your head is not entirely pleasant either. But you watch Whiskey pace around you to take his place in front of your waiting mouth, cock bobbing and just barely beginning to leak for you, and you feel a gorgeous rush of heat at the sight.

Whiskey slides his palm up your stomach to cup one barely-covered breast. “Gorgeous,” he mutters, squeezing. “Absolutely beautiful.”

“Jack.”

“I know, darlin’, I know. But my God you’re a picture.” He cups your cheek, absently brushes the corner of your mouth with his thumb before sliding his hand back to give your head a little support. “Open up for me, angel.”

And once again, you open up for what he gives you. The angle makes it strange, the topography of Jack’s body less familiar as he slips into your mouth, your tongue dragging wet and slow over foreign terrain. The taste of him, hot skin and the tang of bitter salt, that you know well enough. You close your eyes at it, bring your hands up to his hips to tug him slowly forward and listen to the way he moans.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, breathless and a little awe-struck. “Jesus fucking Christ. You spoil me, baby. Sweet as fucking honey, my god.”

A light touch against your breast makes you shiver, goosebumps raising as it draws lightly over your skin. A single fingertip, sliding the lace of the bodysuit aside to bare your breasts to the chill of the room and the warmth of Whiskey’s hands.

He mutters sweet things as he begins to move; sweet, tender, unconscionably filthy things. All the things you do to him. Do for him. The rocking of his hips is gentle at first, feeding you his cock inch by cautious inch. When he hits the back of your throat he pulls back on reflex, but the light scrape of your teeth and the sudden tightness of your grip on the plush meat of his ass sends him forward again. The angle eases the motion, and you relax into the pressure as he pushes in and in and...oh.

You feel the resistance at the back of your throat give gently; strange, but not uncomfortable. Above you, Whiskey lets out a pained groan.

“Shit. Oh shit yes, honeybee. Take it. Ohhh s-shit. Take all of it. Every goddamn inch. Fuck.”

And then his hips are flush with your mouth, the soft skin of his balls pressed up against your nose. Panting, he wraps a hand around the stretched column of your throat, swearing breathlessly. He moves, a small, careful thrust, and you can feel the tremor that ripples through him at the feeling.

“Just a little more baby,” he mumbles, pulling back until just the head of his cock rests within the warmth of your mouth. You suckle at it, working it eagerly with your lips and tongue while you breathe raggedly through your nose. Your hips jut up into thin air on their own accord, just as eager for him as your mouth is.

“I got you, honeybee.” The hand at your neck slips down, skimming over skin and lace until he finds your clit. The first touch jolts you, your cry stifled on his cock as you shudder up against him. “Good girl. I got you, baby. Jack’s got you. Keep going. Just a little more. Just a little more and then I’ll fill you right on up. Fuck my sweet girl’s brains right out of her head. Prettiest fuckin’ thing I ever fuckin seen, baby, holy fuck.”

You moan something against him - pleasure, acquiescence, god only knows - but the sound of it is lost as his cock slides steadily back into your mouth. The pressure in your head is distracting, tears prickling your eyes when he pushes in deep, but the stroking of his fingers and the feel of him in your mouth, sliding hard and slick and effortlessly down your throat is far more consuming than the discomfort.

He rocks into you. Fucks into you. Moans and gasping praises falling thick and fast from his lips as he moves. You don’t need to feel the way his balls draw up tight to know how close he is, how tight he’s riding the line between what he wants to do and what his body wants to do. You’re lost in it all the same; his pleasure and the fraying thread of his restraint. Your own pleasure, building quick and low and locking down the muscles in your thighs until they tremble. You float in it, overwhelmed and dizzy, until, very suddenly, you break.

Whiskey curses, pulling back to listen to you cry out, to let you curl up and clutch at him as he pants above you, muttering broken, desperate please of: “yes god yes honeybee all of it, gimme all of it, every last bit.”

You’re a wreck in the aftermath; pliant and limp, face teary and slick with spit and precome. He draws you up, wiping your face with a clean napkin before pulling you into a kiss that steals away whatever remained of your breath. He gathers you up, turns you until you can wrap your still-tingling limbs around him. Nudges his hips against yours, his wet cock dragging against slick skin and fragile lace.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, trailing soft kisses over your face.

You have to clear your throat before you can respond, the sound of it harsh and ragged like an engine turning over. “Y-yeah. Yeah I’m good. Dizzy, but good.”

“You ain’t the only one, honeybee. Almost didn’t make it in time. Wanted to fill up that pretty mouth so bad. You just about did me in.”

He laughs and you join him, breathing ragged joy into each other’s lungs.

“Still want me to fuck you?” The question should be coarse, but somehow isn’t. Not with his sweat-slick forehead pressed to yours and his lips ghosting kisses against your mouth with every breath.

“So sweet,” you mutter, combing your hands through his hair.

“LIke hell,” he scoffs, holding you tight to his chest. “I ain’t and you know it.”

“You are to me,” you insist, pressing a kiss against the tip of his nose. He smiles, softens everywhere but that place that throbs with impatient heat against you. “Now fuck me, pretty boy.”

A flash of a grin is the only warning you get before he’s hooking his arms under your knees and pulling you to the edge of the table. “Yes ma’am,” he says obligingly, planting a hand between your breasts to push you back against the table as he lines himself up, sliding into you with one smooth, achingly deep stroke. 

You moan, knees drawing up as his hips meet yours and he fills the space inside you that’s been aching for him all day. Whiskey lets out a groaning sigh, leaning into you like he wants to bury himself whole inside you. He hoists one of your legs up against his chest, nuzzles the inside of your knee while he tries to find his breath again. The length of him inside you is rigid as steel and blindingly hot, still so close to his own end that he has to wait, worrying his teeth over your skin, until the urge to just rut against you like an animal until he comes finally passes.

And when it does, when he opens his eyes at last, he looks down at you with a dazed, hungry smile. He presses a kiss to the tip of his finger and brings it down to your lips.

“Love you, honeybee.”

Heavy-lidded and so wonderfully full, you kiss his finger and arch your back. “Love you, too, cowboy.”

And that’s the last intelligent thing you manage to say. Finally - finally! - Whiskey fucks you, each pounding swing of his hips making the china rattle like nervous teeth. Your arms strike out, curling and flailing, trying to find something to grab onto as he fucks you. The heel of your hand strikes one of the wine glasses and sends it tumbling to the floor where it shatters. The breath leaves your body in tiny bursts with each impact; little monosyllabic cries punctuating each one.

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” Whiskey murmurs. He cups your breasts, thumbing the pebbled sharpness of your nipples before his hands slide lower, finding the deep notch of the bodysuit between them. “Wrapped up so pretty for me.”

The lace tears away like it’s nothing, a clean rip down the center. Oh well. He’ll buy you another.

Whiskey folds over you, pulling you down closer so he can get an arm under your back, his hand grasping the back of your neck and pulling you up to meet his mouth. He’s still wearing his tie, the drape of fabric laying cool against your chest. Blessedly he’s not wearing his usual belt buckle. Foresight or oversight you’re not quite sure, but you’re grateful all the same as he grinds into you, a press of cold metal and leather against your belly.

He’s not going to last long, but it hardly matters. You’re too worked up, two orgasms down already, cunt so swollen and sensitive it’s hardly an effort to get you there again. But the feeling of him inside you turns that bright burn into something lower, deeper. Something that makes your muscles lock and tremble, straining up against him and gasping into his mouth.

“Jaaaack,” you whine, arms locked around his neck.

“Yes, baby,” he groans, voice quivering with every thrust. “Fuck yes I’m right there too, c’mon. Come with me, honeybee, come with me.”

His rhythm falters, grinding deeper and deeper, and all that strained tension in your body snaps like a rubberband. You sob, grabbing fistfuls of his dress shirt, twisting and jerking as you come apart under him.

All Whiskey can do is growl as you bear down on him, gritting a litany of “yes, yes, fuck yes, god yes, that’s my girl that’s my girl that’s my fucking girl.” And then he’s gone, too, driving into you with a sudden jolt and crying out against the side of your neck as he comes.

You’re holding him too tight, clutching him to you as you both lie there, panting and shuddering, a spreading stain of red wine pooling next to your head.

“Jesus,” he whispers, tries to shift up to find your mouth, but even that amount of drag on his oversensitive cock is enough to make him hiss and jerk. “Fuck.”

“Mm-hm,” you agreed dumbly.

Whiskey lets out a growling hum, smoothing your hair. “You good, honeybee?”

You trail kisses up to his ear, still breathless. “What do you think?”

He wheezes a laugh. “I think I gotta replace a lot more than your frillies this time.” The laugh turns giddy, and Whiskey presses his forehead against your temple. “And I think I’m hungry.”

“Pie in the kitchen,” you mumble, too drowsy to do much more than nuzzle into the damp tangle of Whiskey’s hair.

“What kind?”

“Peach.”

He hums, smiling drowsily. “My favorite.”

You give a slow nod. “I know. Happy birthday, Jack.”

He kisses you, slow and sweet. “Best I ever had,” he murmurs.

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugou Katsuki Soulmate AU

All Parts

Part 25:

You blinked blearily, rubbing the sleep away from your eyes.

For a minute you were disoriented, head spinning in confusion until you pieced together where you were. Who’s apartment you were in. Who was currently still fast asleep in your lap.

You flushed, still just as affected by his proximity as you were earlier. Except- it was slightly different now. Those little kitten snores? The ones you’d previously only heard over the phone? Well, now they were falling from his mouth in real time- in real life. In front of you. He was so close and warm and soft and uncharacteristically quiet and all you wanted to do was kiss him. 

The past few days, you’d been so focused on how he’d lied and his injuries that you’d almost forgotten just how much you liked him. You couldn’t forget now. Not with the way he had a hand under his cheek, fingers just barely curling your sweatshirt in his sleepy grip.

Your fingers itched with the need to touch him- to somehow expel all that rolling fondness and affection that was boiling over in you. You couldn’t help yourself, your fingers beginning to once again move lightly through his hair, scratching idly at his scalp as you went. 

You knew he’d be mad at your actions if he was awake- or flustered and embarrassed at the very least. But you just wanted to be nice to him. To show him how much you cared about him, and you were determined to do that- even if he seemed absolutely allergic to it. 

So you sat and stared shamelessly and soaked up the proximity and warmth radiating off his body. And it was perfect and serene and so sugary sweet for a while- until you realized how much your legs hurt.

They hurt and ached and were sore because Katsuki was heavy.

Absurdly heavy.

And the thing about him was, you were only supporting his head and his shoulders! On your legs too- not even your arms! Even so though, the honest to god weight of him was just ridiculous. He was a solid mass of nothing but strength and power and, quite frankly, ludicrous musculature. And if he wasn’t murdering your legs right now, and not in the fun way, you’re absolutely sure you’d be much more thrilled about these facts.

As it stands now though, nothing but an escape plan was on your mind. Even if the rest of you was only screaming to pull him closer.

“Katsuki.” You tried once more, prodding at his cheek lightly. “Katsuki, c’mon-time to get up.”

He had no reaction. Not even an eye twitch when you ghosted your hands over his face. In all honesty it seemed like he was dead. His breathing was so deep and slow it was almost non-existant and when you called him name, no matter how many times you said it, there wasn’t even a mumble- now whether that was effect of the pain meds or just him ignoring you, you had no idea.

Sighing with finality, and a genuine apology, you lifted his head. It was a struggle, and his unresponsiveness surely didn’t help, but eventually you escaped. You slipped a pillow under his head, patted his cheek fondly, and left towards his kitchen.

Now, was the easy part. Or was supposed to be the easy part- but considering this was Katsuki you should’ve known better.

His fridge was packed to the brim, overflowing with ingredients, but they were all ridiculous health foods. You wanted familiarity and comfort and grease- not green. Not the terrible, bitter, dark green vegetables that seemed to be the only thing he had.

What kind of guy doesn’t have junk food? You thought, shaking your head in utter disbelief. And he tells me I’m the weird one?

With a sigh, you begin rifling through the drawers for something at least a bit fattening, and you can’t kid yourself, it does soothe that itch from earlier. That weird, tingling, constant itch to pick apart every little detail and mix and match them together until you knew every possible thing about Bakugou there was to know. Until you knew things about him that no one else did- until you knew him better than he even knew himself.

And maybe that was selfish, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care all that much. If talking to him, knowing him was intoxicating before, just over the phone, than it was an addiction now. Here in this apartment, surrounded entirely by pieces of him, Katsuki felt real. He felt tangible and honest and complete, and you’d never be satisfied with just texts and phone calls again.

Grinning widely, you grabbed the blocks of cheese, and a few different freshly-cut herbs. Inspiration had struck, and within the weirdly hearty contents of his refridgerator lied your saving grace.

Grilled cheese- because at the end of the day, you were a child through and through.

Gathering the rest of the ingredients, and searching for a pan, you couldn’t contain the warmth in your chest. Not only were you going to be eating good food, but you were sharing it. With your soulmate. It was a weird little bit of domesticity, preparing a meal for him, but you couldn’t say you hated it.

Apparently, you’d made too much noise with the pan, because suddenly you hear shuffling. Glancing behind you, Katsuki is grumbling under his breath as he clambers into the kitchen. He’s all loose limbs and sleepy grunts, grumpily throwing himself down into a seat at the counter, just a few feet away from you.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ, sunshine, could you be any goddamn louder?”

You’re not sure if it’s the combination of the nickname and his crackling sleep-laden voice, or maybe it’s the way his cheeks are stil warmed from sleep, but you melt. Practically dissolve into the floor beneath you. That feeling- that aching one from earlier where all you wanted to do was kiss him silly? Yeah, it’s back now. Back in full-force and unleashing a hellish barrage of butterflies in your stomach.

“Nothin’ to say? Yeah. Thought so. Idiot.” He barks.

“Not a morning person?” You recover, quickly turning back to the stove. Hopefully it’ll cover up the absolute hearts you currently had for eyes.

“It’s 8 PM.”

“It was a joke, angry man.” You laugh. Turning back, you sneak a glance at him, completely unable to help yourself. “Don’t be so grumpy.”

“I’m not fuckin’ grumpy.”

Bakugou mumbles it so quietly and petulantly that you almost can’t hold back your squeal. There he is, just feet away, currently holding the title for World’s Most Adorable Pout and you couldn’t do anything!

Well, maybe you could- if you were bolder and stronger. But you weren’t. Right now you felt weak.

“You could just go back to sleep, you know.” You finally say.

“And let ya fuck up my kitchen unsupervised?” He yawns widely, rubbing at his eyes. “No fuckin’ thanks.”

“It’s only grilled cheese, I think I’ll manage.”

“Grilled cheese? Am I five or some shit?”

“No- but I am. And it’s what I’m making.” You supplied, an easy smile gracing your lips. “So it’s either you have one too, or you starve to death. Your choice, Katsuki dear.”

He blushes when you look at him, hiding it behind his hand. “Yeah. Whatever. Just make sure it’s fucking edible.”

“That’s a tall order, angry man. I might not be able to do it.” You say teasingly, terribly high on a mixture of him and your own fuzzy feelings. “We’ll see, huh?”

Katsuki just nods, dropping his head into his hands. He still looks tired, his eyes half-lidded and eyebrows drawn low, but he’s fighting sleep. Every time you turn to glance at him, he’s blinking himself awake, and every time you turn away you can feel his eyes on your back. It was sweet- until it wasn’t. Until he ruined it.

“Your knife skills are fuckin’ terrible, idiot.”

“Wow- thanks.” You snort, but your motions don’t cease. You’re steady and sure with your chops, even in the face of his ridiculous criticism. “And to think I went to all this trouble for you.”

“You’re just chopping stupid onions.”

“And caramelizing them!” You defend, adding the diced onions into your pan full of oil. You turn back to him, brandishing your knife playfully. “Which you’d know if you let me get that far!”

“A knife! In my own fuckin’ kitchen? That supposed to be a shitty ass threat or somethin’?”

“No, if I was gonna threaten you, I wouldn’t use a knife. That’s just a bad battle tactic, really”

“Yeah?” He takes the bait, perks up a little bit as an easy smile rolls across his face. “What’d you fuckin’ use then, idiot?”

“Fire extinguisher.”

Katsuki’s amused- you know he is, can see it in the way his eyes shine, but he’s fighting it. He’s pulling his mouth into a half-hearted grimace and scowling at you when he replies.

“You’re not fuckin’ funny. That wasn’t funny.”

“I am and it was, but that’s okay.” You shrug, going back to carmelizing the onions. They’re nearly done now, and you add a few spices and a dash more oil in with them. “Can’t win ‘em all, I guess.”

“You’re talking like you can win any.”

“Hey! I’d be careful there, angry man. I know where you live, you know.”

That does elicit a snort from him, and you can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks. “You plannin’ to kill me in my sleep?”

“Now if I told you that wouldn’t very much of a plan, would it?”

“No. Guess even a dumbass like you can understand that much.”

“Katsuki,” You sigh dreamily, turning your head to bat your eyelashes at him dramatically. “You have such a way with words! Makes a girl feel so special.”

He seems stunned for a moment, before he blushes and averts his eyes. Recovery for him takes a second- but only just a second.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re so fuckin’ funny.” He grumbles, mouth drawn into a thin line. “What’s got you so goddamn cheery anyway?”

“Took a nap. Feelin’ energized.”

“When?”

“When you took one?” You say, idly stirring the ingredients in the pan. “What- you thought I was awake the whole time? That I did nothing but just pet your hair and watch you sleep? For hours?”

He doesn’t say anything, and that seals it for you.

Katsuki had to be the cutest thing on Earth. Just the most adorable little rabid thing who you wanted to keep forever and hug super close and maybe kiss all over. He was precious, and when you looked over to see that he was indeed blushing- well, those feelings only multiplied 1000x over.

“N-no! I didn’t! Fuck no! Don’t be fucking stupid!” He defends, all sleep now gone from his features. “I didn’t! I didn’t and I don’t so shut the fuck up about it!”

You’re not sure if it was the nap or his flustered state that gives you strength, but you’re crossing the room before you can help it. Standing just on the other side of the counter, you lean across it on your elbows, catching his gaze. There’s feelings fluttering wildy in your chest- warm, blistering, uncontainable feelings threatening to burst through your skin and you find you just can’t help yourself.

“Would you like me to pet your hair and watch you sleep for hours? Huh? Katsuki?”

He damn near jolts in his seat- back ridgid and jaw set and eyes so very, very, alive. Flushing, red gathers around his cheeks and his neck and the tips of his ears. Your ears ring prematurely in anticipation, in pure sympathy for the way your ear drums are seconds away from being burst entirely.

“Why the fuck- I didn’t! Why the fuck would you even say that?” He screams, voice tearing from his throat with a feral growl. “You think your funny or some shit? Asking weird shit and being fucking weird in my goddamn kitchen? Tryna start a fuckin’ fight with me? I’ll start a fuckin’ fight!”

Bakugou square his shoulders, mouth set into a determined line through his harsh words. He’s pushing away from the counter, just barely swinging his legs over the chair when you reach him.

“Sit back down, angry man.” You laugh, the sound uncontrollable as it tumbles from your mouth. You push at his rising shoulders until he relents. Watching as he sinks back into his seat, you smile widely. “No fight! I was joking!”

“Well I don’t think your jokes are very fuckin’ funny!”

“Mhm, I know.” You say indulgently, unable to keep the fondness from your tone. “But don’t worry, grumpy, I think that’s all I have. No more jokes for tonight.”

“Now you’re just fuckin’ lying to me.” He barks, but even through the bite you can hear his smile. “You really are askin’ for a fight, aren’t ya?”

“No, I’m not. Seriously.” You soothe.

He doesn’t say anything, just goes back to watching you cook. You’re dropping bread into the pan, watching it brown and adding cheese. Some of the shredded cheese hits the pan, burns quickly- makes a popping sound.

The smile captures your face before you can stop it. Again, you find that you really just can’t help yourself around him.

“And even if I was starting a fight,” You start again, laughing lightly with your back turned to him. “I wouldn’t get very far now, would I? You’d blow me up in a second, huh, angry man?”

You hear him shift in the chair, hear his sharp exhale and his arms hitting the counter. You expect an angry retort, hell, maybe even a cocky one- but that’s not what you get when you turn to face him.

“I would never blow you up.”

His eyes widen, shoulders tensing immediately. You weren’t fairing any better- just as surprised by his quick statement as he was.

In all your life, in all your soulmate fantasies, you had never imagined the words “I would never blow you up” to be the tipping point for you. You never imagined that those words would be what sent you over- what broke the weird dam of feelings that had been welling in you since the day you texted him. But it was.

You were crossing the kitchen before you knew it, careful, sure, strides carrying you to his side. You hands fell around his cheeks, tilting his head up to meet your eyes, and suddenly, all at once, it hit you.

“I like you.” You admit breathlessly, your fond laugh erupting from your chest and raw and unfettered and real. “I- I like you so much, you asshole. You know that? Right?”

He looks winded, his eyes widening as you draw slow circles with your thumbs on his cheeks. You can just barely see it, he only just hardly lets you, but you watch the way he leans into your touch. Just the barest bit of extra weight in your hands, only for a moment, before he pulls back just a bit, smirking up at you.

“Fuckin’ said that already, dumbass.”

“Katsuki!”You whine in protest, rolling your eyes as you let go of his cheeks. “I was being nice!”

You had planned to retreat after that, but the way he suddenly smiles keeps you rooted where you stand. It’s confident little smirk, sitting just at the edge of his mouth- it’s so coy and immature and playful and so very much him that it pulls you in. You’re stepping closer, just a little, and that only makes him, as if he understands, smirk a little more.

He’s like a magnet, you realize, blushing wildly. A dangerous magnet- and I’m an idiot for letting myself get this close.

“I was bein’ nice.” He finally says, grin absolutely shit-eating at this point. “What the hell are you complain’ about, woman- that was nice. You don’t like me bein’ nice to you?”

“That was not nice!”

“I think it was.” He shrugs, so very self-assured and taking the piss. “Think maybe you’re just too fuckin’ sensitive? Hah?”

It’s the way he says it- so cooly and calmly and almost smugly. Like he’s got you backed into a corner and just waiting under his finger. And, truthfully, he does, but you’re much too competitive to just accept that. Much too familiar with the way he’ll blush and scream and fluster at even a hint of pushback. So even with shaky breaths, and a heart fluttering out of control, you challenge him.

“Out of the two of us,” You start, a shaky hand ghosting feather-light under his chin, just barely tilting his face up. “I’m not the sensitive one.”

He takes the bait, just as you knew he would, and rises to it. Even blushing as he was, Katsuki only inches closer in challenge, catching your gaze in full. “Big fuckin’ words, sunshine. Be careful.”

The nickname was playing dirty, and he knew it. You could see it in the careful set of his jaw, the way that incredibly irritating smirk was still sitting unbidden across his stupid beautiful face. You couldn’t let him win. You just couldn’t. 

“Yeah, you’re so angry, aren’t you? So scary, pop rocks.” You tease, desperately trying to move past your breathlessness. Your hand moves on it’s own, threading carefully through his hair. “But not around me.”

“Fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means you’ve gone soft, Katsuki.”

His hackles raise at that, and he clenches his jaw, eyes raging like wildfires. Bakugou doesn’t move away though, only gets closer, his hot breath hitting your face. “I’m. Not. Fuckin’. Soft!”

“Really?”

He nods, so very determined and offended and focused that you laugh. Your giggle makes him angry, you can see it in his eyes, but that only draws you closer. Only a few inches separate the two of you, but it’s like you can’t get close enough. It’s his magnetism, the way he’s still provoking you -despite being so red- that has your hands dropping from his head, crossing together behind his shoulders. You giggle again, warm, happy, heat flooding you at the proximity.

“Prove it then, Katsuki.”

Your defiance only seems to make him angrier. To make him boil because then he’s snarling, eyebrows creasing sharply, and he’s surging upwards, pressing his lips to yours. There’s no grace to it, no soft romance, just brutal pressure and his sharp teeth and his rough hands on your face. All things considered, it was the most aggressive kiss you’d ever recieved, but maybe you should’ve expected that. Still, it takes your breath away, nearly knocks your feet out from under you.

“Still think I’m fuckin’ soft?” Bakugou pulls away, so red he’s about to explode, but he’s still sitting there smirking like he’s won. “Hah?”

You can’t help it- you’d never heard his voice, felt it against your skin this close before. You shiver. That only seems to amuse him more, but then he’s looking past you. 

“Bread’s gonna fuckin’ burn.”

“Y-yeah!” You’re shocked out of whatever hold he had you in, shoulders straightening as you backed away. “Yeah. I know. I got it.” 

You felt winded, nearly weightless and fuzzy and flying as you turned back to the food. Your lips still tingled, fire sitting unrelenting in your cheeks as you finished. Part of you wondered where the hell that Katsuki came from, but then again, you figured that was part of him all along. He wouldn’t lose to anybody- and definitely not to you. 

You plate up the food, and when you turn around he’s still smirking. You want to kiss the smugness right off his idiotic gorgeous lips and you promise yourself you will. Later. 

“It’s hot, so be careful.” You say, sliding his plate across the counter to him.

“Obviously, dumbass. You think I’m that fuckin’ stupid?”

“No, but I’d hate for you to burn your taste buds off before you could really eat.” You smile, rounding the counter with your own food and taking a seat next him. “You’d really be missing out!” 

“What- you make it special or some shit?”

“Mhm. Just for you, angry man!” You laugh. “Figured you deserved something good after all your hard work and heroics.”

Bakugou’s eyes widen, so comically large and bright as he blushes and bites his knuckle. He turns away so quick, nearly cracking his neck with how fast he averts his eyes. “D-don’t just say that shit to me. Fucking weirdo.”

You took a deep breath, physically willing yourself not to turn away and squeal as loud as you could. He just had no right to be that adorable. Katsuki had fully kissed you, hands on your face and biting pressure, but he drew the line at being served food? At being served kind words? 

Oh- oh. You realized. It was words for him- affirmation. That was his real weakness. You filed it away, incredibly excited for the next time you got to test that little theory out on him. 

Dinner was an interesting affair- it was quiet and relatively calm, at least for everyone but the poor grilled cheese you’d served to him. He’d torn into it the second it was cool enough, nearly demolishing it in his sharp teeth. You figured you should’ve guessed that, that he’d eat the way he did everything else- aggressively.  

“You want anything else?” You ask, gathering the plates and cleaning up the counter.

“No. I’m good.” He grunts. “Thank you for the food, but if I want anything else I’ll get it my fuckin’ self.” 

“A simpler thank you would’ve worked just as well.”

“It’s- I’m not,” He grumbles, stubborn as ever. “The food was good. Thank you. I’m just saying you didn’t have to go to all the fuckin’ trouble. If I need somethin’ I’ll get it. I’m not a fuckin’ invalid who can’t do anything.”

“Oh my god.” You mumble under your breath, spinning around to face him. “Will you please just let me help you?”

“I don’t fuckin’ need it.”

“Katsuki- c’mon, just let me take care of you. Help you. Please.”

He looks stunned, maybe even vulnerable, as you near. You take one of his hands in yours.

“Don’t be so stubborn, angry man. I just want to take care of you.” You plead, not letting him look away. “Somebody’s gotta right? Especially since you’re still sore.”

“‘M-’m not that sore. I’ll be fuckin’ fine. Done it before.”

“Yeah, maybe, you have, and I’m sure you still could. I know you’re strong.” You supply. “So strong- but you don’t always have to be strong all by yourself anymore. We can be strong together. I’m here for you, you know?”

Something in his eyes seems so tiny and small and unsure at your words, and it breaks your heart. There aren’t enough words in the world for all you want to say in that moment, so you just take his head in your hands, kiss him with every bit of care and concern you hold for him.

Well you pull back, he won’t look at you, his cheeks gone nearly as red as his vulnerable eyes. His shoulders shake, and he takes a deep breath, turning his head to place a tiny little kiss into the palm of your hand. He doesn’t say anything, but the tiny action communicates almost everything you need to know.

“I saw that fall, alright?” You soothe, thumbs rubbing over his cheeks. “It was pretty nasty, and you’ve gotta be feeling shitty right now. I get it, and I don’t think less of you for it, and I’m not taking ‘pity’ on you or whatever you’re thinking so much about- I really just want to help you feel better. Because I care about you, and I’m so proud of you of saving that kid, and you deserve so many nice things. You gotta let someone help you, okay?”

He nods slowly, but you can see the resistance in the grimace of his mouth. It wasn’t easy for him- accepting help and admitting to any sort of fragility. You’d knew he’d fight you every step of the way- but that was okay. You’d never backed down from one of his challenges before.

“Now, I’m gonna ask you again, and I want you to just listen. Just listen and answer.” You tap a finger against his cheek. “What can I do to help you right now?”

“I-I fuckin’- I can’t.” He breathes, stuttered and anxious, frustrated eyes flitting between every object in the room. “Embarrassing- you’re fuckin’ tryin’ to- I don’t need stupid special treatment! I’m not weak!”

“I know. I know. I’m not saying you are.” You close the distance, pressing a light kiss into his hairline. “Being hurt isn’t the same thing as being weak. Being injured doesn’t mean you’re weak- and accepting help due to those injuries doesn’t make you weak either. You survived that fall because you’re strong, but you don’t have to be right now. Not unless that’s what you really want- not unless being alone right now is really what would help you best.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares up at you with eyes so guarded that it makes you want to cry.

“Is it? Is that what you want?” You ask tenatively. “If you’re really not feeling up to it, just want to shut down and sleep instead, I don’t have to be here. I want to, because I care about you, but I won’t force you. I can leave if-“

Bakugou suddenly grasps at your wrist, fingers twitching on your skin. His eyes are closed and his eyebrows are pinched, but he presses your hand into his burning cheeks.

“Yeah. Okay.” You whisper, the fondness and affection dripping from your words, thick and heavy as they leave your mouth. “I get it. I understand- you don’t have to say it.”

He just nods tightly, eyes still closed.

You stay there for a moment, just breathing in the rare vulnerability that was rolling off of him. Then you find it’s not enough- that you need more contact. You’re surging forward, tucking his head into your neck as you wind feather-light arms around him, careful to avoid his injuries.

Bakugou fights it, going rigid and stiff and resitant at first. He hardly looks at you, just barely, but you catch his gaze and nod. It’s all it takes before he’s allowing himself to sink into you, his arms pulling you closer.

It’s hesitancy, than acceptance and than desperation, and suddenly he’s holding you so tightly, clutching at you like you’re gonna fade. Like you’ll slip through his calloused fingers. It makes you ache. Sends volts of throbbing pain through your chest that have you squeezing him tighter.

It makes you want to sob- the way he seemed so resistant to softness despite being so obviously starved for it. You wondered if anyone else had stuck around this long; if anyone else had noticed just how desperate he was for someone to finally hear him.

It was alright now, you figured. He had you now and you’d listen for as long as he allowed you to.

“You don’t have to say anything,” You start, voice quiet, turning your head to whisper against his hair. “But I want you to know that I think you’re good. That I think that you’re so strong, the absolute bravest, and that you did a really good thing saving that kid. I believe you- when you said that you were working on it. You’re not so angry anymore and I get it. I know I haven’t know you that long, but still, I’m so proud of you for it.”

He just melts into you further, a shuddering breath against your neck. You think you can feel a smile- just the tiniest little twitch of his lips. A hesitant, honest, thing that has unbridled fondess tearing through your chest.

You stay like that for a few minutes, so close and warm and connected, before he’s pushing you away. Just barely pressing away from you until he can look you in the eyes.

“I- uh, I fuckin’ like you too.” He stutters out, so very red and exposed and genuine. He seems to struggle with the eye contact, but he holds it anyway. “And think you’re okay. Or whatever.”

Truthfully, you wanted to tease him. Wanted to giggle and laugh and pick apart the words because he just added a “Or whatever” to the end of his declaration. It was quite possibly the lamest possible phrase to tack onto the end of an emotional statement and you wanted to say something- but now wasn’t the time for that. You didn’t even want to imagine the walls he’d put up if you laughed at him right now.

So you didn’t, you just pulled him close again. Hugged him tight and hid your pleased smile where he couldn’t see it. Bakugou stills then, resting his head against you and shutting his eyes. His anxiety fades from his shoulders and his breathing slows; if you you didn’t know any better you’d swear he was falling asleep.

“You want more pain meds?” You ask after a while. “Think it’s probably about time.”

He just nods. You begin to move away, and he follows you for a second. Just a second though- and then he’s catching himself and fisting his hands tightly shut in his lap, cheeks flushing.

“The nightime ones look pretty intense.” You comment, reading the label on the bottle. You give it a playful shake. “You wanna get high, angry man?”

He’s scoffing and rolling his eyes but he’s smiling too. Katsuki holds a hand out and you toss him the bottle.

“Not a fuckin’ baby.” He grunts, twisting open the bottle. He dry-swallows the pills; you he does it just to prove a point. “I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know, those pills kinda look like horse tranquilizers. Worringly so.” You refill his glass of water, shoving it towards him before he can protest. “Now drink up. Then you’re spending the rest of the night on the couch, where you should’ve been. The whole time. Resting.”

“Jeez, pushy woman. I get it. Chill out already.”

“How am I supposed to chill out when you keep not listening to me, huh?” You take the empty glass from his hands. “Now, c’mon, go- back to the living room. I know you’re not gonna let me help you, but I swear to god, if I don’t see you hobbling away in a few seconds, I’m gonna be really angry at you.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, all petulant dramatics and huffy sighs, but gets up anyway- actually listens to you even if it seems like it physically pains him. Actually, knowing him, it probably does.

He collapses into the couch as you bring another water over- just in case. You meant it when you said you didn’t want him getting up again.

“So, I’m thinkin’ you’ve got, max, maybe 30 minutes? Possibly 45?” You say settling in on the other side of the couch. “So pick a movie.”

He looks at you a little weirdly. “Why?”

“Because those meds are gonna knock you the fuck out.” You laugh, unable to hold it in. “And because watching movies is a relaxing activity. And that’s what you’re supposed to be doing right now. Relaxing.”

“So you’ve fuckin’ said. I get it, woman. Put whatever you want on, I don’t care.”

“Really? No preference at all?”

“No.” He puffs out his cheeks, averts his eyes. “Normally don’t have time for that shit.”

You can’t help it- the way you find yourself sidling right up next to him. You’re careful, sure to avoid all his sore limbs, but you take a chance and poke at his chest lightly.

“No time, huh?” You say, catching his eyes. “I’ll find a way to change that.”

His eyes widen and his cheeks redden, and as usual, he doesn’t say anything. Katsuki just hides his face over your head, tucking you into his chest as he huffs.

“Course you fuckin’ would. You’re the most irritating woman I’ve ever met.”

“I’m gonna choose to take that as a complement.”

“You fuckin’ shouldn’t. It’s not.”

“Well, I think I will anyway.” You giggle, sinking into his hold. “Besides, I’m pretty sure you like me- you did kiss me first, you know.”

Bakugou goes ridgid at that, face heating as he forcibly shucks you from him. He looks appalled, absolute disbelief covering his features.

“T-that’s not! I fuckin’- I did that shit to win! Because you said I was soft! I’m not fucking soft, you shitty woman!”

“Mhm. I know.” You laugh, nearing him again and stopping just inches from his red face. You’re blushing too, horribly so, but you can’t help teasing him. Nothing could stop you from riling him up further- it was your favorite past-time after all. “You wanna try winning again? I’ll promise I’ll let you. Katsuki.”

Pop.

He shrinks back in his seat, jolts like he’s the one who just got shocked. He isn’t. You are- and you’re laughing and smiling and breaking the tension all at once.

“That’s- Don’t fuckin’ do that to me! Goddamn witch! What the hell is that? Fuckin’ breaking my quirk? What the fuck?” He roars as he tucks his hands under his legs. “You know how long I been workin’ on controlling that shit? Just to have you walk in and fuck it up? Stop it! I fuckin- you make me so mad! Stop laughing!”

“I-I’m not. I’m not! It’s just,” You begin, breathless and gasping. “I was wondering, you know, why that hadn’t happened in a while, but now I know why. And it’s adorable.”

“Shut up! It’s not and I’m not- I’m fucking cool as shit so don’t go running your fuckin’ mouth about it! You don’t know what you’re talking about, damn dumbass, you don’t know shit!”

You sober a little bit, admiration shining clearly in your eyes when you look at him. When you look at his red face- the way he flustered. Because that’s the secret, you discovered; he only popped when you embarrassed him.

“Stop yelling already.” You giggle, pressing closer to him. “It’s not a bad thing, angry man. You make me nervous too, you know?”

He spares a look at you, blinking dumbfounded at your statement. Like he couldn’t believe it. It was such a ridiculous, oblivious look on his face that you couldn’t stop yourself- you just had to kiss it away.

As much noise as he was making, it all dies away the second you meet his lips. All the resistance fades and he melts into it, hands grasping under your chin to keep you close to him.

The first kiss was about winning, and the second one about validation, and those were good, amazing, but this one was nothing but fondess. A torrent of burning, boiling, affection as your lips moved against his. It was a tender kiss, much softer and slower than the first one, and a lot more delicate but you liked it just the same. Liked being able to finally act on all the feelings you’d been storing up for weeks.

The completion you’d felt from this kiss far surpassed the charged kisses from earlier. This was kissing him just because you could, because you wanted to, and you were sure this was heaven- at least, as close to heaven as any one human should ever be allowed to get.

It felt like flying, like hurtling above the earth and surging through the clouds. Like you were Icarus and you breached the atmosphere to soar against the surface of the sun. His hands fell to the base of your spine, pressing you firmly against him, and suddenly you knew. Knew it for sure, in your bones like it’d always been carved in there-you might’ve been Icarus, but he’d never let you fall. You would get to blister and scorch and burn for as long as you’d wanted but your wax would never melt. There was no fear when falling with him. Falling for him.

You pull away, but you don’t go too far. Don’t think you could separate even if you tried. Katsuki was an addiction, a powerful, potent thing and the only salve for that itch in your skin was being close to him. As close as you could possibly manage.

He didn’t say anything, just ragged breathes as he pulled you close. That was alright, you figured, you already knew he wasn’t a man of many words. At least not of many nice ones. The thought made you giggle.

“What the fuck are you laughin’ about, idiot?” He huffs, cheeks still bright red. “What’s so fuckin’ funny, hah?”

“Nothing. I just like you. A lot.”

The statement was easy, falling from your mouth like it was seared into your tongue. You’d knew the affect it would have- that he’d jump in his skin and go shy under your touch. That was half the reason you said it after all.

“Oh my god,” You whisper, dropping a quick kiss to his heated cheek just because you could. He only seems further embarrassed by your action, hands unconciously scrunching the material of your sweatshirt. “You’re killing me.”

“Good.” He mumbles juvenilely, looking anywhere to avoid your eyes. “Die then. Fuckin’ burn, you witch.”

The laugh that tears from your chest is full and heavy and so very filled with joy that it sucks the air out of you. Has you grasping for breath as you clutch your stomach, a hand braced on the cushion behind you as you absolutely lose yourself. When the tears finally clear from your eyes, you see him smiling, apparently very pleased with his joke. Which, to be completely honest, you were too. It was a very funny joke, after all.

“You can’t- you shouldn’t call your soulmate a witch, Katsuki!”

He just shrugs, smile still stretched across his face as he watches you.

“Jesus christ, what am I gonna do with you?” You ask, heaving a breath as your last giggles fade. “You’re a real handful, you know?”

He nods, looking once again all too pleased with himself. You see his pupils though- the way they’ve slowly dialated from the meds. You had to hand it to him, being that present while fighting heavy narcotics? He really was the best at everything.

“Alright, alright, enough jokes from you, Mr. Funny Man.” You say, standing quickly to grab the blanket across the room. You sit back down, setting it to the side as you pat your lap. “Lay down.”

“I’m not-“

“Just lay down, you stubborn idiot.” You sigh. “I can see your eyes. You’re tired, aren’t you?”

“Not that fuckin’ tire-“

“I said, you’re tired, aren’t you?” You interrupt sternly.

He just looks at you, rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time that night, and collaspes into your lap. You spread the blanket over him, nearly cooing when he pulls it up to his chin and closes his eyes. He then abruptly shifts, movements jerky and aggressive as he turns onto his side and wraps his arms around you stomach.

“Aww, Katsuki-“

“Shut the fuck up, woman.” He bites out, not even bothering to open his eyes. “Say a goddamn thing and I’ll fucking bite you.”

“Ooo kinky.”

True to his word, he does bite. Not a cute bite either- it’s all pressure and sharp teeth and locked jaw against your stomach, all ridiculous force through your sweatshirt, and you swear to god if he wasn’t so cute you’d slap him.

“Katsuki!” You shrill, hands pushing his head away. “Ow! Stop! That hurts, you bitch!”

“Told you. Fuckin’ warned ya.” He grunts, relenting with a smug smile as he nuzzles back into your stomach- this time without teeth. “Now turn on the TV. Need background noise to drown you the fuck out.”

“You’re so mean!” You whine, but you’re still petting his hair fondly, shifting as minutely as you could to grab the remote.

He doesn’t say anything as the TV clicks to life, filling the room with soft instructions as the cooking channel drones on. You watch it for a while, perfectly content and sated as you scratch at his scalp. You wouldn’t pick the cooking channel on a normal day- but let’s face, you weren’t really paying that much attention to it.

Katsuki shifts suddenly, sleepily prods the base of your spine with a single finger until you jump.

“God.” You huff. “What?”

“You should stay.”

“S-stay?”

“Tonight.” He slurs, eyes just barely sliding open to display his glazed pupils. “Here.”

He’s trying to blink himself away now, hardly able to keep his eyes open. You see his blown pupils and feel his sluggish limbs- that medicine really was doing a number on him. Turns out, even the great Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t stronger than literal drugs.

Your stomach sank as you continued to look him. You wanted to stay- truly you did. But you couldn’t. It was a sunday, you had class in the morning, and your university was over in the next city.

You should stay.” He insists again.

“I’m can’t stay.”

“Fuckin- why?” He pokes your cheek with a sluggish limb, just barely missing your eyes. His own are coated in mild irritation. “Hate me that much or somethin’?”

“No.” You laugh fondly, batting his hands away and gathering them in your own. “I have class tomorrow morning, angry man.”

He’s quiet for a moment, but you watch his lips pull into a pout. He pokes your cheek again. “Drop out of school.”

“I’m not gonna drop out of school.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m almost finished.” You supply indulgently, cradling his sleepy face in your hands. “I can always visit tomorrow.”

“No. Now.”

“Katsuki,” You giggled, unable to contain it. “I really can’t. I can’t just do everything you say, you know.”

“Never fuckin’- never do anythin’ I say.”

“I know.”

He’s quiet again, head lolling to bury itself back into your stomach. You look at the time, and laugh- you guess 9:47 was past his bed time even when he wasn’t sky high off of pain meds.

“Stay.” He orders again, arms winding tighter against your stomach.

“You’re so loopy, my dear angry man.” You coo, catching his face in your palms, tilting his head until you meet his glazed eyes. “God, I can’t wait to tell you about this tomorrow morning.”

“When you’re still here.”

“I’m not- Katsuki!” You giggle. “What has that medicine done to you, oh my god.”

He just shrugs, closing his eyes as he drops his head back further into your palms. At this point, so flustered and outright giddy at his adorable actions, you were sure that your hands had to be shaky- but if they were he certainly didn’t seem to mind.

“Are you serious, right now? It’s- that’s all your weight! What’re you gonna do; just break your neck if I move my hands?”

“Yeah. Fuckin’ probably.”

“That’s not a good answer.”

“Mhm. Don’t move ‘em then.” He slurs. “World’s- world’s gonna be real fuckin’ mad if you kill me.”

You want to retort, want to argue with him and his ridiculousness, but he wouldn’t be awake to find out. He’s fallen asleep almost as soon as he finishes the thought, head falling completely into your palms, even more dead weight than before. Surpressing a squeal, you set his head back down on your thighs, heart pounding wildly when he nuzzles into your stomach.

His kitten snores start again, those same adorable little ones from earlier, and it’s like you had no choice. Mid-terms were coming up soon, and it was a terrible choice to skip class tomorrow morning, and your back would kill you when you woke up, but your grave was dug the second he’d cuddled into you.

Bakugou Katsuki always got his way after all- always won, even when it came to you. So you didn’t fight the sleep gathering in your eyes, letting your head fall heavy against the cushion behind you.

You stayed. You would stay, and you knew it was just because he asked you to, because he had you wrapped so tightly and completely around his explosive fingers- no matter how much you wanted to deny it.

//-//

enjoy the fluff kissy kissy :))

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 3,324 Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, typical TWD stuff A/N: This is Part 6 of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Daryl worries about Y/N after the traumatic incident outside the wall.

Your name: submit What is this?

Daryl didn’t see you that whole day after he had talked with Rick, or the next morning so he decided to pay you a visit and make sure you were okay. He wiped his hands on the rag he always kept in his back pocket and put away the tools he had been using to work on his bike. Just as he was getting ready to leave, Aaron stepped out into the garage and Daryl greeted him with a nod.

“Done for the day?”

Daryl shrugged. “For now at least.” He thoughtfully chewed his bottom lip for a moment. “Hey, uhh, ya seen Y/N since that night we got back?”

Aaron’s face fell a bit but he nodded. “I stopped by her place yesterday.”

Daryl leaned back against the table, crossing his arms over his chest. “How’d she seem?”

Aaron shrugged and sighed heavily. “She seemed… okay. I don’t think she’s been sleeping,” he said a little hesitantly. He shook his head, frowning. “The bruising on her neck… it’s bad. Thank God you were there.”

Daryl’s stomach flipped at the thought. “Ya… Well, the whole thing was bad. Those people? Seemed like—” he hesitated to say what was on his mind, to confide in Aaron, but he also felt like it was eating him alive. Maybe if he spoke it, he would feel less consumed by it. “It seemed like they knew her.”

Aaron’s brow drew down low over his eyes. “Hmm. What do you mean?”

“I heard ‘em say she was comin’ ‘back where she belongs.’ And more than that—if they had wanted to kill her, she’d be dead. They both had guns and knives on ‘em. But they didn’t. They were tryin’ ta take her.”

The shadow on Aaron’s face deepened and he rubbed a hand thoughtfully over his chin and mouth. “Well, I don’t think I need to tell you that the intentions of some men out there in this world are even more emboldened now,” he said with disgust.

“Yeah… But ain’t the first time neither. That night I stitched up that gash in her arm she said the same thing. She said ‘if they had wanted to kill me, I’d be dead.’”

Aaron gulped and shook his head. “I don’t know what—I just—I don’t know,” he said vaguely. “She hasn’t told me much about before.”

Daryl turned back to the table and fiddled with some of the parts. “Seems like she’s got a target painted on her. Maybe she shouldn’t be out,” he thought aloud.

Aaron shook his head. “Yeah, well that will never happen. Trying to keep her inside Alexandria is like trying to hold water in your hands. We’d probably have to lock her up.” He sighed heavily again and rested his hands on his hips. “Whatever is out there, whatever her past is… she knows the risks of going out. There isn’t going to be any convincing her to stay inside.”

Daryl nodded and chewed the side of his thumbnail. “Ya…”

Aaron let out a wry laugh. “I mean, can you imagine if someone told you that you needed to stay inside?”

One corner of Daryl’s mouth twitched upwards. “Ya. I know. Ain’t happenin’.” Daryl sighed. “Well, I guess the only thing for it is to try to convince her not to go alone.”

Aaron smiled at the archer. “Sounds reasonable. Know anyone for the job?” he joked. Daryl shot him a look and Aaron laughed and held his hands up. “See you later, Daryl.”

Daryl hummed an acknowledgement, set down the part he’d been anxiously fiddling with, and headed out of the garage in the direction of your house.

He felt a bit nervous as he climbed the stairs on your front porch, noticing how clammy his palms suddenly felt, and when first he knocked there was a long silence. He wondered if you were going to answer the door at all and a distinct worry seized him—that you really weren’t okay. But, finally, he could hear some soft footsteps approaching the other side of the door and then it opened a crack.

You peeked out hesitantly but as soon as you saw it was Daryl you opened the door wide. “Daryl. Hi.”

He cleared his throat a little awkwardly. “Hey.”

Aaron was right. You looked exhausted. There were dark circles under your eyes and your shoulders were somewhat slumped.

You continued to peer at him, waiting for some explanation for why he was standing there at your door.

“I, uhh—I hadn’t seen ya since we got back. Just wanted to see if ya needed anything. Ya know, and see how you’re healin’ up.”

“Oh. That’s—you want to come in?” you offered stepping back to make way for his broad-shouldered frame.

“Thanks,” Daryl murmured as he crossed the threshold. You shut the door behind him and he followed you up the hall and into the kitchen. He could see a pillow and blanket laid out on the couch in the living room. It looked like you’d been camping out there. He gave you a questioning glance. “So, how ya feelin’?” Daryl’s eyes found the dark bruising around your neck.

“I’m fine. Thanks,” you said a little quietly.

He considered you thoughtfully for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Ya sure?”

You sighed heavily and pressed a hand to your forehead. “Yeah. I just—haven’t slept really,” you admitted.

Daryl nodded, looking again at the makeshift bed in your living room. “Ya camping out down here?”

You followed him as he trailed over to peer at the blankets spilling off the couch and onto the floor. “Uhh… sort of. I thought maybe a change of scenery would help.” And you had the thought that if you were on the ground floor, you’d hear someone trying to break into your house…

“Did it?” he asked, his blue eyes finding yours.

“Not really.”

The archer’s brow drew down, veiling his eyes in shadow, and he let out a hum of acknowledgement. “Ya know if having other people around would help, ya could—” he cleared his throat again, his heart racing, “ya could come stay over at our place. We’ve got a full house. Ya know, if—if it’d feel safer. Ya could take my bed. It’s in the basement away from everybody.” He watched your eyelashes flutter as you looked up at him in surprise.

“Oh. I can’t—that—that’s okay,” you said, averting your eyes back down toward your feet.

Daryl’s heart was pounding as he offered up his second idea, nervously rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Well, I—I could stay over here. Just to, ya know, keep an eye on things. If it’d help.” Your eyes lifted back up to his face again and there was that vulnerability in your eyes again that always surprised him. He watched as your lips parted slightly as you prepared to speak.

“I can’t—I can’t ask you to do that,” you said softly, quickly averting your eyes from the sudden softness in his and fiddling with the hem of your sleeve.

“Ya ain’t askin’. I offered,” he said. “If ya think it’d help ya get some sleep. You’re healin’ up. Ya need it.”

You glanced up at him again, now your expression was somewhat guarded as you took him in. You gulped at the nervous lump in your throat. “They aren’t gonna miss you over there?” you asked hesitantly.

“Nah,” he said.

You watched him for a long moment, considering his offer, but at length you nodded, remembering how well you had slept with him nearby even outside of Alexandria’s walls. Since you’d gotten back the nightmares had returned and gotten worse, likely a result of your latest encounter. “Okay. If—if you don’t mind.”

Daryl’s heart fluttered at the grateful look you gave him, your eyes fixed on him and only him. He nodded. “I dun mind.” He nudged his nose up at you twice in a nod. “I’ll come by later.” You watched as he stalked into the kitchen and went over to the refrigerator.

“What are you doing?” You watched him pull it open and look inside before glancing back over his shoulder at you.

He closed the door pointedly. “Just what I thought. Ain’t got no damn food in here either. Ya been eatin’?”

You gulped and shrugged vaguely.

“Ya, uh huh. I’ll bring somethin’ later. Ya need to eat,” he rumbled. He started to stride quickly to the front door and you trailed a little behind him. He stopped on the threshold and looked back at you. There was that softness in his eyes again that always made your heart jump. “I’ll be back later, alright?”

You avoided his eyes, feeling suddenly silly and ashamed of what you were asking him to do, that you needed someone else when you tried so hard not to need anyone or anything. His deep voice, rough with gravel called your eyes back to his.

“Hey. It ain’t no big deal. Alright?” he said, trying to reassure you, reading the shame on your face as clearly as if the word had been tattooed on your forehead.

You nodded a little, giving in to his reassurance. “Okay.”

“’Kay,” he agreed. You watched him cross the porch and go down your stairs, headed back home. That’s what he had. A home. It hit you that all you really had was an empty house and your heart ached. It was the price you paid for trying to keep almost everyone at arm’s length. You sighed heavily and shut the door.

Several hours later, there was another knock on the front door. You got up from your spot on the couch, still carrying your book and went to the door. Daryl was standing there with his crossbow slung over his shoulder and a small container in his hands. Night had fallen outside and the porchlights illuminated the strong angles of his jaw. You felt a flush in your cheeks and hoped he couldn’t see it.

You stepped back and gestured for him to come in.

“Brought ya some stew. Venison. We’ve still got a bunch of it,” he said, heading immediately for the kitchen and starting to open cabinets, looking for a pot to dump it in so he could heat it up. “And you’re eatin’ some of this now.” He paused and looked up at you over the counter. “When is the last time ya ate?”

“Uhh…”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at you. “Too damn long, then.” He resumed his searching and eventually succeeded. He set it on the stove to heat up. You sank down onto one of the kitchen stools at the island, watching him as he stirred the hearty meal. Daryl turned around and took in your expression from across the kitchen, slinging his crossbow off his shoulder and letting it hang at his side.

“Whatcha readin’?” he asked.

Your eyes shot up at the sound of his voice. “Oh, uhh… it’s just this classic novel. The Brothers Karamazov.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed as he looked at you. “The what?”

You actually smiled at him, your whole face lighting up. Daryl felt his heart flutter and he was relieved to see that some of the weight that seemed to be on you was lifted, even if just for a moment. “Yeah, it’s a mouthful,” you said. “I’ve got this thing for the great Russian writers so…”

“Russian, huh? What’s so special about ‘em?”

“They just—I don’t know. They write these beautiful, insane, touching, tragic stories. I just—” you shrugged. “The writing is incredible, even in translation.” You paused thoughtfully and Daryl felt a warmth in his chest as you looked down at the novel in your hand and smoothed your hand over the cover, staring at it like it was something precious. “And I suppose now, since the world changed, the tragedy in the stories is even more relatable,” you said softly.

Daryl felt a pang in his heart at your words. Your eyes flitted back up to meet his and he felt a spark of electricity jump up his spine.

Daryl rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and hoisted his crossbow up onto the counter, using it as an excuse to break eye contact with you as he felt suddenly terrified of the magnetic pull he was feeling.

“What’d you tell everybody?” you asked quietly.

Daryl didn’t look up from the bolt he was examining closely. “Didn’t tell ‘em nothin’.”

“Won’t they worry about where you are?”

He shrugged. “Nah. S’fine.” He quickly turned back to the stew on the stove which now had curls of steam rising from the surface of it. He pulled open some more cabinets until he found a bowl and quickly poured stew from the pan into it before setting it in front of you. He opened drawers until he found a spoon, which he slid over to you with a metallic clinking against the granite of the countertop. You were giving him a queer look. “What?”

You shook your head, one corner of your mouth twitching up. “Nothing.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, his eyes narrowed. “Eat,” he drawled.

The corners of your eyes crinkled in a smile. “You’re awfully bossy today,” you joked, picking up the spoon. You stared down into the stew, not feeling the least bit hungry despite not eating anything all day.

He let out a scoff and leaned on his forearms on the counter, his curtain of brown hair falling forward around his face. “I’m bossy when someone needs bossin’,” he quipped.

You took a bite of the stew, holding the spoon a bit awkwardly with the brace on your wrist, and chewed it slowly. Daryl watched you carefully. The smile on your face had disappeared again and he couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting to the bruises on your neck. He felt a renewed flush of hot anger every time. He sighed and straightened up, picking up his crossbow and slinging it over his shoulder in a well-practiced habit.

“How’re your ribs feelin’?” he drawled.

You dipped your spoon back into the bowl of stew and shrugged. “Fine. Really, I’m fine.”

Daryl nodded, but you could tell he was a little skeptical. He moved around the counter and into the living room, sinking into a chair and kicking his feet up to rest on the coffee table. You dutifully sat and ate your stew until it was gone before going to join him with your book. You pushed the blankets on the couch out of the way and allowed yourself to watch the nimble workings of his strong fingers as he fiddled with his bow and the narrowing of his blue eyes in concentration. Your heart increased its pace. Finally, you broke the silence again. “Thanks for doing this,” you said. You hadn’t meant for it to come out in a whisper but it had, the tightness in your throat from shame and nerves strangling your voice a little.

The workings of Daryl’s fingers ceased for a moment and he looked like he was frozen, turned to stone. “I dun mind,” he finally said. His blue eyes lifted and met yours and briefly he thought he saw some glistening light there, but in a moment he had blinked and it was gone. You were simply pulling the blanket over your lap and running your fingers along the spine of your book. Daryl pulled out a sharpening stone and went about carefully sharpening some of his bolts. You settled back against the couch and opened your book, curled up beneath the blanket. It was strange how usual, how comfortable this felt. Each passing moment of silence, each murmur to one another, each question and response all felt so easy, and that was something Daryl kept turning over and over in his mind. He wasn’t used to that. He wasn’t used to feeling so at home around another person and it was becoming a habit with you. The thought made him bounce his knee nervously.

Daryl wasn’t sure when, but at some point as he sat across from you sharpening his bolts you had drifted off to sleep. Your book was still open but had dropped down onto your chest, your left hand resting on it. Your breathing was slow and deep and Daryl felt a wave of warmth and gladness wash over him that you were actually asleep. And he wondered at the fact that not only were your comfortable enough with him around to fall asleep, but he was what enabled you to when you otherwise couldn’t. Did you think of him as safety? God, he hoped so… He was puzzling over this, smoothing his thumb across his lower lip as he took in your soft expression and the way your hair was falling around your face.

He felt his heart speed up as his eyes traced the gentle pout of your mouth and the slope of your nose in profile. He rubbed a hand at the warm and achy feeling in his chest that was becoming common, annoyed at how his mind was running away on him...

The archer stood and silently crossed the room to you. He grasped one corner of your open book and slipped it gently from your hands, setting it on the coffee table. He pulled the blanket up over you before retreating back to his chair and his bow.

You awoke as the sun was coming up, lighting the living room slowly, drenching everything in warm light. You blinked a few times, getting your bearings, and then gingerly pulled yourself up into a sitting position. Your eyes landed on the archer, asleep in his chair with his head cocked to one side, his bow leaning up against the armrest next to him. He must have heard you stirring because he was awake the next instant, taking in a deep breath and straightening. His eyes meeting yours. “Hey.” The gravel in his voice was thick, heavy with sleep still.

“Hey,” you replied. Daryl was relieved to see how much brighter your eyes looked. The dark circles beneath them were also diminished.

“I didn’t—I slept,” you said with gentle surprise.

He nodded. “Ya. Ya were exhausted. Ya fell asleep early. Ya needed it,” he said, grabbing his crossbow and pulling it onto his lap, his heart rushing at the sight of your somewhat tousled hair and the rosy glow in your cheeks.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

He nodded and stood, throwing his bow over his shoulder again. “S’nothin’. Glad ya got some sleep.”

You pulled yourself up, subconsciously wrapping an arm around your ribs as they panged with the movement. Daryl was already heading through the kitchen and toward the front door. He stopped and his blue eyes fixed on your face. “Ya know, I get ‘em too sometimes,” he said quietly.

You heart raced. Had he guessed why you weren’t sleeping so easily? “What?”

“Nightmares,” he said. “About the people we’ve lost. About losing more.”

You gulped at the tightness in your throat and nodded. “Yeah…”

“I’ll see ya later, Y/N,” he drawled. He pointed at you sharply. “Eat some more of that damn stew.”

You smiled at him, the corners of your eyes crinkling. “You got it.”

[lallyloo]

The Frozen Corn Incident

(I have stuff going on and haven’t written in a bit, but Rhett’s cold taint wouldn’t leave me alone.. so here’s some awkward silliness and a small amount of smut. Thank you @imincognitohere for listening to me ramble on about this today.. and yesterday) They’d been back in the office for awhile, and Link had been so focused on his own work, typing away, he’d barely registered the grunts and sighs from behind him. Complaints after filming were something they were used to – belly aches from hot peppers, headaches from too much sugar, chafed balls from wedgie hangman. They were both equal complainers, and they’d both grown accustomed to tuning the other one out. And Rhett was trying to be quiet, but he couldn’t help himself. He was freezing in places he never imagined he could be so cold, and nothing he did seemed to help. When a frustrated whine cut into Link’s concentration, he spun his chair around to see why Rhett was still complaining about frozen corn on his taint. Rhett looked miserable with one hand stuffed down his jeans, and the sight didn’t surprise Link – after so many years side by side, they’d been in all kinds of crazy situations. They’d seen the good, the bad, and a whole lot of awkward. A hand down the pants seemed par for the course and Link couldn’t help but smirk. “You still sufferin’, brother?”

Rhett’s eyes flicked to him, as if he hadn’t even noticed his presence, and he gave Link a pained look.

“My taint is still freezing, man.”

“You still sittin’ on the corn or what?”

“No, I’m not sittin’ on the corn,” Rhett huffed, and his arm tensed up as he cupped himself harder. “It’s been an hour and I’m still cold. Think I got frost bite or somethin’.”

Link’s eyes went wide, “Frost bite on your taint?”

“Man, I dunno. It’s still freezin’ and nothing I’m doing is helping.”

“Not even your hand? You’ve got the hottest hands out of everyone– ”

“Yeah, but– ”

“Always so dang sweaty– ”

“Link, I know, but it’s not makin’ a difference. It’s like the cold dries up the sweat, or turns it into ice or something.”

“I don’t think that’s– ”

“I gotta figure out somethin’. What happens if you get frost bite on your taint? Can they amputate a chode?”

“Ugh, don’t call it that.”

“But can they?”

“Rhett, they’re not gonna –

“I don’t wanna lose my taint.” Rhett stared at him in horror, “Or my balls?? What if –

“Rhett, you’re not gonna lose your taint or your balls. You’re crazy, dude.”

“Well, it feels like it. Feels like I’m losin’ feeling..”

“In your balls?”

“Everywhere.”

“Your butthole?”

“I dunno, maybe!”

“What about your..” Link raised his eyebrows and made a pointing motion towards Rhett’s dick. “Your tallywhacker?”

“Dude, shut up!” Rhett leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, bringing his free hand up to cover them. “Don’t make me think about it. I can’t lose my dick to a frozen corn incident.”

Link laughed, “You’re being dramatic. You’re not gonna lose your dick.”

Rhett lifted his hand to glare at him, his eyes narrow. “You don’t know.”

“You want me to get a heating pad or somethin’?”

Rhett was hopeful for a moment. “Do we have one?”

“I don’t know,” Link shrugged. “I could text Jenna and ask her to get one.”

“No,” Rhett waved his hand and covered his eyes again. “I’m not askin’ her to get a heating pad for my nads.”

“What? Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Dude, I don’t have to say it’s for your nutsack– ”

“And my taint.”

“Your nutsack and your taint. And your butthole if you’re gonna get specific.”

“Link, I’m sufferin’ here.”

“Can I text her?”

“NO!”

Link stared at him for a moment before letting out a loud sigh. “Stand up.”

“What?” Rhett sat up a little straighter in the chair.

“Just stand up.”

“Why?”

“I’m gonna help you, now stand up.”

Rhett stood up slowly, his hand still stuck down his jeans.

“Gimme this.” Link grabbed Rhett’s wrist and eased his hand out of his pants, running his fingertips over Rhett’s. “Dude, your fingers are like ice!”

“I know, I told you!”

Link forced Rhett’s hand into his pocket, shoving it down deep and giving it a couple forceful pats for emphasis. “Leave it in there, let it warm up.”

“What’re you gonna– ”

“I’m gonna help you.”

Link took him by the shoulders and angled him so Link was up against his right side and Rhett went willingly, glancing down between them where Link’s hand was hovering over his zipper.

“Like, help help?”

“Yeah,” Link cupped the air and made a rubbing motion with his hand, “Help help. That okay?”

Rhett nodded, his eyebrows raised, “Well, yeah.”

Link popped the button on his jeans and eased the zipper down, and Rhett held his breath as Link’s hand slipped inside his boxer briefs.

Link was to-the-point about it, seemingly unfazed by the proximity of his hand to Rhett’s dick.

“You want me to– ” Rhett offered, “Move it outta the way?”

Link shook his head. “S’fine.”

Link brushed past Rhett’s cock, barely registered it touching his forearm, slipping under his balls the same way he would with his own if he was going to rub his own taint. He was focused, but he jerked his hand away for a second when he made contact with damp, cold skin.

“Dang, Rhett, you are cold.”

“I told ya.”

“What’ve you been doin’ sittin’ here with your hand down your britches?”

“Tryin’ to warm up”

“Tryin’ and failin’ more like,” Link muttered.

They tended to get a little more Southern in those moments, murmuring softly to each other. But they’d never done that, never been that close, with Link’s hand there, and Link settled his fingertips on the skin between Rhett’s balls and butt.

Rhett let out a breathy sigh of relief. “Your hands are warm.”

“Well yeah, dummy,” Link said quietly. “You should’a asked me to do this earlier”

They were quiet as Link rubbed him a bit, like a test at first, trying to bring warmth to the cold skin

“Does it burn?”

Rhett was distracted and it took him a moment to reply. “Burn?”

“Yeah, as it’s warmin’ up?”

“Oh, nah, not yet.”

Link was careful with his fingers, but with every few swipes he slipped a little too far back and Rhett jumped.

“Watch my–” he laughed nervously. “Watch my butthole.”

Link huffed out a laugh. “Your butthole?”

“Yeah!”

“I ain’t gonna finger your butthole if that’s what you’re worryin’ about.”

“I’m not worryin’,” Rhett said, because he wasn’t. That wasn’t what he meant.

They stayed quiet for another moment, as if they were both thinking.

“Is it cold though?” Link murmured.

“Yeah.”

“You want me to.. like,” Link slipped his hand back a little further and ghosted over Rhett’s ass. His cheeks were ice cold and Link chuckled softly. “Freezin’ here too, bo.”

“That’s what I told ya,” Rhett mumbled. “But you don’t have to..”

“You want me to though?”

Rhett paused before answering with a soft, “Yeah.”

Link rubbed gently, slow enough that he wouldn’t irritate Rhett’s frozen and overly-sensitive skin, but fast enough to bring warmth to the area. The base of his palm bumped against Rhett’s balls, his forearm sliding against Rhett’s cock, and Link didn’t say a word as Rhett grew hard against him. They both knew it was natural. Friction could do that.

“Dick’s warm,” Rhett muttered, trying to bring humor to the situation.

Link nodded, “I know.”

Rhett glanced down between them. “Is it buggin’ you? I can hold it up.”

“S’fine,” Link reiterated. “Ain’t botherin’ me none.”

And it wasn’t bothering him. It was just another thing. Cool butt, cold taint, warming balls, hot hard dick. It was fine.

Link slowed the rubbing, trying to change it up a bit as he pressed his fingers against Rhett’s taint.

“Pressin’ your button,” he murmured.

“What?” Rhett huffed out.

Link pushed in again and then started massaging in slow circles. “The evac button.”

“Oh,” Rhett breathed, “right..”

And then Link felt it.

Rhett’s dick was leaking slick and wet on his arm.

And in theory it should’ve bothered him, but it didn’t. At all.

“Feel good?” Link found himself asking.

And Rhett surprised himself by admitting, “real good..”

Link nodded and continued his kneading, his palm tapping against Rhett’s balls until Link just went for it and cupped them. They were soft, almost velvety, not much different than his own, and he held them the way he held himself, knowing what he liked and figuring Rhett might like it too.

“You’re warmin’ up,” Link breathed, as if the cold was even still a concern at that point, when he was actively playing with his best friend’s ballsack and massaging his taint.

Rhett just panted, actually panted, in reply and slid in the slick that now coated Link’s arm.

“You want me to stop?” Link asked, knowing it was probably a stupid question, and honestly hoping Rhett wouldn’t want him to.

“No,” Rhett huffed out a laugh, because that was the last thing he wanted, “god, don’t.”

So they were doing this, and it was fine. Just another thing.

Except it wasn’t just another thing. It was a big thing. Rhett was rubbing his dick on Link’s arm, and Link was pretty sure he was going to help him cum, and it somehow made sense, and then Rhett was tensing, and Link found he needed to watch him.

He wanted to see Rhett cum.

He’d heard it before – their college dorm room was small, and Link was good at feigning sleep. But he’d never seen Rhett’s face in those moments.

And here they were, and Link was helping to make it happen, wanting to make it happen, wanting to see it happen. He rubbed the now-warm skin, slipping his fingers back to ghost over Rhett’s ass again and he recognized the sharp inhale of breath as Rhett came and spurted wet heat over Link’s forearm.

Rhett was cumming in his boxers, all over Link’s arm and hand, and it was only then that Link really registered that he was hard too, and okay, this was something new. Something they’d probably need to explore further.

But currently, Rhett was looking down, his hair falling into his eyes as he chuckled softly, embarrassed.

Link knew further exploration would have to wait. But he was determined that it would happen. He eased his arm out of Rhett’s jeans, and turned it over, examining the mess Rhett had made on it.

“I’m gonna go wash my hands,” he said, grinning, “and arm.”

Rhett watched him go, speaking up just as Link reached the door. “We gotta tell the writers they can never go colder than frozen corn.”

Link stopped and looked back at him. “Nah, we can go colder.”

“Link,” Rhett gave him a crazed look, “I’ll lose everything next time, dick and all.”

“You’ll be alright.”

“Your hand ain’t that warm, man.”

“That’s true,” Link replied, shooting Rhett another grin as he slipped out the door, and Rhett could hear his voice echoing down the hallway, “but I got a hot mouth!”

[herstarburststories]

tolerate it

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: your love for Dean used to be celebrated, but now he tolerates it.

A/N: here it is, hunters! First fic of the year, wow! I hope you guys like it! Based on Taylor's song tolerate it. Also requested by @ashleyygeza!

Warnings: so much angst, language, smut

There was this thing you always liked to do. It was mostly the learned behavior of a child that grew up in motel rooms. It was usual for the adult that called a bunker her home, too. You’d lay on your back, staring at the light on the ceiling and squint your eyes to the point the glimmering white light could be mistaken as the moon. You never thought you’d end up doing that to people as well.

It used to be something so sensual and sequin back then, but now the fact that he's so much older and wiser only makes you quiet. You see his bruised hands and worried glances; the stubble on his face growing as his sense of self starts to fade with borrowed time. Dean used to love you in screaming colors; now he just sits in silence reading with his head low, researching the next case under the dim light while you watch him. Sam can't seem to stand slow deaths either -- he just clears his throat and leaves the bunker with the empty excuse of a supply run. 

Still, you remain here. You stand still like a good ornament in Dean's collection of lovers. It seems like it's a matter of time until he leaves you too. Yet, you’re sitting and watching him, and you can't help but wonder if you aren't just another wrinkle on his face. You’d been a memory of something worth dying for, once, but now you were starting to believe you were just another battle scar; marred skin that had spent so long settling that he didn’t even notice the scarification anymore. 

Hours pass as quickly and emotionally draining as dry heaving. His huffs of annoyance and thirsty fingers of whiskey were difficult to ignore. The eldest Winchester doesn’t dare to approach you; to throw those dust-collecting books away and make love to you with dumbfounded grins and breathless groans like he had done so many times before. That was when you were a complete person and not just the husk of a lover destroyed. Once you held the strength of Jeanne d'Arc, now you sit and wait for a man to love you back. You’d be disgusted by your weakness if you had any pity left to spare.

If you look at someone too much you can confuse it with love. And if you already love someone and keep looking, you might waste all the rose-colored visions love could create. Maybe that's what happened to Dean. It’s a treacherous game, and it seems like he’s winning. Perhaps it’s your fault, your snide mind speculates against your will. You should try harder.

You don’t miss Dean’s hidden sigh of relief when the door makes a noise, announcing Sam’s return. How could you? You notice everything he does or doesn't do. At first, you fantasized that, even if it started getting messy before, he was pushing you away because of the whole fighting God problem, now you aren’t so sure. The clues were all over the place when Chuck was gone. Dean smiled at Sammy as if there was no tomorrow and said we’re finally free without sparing a glance at you. When they-- when he started building other worlds, where were you? That long-fraught, battle-ridden past of the Winchesters might be gone, but the more you try to turn the page, the more they stick to each other.

‘’Sammy,” his gruff voice says. It is the first word in hours that wasn’t half-hearted mumbles agreeing with your occasional comments or the tuneful hum of a classic rock song between reading and drinking. ‘’Did you bring any bacon?’’

‘’Yeah, but they need cooking--’’ Sam interrupts his brother, already familiar with this conversation. Dean’s half-open mouth and wiggling brows meant one thing. He was such a kid sometimes. ‘’And no. I’m not frying this cardiac embolism waiting to happen for you, dude.’’

You get up, aiming a smile at the long-haired hunter. ‘’Don’t worry, I can cook it. I was gonna make some pasta anyway.’’

Sam slightly nods before tilting his head towards you. ‘’You sure?’’

‘’Yeah. My butt’s already sore from the research. Those chairs aren’t that comfortable.’’ You scrunched up your nose with a good-humored grimace. 

‘’Okay, thanks.’’ You nod, throwing a last glance at Dean, who barely moved since you got in the conversation. You turn around, walking to the kitchen when Sam’s voice reverberated through. Deciding to overhear against all your sense of privacy, like a schoolgirl in the bathroom, you lean against the wall. You can’t believe the point you got to at those moments, but the answer to the question Sam asks may be the solution for your personal tophet. ‘’What’s up with you?’’

Dean doesn’t seem phased by his brother’s prodding. ‘’What do you mean?’’

Sam arches his eyebrows. ‘’No butt jokes?’’

At least you aren’t going crazy here. Even Sammy noticed something peculiar about Dean and you. There had to be an explanation or reason.; something broken that you could fix.

‘’I’m a grown-ass man, Sam.’’ He scoffs as you heard the chair being pushed. You nibble on your bottom lip, catching your breath as they continue.

‘’Yeah, sure,” the younger man snaps sarcastically. Dean rolls his eyes. ‘’Actually researching when I leave you two alone? Come on, Dean. Did you guys argue or something?’’

‘’We are just fine.’’ His boots scuffing against the wood floor makes a well-known melody, just like Sam’s loud sigh. You know him; he thinks this his brother’s way to avoid the subject and run away. You can’t say you don’t agree with that.

‘’Dean…’’

“I’m gonna take a shower. I spent two hours reading. I gotta get ready for my bacon.’’ It is a simple answer that made your heart spin like a girl in a brand new dress. You had the sudden realization that at least he spent those hours with you, right? Deadly in his quietude, but he was there. Women always are excellent at convincing themselves that crumbs are a whole meal. Therefore, convince yourself this is enough.

You hear the creaking under his strong, heavy steps as he leaves, and a couple more from Sam as well. Ultimately, you turn around, clapping your hands together as you glare at the food still waiting to be made. You give yourself a comforting smile as you speak: ‘’Time to get to work.’’

Then you go. You pace around the kitchen, preparing the lunch with everything you have. Make it perfect, make it delicious. Fuck, even make it deluxe with pre-made bacon and vegan pasta on a Tuesday afternoon. It’s so silly how you make such a lavish effort with the smallest things only to maybe catch a glimpse of his attention. As if Dean would see, truly look at you again. You gave him the best you had, and when you ran out of that, you gave him what was left too. 

The pasta is smelling good. You two used to be each other's better halves, but since the coin had been tossed, you are now each other’s worst reflections. He’s your coldness; the gelid nature that was so useful as a weapon to hurt those who came before him. The ignorance, the lack of care for the ones who claimed to cherish you with their ripped out chests and open hands. You can see you in the way he moved, told white lies and walked away. All the most brutal aspects that your soul built through the years. You almost burn your hand, but at least it isn’t his bacon. And in you, you hold all Dean hated in himself lately. The clingy behavior, always urging to serve and make someone else happy. So needy for a gentle touch, one single proof that his lurking was wrong and he was worthy, that he could be loved someday if he just tried hard enough. Desperate in earge for aprovation, just like you grabbing the Men Of Letters’ sumptuous tapestry and the elegant candle holder, laying the table with the fancy shit.

‘’Wow.’’ Sam says once he arrives in the dining room. Dean refrains his reaction to arching his eyebrows in an unspoken question: what the fuck is happening there?

‘’Is the queen visiting us or somethin’?’’ You catch the pissed off glare that Sammy gives him, yet the older Winchester just shrugs. His little brother had the same eyes as him in many aspects, he had to agree that all those snobby objects were too much.

Unbothered, too used to his butch nature, you chortle. ‘’I just thought we deserved some nice things tonight.’’

Dean hums before adding: ‘’As long as there’s bacon.’’

Sam praises how good the sauce you made tastes. Of course, Dean just nods and agrees with a grumble, not even taking a second glance at you. He doesn’t notice that you are watching him, neither does he compliment your cooking. You never get the reaction you expect from him. Not a thank you, or a true smile, or even a drop of love in the saliva of his kiss, but you keep trying. Just like he tried to make daddy proud for so long. You both should know that's not how it works, but who can argue with a broken child mosaic in an adult damaged heart?

The green eyed man purposely sets the scene in a manner that his brother would be between the two of you. And yes, you manage to double cross this signal and sit down on another chair by his side. Although, when your elbows accidently meet during the homemade feast, Dean doesn’t look at you with the lopsided grin that you love so much. He doesn’t lean in to steal a kiss. Instead, he moves to the side discreetly. You were the roots of hope once, the one who could grow inside him and wrap around his organs for some relief of the hematoma and blood. The Winchester held the arm that pulled you closer and made sure you would stay. But he no longer touches you and the plants died of thirst and you are still here. In these moments, your trick mind asks: why are you still here? You can’t answer.

The lunch goes by filled with your and Sam’s chatter, Dean’s loud chewing and Miracle’s ocasional barks until there’s no food or reasoning to postpone staying together. All the three of you raise up, adamantly ignoring the strange atmosphere. 

‘’We’re leaving in an hour.’’ It’s all Dean says before leaving the room. Sammy dares to squeeze your shoulder softly before following his older brother’s path. With a suspire, you collect all the plates and lead to the kitchen again, starting to put the 60 minutes to good use. Polish plates until they gleam and glisten, maybe Dean will sneak in and wrap his arms around you, press a kiss to your neck and tell you to go to bed, that he will take care of the dishes. He used to do that. This was then and this is now. It’s easy to get lost in the tangles of time.

Of course he doesn’t. Though the hunter shows up with a bag and shouts from the living room for you to hurry up, so you do. Sleeping in the backseat of Baby through the streets of the United States, you wake up with Sam gently shaking your shoulder. Dean is already inside the restaurant. You try not to think too much about it, he could’ve been needing to hit the bathroom or something. As you and the youngest Winchester enter the establishment, four trained eyes fall on your boyfriend and the waitress, who’s clearly leaning forward to make her cleavage more evident. You two pace towards the table just in time to hear the end of their conversation. 

‘’Call me if you need anything.’’ The name tag says that the brunette is called Andressa. She's tall, tan and beautiful, smiling in a way that you never can never conquer. You miss having that confidence, how you’d walk in a room and be sure people would stop and stare. Remember when you used to be like that?

‘’Betcha.’’ He gives her a lopsided grin, the one that used to be directed to you. Andressa winks at him and leaves, swapping her hips in the most seductive way, which catches Dean's eyes like it's the whole Aurora Boreal and not just a woman's ass.

‘’Nice shirt, yeah?’’ You take his indiscretions all in good fun. Dean, though, takes a deep breath and wipes his face, as if he's the one with the right to be annoyed in this situation. It's so stupid how you keep making yourself smaller to fit in whatever expection is comfortable for him. At some point you'll disappear-- but hey, no body no crime. You attempted to explain yourself, ‘’I was just kidding.’’

He tightens his mouth into a thin line. ‘’I know.’’

‘’I saw one on Shein.’’

‘’Come on, Y/N.’’ The green eyed hunter scoffed. ‘’That’s like, Belladonna’s boobs sort of thing.’’

It’s so stupid how his opinons can change your whole weekend, as if your emotions were some sort of board game that Dean played by his own rules. You hang your head low, playing with the menu. You can ‘’Yeah, you’re right. It was dumb.’’

‘’That’s not what I---’’ He stopped himself with a deep inhale. Why did it seem easier for him to criticize than compliment you? You are using your best colors for his portrait of stares, yet all you gain are vacant side eyes. That man killed for you, and now every second by your side seemed to be murdering him. ‘’You’d look good on it.’’

You decide not to go on the next hunt, give both of you a break from the grey skies that always seem to suppress you and Dean. What if you two just need time apart? You live together, work together, and even have the same group of friends. Putting the whole monsters and multiple deaths aside, it was pretty much like a normal relationship. You must just need some time alone to miss each other. So you start going on less and less hunts. God, past you’d hate that scared little girl act, begging to be seen like a shiny toy.

Your cell phone buzzes, causing a smile besides the burning anticipation building up in your veins, crawling under your skin like a million little stars, or bugs. It depends on how you choose the perspective, no surprise you’d go for the romantic one. Well, it's a text from Dean. Plaid and crude: getting home in ten minutes. Why’d you be unpleasantly anxious about that? He’s your boyfriend and he’s coming home after a week! Your fingers dance around the keyboard before answering a sweet waiting for you, with a couple hearts in the byline.

You get his favorite burger and a whiskey older than you in the Deancave, which is settled up with a three hours marathon of Scooby-Doo. It was always so adorable when Dean and you made bets to see who’d guess the episode villain first. Even his hot dog pants and his robe are on the armchair. As for you, you are waiting by the door like you’re just a kid, in a vat to greet him with a battle’s hero welcome. One, two, three, minutes piling up as uncountable as the hidden tears that you cry each week in after the city’s asleep. Let’s be fair, you should’ve seen this coming from a mile away. What was the last time Dean accomplished something he promised to you? He doesn’t even reply to your text message asking if he was okay. Minutes trapped into hours, and you’re sitting with your back to the wall, right next to the door he should have burst out long ago. Time’s ticking, your mind is so tired and your body is sore; it’s exhausting to love someone like this, so you take a rest when sleep wins your hopeful, unclever thoughts.

Dean arrives one hour later, an oral scarlet letter on his tongue that tastes like beer and unregrettable priorities, an apologist expression accompanied of a very grumpy-ish Sam as the door is pushed open. The short haired hunter purses his plump lips at the sad sight; you sleeping on the floor next to the door, probably waiting for him. Maybe he should've answered your text earlier and not just rolled his eyes and ordered another drink. What a suburban mistake for a Winchester.

Dean doesn't turn around to face Sammy; his brother made his opinion on that matter very clear during their roadtrip. Instead, his aching body just leans in and picks you up bridal style — that would've made him smile in the gentlest way his blood-stained mouth and sharp teeth could, eye dipping with joy and a silent promise for the future, but now that only gets a stoic expression as he walks towards your shared room. 

He dares to sigh. There you go, taking too much space and time. This might be a deceiving concept dappled with melancholic nostalgia, but to take space and time wasn’t a trouble before. Dean once worshiped the light-hearted emotion you could bring out his inner little monster - or his soul, whatever you wanna name it. The time wrapped around your finger as he was, and things were just good. Raw good. Yet, now he sees it; time’s always running, and so is him. It’s no surprise the heart he was holding fell and was left behind at some point of the race.

The hunter bumps on the door with his shoulder, leading inside the bedroom and placing you on the mattress. Your body can’t help but to cling to him as you mumble in your sleep; maybe it’s your fond memory, used to Dean’s body seeking some human contact only in the middle night.

Clicking his tongue, he pulls away. The movement is docile, just enough to wake you up. Dean can’t help but to groan at this.

‘’You came back.’’ You murmur, while Dean adjusts on the spot next to you in bed.

Arching his eyebrows with some comedic background, he answers: ‘’Of course I did. I live here.’’

Live. You wouldn’t call what he does living. More like a ghost hunting his old house when you are around. Or maybe you were the ghost and sure, most people would run away from it, but Dean always goes looking for the supernatural beings anyway. Unnerving that he’d make someone he loved out of one.

‘’Why didn’t you pick up the phone? I was worried.’’

He shrugs and kisses your hand. ‘’Was busy.’’

It’s a poor excuse, but those are all that have been holding you two together lately.

Here it is. Your inner anger for being treated wrong, the mad woman inside you scratching to come back. He has been treating you like a coat in Texas’ summer, like a stained flannel, like a forgotten feeling. You deserve more than this. You are so much more than this. Who he thinks he is?

But he has those green eyes that cried single man tears, and he’s so close you can feel his breath on your cheek. And you love that man so.

Instead, you smile and reach out for his hand. ‘’I missed you.’’

Dean doesn’t answer. He restricts any emotion to a grin, and suddenly you are under him. He pushes his lips against yours in a desperate act of recovery, to gain back what he somehow lost through the way. The green eyed man might not find his love in you, but there’s something else he can work with; luxury. Love was always harder to spell than lust anyway. To you, the way he howls against your lips is love. To him, it’s the confirmation of the absence of it. But he can’t let go.

Your hands and his, still together coaxing each other into giving in. It’s so easy that way. Dean rushes to rip your t-shirt, gaining a laugh out of your and a kiss to his jaw. He’s out of his pants before you can even pull away to assist him. The male catches your earlobe, kissing that sweet spot to make you whimper his name.

‘’Dean.’’

Your wince, his shirt is tossed away, just like your skirt. You aren’t wearing a bra, and quickly your cherry panties are pulled apart with a simple move of his finger.

‘’Gonna make you feel so good, babe.’’ His index finger is shoved inside your tight cunt. You throw your head to the back, spreading your legs open. You want to beg him to make you feel anything good, for him to be the reason of the holy and not hollow, just this once. ‘’You are so wet--’’ Another finger, they move inside of you in an attempt to find the right spot. ‘’So fucking tight for me. I’ve fucked you so many times and you’re still so tight.’’ Dean’s thumb caressed your clit as he licked his lips, relishing how you squirm and whine his name. What a good girl. ‘’Can’t wait to fuck you.’’

It doesn’t take much longer. The eldest Winchester quickly replaced his skilled fingers with his pulsating cock. His member begged to be inside you, squeezed by those warm and tight walls. Your pussy was always so good for him, taking him so nice. Dean moans at the sensation, his hand losing yours to hold the bedpost, his thrusting wildly against yours.

No more praising words, no more foreplay. He comes to get what he wants and you’re willing to give. He used to touch you like a priceless wine, now his hands are hustled and careless like you are just another bottle of cheap beer. Dean fucks himself into you and you can’t do anything but groan in pleasure. Sometimes the hurting can be delicious, too.

You crave more, though. Your hands, tiny compared to his, meet Dean’s back, nails digging into the bare skin in a reminder I’m here, you’re still mine. Your legs wrapped around his torso, which only caused his moves to go faster and more ferocious, destroying your needy cunt for any other. It feels so good to have him inside you, fucking you up to the point you are an inchorent ball of cum and sweat. He’s gonna get you there, it’s certain, Dean always does.

His thumb comes back to your vagina, digital press to your clit as he attacks your neck. You try to move your head and get those plump lips against yours, but he sounds like an animal, increasing his rhymin and sucking your tender skin.

Everything is so hurried and irrational and not intimate. He comes inside of you after your own release, marking you up with his orgasm. As soon as he’s dones, he crawls out of you and lays on his back. Sure, you come around and rest your weary head on his chest, but that’s what it is. Deep silence. Not the one where love or magic or whatever Aphrodite is made of fills the void and makes the lovers comfortable. No, this one is visceral, like a chuckle empty of joy. It’s like the tie of gold that tried you two were tangled and ripped. Your love should be celebrated, but he tolerates it. He tolerates everything you do. He tolerates your presence. 

The wrath sneaks in smoothly and astute. You aren’t just one night stand or a sweetheart. How can Dean act like you are? You lift your head and watch him breathing with his eyes closed. It’s so brutal, emotionally violent how you are aware that he’s only doing that not to have pillow talk. Where’s that man who’d throw blankets over your barbed wire? Easily misplaced by the one who threw your boundaries away and out the trap there nowadays. You made him your temple, you mural, your sky, now you’re begging for footnotes in the story of his life.

In the rare cracks of lucidity, you picture what would happen if you did what your old, better self would do. Dean appears to assume you are fine, but what would he do if you break free and leave you two in ruins, took this dagger in you and removed it, gain the weight of you then lose it? He was so comfortable with you. Maybe he didn’t think you would ever do that, but there’s just so much a woman with your determination and cleaverity can take. Believe, I could do it. You did it before with others. Sometimes you need to leave to breathe. Perhaps it's time. 

But then, he embraces you. Just like that, all your doubts and fears and bruises caused by his kisses are reduced to paranoia. You decide maybe you got it wrong somehow. Not even blinking at the thought that Dean enjoys cuddles. No, he’s pulling you closer and snucking his nose into your hair because he loves you. Convince yourself. You are majestic with lies, it gets surprisingly facile to tell them when you nuzzle into the Winchester’s neck like his smell is some sort of placebo.  

You aren't tiptoeing around it, or even stepping on the doubts with tiny hoaxes. You are barefoot on his love-- but his love feels a lot like walking through a street of fire and thorns. But hey, isn't that the point of devotion? To put something, someone first? To go through any suffering and starve to get to the prize, to walk through the golden gates? If this was a church, the priest would tell you to get on your knees and pray harder. You can see where he’s going. You’ll do better. Be everything Dean needs. You can be worthy-- you are worthy. You were his everything once and you can be that again. Pick up the soul tapestry he shrewd so unintentionally and patch it up. Most of those things must be in your head anyway, and if they aren't… Well. He will love you that deeply again, right? Right? It’s an echo. Right.

Tomorrow you’ll try again. In the name of love, condepedency, or whatever it is. Sit and watch him.

Comment & reblog. Feedback is magic! Check my masterlist ♡ Tags in reblog!

[meltwonu]

| 🍒 CH-CH-CHERRY BOMB! 🍒 |     [CHAPTER 14]

pairing; dom!seungcheol x camgirl!reader

this chapter’s notes; shower sex!!!, filming sex videos, dirty talk, intoxication, thigh riding 😗🤤, this chapter is basically pwp LOOOL this ones def a shorter chapter cuz i ended up working on some other things that are comin’ up soon 😳😏!! I’ll post a notice about that tomorrow hehe~💕 Also… I think I’ve decided when and where I’m going to end Cherry Bomb😭😭 I know that comes as a bit of a shock but I’ve been drafting the future chapters in between posting the last few recent chapters and basically everything’s already set up…(more on that next week) 💕 But I wanna say thank you as always for your continued interest and support on CB!! It means so much to me🥺💕!! Anytime I see a cherry I'm just like 👀👀 I must have that!! But also, I’m excited for future series as well!! 💕✨ For now, enjoy ch 14 and have a great rest of your weekend!! 💕🍒 

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - ? 

Seungcheol tells you he’s going to be a little late in picking you up from work,  Wednesday afternoon.

You had easily agreed and told him to take his time as you sat in a booth chatting with Jun while you waited.

“Wow, I just... I can’t believe you’re really stopping Saturday streams… I mean, kinda makes sense though, now that I think about it.”

You hum in response, pouting up at Jun who cleans up the booth in front of you. You had put up the notice on your homepage earlier in the day that you would be stopping Saturday cam shows and that instead, you would be uploading pre-recorded content on Saturdays in its place. “Yeah, I’m used to the filming schedule but Seungcheol’s right, y’know? We can’t film on the side and still keep my normal camming schedule. We’d be too tired.”

“‘We’, huh? It really switched from just you to you and Seungcheol-hyung.” Jun laughs a little as your cheeks heat up.

“Yeah… It’s not… bad, is it?”

Jun pauses, almost dropping the plate he was holding when he turns to face you properly. “Nah… well… I don’t think so? I don’t really mind and your channel seems to have only grown since so it doesn’t seem like a bad thing. If anything you���ve gained a bigger following since. I don’t doubt that hyung’s brought in some viewers on his own too.”

You nod quietly, simmering in your own thoughts. 

At first, you thought Seungcheol would only show up in your cam shows every now and then, aside from filming the pre-recorded videos. But he’d easily become part of every single one since the two of you had met, even with his hesitation at first. Living together had only made it easier and even Seungcheol found himself looking forward to filming with you and trying new things.

“Hey, your phone is ringing. Aren’t you gonna pick up?”

You check the caller ID to see that it’s Seungcheol, quickly picking up the call.

“Hello?”

“I’m outside, baby, let’s go~!”

He’s giddy once you get inside his car and he’s still giddy when you get home; confusion on your features when he starts grabbing the grocery bags from the trunk of the car.

“You ran the groceries? You should’ve told me, I would’ve gone with you!” You grab a few of the bags yourself, helping Seungcheol as he fiddles with the car keys to lock it.

“It’s okay, I just grabbed some wine for us and some things I forgot we needed. But I thought we should celebrate a little!”

“Celebrate? For what, ‘Cheollie?”

He grins, keeping silent until the two of you reach the door to the apartment. “‘Cheol~ C’mon tell me!” Unlocking the apartment door, he lets you in first before he closes the door behind himself.

“I just thought we could relax n’ drink a ‘lil, y’know? You started working yesterday and your channel has been doing so well so I thought we should celebrate! I know it’s been a wild couple of weeks so I think you deserve it!”

You smile back at him, laughing under your breath as you start to help him put the groceries away.

“You’re so silly, but, okay!”  

One glass of wine quickly turns into two and then into three as you and Seungcheol down more than half the bottle of expensive wine he’d picked up from the store.

“Oh my god, Seungcheol, stoooop. I’m ticklish!” You giggle drunkenly, leaning into Seungcheol’s side as his free hand slides underneath your shirt to tease your skin. He keeps his other hand wrapped tight around a glass of wine, careful to not spill it on the sofa as you squirm next to him.

“Exactly the point, baby.” He mutters against your hair, equally as drunk as you. The alcohol was already making him feel hot and somewhat sensitive to your small breathy noises. “Hey, I wanna try somethin’ if you’re up for it.” You pull away from him slightly, tilting your head up to meet his hazy eyes.

“Okay, whaddya wanna try?”

Seungcheol smirks as he pats his lap and you quickly catch onto what he wants. You ease off the sofa from his side and onto his lap before his hand is on your waist and guiding you until you’re situated on his thigh instead.

“Think you can cum just using my thigh?” He slurs out; drunken eyes blinking hard to focus on you.

“Think? I know I can~ I’ve had to get off with less so this’ll be a piece of cake!”

You get yourself a little more comfortable on his thigh, mentally patting yourself on the shoulder for deciding to change into one of Seungcheol’s shirts and a pair of panties before the two of you had eased onto the sofa with the wine.

Seungcheol rests against the cushions as he watches you, simultaneously bringing the glass of wine to his mouth as he takes a generous sip. “Lemme see you, baby. Make yourself cum on my thigh.”

Nodding, you lick your parched lips as your eyes flutter shut. You focus on the feeling of his denim clad thigh underneath you; grinding against him and moaning as the rough fabric only adds to the pleasure that quickly starts to build. “Oh, S-Seungcheol…”

“That’s right, baby. Make yourself feel good for me.”

It doesn’t take very long before your panties are soaking and the addition of the alcohol coursing through your body only makes you feel infinitely warmer and much more sensitive.

“You’re already soaking through my jeans, baby. Does it feel that good?” Smirking, Seungcheol tenses up his thigh just as you throw your head back; too lost in your own pleasure to properly hear him. He bounces his leg once in an attempt to get your attention, but he finds it futile as you only grind against him harder.

“Fuck, Seu--Seungcheol!” You whine, still only focused on yourself and your pleasure as he laughs; still sounding distant to your ears.

“You really are gonna cum, huh? I mean, you’re already soaking through your  panties like it’s nothing. Shit, you’d look so pretty just grinding against a fuckin’ pillow right now, begging me to let you cum while I just watched you...”

Seungcheol licks his lips, foggy eyes trained on the wet patch of fabric on his jeans as you start to grind against him quicker. He brings the glass of wine to his lips, finishing off the rest of it before precariously setting the glass down a little further away from the two of you on the sofa.

His hands grip your waist, slowing you down only slightly as he tenses the muscles in his thigh again.

“Please, please, please…” Mumbling, your head rolls forward and your foggy eyes blink open to meet Seungcheol’s equally intoxicated stare.

“Cum. Get my thigh fuckin’ soaked and then I’ll fuck your cute ‘lil pussy just how you want.”

Your panties stick to you like a second skin and only add on to the friction that has you quicking tumbling over the edge of an orgasm. You let out a shaky breath, thighs clamped tight around Seungcheol’s own as your body slumps forward into his warm chest; pleasure washing over you in an instant as you cum.

“Don’t get tired on me now, baby.” Whispering against your hair, he smiles watching your thighs tremble and he eats up the way you whine and whimper against his chest as the waves of your orgasm continue to wash over your body.

“Can you still stand?”

You drunkenly stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror; admiring the post orgasmic bliss that’s apparent all over your features as you stand in front of it completely naked.

“Come over here, baby.” Seungcheol coos, already just as naked as you are as he waits in front of the shower door. “The camera’s already recording and the water is hot.”

“Okay~”

You walk over to him; inner thighs still coated in your wetness as you lick your lips. It was Seungcheol’s idea to film in the shower, saying that the steam from the hot water would keep him from being seen completely as long as he fucked you from behind with your frontside pressed against the glass.

He lets you step in first before he follows suit, shutting the door behind himself. “We’ll let the shower steam up a ‘lil more, huh?” He smiles, leaning in to kiss you on the lips.

Seungcheol tastes just like the wine from earlier as you melt underneath his touch and his hands thread through your hair, kissing you and walking you backwards until your back meets the wet glass.

“Fuck, baby, I should’ve eaten you out earlier. I wanna fuckin’ taste how sweet you are on my tongue.” His words are muffled against your own lips as you mewl in return before teasingly biting his bottom lip.

“You can eat me out for breakfast~” You entice, voice still slightly slurred from the alcohol as Seungcheol pulls away.

“Don’t tempt me ‘cause you know I will.”

He spins you around; letting you press your palms against the fogged up glass as you jut your ass out towards him. Through the foggy glass, only your frontside can be seen by the camera that Seungcheol had haphazardly set onto the opposite counter.

“Still so fuckin’ wet too. You were so pretty cumming on my thigh earlier, baby.” He reaches a hand between your legs, fingertips ghosting through your wet folds as you groan.

“P-please just fuck me! I--I already came o-once and my p-pussy felt so, ah, empty without y-your cock…”

Laughing under his breath, Seungcheol makes sure to not lean forward too much as he places his hands firmly on your waist to readjust your body before wrapping a hand around his cock. “Shit you’re so cute when you beg.”

You wiggle your hips at him; hazy eyes focused on water droplets on the glass. “Please, I, mmh, need y-you...”

Seungcheol positions the head of his cock at your entrance, teasing you by only sliding the head in as you whine. “Nooo, I n-need more than t-that…” 

He smirks at your backside, taking pity on you as he slowly starts to sink his cock into your pussy. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet, baby...” His brows furrow in concentration just as the grip on your waist tightens and Seungcheol finds himself already starting a quicker pace the second he bottoms out. 

“Oh, g-god, yes! Fuck, you feel s-so good!” Whining, you work your hips back as you meet Seungcheol's thrusts; walls already clamping down hard onto him. “Your c-cock is so, ah, b-big and fuckin’ fills m-my pussy so, ngh, good!” 

You rest the side of your head and your chest against the cool glass as Seungcheol’s thrusts keep you pressed firm against it. “That's right, baby. Only my cock fills you up this perfectly, huh?” He smirks, angling his thrusts to tap your g-spot as you moan loudly. 

“Yes, fuh--fuck, only your cock gets, ngh, me t-this wet!” 

Choked sobs leave your lips as Seungcheol focuses on his and your pleasure and he can already feel his cock throbbing, his own body just as sensitive as yours from all the alcohol the two of you had earlier. 

“I’m gonna cum in your pretty ‘lil cunt and then once we get cleaned up, I’ll fuck you in our bed too. Make you sleep with my cum inside your pretty body and then eat you out in the morning until you’re cumming on my tongue.” 

You clench around Seungcheol’s cock at his words, nodding gently as you let out a soft cry. “P-please, I want it...” 

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as he doubles his pace and slowly sneaks a hand around until his fingertips are on your clit. He starts pinching and rubbing circles on the swollen nub as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“You wanna cum, don’t you? Your pussy is fuckin’ sucking me in deeper, I can barely move, baby~” 

“A-ah, yes, please, pl--please cum with me... I wanna feel, mmh, you c-cumming inside me when I cum t-too...” You voice is soft and breathy; head feeling muddled as the pleasure almost becomes too much for your sensitive body. 

Seungcheol finds himself quickly losing his rhythm as well, groans spilling from his lips. “Cum with me, baby. I want you to feel, ngh, good with m-me.” 

His fingertips on your clit press down harder, hoping to throw you over the edge of another orgasm just as Seungcheol feels himself about to cum too. 

“Fuck!” 

There’s a growl on Seungcheol’s lips as his orgasm begins to crest and in the midst of his high, he can feel the way your walls flutter around his cock as you cum with him. Your small whimpers and cries bounce off the glass and you can feel your legs shaking as Seungcheol works you both through your orgasm.

“Ngh, I can f-feel how m-much you came inside of m-me...” 

Seungcheol gives it a second as the two of you catch your breath; his hands massaging your skin as your body threatens to give way. He slides his cock from inside of you as you moan at the emptiness and Seungcheol is quick to wrap an arm around you waist before you collapse onto the shower floor. 

“Tired?” You can only nod gently as you rest against Seungcheol’s shoulder.  “Guess no round two in bed, huh? I can feel you shaking against me, baby.” 

The two of you share a tired laugh before Seungcheol pulls you under the hot stream of water; fully ready to get you cleaned up and tucked under the sheets as quickly as he can.

“No, but--but I still fully expect to be eaten out for breakfast.”

“Deal.”