#i stomp around in my little boots

[extravagantliar]

epler opening his mouth and having a point

"It's interesting, because in some of our earliest versions of what we wanted to do for Dragon Age 4, Varric was not actually involved. Varric was doing his own thing as the Viscount of Kirkwall," Epler says. "But I think especially as we got to the version of Dragon Age: The Veilguard that shipped, it felt very strange to have a story about Solas not also include Varric. For us, having them [Solas and Varric] exist in contrast throughout the story - obviously, with Varric being something existing entirely in Rook's mind - provides different ways of looking at the core theme, which is regret."

As Epler explains, Varric is "not someone who does a good job of confronting his regret", whether that be in Inquisition when it comes to his love interest and crossbow namesake, Bianca, or with his brother in DA2.

the largest sigh about my batting average I GET IT I SUPPORT IT man I need to PLAY THE LOTTO

[moist-von-lipwig]

hey i read going postal. moist is so bitchy lol he's cute. why are we older than him.

Help I swear I answered this but. Perhaps not. Anyway yeah GOD the idea of him being younger than us. FRIGHTENING... it's one thing to overtake YA characters but now it's the adult ones too...... mad ness luv x... lich rally mad ness !

He's so fun I love Going Postal and I LOVE Making Money too, would definitely recommend that if you enjoyed Moist. For some reason (probably just whichever happened to be in the library at the time tbh) back in the day I read Making Money first so I have a special place for it in my heart in some ways I think. Anyway. Love Moist. One of the guys of all time to me for SURE.

[perfunctory-satisfaction]

.

[poguehearted77]

Winter's Chance

Summary: It's Rafe's turn to have your son for the weekend, but it seems the weather wants you to spend the holidays together.

--Finally some Baby Daddy Rafe

With delicate rubs to your son's tummy, you desperately tried to get him to calm down with soft pleads and overeager soothing. He'd been fussing all day, so much that you'd called the doctor to make sure everything was okay.

They simply reassured you that it may just be a prolonged stage of fussiness. Most babies grow out of it around 4 months which is exactly where Max had just reached a few weeks ago.

Just when he was finally beginning to calm for a moment your ears are filled with the chime of your doorbell. Max picks up his crying as if he had never stopped. Your eyes roll, already knowing who is on the other side of the door.

You gently scooped him up to rest over your shoulder on top of the little binkie you tend to have thrown over your shoulder at all times for moments like this. He was cute, but the spit-up was never pretty and you were always prepared.

Opening the door from a distance you weren't expecting to see Rafe step in partially covered in snow. It distracted you momentarily before Max's cries cut through the shock.

"I know, I know." You whine, gently rocking him, backing away from the cold air that swept against your feet. "Hurry up, and close the door." His eyes roll, "Hello to you too." He closes the door and stomps off the snow from his boots before stepping out of them and hanging up his jacket.

"Woah, woah, what are you doing? This is just a pick-up, then you can have fun trying to calm him down at your place." Rafe stands still, his thumb gesturing to the door behind him, "You haven't seen the news, have you? They're closing the roads, so we're snowed in. The only reason I made it here is because of the suspension on my truck."

Your face turns sour and Max continues to cry.

"So why did you come in the first place if you knew you wouldn't be able to make it back?" He ignores your question for the most part, "Relax, baby. As excited as you are to see me, I didn't come for you. I came for my son. There he is," Rafe's expression lights up as he reaches for Max and takes him out of your hold.

"Rafe you can't just take him and expect him to calm-"

For the first time in seven hours, silence consumes the room. No more screams and tearful cries. "You've got to be fucking with me," You don't say it loudly, but Rafe still hears.

"Guess he was just missin' his daddy, huh? Isn't that right, Max?" Rafe's tone is playful as he pokes at Max's tummy which elicits tiny giggles and the brightest smile you'd seen all day.

You walk away, headed towards the kitchen. Not sure why you were moving so fast, Rafe was hot on your heels. "It's not your fault, it's probably just been a long day-" He finally shuts the fuck up with his smug remarks when he hears a soft cry, "Y/n," Your name rolls off his tongue, tender and sweet. "Baby, what's wrong?" Effortlessly, he supports Max with one hand while he reaches to turn you so you're facing him.

Your eyes are filled with tears, lips quivering ever so slightly and he knows what's coming. He's seen you like this more times than he can count. He takes you under his arm, your cheek pressed to his chest and you break down, muttering into the fabric of his hoodie.

He comforts you with a big hand rubbing your back, soothing you the way he learned from those parenting books that he swear he never read. "It's so hard, Rafe." Is all you manage to say through broken cries for the first five minutes before you're pushing off him, expression more angry than upset? "He was crying all day, and the second you walk in, he's perfectly fine."

Rafe's lips frown, puzzled. "And that's a bad thing?--"

"Yes! Why do you get to be Superman?!" Earlier, the sound of a pin drop would disturb Max from calming, but now even your exclamations left him unfazed, as long as he was in Rafe's arms he was unbothered.

As a matter of fact, with a second glance, you notice he'd actually fallen asleep. Just Perfect. Another win for Superman.

He chuckles, leading you both to have a seat on the couch. Your son sleeping soundly in his father's hold. "Well, I think I've got the abs for it." His shit-eating grin spreads across his lips.

"You try carrying a baby in your stomach for nine months, and you tell me if you still have abs after." Subtly, his tongue wets his lips at the memory, "All I remember is how good you looked pregnant. Shit, wanna do it again?" You'd never wanted to hurt someone so badly.

"You're lucky you're holding my son." He scoffs, leaning in slightly as if to speak away from the baby. "I seem to remember the two of us going half on the conception, and a few times after that." You air-swat him and stand, making your way for the stairs. "I'm going to take a nap."

The hours flew by as you finally had your first uninterrupted nap in what felt like years. By the time you woke up, the sun was long gone, and there was a thick layer of fresh snow sitting on your window pane. You headed downstairs and stopped at the bottom of the steps to appreciate the view.

Nothing melted you quite like the sight of Rafe taking care of Max. You hated to admit it, but he was a good dad. A really good one. Hot, too. Rafe held the bottle to Max's lips, murmuring some undistinguishable babbles with a soft smile. Surely speaking a language only the two of them can understand.

"I hope you warmed the bottle before you gave it to him." You say, and he finally notices you standing by the stairs, stalking your way over and sitting beside him.He ignores you, knowing that you're just trying to get under his skin. "You look well rested." He remarks and you sigh with a soft nod. "Yeah, I am actually." He grins to himself, "Must be a miracle to sleep well on that cheap-ass mattress you got up there."

"Sorry, we can't all have premium mattresses." Rafe pulls the bottle back once he realizes Max has had his fill. "Y'know my money is your money right? I give you ten thousand a month but everything I have is yours, too." Standing him up on his lap first, Rafe holds the baby over his shoulder, gently patting his back.

"Well, I don't need to live in a fifteen thousand sq ft house to be happy unlike you." He shakes his head slowly, his gaze falls on you, somber. "I seem happy to you? I don't give a shit how big my place is. It's always going to be empty without you two in it... " He trails off, alluding there's more to come.

"Rafe.. What are you saying?"

"Move in with me, again." Your head shakes before you sputter profuse denials, "No, Rafe, we can't we tried that before remember? We don't get along. Technically, we're not even together." The conversation is briefly interrupted by a small gurgled burp on Max's behalf.

Rafe leans down to place a drowsy Max in his rocker in front of the couch before sitting back up. "Things were different then, we were eighteen. I can't do the back-and-forth anymore. Don't you wanna wake up in the morning, see that Max is taken care of and I'm making you breakfast, then we go back to bed and I take care of you? Huh?" He hums, his voice igniting sparks along the length of your neck as he nosed along it.

"Rafe.." your voice is shaky, feeling the heat from the discussion.

"Whadd'ya say, hm?" You reflect, having Rafe stay with you today, in just a few short hours you'd been able to take a break, he held you when you cried like he always did. You'd hardly even fought. Though that was no surprise, the two of you fought considerably less ever since Max came into the picture.

"Okay, yes." You can feel the lines from his smile stretch against your jaw just before he begins to pepper kisses on your cheek. "Y'know, we made the world's cutest baby ever right?" You smile, both your gazes focused on the little one before you.

"He's got your eyes, for sure." Rafe states and you giggle, "You're just saying that because they're brown." He sits up straight, heartfully disagreeing. "I'm not. They're the same eyes that I fell in love with when I first laid my eyes on you, and the same ones that humbled me when they looked up at me for the first time in the NICU."

His words were touching. You're seeing a whole new side of him. Not the usually hot-headed and impulsive man you were used to. This one was sweeter, softer, and more sincere.

You reeled him in for the first kiss, his lips soft as they pressed against yours, his hands confidently holding you at your waist. "Ah, I see you're taking me up on my previous offer. Let's go for a girl this time, yeah?" He grins, and you pinch him.

[causenessus]

eggy i regret never sending you an ask about this quote i found that immediately made me think of rot. i screenshotted it and i've had it in my images forever and i'm not sure why i never sent it to you (i think i was just scared of you disagreeing with it or something idk </3) but now that i've read this chapter (amazing, by the way) i feel like this poem excerpt encases this work so so well:

"cautiously, i allowed myself to feel good at times. i found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark. the less i needed the better i felt."

"let it enfold you" (charles bukowski)

(and i ran out of tag space so i came here to rant more so u may want to come back after reading the tags bc i just got sick of having to abide to the character limits when i have so much to say)

rot just feels like an entire universe and world of it's own and it is so so beautiful

like a completely different universe that i want to go to i don't know how to explain it

(and sorry if these tags sound off or dry or anything!! i just want to show how genuine and serious i am about the impact this fic has had on me and how good it is by not using caps and everything if that makes sense)

i should probably save something to say when i reblog the masterlist again but eggy i loved rot so much. it was so so good. you are such a talented writer you should be proud of this; of the work as a whole and every single chapter and how much thought you put into every word and part and how much your heart has gone into this. i love this work SO much i genuinely need to go onto one of those book websites and get this work printed out. i love the way that this fic had impacted me so much i feel like i see reminders of it everywhere, or open my window and think of the first chapter of rot, and y/n trying to open her window while she smokes. i love the way the word "rot" itself has continued to be so important to this work. how it appears everywhere, how it is a part of y/n. i loved seeing y/n's character develop throughout this work, how her mindset changed multiple times throughout her different jobs, and as she got closer to iwa, and then they seperated, and then the immediate way her life was bright again, warm despite the bitter winter outside because she was finally in his arms again, and she was home.

rot: h. iwaizumi

chapter six -> a promise

(masterlist ; written content)

word count: 2.7k

now playing: my hot piss by die spitz

Autumn cools everything down. The feverish sort of pain that made her almost delirious has chilled into a dull, steady ache. Kiyoko rests her head on her shoulder. They sit on the couch together, under a shared blanket, and watch old, cheesy horror movies. Every on-screen death makes Kiyoko flinch and hide her face under the blanket.

It’s odd, to be in her apartment, to have it be her own as well. Where the fridge is free of remnants of rotten food and is properly stocked with essentials. Where the furniture matches and there’s no stuffing spilling out of the cushioning. It’s small, and sometimes she has to fiddle with the pipes under the sink to avoid calling a plumber, but it’s nice. It’s well-kept and Kiyoko always has some kind of candle lit. The walls are white, just white, not stained yellow from years of cigarette smoking. The locks don’t look like they’re about to fall off the door. There’s no mold in the bathroom. No pest infestations. No decay in the hardwood floor.

It makes her feel so out of place.

“My parents helped with the deposit,” Kiyoko had explained to her, almost sheepishly, like this was something she should be ashamed of. “And with the first few months of rent while I built up some savings. It’s how I was able to get it.”

Her brother would’ve liked Kiyoko, she thinks. He would’ve liked her quiet demeanor, and the deliberate sort of way she carries herself. He would’ve liked how spending time with her is never overwhelming. He would’ve liked how her voice is like a small stream that runs down the street after a rainstorm.

They would’ve gotten along.

She has the thought that he would’ve hated Iwaizumi, and then tries to pretend that she didn’t.

Onscreen, a head is removed from a set of shoulders. She tries not to think of Iwaizumi. It makes her sick, even his name. Never once has she felt like she did the right thing. Kiyoko keeps telling her that sometimes, the right things hurt the most. But that doesn’t help. It doesn’t quell the nausea she feels at his memory. It doesn’t fade that dull, aching loneliness. It doesn’t make her feel better about leaving him.

Objectively, her life as improved post-Iwaizumi. She’s held onto the same job for several months in a row without incident (no spitting, cursing, or fighting-though that’s mostly due to Kiyoko). She actually has money in her bank account now, ¥50,901.96, after rent (which, isn’t a lot by any metric, but it’s definitely more than nothing). Her father stopped calling. Her diet is much more balanced. The cable’s better. She doesn’t really get mad anymore.

It's an improvement. A drastic one. Something she probably wouldn’t have been able to achieve on her own.

But it’s worse. It just feels worse.

Blood spews from a headless body, cartoonishly fake. Kiyoko squirms, and she doesn’t flinch.

★⋆. ࿐࿔

The bell on the door to the sports shop dings as the it closes, and a customer leaves with fresh tennis balls. She rests her cheek on the palm of her hand as she leans up against the counter. She’s drawing the earth as it explodes from the inside, splitting into dozens of chunks of land and ocean. “Who the fuck buys tennis balls in November?”

Kiyoko slides behind the counter to stand beside her, peering over her shoulder to watch her draw. “I dunno. Maybe he’s going somewhere warm,” she offers as a solution.

Kiyoko doesn’t hate people the way she does. She can’t ever hate someone just because she wants to; Kiyoko doesn’t ever want to. It makes her feel mean, since the feeling of hatred comes to her so naturally. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Noya thinks you’re cute,” Kiyoko says, suddenly stiffer when she talks. “He asked if you were going to go out with us tomorrow night.”

She doesn’t know who Noya is. She probably should. He’s probably someone that she’s met more than once. But she can’t conjure up the face that’s supposed to go with the name. “Which one’s he?” she asks, well past the point of caring if she seems rude to Kiyoko.

Kiyoko knows she’s rude, at this point.

“The short one,” she answers. “The one with the blond in his hair.”

Her pen digs into the notebook paper, adding shading around a blown-up chunk of earth. “Yeah, he’s cute, I guess.”

Kiyoko makes a noise of acknowledgement. “But you’re not into him.”

It’s not a question, so she doesn’t answer it. Kiyoko sighs, and rocks on her heel. “That’s fair. As long as it’s because you’re actually not into him, and not because you’re not over Iwaizumi.”

Hearing his name spoken so casually makes her flinch. Kiyoko notices and leans her head down on her shoulder. “Well, we’ll get there.”

★⋆. ࿐࿔

At her lowest point, she calls her father.

She dials his number so many times she loses track of it. She stares at the numbers for so long they start to lose meaning. When she closes her eyes, she sees them burned into the inside of her eyelids. She hits ‘call,’ and then hangs up, only to dial him right back up again.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing, and definitely not why. She just sort of acts, moved by impulse and a craving for something unknown.

It rings. It rings three times before he answers. His phone is gruff and worn on the other line. “Hello?”

Her hand slaps over her mouth, and she tries to quiet her breathing, like she’s hiding from him. Her eyes prick and burn. “Hello?” he repeats on the other end, more impatient this time. Her heart pounds like he’s just on the other side of the door. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.

“Fucking hell,” is the last thing she hears before the line goes dead. The phone clatters to the floor of her bedroom, and she cries. The first time she’s cried like this in months.

She really doesn’t know what she’s doing.

★⋆. ࿐࿔

Most of her time is spent lying in her bed, doing nothing, thinking about everything. Sometimes she goes along with Kiyoko when she goes out with her friends, and she sits in the corner and tries not to draw too much attention to herself. She hates that. Sometimes she tries to pick up extra shifts at work just to pass the time. She hates that too. Sometimes she goes to this cheap dive bar just two blocks away from her new apartment, just to have a drink or two in a place that’s not her bedroom.

She orders a second drink. It’s bone-chilling cold outside, and the alcohol makes her feel warmer. Just a bit. She thinks it’s sad that this is the most exciting part of her week.

At least the festering rot that tore her up from the inside was interesting. Now her life is boring and depressing.

The call of her name is sudden and jarring. She spins around in the barstool with an elevated heartrate and her fingers reaching for her keys. She doesn’t recognize him, at first. When her eyes first land on him, she continues looking for a second, before it catches up to her. Her heart leaps up to her throat. “Matsukawa?”

Matsukawa chugs, his head tilted back and his Adam’s apple bobbing, downing the pint until there’s nothing left but traces of white foam. Her fingers tap against her own glass, looking at the condensation that leaves a ring around the wooden bar. It reminds her of the plastic cups of coffee Iwa brought her daily. She didn’t drink coffee before that. Now every morning she finds herself crawling out of bed at eight in the goddamn morning, throwing on whatever clothes are on her floor so she can get to the closest coffee shop before it gets too busy.

“Is he over me yet?” she asks, tips of her fingers collecting droplets of condensation.

Matsukawa slams his glass down on the bar. “Nah.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Not even a little. Iwa’ll never get over you.”

Her eyes roll. Matsukawa sees this and narrows his own. “Don’t think I don’t mean it.”

There’s an awkwardness that hangs between them. She takes a sip of her own drink and swishes it over her tongue, trying to distract from it. “He’s got a long time to.”

“Doesn’t matter. I know him. You were it.”

“Then he shouldn’t have left me.”

She says this, she realizes, with familiarity, the kind that no longer exists between her and Matsukawa. She hasn’t seen him since her father’s blood was on her hands. Any closes between them granted by the lifesaving has since evaporated, and now, they’re as good as strangers. At least to her.

Still, Matsukawa leans back in the bar stool. “Yeah, he probably shouldn’t have.”

She shifts in her seat uncomfortably. It would’ve been better if he argued. “Yeah,” is all she can manage, her fire dulled.

“You don’t look like you’re doing that much better than he is,” Matsukawa remarks, and she offers no reaction. It’s not like he’s wrong. “You two are both idiots. You’re perfect for each other.”

Her lip furls up. “You got a lot of fucking opinions on this.”

“Hard not to. Iwa’s heartbreak is everyone’s problem.”

Iwa’s heartbreak. She doesn’t like the implication of it. Like it’s just his. Like it’s nothing something he caused for her. Like it’s not something they share.

“C’mon,” Matsukawa says, hand clapping on her back, like he can see the thoughts brewing in her head, and he wants to cut her off before they can work their way over to him, “let me walk you home.”

He does. He walks her home and he talks about his recovery post-stabbing and he rants about Oikawa and he talks about this girl he’s been talking to that he’s not really that into and he talks about how good Makki’s been looking lately but he doesn’t ask about her and he doesn’t bring up Iwaizumi again.

At least that she’s grateful for.

And when he deposits her at her front door, he grins, and tells her that he’ll see her later.

★⋆. ࿐࿔

It’s snowing. She stands outside of his apartment, box in her hands and something caught in her throat. It’s been a few weeks since she’s seen Matsukawa, and she’s done little but think about him and what he said and fixate on it and let it gnaw away at her.

So she’s outside Iwaizumi’s apartment, snow getting stuck in her hair and fingers going numb.

Her list of problems doesn’t really exist anymore. They’re not as material, harder to pin down. Her anger issues have simmered down into this lethargic mood that has much less daily wear and tear. The split rent and the consistent income have dissipated the money problems. She doesn’t worry about things the way she used to. Things don’t really plague her the way they used to.

It’s really just him. It’s really just Iwaizumi.

She sighs. It was easier in her head. Everything’s always easier in her head.

Now that she’s here, all she can think about is everything that can go wrong. Matsukawa being wrong, and Iwaizumi being over her, so much so that he’s not even moved at the sight of her and there’s already someone else in there warming up her side of the bed. He could be working. He could hate her. It could go as badly as it did last time.

Kiyoko disapproved of the plan. Kiyoko wanted her to move on. She wanted her to find a life outside of Iwaizumi, purpose outside of him, drive outside of him.

But people like Kiyoko don’t get it. People like Kiyoko don’t know what it’s like to be infected with something so consuming and persistent and chronic. Kiyoko doesn’t get it. Iwaizumi gets it.

He gets it.

She inhales slowly, and forces herself to move forward.

Breaking into the front door of her old apartment building is something she’s done more times than she’s proud of. It’s oddly nostalgic to pop that old lock open, and it feels the same as she creeps up the stairs. It was like this when she first moved in. Bitter, winter air floating up the stairs like all the windows were left open. She remembers shaking as she hauled up trash bags of her belongings, and taking breaks to wrap herself up in the first blanket she could unpack.

She feels that way now as she stomps up the stairs, the bottom of her boots heavy against the wood. She wonders if he can hear her coming.

By the time she reaches the top of the stairs, her hands are trembling, and she’s slightly out of breath. She takes a moment to catch it before she’s shifting the box to hold in one hand, and she knocks. She does it before she has the chance to talk herself out of it.

The door swings open sooner than she thought it would, like Iwaizumi was just standing there on the other side, waiting for her. Waiting for her this whole time.

When she sees him, she holds her breath. She holds her breath as she counts the one, two three, four bruises and the one, two, three cuts that decorate his features. He’s paler than he was before. The bags under his eyes are darker.

Still, he looks pretty. She always thinks he looks pretty.

His reaction to her, standing at his doorstep after six months, is the same as his reaction to everything else. His brow slightly furrowed, mouth curled up in something that looks like annoyance. She’s not surprised when he doesn’t say anything.

“Um, hey,” is how she starts out. It makes her flinch. “I’m sorry to just like, pop up out of nowhere but, I just kinda wanted to see you. I, erm, I missed you. A lot.”

Iwaizumi says nothing to this either. She feels oddly like she is shooting herself in the foot, and she loses the ability to look him in the eye.

“I feel really bad about how everything went down,” she confesses, now staring at her shoes. He’s still looking at her, she can feel it. “I’ m not proud of the things I said or how I acted. I don’t-I don’t hate you, not at all.”

She thinks she can see his chest rise and fall with heavy, deliberate breaths. But she’s not sure. Could be imagining it. The corners of her vision are starting to blur. She holds the box up to him.

A CD player. Brand new. The same one he got her.

“I got you this. As a sorry. I felt like shit for breaking the one you got me. I feel like shit for a lot of it, but that gift meant a lot to me. Just like you do. And I break things a lot and I have a lot of issues and I don’t think you-“

She does not get to finish her sentence. Iwaizumi grabs her by the arm and pulls her into her chest. The force knocks the box out of her hands, and CD player slams to the ground between them. Before she can realize what’s happened, her feet are hovering above the floor, and Iwaizumi’s arms are tight around her.

It’s automatic, the way she returns the embrace. Her arms snake around his middle, and she leans her head against his chest. She started crying at one point, without realizing it.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Iwaizumi says, pressing his face into the top of her head, lips kissing her hair between words. “You have no fucking idea how sorry I am.”

She does, because she feels it. It gnaws away at her chest the same way it does to his. She shakes her head. “I get it,” she tells him. “I know it.”

“Please say,” Iwaizumi pleads. “Please. I would do anything for you to stay.”

If she were someone like Kiyoko, she would say no. She would leave. She wouldn’t have ever come back. Because she knows, she knows that Iwaizumi is not going to change. He’s not going to become someone different overnight, or over six months, or a year or a dozen. Iwaizumi is always going to be who he was the day that she met him.

People like your father only care about one thing. And it’s not you, and it’s not me.

She holds onto him tighter, and thinks that that’s okay. She is too. “I’ll stay,” she promises. “I’m not going anywhere.”

an: ok let’s try this again

taglist: @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @localgaytrainwreck @cherrypieyourface @eclecticeggknightpsychic @httpakkeiji @does-directions @needtoloveoutloud @causenessus @kawaii-angelanne @thatonecroc @v1oletfury @lonesomedrive @nnnyxie @pinkiscool @michivrse @cannibalsrider @kmwife @k8nicole @oikasenpai @fennecnco @riousluvs @bellamsby @rinheartshyunlix @bae-ashlynn @ephemeralninon @fangsbb @plumarbre @v-e-r-t21 @snail-squasher @seroh @mfcherry @canthavetoomuchchaos @ange1icarch1ve @applepi25 @wqnsho @19calicos @girlkissersco @Lisoozi @bailey-reeds @kitskasoboring @iluvaquaphor @lllaw @kinsies-blog @1lovestrawberrymilk

[taintandviolent]

Turbo Lover ; Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: After getting fed up with Jason Carver and his gross attitude, reader decides to take him up on a dare. That dare, is kissing Eddie Munson on the mouth. Something she's been longing to do since she arrived in Hawkins.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 3.5K | female reader, smut, use of pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby, etc.), fingering, handjobs.

a/n: started writing this back in *checks watch* july of 2022....... ahem. finished writing this to turbo lover by judas priest, if you wanna listen! just felt like an eddie song to me, don't ask for clarification. this could possibly be a multi-parter, haven't decided yet. my first (technically) eddie fic...... do not come for my throat, thanks. not beta-read, yada yada yada. divider by @/strangergraphics!!

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

“Oh, choke on it, Jason.”

“Maybe I’ll ask Mrs. Cowan for a replacement lab partner.”

Rolling your eyes, you resist the urge to fling your forkful of corn at him. “Hah! Please do. I’d rather stick my tongue down Eddie Munson’s throat and spend the weekend with mono than spend another blissful second trying to watch you figure out anatomy, dipshit.”

“Go do it then. I dare you.” Jason barks, nostrils flaring. He was going to call your bluff. There was no way that you were going to go over to that weird satanist’s table. Being more of a rocker, you weren’t posh and cute like Chrissy was, but you still had boundaries. And a good head on your shoulders. He knew you did. He hoped you did.

“Fine,” you snap, slamming both palms onto the table. “I hope you fail your science project.” Jason’s confident expression falls. Your rings scrape against the plastic as you push yourself up. With more determination than you’d had the entire semester, you swing both your legs over the bench and head for Eddie’s table, navigating around the other tables. The rest of his little dungeon buddies are already gawking at you as they’d been paying attention to the shouting. Confidently, you take a running leap up onto the table, and stomp your way down its length like a soldier marching towards enemy fire. The target, Eddie Munson, was staring at you with wide eyes and brows lifted.

“Outta my way.” The pointed tip of your boot sends an empty lunch tray flying off the table and clattering onto the floor.

“Hey, Munson!” You drop down onto your haunches, and now, eye-level with him, grab his face and pull it towards you, crushing your lips against his. The roll he’s holding drops from his grasp, falling lifelessly onto his tray. As soon as his plush lips press into yours, giving way to your tugging, your shoulders relax, melting into the kiss. You had been waiting for an excuse to get his attention since you’d sat down in your first class at Hawkins High, daydreaming about talking to him. You’d spent many a class period staring at Eddie’s lips, so you expected the kiss would be enjoyable… but not like this.

At first, both of your lips were closed, smushed together in the hurriedness of the moment, but when you exhale and his lips part, your tongue delves into his mouth, sweeping along his. To your surprise, he reciprocates the action, and presses his chin up into yours, asserting a new sort of need. Despondent groans and laughs of shock pepper the cafeteria around you, and from behind you, came the confusion of the other residents of the table. As you take Eddie Munson in literal mouthfuls, you felt something shift in him, and the noise started to fade away. You tilt your head, and push deeper into the kiss.

“Who the hell is she?” One of the boys asks, clearly as confused as everyone else was.

You shudder against him, feeling a burning heat between your legs, and immediately pull away to stand up, turning to face the far table. Jason was staring at you, looking more embarrassed than disgusted, but he did well hiding it with his scholarship scowl. You wipe the back of your hand across your mouth, drawing your — Eddie’s— the mutual saliva across your cheek. Triumphantly, you hold your arms out, daring the blonde haired moron to say anything further. He doesn’t. 

With a proud smirk on your face, you pivot back to Eddie, lips parted to speak, maybe to apologize to him for being so forward. All that comes out though, is the jarring echo of the lunch bell as it rings loudly through the cafeteria. You take that as an excuse to get out of the situation, and step down onto the bench between two of his little minions, then onto the floor. With your heart pounding in your chest like a drum, you make a beeline for the lockers. You’re practically running down the halls, and for what? To get away from Eddie? The guy you had just swapped spit with? And liked it?  

After shaking his head free of the shock, Eddie hurriedly bins his lunch and takes off after you, leaving the boys to their own devices. He was panting quietly once he’d finally caught up to you. “Hey, just wait a minute, okay?”

You say nothing, and keep digging in your locker for a book you knew wasn’t there. You’d left it at home, sitting on the edge of your bed. 

“Come on, you can’t just plant something like that on me and run away, man.” You hear a thump against the locker next to you, and out of the corner of your eye, see him leaning his shoulder into it. You huff and keep digging.

“You really think I’d give you mono?” He asks, sounding hurt.

Forcing your breath out through your teeth, you stop digging, and lean back to look at him. Those puppy eyes…

“No,” you say, feeling bad that he even heard that to begin with. You shut the locker. “I don’t. But the point was that I’d rather suffer with y— errr suffer any sort of wicked sickness than be even remotely happy around him.”

“So… why’d you stop? Was it that bad?”

“No, actually. It wasn’t. I stopped because I… um, the bell was going to ring.” That was a lie. You stopped because your beating heart had sunk between your legs. Kissing him was a massive turn-on, but you weren’t about to admit that.

“That it did…” he starts, absentmindedly playing with a strand of his own hair. “And now we’re late.”

You narrow your eyes. His brows flick upwards and the tip of his tongue presses pointedly into his lower lip, a little glimmer of mischief in his expression. Ready to prove him wrong, your eyes dart to the clock above the lockers, the visual causing you to curse under your breath. You hadn’t even heard the second bell, but he was right. Three minutes past. And Mr. Jenkins? Didn’t let anyone in after the bell rang. Fucker. Eddie shimmies closer, his soft, brown eyes falling to your lips. He was smiling, watching you and looking like he was daydreaming about having those soft lips against his again. 

“You wanna’... maybe show me what else you’d rather be doing than spending your time with brainless Ken dolls?”

You considered the offer for a moment. You had been pining after him since your first English class with him, and now… your split decision had thrown open the door to opportunity. When you’d tried to close it, Eddie had put his dirty white Reebok right in the way.

“Screw it, let’s go.” 

“Yeah?” He confirms, excited.

“Yeah.” 

Eddie wastes no time, taking hold of your hand as he passes you, towing you in the direction of the doors and out into the parking lot. 

How did you end up here? In retrospect; you’d probably have to thank Jason for pissing you off that day, in that particular way that really drove you over the edge. Because if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been crawling into the back of Eddie Munson’s van while he stood behind you, looking at the gentle curve of your ass.

After throwing a cautious glance over his shoulder, making sure there weren’t any prying eyes watching the two of you, Eddie follows you inside and pulls the door shut behind him, the metal squeaking loudly. You sit down and cross your legs, resting against the interior wall. The inside of his van is warm, having baked in the sun all afternoon. Cassette tapes litter the floor behind the seats, and a Judas Priest shirt hangs over the headrest of the passenger seat. A few undisclosed cables are wadded up in the corner, you assume they were musical in nature. He seemed like the type. It’s exactly what you’d pictured his van to look like. 

Eddie clears his throat. “Sorry about the… mess.” 

You chuckle, looking brightly at him. “I don’t care. Plus, Judas Priest is rad. That song that came out last month… Turbo Lover? Gets stuck in my head all the time.” 

Delighted by this reaction, Eddie knee-walks over to you, that same mischievous smile on his face as before. He leans down, exhaling over your lips before looking into your eyes with a burning curiosity.

“Why were you sitting at his table anyway? You don’t seem like his type.” 

“His type? Gah, gross. No. We’re lab partners. Regrettably. Turns out, he’s kind of a massive dolt when it comes to science.” You pause and heave a sigh, your breath rushing out over his cheeks. He blinks. “I really don’t want to talk about Jason right now, Eddie.” 

“Oh yeah, totally.” With that, his hand snaps to your jaw, where he holds it gently, his thumb stroking your cheek. “You wanna’ makeout or something?” 

You can’t help but laugh, unsure if it’s because of the butterflies in your stomach, or because he’s kind of a dork. Smooth and very charming, but a dork all the same. You chalk it up to a combination of both and lean forward until the tips of your noses touch. “Yeah, Eddie, I wanna’ makeout. Again.”

This time, Eddie is the one to initiate the kiss. He presses his lips against yours softly a few times, your lips sticking together each time he pulls away. Relishing in the taste of you, he hums into the kiss, pressing himself closer to you. After a few moments, he breaks the kiss to readjust his position. The break is too long, it seems, because before you know it, he’s back to leaning over you and craning his neck down to kiss you from above. His hands drop to find your neck, his thumb trailing down over the front of it while the others stay tenderly wrapped around the side, squeezing slightly. The motion sends a deep shiver down your spine, reigniting the embers of your arousal. Eddie laughed breathily into the kiss. 

“Quite the reaction…” he murmurs over your lips.

“Oh, shuttup.” Your hand makes a fist in his shirt, pulling him back onto you. “Keep kissing me.” 

“As you wish.” He says dreamily, with lust woozying his speech. His voice is slightly deeper now, laced with hunger, and you whimper, pressing your knees together. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie notices this, and moves his free hand to your kneecaps, wriggling in between them to separate them. They fall apart with no resistance, and again, Eddie’s chuckle vibrates against your lips, sending a tickling wave over them. Your willingness almost embarrasses you, but when Eddie says nothing, only moves to slot himself in between your thighs, you realize that he’s into it. 

“No need to be shy here, princess. Just you and me.”

Your hands wrap around his neck, fingers splaying out over his back. “God, you’re cute.” 

“So are you.” 

“No, you’re really cute.” 

Eddie pulls away, furrowing his brow as if he’s confused. He is – he’s confused on whether or not you realize he thinks you’re a catch, too. You sense the confusion, and roll your hips up against his. His breath hitches in his throat, eyeing you pleadingly. It’s a warning – you can’t do things like that lest he lose control.  

“Uuughh,” you moan. “I don’t know why it took me this long to kiss you.” 

“Me neither.” 

He presses his lips against yours again, his tongue slipping past the two plush pillows, tasting the waxiness of your lipstick. Swiping his tongue along yours, he deepened the kiss, enticing you to join in a painfully erotic dance of spit-swapping. He exhales hotly over your mouth and grinds his hips against yours, groaning softly into your mouth. You grind back, knowing exactly what you’re doing. You can feel what you’re doing to him; it was currently pressed against your inner thigh. 

You reach down between your bodies, finding the warm bulge in the front of his black jeans and give him a soft squeeze. The sudden contact makes him lurch forward, crushing himself somehow further against you. He can’t get any closer to you without melting into your body which, in truth, makes him crazy. He makes a sound — something between a whine and a gasp — and ruts his hips against your center. The pressure has you reeling, pressing your back against the inside of the van. 

“Eddie, fuck…” 

“Yeah,” he echoes your sentiment, nodding his head so enthusiastically that his soft brown hair flutters. 

“Can I…?” 

He grins. “You can if I can. It’s only fair.” 

You let your legs fall farther apart, granting him access. With a newfound urgency, you quickly yank on his waistband, pull the silver button from its slit and maneuver your hand inside the elastic of his boxers. On the way down, you rake your fingers through the thatch of brown hair above his cock. Eddie responds by tightening his grip on your neck instinctively. The tips of your fingers find the searing hot head of his cock, precum leaking from the slit. With an audible mmmm, you swipe your thumb over it, smearing around the underside of the tip. Eddie hisses through his teeth, rutting his hips over and over again – forcing you to jerk him off a little. The tip slides through your fist, slippery and warm and you can’t help but let out a satisfied sound. 

“Wow,” you breathe, in awe. You weren’t sure what you expected, but feeling a cock this heavy wasn’t on the menu. You’d been with a few metalheads before, and they were all average at best. You thought he’d follow suit. Not heavy in your hand. But he is. God, he is. Eddie licks hungrily at your mouth before running his tongue along your bottom lip and taking it between his teeth, biting down slightly. You groan, pressing your head back against the wall. 

“Fuck, Eddie,” you say, breathlessly before squeezing his cock again. It twitches in your grip, hardening just a little bit further. You can feel the tension in his lower abdomen every time you slip your hand deeper into his boxers, tugging at his cock as you slide back up. 

His hands drop from your neck to your waist to your hips, his thumb making circles on the strip of exposed stomach flesh between your black leather skirt and your shirt. One hand sinks lower,  moving from your hip to your leg, sliding against the pillowy, cream soft flesh of your inner thigh.  It slides up your skirt, pressing against the nylons, and grazing your cunt from the outside. Inside his jeans, your hand starts to go slack, but Eddie quickly snaps you back to attention.

“I’m gonna’ need you to stay focused, baby. Don’t stop.”  

“S-sorry.” You pick up the pace, stroking his cock again at a much steadier speed. He lets out a soft groan, the feeling of your hand gently stroking his dick sending him into a haze of pleasure. But, he, too, has to focus. 

Eddie gets back to work, carefully undoing the zipper on the side of your skirt. He tugs, shimmying the skirt down over your hips and continues pulling until he pauses to pull your legs from the black circle, tossing it towards the van doors. Now, the only thing between him and your cunt is the fabric of your tights and your white satin underwear. You’re painfully aware of this fact and so is Eddie – the look on his face says it all. He sweeps you into another kiss. 

It’s almost as if he was using the kiss as a distraction from the adept way he’s rolling your nylons off your hips and down your thighs. You almost don’t feel it and don’t notice until he’s got them down around your ankles. 

“May I?” 

“May you? What is this –” You asked, trying to tease him, but your voice is so high pitched, so feathery with lust, that it just sounds ridiculous. You huff and nod, giving him whatever permission he felt he needed. 

His middle finger traces the visible slit in your underwear and embarrassingly, your whole body responds. From your legs snapping shut on his hand to the utterly humiliating moan that tumbled off your lips, there’s no coming back from that reaction. Eddie laughs quietly, almost devilishly and you relax your legs again. 

“Sorry, I’ve… I’ve been…. Um…” 

“Keep talkin’, sweetheart.”

“Oh god, fuck… I’ve kinda’ sorta’ had a thing for you since English with M–”

“Mrs. Lawrence? Last semester.” 

Your mouth hung slack. He knew? 

“You really thought you’d walk in, looking the way you do, and I wouldn’t remember?” 

Your stomach tightens underneath your shirt; butterflies are erupting beneath the skin. Any further jabs to your heart and they actually might rupture through your ribcage.

His finger sweeps along your center again, before hooking around the scalloped edge of the panties and pulling them down over the curve of your hip. A clear, slick strand stretches between your cunt and the fabric before snapping. Eddie growls, a deeply pleased sound erupting from his throat. 

Two fingers part your folds, sweeping tantalizingly at the underside of your clit before sliding down to your entrance. He prods the opening with his middle first, making tiny circles and spreading your arousal around your cunt. Finally, he inserts both fingers, sinking them to the knuckle. Moving his arm, you watch as the bats literally fly back and forth and let out a small, breathy laugh. The way he was working you felt so good, your hand instinctively tightened around his cock. Eddie shuffled closer, his knee in front of your cunt. Before you have time to react, Eddie abruptly takes hold of your left hand and brings it above your head, holding it tight against the wall of his van, his rings pressing into your fingers. Your digits tangle with his and he flays them open.

He continues thrusting his fingers in and out, watching your every move. You looked up and whined loudly; the sight of your smaller hand entangled with his larger one was divine, and sent another shockwave through your core. The coil in your stomach wound tighter, and tighter. Your body flushed with heat, and you were suddenly wishing you were naked underneath him. Eddie suddenly leans over you, pressing the side of his face against yours. 

“I’m your turbo lover…” He sings quietly in your ear, his tone honeyed and low, absolutely dripping with sex appeal. Your eyes roll back in your head, your jaw falling open. “...tell me there’s no other…” 

“Oh fuck, Eddie, oh my god-!”

At the singing, your needy pussy clenched around his digits, shivering violently. His thumb moves to your swollen, tender clit, rubbing it back and forth expertly. The coil snaps, and you moan loudly, banging your head against the wall a few times. 

“OH MY GOD!” 

You shouldn’t have found it so hot, but the way he sung the lyrics into your ear sent a wave of electricity through your entire body. As the sound of your moans reach his ears, Eddie groans and bucks his hips rhythmically, pumping himself closer to the edge of orgasm. 

After a few more pumps from you, his back arches and he groans your name – another surprise that he knows that – as his hot, sticky release coats your fingers as wave after wave of pleasure surges through him. The flushed, pink tip was exposed enough that when he does finally lose it, the first spurts of cum find their way onto your shirt. He doesn’t notice right away, still thrusting his hips into your loose fist. Finally, he brings his head forward to look at you again. His chest is heaving, panting from the exertion, and his eyes trail from your face down to your shirt. The wanton look is replaced with one of horror. 

“Jesus, I’m sorry! Here uh,” Eddie paused, stretching over to yank the shirt from the seat. “Wear this. I promise it’s clean. Decently… uh… clean.” 

You didn’t care if it wasn’t. The fact that he had given you his shirt because he accidentally came on yours was single handedly the cutest thing you’d ever had a guy do for you. You withdrew your hand from his boxers, and he let go of your other hand. Quickly, you pulled your shirt over your head and wadded it up in a ball, setting it next to you. His shirt was baggy, but you quickly remedy that by tying the front in a knot. The way that Eddie’s eyes skirted over your breasts wasn’t lost on you. You smirk. 

“Think Mr. Jenkins noticed we were both gone?” He asks as you fluff your hair. 

“Probably. F’s for both of us.” 

Eddie smiles.

You look down at the shirt, trying to talk your blushing cheeks down. “I’ll give this back to you. Remind me.” 

“Sure,” he says, not fully convinced he wants it back. He likes the idea of you wearing his shirt around school. A dirty little reminder of what occurred. “You should come to one of our meetings.” 

“Meetings?” You ask, quirking a brow. 

“Yeah,” he says, plucking his shirt. Your eyes drift down to the red, snarling demon on his chest. The words Hellfire Club crown the demon, decorated with medieval looking weapons.

“Right, right. Dungeons and Dragons… I’ve never played it.”

“I’ll teach you, sweetheart. Don’t worry.” 

[PART TWO HERE]

[lovebugism]

how abt eddie x shy reader , she meet’s wayne accidentally & she brings like sm food for the week he LOVES HER but shes so shy

a request deep from the archives that i haven't stopped thinking about since i got it hahah please enjoy xoxo — you spend a fluffy morning in with the munsons (established relationship, fluff, 1.2k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Eddie rouses from his sleep like a king on a sunken-in couch. 

Saturday morning cartoons play on the TV just ahead of him, mostly on mute ‘cause you’ve got the radio going in the kitchen. Something soft and soulful and too low for him to hear. The trailer swells with the scent of something sweet, of syrup and cooked sugar. 

Speaking of sweet…

His flushed cheek rubs against the arm of the couch when he looks up to find you. He can see you just over the top of the counter, like a scene from a movie. You’ve got a bowl of something wedged in your elbow, and you stir at it with your free hand — half-distracted because your nose is stuck in an open recipe book on the counter. Your glasses fall slowly down your nose. You try to push them up again with your shoulder, but they slip back down a second later.

Your gentle humming fills his ears, and Eddie figures this is what heaven must be like. There’s no greater nirvana than this.

He rises and stretches and walks the very short distance to the kitchen. Still warm with sleep, he wraps himself around you, chest flush to the expanse of your back. “Whatcha doin’?” he lilts, muffled into your sweater.

“Cookin’,” you answer in the same tone, only softer and a little more sheepish.

Eddie breathes hard once. You think you feel him smiling. “Dumb question, huh?”

“Did you sleep good?” 

“Too good to be passed out on the couch for an hour.” He lifts his head to prop his chin on your shoulder. It bobs against you with every word. “You were supposed to be sleeping with me, by the way.”

“I tried. But then I wanted to make you breakfast.”

“Correction. You wanted to make Wayne breakfast.”

Your giggling is as soft and sweet as the cinnamon concoction you’re stirring at. “Well, I don’t want either of you to starve, actually. So sorry for making sure the Munson’s are taken care of.”

Eddie’s chest swells. His heart starts to warm so much he’s scared it might burst. He tucks his face back into your neck and holds you tighter. “Don’t apologize, sweet thing. ‘M just being stupid.”

“That nickname’s not gonna stick, Eds,” you tease, tilting your head until your cheek meets his wild hair. “You can stop trying now.”

He scoffs and pulls back from you. His eyes, still softly swollen with sleep, are wide and glittering. “Why not?” he shouts, a bit too loudly to be so close to your ear. “You’re sweet and you’re my thing— it’s literally the perfect nickname.”

“You’re thing?” you echo with a distant laugh. “I’m not a toy, Eds.”

“Not all the time—” His boyish giggling is followed by a scoffed breath when you elbow him with your free arm. You shove him away halfheartedly, pushing him out of the tiny kitchen. “What?!” he exclaims, laughing loudly.

“Get out of the kitchen!”

“What’d I do?”

“My french toast tastes good ‘cause it’s made with love, and you’re tainting it.”

“How? I love you more than anything in the whole wide world.” He gravitates back to you despite your efforts to keep him away. He plants a smacking kiss to your lips and grins wide when he pulls away. “See? Now it’ll taste extra sweet.”

You’re glaring at him one moment, then happily accepting another one of his kisses the next.

The front door opens, squealing in protest and rushing in the cool morning air. It’s unsurprisingly Wayne. His work boots stomp heavy on the carpet. He holds a greased hand over his forehead. “My eyes are still closed,” he jokes, voice deep and gravelly. “You two have about three seconds to stop touchin’ each other.”

Eddie scoffs but steps back from you anyway. “That was one time!” he argues boyishly. “And we weren’t even doing anything!”

Wayne laughs a sharp breath, just like Eddie had, but a little bit gruffer. He forgoes the petty banter and shoots you a smile — tightlipped, barely-there, and weighed down by the exhaustion of the graveyard shift. “How ya doin’, sweetpea?”

“Good,” you answer, shrinking into your shyness. “I’m makin’ french toast.”

“That’s my favorite,” the older man grins. “How’d you know?”

“‘Cause it’s my favorite,” Eddie insists.

“It’ll be done soon,” you tell him, all quiet in your sheepishness. “If you wanna get changed or whatever.”

Wayne heads to the hallway, stopping short in the kitchen to muss at Eddie’s curls and pat you gently on the shoulder. “Thank ya, sweetpea,” he murmurs, voice dripping with fatigue. His accent always gets real heavy when he’s tired.

“You’re welcome…”

Eddie doesn’t say anything until he hears the bathroom door shut. “So Wayne can call you sweetpea, but I can call you sweet thing?” he asks, features swirled with offense.

“It’s different!”

The boy follows you to the cabinets like a lost puppy. Then, when you have trouble reaching the vanilla extract on the top shelf, he leans over you to grab it. “No, you just have favorites,” he argues, passing you the small container.

“That’s not true!”

“Whatever,” he grumbles, still pouting as he leans against the counter beside you. He mourns the lack of your attention when you give it all to the french toast mixture on the counter. You spoon in the vanilla with a practiced touch. “…Are you staying over again tonight?” he mutters, shier than you are now.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “If it’s okay with Wayne, then—”

“Wayne! Sweet thing’s staying the night— is that okay?” Eddie shouts before you can blink. The trailer rings with the volume of his voice.

“Eddie,” you scold quietly.

The bathroom door squeaks open. A grunt sounds from the hallway, a nonverbal answer you’re not totally sure what to make of. The man returns in the pajamas he pulled from the hall closet — a thin t-shirt older than Eddie is and a pair of plaid pants.

“I’ll make dinner before your shift tonight,” you tell him with a soft grin that neither of the Munsons can say no to. “I promise.”

Wayne makes another scoffing sound. A laugh, maybe. A smile hints at the corner of his bearded mouth as he pours himself a coffee across the counter — in the painted mug Eddie made him for Father’s Day, several years ago now. 

“Well— In that case, I’m afraid I have to insist on you stayin’, sweet pea.”

“Thanks, Mr. Munson.”

“Call me Wayne,” he tells you, playfully chiding in a parental sort of way. He gives you a pointed look over the cup he sips from and heads back towards the living room. “You’re feedin’ us too good to be so polite all the time.”

You smile to yourself and laugh a quiet, slightly forced laugh.

The sofa squeaks when Wayne settles onto it, sprawling out the same way Eddie had before. Too tired to reach for the remote on the coffee table, he watches He-Man re-runs with heavy eyelids.

“Alright, sweet thing— what do you need me to do?” Eddie asks with a clap of his hands, making a very pointed effort not to drop the nickname. You get all flustered when he calls you that — smiling softly to yourself and then ducking your gaze to hide it from him. You’ll have to pry the name from his cold, dead hands.

You turn to peer at him from beneath your lashes. “You dip the bread, and I’ll fry ‘em?”

“Sounds like a plan, sweet thing.”

“Eddie.”

[bi-writes]

Can't stop thinking about pregnant!reader constantly snapping at simon and being tired and him just being so understanding and everyone that sees them just don't get it? Because how is the Lieutenant that snaps at whoever being this soft🫡🫡

you've been bringing your own lunch to work because you hate the meals the mess hall makes. it makes your pregnant belly absolutely angry, and simon's held your hair up enough times to know that if he doesn't pack you something to eat before you go, it'll be hell on earth.

the rec room door slams open. everyone jumps, startled in their seats, and simon just stares, leaning against the wall by the open window as he puffs on a cigarette.

his eyes focus on you just as you angrily waddle your way over. he doesn't even flinch when you smack the cigarette out of his mouth, stomping on it with your boot as you glare up at him. all he does is smirk a little, reaching down and thumbing at your jaw.

"'ello, beautiful," he murmurs, his dark eyes roaming over your face. you let him touch for just a moment before you hit his hand off.

"don't try and butter me up," you snap, narrowing your eyes more. "you forgot...you forgot!"

he sighs, licking over his bottom lip.

"never seen anythin' prettier than ya," he whispers. he wants to shove down your pants and fuck your sopping cunt (he knows you're wet, you always are now), but instead he just lets out a soft breath and takes in how pretty you really are. just gorgeous--those big, pouty lips, all glossy and wet. those eyes--what drew him to you in the first place, that gaze that could stop a thousand bullets.

"you forgot my lunch, simon," you cry, and he cups your face, shaking his head. "i hate you. you're a sorry bastard! what's wrong with you?!"

he leans down and pecks your lips through the mask, and johnny, who's been slack-jawed and caught off-guard since you came into the room, turns to look at gaz--who's equally as confused.

"didn't forget, swee'eart," simon murmurs. "got y'some take-away. thought y'might fancy somethin' else."

your angry expression fades just a little, and you smooth both hands over your bump.

"you...you did?" you sniffle, and simon chuckles, nodding.

"y'r just tired, luv...aren't ya?"

you nod, closing your eyes. he soaks up your tears with the thumbs of his gloved hands.

"y'r feet oll swollen..." he kisses your jaw through the mask, and your eyes flutter a little. "c'mon, bubs. let's get ya off y'r feet, aye? get ya some food?"

you let him coax your face into his chest, and you settle there, taking a deep breath.

"you need to stop smoking," you whisper as you get a whiff of the scent on his clothes. "if i catch you again, i'll kill you."

"olright, luv," he agrees absentmindedly, turning you around to guide you out of the room. your food is in his room since he doesn't trust his sergeants not to pick at it if he left it in the shared fridge. "woteva ya say."

when you both close the door behind you, johnny blinks.

"i think i just saw a ghost, a real one..." he murmurs. "i must've just seen a ghost, gaz, have i gone mad? or did i just see our lieutenant with a lass? and did she just call 'im a bastard?"

"no," gaz turns back to their card game, dealing out another hand. "no, we didn't see anythin', soap."

"huh?"

"we didn't...see...anything."

[writingouthere]

neighbor!Sukuna x single mom!reader; your ceiling is leaking at 3 in the morning and you don't know what to do so you go ask for help from the man across the hallway(inspired by real life events that were not nearly so charming).

no need to have read the others in the series but can be read as a week or two after the aquarium date.

cw: Sukuna being a menace

Sukuna had always been a light sleeper so when there were knocks on his door at 3am, he was up instantly. The knocks weren't even loud but he found himself annoyed enough to stomp to the door. If he wasn't sleeping, the people below him didn't need to be either.

He yanked his door open, prepared to make whoever it was regret every moment of their existence but it was you, holding your daughter and clearly on the verge of tears.

You seemed contrite when you saw his expression but before you could even start to apologize, he was slipping on his boots and grabbing his key.

"What's wrong," he asked.

"It-it's the ceiling, I woke up and it was leaking water. It's getting everywhere and I don't know what to do and the landlord isn't picking up."

Sukuna rubbed your arm, trying to give you some comfort and you relaxed a little.

"Okay, let me come take a look. I can call the super, he's probably more likely to answer than the landlord." You nodded and he followed you back to your place. Holding his hand out to stop you at the door as he made to go in first.

Sukuna heard the water pouring in before he saw it. He had never been in your apartment before. It was clear that a woman there. There was color everywhere, more blankets than made sense for two people and the walls were covered in photos and artwork. It felt soft, it reminded him of you. And now, it was being ruined by water raining down from the ceiling.

"Why don't you wait in my apartment. You both look like you could use some rest. I'll sort this out," he said, handing over his key. You looked ready to protest but then your daughter started crying.

"Go, I got it."

You looked so relieved and he wiped away a few tears from your daughter's face and pressed a kiss to her forehead which helped bring the tears down to a more tolerable snuffling.

"Thank you so much, I don't even-"

"Don't worry about it. You two just go settle in the guest room and I'll wake you up when it's settled."

You smiled at him and you seemed to hesitate before you went up on your toes to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

Sukuna couldn't stop himself from grinning as you took your daughter out the door and towards his apartment. He turned around to look at the mess that was your apartment. It looked like a pipe must have burst in the apartment above yours. Annoying, but a quick fix when caught this early. He grabbed his phone, opening it to call the super before a thought came to him that just wouldn't leave.

It would be a shame if you had to terminate your lease because of unsafe conditions, after all you must still have a good six months left on it. He knew you didn't have any family in the area and it would be a lot for a working mom with a kid as young as yours to go apartment hunting all the sudden.

Of course, he did have that guest room. Plenty of space for the three of you and it wouldn't be hard to bring over the stuff you needed while you looked. His apartment was bigger than yours, even though it was just him.

Even if it was a tight fit, his lease was up at the end of the year anyway. You could always get a bigger space, one for your soon to be growing family.

Sukuna pocketed his phone and took a seat at your dining table, away from the water. He figured it would only take another hour before the damage passed the point of no return.

He hoped you and your daughter were resting well in your new home.

[drgnflyteabox]

mdni - the 141 find a cozy place to stay during an op (that's definitely all that happens). implied fat!reader

(dubcon, poly, gangbang, anal, price is in charge of everyone<3)

So blizzards can happen in the blink of an eye on high, isolated mountains, right?

And the 141 have done missions in rural places, snowy places, mountainous places, right?

And there are tons of tiny little isolated towns, all over the world, built around these mountains for one reason or another - coal mining, logging, etc.

Now imagine the 141 on a mission, somewhere cold, somewhere isolated, a place that feels like the edge of the world. Desolate.

Now imagine the 141 seeing, in the near distance, a winking pale orange light. It's a good enough place as any to approach - it isn't safe to be caught in this blizzard, anyhow. Even with their gear, the safehouse is still an hour away and the snowfall seems historic...

Now imagine you're sitting in your family home, all alone, going a little crazy with cabin fever. Your woodstove is burning hot, but you're still cuddled up in knits and a thermal underneath. You're making stew for dinner with root vegetables from the basement cellar, it's bubbling and softening for you while you crochet, trying to keep your mind off the monumental shoveling task you'll have to deal with tomorrow

Until there's a knock on the door.

"Hello ma'am, I'm just wondering if me and my friends here could rest until it's safe to continue our hike?" (I love the way gaz says ma'am)

Hike? Nobody hikes up here - you've only ever seen a couple tourists in your life, thrill seeking ice climbers who came and went.

And they certainly weren't dressed in snow camo, hiding guns behind their backs.

But you were raised right, and the man at the door has kind eyes - he's handsome, too, but you'd never say it out loud. Gaz pushes the door further in when you tentatively open it, and in comes barreling three more massive men, their boots stomping and leaving a mess.

Soap smells the stew on the stove and beelines for it, lifting his helmet to inhale deeply.

Ghost sweeps the room like it might be hiding an enemy somewhere- even though it's one room total, the stove in the middle, separating the kitchen and your bed.

Price approaches you all apologetic, apologizing for "these ruffians", holding his camo helmet to his gut like it's formalwear. "Apologies, sweetheart, we weren't expecting the weather to turn on us."

You aren't quite sure how you end up sitting on prices lap, naked except for your socks, while he squeezes your stomach and grunts in your ear not to be shy when putting your weight on him. His other hand is cupped over your pussy, murming thank yous for feeding his men.

They're eating your stew, stripped out of gear, cocks tented in their white cargos.

"We're a gaggle of lucky boys, eh?" Soap says. "Nice, cozy, soft girl. Warm cabin. A man could get used to this."

You wind up pressed down on your mattress, hands held behind you by one man while another fucks you hard, spurred on by price behind them. At first, it's johnny, whining high in his throat while price guides his hips and gaz holds your arms by your head. "Need to thank her proper, boy." The obvious authority in prices voice makes your pussy clench around him, and he shakes over you, trying hard not to come too early.

Gaz reaches down from where he's holding your arms, pinching your clit until you buck against Johnny and squirt around him.

Then it's gaz, who lifts your legs and squeezes your big thighs, locking eyes with ghost. He's steady, only breaking composure when Simon praises him. "Thats a lad. Good, just like that, Kyle." He's the first to ever make you come from penetration alone, hips moving in a way that makes your abdomen tighten and tighten and tighten until you reach the longest orgasm of your life, nearly crying with how intense it feels.

Price ends up flipping you over - nudging you up on your hands and knees, the bed creaking with the combined weight of he and his lieutenant taking their places in front and behind you.

Simon slips his cock in your mouth, staring down at you through the balaclava. You can barely make out a thick scar, one that looks like it might go through his whole face. You lose focus when price pushes his fingers in your ass, though, and you squeal.

There's no where to run except further down simons cock, though, where you gag, spit running all down your chest onto the bed.

"Shh, sh," Price rubs your flank like you're a spooked animal. He squeezes the ample flesh of your asscheek appreciatively. "Jus wanna give your poor pussy a break, aye? I reckon she's tired,"

He pushes into you impatiently and it burns a little, but he soothes it with a palm over your soft, sore cunt. Rubs a thumb over your clit slowly, jostling you back and forth over simons cock.

You come once more before the night is over, tears finally running down your cheeks, mixing with your saliva, with simons come. It's a painful orgasm, wrenched from you - but that makes it all the sweeter.

They wipe you down and spoon feed you more stew, after, to recover your energy :') price has the boys tidy their boot tracks and put away leftovers while he and Simon hold you from both sides. They can barely fit with you on your bed, but tucked in like this - on top of your furs, naked as the day you were born, praised for your soft body and "What a good girl you are, babydoll."

Sigh

I'm sure this idea has probably been written but I was listening to this and couldn't stop imagining it lmfao

[jungkookstatts]

All Over Again

[Summary]: Paternity leave has its effects on Jungkook. After his first day back at work, he can't help but show you how much he doesn't want to go back.

[Theme]: Dad!Jk, CEO!Jk, Married Couple AU, Parent's AU

[Rating]: 18+ for sexual themes. Marking, kissing, nipple play, creampie, unprotected (wrap it up y'all), dom!JK, mentions of another pregnancy, talks of pregnancy and getting pregnant, etc.

[Word Count]: 4,274

[A/N]: This is a pure result of the urge my body suddenly gets to want a child right before my period smh. Anyway, felt cute, might delete later once I am sane.

It’s been a long ass day. Jungkook’s white button-up feels stapled to his skin, his pants folding uncomfortably with every step he makes as he exits his office. A long finger comes up to his neck, digging underneath his striped tie, wiggling it a little to loosen the chokehold it has around his neck. His other hand feels bound to his briefcase, which carries so much importance in his life but yet so much burden at the same time.

It’s his first day back at work after his baby boy was born. The briefcase he holds reminds him of the duty he has to his family — of his passion and his support for you and your baby. But it also reminds him of the time it has ripped away from spending with you. He clutches it with so much strength at the thought of you, pulling his car keys out of his pocket and pressing the unlock button so hard, that he thinks he almost might just break it.

With a deep breath, he takes off his tie and tosses it in the passenger seat along with his briefcase. He’s ready to go home. That picture of you, him, and your son that you insisted on framing and Jungkook bringing to work has been a constant reminder of what he has to look forward to at the end of the day. If only his paternity leave could have been longer. You and his son are all he’s been able to think about. How you were doing, if you needed his help, if Jaemun was being feisty, how the cute crinkle on his nose resembles yours to a T.

It’s late January, and the winter air is unforgiving. He wonders if you have the heat on high enough; if Jaemun had enough blankets, or if the tip of your nose was cold like how it always is in the winter months. He can imagine you holding him close, swaddling him as you sing to him delicately. The thought makes his whole body warm, even though the air is so cold that it feels like glass is cutting against his skin.

He’s convinced he will take more time off. He’s the CEO, after all. He could take months off and it not matter. He wants to be with you always — at all times of the day to hold you and be there for you like he should be. If only the world had been that easy to where passions didn’t have a price. He got lucky, his passion having a heavy penny attached to it. But he wonders where that passion took something more valuable away from him — time. He finds himself now strapped between the choice of time and passion, and he fights the fact that he cannot choose both.

The door to your home is welcoming to his eyes as he pulls up to it. It’s not big by any means. Just homey and enough for the three of you. Even with the snow covering almost every inch of it, the reminder of how warm it is on the inside makes his drive to enter it even greater. He does so with a shiver, coming up to your shared home with a stomp of his boots to shake off the snow just before he enters.

To his surprise, he’s met with hushed music coming from the kitchen as he puts his winter coat on the hook, places his briefcase on the wooden floor, and shimmies out of his shoes. He looks at his watch first, making sure it’s not Jaemun’s nap time, to which he finds out it is. The soft music makes sense now, and he smiles when he makes his way down the hallway to the source of the noise.

The rest of the house is dark except for the kitchen-living room area that you and your baby rest in. Jaemun is peacefully sleeping in his bassinet by the couch, cuddling his dinosaur blanket, while you are by the stove, stirring something.

You look over your shoulder at the sound of familiar footsteps, and your heart immediately softens at the sight of your husband in the doorframe. He smiles back tiredly, running his hand through his hair in an exhausted attempt to pull himself together before he makes his way over to you. He looks relieved, like he’s finally received what he’s wanted all day. You’re happy to see him, knowing all too well that that’s what you’ve been waiting for all day, too.

Big, warm hands slide around your waist, a heavy chin rests on your shoulder as he kisses your cheek softly. He takes a deep breath, breathing in your presence as he releases the tension from work off his shoulders. You tend to have an instant effect on him — he missed you so much.

“You’re stirring water?” he laughs as he stares at the pot of water on the stove, unboiled, as you stir it as if it is.

“I’m trying to get it to boil quicker,” you explain with a defeated sigh. “Doesn’t seem to be working. I feel like I’ve been standing here for 20 minutes.”

He hums from behind you, taking your stirring hand and stopping your motions. You’ve never been a big cooker, but he knows you’ve been trying lately. “Just let it be, love. It’ll get there.”

You do as he says, putting the ladle down on the countertop and turning around in his embrace. You wrap your arms around his neck, staring at the tall man who holds you close against him. You’re met with a tired Jungkook who rests his forehead against yours as you play with the hairs at the back of his head.

“How was work?” you ask gently.

He groans, wrapping his hands around your waist and holding you tighter against him. It causes you to rest your cheek on his shoulder, hugging him in full.

“That bad?” you chuckle.

Your husband just sighs against your neck. “It’s too early to go back, Y/n,” he candors.

You tuck a strand of hair that fell in front of his face behind his ear. “We’re ok, Kook,” you comfort. But he only shakes his head, making the tucked strand fall out of its place again.

“I’m not,” he says. “I want to be here with you. Spend time with Jaemun before he’s suddenly 25.”

You chuckle at that. It does feel like that sometimes. It’s been three months since your son was born, but it feels like it was just yesterday that you were holding him for the first time.

You can only hold his cheek in response, running your thumb slowly against his soft skin. You feel for him, you really do. He’s such a good father. It makes your heartstrings tug and twist and pull every time you see him with your little boy. It’s only a matter of time before you have to go back to work as well. The thought makes your stomach turn, and you can completely sympathize with your husband dreading going back to work and leaving you and Jaemun.

“Your water is boiling,” he breaks you out of your daze.

“Oh,” you turn around. You smile, knowing he was right before. “I’m making pasta if that sounds ok?”

Jungkook kisses your neck in response, a gentle thing that has your tummy flipping for a second.

“You could also probably wake up our son,” you check the time on the microwave. “He’s been a little sleepy today, so I let his nap go for a little longer than usual.”

You add the pasta in and turn the water down, moving over to the greens left on the cutting board. You start chopping until your husband’s lips move lower.

“Our son,” he whispers, kissing your collarbone. The statement makes him jittery. It feels unreal still, even after nine months of waiting, and another three of actually having your little family here with him. You’re his wife, the mother of his kid, and he loves you more than anything in the world. You gave him something he can never find an equivalent to giving back to you. You gave him your heart and a family, and there’s nothing that can replace or overcome what that means to him. His soul lives for yours; it’s overwhelming what you’ve done for him. It’s overwhelming how you make him feel.

He kisses your collarbone softly once again, his heart full. You tilt your head to the side for more, and he gives it to you, kissing up your neck with slow wet kisses.

“Kook,” you exhale gently. You feel him hum against the skin just under your ear. Large palms cup your waist, his body moving closer to yours, trapping your hips against the countertop. Your knife feels loose in your hand when he bites at your skin gently, his tongue brushing over the bite mark afterward.

He stirs something within you. Something that you’ve missed terribly for the past few months. It makes your thighs tremble as he gently caresses your skin under his fingertips.

“The baby—“ you begin, but Jungkook’s motions cut you off yet again when his fingers slowly slide down your front. He’s unsure, his hand hesitating over your skin as his breath stops momentarily in thought.

“Is this okay?” He asks you genuinely. You nearly fall to your knees, dropping your knife onto the board, when his fingers put pressure over your clothed mound. It’s subtle, and much more gentle than what you’re used to with him. You know he’s being cautious, but god did you miss him. “If it’s too much, I’ll pull away.”

You shake your head.

It’s been a long time since the two of you have gotten intimate. Childbirth wasn’t easy, and your doctor just recently gave you two the “ok” for sex. The first time you tried since then wasn’t like what you’re used to with your husband. It was slow and painful, ending with a lot of apologies, embarrassment, and frustration. It’s safe to say that you have to get used to sex all over again.

“No,” you lean against him. “J-Just be gentle. I’m still a little sore.”

“Ok,” he whispers against your neck, kissing it softly. “Just relax for me, baby. I’ll make it feel good, I promise.”

You nod, loosening your nervous shoulders as your husband takes control. He stops swiftly for a second, turning the stove on the lowest setting before looking over his shoulder at his son to ensure he’s still fast asleep. Once he sees that he is, he immediately returns to you.

“So good for me,” he says, slowly circling your clit over your sweats. His other hand squeezes your waist before it moves up, sliding under your shirt and trickling over your breast. You’re wearing a soft bra today—one without an underwire—which makes it easier for him to slide his fingers under.

You whimper when he softly massages your boob, his fingers playing with your nipples gently. Your body, especially your breasts, has become 10x more sensitive since birth. You can feel everything, and everything either hurts or feels really really good. Whenever your husband seems to hold them, you’re a whimpering mess, melting like putty in his arms as he plays with you.

“Sensitive,” Jungkook smiles. His fingers rub harder against you, and you subtly buck your hips against him. His lips graze against your skin, his hair tickling your collarbone as he assaults your neck over and over again. 

“You’re so cute when you’re pregnant,” he rasps against your cheek before planting a sweet kiss upon it. “Wanna see you like that all the time. So full of me — carrying our babies.”

“Jungkook, I—” you whine, grasping onto his wrist. You’re unsure what to do with yourself, wanting him to do so much to you, but not knowing where to start.

The man behind you takes his hand away from your mound, and he chuckles when you whine in protest. But his thumbs hook on your pants and underwear, slowly pulling them down.

“Relax, baby,” he asks again. “I told you, I’m gonna take care of you. Don’t worry.”

His hand slides around your waist again, smoothing over your skin until it’s sliding between your folds. The back of your hand comes up to your mouth as your other grips the countertop for support as he plays with you.

“So wet,” he moans, feeling the effect he’s had on you with his fingers. “This all for me? I’ve barely touched you yet.”

You nod, feeling completely at the mercy of the man behind you. His other hand plays with your nipple again, and you feel another wave of euphoria go straight to your pussy.

His fingers gather your slick generously, smoothing it over your clit before circling it gently. He plays infinities over it, making your knees go weak. It’s getting harder to stay quiet, especially when he pinches your nipple gently, making you gasp at the soreness and pleasure it causes.

“K-Kook,” you whine, but he only chuckles, quickening his motions on your clit as he presses further into you. You can feel his dick strained against his work pants, and the thought of him inside you again makes you feel so needy for him. “Want you,” you pant. “Please.”

“Patience,” he shushes you, kissing your neck surely. “I haven’t even made you cum yet.”

“Wanna cum with you,” you whine in protest.

“You will,” he promises.

You gasp as he switches his finger, his thumb trading places with his middle. It circles over you just the same, except this time, it’s joined by his middle finger slowly inserting itself between your folds.

“Oh,” you exhale, feeling weak when he pumps it in and out of you slowly.

He lets himself test your reactions, seeing if the insertion is too much — if it hurts or feels uncomfortable. It doesn’t seem to be, and he slowly lets his ring finger join with his middle, causing you to roll your eyes back slightly.

“So good for me, baby,” he encourages. “Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” you reply almost immediately.

He kisses your neck. His lips leave hot, wet marks all over your skin as he curls his fingers against your g-spot. His other hand quickly comes to your waist, stabilizing you as you whimper against the back of your hand, trying your best to keep quiet.

He circles his thumb faster, his fingers circling and brushing against your g-spot in tandem with his movements. You feel your orgasm looming over you, and with a certain pressure against your clit, you’re coming undone just as he said you would all over his fingers.

“There you are,” he coaxes you. You’re a whimpering mess, and he feels his dick twitch at the sight of you falling apart on his fingers. He helps you ride out your high, his fingers very gently brushing over your clit as you come down.

Once you're calmed down, you reach around you, playing with his belt loop as you rest your head on his shoulder and look up at him. He looks back down, hesitating again knowing what you want but unsure if it’s too much for you to handle yet.

“What,” he smiles teasingly with a kiss to your forehead.

“I want you,” you candor, looking at up him with pleading eyes.

He kisses your nose. “Are you sure? You said it hurt last time.”

You nod. “Please, Koo,” you beg him.

His chest rises, and he takes a deep breath before he nods, kissing you gently as he unbuckles his belt. He places it on the counter before unzipping himself and pulling his pants down. It springs up, pressing itself against your skin gently. But he takes himself in his hands, hesitantly letting it slide down over your folds. 

“Let me know if I’m hurting you, okay?” He says, lining himself up to you with a few strokes of his cock. God, was he nervous. The last time sex hurt really bad for you, and that was just a week ago. He wonders if the prep was enough; he hopes it was, he really doesn’t want to hurt you again.

You nod, holding onto the countertop again as his tip rubs against your entrance. Your coat his cock in such slickness, even you’re surprised at how much you leak onto him. You miss your husband. You need this bad, and so does he.

“Oh, and try to stay quiet, yeah?” He says with a push of his hips. The motion has him covering your mouth with his hand, shielding your moans quickly. “The baby is still sleeping.”

His dick slips past your folds so smoothly, it has you gasping for breath at how good it feels. It’s nothing like the last time. He’s gentler, but still so so big, he fills you up just right.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your neck once he sheathes himself fully inside of you. The man behind you stills, completely overwhelmed with the feeling of you. He, too feels like he’s had to relearn sex all over again. How to please you right now that your body has changed, how to make sure that you are comfortable with his pace and size. You two haven’t had sex like this in so long, he feels overwhelmed when you feel almost too good for him to control. A part of him is embarrassed by how quickly he thinks he’s going to last. 

“How are you still so tight, hm?” he asks with a firm grip on your hip. “Y-You okay?”

You can only nod, pushing your hips down against him. The motion forces him further into you, to which both of you grunt at the feeling.

Testingly, Jungkook pulls out slowly, before pushing back into you a little quicker than before. You coat him generously, creating a motion that makes it easy for him to repeat. 

He develops a pace, fucking you against the kitchen countertop with your juices leaking all over his cock and down your thighs. The stove is on and your baby still sleeps; there are uncut vegetables in front of you and your husband still wears his work shirt. But he fucks you as if none of that matters. As if his only priority is to make sure you feel good, to let yourself go as he fuck you deep and just how you like it. 

His hand comes off from your mouth and settles on your hip. His other hand wraps around your front, holding you impossibly close against his body.

You moan softly when he bends you over slightly against the countertop, the new angle making it hard for you to stay quiet. But you push your hips against him anyway, telling him without words to go deeper.

The action causes him to moan, following your request with a snap of his hips.

“You like it that much, hm?” He grunts, cock ramming into you. “Like it when I knock you up good?”

“Y-Yes!” You whisper. “I love it so much, Koo.”

“Y-yeah?” He leans over you. A tattooed hand cups over yours, palm embracing the back of your hand as he intertwines his fingers with yours. “Gonna let me do it again?”

“Mmhm,” you squeeze his fingers. “As many times as y-you want.”

“A-Ah,” he pants, mind going into a frenzy over your words. The fact that he is yours, that you are his. That only he can hear you say that. That only he can make you feel this good. That only he has the privilege of calling you his wife. It makes his heart warm and his cock twitch. 

“God, I’m going to ruin you if you say things like that, Y/n,” he warns. But you are relentless, leaning your head back on his shoulder, giving yourself to him further. 

“W-Want you to,” you whimper. “I love you.” 

Your legs shake, completely weak from your past orgasm and your new one forming at the pit of your stomach. His cock makes you feel so full, like you’re stretched to the max capacity as he fucks you good. You know he’s close when his dick twitches inside of you after your words, which only encourages you to gain some strength and begin fucking yourself back on his cock.

“Mm, fuck,” he grips your hips tightly. “M’ gonna cum.”

He quickly reaches around you again, drawing infinities over your clit with his middle finger. His eyes roll back as your cunt naturally tightens at the feeling. Your hips jolt and the knots in your tummy slowly start to unravel themselves onto his dick as you come undone. Just as he had promised, with a final twitch, he’s cumming inside of you with hot, thick ropes filling you up with whispered exhales of your name on his lips.

He lets the two of you catch your breath, his forehead resting on your shoulder before he’s pulling out, shared cum leaking down your thighs and onto the floor. Quickly, he grabs a paper towel from the roll next to the stove and cleans you up a little.

With gentle hands, he helps you back into your sweats before he helps himself into his boxers. He still lingers behind you when he reaches a hand around you and turns the stove on a higher setting once again. 

You turn around, wrapping your hands around his neck as you pull him in for a much-needed kiss. “I love you,” you whisper against him again. His hair falls onto your skin, dark locks intertangling with yours as his fingers come up to hold your face against his. Soft lips sear over yours, telling you things that simply cannot be put into words. 

“I love you, too,” he brushes his nose against yours. “Was that okay? I didn’t hurt you?”

You pause, looking up at his dilated pupils. He looks at you like you're his world; like he's given you his heart with the full intent of never receiving it back from you. You nod, kissing him softly again. 

“You should probably wake up your son now,” you poke his cheek.

Looking at the time on the microwave, he snaps out of his daze. “Oh fuck,” he says as his fingers leave your side. You watch him leave you with a chuckle, turning back to your pasta wondering how in the world you go so lucky to marry and mother a kid to this man. You’d truly give him anything he wanted. 

***

[Bonus]

With gentle hands, so big against his baby’s frame, he picks Jaemun up in his arms, holding him against his chest. His dinosaur blanket swaddles him softly, and Jungkook does his best to make sure he’s correctly supported and held despite the extra fabric over his small frame. 

Jaemun stirs, and Jungkook places a soft kiss on his tiny head before he gets the chance to freak out and cry. The baby seems to know exactly who is holding him, and he nearly falls back asleep at the familiarity of his father’s arms. But Jungkook bounces him against his chest softly, slowly waking him up for dinnertime.

He makes his way over to you, making unnecessary airplane noises, from what you assume is Jungkook pretending to be an airplane and his son the passenger.

“You know, babies can’t laugh until they’re about 4 months,” you shake your head with a laugh.

“False,” your husband comes behind you again. “I swear he’s laughed before.”

You chuckle, taking the pan off the stove and pouring the insides into a strainer. Just the noodles are left in the strainer now, and you realize that you haven’t thought past the part of boiling the noodles. You ignore that you have no idea what kind of pasta you’re making when Jungkook rests himself against the kitchen island. 

Jaemun catches sight of you, and his arm reaches for you in Jungkook’s hold. You come over, giving him a kiss on the forehead before kissing your husband.

“Were you serious?” your husband asks you suddenly. 

“About?” you raise your eyebrow. 

“You know,” he gulps, holding Jaemun a little tighter. He rests against Jungkook's shoulder, his eyes tempting to fall back asleep again. “More kids.” 

You raise both your eyebrows again, looking at him as if he was serious. His heart beats faster when he realizes what you’re thinking, quickly rephrasing himself. 

“N-Not now, of course,” he gulps. 

You turn around, opening the fridge for some milk for Jaemun as you listen to him. You take out a pot, take the cased breast milk from earlier, and pour it in, turning on the stove afterward. 

“I just mean, like, in the future,” he explains.

There’s a long pause as you wait for the pot to heat up enough. The man behind you is weak, and you don’t know if you want to be mean and give him the blunt answer, or soften the blow. Watching how he cradles your son makes you want to go with the first choice. 

“Don’t you worry Jeon,” you start, as you stir the contents in the pot. You can hear him gulp behind you. “I planned on giving you as many babies as you want. But at least wait until Jaemun is in pre-school or something. I don’t think I can handle two infants at once.” 

You hear little from him at your answer, leaving you smirking knowing full well that you put the man behind you in a frenzy imagining the future you just laid out for him.

***

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts , 2023]

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Teach Me a Lesson, Mr. Miller✨

Bfd/Brat Tamer! Joel Miller x fem! reader

A/N: This has been in the docs for a while, and it’s all just filth. Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for helping me get that one sentence just right! This one is dedicated to all the bratty girls who love to be punished, especially @littlevenicebitch69 😈

Summary: Tonight, you planned for beer, loud music, and sloppy sex with one of your hot college classmates. Instead, you get your best friend’s dad putting you in your place.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 6.7k

Tags: Porn with plot, large age gap (reader is 23, Joel is 46), best friend’s dad! Joel, unprotected piv, brat tamer! Joel, fingering, oral (f/m receiving), no use y/n, pre outbreak! au, switching POVs, dirty talk, edging

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The lights flash like disco balls across the silhouette of the glass windows as Joel enters the front door of his house. His eyes blow wide, eyebrows furrowing when he sees the absolute mess in his large two-story house. 

   The wooden floors are caked in spilled beer, bottles litter the vicinity of his college infested living room. The loud music blares through the speakers, bodies cramming the now made dance floor with the leather couches pushed back out of place. Antique lamps get knocked over, footballs get thrown around by some jocks in the kitchen, chips get crunched and crumpled by careless feet over by the rustic coffee table. 

   He can’t see an end to the madness of this unwelcome house party that was obviously thrown without his knowledge, and he’s fucking pissed.

   He scoffs as a tall blonde football player rams into his shoulder, not even muttering an apology, only yelling “Watch out, old man” as be barrels through with an open beer bottle clutched in his firm hand. That makes Joel burn with hot rage, his jaw ticking as he goes searching for Sarah in a sea of college party goers. 

   He was supposed to be away on a contracting gig all weekend, but he unexpectedly got to come home early after the clients changed the dates yet again. He was going to surprise Sarah by taking her out to dinner, but not anymore. Not after he walked into his house that’s now completely trashed by fucked up college kids. 

   He clamps down on his seething tongue and tastes blood run down the back of his throat, pushing himself through a couple making out by the kitchen entrance, cursing under his breath when almost no one even realizes he’s right there in the midst of it all. A rowdy boy shotguns a beer in the hall, all his friends hollering for him to chug. Joel grabs the aluminum can out of his hand and throws it on the ground, crushing it under his leather work boots while he scowls at the piece of shit.

   “Get out of my fuckin’ way,” he growls, pushing the college kid out of the way and into the wall, stomping down the hall back into the living room when he doesn’t see Sarah anywhere around him. 

   He barrels past a sleazy couple making out by the stairwell, hearing them yell back while he huffs and pushes past them. Fucking college kids.

   Turning and looking up the stairs is where he finds you standing there, nursing an alcoholic beverage from a red solo cup. He clenches his jaw, narrows his eyes as he stares at you, Sarah’s best friend, not even comprehending he’s right there basically at your heels. 

   He growls under his breath, hands balled in tight fists as the loud music booms through his eardrums, cursing when he sees another red solo cup fall to the floor, spilling liquid all over his newly polished floors. 

   Goddamn it.

   He assesses you carefully, flicking his eyes over your too tight little black dress, barely covering the globes of your ass. Your low cut neckline basically reveals it all, cleavage spilling from where your perky breasts tease the boys. He takes in your tanned, toned legs, your slutty outfit making all the guys drool over you. And he knows that’s what you fucking want because you love attention.

   If attention is what you’re seeking, then he’s about to smother it.

   He scoffs under his breath; a jealous anger rises deep in his chest. He equally loves and hates how attractive he finds you. Your long legs could make any grown man weak in the knees, and your pouty red lips are so plump that they drive him absolutely wild. He so badly wants to suck that pretty little bottom lip between his teeth so he can finally hear what your pleasurable cries sound like while they ring melodically through his ears.

   He should be mad, furious that you were a part of putting this party together. He knows you were; Sarah wouldn’t do this by herself. Not his little girl. No. She obviously had some convincing from you. He always knew you were a little troublemaker. 

   And you know what happens to little troublemakers? They get taught a lesson. And that’s exactly what he plans to do.

   “Isn’t this party great? You and Sarah really pulled it off. Didn’t think you could. Bravo,” Kylie congratulates you, tipping her half empty beer bottle to your red solo cup, spilling a little of the mixed alcohol over the side of your cup.

   “Yeah, well this wouldn’t have even happened if we thought her dad would show up. Kinda was hesitant to even help throw it, but guess it worked out,” you sigh with relief, a smile painting over your tinted red lips.

   You relax against the wall, taking a deep breath while the drifting music fills your ears, lulling in the alcohol that calms your racing mind. “Good thing he’s not here, right? That’d be a shit show,” you laugh. 

   After a couple of minutes, Kylie hits your arm and almost screams into your ear. “Wait. Oh no. Isn’t that… is that Sarah’s dad?”

   You stand up straight, pushing yourself off the wall frantically. As you look down the narrow staircase and gaze through the parted crowd, that’s when you see him staring up at you with a clenched jaw and fire lighted in narrowed eyes. 

   Oh shit.

   You swallow a generous gulp of the bitter alcohol, biting the tip of your tongue hard as Kylie disappears and leaves you alone with the hungry panther that’ll surely show his claws to you any moment now. He stalks towards you, climbing the stairs and pushing past party goers, his big lips twitching and glowing eyes glaring your way. 

   Fuck. He’s so angry. You’re in big trouble. 

   He points a thick finger accusingly at you, mouthing your name angrily through his gritted teeth. When he reaches you your eyes blow wide, mouth dropping open, standing speechless in your black high heels. Your red solo cup slips out of your hand, and you gulp when the cup lands on Joel’s tan work boots, spilling alcohol all over the worn leather. Shit. 

   He rakes a hand roughly down his salt-and-pepper trimmed beard, muttering curse words under his breath. “Jesus Christ,” he huffs. 

   “Sorry…” you stutter, almost falling backwards before he places a strong hand around your wrist, holding your gaze with his narrowed eyes.

   “So, you and Sarah decided it was alright to throw a fuckin’ party over the weekend I was supposed to be out of town, huh? Thought it was fine to trash my goddamn house?!” His voice is sharp, stern, filled with a deep gravelly tone that almost scares the daylights out of you. You’ve never seen Joel mad before, not like this. You’re in so much trouble.

   “No… I mean, we didn’t mean to…” you mutter quietly.

   “Didn’t mean to my ass. This was planned. Parties don’t jus’ happen. But let me ask you one thing, where is my daughter?” His amber eyes dig into you, a deep scowl forming over his lips while you try to hold your shaky breath. 

   You wouldn’t rat Sarah out, not to her dad. She was busy hooking up with Ryan by the pool, and you did not want her dad knowing that. He would probably take his meaty hands and physically kill the poor guy.

   “I don’t know. Haven’t seen her in a while,” you shrug, pretending like you don’t know a thing.

   He slides his tongue along his bottom teeth, his cold eyes slitting into narrow slots. Oh god, you’re done for. “Upstairs, now!” he yells. He grabs your wrist and drags you upstairs, down the narrow hall, past the occupied bathroom and down to the last room on the right. 

   His bedroom. 

   He throws you inside the room and flips on the lights, slamming the door shut with a bang and clicking the lock into place. No place to escape now. Your wide eyes scan the room, glancing past the corner with his acoustic guitar, taking in the navy blue walls, the collection of stacked albums in the little glass case, eyes flicking over the king-sized bed with clean white sheets and a dark blue blanket thrown neatly on top. 

   You don’t have time to really take in your surroundings because he’s suddenly screaming at you through clenched teeth. “Where is Sarah?” he growls, pacing in front of you with blown out angry eyes, tanned arms crossed over his broad chest.

   You push all your fears aside and decide to turn on the charm, hoping you can flirt your way out of this one. “I dunno, Joel. Where do you think she is?” you giggle, twirling a lock of hair between your fingers, giving him your best innocent look as you bat your eyelashes up at him, trying your hardest to not turn your best friend in. 

   Something snaps hard in him then. He crowds your space, pinning you against the navy colored wall, his meaty hands grazing against your hips roughly. “It’s Mr. Miller to you. Now look, I ain’t repeatin’ myself again. Now where is she?” He snarls, showing his incisors as his nostrils flare, making his chocolate eyes grow into big black holes. Oh god, he’s furious. 

   “Like I said, I don’t know.” You smile, shrugging your shoulders like you don’t have a clue in the world. He obviously knows you’re lying, and he won’t stand for that.

   “I’m not fuckin’ playin’ around, little girl. Tell me where my daughter is or so help me.” He clenches his jaw, a repressed growl held in the back of his throat. 

   “Little girl, huh? You think a twenty-three-year-old is a little girl?” You scoff, pursing your lips annoyed. 

   “Shut up, will ya? Christ. Jus’ tell me where the fuck my daughter is,” he growls, pinning his broad chest against yours.

   You smirk his way, challenging him with an ounce of liquid courage in your system. “Make me.”

   He digs into the sides of your hips with his thick fingers, making you gasp at the nervous butterflies that flit through your stomach. He gnashes his teeth together, dark eyes blowing wide as he ghosts dangerously close to your lips. “Better be careful there, sweetheart. You’re walkin’ on mighty thin ice,” he warns with the flash of black eyes. 

   “Am I?” you challenge, giggling with a gleam in your eye. He curses under his breath, ready to give you just what you deserve. “I see the way you look at me when Sarah’s not around. The way your eyes peel over me, especially when I was wearing my little pink bikini by the pool. Couldn’t stop staring, could you?” you smirk.

   He clenches his teeth together, groaning curse words as he scowls your way, fighting every ounce of control he has left in him, but he has none. “You’re a fuckin’ brat, you know that?” he spits your way, eyes lit like smoldering flames. 

   “Only a brat for you,” you wink.

   “Jesus Christ,” he huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thick fingers until he’s looking back up at you with danger written all over his handsome face. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

   “Mhm,” you nod, grabbing onto the front of his green flannel, your fingers curling ever so slowly over the soft material. “So, what are you gonna do about it, Mr. Miller?” you ask all flirtatiously, pulling him up against your chest while his big hands hover over the soft fabric of your tight dress.

   He carves his hand over the middle of your cleavage, running a calloused finger dangerously close to your breasts, anger still coursing through those dark eyes of his. “How much have you had to drink tonight? You’re actin’ rather bold, little girl.” His index finger grazes the underside of your breasts, and you hold in a surprised gasp.

   “I’ve had a couple sips, but I’m not drunk,” you promise, watching his eyes flick back and forth from your vision to your spilling breasts that scream to be freed from the suffocating dress.

   He assesses your face, scanning your flustered features while he ticks his jaw, analyzing if you’re really drunk or not. Once he’s satisfied with your answer, he lets out a gruff sound from the back of his throat. “Okay then. You’re not drunk, but you’re jus’ choosin’ not to tell me where Sarah is, and you’re givin’ me a damn headache with the way you’re actin’ like a little brat,” he snarls with gritted teeth. “What’s it gonna take to get you to answer me, brat?” 

   The nickname brat makes a wave of slick form in the gusset of your pretty lace and your insides quiver with need. You know exactly what you have to do now. 

   You take your nails and run them slowly through his greying scruff, watching him clench his jaw and growl through his teeth. He grabs your wrist and peels it off his face, pinning it high above your head while he takes a step forward and leans all his weight into you.

   “Don’t think for one fuckin’ moment you have control, sweetheart. I’m in control here. Now, are you gonna tell me where my daughter is or am I gonna have to fuck it out of you?” His eyes blow wide, black pupils taking over your vision as his hardening cock digs into the middle of your thigh. Oh fuck. He’s big.

   You smirk up at him and raise your eyebrows. “Think I can tell you where she is. After you fuck me first, Mr. Miller.”

   He snarls your way and grabs your wrists, pulling you from the wall and throwing you in the direction of his king-sized bed. Before you can even make a move, he's right behind you, spreading your legs and pushing your chest against the soft mattress, slowly hiking your dress above your hips.

   “If you’re gonna act like a brat then I’m gonna fuck you like a brat, fuckin’ tease,” he growls.

   You feel the cool air against your center before you can even comprehend what’s happening. He rips your lace panties in half, shredding the material and spreading you wider while he spits on his large hand and starts dividing your folds, calloused fingers gliding through the slick of your wet pussy. He pushes on your buzzing clit, already overstimulated by his meaty fingers pressing against you, and you can’t help but pull a low groan from your glossy lips.

   “You like that, huh? Dirty little thing, jus’ wait till I get my mouth on you,” he smirks devilish. 

   “Oh, god,” you groan loudly as he curls one thick finger inside your dripping hole, quickly slipping another in to make a delicious burning sensation light your core on fire.

   The room starts spinning as he languidly fucks his fingers in and out, making sharp, deep movements as they scissor inside you over and over again. It’s like he’s kissing the back of your cervix, reaching impossibly deep inside your soul, and his deft fingers are so fucking experienced that you think you see god himself when he curls at just the right spot and presses into the spongy spot that has you seeing twinkling stars before your wide eyes.

   The heel of his palm presses firmly against your clit, and you can’t help the obscene noises that squeak out of you, just like the wet, squelching noises your pussy is making every single time he fucks into you nice and deep. The way he’s finger fucking you is unforgiving and relentless, and you can tell he’s thoroughly pissed that you kept taunting him. He’s trying to teach you a lesson, but it feels so fucking good that maybe you should tease him more often. Maybe he’ll keep being rough with you because you like this more than you should. 

   You buck your hips up, pressing your clit against his rough palm as you reach for that friction you so desperately crave. You’re right on the verge of coming, and you need to feed that burning sensation that almost snaps like a twig inside your core.

   “Greedy fuckin’ brat, ain’t ya? Who said you could come already, huh?” he growls with bared teeth. He releases his drenched fingers from your core, and you feel complete loss when those damn thick fingers stop you from getting your sweet release.

   You whine as he throws you on the silky sheets flat on your back, his large body climbing over yours while he pins his muscular legs against your thighs, spreading you wide to be on full display for him. You gasp and try to break free of his strong hold, but he’s much larger than you are, and his body is as taut as a brick wall. No way you can knock him off.

   You lick your bottom lip in frustration and pout because your clit burns, and you need to get relief before you combust into uncontrollable flames. “Please, Mr. Miller,” you beg, tears pooling in the backs of your glossy eyes.

   “You gonna tell me where Sarah is?” he asks, his large stature toppling over your body as his smoldering eyes incinerate the flames a thousand degrees hotter. 

   “Maybe after you make me come.” You puff your bottom lip out and smile through the burn of your core. He’s not going to budge, so you might as well push him to the edge. 

   “You think a little brat like you deserves to come?” he snarls, his eyes blowing wide as they trail like fire down your writhing body.

   He spots your wet center and smirks, ghosting his fingers right over your bundle of nerves, exactly where you need him most. Your voice box dies as you watch his thick fingers skate across your middle region, and you grow mute as a blinding pleasure of need crashes through your bloodstream.

   “I asked you a question, little brat. I expect an answer,” he growls with clenched teeth.

   “Please,” is all you seem to be able to whisper out as the heel of his palm brushes against your over sensitive clit. “I… I need it,” you whine, feeling the bottomless pit your stomach seems to plummet into.

   “You need it?” he chuckles darkly, dipping his head down between your legs slowly. “This pretty pink pussy wants to come?” he smirks as his lips brush dangerously close to your throbbing mound.

   “Mhm,” you whine, panting excessively when his hot breath fans over your clit, sending your carnal need spiraling while his large hands push your thighs further into the slick white sheets. 

   He lets a string of saliva pool inside his mouth, and then he slowly lets it drip down like a waterfall onto your already drenched pussy. “Can never be too wet, little brat,” he grins wickedly. “But look at you, already soppin’ for me,” he chuckles darkly.

   The tip of his thumb slides against your slit, covering drool and slick up to your puffy mound as he meticulously circles over that sweet spot that makes you pant his name uncontrollably. You buck your hips up, begging for more, but he just settles nicely between your legs and lets his eyes lust over with black pits that threaten to eat you alive.

   “Mr. Miller,” you beg like a desperate bitch in heat. You need him, want him, and it’s so fucked up that you want your best friend’s dad. But he’s just so enticing that you can’t resist, like a prized possession you just can’t lose.

   “Now, let me taste jus’ how wet you are, little brat. Maybe you’ll stop runnin’ that smart alec mouth of yours for a minute,” he smirks cruelly. 

   You take a breath, about to spout off a flirty response to mock him, but then his mouth fuses to your pussy, and there’s suddenly no air left in your lungs. He languidly licks a long stripe up your glistening folds, making a shocked gasp escape your mouth while he peels his carnal eyes up at you and fucking smirks while his tongue slowly envelops your buzzing mound.

   Fuck. He’s even better with his tongue than you imagined. 

   “Ohhh,” you moan breathily, mouth agape with drool nearly sliding down your chin. His tongue makes your pussy clench up over nothing, but then he slips two experienced fingers inside your dripping hole and curls up up up until he hits that spot that makes you lose your fucking mind. 

   Another flick of his long tongue and you’re nearly choking on dry air. You try to speak, but his skillful fingers and lapping tongue make you forget every single thought that’s ever plagued your mind.

   “Look at you, all choked up like you don’t know any words. What’s the matter, little brat? Cat got your tongue?” His menacing words cut through the thick air, and his piercing black eyes flash with mischief when his tongue slides along your puffy clit.

   “Y—yes,” you choke, words getting jumbled on the tip of your tongue the minute he plunges his thick fingers deeper inside you. “Oh my god,” you moan, feeling his thick beard brush against your inner thigh, his tongue dancing impossibly fast around your bundle of nerves. “More,” you beg, “please.”

   Joel’s tongue snaps back in his mouth, and one of his large hands tugs you closer, possessively pressing into your thigh like he fucking owns you. “Beggin’ for me now, s’that right?”

   All you can do is nod in response. “Mhm.”

   He chuckles and shakes his head, still skillfully curling his magical fingers up inside you, almost making your vision turn to black. “You gonna behave if I make you come, pretty little slut?” he asks with a snide smirk, fanning his hot breath along your sticky center, right where he’s ruined you most. 

   “Mhm. I’ll be good, promise,” you squeak out, bucking your hips to try to get his warm mouth back on you, but he only digs deeper into your thigh, right to the point of both pleasure and pain mixed together. 

   “Attagirl,” he smiles wickedly, his dark eyes turning back into big black pits.

   In the next second his mouth is back on you, biting and sucking and teasing his tongue along your wet folds, his curved nose inhaling deeply in your curls above your mound, and then his mouth takes your needy clit and sucks. Hard. Your eyes roll in the back of your head, reveling in the feel of his smooth tongue, moaning with every curl of his thick digits that he gives you, relishing the sick, pleasurable feeling of knowing that you finally teased him enough that he gave in. And it’s honestly better than any fake fantasy that you conjured up in your twisted brain. This right here is something you’d be on your knees for every second you could get Joel fucking Miller alone with you.

   Another lick to your center and your fingers fall and twist around his dark greying tousled locks. That elicits a groan deep from within his throat, and he has you panting even heavier the more he ravishes your sticky center. 

   The coil sharply snaps in your belly, and you feel molten lava run down your spine, slipping down your center, your walls clenching tightly around his calloused fingers. “Fuck,” he groans, his tongue lapping up the spilling slick that runs down your thighs messily. 

   Even coming down from your orgasm, the man still sets your core on fire. “You taste so fuckin’ good, little brat. Like fuckin’ cake on my lips,” he hums, licking off your glistening slick that sticks to his plush lips.

   Once you’re coherent enough to form a full sentence, you breathe out raggedly. “Need you, Joel,” you whine, reaching for his flannel collar until he pushes your hand away.

   “Mr. Miller,” he snaps. “So fuckin’ needy,” he mocks, his tongue darting across his bottom lip while he takes his time pulling the top of your dress down. “You want this cock?” he asks smirking, his big hands toying with your now revealed breasts, pinching the pebbled nipples between his fingers, humming happily when a moan slips off your tongue. 

   “Yes, please,” you beg, hoping he’ll give in to your sweet voice that nearly sings each time his warm body brushes against yours. You’re desperate because now you really want him. You want to know what it’s like to be fucked by Joel Miller in the flesh.

   “You gonna tell me where Sarah is?” He leans in and brushes his soft lips against the shell of your ear, gently biting until pain turns into raw pleasure.

   “Yes,” you say shakily. “After you fuck me.”

   His chocolate brown eyes turn carnal, black pits taking over once again as a deep smirk flicks across that warm mouth of his. “If you wanna be fucked like a slut then so fuckin’ be it,” he growls viciously. “Needy fuckin’ girl.”

   He yanks the leather belt from the loops of his denim jeans, throwing it quickly over the side of the bed as it falls with a clatter onto the floor. He wastes no time and unzips his metal zipper, ripping his jeans down his legs, his black boxer briefs following quickly after. Your eyes widen when you see just how massive he is, his thick cock hard and pressing firmly against his soft tummy, precum spilling messily over his red, swollen tip that’s begging to be stuffed inside you.

   Your jaw drops, and searing pleasure tears through your core the way his cock twitches when he looks down at just how soaked you are again. You’re like a fucking water fountain with no end of flow in sight. You’ve got it so bad for him, but now all you want is to be fucked by this beast of a man.

   “Jesus Christ. Already wet for me again? Little slut wants to be stuffed full of my cock, s’that right? Well, congratulations because I’m about to fuck you until you can’t think about anything else but me splitting you in two,” he growls cunningly.

   His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, and then he’s driving his cock straight through your damp folds. The breath gets knocked from your body the moment he plunges inside you, his large width literally splitting you in two until all you can feel is him penetrating your tight walls. 

   “Fuck,” you moan as his arms come down around your shoulders, caging you in as he drives in harder, bottoming out each time his hips snap up against yours, making you feel so satiated but also starving for more. You love his cock, and you don’t think you’ll ever have anyone else that can measure up to the god of a man he truly is.

   “Yeah, takin’ my cock like such a good girl,” he purrs, slapping his hips over and over as your mind starts to become numb from the thrusts of his massive cock. 

   “M–Mr. M… Miller,” you garble out, eyes rolling into the backs of your lids, reveling in the pleasure of the way he slides in and out of you, hitting that spongy spot that makes your fingers curl into the now dampened sheets. 

   “‘S’right, sweetheart. Say my name. Look at you all cock drunk. Givin’ you jus’ what you deserve, like the little slut you are,” he chuckles darkly as his tongue darts out and licks ravenously at the nape of your neck. “Lettin’ your best friend’s daddy fuck this tight pussy? You’re such a fuckin’ slut,” he chuckles.

   You don’t know why, but the nickname slut makes your insides tremble and has more slick running down his cock with each brush he gives your center. You’re such a bad friend, but you don’t care. You’ve wanted him for so long, and now you have him. You don’t intend to stop now.

   He bends your knees toward you, folding them until you’re in the shape of a pancake, his cock spearing into you at just the right angle that makes your moans louder and desperate as he drives you to your quickening second orgasm of the night. 

   The head of his cock kisses your cervix, drawing shallow breaths from your lungs until the room is enveloped in amber flames. You’re burning for him, and he fucking knows it, too. “Come on, pretty girl. You know you wanna come on my cock,” he taunts, eyes lit with pure mischief that threatens to swallow your cries whole.

   “Yes, fuck. I’m right there… I’m right–” Your voice is cut off by the deep growl that comes from his throat the moment your walls clench tightly around his cock, and you feel those walls inside you starting to crumble like every single thing around you does. 

   “That’s it, little brat. Take it. Spill for me,” he commands with a deep, intoxicating tone that has you coming just seconds after he speaks. You arch your back and moan his name, your ragged breaths scratchy and dry as you come hard on his cock.

   “Oh, yeah. Fuckin’ messy girl, goddamn,” he growls as he fucks you relentlessly through the high. 

   Just when you think he might come too, he pulls out and leaves you crying from the emptiness that makes you hollow from the inside out. You lay there panting, your center ruined from your dripping cum. He doesn’t even give you a chance to breathe; he grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you off the bed, pushing you down until you’re settled between his thighs.

   When you look up from under your long lashes, you see his hard cock shiny with your slick, and his eyes are lustful black pits. “Why don’t you be a good girl and open that pretty mouth, sweetheart. Wanna fuck it. Knock some sense into ya,” he growls.

   Your eyes widen and you try to turn, but he grabs the crown of your head and forces your mouth open with the tip of his thumb. “Open. Your. Fucking. Mouth.” It’s not a question but a demand. And god, you willingly do as he says without a fuss.

   Your hands wrap around the base of him obediently, and then your tongue laps at the underside of his cock, tracing the bulging veins that spread like vines down his shaft. Licking across the swollen tip of him, your tongue whisps against his slit, feeling the hot, salty precum envelop your throat as you hum around him. 

   “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, your tongue is so… fuck,” he moans once your lips are fully wrapped around him, taking him deep inside your throat until he’s bottoming out, making you gag. 

   You pull your lips from his cock, catching your breath as a bead of drool connects from your bottom lip to the tip of him, like a spider web spinning its web slowly and maliciously. He looks down at you with a glint in his mischievous eyes, and it’s so smoldering that it catches you on fire. 

   The pad of his thumb traces gently on your bottom lip, and for a moment you see a glimmer of softness in those dark irises. It’s quickly masked the second he grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs hard, pulling you to the edge of his messy cock. “You wanted to be fucked so badly, so let me teach you another lesson, little brat. Wanna shut you up with something else other than my hand.”

   He tugs you forward, and his cock plunges deep into your throat, languidly sliding it in and out, harder and faster with each stroke of his cock. Your eyes water as tears stream down your face, mascara trailing down your lash line with every thrust of his cock. Your cheeks hollow out, but nothing could’ve prepared you for how he humiliates you and ruins you by fucking your mouth repeatedly.

   The chilly air hits the back of your bare ass, and the room fills with obscene gagging and choking noises the more your mouth drowns in him. Drool coats your chin and runs down his thick length, but he doesn’t stop, he just keeps plunging deep into the back of your throat like it’s life or death. 

   “Finally learned how to shut you up,” he teases, ragged breaths growling from his throat the closer he gets to his climax. 

   You can’t talk, only the washed out sounds of drowning on his all-consuming length fill the void. He practically rips your hair out of the base of your skull, tugging forcefully, snapping his hips aggressively until you feel his tip swell and almost combust. A guttural groan leaves his mouth, and with one more snap of his hips he’s finished.

   “Swallow,” he commands. And then he’s spilling his hot seed down your throat. The salty taste makes you moan around him, and a unique taste that can only trademark as his own serenades you, claiming you as his own prized possession.

   He ruts once more inside you and then slowly slides out, collapsing on his back while you fall to the floor with a thud, gasping for breath as you choke on thick air. Your nails dig into the soft carpet, piercing through the thick material as you get a hold of yourself. Carefully tugging your dress up and down over your ass, you push yourself up after a few minutes of trying to decipher all that just went down.

   Joel lays with a large hand shielding his eyes, groaning to himself and mumbling nonsense under his breath. He’s probably regretting this entire night now, but you know you’re not. And you’d do it again in a heartbeat. 

   After a moment of standing there staring, Joel lifts himself up and leans his elbows against his knees, his eyes flicking over your panting form carefully. His stare isn’t kind but condescending, until it melts into something a little softer that you just can’t place your finger on.

   Is he… growing soft on you?

   His eyes flick to yours, his jaw slack and irises golden brown, no more lusting black pits. Something snaps in you, tugging at the pit of your gut that feels a lot like longing, yearning. And you shouldn’t feel this way about your best friend’s forty-six-year-old father, but you do. And nothing could convince you to stay away from him anymore. One taste and you were hooked. 

   You rock on the back of your heels, almost speechless by the aching feeling in your gut that screams from the loss of his hands on your body, his cock twitching inside you, and for a moment you feel sadness that completely shatters your fragile heart. Finding an ounce of courage buried deep in your throat, you fight to find your now meek voice again. “Are we going to make this a habit, Mr. Miller?”

   “Don’t count on it,” he mutters under his breath. “‘S’not a good idea,” he sighs.

   A wave of disappointment comes out of nowhere and just about knocks you on your ass, but you stand tall, your chin high in the air. “Fine. I learned my lesson, Mr. Miller. Guess I’ll go find another man to teach me another,” you mewl, letting the cold chill in your spine settle your agitation long enough to turn away from his clenched jaw and deep eyes that try to glue you to the dark carpet of his room.

   You give him a mocking smile and flip your hair across your shoulder while you sway your hips toward the closed door. Fine, if he doesn’t want you then you’ll just have to find someone else who can fill you as good as Joel did.

   A deep groan falls from his lips, and then you hear him pushing himself off the bed like his life depends on catching you. Joel snatches your waist and spins you around, pinning your back to the wall, just like the position you were in when you first got dragged to this room tonight.

   “I don’t fuckin’ think so,” he spits out, onyx eyes flaring with a hint of jealousy and possession, and then his lips fuse to yours, consuming every fiber of your body as his own.

   His plush mouth molds to yours like clay, his warm breath fanning across your swollen lips, and you swear you’ve never craved a man like this, not when his mouth is feasting on you. Parting your lips pliantly, you allow him access inside, his tongue slotting between your teeth and then dancing against your tongue. He tastes like whiskey and smells like sandpaper. He’s intoxicating.  

   Heat bursts through the room as his tongue invades your mouth, making you dizzy and incredibly needy the moment his hands cup the sides of your face, your fingers scraping gently against the back of his neck. He groans in response, deeping the kiss as he swallows you whole. You don’t hear the blaring music down the hall, you only hear his breath mixing with your own, your moans colliding in sync as a symphony fills the room. 

   The kiss ends moments later, and you’re standing there panting raggedly, trying to cool off from that heated moment. Joel steps back and rakes a hand heavily down his greying beard, his eyes in a far off place as he thinks and thinks about the actions he made in this musky, dark bedroom of his. Licking his bottom lip slowly, his chocolate eyes finally flick up to meet yours again. “Think you should go on now, sweetheart. We had our fun.” His eyes are heavy, his lids closing momentarily as another long sigh fills the void.

   “Can I… can I see you again?” you ask nervously, your heels digging deep into the carpet while you wait with bated breath.

   “‘S’not a good idea,” he warns, his nostrils flaring just the tiniest bit until he relaxes his tight shoulders. 

   “I don’t care,” you whisper.

   He looks at you a beat, his gaze trailing over your body, slowly nodding to the door, your cue to leave. You give him a small smile and make your way out, only stopping in the doorway when the door is inched open and loud music fills the room. You turn and give him some words for him to mewl over. “Ummm… thank you, Mr. Miller. For making me feel alive,” you blush. 

   “Jus’ Joel, sweetheart. Jus’ Joel.”

   “Right…” you smile, knowing you won him over. “Oh, and Sarah’s out back by the pool. See you around, I guess. Joel…” Without giving him a chance to say anything else, you turn down the hall, your chin held high knowing you just charmed Joel fucking Miller.

   He’s everything you ever wanted and everything you couldn’t have. But this wouldn’t be the only time you saw Joel Miller. No, you’d see him again.

   Joel topples onto the bed, letting the scent of your vanilla perfume permeate his ruined sheets. He fucking smells you everywhere, and now he can’t get the sight of your pretty, glistening eyes out of his smothered head. He groans, letting the heel of his palms dig deep into the sockets of his eyes. Maybe if he couldn’t see your shredded panties on the floor he wouldn’t be so wound up about you, but he still is, even with his eyes locked shut

   This is so fucked. You’re his daughter’s best friend, and he’s way too fucking old to be playing games with a twenty-three-year-old. But yet he wants to play, wants to teether you to his body until you can’t move, can’t escape from his strong hold on you. He’s got it so bad that he can’t even think straight. All he sees is you. And he doesn’t think he can stay away for long, so he won't. No. He’ll have you again and when he does, he won’t let you leave so quickly.

   He clenches the sheets in his fists and sighs, letting his eyes close as his body relaxes, tuning out the booming music that floats through his door. He lets your sweet scent carry him off into a light sleep, and the last thing he hears is your beautiful voice float through his ears as you call him Mr. Miller before sleep takes him down.

   And when he dreams, all he sees is how fucking wrecked you looked in between his ruined sheets.

   He’s not done with you. No. Not even close.

[hyunsvngs]

𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚, 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 - han jisung x fem!reader

wc: 2.4k

a/n: pwp based off of two images i saw of jisung's boobs in concert and then i went haywire and wrote THIS... MERRY CHRISTMAS !!! 🎄🎅 please read the warnings! 18+ SMUT MDNI!!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: ROLEPLAY where jisung is santa for no particular reason, nipple play (m rec), oral (m rec), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie (i’m having a white christmas!), dirty talk, overall kind of not extreme but maybe a bit of d/s dynamics (both switchy)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

you don’t know what game you’re playing tonight.

jisung’s due back home any minute now. he’s been gone a few hours, last minute christmas shopping with friends, and he claimed he had a surprise for you. you asked to go with, claiming you needed to get a few things too, but jisung had simply told you he had a plan. it’s unusual behaviour for him, but he’s always doing sweet things for you - this could just be another one of those times.

still, you’re bent underneath the tree placing presents in nothing but your nightie and some fuzzy socks. you’ve had to light the fireplace to warm yourself up, but jisung always likes it when it’s cozy anyway. you expect that he’ll arrive home tired, but wanting, from the infrequent texts he’d sent you about missing you. there’s nothing you like more than snuggling with your favourite person on your favourite holiday, even if he does get a little too warm too quickly and ends up being more of a human radiator than anything else. 

once you’ve finally found places for all of the gifts, you’re able to wriggle yourself outwards. with the multicoloured lights on and the fireplace lit, along with your many other trinkets… well, it may look like christmas has exploded in your living room. still, you’ve always loved christmas. you adjust a little santa ornament on your fireplace and allow yourself to lay on the couch, pulling a thick blanket over your body. it’s comfortable.

unfortunately it may be a little too comfortable. you appear to have dropped off, because when you wake up it’s a little darker outside. you hear the click of the lock, the sound of the door swinging open and heavy boots stomping in. you sit up, drowsy with sleep but ready to greet your boyfriend. 

a few hums are heard from the door, soft and melodic, and you smile. it’s nice. you push yourself up, padding over to the front door, and- oh. 

santa’s here.

sure, he looks a little different. under the fluffy white beard and velvet red costume you can catch glimpses of him. a snippet of black ink across honey toned skin when he moves, the sight of his chain dangling beneath the fabric - it’s him, your santa claus, you know it, and suddenly it all makes sense.

“santa!” you grin, walking over to wrap your arms around his middle. he lets out a small ‘ooph’, pretending he’s winded, but two toned arms wrap around your frame right back. “you’re here! early, too.”

“i had to be early for my favourite girl,” you feel the rumble of his chest when he speaks against your ear, and you nuzzle the fabric of his suit. over the time you’ve known your santa, you’ve learned he can be a little sleazy - you’re pretty sure he’s making his voice deeper on purpose, and his fingertips are already tugging up on your nightie to check if you have panties on. it doesn’t surprise you. “why don’t we go take a seat?”

you’re guided back over to your sleeping spot with a firm palm on your back, and you realise he’s got his gloves on too, black faux leather that you can feel even through your nightie. you stumble a little and santa catches you, using the position to sit down and pull you down with him.

one of those sinful gloved hands come up to push your hair out of your face. it feels a little fucked up you’re getting aroused over this, over fucking around with someone who isn’t really your boyfriend, but he meets your gaze with his own. the look in his eyes lets you know that it’s all intentional. “have you been nice this year, baby?”

“i’ve been so nice this year, santa,” you wiggle onto his lap, legs splaying over the side. you receive a gummy smile in return and the feeling of his hand moving up your thigh. it’s sleazy, and you’re slicking up already. it smears against your thighs. “don’t you remember? just last week, i fingered your asshole until-“

“al-right,” he stammers. “doing naughty things isn’t very nice, y’know?! it’s actually the polar opposite. hah, polar.”

his facade is cracking, and you giggle, letting your hands run over his chest. you can feel the muscles beneath his suit. “i thought it was nice, santa. you seemed to like it. a lot, actually, if the noises were telling at all.”

“u-um, you’re not- this isn’t how this is meant to go,” his eyes are wide and ever so brown, the multicoloured lights bouncing off of them. he looks so earnest, almost innocent - if you’re pretending you can’t feel his cock hardening underneath your ass. “i’m meant to- you’re- baby.”

you’re already moving, swinging your legs back over to kneel on the floor in front of him. despite his protesting, he’s letting you, always pliant. his arms fall to his sides and his knees kick apart. his boots make a heavy thud on the wooden floor, the same platform boots you thought he’d retired years ago, and you want to ask him about them but he’s moving your hands to his cock. 

while your santa is pliant, you are too, and you give in.

you pull his trousers down, letting the waistband snap just underneath his balls. the pressure pushes his cock upright for you, hard and plump and leaky, and you engulf it with your mouth without a further thought.

“this is why y-you’re my favourite,” he gasps shakily, thighs spreading further. with a flick of his hand, the red velvet jacket falls open, and you’re met with the tattooed honey skin you’ve been craving all along. he’s built, chest plump enough to make your mouth water, and he rubs his thumb over his nipple while you suckle on his cockhead. “that’s it, my sweet baby. suck santa’s cock, just like that.”

your jaw aches already, head reeling from how fast everything is going. you pull off with a wet pop, and with your spare hand you stroke the shaft erratically, your spit acting as lubricant. it’s all too wet for him and his hips buck upwards into your grip. a sharp whine leaves his lips, preceding the heavy breaths that he lets out. 

you can’t help but let your other hand move down to his balls, running over the taut skin there. his thighs shake, and you pump harder, squeezing deliberately to watch how precum forms on the head.

“come and kiss me,” he orders, pushing your hand away to replace it with his own. he looks the image of debauched, cockhead ruddy red and sensitive, and he pulls you upwards impatiently to his mouth. you’re laying over him like this, tits pressed against his through your nightie, and he finally leans up to press his lips against yours. immediately, the kiss is filthy, his tongue pressing into your mouth with the deep moans and muffled noises he lets out at the feeling of his own grip. 

it’s not long before he’s pushing the same gloved hand past your nightie again, wet from your spit and his precum, finding that you definitely are not wearing panties. he moans into your mouth again, digits finding where you’re wet and aching for him. his lips clack against yours messily as he pushes two fingers inside of you - it’s just a precaution, not meant to be anything more than a quick stretch. still, when your fingers scrabble for purchase on his chest and your nails dig into the plump flesh, he finally pulls away from the kiss and sinks a third finger inside of you. the faux leather is warm from his natural body heat, and you gasp, hips grinding into his palm rhythmically. 

“f-fuck, that’s- you’re stretching my pussy out so good, santa,” you keen, keeping your words filthy because you know how he likes it. as you expected, he groans, head tossing back against the sofa and causing his hat to slide onto one side. his cock aches, pressing against your thigh. you can’t help but rub against it just to be cheeky, and his thumb comes to your clit as a punishment. “o-oh! oh, santa, please, will you give- give me more? i want your cock, please!”

“yeah, of course, my baby, of course, just- get this off? get it off,” he’s impatient, gripping at your nightie and pulling it each and every way until you finally sit back and yank it off of your body. instead of wasting any time, your santa is shifting forward, letting his fingers slip from your soaked hole. 

he slides inside at the same time his pouty lips envelop your nipple. he’s always been engrossed with your chest, just as much as you are with his. while he’s letting you adjust, his hands move to your ass and squeeze the flesh, eyes fluttering shut as if he’s sated just being inside of you - you know him better than that, though. once you’ve readjusted the red hat on his head, you start to move your hips.

“oh, that’s it,” it’s muffled against your chest, but you hear it, along with the deep groan that leaves his chest. he tries to remain in control, hips moving against yours. “this fuckin’ pussy. been needin’ it all day, baby, you don’t even know.”

“that’s why you came early, santa, right?” you say shakily. the trimmed hairs at the base of his cock rub against your clit in a way that has your eyes watering, and you quicken the pace, pussy clenching down on his shaft. “needed your baby’s pussy too bad. it’s here now, santa, why don’t you just take it?” 

“fffuck,” he leans back on his forearms, nodding, eyes scrunched shut. you can tell he wants to take, to force your pussy to take his thick cock, but the feeling of it all is too pleasurable to think. he’s always been a bit too sensitive. you can tell it’s not going to be a long one already, and your hand snakes down to rub fast circles on your clit. “ah, it’s so- it’s so wet, baby, so wet around my cock.”

you moan, moving like a woman possessed, hips rutting into a fast bounce that has him pistoning in and out of you. it’s then that he takes a little more control, grip moving back to your ass to bounce you on top of him. his cock hits deeper like this when he’s pulling you back and forth, and your toes curl in your socks, nose scrunching at the wet sounds reverberating throughout the room. it really is so wet, and you only have your santa to blame.

your hand slaps over your clit just after he opens his eyes, and they narrow, fixating on your pussy. his chest is heaving, and then in a split move, he’s pushing you down flat onto the sofa.

“keep rubbing it, keep- keep going, i need to cum,” he babbles, shaking his head. he’s out of it, and both gloved hands pin your hips down so he can take it from you. his hips move erratically, balls slapping against your skin, and with one hand you do exactly as he said, rubbing the little bundle of nerves until you’re wailing into his neck. the other hand splays against his stomach, almost as if you’re pushing him back, but he’s too strong for that. “it’s- me, now baby, talk to me. talk to hannie, my baby, c’mon.”

“h-hannie,” you hiccup, tears biting at your eyes. “‘s so good, jisungie, baby. i think i’m gonna cum.”

“yeah? why don’t you cum for me?” jisung questions. the white pom pom of his hat swings in front of his eyes, but jisung’s fed up by now, ripping the fabric from his head and tossing it to the side. it’s nice to see him properly, his face unobscured by taunting red fabric, and he gives you a gummy smile.

the sincerity of him, your boyfriend, your one true love is ultimately what does you in. your gummy walls clench around him, finally letting go, and your fingers slide messily across your clit until you’re finished crying through your orgasm. jisung isn’t far behind, and his lips come to kiss your forehead as he holds you close and pumps you full of his cum.

unceremoniously, jisung collapses with another ‘ooph’, sweaty chest pressing against yours. you know it’s intense for him to cum so quickly, and you run your nails up his back underneath the jacket to soothe him. he hums and wiggles his hips around in glee, as if he’s not still inside of you.

“so,” you yawn, letting your nails run down to scratch over his ass. jisung’s hips buck into you this time. “where did the santa idea come from?”

jisung leans back and rubs your nose with his, giggling. “no idea. it wasn’t even the original plan.”

“it wasn’t?” you gasp, attempting to sit up. “then what was it?”

“what was what?” jisung furrows his eyebrows. you groan.

“what was the original plan, jisungie?”

“oh, that!” he slides out of you, and you try not to giggle at the way he surges off of the sofa with his dick still out. “i’ll show you, just wait there!”

you really do giggle when he runs out of the door, tripping over his trouser legs. you think he’s going to return with the surprise, but then he pokes his head round the door, that same wide grin on his face. 

“merry christmas by the way, my baby. i love you.”

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 4,331 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Era: S9, after Rick's "death" when Daryl is living in the woods (No Leah) Reader pronouns: she/her Warnings: language, sexual content (this one contains some spice babies!)

Daryl was just coming back from his morning snare check when he heard Dog barking excitedly down by the water. "Dog! The hell ya doin'?" he growled, stomping toward the noise. "Yer gonna bring the dead in! Quiet! No bark!" He rounded the shelter and strode toward the dock but quickly froze.

He was stunned to see you wading out into the water tentatively, your bare back exposed to him and steam rising off you in the cold morning air. His eyes traveled down the graceful curve of your spine to the dimples in your low back. He gulped thickly. The surface of the water lapped at your hips. Dog danced back and forth on his front paws on the shore.

"Y/N!" Daryl yelled. You looked back at him over your shoulder, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as armor against the cold of the morning air. You kept walking deeper into the river. "What the hell are ya doin'?!" He stormed forward, wetting his boots in the water. "Have ya lost yer damn mind?!" He was bewildered.

"I'm getting clean!" you yelled back, shivering slightly as your toes sunk into the cold mud on the bottom.

Daryl swore under his breath. He could see the goosebumps all over your skin. "It's freezin'! Yer gonna catch yer death out there!" he roared.

You were finally in up to your collarbone, treading water, and you turned to look at him standing on the bank. "It's not that bad!" you yelled back. "It's—it's invigorating!"

"Yer shiverin’! Get back here!" He swore under his breath again and rushed to his makeshift shelter to pull all the blankets off his cot before hurrying back to the water's edge again. "Y/N—C'mon! I ain't jokin'! I'll—I'll close my eyes. C'mon out and wrap these around ya."

You were simply treading water, trying to pull in deep breaths. "I'll c-come out once you come in!" you announced.

"What?" he spat, looking at you like you truly had gone completely mad.

"You're not taking care of yourself out here, Daryl! When is the last time you washed up?"

He dropped the blanket he had stretched out in front of himself to hang toward the ground. He chewed on his bottom lip and stared at you.

You smiled broadly at the expression on his face. He looked about ready to throttle you. You took a few lazy strokes backwards, into deeper water. "Alright. I'll j-just stay out here until you c come get me then!"

Your nose and cheeks were kissed red with cold and Daryl heaved a frustrated breath. "Have ya lost yer damn mind?!" he roared. "I ain't playin'! Get back here! Yer gonna get hypothermia!"

"Only if you l leave me out here t-too l-long," you said, shaking with the cold. It was starting to work its way in deep. You could feel your muscles growing tense as they tried to retain heat in your core.

Daryl flicked his hand in your direction. "Is this why ya came out here?! To give me all this damn grief?!" he growled.

"I can't f-feel my toes anymore, Daryl! Are my l-lips turning blue yet?" You smiled as you saw the frustration and worry on his face growing. You did feel a little bad, but you’d already told him what the solution was... and it was an easy one.

He swore under his breath and paced back and forth on the bank before tossing the pile of blankets he’d dragged off his cot down on the dock. He shot a deadly glare in your direction and you knew you'd won.

You submerged for a moment and came up blinking the water away from your eyes. You grinned at him and then spun in the water so you were facing the other bank. “I won’t look!” you announced. “Tell m-me when I can t-turn around!” Your shivering was getting worse.

Daryl was muttering to himself under his breath as he pulled layer after layer of his clothing off and piled them on the bank. “Ya best swim to the other side ‘cuz if I catch ya, ‘m gonna—”

Your laughter interrupted him. “You’re gonna w-what, Daryl?”

Dog seemed to think this was all a game as well and dashed back and forth in the shallow water, panting and smiling his Malinois smile.

Daryl’s hands landed on the hem of his final top layer, a waffle-knit thermal shirt, and he hesitated. He looked out at you bobbing in the water, your hair wet and clinging to the nape of your neck. He swore one more time and swept his shirt off. The cold morning air bit at his bare skin.

Then he was a blur of movement, trying to shed the last of his bottom layers before he lost his nerve. He felt sheepish as he discarded his pants and underthings, tugging his socks and boots off in one motion and kicking them aside. The mud was freezing on his bare feet and he swore again before hurrying to get into the cover of the water, not that it was going to be warmer at all.

You heard the splash of Daryl entering and bit your bottom lip. You tried to stop yourself from shivering so violently, but the fingers of cold were working their way in deeply. The next thing you heard was a murmur of expletives as Daryl immersed himself in the water and then what sounded like him walking and swimming toward you. Daryl was hurriedly scrubbing at the dirt on his skin while your back was turned. Taking his clothes off had revealed the striking demarcations around his sleeves and neckline and more where the dirt had clung to his skin instead of his clothing. Living out of a patched together shelter in the woods was hard and you were of course correct—he wasn’t taking care of himself. He had buried all his feelings in combing the banks for Rick and hiding from things past and he certainly wasn’t thinking about more than the basic necessities of survival. Bare minimum, that’s how he was living.

“C—can I turn around?” you asked, breaking him out of his musing.

There was a little more splashing and then his voice came from quite close right behind you. “Yeah,” he growled.

You turned and saw that he was only a couple feet away. His bright blue eyes were narrowed at you in a glare that could have curdled milk. You found yourself nervously chewing on your bottom lip and blushing as you realized how closed the two of you were, and how entirely naked you both were too. Though, the tea-colored water was a sufficient cloak to hide your bodies. Your eyes flickered down to the scars visible near his collarbones and on his shoulders and you felt a deep tug behind your navel, a pang of empathy and pain. “S-see? It’s not so b-bad,” you said, meeting his bright blue eyes again.

“Yer teeth are chatterin’,” he said. “I came in. Will ya get out now before ya freeze to death? This is the most ridiculous shit ya’ve ever pulled.” Your eyes flickered over his face and Daryl felt something shift in the air between the two of you and he thought he could read it on your face. He gulped nervously. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you breathed. But you swam a little closer to him. Then closer, within a foot. He could feel the currents whirling away from your legs and arms keeping you afloat, buffeting his bare skin below the surface. Water droplets were clinging all over your shoulders, running over your goosebumps and then rejoining the river winding around you. He was keenly aware that if he looked down, he’d be able to see much more of the shape of you than ever before, but it felt like an imposition despite the fact that you’d undressed yourself and created this whole ridiculous scenario. He kept his eyes fixed on your face instead, but that didn’t stop the thought of it, the very idea of you so bare so close to him from setting his heart racing and tugging up some bubble of feeling between his lungs that wouldn’t be ignored or shoved back down.

You reached up suddenly and your fingertips brushed gently into his hair and trailed down to the wet ends. From there, your fingertips dropped down and alighted on his bare chest for just a moment. Daryl felt as if an electric current suddenly zipped through his entire body and he found himself gulping thickly again.

“W-wash up, Daryl,” you whispered, another shiver wracking through you. “You d-deserve to be c-clean and cared for.” You gave him a tight smile that was touched with a mark of sadness and then paddled backwards away from him for a few strokes before you turned completely and swam toward shore. Your feet touched the soggy bottom and you were soon rising up out of the water, hugging your arms around yourself and shaking with the cold.

Daryl allowed himself to drink in the shape of your bare back, trace your shoulder blades, to watch you until the water dipped in against your waist, and then he turned away again. He cupped the water in his hands and splashed it over his face. He scrubbed over his body with his rough palms, wiping away the layers of sweat and dust and dirt and ash. His fingertips snagged in snarls and frazzled locks in his hair. He dunked himself below the surface and held his breath, let the cold pressure press against his ear drums, dampen his senses for a long moment as he ran his fingers over his hair. He surfaced again and shook the excess water from himself.

The cold was quickly working its hooks into him and he swore under his breath again, marveling at the sheer absurdity of this whole sequence of events and furthermore at the fact that it had worked. You’d gotten him into the damn frigid river. Of course you did. If you threw yourself into a fire, he’d follow after you.

He chanced a glance over his shoulder at the bank. Dog was sitting there dutifully, but you were nowhere in sight. He took that as his cue that it was safe to come ashore again. He hated to admit that though he was now shaking with the cold as he planted his feet back on the makeshift dock, he did feel clean, new, and somewhat restored. He hastily grabbed one of the heavy blankets still left behind beside your now drying footprints and wrapped it around himself.

Dog trotted up and down the dock happily as Daryl made his way toward his shelter. He cleared his throat loudly. “Hey, Y/N?”

“In here. C-come in, Daryl,” your voice answered.

Daryl stepped around the tarp and saw that you were standing in the middle of the space, still clutching a heavy, gray blanket around yourself, and positively shaking from head to toe with the cold. Your clothes were piled on the floor by your feet where you must have discarded them before your foray into the river. He sighed heavily and shook his head, moving past you to dig into a leather duffel bag that had piles of clean clothes in it that he never wore. “The hell’s wrong with ya? Look at ya. Yer whole body is shakin’,” he said in a low voice. He had planned to grab some clothes and go change into them outside the shelter to give you some privacy, but your voice soon stopped him dead. “Yer freezin’ to death over there...” he growled.

“S-so warm me up,” you said in a low voice.

Daryl gulped thickly. He heard your soft footsteps moving toward him and again was sharply aware of his nakedness beneath the blanket he was holding about himself. And of yours. “Lemme just grab some clothes and I’ll get dressed and get the fire built up.”

“That’s not w-what I mean.” Your voice was soft behind him.

Daryl turned, his heart jumping into his throat. “...what?”

You padded toward him across the dried pine needles he’d spread as a makeshift floor. You were still clutching the wool blanket around yourself. Water kept dripping down from the ends of your hair and running down the fabric like dew drops rolling off a blade of grass. “W-why d-did you st-stay outside last night?” you asked him in a low voice, unable to keep the shivering out of your voice despite trying hard to. Your eyes were questioning.

Daryl couldn’t tear his eyes from you. Something was happening. He could feel it like a tingle in his fingertips and the top of his head. And that bubble in between his lungs seemed to be growing, upwelling like the coldest, deepest layer of water in the river when his feet has disturbed it. You held his eyes steadily as he tried to come up with an answer to your question. “...I was keepin’ watch. And—I wanted ya to have the cot.”

Your lips tugged down into a pout that had his chest aching. God, and that furrow you got between your brows as you were puzzling over him. He couldn’t stand that pout on your face. It made him feel instantly guilty but he didn’t know why and as he would reverse the spin of the earth if that was the only thing that would fix it. It didn’t matter; he’d figure out how to do it if that was the cure. You took a couple more steps toward him, stopping within a foot of him now. The blanket slipped off your right shoulder and his eyes were drawn to that expanse of bare skin like a moth to a flame. He gulped again and tore his eyes away and back up to yours. Your voice broke through his jumbled, racing thoughts. “Daryl—I w-wanted you. Couldn’t you tell?”

He was paralyzed, dumbfounded. He felt like an idiot staring back at you, wondering how long he’d been talking himself out of what was apparently right in his face.

Your eyes flickered between his as you tried to read what was going on in his mind. “Why do you think I came out here? I was p-practically b-begging you to kiss me last night, by the fire. But you didn’t. And then I couldn’t s-sleep on your damn cot all night, alone. And you were just sitting out there...” You were searching his face for an explanation.

His lips parted as if to say something, but no sound came out. You were standing there just in front of him, shivering, telling him that he hadn’t imagined the charge in the air the night before, the heavy tension, the thickness between you like an approaching storm. He hadn’t imagined the way you’d been looking at him with that dewy softness in your eyes. He hadn’t been imagining your hesitation to disappear into his shelter completely. Anything he could come up with in response to that, to this, sounded stupid. Finally, he closed his mouth again and sighed, shutting his eyes briefly, drawing in a slow breath. “Just tell me—what ya want from me. Tell me, righ’ now, what ya want and I’ll give it to ya.”

Your eyes searched his face before you answered. “I already told you. I want you.” Daryl watched with bated breath as you backed up toward his cot and sat down on the edge. Though you kept the wool blanket clutched to your chest, it slipped completely from your other shoulder now and pooled on the cot behind you. “Do you want me in the s-same way? If you don’t, tell me now before I further em-embarrass myself.” Another shiver wracked through you. “I mean, I’m s-sitting on your bed basically naked right now, Daryl.”

Daryl pulled in a bracing breath and walked to you, sinking down beside you on the cot, his own blanket falling down around his hips. His bare chest and stomach were scattered with scars and goosebumps rose at the cold kiss of the air. His body was angled toward you and after hesitating only one nervous moment, he reached to cup your face tenderly in his hands, so gently it was as if he was worried you would crumble into ash under his fingertips. “Course I want ya. I’ve—I’ve always wanted ya.”

One of your palms landed flush in the center of his chest, and that was the last thing he needed before he crashed his lips against yours. Your hand drifted down to his side and rested there, exhilarating and grounding and electric. His palm came to rest on the side of your neck, his fingertips tickling around to the nape, and he kissed you with an urgency that suggested he expected you to dissolve into the air and vanish at any moment. He’d been hiding from so much out there for so long—and you were pulling him back to plant his feet on the earth again, to grab hold of something true and concrete and real right in front of him. He wasn’t a shapeless shade condemned to comb the banks of the river alone until he found what he’d lost... He was making a conscious choice in being there and he’d made a conscious choice to leave other things behind... You. He’d left you behind.

He kissed you more desperately, more hungrily.

A small hum of pleasure escaped you and Daryl deepened the kiss, his hands sliding down from your face over the curve of your neck and onto your bare shoulders. Your skin was chilled and damp still from the river. Droplets rained down from your hair. They did the same from his. They ran over the landscape of his scars and met your fingertips where they were pressed to him. They navigated his landscape and crossed onto yours in this way, where the two of you met and melded.

You pulled back from him slightly, just the tiniest bit, out of breath. “Daryl,” you breathed.

His heart was racing as his hands settled on your waist. He gripped to the folds of the wool blanket hard. Had you changed your mind? “Are ya okay?” he asked, his blue eyes opening and searching your face.

But a smile grew on your lips. “Y-yeah. Just cold.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Some mad woman went out into the damn river. I had to go after her.”

“She does sound mad,” you breathed.

“Little bit,” Daryl agreed. He straightened up slightly and looked at how you were shivering. “Ya should get some clothes on. Yer gonna get sick,” he said, turning away to stand, but your hand landed on his arm and arrested all movement.

“Wait—”

He glanced over at you again and settled more deeply into the cot again. Your simply touch had done that.

You were biting your bottom lip, your top teeth dented into the fullness of it. “I—I meant what I said. I want you to warm me up. If—if you’re okay with—”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. He was unwilling to make any kind of leap here as far as your meaning. You’d need to make it clear, exactly what you wanted from him, with him. He hadn’t even dared to hope for anything like this with you, and most of him was still doubting that this was anything other than some crazy whim of yours... though he’d never known you to be flighty or capricious in this way. But his whole life he’d been taught that he was worth nothing, undesirable, unlovable... and that gets into a person’s soul deep, like a splinter that works inward instead of out, year after year. But you had been always determined to show him his worth, to care for him even when he didn’t care for himself, to make him feel safe and home. He just didn’t dare to hope for more...

But now you made it clear to him by letting the blanket fall from your hands, baring more of than he’d ever seen, and reaching for him again. You pressed your soft lips to his and kissed him gently this time, but with the same intensity of feeling and desire. One of your hands landed on the side of his neck and the other alighted on his side. Daryl kissed you back with a growing heat, his hands drawn to your newly revealed skin like a magnet. He moved over you and you laid out beneath him on his cot, your fingers traveling over the tensed muscles in his back and pushing his damp hair away from his face. Your fingernails raked gently across his skin and heat flared in Daryl’s chest. He tugged the blanket that was still swirled around his hips and used it to cover the two of you. You felt a flush burning in your face and chest as you looked at the broadness of him leaning over you and the strength of his chest and stomach. Daryl’s eyes and hands wandered over your edges like he was trying to memorize every crest and curve by touch and new waves of goosebumps rose on your skin as the roughness of his palms grazed the insides of your bare thighs and the roundness of your hips and buttocks.

His lips crashed down onto yours again and the heat of his skin met yours. He bit gently at the plumpness of your bottom lip and heat flared in your core. His fingertips dimpled into your hip and the curve of your ribs. You let out a breathy sound as his mouth departed yours and kissed down your neck to your collarbone. “Daryl—”

The way you had just said his name was enough to drive him insane. It was at that moment that he was totally lost—whatever nagging doubts that had been still rattling around in his head were silenced and you were both completely immersed in each other. He pulled more sinful noises from you with his fingers and his mouth until your back was arching and your toes were curling and you were begging him in the prettiest voice for more, your fingernails raking down his back or tangling into his hair. Neither of you could bear to wait a moment longer by the time he finally pushed into you, drawing a gasp and breathy sigh from your lips, his teeth biting down lightly on your shoulder at the overwhelming sensations rippling through him. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck and breathed you in as you began to move together as one. Your hand stayed splayed on his lower back, pressing into him as if you were afraid he would suddenly put space between you again, but there was no risk of that.

Daryl’s breath was hot against your neck, but when both of you were nearing the peak of your bliss, his lips captured you in a desperate kiss before he withdrew and pressed his forehead to yours as the two of you crashed over your highs together. Your ragged breathing was the only sound to be heard in the early morning air. You pushed the sweaty strands of Daryl’s wavy brown hair out of his face and met his blue eyes. He seemed to be searching yours, trying to read what you were thinking.

You leaned up and kissed him again, but this one was soft and full of the yearning of all the long years you had wanted him but been too afraid of ruining the bond you already had. He settled down beside you and drew you in to press you against his heated skin, adjusting the wool blankets and skins over the two of you to keep out the cold morning.

You felt his eyes on your face even as you were still trying to catch your breath and you turned to look over at him. “Hmm?” you hummed in a question.

“I just—I can’t—I can’t believe yer here. I can’t believe ya came out here and now we’re—we—” he broke off, his eyes flickering over your face as if he expected you to disappear as soon as he stopped looking at you.

“I guess I got tired of waiting,” you breathed. “And I was afraid you were going to disappear out here completely.” Your expression was sad as you traced a finger lightly along his jawline.

“I think—I wanted to.”

You rolled onto your side to face him. “Do you still want to?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I want this,” he said, ducking his eyes, still feeling nervous about what had happened and was happening.

“Good,” you said. “Me too.”

There was a long silence as you tucked yourself in against him. Beneath the blankets, his arm draped over you and he pressed his palm to your soft skin.

“I still can’t believe ya went into the damn river like that,” he drawled suddenly.

You laughed lightly. “But look where it led us.”

“Yeah... but I think we coulda still got here without the near-hypothermia. Mad woman,” he said. You gave him a smile brimming with light. Daryl pressed a kiss to your forehead and then another soft one to your lips. The two of you were content to fall back asleep together and not wake until the sun was warmer and the day was half spent.

[angel-sweets666]

how t some of the bakusquad boys initiate 👀

Bakugo katsuki x reader, eijiro kirishima x reader, Denki kaminari x reader

warnings: mentions of sex, more sexual stuff. No real sex tho Dw reader is mentioned to have a pussy but that’s the one gender mention

sorry I didn’t write sero I don’t have a good idea on his character

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

ALL AGED UP TO 18 AND IN 3RD YEAR

Katsuki bakugo

Bakugo either starts off subtly or straight up, no In between. He’s especially rough when he’s had a bad day

you roll over onto your side, typing to Mina about drama from class 3B (1B)When bakugo bursts open the door and slams it closed, practically making the door frame shake. “Had a bad day?” You asked him, still distracted on your phone and tapping away. Bakugo lets out a groan “I FUCKING-“ “inside voice.” You interrupted “I had a fucking ass day.” He still yelled as he threw his hero shirt and mask onto the floor, stomping over to you in bed. You peered over your shoulder and looked him up and down, noticing how dirty his boots are “bakugo take your boots off! Your filthy!!” You sat up and looked him up and down again. the blonde rolls his eyes and takes off his black and orange dirt stained boots, chucking them to the door. “There, better?” He grumbled, climbing into bed with you. “Yeah.. that’s better” you said as you rolled onto your back, bakugo sat up and pulled your legs apart and laying down on your chest. You could feel his length begin to grow harder and harder underneath you, he sat up and slowly began to rock his hips against yours. “shit- can we fuck?”

eijiro kirishima

sweet boy asks, and he’s so polite about it too! He wants to be a chivalrous hero and a great boyfriend in general to you. So of course he asks so politely:(((

you were washing some dishes in the common room, you and tsu had some noodles for lunch and you were just cleaning up the bowls from the food. Humming and dancing to yourself, kirishima watched from afar. You looked so pretty when you were happy like that, how could he not wanna fuck you? As you put away the last fork you suddenly felt a pair of very strong and solid arms wrap around you “hi baby!” You giggle and kiss his cheek, kirishima gives you a toothy grin and kisses your neck gently “hey sweetheart.. you look so pretty today” he tells you as he rubs your size “you wouldn’t possibly be in the mood would you?” He asks with his cheeks turning red “are you asking for sex?” You grinned to him and he nodded “yeah alright baby cmon”

Denki kaminari

My bro begs, like HE BEGS And not in a cute little submissive way I’m talking like really annoying “PLEASEEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE” while on his knees shuffling around to follow you

You were busy trying to clean out your dorm, preparing for graduation in the next few weeks. The task was already challenging, but it became nearly impossible with an electric blonde following you around on his knees, begging for you to let him fuck you

“PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE, ILL BE QUICK!”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore him as you sorted through a pile of textbooks. "Denki, I really need to get this done. Graduation is right around the corner, and I can't leave my dorm looking like a disaster zone." He shuffled closer, still on his knees, and clasped his hands together dramatically. "But I need you more than your dorm does!” You turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow “oh really?” You leaned your weight to one hip, Denki rolled his eyes then stood up, mild carpet burn on his knees from following you around “BRO YES? YOUVE GOT LIKE, A 10/10 PU-” “ DONT DAY THAT SO LOUD!” You covered his mouth then sighed “you know what… I could use the break” denkis face lit up “so… I can fuck you?” He asked with his face practically glowing as you nodded

I said I’d tag u next time I wrote for Denki kaminari so here! I hope it was as accurate as last time @b0o0o

[kirislovelygf]

new haircut (sevika x fem! reader)

contents: you and sevika are married, takes place between acts 1-2 (season 2), you give sevika a haircut, found family trope with jinx & isha :(( fun family time :D

wrd count: 1.3k

⍣ ೋ

things have been crazy in the lanes for the past new months. i haven’t seen this many enforcers on our streets since.. actually i've never see this many.

ever since those noxians came and paid topside a visit, that kiraman girl had been on a serious power trip.

she became some kind of dictator down here and now she’s got her men flooding the streets. beating on people, putting up weord propoganda all over the city, arresting good men and women..

all in search for jinx. they're promising bullshit to anyone who turns over jinx to theauthorities but no one down here is dumb enough to do that.

sevika’s been trying to rally the undercity together for some kind of uprising but i’ve been helping jinx keep a low profile.

she’s never been good a laying low.

we’ve mostly spent these days playing in the hideout, taking naps all day, stuff like that. it’s more fun with her new little friend isha.

i’m not sure where she came from, but sevika told me she just.. fell from the sky basically. and just followed jinx around from then on.

the three of us were hanging out one night. i was playing around with my makeup on isha, who’s been begging me to use it on her.

“not too much, she’s still little.” jinx said as she was fixing a new gadget of hers at her desk.

“where you think she’s going? out to party? have some drinks? it’s just for fun.” i chuckled, raising my brush to isha’s eyes.

“close your eyes, sweetie.” i instructed. she did so with a cheeky smile. i smiled at her giddy fingers tapping the metal floor in excitement.

“we’re gonna do some glittery pink… it’ll look super pretty.” i told her.

as i continued, i heard the stomping of boots toward us.

i look over at sevika, home from another day of work.

“hi, vika.” i smiled.

“we doin’ makeovers?” she said jokingly as she walked over.

“yeah, she’s been crying for one for days.” i said. isha whines and hits my knee, making me laugh.

i look up at sevika staring at herself in the cracked mirror. she’s looking at the sides of her head and feeling the back of her head.

“what? realizing you woke up uglier than yesterday? i bet if your ask, she’ll give you your own makeover.” jinx giggled.

sevika stayed quiet before looking over at me.

“you think you can help me with something?” she asks.

“what is it?” i asked, looking for some lip gloss for isha.

“i’m not loving my hair.. it’s hard to tie it up with one arm.”

“what? i love your hair, vika. and i don’t mind doin’ it for you, i’ve said so already.” i said to her.

she chuckled. “it’s not just that. i’d like it better shorter.” she says, glancing at herself again.

jinx looks up and gasps. “can i cut it?”

“no.”

“you want it cut! you just said-“

“not by you.” she grumbled. jinx scoffs.

“i’m great tdoing hair. you think i sleep in these? every night..” she says, holding up one of her blue braids.

"and? you haven't cut your hair since you were a kid. that's literally baby hair-" sevika argued.

“it’s okay, i’ll help.. but i still think you should leave it as is.” i sighed.

“thanks. cause there’s no way i’m letting her near my head with scissors.” she said.

“no haircut is gonna make you look less like a grumpy troll under a bridge... just sayin.” jinx said before putting her goggles back on.

“hey. that’s my wife.” i snapped.

jinx mocks me before going back to fixing her gadget.

i put a bit of gloss in isha before i told her she was done and she jumped up to look at herself.

sevika laughed as isha tried jumping up to see her reflection but couldn’t reach.

she picked her up and set her on her leg so she could see herself. she smiled widely in admiration of herself.

i stand up. “okay.. now, where are the scissors?” i sighed out.

jinx giggled menacingly before going to a drawer and pulling out these sharp, deadly knives attached to each other.

isha gasps.

“oh hell no..” sevika grumbled.

“are you trying to behead her?” i laughed.

“they’re all i got.” jinx shrugged, holding them up with both hands.

i stare at her before she sighs, throwing the giant scissors aside and finding appropriately sized scissors in a drawer.

“thank you.” i said. i look at isha. “you gonna help me, kid?”

she shakes her head “no” and jumps down. i laughed softly before looking at sevika’s reflection.

i sighed out. “okay… are you sure?” i asked her.

“yeah.” she sighed out.

“hm..” i took out the hair tie from her hair and let her hair fall to the sides of her face.

“uh… okay.. jinx, come here, i don’t know shit about cutting hair.” i said.

“no!” sevika protested. i slapped her shoulder.

“stop being a baby! damn! i’m just gonna have her tell me what to do.”

sevika huffs in relief as jinx walks over to us.

“okay.. let’s see… what’s the vision? what’ll make you wanna fall in love with her all over again?” she asks me.

i shrugged. “i love her like this.” i patted my hand on her head. she looks at me with a bored face.

“okay nevermind, bitch. fuck you.” i snapped. she laughs.

jinx hums in thought. “okay.. i got it. we’re gonna go short in the back, long in the front. sound good?” she says.

“i don’t know.. are you sure?” sevika asked.

“yes, just trust me. jeez..” jinx grumbled. i laughed as sevika was getting visibly nervous.

jinx guided me to cut off sevika’s hair in a way that so that it doesn’t look like a chopped mess.

i cut off the last of hair before jinx found a razor to use.

“whoa, hey, im not tryin’ for no buzzcut.” she protested.

“it’s just for the sides, you crybaby.” jinx said. she puts it in my hand.

“i don’t know how you put up with her.” she says. i laughed. sevika grumbled.

“it was funny.” i snapped.

“anyway, just relax, baby. it doesn’t look that bad.” i said to her.

we lightly shaved the hair on her sides before i finally finished.

“okay.. let me see.” she turned to face us with her new look.

“see? not that bad. you look... less terrible.” jinx said.

“yeah, not that bad.” i nodded.

i was lying, i was so wet, holy shit. sevika looked so good with her new hair.

the bangs falling on her eyes, her neck looking clean, ugh i needed her:

she checks herself out in the mirror and isha gives her a thumbs up.

“it’s.. good. thanks.” she nodded.

i took a quick breath before looking at jinx.

“alright, well, we gotta get home.” i smiled.

“already? it’s like.. 7. you don’t usually get outta here till late.” jinx said, glancing at her junky clock on her desk.

“yeah, i’m not tryin’ to run into any enforcers talkin’ about some “curfew.” i'm a grown ass woman, i'll go home when i want." i chuckled, lying about my intentions.

she scoffs. “i get it. see ya.” she waved at us as isha did the same, but more enthusiastically.

she signs “thank you for the makeup.” and i sign back “you’re welcome.” before waving to her.

i took sevika’s hand and dragged her out of the hideout.

“you’re in a rush.” she laughed as we walked onto the street.

i pushed her into an alley and pulled her neck down to kiss her. she kissed me back in surprise but leaned into it when my hands slid up her neck and into her freshly shaven hair.

“i’m so sorry i said anything before about not cutting it. you look so fucking good-“

“yeah?”

before she continued, i kissed her again, this time, she laughed softly against my lips.

i couldn’t stop staring at her the whole way home. we’ve been married for like two years and i feel like i’m crushing on her all over again.

i spent the night our my room letting her know just how good i thought she looked.

⍣ ೋ

a/n: her bob in s2 is so RARARGDHJBGIDWODHNPIDOBUO