#i wanted to make his room filled with all his stuff

[robertsfloyd]

Present

oscar piastri hasn't presented yet. everybody around him has, you have, but he hasn't. there he is, stuck feeling all too human. until your heat begins, that is

there is, like, no f1 abo so here i am 😭

warnings: 18+, abo dynamics (no smut but, like, what if we did a part 2? 👀)

oscar piastri was a late bloomer. a very late bloomer. he should have presented by now; everybody else on the grid had. but no, here he was at twenty-three, still not presented.

some said it was a blessing, to not have those instincts clouding your judgement while on track. the amount of times he had seen carlos sainz nearly crumble to his knees from the whiff of an omega, or lando nearly present himself because an alpha in pre-rut walked past.

a blessing, yes, but also a curse.

every new person he met spent so damn long sniffing him out, trying to work out what he was. "beta?" they normally suggested when they couldn't figure it out.

oscar would have to shake his head and admit that he hadn't present yet. he didn't know if he was an alpha, a beta or an omega. but he just wanted to get on and race.

he didn't care what he was.

even you had presented. you, his best friend, his good luck charm. the person he took everywhere he went.

the day you presented, oscar couldn't help but feel shitty. you presented at eighteen, your omega scent sweet. but that was according to everybody else. he didn't know, wouldn't know, until he presented.

"you would be so cute as a pair of omega's," somebody said to him once. an older guy, an alpha, somebody you worked with. it stirred at bad feeling in oscar's gut and had him begging you to leave your job. predatory, that was the word.

the more oscar looked, the more he saw of that in your workplace. alpha's getting too close to get a whiff of your scent, pushing your hair out of the way to attempt to get to your scent gland. the way you squirmed away from their touch, retreating towards oscar.

just how protective he felt around you should have been a dead give away.

but he would have been protective over you, no matter how he presented.

each and every one of your heats had been spent away from him. it was because he was always surrounded by so many alphas, you said to him. you could hide yourself in your room, keep yourself safe as you rode it out.

preparing for a heat with you was something oscar had gotten good at. getting you snacks, sugary, electrolyte filled drinks to get you through your heat, making sure you had the things you needed to nest.

"i wish i could have stuff that smelled like you in my nest."

but oscar didn't smell like anything. until he presented, he wouldn't smell like anything. no matter how much you tried to bury your face against his neck, against how hard you tried.

you were pretty good at tracking your heats, making sure you wouldn't join oscar at a race weekend when your heat approached.

but not this time. this time, you seemed blissfully unaware as your heat approached. maybe something had happened, something to distract you. no, you would have told oscar if something had happened.

he was your best friend, after all.

it was wednesday, media day. you had flown in with him the day before, set yourself up in your hotel room, just beside his own. everything seemed to be normal.

but then a sweet scent filled his nostrils. pastries, honey, wild flowers. whatever it was, it was so fucking sweet, going straight to his head.

several of the men around him, several of the alpha's around him, had the same reaction, eyes blown wide as they searched for the source of the scent. but oscar remained composed, continued with what he and lando were filming.

you waited behind the camera, holding your stomach. as soon as they got a little break, he was standing in front of you, holding your elbows. that sweet scent just grew all the more intense.

"i don't feel good, osc," you mumbled, staring up at him.

your eyes were blown wide as you held your cramping stomach. oscar breathed in, the scent making his head swim. but he shook his head, cleared his thoughts and wrapped his arm around you. "come on," he said and led you away. "lets go lie down."

a whine left your lips as you followed him. fuck, it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. he had heard you whine before, but it was never like this, never had his grip on you tightening.

it didn't take oscar long to realise that the smell was you. pastries, honey, wildflowers. he stopped himself from leaning close to your scent gland and getting a proper whiff.

you sat down in his drivers room. god, you looked so sweet sitting there, still holding your stomach with your eyes wide and far away.

oscar dropped to his knees in front of you. "i can..." he stated. he breathed in deep, his eyes shutting. "shit, i can smell you."

you chewed on your cheek as you looked down at him. your nose twitched as you leaned forward, breathing him in. falling to the floor with him, falling into his arms, you pressed your nose against his scent gland.

"fuck," you squeaked, your nails digging into his shoulders. "alpha."

alpha.

the way you whined the presentation unlocked something within him, tore an animalistic growl from his throat. alpha. alpha. alpha. your scent deepened, crying out for him.

oscar's head fell forward. his nose against your scent gland, getting drunk on you. all of the media day stuff he had to do, it was all forgotten as he sat in his drivers room, holding you.

fuck, you were in pre-heat. and he was in pre-rut.

because he was an alpha. your alpha. and you were his omega.

[ghouljams]

Well you cant’s say Price is drooling at the idea of being pegged and then leave Ghoul 🫵🏼🤨

you’ve just made the worms in my brain to wake up and wiggle around, i need a solution.

Love all your stuff as always, much love!

- Morph :)

He's wound so tightly, always has to be in charge, always has to carry the weight of the world, the lives of his boys, on his shoulders, it would be nice to just forget about everything and having nothing on his mind but pleasure. Price sits behind his desk signing acquisition requests and fantasizes about laying back in bed while his partner pampers him. Of course, it's hard for a man like him to find the sort of person who would be interested in that sort of thing. The command he carries, the authority he demands, attracts a lot of people who are looking for that in the bedroom as well.

And he enjoys taking his toys apart, wringing them dry and sending them on their way with a swift pat on the backside. Loves the pretty blissed out look and the softly parted lips, but he can't help wanting that for himself too. Can't help thinking of the toys he keeps in the back of his closet, the way they hit him just right when he sticks them to the floor and bounces on them, it would be great if he could have someone fuck him the way he fucks his toys.

A harsh grip on his hair, pulling his head back so the whole base can hear their captain being fucked open by someone softer, sweeter, weaker than him. Making him bend to your will whenever/wherever you like. Forcing him to make room in his head for something other than work, other than death, fill him with jolts of pleasure until he's shuddering and spilling over the confidential documents that litter his desk. What better way to redact his military career than with come splattering the pages?

[t1red-twilight]

you remembered?

summary: dean isn’t used to celebrating his birthday.

content/warnings: gn!reader, fluff, some angst, allusions to abuse/neglect, john winchester when i catch you john winchester

notes: happy birthday dean!

word count: 1.1k

masterlist d. w. masterlist

there were a few things that you knew about dean. one, he was a night owl. two, he preferred pancakes over waffles. and three, he was not used to his birthday being remembered, let alone celebrated.

in all the time that you had known him you weren’t even told when his birthday was, at least for a while. given the constant life or death circumstances, it hadn’t crossed your mind to ask when it was or why you didn’t celebrate it. about six months ago you and sam were alone, and you remembered to ask.

sam told you what the date of his birthday was (january twenty-fourth), and the next thing he said just about made your jaw go slack. “we never really celebrated it,” he stated.

“what do you mean, you never celebrated it?”

sam pondered for a moment. “well, our dad always said that we didn’t have time for birthdays or christmas. it just wasn’t something we ever did, i guess.” you swallowed the words you wished to say. lord knows that if you spoke what you were thinking, you might get in trouble.

but sam continued. “dean celebrated my birthday with me a couple times, but our dad didn’t…take that too well. i think after a while he just forgot our birthdays.” your heart sunk. everything you learned about that man made you lean towards violence just a little bit more.

so, you took everything sam had said and you stored it in your brain for later use. eventually, his birthday approached. you figured he wouldn’t be into something super loud and big, considering that he hadn’t had a birthday celebration in what seemed to be quite a while.

two weeks before his birthday, you sat down and planned what you were going to do. you wanted something small, but nonetheless something that at least would make him feel recognized.

-

when dean woke up, he noticed that you weren’t in the bed next to him. he sat up, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and looked around the room. you were nowhere to be seen.

he did notice, however, that the door to your shared bedroom was slightly ajar. and faintly he could hear the noise of pots and pan gently clanking in the kitchen.

he meandered out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. and there you stood, making breakfast. now you didn’t really have designated meal times; the two of you just ate whenever it seemed necessary. so the oddity of this current situation was not lost to him. “what are you doing?” he questioned.

turning, you saw him standing in the entrance in the kitchen. his shirt was ruffled and you couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. smiling, you answered. “i’m making breakfast.” his eye eyebrows slightly raised, and it seemed as if he looked a little bit shocked.

“why, though?” he followed through with his questioning. “you know, we don’t usually do stuff like this.” nothing in his tone was accusatory. if anything, the volume of his voice lowered in an unusual manner.

you turned back around to face the bacon that you were currently frying. hopefully you weren’t overstepping. maybe he just didn’t like his birthday? perhaps you shouldn’t have done anything at all.

you heard soft footsteps approach you from behind. dean’s hands moved to rest up upon your hips. slowly, he turned you around to look at him. his eyes, they looked…glassy? your brow knit together and your hands went up to hold his cheeks. his bottom lip began to quiver almost imperceptibly.

a silence filled the room. you could only hear the soft splattering of the bacon from behind you, and maybe even the soft hums of his breath as he looked at you. when you spoke, you made sure that your voice was lowered. you didn’t know if sam was here, and it was likely that dean would not want sam to overhear what was going on. “well, it’s kind of an important day. it’s pretty special.“

at this, you saw him look away briefly and blink rapidly. was he trying not to cry? you used your hands and moved his face back to face yours. “are you okay?“ you asked. oh god, you overstepped. and now, he was upset.

surprisingly, he nodded. “yes. i’m great,” he replied. you didn’t push him any further than he wanted to go.

a small, singular tear escaped from the corner of his eye. your thumb rose off his cheek and swiped it away. dean lowered his head into the crook of your shoulder, and pulled you close to him. his hands were sprawled across your back and held you ever so tightly. it looked as though his shoulders were shaking slightly, he was crying. you didn’t say anything.

you mirrored his motions, and pulled him close to you as well. you scratched his back lightly, and ran one hand through his hair. you reached behind yourself and turned the stove off to avoid any accidents. the embrace might have lasted for a few minutes or even longer, but you didn’t really know or care.

then, he spoke. his voice, though muffled, still communicated what he wanted to say clearly. “thank you for remembering,” he said. the quiver in his voice was not lost to you. how could it be that some cheap, overcooked bacon was eliciting such a response?

you kissed the part of his head that was most accessible to you and whispered back to him. “of course. it’s a special day, and you’re special to me.” he pulled away and looked at you. dean’s cheeks were damp and his lips were swollen from crying.

“no one’s ever done something like this for me i-“ a sob wracked his body and cut him off. you pulled him down to kiss you.

you hadn’t known dean for that long, one and a half, maybe two years. but in that time you really gotten close. and while you never verbally defined anything you both knew where the two of you stood.

dean kissed you back instantaneously and with such a fervor that sent a chill up your spine. you could feel the tears that slipped down his face, but didn’t mind in the slightest.

you pulled away and he kissed you once more in a pecking motion. your thumbs wiped away the tears that remained. “and i was thinking,” you started, “that we could go to the diner in town later. get some dinner and pie?”

“just you and me?” he asked, his face lighting up gently.

“yeah. just you and me.”

[cheolieji]

Seungcheol

warning: Smut,unprotected sex, breeding kink and idk what else im too lazy

A/N: This is in no way to say mingyu acts like this. it's just part of the fiction

not proofread

I'm lowkey bad at writing smut🫢

feel free to send requests!

check [17] (pink highlighted) to see my yes and no's

seungcheol is the type of guy to walk on the street side of the sidewalk

seungcheol is the protective boyfriend everyone wishes for

the perfect and clingy boyfriend

you wanna wear a short dress? go ahead, he can fight

a guy just looks at you the wrong way, his fist is tightened, his jaw is clenched, and his death glare... goddd if looks could kill

you love it when he's protective over you

but something happened that made you think, is he a little too protective?

now you're sitting in his living room beside him, hands rubbing against each other, nervous to say it

seungcheol, of course, notices this. "You okay hun?" "Yeah! why wouldn't i be?" weird... but he just nodded his head, turning his attention back to the show playing. the sound of tv playing in the background mixing with your thoughts, should you really ask him about something so little that could turn into a heated argument?

"Hey-" "babe-" "Yeah? you say it first"

"no its just uhm. i" his eyebrows raised in confusion. What are you trying to tell him?

"Okay. will you promise not to get mad?" "Of course baby, why would i get mad at you?

"You know how we went to the kims gathering?" he just nods "yeah and how mingyu kept looking at me and stuff?" "Where are we going with this" his eyebrows still raised

"Nothing like that. It's just the way you were glaring at him. felt a little.... i don't know.. rudee? I'm sure he didn't mean it like that. " "Ah, that? i know him, babe he doesn't have good intentions. when he looks at someone like that, it means he wants something out of them." he pauses for a second, "and plus, you're mine..."

you blushed in your seat

"okay good i guess... i thought you were being a little too protective"

"Hey. It's good to be protective over what's mine!" he giggles while hugging you and placing you on his lap. and you're straddling him now. Suddenly, the air shifts

noticing this, seungcheol pulls you in closer before pressing a kiss on your lips. It starts to turn into a makeout session with you grinding on him while heavy breathing leave your mouths

"Can i?" As he's looking down at your pants, you nodded. he takes your pants along with his off. "No panties? want me to fuck you that bad? huh?" You nod again, eyebrows furrowed. "Say it, baby, i wanna hear you" "yes please cheol just fuck me, please"

he teases your opening with his dick before slowly entering your already wet cunt. shit did he get bigger?

"You feel so good, baby, just for me." Now he's fully inside you. He waited a bit for you to get used to his size

he's balls deep inside you, and you're a moaning mess, but he's looking at you like you're the prettiest thing in the world

he's hitting all the right spot "ah- cheol please" your gummy walls wrapped around his thick cock feels like heaven, for the both of you

he's leaving hickeys all over your neck as you're riding him like there's no tomorrow

bouncing on his dick as you're moaning his name loudly. it's like music to his ears

you feel the familiar pit in your stomach "fuck cheol im gonna cum" he lets out a loud grunt before cumming inside you "fuck ill fill you with my babies"

" gonna make you forget about that fucker" he continues thrusting inside you until you reached your high before softly kissing you

you let out a loud moan before falling on his shoulder. "You know, if you wanna put babies inside me, we should probably do more." "you wanna move it to the bedroom?" he carries you to the bedroom for a night of pleasure

[bring-forth-his-sac]

Not sure if this is too far but maybe some dads best friend mixed in with close calls and very rough stuff if ya know what I mean 😏

Stained

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings/Tags:  rough sex, degrading name calling (slut), mentions of a facial, cheating (soz Lucille), alcohol consumption, hair pulling, semi-public sex

It happened again.

By now, Negan knows the routine. Argue. Say shit neither one of them can take back. Lucille kicks him out or else Negan reaches his limit and storms out. Make up later. It’s their pattern.

But tonight is different. 

They were supposed to go to a friend’s house for dinner, which threw a wrench in their usual routine. A part of Negan still wanted to go. Sure, he dreaded the tension-filled conversation, Lucille throwing in her usual passive-aggressive digs, but there was a silver lining: he could vent afterward. He needed to. To someone who’d actually get it, without the sugar-coating.

Negan has been friends with your dad for years, long enough to know they could trade a few sharp words and move on without it turning into some dramatic scene. Sometimes, Negan could really use that kind of blunt, no-nonsense talk with another guy. 

But hell, he wouldn’t mind shooting the shit with you either. You always got his humor and honestly, you were the only one who could make him laugh without trying so damn hard.

Instead of your home, he finds himself at a bar. Lucille was quick to call dibs on going solo to your parents house, not wanting to deal with Negan in front of friends. 

He left without another word, driving to the local watering hole like a man on a mission.

The bar is the usual kind of dimly lit place that doesn't ask questions. Negan doesn’t need questions tonight. What he needs is a drink and a distraction.

He settles onto a chair by the bartop and orders a whiskey, the burn of it going down smoother than he expected.

Lucille’s parting words echo in his head, the sharpness of her dismissal stinging all over again. The way she had shut him down so easily, almost like telling off a child. Negan can feel the frustration creeping back in. He could’ve used a laugh tonight but instead, he’s stuck here. 

Alone, as usual.

On a typical night, Negan hates how quiet the bar is. He can’t stand silences, everything about it gets on his nerves. The patrons are too tight to even cough up a quarter to play a song on the jukebox. It always feels like the kind of place where the air is thick with nothingness and every minute stretches on longer than the last.

Negan doesn’t have the luxury to brood over that on this particular night. Instead, the loud chattering of a group of girls fills the bar, cutting through the silence like a chainsaw.

Just a handful of them crowd around a table, all bright-eyed and wide smiles, laughing as though the weight of the world hasn’t yet found them.

His brow furrows as he watches them out of the corner of his eye. They’re not doing anything wrong but the racket they’re making feels invasive in the normally subdued space. 

Every time they laugh, the sound hits him like a hammer to his skull, ringing in his ears. It’s like a constant, steady hum of disruption. Negan can appreciate a little noise and some new life in the place, but tonight?

Tonight, it’s too much. It’s frustrating him. He takes another swig of his whiskey but it doesn’t quite block out their high-pitched, frantic laughter. 

One of the girls spills a drink, and the others burst into a fresh round of giggles, the kind that seems to echo through the entire room. 

He’s about to look away when another girl quickly picks up the drink and continues to say something. She's sitting across from the others, leaning forward and talking animatedly, her hands flying through the air with each word. 

One of her hands subtly goes to her thigh and she tries to discreetly yank down her dress. 

Negan wonders if women know they don’t need to wear tight mini dresses or the crop tops to get laid. But he supposes that’s the joy of being a  youngster. They do stupid shit, wear stupid shit, drink stupid shit. Some grow out of it while others still say stupid shit and end up drinking alone at a bar.

His eyes flicker over her figure. Negan can’t see her face, the angle of her head and the way her body is half-turned away from him hides it. 

Negan doesn’t mind. He can still appreciate her thighs and the curve of her ass from his seat at the bar. Her hair and back covers most of her upper body too so Negan can’t appreciate any titty action just yet.

His fingers drum against the bar and he catches himself, realizing that he’s staring. He quickly looks away, taking another drink of his whiskey as if the liquid will wash away whatever was just stirred up inside him.

In a way, Negan’s glad you’re not like that. You’re pretty without all the extra shit. Since elementary school, you've never been the type to crave attention or stand out in a crowd. Yet you're not the kind of introvert who keeps completely to yourself either.

You fall somewhere in the middle, comfortable with who you are without needing to put on a show for anyone.

There’s been plenty of times you’ve been the most entertaining thing to Negan at your parent’s dinner parties. He loves the witty remarks you toss his way and how you both quietly poke fun at the evening while the others remain oblivious. Those little moments are the highlight of his night.

But, of course, there are also those other times. When a careless comment from your father or mother hits a nerve and you retreat into yourself, disappearing into the background. Negan can always tell when that happens; the sharpness in your eyes dulls and the sarcastic remarks you usually offer him vanish. 

He wonders if you’ll be disappointed tonight, when it’s only Lucille who arrives for dinner. You make the dinners bearable for him but surely you reciprocate that feeling. Both of you are as thick as thieves in your own subtle way.

The woman he’s been checking out stands, saying one more quick thing to her friends before she turns and heads for the bar.

Maybe it’s because you’re already clouding his thoughts that seeing you in person hits him even harder. He’s imagined you a thousand times, with your quiet demeanor and the casual clothes you wear that make you almost invisible.

The mental image of you is so vivid, it’s like you’ve been etched into his mind… yet here you are, so different than that.

You do the same action that you did earlier, yanking down the end of your dress as it threatens to ride up your thigh. Negan lets out a gulp, not sure how he feels at the fact that he’s been checking out his friend’s daughter.

Turning back to say something to your friends, you let out a laugh as you clog along in your high heels to the bar. 

This is exactly what you needed. A night away from all your worries and stresses… and your parents. 

Besides, you're an adult now. You’re allowed to have fun! Whether that be crazy golf, drinking until you need your stomach pumped or smoking whatever. No matter how much guilt or pressure your parents try to put on you, tonight is yours. You’re no longer bound by their expectations. You can take a break from being the person they want you to be and just be.

Maybe that’s why the words “Lydia found out her boyfriend cheated so everyone was going to go over to hers and cheer her up!” came out of your mouth when you told your parents you couldn’t stay for dinner instead of “We all want to go out and down tequila shots!”.

Whether your actual reasoning would’ve worked or not, it doesn’t matter because they let you out with no more than a remorseful look as you left to help your heartbroken friend.

“Get more salt sachets!” a giddy Lydia calls out as you clip-clop up to the bar. 

You’re so caught up in your own little bubble of excitement that you barely notice the guy at the bar. You wait beside him, leaning on the counter and waiting until the bartender comes over. When you feel his eyes linger, you glance his way, wondering if you’ve found some fun for the night. 

You look over, pre-emptively batting your eyes lashes everything seems to slow down. There, standing just a few inches away, is Negan. Your dad’s friend. 

You freeze for a moment, excuses caught in your throat, as you realize that it’s not just the familiarity of his face that’s throwing you off. It’s the way he's looking at you. Negan’s expression is unreadable but the way his gaze lingers has a weight that catches you off guard.

You try to swallow the sudden lump in your throat. What is he thinking? How long has he been standing there? And why, of all people, did it have to be him?

You hate it. On one hand, you want to ignore him. Maybe give him a nod of acknowledgment before pretending like you’re not in front of someone you’ve known since you were a kid. 

But on the other hand, you know what Negan’s like and the last thing you want is for him to loudly draw attention to your… friendship? 

Ushering yourself closer, you hurriedly whisper “What are you doing here?!”.

Negan struggles to maintain his composure, forcing himself to keep his eyes on your face instead of letting them wander. 

“What am I doing here?” His jaw clenches as if readying himself to barrage you with questions “What are you doing here, dressed like that? Are you drunk? Do your parents know you’re here? I swear….”.

You scoff defensively, glancing down at the glass of whiskey in front of him. “Oh so I can’t go out with friends but you’re allowed to drown your sorrows?”.

Negan doesn’t even entertain your question, immediately waving it off. “That’s not the damn point,” he hisses “I’m not the one with my tits out and stumbling around a bar!”. 

He shoots some other patrons a glare as they try to eavesdrop, making sure they keep their eyes to themselves. You gasp, putting a hand on your chest. Maybe your dress is a lower cut than what you’d usually wear but your boobs aren’t about to pop out of the thing!

“You— you can’t talk to me like that!” despite how your face flushes, you stand your ground. You’ve always known Negan to be raunchy but not once has he ever spoken to you like this before.

"Can't talk to you like what?” Negan doesn’t give you the time to ponder that rhetorical question, crossing his arms as he continues to lecture you.

“You think you look appropriate right now? You think your parents would approve of this outfit?" his eyes narrowing dangerously.

“I’m out with friends, not at dinner with my parents!” You defend, deciding to add in your own jab “Besides, I thought you were at theirs tonight, having dinner with Lucille… not drinking alone”.

Negan can’t keep still. He’s too antsy, wanting to shake some sense into you but trying to stay cool in public.

With an elbow propped up on the bar, Negan points a finger at you “Watch it, before I haul your ass outta here”.

This is the closest you’ve ever seen Negan to real anger. Whenever he’s been at your house, it’s always been the aftermath of it you’ve witnessed. His sullen mood and Lucille’s small comments at him whenever the conversation allowed; both of them handling their simmering frustration in their own way. 

To not only witness his anger first hand, but to have it directed at you… you’re not sure if you want to pout or get on your knees right then and there.

You scoff, trying to seem unbothered. “Enjoy your drink, I’m going back to my friends,” you say it with just enough sass, turning to retreat back to your table.

You know it’s a pointless endeavour. 

Negan won’t allow it. And you know it.

His hand snakes around your upper arm, his grip firm but not painful. "Oh no you don't,” he tugs you back, urging you to face him again “we’re leaving. Now”.

You were hoping for a little more time here, a bit more back-and-forth, rile him up before hopefully breaking down those stubborn walls. 

“You can leave, but I’m not!” you snap, digging your heels in.

He leans in close, his anger flaring back to life as his voice drops into a dangerously low growl. “I’m not asking you, sweetheart, I’m telling you” the pet name slips out like a command, making something tighten in your chest. 

“You’re drunk, you’re dressed like a goddamn slut and you’re not staying in this bar another second”.

Is it bad you can feel the heat between your legs as he degrades you? How is it your dad’s friend, someone you kinda considered your own friend too, is calling you a slut so easily? And why does he keep trying to steal quick glances at your chest?

Heh, well, you know the answer to that last question.

Still, you play your part and you slap his arm. “Don’t call me that! Jackass” you say with a defiant huff.

His eyes widen but Negan doesn’t acknowledge the slap in the way you wanted him to. Instead of continuing to bicker, he grabs his leather jacket from the back of his chair and throws it on, his movements sharp. 

“Jackass?” he repeats, clearly not amused.

“Yes! You’re acting like a major jackass!” you fire back, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in your voice. 

Negan grins, that mocking, almost wicked smile spreading across his face as steers you away from the bar.

“Yeah, and you know what else I am?” he asks “The one dragging your drunk, barely dressed ass out of this bar before you make a complete fool of yourself”.

He starts tugging you toward the exit. “I had like… two drinks!” you protest, stumbling slightly to keep up.

But just as he’s about to drag you out the door, you use all the momentum you have to shove him into the door right next to the exit. 

The ladies toilets. 

Your friends giggle as you both disappear from sight, assuming you’re hooking up with the stranger. They’ve always known you have a thing for older men but little do they know who he really is…

Negan stumbles into the bathroom, his mind still trying to process how he went from the exit to somehow ending up in here instead. His brow furrows as he takes in the situation.

Before he can say a word, you speak, your voice steady but firm “Negan, I’m not leaving”.

He steps closer “Yes. You. Are. We’re leaving. Right. Now”. His hand shoots out to grab your arm, but you’re already one step ahead. You sidestep him, narrowly avoiding his grip.

“No!” you exclaim, more forcefully than you intended. Hoping to get through to him, you soften your tone, offering a sliver of vulnerability. “My parents don’t know I’m here… they think I’m just at a friend’s place” you admit.

Your words hang in the air, a soft confession of rebellion. But Negan’s response is as expected—he rolls his eyes, the action exaggerated as if he’s heard this excuse a thousand times before. 

“I don’t give a fuck if your parents ground you for a year!” He snaps, his voice low but intense “You’re not staying here dressed like that and acting like this”.

“Acting like what? Having fun?”.

His jaw clenches. “By acting like you’re only worth a quick fuck in the backseat of someone’s car,” Negan replies, the words carrying a weight that makes your stomach sink.

The insult stings, but you refuse to back down. With a small scoff, you shake your head and tilt your chin up slightly. “You’re telling me you didn’t do that when you were young?” you challenge.

Negan’s expression falters for a split second, his lips twitching as if he’s about to crack a grin but he maintains his steely expression. 

He exhales sharply through his nose, his stance stiffening. “I did it because I’m a guy,” he mutters, his tone clipped “so it’s different”.

“That’s misogynist,” you point out as you cross your arms, unintentionally making your cleavage more noticeable.

For a moment, you catch Negan’s gaze flickering downward before snapping back up to your eyes, his face strained. 

His lips press together in a tight line, his eyes briefly closing in frustration as he fights to maintain his composure. “Fuck, can you just…” Negan gestures vaguely at you “Cover up or something?”.

Without waiting for an answer, Negan turns away, running a hand through his dark locks. 

You let out a quiet sigh. “I didn’t bring a jacket,” you say flatly, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

He mutters something under his breath, too quiet for you to catch. With a dramatic huff, he whips off his leather jacket. “Of course you didn’t. On top of everything else, you want to get hypothermia too” His voice drips with exasperation.

Negan turns back to you, holding out the jacket, his eyes briefly look to your chest again before quickly darting back to your face, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

You catch the slight pause, the way his gaze betrays him, but you choose not to acknowledge it— at least, not directly. You stare him down, not hiding the smirk plastered on your face. Then, in one swift movement, he practically hurls the jacket at you. 

“Here,” he says, the word a little too resigned.

Instinctively, you catch the jacket, but you don’t put it on. Instead, you hold it in your arms, letting it drape over them as you roll your eyes at his comments. 

“I’m not some delicate little flower,” you tease, your smirk becoming playful “maybe I like it rough”.

The words slip out without thinking, a little too flippantly, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

Maybe those two drinks were enough to get you tipsy after all.

Negan’s eyes narrow at you and you can see the gears turning in his head. There’s a flicker of something in his expression. Maybe amusement, maybe disbelief, but before he can say anything, you catch the faintest hint of a smirk forming on his lips.

He steps closer, his imposing frame shadowing you as he leans in. “Damn, you’re something else,” he says, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place.

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the overwhelming presence he has, but for the first time tonight, you feel a small shiver run up your spine. 

“Rough, huh?” His words are like a threat, his tone smooth and dangerous.

Before you can respond, his hand shoots out, and suddenly, he has a firm grip on your hair, tugging it just enough to pull your head back. 

“Ow! Negan!!” You whine, your voice a mix of surprise and irritation. Good job at proving you like it rough.

He loosens his grip, but his fingers stay tangled in your hair, holding you captive in his gaze. He stares down at you, his dark eyes boring into yours. 

“You think I don’t notice how gorgeous you are?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost possessive “But this? Telling me you like it rough? Tsk, tsk, tsk”. 

Your heart skips a beat at the admission, and your eyes widen ever so slightly. The words settle in your chest, warm and electric, and for a split second, everything else fades away. 

Negan thinks you’re gorgeous. 

You can barely process it but you don’t get a chance to let the moment settle. His fingers tighten in your hair again, this time with purpose. 

“There’s a difference,” he growls, his voice rougher now, “between making eyes at some random guy at a bar and teasing a man who actually knows what to do with you”.

You swallow hard. His grip on you, the way he towers over you, his scent— all of it feels like a pressure you can’t escape. You can barely breathe.

“And you…” You pause, testing the waters “You know what to do with me?”.

And then, possibly the most un-hot thing happens. A toilet flushes. The sound is loud and sudden, causing you both to freeze. It comes from one of the stalls at the end of the room and it’s quickly followed by the drunken shuffling of feet and a zipping noise. 

Without a word, you and Negan lock eyes, an unspoken agreement passing between you in that single, charged moment. 

“Shit,” Negan mutters under his breath, his hand still tangled in your hair, but now pulling you toward the nearest empty cubicle with urgency. 

“Ouch!” you whisper, batting at his hand and making him untangle his hand from your hair. You barely have time to shoot him a glare before he’s guiding you into the small space, his body close behind you.

Just as the cubicle at the end of the room unlocks, the lock to your cramped cubicle slots into place with a soft click.

For a moment, you both hold your breath. You’re pressed together in the cramped space, his chest against your back, your bodies flush together.

You hear the drunken patron stumble, mumbling something unintelligible as they turn on one of the taps and start washing their hands. You both hold still, waiting for the heavy footsteps to move away. Negan holds you against him, one hand on your waist to keep you close. 

Although that’s not the only thing that’s touching you. 

It’s hard not to notice the unmistakable press of his semi-erect cock nestling against the curve of your ass. It feels firm yet pliant, a promise of things to come. 

Turning your head just enough to look up at him through your eyelashes. He doesn’t meet your gaze, too busy zoning into some spot in the stall door as he listens intently to the patron outside.

His brow furrows just slightly, the lines on his forehead deepening as he focuses. You can tell he's strategizing, weighing up different excuses in case he’s caught in the ladies room. Negan’s lips are pressed together, a slight tension around them, but it's not a scowl. 

Deciding you want some attention, you press your ass back slightly. You hear a grunt.

“You’re not making this easy on me,” he huffs. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck as he looks down.

Through the thin walls, you can hear the drunk go on their way, their footsteps slowly fading as they stagger out of the bathroom. The door swings shut with a final, echoing creak. 

As if to prove his point, Negan moves his hips forward, forcing his erection against your ass. He’s harder than you thought and you shudder at the mere size of the thing in his pants. 

He makes a quiet, pleased sound against your ear as his hand trails up your waist, teasing passing the side of your breast before settling on the back of your neck. 

“Fuck, you're responsive…” He pulls back slightly, making sure you can still feel him.

“Is that a good thing?” you ask softly.

He chuckles, his voice low and husky. “It's a dangerous thing, darlin,” he squeezes your neck teasingly “Nothing good ever comes from being too responsive... unless you're trying to drive a man wild”.

“Maybe that’s exactly why I’m trying to do” you push back against him again, this time bending your body slightly to really accentuate your ass.

Except all that does is encourage your dress to ride up your thighs again, stopping just before your ass. Grabbing his leather jacket from your arms, Negan tosses it up on the stall door before moving to your thighs.

Negan isn’t a one to waste time, especially when it comes to taking advantage of certain situations. Bringing both hands down to your thighs, he helps you dress by tugging it up in one swift movement. You let out a gasp as the cool, thankfully air conditioned bathroom making the skin on your ass get goosebumps.

“Negan! I-“ you move to turn away so he can’t see your ass but Negan’s one step ahead this time.

 Looping an arm around your torso, he makes sure you keep the squirming to a minimum. With his other hand, he brings it down between your legs and presses a finger against your panties.

He holds you in place, bent at the hips and ass against his crotch. You can feel the dampness of your panties against your heat. The wetness seeps into the fabric, making it stick to the lips of your pussy. 

“Fuck me, you are soaked!” with no qualms about modesty, Negan swipes the tacky panties to the side and gets a feel of your folds himself. 

You stop a moan from escaping, not wanting to be too eager. "Goddamn, you're a sticky little mess, ain't ya? All wet and sloppy, just fucking dripping” he teases your hole, momentarily pressing a finger to it but never dipping inside.

Hoping to gain some control, you go to stand up straight. The thoughts of looking into his eyes as he fingers you is more appealing than your view being the wall of a bathroom stall.

But Negan isn’t as fond of the idea. The arm looped around you quickly makes its way to your back, forcing you to stay bent. You let out a scoff as the side of your face smushes against the wall. 

“Negan, what the fuck?” You whine, blindly throwing one of your arms back at him “If you’re gonna finger me, at least let me enjoy it!”.

“Nuh-uh,” he grabs your arm and presses it against your back, restraining you before he continues his exploration of your pussy “I get to decide how the fuck we do this”.

You quieten down when you feel a finger trace your folds, spreading your wetness around. “You this much of a slut for every guy or am I just lucky?” He asks, chuckling at his own thoughts “Your friends were cheering like this is a usual thing for you”.

Before you can reply, Negan plunges two fingers deep inside your dripping cunt, his thumb grinding against your clit. “I— ah!” You mewl, trying to give a coherent response “N-no, never!”.

Negan picks up his pace, loving how you give in, basically slumping against the wall. “See, doll, I want to believe you. I mean, I don’t know that many sluts that get this fucking wet from just a little grinding… it’s shameful, really” he curls his fingers to hit the perfect spot, making your squirm.

“But in saying that,” Negan continues, his breath hitting against your neck as he leans closer “I don’t know that many modest gals that wear something like this”. 

Deciding you know better than to repeat your mistake and move again, Negan takes his hand off your back and paws at your chest instead. But in true Negan fashion, he needs to up his antics.

Tugging down the low cut neckline of your dress, you hear a ripping noise as he pulls at the fabric and forces it down past your bra.

“Huh… surprised your modest enough to wear a bra” he comments, quickly rectifying the situation. Without warning, Negan roughly shoves the bra cups up, freeing your tits completely. "Fuck, look at these," he growls, appreciating the sight of your breasts spilling out. 

The fingers he has working your hole pause and retreat, much to your disappointment. You take the opportunity to turn around to face him, starting to feeling a crick in your neck from being smushed up by the wall.

“Asshole, you tore my dress“ your voice is laced with frustration, although that may be from how much you want him to stop teasing and fuck you already. 

With an amused scoff, Negan goes to hold up his hands in surrender. His fingers glisten with your juices. “I’m trying to be a gentlemen here, doll” he chuckles as he defends himself.

You fight the urge to cover yourself, knowing that’s what he’s waiting for. He wants to see that shy side, to see you blush and get flustered. 

You glare at him instead “How is this being a gentleman?”.

“Well, I coulda just ripped it clean off, but I left ya some dignity,” Negan smirks, crowding you again. You’re left no choice but to back into the wall, holding your glare as you look up at him.

“And I've fingered ya before fucking ya which is pretty damn noble” he adds, seeing you battle between staying annoyed and wanting to blush. You open your mouth to complain but a loud moan comes out instead as Negan pinches one of your nipples.

He thumbs your hard nipples, chuckling as they perk up even more under his touch. “Damn, always knew you’d have a good pair on ya," he muses “fuckin’ perfect”.

Negan doesn't hesitate, leaning down to engulf one nipple in his mouth. He sucks hard, letting his teeth graze the sensitive bud as he kneads the other breast roughly. Groaning around your nipple, he switches to the other, assaulting it with the same fervent enthusiasm. 

With a grunt, Negan grabs your thighs and hoists you up, pinning you against the wall with his muscular body. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, arms going around his shoulders.

Negan grinds his still clothed cock against your bare pussy, applying just enough pressure to make you whimper. 

The rough denim of his pants provides no comfort, each thrust of his hips pressing his erection directly against your sensitive clit. "You feel that?" He asks against your tit “Want you to beg for it, gotta hear ya saying it”.

You have no hesitation. There is no reluctance to beg for him, not when you’re this close to getting what you thought would always be a wet dream. 

"Please, Negan, I need it!" you beg, your hips bucking against his pants in desperate attempts to get friction. “I’ve wanted you for so long, to fuck me in my bedroom o-or on the dinner table! Fuck, anywhere! I don’t care!”.

That seems to convince him. Reaching down and fumbling with his jeans, Negan has his cock out in record time. He grips the base, stroking it a few times as he lines it up with your soaked pussy. 

The head of his cock presses against your entrance, the tip barely peeking out from between your folds. Negan slowly eases in, allowing you to adjust to his massive size. 

You writhe and moan against him, trying to keep your body relaxed as he enters you. Trying your best to keep eye contact, you let out a string of whimpers as he fills you completely. 

"Damn, I actually fit," he says, stretching you out in a way you’ve never felt before. Negan pulls out carefully, as if testing the waters before plunging back into your needy pussy with vigor.

"Holy fuck, even tighter than I imagined. Built for my dick, aren't you?" he grunts, starting to fuck you hard.

Each brutal thrust of his hips drives his thick cock deeper into your pussy, stretching you wide open. "Fuck, you're so tight it feels like my dick is splitting you in half. Love it. Fucking love it" Negan rambles on and grabs your thighs, spreading them as wide as he can.

"Fuck, Negan... you're so..." you try to speak "ah!”. It’s all too much in the best way possible. That delicious ache of being so thoroughly penetrated, the feeling of absolute fullness with each deep thrust.

"More... fuck me more..." your hips arch up to meet his thrusts, trying to keep up.

Negan angles his hips upwards, hitting that spot inside you over and over as he pounds into you. "Look at me," He growls, "Look at me while I break you in half with my dick. You like that? You like feeling so stuffed?"

“I-I've never been this full before…” you say with teary eyes.

Negan notices your body tensing and shuddering beneath him, your pussy walls starting to flutter wildly around his thick cock. "Holy shit, there it is... Your cunt's squeezin' me like a fuckin' vice. You gonna cum on my dick?".

The pressure is building to an unbearable point, your entire body trembling as your orgasm approaches. Your mind goes blank, unable to answer his question as he hits that perfect spot.

Just as your orgasm hits, Negan feels your pussy clamp down around him like a silken fist. "Holy fuck..." you gasp, back arching as pure pleasure courses through your veins. 

Your entire body quakes, inner muscles milking his cock as you ride out your intense orgasm. You dig your nails into his shoulders, legs trembling uncontrollably.

Negan grunts, fucking you through your intense orgasm with deep, deliberate strokes. He can feel your pussy spasming wildly around his shaft, coating him in your slick arousal. As the last waves shudder through you, he finally pulls out, his cock glistening with in the light.

He lets you stand for a moment but you legs are so wobbly, it’s difficult to support your weight after that intense orgasm.

Before you can even catch your breath, Negan grabs your shoulder roughly and forces you onto your knees. Your body complies in an instant, unable to fight against such force.

Your knees ache as they hit the bathroom floor but that’s the least of your concerns. You look up at him in wide-eyed shock, lips parted as you anticipate him coming all over your face.

"Fuckin' hell, such a pretty face..." He strokes his throbbing cock with his fist, ready to explode.

But instead of aiming for your face, Negan aims his cock at your chest, unleashing a thick, hot load of cum all over your tits. He groans loudly as he paints your breasts with his seed, the warm liquid dripping down between your cleavage and seeping into the fabric of your dress.  

“Next time you’re either swallowing it or you’re getting a facial courtesy of yours truly” he informs you, although the only piece of information you truly savor from that is ‘next time’.

Doing the gentlemanly thing, he grabs some tissue from the toilet paper dispenser and hands it to you. You dab at your chest, knowing the dress is a lost cause and will probably have to be thrown out later. 

“Help me up?” You ask, somewhat shyly once you’re done.

Taking your arm in a much more gentle grip than before, Negan helps you up, subtly looking over your chest to make sure you’ve wiped off all of him. “You feeling alright?” he asks lowly, as if remembering the public place you’re both in. 

You blink, giving yourself a moment to calm, your body still humming with the aftermath. “That was…” you pause, collecting your thoughts, “...wow.”

A soft chuckle rumbles from his chest, and he slips his leather jacket off the stall door. “Well, that’s a better response than I expected,” he says with a smirk, draping the jacket around your shoulders and gently guiding your arms into the sleeves. Without a word about how the jacket nearly swallows you whole, he zips it up, pulling it snug to cover your chest. 

This is a completely different side to the Negan you’ve seen tonight. This is the Negan that gives you a small, reassuring smile after your parents throw some off handed insult your way. 

The two of you stand close, your breaths mingling. Slowly, the space between your faces narrows, as if drawn by some unspoken pull. You gently tilt your head, just enough to bring your lips into alignment with his. 

The kiss is a tender brush. Featherlight and hesitant. It’s the kind of kiss you’d expect before going at it like a bunch of animals… not afterwards.

The kiss lingers, still tasting of warmth and something unspoken. Pulling back just enough to rest your forehead against his, you can feel the soft touch of his lips still tingling on yours. You mutter against his lips, almost sheepishly “Can you drop me home?”.

His lips curl into a quiet smile, a slight glint in his eyes as he nods. “Considering I didn’t get to finish my first glass of whiskey, yeah I should be good,” Negan gives you a playful look.

Unable to help yourself, you give him a small smile. It’s not as seductive or teasing as the ones you have given him previously. In all honestly, it feels like Negan has fucked the seductiveness out of you– if that’s even possible.  

“... So this wasn’t some drunken mistake?” you ask coyly. 

Negan wraps an arm around your shoulders as he unlocks the stall door and carefully guides you out. ”Wear a dress like that the next time I’m at your parents for dinner and you’ll find out” he replies with a smirk. 

Besides his tousled hair, Negan still looks fine. He’s not dishevelled or out of breath or having trouble walking… all things you attribute to yourself.

Negan notices your state too, keeping his arm around you as you subtly leave the bathrooms and head for the exit. If it’s even possible, Negan pulls you closer, guiding you out like a drunk that’s had one too many. His presence is possessive in the gentlest of ways.

You give your friends a knowing look as you both leave, one that says you’ll explain everything later.

The sound of drunken chattering and laughter fades as you step out into the night, the streetlights casting a soft glow on the parking lot. 

When you reach the car, he opens the door for you with a small smirk, his eyes never leaving yours as you slide into the seat.  A few moments later, Negan slides into the driver's seat and the engine rumbles to life. 

The car doesn’t even get out of the parking lot before Negan’s hand finds yours. The ride home is quiet. He doesn’t say much, and neither do you, but the silence between you feels relaxed.

Every now and then, his thumb gently brushes across the back of your hand like a quiet reassurance. He doesn’t mention the contact, simply letting it linger. 

 The soft, rhythmic motion of the car becomes like a lullaby and with every mile, the weight of the night lifts just a little more. Every so often, you glance over at him, his face relaxed. When your eyes meet, he offers a smile and you sleepily return it.

Negan doesn’t pull up directly outside your house. Strategically stopping his car a little down the street, he sighs.

“Hate to say it but I’ll need that jacket back,” he gives you a once over, as if to memorize what his leather jacket looks like on you.

Fiddling with the zipper, you mumble “So I’m supposed to walk in there with a ripped up dress?”.

He laughs at that, shaking his head before reaching into the backseat. “Here, I know it’s dirty but it’s the best I can offer,” Negan hands you a sweatshirt. 

The sweatshirt is faded, its fabric softened from years of use. The sleeves are slightly frayed at the cuffs and a few small holes hint at its age. On the front, several dark oil stains mark where hands have wiped off grease, probably from Negan when working on his motorbike. 

But most importantly, it smells like him.

As you take off his jacket and put on the sweatshirt instead, Negan gives you some privacy and looks away. “Are you coming in too?” You ask, gently placing his jacket on his lap once you’ve changed.

Taking that as his signal to look, Negan gives you a sympathetic smile. “Not tonight, darlin,” he replies “think Lucille would chop my nuts off with your mom’s fancy silver if I showed my face”.

“You two are fighting that bad?”.

Negan shrugs “Same old, same old”.

You try not to fidget with the frayed sleeves of his sweatshirt, not wanting to pick at it right in front of him. 

“And… this?” You focus your attention at simply inspecting the sleeves instead of picking at them “I mean, I know you said it wasn’t a drunken mistake but still… I get it if you wanna pretend like it never happened”.

As much as you wanted quick reassurance, you’re met with silence. 

Negan leans back in his seat, taking his eyes away from yours and looking at the street. Up ahead, he can see the porch light on to your parents house. Although, he doubts Lucille will be leaving anytime soon. She’ll probably stay late, try to wait it out until Negan has drank himself silly and fallen asleep.

“Tonight shouldn’t have happened,” he says with little emotion “It ain’t right. I know it. You know it. Hell, anyone in a ten mile radius would call me all sorts of names if they knew about it…  fucking your friend’s daughter is a whole mess”.

You stay quiet, unsure whether you should just get out now.

“But shit, if you wanted to suck my dick right now, I wouldn’t say no,” he chuckles “it’s a fucked up thing to say but I wouldn’t mind something like this happening again”.

That puts a smile back on your face. Getting ready to leave, you say “Maybe if you come to dinner next time, I will suck your dick”.

Negan watches you with narrowed eyes. Of course you’d be able to make his dick twitch again, making him feel like a teenager that could get it up over and over again. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” he warns as you get out.

“Good,” you hop out of the car, giving him one last flirtatious smirk before going “I hope you do”.

Closing the door, you strut along the pavement, your heels clicking as you go to your house. Walking has never seemed so hard, not only because of your shoe choice but from the aching in your gut and your legs wobbling more than you’d like to admit. 

Still, you try to do your best to walk straight, knowing Negan is watching. 

When you get to the front door, you give Negan one last glance before disappearing inside. He wait a few moments before starting up his car and leaving. 

The first thing you hear is a chorus of polite laughter from the dining room. Great, looks like they’re still in the midst of dinner. Before you have a chance to debate if you could get upstairs without them hearing, you hear your father call out your name.

“Is that you?” He calls out.

Reluctantly, you walk in, lingering by the doorway. Your parents to turn in their dining chairs to face you. Whereas Lucille has you right in her line of view. She offers you a gracious smile as you enter.

“I thought you were staying at Lydia’s tonight,” you mom says, eyeing your sweatshirt and what appears to be a skirt. Thankfully she doesn’t comment on how short it is.

“Eh, Lydia talked things out with her boyfriend so they’re back together again,” you lie casually “you know how they are; fight, break up and make up”.

Lucille casts her gaze down slightly, as if your words hit a little too close to home for her. You shift uncomfortably. 

“There’s some leftovers in the kitchen if you’re hungry” your mom says, blissfully unaware.

“I’m ok,” you give her a smile “I think I might just shower and head to bed early”.

“Alright,” she already waves you off, turning back in her seat “if you’re sure”.

You don’t linger, giving them a polite nod before leaving. It’s only when you turn to leave does Lucille look at you again. 

She’s never believed in coincidences. And she’s never believed you to be into repairing cars. She knows the faint stains on your sweatshirt, mainly because she’s the one who spent hours trying to scrub them out… only for Negan to reward her with new stains on the damn thing. 

Nodding along with whatever it is your father is saying, Lucille’s mind strays further and further from the dinner and to Negan instead. 

Something’s happened. What exactly, she’s not sure. But you’re involved and so is her damned husband.

—————

A/N: thought I’d put in a quick note just to say thanks for reading and apologies for disappearing all month! My family almost got scammed out of 11k (it was insane) but!! More importantly!! I got seriously bad writers block so apologies if this fic is a little choppy, I’m still getting back into my stride!!

[seellove]

X Games // sukuna x female reader // Ski/Snowboard AU

Masterlist

// (3.5k words) // Explicit - 18+

\|/ AO3

You and your husband, Sukuna, visit your vacation home at your favorite ski resort for a ski and snowboarding trip. You get in an argument the first morning with Sukuna pushing your buttons like usual. However, you exact your revenge by teasing your husband throughout the day until he snaps and can't take it anymore.

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: Human Reader and Sukuna, established relationship - marriage, explicit smut, skiing and snowboarding AU

Note about Resort Lingo: greens - the easiest ski runs / blues - intermediate level ski runs / blacks&double blacks - expert level ski runs

AN: It’s cold af where I live and everyone keeps going up to the mountains to ski lol, thus this AU was born

“Sukuna, can you not wear your boots in the house?” you groan as you see him appear in the doorway of your bedroom. He’s all bundled up in warm pants and a coat and those godforsaken snow coated boots that have surely tracked ice all through the house just to become pools of melted water. His rosy cheeks and watery eyes hint at the frigid weather outside.

“I was bringing our stuff inside. Do you really expect me to take my shoes off with every trip I make?” he retorts, dropping the bags on the floor as if to prove a point. You had gotten in late to your vacation house at the ski resort and had only brought the bare minimum inside to get ready for bed. 

“And I very much appreciate you bringing everything inside, however, now there are puddles all over the floor that I’m going to step in with my socks,” you cross your arms and sigh. You feel like you rehash this every time you come up here. 

You know your husband is stubborn and hard headed, but also devious enough to know what gets under your skin and do it anyways. You’ve been together almost 8 years now, married for the last two. You know how he is by now, and based on your past experiences, you know he’s doing it on purpose by the way his mouth curls up into a smirk. 

“I’ll try to be better in the future sweetheart,” he flutters his lashes jokingly before turning around to go back outside. 

You roll your eyes and go back to putting both of your clothes into the sleek dressers. You loved the furniture in the house, Sukuna had bought it just before you got married two years ago and let you lead the charge with the interior designer to fill the space. It was the perfect combination of modern and rustic, well suited for a multimillion dollar house in a high end ski town. 

You hear Sukuna’s heavy footsteps coming back to the room. You tense up at the sound of his wet boots squeaking on the hardwood floor. 

“Sukuna. Take. The. Boots. Off.” you snap at him.

“I am, I’m done now,” he shrugs before sitting down on the side of the bed. 

You clench your jaw at his response, shooting daggers at him from behind. You can almost feel the smirk he’s surely sporting knowing he’s riled you up.

“I put your clothes into the dresser by the door,” you mutter at him.

Sukuna whips around and beams at you. 

“Thanks babe, what would I do without you?” he winks, slicking his pink hair back. You want to slap those face tattoos right off his cheek at the moment. You love him to death but boy he aggravates you sometimes. 

You roll your eyes and head down to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. It’s spacious and modern, opening up to the living room with floor to ceiling windows, showing off the snowy Mountain View that seems to stretch on forever.

Then it happens, the cold wet feeling of water seeping through your sock. 

You’re gonna fucking kill him.

No, a better idea, get your revenge. You’ve got some ideas up your sleeve on how you can get back at him. You put on your best happy poker face and head back to your bedroom. 

“Honey I got you a cup too,” you place a mug down on the nightstand. Sukuna is in the process of pulling a tight black shirt over his washboard abs, the tattoos that snake down his stomach disappearing as he gets it situated. He’s annoying but fuck he’s hot. He’s gonna get even hotter in a little while…

“Thank you dear,” he smiles, tugging you towards him and planting a kiss on your forehead. He could be sweet when he wanted, which honestly is most of the time with you. You never would have married him if he treated you in the same cold and cocky manner as the rest of the general population. 

You run your fingers down his abs that are visible through the tight base layer, relishing the sharp ridges that indicate how shredded he is. You keep going until you find the bulge in his boxer briefs that is half hard, delicately running your nails along his clothed length before giving it a few good squeezes. 

“Oh fuck,” Sukuna hisses, pushing himself into your hand.

You release him as soon as he indicates he wants more, much to his disappointment. Turning away from him, you walk across the room to get into your ski attire. You make sure to strip down and stay naked for as long as possible, not bothering to look his way, bending down for longer than necessary to fish your clothes out of the bottom drawer.

You hear Sukuna clear his throat behind you, and now you sport your own hidden smirk, knowing he does that when he’s getting restless and turned on. You turn back around so your bare chest is facing him, glancing up momentarily to meet his wide eyes, hand palming himself through his boxers.

“Are you gonna finish getting ready?” you say nonchalantly as you pull your sports bra on, never breaking eye contact.

You can tell his jaw clenches by the way his cheek scrunches up towards his eye. 

“Seems like you might want to finish some other way,” his voice has deepened with that familiar lusty tone. 

Good, everything is going according to plan. 

“We had sex last night, I’m good,” you respond, remembering how in the middle of the night you’d had one of those sloppy, barely awake fucks that sometimes just happen at 3AM. 

“Hmph,” he grunts.

***

You are waiting out on the slope, poles keeping you steady while Sukuna is on the ground, clipping his snowboard bindings in. Another great thing about the house was that it was ski in ski out, something you never dreamed you’d experience until your successful and wealthy husband. 

You’d met him at this very resort during your sophomore year of college. Your college was only an hour away from some of the best ski resorts in the country, so you and your girlfriends had rented a house for a long weekend while some of your frat friends had rented one next door. 

As frat trips usually do, more people show up than anticipated, including Ryomen Sukuna, well known heartthrob with bad boy energy. You knew him as the cocky loud guy that pulled way too many women and did way too many drugs, “DO NOT APPROACH” practically plastered all over him.

Come to find out, he and you were by far the best at snowsports from your large group. You’d kept up with him on a black diamond with ease, proving to him that you could ride with him that day….and that night as you both opted to stay behind when everyone got dinner in town, riding him on the leather couch as he licked and sucked at your tits in his face. You’d snuck around everyone playing this game all weekend, blowing by everyone during the day as you raced down the mountain while Sukuna was blowing his load into you every night. 

It didn’t stop that weekend, and hasn’t stopped since, you were inseparable after that weekend and here you are, eight years later, getting ready to shred your favorite mountain together for the nth time.

You do a few warm up runs, riding the blues near one of the smaller chair lifts to get loosened up. 

You reach the bottom, aiming for Sukuna’s red and black helmet, easily recognizable from afar.

“Ready to go up to the blacks?” he asks. He’s already unzipped his coat, always getting hot when he boards. 

“Yeah,” you answer, making your way together towards the large chairlift to carry you further up the mountain. 

You get settled on the lift together and begin the ascent, your skis and his snowboard clacking against each other as they sit suspended below you both. 

You’ve got about 7 minutes until you get to the top, just enough time to move into your next phase of revenge. 

You take off your helmet and gloves, the cold air biting at your bare skin. Without warning, you slip your hand into his exposed waistband, grabbing his dick which hardens almost instantly under your touch.

“What the fu-ohhhh,” he moans as you start to slowly pump his cock.

You feel the sticky pre cum beneath your skin, slicking everything up, allowing you to more easily glide along his length. His head falls against the back of the chair, making it sway lightly.

You watch his eyes close and his jaw tighten as he starts to thrust himself up into your hand, meeting each stroke of yours. 

You keep up the pace, keeping an eye on how close you were to the end of the ride. Probably another minute. He jerks under your touch, a deep groan leaving his lips. 

“I’m close, keep going,” he utters, eyes scrunching up in the familiar way when he’s about to finish.

That is if you’d let him, which you don’t as you release him and pull your hand out of his pants. 

“Wha’? No, why’d you stop?” he whines as he whips his head up to look at you, a distressed look on his face. 

“We’re almost at the top,” you say innocently.

“We still have like one more minute,” Sukuna says in that same whiny tone. 

You are loving this. 

“My hand was cold,” you lie, “we can keep going on the next ride up.”

“Fine,” your husband huffs, pulling up the lap bar as you approach the exit point. You both ride off to the side so Sukuna can strap himself in. He lays down on his back, staring at the sky.

“Ready?” you stare down at him.

“Gimme a minute, you got me all hard back there and it won’t go away.”

You giggle, waiting silently next to him. After another minute or so he speaks again in his scratchy voice.

“Can you go over there? Or somewhere else? Not here?” 

“Is my presence keeping you bricked?” you joke, giving a sultry tone to your words.

“Fuck off….yeah it is,” Sukuna scoffs, averting his gaze from your eyes. 

You turn your skis downhill, carving your way down the slope until you hit a bend in the run, losing sight of your poor husband. 

You’re sure he’s going to lose it on the next ride up…

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Sukuna ripping down the slope, kicking up powder into the air with each sharp turn he makes. He’s fucking good at this, there’s no denying it. He passes you by and you turn to follow him, both of you carving and weaving your way down the steep slope until you reach the bottom of the first run. 

“Let’s take this lift so we can get back up faster,” Sukuna tugs at your arm.

“No I wanna ride all the way back to the bottom of the mountain,” you say, standing your ground.

Sukuna sighs.

“Alright, let’s go.” 

He turns and leaves you behind, barely missing a child as he recklessly bombs down the hill.

You laugh to yourself as you follow him down, finding him already in line waiting for you at the big lift.

You go through the usual motions: Let the operator scan your pass, push yourselves out in front of the next chair, fall back into the cushion as the seat hits the back of your legs, pull down the lap bar, Sukuna pulls his cock out-

What the fuck? Not part of the routine.

“What are you doing,” you look at him as he pulls his helmet off and sets it next to him, his sweaty pink hair plastered to his forehead.. 

“Can you touch it again?” he’s almost pleading. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” you wink at him as you start on the next phase.

This time you lean down into his lap, Sukuna cursing through his teeth as he realizes what you are about to do.

You take him in your mouth, his skin warming up quickly as you take him all the way to the back of your throat. His dick is so big, even though you’ve sucked him off more times than you can count at this point, it still takes some time to adjust. 

The high altitude makes the air already thin and hard to breathe, his thick cock being down your throat doesn’t help. You bob up and down on his length, swirling your tongue around his tip each time you come up. 

“Fuckkkkk baby,” Sukuna groans as you feel his hand on the back of your head, not pushing down yet but insinuating he’d like it a whole lot if you did. 

Your steamy breath is clouding your vision with each deep exhale. Sukuna has his own cloud above him as he gasps with each thrust into your throat. He’s thrusting up into you again, babbling under his breath.

“Thas right baby, fuckin’ suck my cock, in fron’a all these people. Makin’ me feel so fuckin’ good, fuckin’ love you, holy shit,” he stutters as you feel him starting to harden even more. 

You keep going, knowing he’s getting close. He accidentally kicks his board against your skis as he starts to swell in your mouth. 

“Fuck fuck baby keep goin’, gonna cum ba-“

You pull off with a pop of your lips, his erection staring back at you almost as angry as your husband’s face. 

“Baby! What the fuck! No! Keep going!” Sukuna’s exasperated voice cuts through the low hum of the chair lift.

“It was getting hard to breathe, do you really want me to keep sucking your dick every time I feel like I’m going to pass out?” you use a similar phrase that he used this morning.

Sukuna’s mouth falls open as he glares at you. 

“Is this still about my boots in the house? You gotta be fuckin' kidding me!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stare at him with calm bold eyes, your poker face so on point.

“You’re such a fuckin’ bitch,” he mutters under his breath as he starts to pout. 

You are doing fucking cartwheels in your mind seeing him all hot and bothered. 

“We’re doing the trees this time,” Sukuna growls next to you. 

“Okay!” you smile.

You love riding the trees, the skill needed to anticipate three steps ahead of you to wind through the forest floor successfully is a fun challenge. 

Sukuna takes off immediately, sailing past the double black diamond sign without much of a glance. You follow him, following his path through the trees. This run is usually deserted, so challenging that it’s almost unenjoyable, so you are a little annoyed that Sukuna went this direction. 

Up ahead you see him slow down and seemingly fall onto his side.

Sukuna never crashes, so you are a little concerned at the sight. You quickly but safely make your way over to him. He’s out of his bindings now, he must have come unclipped.

“Are you ok?” you ask when you come to a stop next to him. 

He doesn’t answer you at first, instead pulling his helmet off, tossing it on the snowy ground.

“What are you-“

But you can only finish that thought with a squeak as he rips your poles out of your hands, jamming them into your ski bindings, releasing your boots from the skis.

He picks you up in one arm as if you weigh nothing, his other arm flipping his snowboard over and pressing it into the snow. 

“Had enough of your little antics on the lift back there,” Sukuna growls into your neck as he bites and sucks on the sensitive skin. You gasp at his dominant actions, clinging your body against him as he shoves his snowboard pants and boxers down to his knees. 

He doesn’t even seem to be phased by the sharp cold air, his one goal now to do the same to you. He doesn’t pull yours down as far, he knows you’re more sensitive to the cold.

“Oh my god,” you moan as he shoves two of his massive fingers through your folds and into your soaked cunt. The moans and cries coming from you slice through the still silence of the forest, no one close enough to hear the way he’s fingerfucking you in the freezing cold.  

He quickly withdraws from you, the sudden emptiness making you whimper.

“Gonna fuck you, ok?” Sukuna groans as he falls backwards onto his board, knees bent so you can lean your back against his thighs. 

The cold snow on your exposed skin shocks you as some gets kicked up from his weight hitting the board. 

“Sorry,” he says, quickly brushing it off of you.

He wastes no time lining you up with his massive cock, slamming you down on his full length until your ass hits his thighs.

“Oh my god,” you cry out at the sudden stretch as his fat tip bullies its way through your walls and slams your cervix. 

Sukuna’s eyes practically roll back as you clench around his length, fingers digging into your hips. He bites his lip as he starts to thrust slowly up into you, each drag of his cock along your walls making you shudder.

The slapping sounds of his skin against yours gets louder and louder as it echoes through the forest. The deep snow absorbs most of the sounds coming from your mouths as he fucks up into you with a punishing pace. Your whole body is at his mercy as you just let him have his way with you. 

Your eyes meet, his own softening as he gives you a smirk. You can feel the depths of his love for you, you can’t explain it, but the way he makes you feel like the most important thing in this moment says it all; the way his eyes look at you with such reverence, the way he keeps your body from touching the cold ground, instead sacrificing his own, the way he shallows up his thrusts when you grimace from the depth, he’s so attuned to you and your comfort always.

You start to feel his thrusts falter, becoming more frantic, losing the rhythm he’d set as he careens toward his release. 

“I’ll make you cum after this at the house,” he says through heavy breaths as you feel his cock harden even more inside of you.

“I’m not gonna cum anyways, too cold,” you chuckle, eliciting a knowing grin from Sukuna. 

“Figured, I’ll take care of you though,” he jokes, as he pulls you down to him, capturing your lips into a desperate kiss, devouring you from the inside as he shoves his tongue into your mouth.

You try to kiss him back, but normally it’s futile when he’s close like this. The man goes absolutely feral and loses all restraint when he’s at the brink of his orgasm, so you’ve learned to just go with it instead to attempt to assert any type of control over the situation.

He grips your hips like a vice as he pulls you down hard to meet a final deep thrust, spilling himself inside of with hot ropes of cum. His pulsing cock throbs against your walls as he empties himself within you, groaning your name loudly. 

He finally stills, the fog thick from both your mouths as you try to catch your breaths. He peppers your face with soft kisses as he pulls you tightly against his chest.

“Holy fuck I love you. That was so hot,” Sukuna sighs, letting his arms fall to his sides, sinking into the snow.

“I love you too, I’m so cold though,” you shiver against his body. 

“Oh yes, right!” Sukuna sits up quickly, pulling himself out of you, his hot cum falling to his lower abs, the steam wafting off as it hits the cold air. He pulls your pants back up and takes off his coat, wrapping it around you.

“Better?” he asks as you fall back into the snow to face him. He’s practically sitting in the snow with his pants still pulled down to his knees.

“Yeah I’m fine, but what about you? Get your bare ass out of the snow!” you gasp at him, worried he’ll get frostbite or something.

“Babe I’m fine, I’m fucking sweating,” he chuckles as he pulls his pants up.

“Even worse! Let’s get back to the house and warm up.”

“Yes ma’am,” Sukuna jumps up and pulls you up easily with him. You both strap back in and quickly make your way back to the house. 

Stopping at the back door, you both remove your gear and lean it against the exterior wall. Sukuna unlocks and goes to open the door.

“Sukuna!!” 

“What?”

“Take your fucking boots off!” 

Masterlist

[nownahc]

things in a relationship that reminds me of them | seventeen

▶• ılıılıılılıılıılı. my love mine all mine by mitski

synopsis. just lovely, gentle, sweet stuff i picture when i see the members

all members x reader

main masterlist

seungcheol

physical intimacy is a big matter in a relationship for him. he's really into the type of touches that gives his lover -and him- goosebumps. brush of hands, nuzzling against their neck, fingertips trailing their back or arms, a squeeze on their knees, etc. if it's reciprocated too, he'd be in heaven, seungcheol is all about giving yes, but he thinks it's fair game that he receives too. physical intimacy is a high level of trust for him. to be able to touch someone like that is extremely important to him, and he'll always be careful with it.

jeonghan

with jeonghan, there's something in his gaze, in his demeanour that screams home. to him, love equals comfort. he'd like to be his lover's safe space, and would like that in return. to be yourself with someone, truly yourself is a rare thing. for him, if love is involved, acceptance is too. wether his lover is talkative or quiet, clingy or detached, organized or messy, he can deal with everything as long as love is involved. he's basically a home to his lover, a home where they get to be or do whatever they want.

joshua

remembers every quirk and habits of his lover. to him, there's something extremely private in knowing someone's every little thing. how they take their coffee, how long is their attention span, what noise triggers them the most, what kind of mood they are in, etc. being attentive is a huge love sign for him. it means that he cares deeply enough to watch and most of all, remember. he's pretty low key about it though so it takes time for his lover to notice just how much joshua see them.

jun

support, support, support. jun seeks a pillar in a relationship, and he's willing to be a strong one too. he's extremely adamant in giving strength to his lover in whatever they want to be or do. would attend events, remember important dates, help them with their projects, etc. he would even brag about it to other people. to him, dreams are important, so seeing his significant other being able to fulfill them, fill him with utter joy.

hoshi

it doesn't matter if it's a distance relationship or if he can see you every night after schedule, he'll give his significant other daily updates about the most mundane things. it can be anything, what he ate, a stain on his shirt, a dog in the street, a bruise he made during practice, stuff that reminds him of them, etc. he claims that even though he's not with them, he wants them to know that they're in his life.

wonwoo

gentle love is his core, there's no rush nor pressure with him. he values intimacy and discretion so, fleeting glances in a crowded room are his things. he could be immersed in his own conversation with his friends, and his lover in their own conversation as well but, he'll make sure to catch their gaze from time to time. it's a silent reminder that he's there, that someone in this room loves them, and see them.

woozi

he's a songwriter, woozi likes to express his love to his lover through sticky notes. it can go from full poems to a simple sentence. from reminding them to eat to expressing his undying love for them and his pov of their future together. he likes to hide them in sneaky places, so sometimes his lover finds notes that he wrote weeks ago but only found them now.

seokmin

a little bit like joshua, seokmin cares a lot about others well being. his specialty is knowing exactly what his lover needs when they're not doing okay. he knows how to make the difference between having to comfort them or distract them with a laugh. he keeps an eye on them at all times, it's not overbearing, it's just a keen eye that's there if help is needed. the type of person to take his lover aside if they're uncomfortable and take the time to understand what's going on, and to act according to it.

mingyu

he's big on words of affirmation. seeks a lot of compliments and reassurance that he's doing a good job at being a lover. a little like minghao, he feels secure in a relationship where communication is the main ingredient. wether it's a simple thank you when he makes the food or heartfelt sweet words under the sheets at night, mingyu craves oral validation. he won't be scared to give compliments and guidance to his lover either. while minghao prefers honesty though, mingyu likes to make it a little sweeter, wanting to avoid any possible conflicts.

minghao

thinks communication is key and the most important thing to keep a relationship afloat, whether it's love, family or friendship. early in the start of a love story, he'll straight up talk to his significant other about this. how he wants them to be honest and open with them, that he'll do the same because they need to respect each other. he'd prefer honesty over sugar coated truth. the type to ask whenever his lover rants to him: 'do you want comfort or real advices?'

seungkwan

seungkwan is known to be emotional, with his significant other, it's the same. his lover is basically his best friend. in order to fall in love, seungkwan needs a strong bond with that person before considering anything. they both have to pass that phase where it's just a facade. when seungkwan reveals his true self, that's when the real deal starts. seungkwan likes to think about love as something that allows to share freely, to speak about anything, serious or not without a care in the world.

vernon

a best friend before a lover. a little like seungkwan, he seeks human intimacy before actual love. he's chill and rather nonchalant, but it doesn't mean he lacks emotional intelligence. vernon doesn't look for much, all he wants is respect, honesty, loyalty so basically what makes a human decent. his thing is having each other's back. wether his lover is in the right or wrong, he'll always back them up, and he'd like it if the favour was returned. being a couple to him, is like being teammates.

dino

chan is the type of lover that wants to be his significant other's first in a lot of things. whether it's going to a restaurant they never tried or an activity they never thought of doing, he takes pride in knowing that when his lover will recall this memory, chan will be in it. if his lover has never fallen in love with anyone before, it would mean a lot to him, being someone's first love is something he deems extremely precious.

main masterlist

[daisy-01-blog]

hiii can I request

cocky mean gojo x bimbo cute n shy reader who doesn’t curse when gojo fucks her against the desk, after a long day at work catching yn off guard

tysm

(Sure! sorry if it doesn't turn out to your liking lol. Enjoy!)

It’s getting late and you’re preparing food for your boyfriend Gojo. 

No one knows how you two even get together, you two met at a club-everyone know this. You’re forced to go to a party with your friends and he sees you-with your big tits-and you’re being shy. He flirts with you all night. 

He is very mean to you when you guys are having sex, he will slap your ass and leave you overstimulated and squirting. But you never complained since it feels good. 

As you bend over the table to prepare the food, Gojo comes home from work-he is pent up but he never stop-he has to have money for his princess-so he can pamper her with goods and buy her fucking expensive lingerie. 

Imagine his surprise when he saw her bending over her ass cutely. He grunts as he gets closer and grope her ass roughly. 

“Gojo!” you squeaked as he grunts “fucking slut, you plan on seducing me when I just got home huh?, naughty girl” he licks his lips as he gives your ass a smack. 

You whine needily “I wanna prepare your food for once” 

He cackles “oh sweetheart, didn’t I say you don’t need to lift up a finger when you’re here with me? you just need to sit prettily while I fuck you” he grunts “now take off your panties” 

You mewl as you take off your panties as he pulls up your dress. Why are you wearing a dress inside the house? How silly, how stupid. Fuck, he just wants to fuck you until his cum splurts inside you. 

He chuckles “mmm good girl” he roughly fingers your pussy “your soaking slick pussy missed me hmm?” he grunts as the squelching noises fill the room “fucking slut”

You moan, it feels too good. He is always good with his fingers and his degrading words turn you on “mmmmh Gojo” 

He grins meanly “mmm I missed your pussy” he coos as he fingers it “she always weeps wetly when I stuff it with my fingers” he slaps your pussy as you moan. 

He fingers you faster as you moan, feeling close. He smirks as he stops when you’re about to cum. 

You whine “Gojo” 

He smirks “beg for it slut” 

“Please make me cum” you whine, he slaps your pussy as you moan. 

“Your pussy is soaked baby” he whispers in your ear from behind as he slaps your pussy. You moan as slick drips down your legs. 

He wastes no time sucking and slurping your pussy, the wet noises fill the room as you moan. 

“So sweet” he whines “slut, your pussy can’t get enough of me huh?” he sucks your pussy as you shudder and splurt. 

He shudders as he licks it “good girl” he smirks as he unzips his pants, showing his huge veiny cock. 

He rams his cock inside your pussy without hesitation as you moan in pleasure. 

“Fuck, you cummed already” he grunts as he plows you, the lewd slapping noises fill the room as you moan lewdly. 

He plows you from behind “fuck…you can’t even answer me huh slut?” he smirks as he fucks you roughly and deep. You moan as you feel full from his huge cock-entering in and out your gummy walls. 

“So tight”he shudders as he slaps your ass as you moan in pleasure “your pussy is calling me” he moans as he plows your pussy. 

“Gojo” you moan loudly, your pussy feels too good as the slick drips down his cock. 

He shudders, shaking “fuck…so wet too” he grunts as he splurts his cum inside your soaking pussy. You both pant. 

“Another round?” he smirked. 

You nodded, your mind too fuzzy. 

He plows you again. 

[honey-minded-hivemind]

When Fallen Angel! Reader first fell into Heck, the place was empty. With blank black dirt and Black grey skies, the only thing with color is Reader themselves.

They cried and screamed and mourned for a decade or two, hurt by what happened. But after that, they realize that this place was pretty boring. They still had their powers, which was sharper now, harsher and less delicate. But it was still theirs, and they would make this place theirs too.

They started first with the land. Filled it with forests, cities, mountains, oceans, plains, and deserts. Each part planned and crafted out as perfectly as their old paperwork.

That occupied them for a couple centuries, but they noticed the place was still awfully lonely without living beings inside. So they roll up their little sleeves and start their next project.

The first one made is ginormous. Full of scales and spikes and fire. A drop of their blood gives him life and a touch of their own power. He is full of rage. Rage at everything. He is angry at this emptiness, angry at heaven for their misdeeds against his "parent", always angry. They name him Satan, the Sin of Wrath.

They make other sins. Asmodius, Beezlebub, Mammon, Leviathan, and Belphaghor. They are all at least triple their size at any given moment, but they all love their parent. Don't let the size difference fool you, Reader is the only mature one in the group.

They split the realm into 7 layers and assign each Sin a layer much like a parent assigning kids rooms at a new house. Reader takes the highest and most empty layer. It's the closest to the portal to heaven. They aren't sure if heaven will ever open it, and they don't want to find out what they'll do about the Sins if they do.

It was around this time they realized they have physically changed, even though it started when they first fell. Horns instead of a halo, those horns, hooves (they've always had goat legs, they're just normally hidden under clothes and their hooves can easily be mistaken for shoes), eyes, and some feathers looked dipped in red, limbs stained black, slit eyes, and forked tongue. This place has changed them as much as they have changed it.

Eventually, the Sins get bored and ask for people to fill their "rings". Not seeing anything wrong with giving them responsibility, Reader makes much smaller, much less dangerous people to fill "Heck" as the Sins call it (they don't know where they got the affinity for naming stuff). Imps, Hellhounds, Succubi, Innucubi, Goat-demons, Bird Demons, and those Shark-fish demons Leviathan loves so much. They don't make any that go in their ring specifically, but some move in anyway and start the beginnings of Pentagram City. So Reader spends a couple centuries just ruling Heck and keeping their overpowered kids in check ( they love them, but the Sins can be real jerks sometimes.)

The first Sinner comes as a surprise and with the first contact Reader has with Heaven since they fell. Their home is being used as a dumping grounds for the souls Heaven doesn't want, the Sinners are practically immortal, can't leave the Pride Ring (Reader doesn't know if Heaven knows about the other rings, and has no idea how to find out), and are filling in fast. The Sinners are a pretty rough bunch in general, so Reader establishes the Overlord system to try to bring some order, but that only forces them to have regular meetings with the worst of Sinners.

When Heaven sends a second message, telling them that there are too many Sinners (whose fault is that???!!!!) and they will send an Army of Angels once a year to cull them from existence. Any damage they cause to the ring is considered holy justice and will be Reader's problem to fix.

They consider blowing up the portal in sky. (You can't. Satan tried. It didn't work)

(Sugar, I love this ♡^♡!!!)

Reader is revered, even worshipped, in Heck. They are their Maker, their Creator! Every move move make has only made Heck stronger, safer, more prosperous! The Sins love their parent (I'll say they have a few altered designs and aren't quite the same as HB or HH, but they still have their animal motif, because they're so freaking cool).

Satan (Wrath) is proud to be a mama/dada boi. He is bossy, and tries to help Reader with the overload of new demons amd sinners by being very, very harsh with the laws and justice system. You abused your ex and tried to murder them?! You are sentenced to public execution, and your ex will have the front row seat, and can choose which method you die by! You abused orphans and uses them for labor?! You are sentenced to be a servant for ALL ETERNITY, and can only do what you're told! You dared insult Reader, his mama/papa/oldest sibling/maker?! HE WILL SEND HIS LEGIONS AFTER YOU AND BROADCAST YOUR DEFEAT AND FORCED APOLOGY! (Then he'll make sure you can never smack talk them again). Satan loves Reader and his younger siblings, and he favors the Ars Goetia, but no one messes with Reader or the peace they've brought to Heck...

Asmodeus (Lust/Love) is always looking to spread the love their parent/sibling/maker has shown them/him! He was taught its important to have consent, and that their has to be certain moral codes with acts of lust or acts of love. Anyone who tries to be a creep or jerk I on their hit list. They will not tolerate such insolence! Such cruelty! Love is supposed to be wonderful, magical, and feel good! Anyone who breaks that is about to have a serious talk (shovel talk) with the birb Sin... So just be good, and try to act lovingly, like their parent, or you will have to be corrected or executed...

Beelzebub (Gluttony) loves to receive attention from Reader. That's her mama/papa/parent! They get an invite to every single one of her parties, they are sent their favorite foods cooked to perfection, and whenever they need a break, she and Belphagor will happily take them on a relaxing vacation! She likes to indulge others, to feed their hunger for food, or love, or movies, or whatever, really! That's what Reader always did for her, and they even made all the Hellhounds just for her! And they're all so cute and precious and are perfectly loyal to both her AND her parent/sibling/maker! Now, however, she doesn't want anyone hogging all the good stuff! Reader said everyone has to share, and not neglect their needs, so Beelzebub makes sure her ring is taken care of!

Mammon (Greed) is a mischievous sort. He doesn't understand why they can't just steal Heaven from those posers and then rule it all together! (See, he's sharing this once, look how good he's being!) Sadly, they can't do that. Buuut what he can do is make sure Reader's finances amd treasury are always in check and full! He's greedy for love, for power, and attention, buuut he's willing to help others... But he will be teaching them to make sure they have what they need. They shouldn't give everything away for nothing, no! That's what happened with Readee, those idiots stole everything from them, and then cast them into this pit! So for everyone's good, he will make sure none of the rings are underfunded and that he and his siblings and Reader are safe at the end of the day...

Leviathan (Envy) is jealous of the angels. They had Reader, and got to see them when they weren't sad and angry and upset! They got to have Reader at their best self! They had ALL of Reader's love, then TOSSED it away like trash! Well, Heck no! Reader is now THEIRS, and they and their siblings and Heck will keep them! Take THAT! They aren't jealous of their siblings, but they do make sure they always have a day out eith Reader every week or so. They're making sure everyone knows who Reader is, and will paint them in the best light possible. (They totally rile up the Overlords to get back at them for being slimy. Gotta make them jealous enough to get rid of each other after all!)

Belphagor (Sloth) is a sleepy little demon. They appreciate Reader keeping them fed, and happy, and safe, and giving them others made in their image. They like to take things easy, and make it easier on others. So they make medicine that can prevent disease, or that can calm anxiety, or even some simple sleeping syrup for those who have insomnia. They want to help those who need help, and they should relax. They make sure to keep their ring healthy and relaxed, as Reader never wanted them to be overworked or anxious or exhausted all the time...

All the Hellborn are told of how Reader, seeing the Sins so alone, went and made them people, who would bring new ideas and light into this dark pit. They would live there, and be happy, and they'd be safe from Heaven's rule and burning light...

(There is a whole museum dedicated to Reader, and the creation of Heck and it's denizens).

Sinners were... well, they weren't always great people. Some were downright awful, or evil. But some were just unfortunate people who weren't bad, but broken, who'd been dealt a rough hand, who were at the wrong place at the wrong titime. Reader set up Overlords to take care of them, but... well, sometimes they had had be pruned, if they were too vile or too bloodthirsty... Sinners know Reader exist, but are not sure how far they can push their luck with them. They all just hope to please this new tiny being, and try to make the best of their new world...

Heaven is on Reader's sh*t list. The adult angels are about to purge Heaven of its "fallen" and try to set things straight. Because nononO, they are not exterminating these people, sinner or not! Those are PEOPLE.

Let's just say Heaven is about to be under new management, and that peace between Heaven and Heck might be possible...

[stxrsniolo]

ﾟ ˖ ꕀ drunk affair.

𝐀𝐄𝐆★𝐍'𝐒 warning : smut one-shot, unprotected sex, mentions of alcohol, oral sex, backshots, riding (also this is my first blurb, i'm trying new stuff, apologies in advance).

the night was a whirlwind of sensations brought on by their first taste of alcohol at nate's birthday. matt and y/n had always resisted the allure of drinking, but tonight, they embraced it, each shot loosening their inhibitions further. they stumbled into the guest room, laughter mingling with the buzz of intoxication, their actions fueled by a newfound boldness.

"i feel so fucking alive," y/n slurred, her hands already working on matt's jeans, her movements eager and clumsy.

matt chuckled, his own hands fumbling with her dress. "you're gonna kill me," he muttered, but his tone was all desire, pulling her into a kiss that was messy and deep, tongues clashing.

clothes flew across the room in a chaotic dance, and soon y/n was on her knees, her eyes locked on his as she took him into her mouth. her lips wrapped around him, her tongue swirling around the head, tasting the saltiness that made matt's breath hitch.

"fuck, y/n, that's... oh shit," he groaned, his mind swimming in pleasure, one hand in her hair, guiding her but also letting her set the pace. the wet sounds of her mouth, the warmth, it was driving him crazy.

pulling away with a sly grin, y/n stood, turning to bend over the bed, her ass inviting him. matt's hands roamed over her curves, slapping her ass playfully before he positioned himself.

he entered her with a groan, his initial thrust slow, then picking up speed, those backshots making them both moan.

"harder, matt, i want it hard," y/n demanded, her voice thick with need, pushing back against him, meeting each thrust with her own force.

matt complied, his hips slamming into hers, the room echoing with the sound of flesh on flesh. his fingers found her clit, circling, pressing, making her cry out. "you're so tight, so perfect," he panted, feeling the grip of her around him intensify.

y/n was close, her mind a blur of ecstasy, "i'm gonna come, matt, don't stop," she gasped, her body trembling as the orgasm ripped through her.

but matt wasn't done; he withdrew, his fingers now delving into her, feeling how wet she was, how her body responded. "you're making such a mess, babe," he teased, his fingers curling inside her, finding that spot that made her legs shake.

"more, i need more," y/n pleaded, her voice raw, her body still craving more of the intense pleasure.

he flipped her over, pulling her to the edge of the bed, spreading her legs wide. he entered her again, this time with her legs over his shoulders, allowing him to go deeper. "you feel that, huh?" he asked, his voice a mix of command and plea.

"yes, yes, right there," y/n moaned, her hands gripping the sheets, back arching off the bed with every thrust.

the pace was relentless, matt's hands roaming her body, one hand squeezing her breast, the other still working her clit, pushing her towards another peak. "you're mine tonight, no doubt," he whispered, the words slurred with desire.

they changed positions again, y/n now on top, straddling him. she sank down slowly, the sensation of filling her up making them both groan. they stayed like that for a moment, just feeling each other, matt's hands on her hips, guiding her.

"you're so damn tight," matt gasped, feeling her starting to move, the motions slow at first, then picking up speed, riding him with a rhythm that was both wild and desperate.

matt met her movements, his hips rising to meet hers, their bodies in sync, the room filled with the sounds of their pleasure. "i'm close, y/n, fuckin' close," he warned, his voice strained.

"don't stop, please, don't stop," y/n urged, her nails digging into his shoulders, her own release building again.

their climax came like an explosion, both crying out, their bodies shaking, the world outside their bubble forgotten as they collapsed together, panting, the room filled with the scent of sex and the quiet sounds of their slowing hearts.

"that was... somethin' else," matt managed to say, his mind still reeling from the intensity.

y/n laughed softly, her head resting on his chest, "we should get drunk more often," she teased, though both knew this was a one-time wild ride.

©𝗦𝗧𝗫𝗥𝗦𝗡𝗜𝗢𝗟𝗢

[daryltwdixon]

I want to give Joel Miller a lap dance. Feel his hands all over my body as I grind into him and he moans my name. He'll be begging to be inside me and I'll finally give in and ride him until he fills me up with his cum. That's it. That's the request. (Jesus, it's suddenly hot in here, huh?)

Joel x Reader Happy Birthday

warnings: straight smut MDNI

I listened to I See Red by Everybody Loves an Outlaw while writing

a/n: oh, anon. you did something to me here. I've been thinking about it all day. I took it in a slightly different direction but anyway. another note: I am not the kinda woman who gives lap dances, so this could actually be terrible. enjoy x

It started with the heels. Those fucking heels. You couldn’t say no to them. They were just sitting there on a shelf in the middle of a patrol gone sideways, taunting you.

A rainstorm had hit mid-September in Wyoming, and you and your patrol partner had taken refuge in an old strip mall. The clothing store you holed up in was mostly picked over, but there were still odds and ends for the community back in Jackson—stuff to stock the closet for kids and newcomers.

And then there were the heels. Black, shiny, the kind of tall that bordered on dangerous. They might’ve been ridiculous for patrol, but god, you’d always loved how they looked in those pre-outbreak magazines. The kind of shoes that made women look powerful and untouchable. So, with a “fuck it” shrug, you’d stuffed them into your backpack and thought, Joel’s birthday is coming up anyway.

The idea had snowballed from there. You’d scavenged through the library’s dusty stock of CDs and hit the jackpot: the perfect song. The rest fell into place, one piece at a time, until tonight. Now here you were, standing in front of the mirror, nerves simmering under the surface as you took in your reflection.

The heels did exactly what you’d imagined, making your legs look miles long. The black lace panties you’d picked weren’t the practical kind you usually wore—these were high-cut, with delicate details that felt scandalous against your skin. The bralette matched, sheer enough to leave almost nothing to the imagination, with just enough wire to push your breasts up like a dare. You swallowed hard, heat pooling low in your belly.

To steady yourself, you grabbed one of Joel’s plaid shirts from the bed and slipped it on. The soft, worn fabric still smelled like him—earthy, warm, familiar. The contrast between the shirt and what was underneath made your pulse quicken. It was the anticipation, the audacity of what you were about to do, that left you breathless.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you moved to the living area. Dragging one of the armless chairs from the kitchen table, you placed it squarely in the middle of the room. The boombox was already prepped, the song queued up and ready. With one last deep breath, you perched on the chair and waited.

Waited for Joel to walk through the door.

Joel trudged up the porch steps, every bone in his body aching from patrol. It had been a long one, the kind that left him bone-weary and ready to drop. He pushed the door open, boots heavy against the floor as he shrugged out of his jacket.

“Hey,” he called over his shoulder, voice low and gruff, more out of habit than effort. He didn’t look up, his focus on loosening the laces of his boots, mind already wandering to the promise of a hot shower and a quiet night.

“Happy birthday, handsome.”

Your voice stopped him mid-motion. Warm, teasing, the kind of sound that made him glance up without thinking. He froze, the boot in his hand forgotten as his brain struggled to catch up with what he was seeing.

You were sitting in the middle of the living room, legs crossed like you had all the time in the world. And yet it wasn’t just you sitting there—it was everything else. The heels. The shirt—his shirt—hanging loose over your frame, barely buttoned, leaving enough undone to make his pulse stutter. His eyes followed the long line of your legs, the curve of your thighs, and those damn heels. Shiny, black and undeniably sexy. And then his eyes trailed up, stopping at the curve of her neck, her collarbones, the delicate lace peeking through.

Joel’s throat went dry. He blinked once, then again, like maybe he was seeing things. But no, you were real. You were there. And goddamn, you looked like that.

“What...what’s all this, baby?” he managed, his voice rougher than usual, the words scraping out like he barely had the strength to speak.

You tilted your head, playful and soft all at once, and he hated how it made him feel—off-kilter, like you had all the control in the room. “I told you,” you said, your voice light, teasing but edged with something else. “Happy birthday.”

Joel’s gaze stayed locked on you, his boots still half-off, his body halfway between exhaustion and something else entirely. He shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite himself. “Darlin’, you didn’t have to do all this.” His voice was low, a teasing edge there, but the heat behind his words was undeniable.

You felt your stomach flip, but you held your ground, stepping closer to him until your hands rested gently on his chest. His warmth seeped through the fabric of his shirt, the steady rise and fall of his breath grounding you even as your own felt unsteady.

“I know,” you murmured, your tone soft but steady. “But I wanted to. And you deserve it.”

Joel’s smirk deepened, his hands instinctively finding your hips, rough fingers grazing the fabric of his shirt draped over you. “You sure about that? ‘Cause all I’m thinkin’ is takin’ you straight to our room and thankin’ you proper.”

His words sent a flush of heat through you, but you held firm, giving his chest a gentle push. “Not yet,” you said, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Sit down,.”

He raised a brow, his grip on your hips tightening just enough to let you know he wasn’t fully on board. “Darlin’, I’m not exactly in the mood to—”

You pressed your palms more firmly against him, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Sit, Joel.”

The quiet authority in your tone made his resistance falter. He let out a low chuckle, more breath than sound, and leaned back, allowing you to guide him into the chair. His knees spread as he settled in, his arms resting loosely on his thighs, but his eyes never left you.

“One rule,” you said softly, holding up a finger. You sauntered over to the boombox that had been waiting on the side table, taking your finger and hovering over ‘play’. 

“No touching.”

And then the music started.

Your heart was in your throat by now, pounding in time with the heavy thrum of anticipation in your veins. Each deliberate sway of your hips felt like a challenge, and Joel’s eyes tracked every movement as you took slow, pointed steps toward him.

When you reached him, you placed your hands on his knees, leaning down just enough to let the hem of his plaid shirt ride up slightly. You arched your back, pushing your hips out and rolling them in a way that made the lace of your bra peek tantalizingly through the gap in the shirt. His eyes were locked on you, dark and intent, and when you glanced up, you caught him biting his lip, his gaze riveted to the skin you’d left exposed, as though he was imagining how it might feel under his hands.

With every movement, you swung your hips, each roll precise and deliberate. Your hands slid up to your hair, combing through it as you turned your back on him, walking a few slow, teasing steps away. Your hips dipped low with each step, your movements fluid, your intention clear. When you turned back to face him, your fingers found the buttons of his shirt still hanging off your shoulders. You began to undo them one by one, each step bringing you closer to him until the last button came undone.

The shirt slid from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. You kicked it aside, standing before him in nothing but the black lace he was now openly staring at. Joel’s pupils had blown wide, his chest rising and falling with barely restrained tension. He leaned back in the chair, his arms locking behind his head, biceps flexing as though he was physically restraining himself from reaching out. For now, at least, he seemed willing to play along with your game.

Turning around, you hovered just above his lap, bending forward as you rolled your hips, letting your ass dip and brush teasingly against his legs. Your hands trailed over your own body, mapping the curve of your waist and hips as you moved. The heat of his gaze burned into your skin, and you smiled to yourself before finally lowering onto his lap, spreading your legs as you settled against him.

You leaned back slightly, letting your ass press firmly against him, and you felt it—the undeniable hardness straining against his jeans. Your heart quickened, and a teasing smile curved your lips as you glanced over your shoulder at him. His jaw was tight, his teeth clenched, his dark eyes fixed on the way you moved against him.

Joel let out a low, guttural sound as you bent forward, tracing your hands along the floor, your body folding in half over him. His hips bucked up against you then, a reflex he couldn’t seem to control, and you smirked, slipping to the floor and crawling forward on your knees until you turned to face him.

Sliding your hands onto his knees, your eyes met his as he finally spoke, his voice rough, edged with tension. “Oh, so you can touch me, huh?”

“Obviously,” you murmured, the smirk on your lips daring him as your hands trailed up his thighs. He sucked in a sharp breath, his arms still locked behind his head as though anchoring himself, but his hips twitched up toward your touch. Your hands slid higher, over his chest, as you pulled yourself back into his lap, facing him chest to chest.

Your hands slid to your hips as you rolled against him, each movement slow, deliberate, and purposeful. You thought of all the ways he’d gone crazy for you before, the rhythm that always left him undone when you rode his cock, and you worked it now with an extra swivel, a teasing twist to your hips.

“You’re a nasty little thing, baby,” he muttered, his voice thick and gravelly, like he was speaking through clenched teeth. His eyes zeroed in on the straps of your bra as they slid down your shoulders with every roll of your body. The hunger in his gaze made your stomach flip, and you could almost feel the weight of his restraint, like he was moments away from tearing the lace off you with his teeth.

A soft whimper escaped your lips as you ground harder against him, unable to ignore the growing wetness between your thighs or the way your body clenched around nothing. You pushed against his denim-clad hard-on, slow and deliberate, and watched as his eyes squeezed shut, his head tipping back as though he was holding on by a thread.

Sliding your hands up to his neck and then down to flatten against his chest, you leaned closer, wanting to kiss him so fucking bad, but keeping yourself away. If you kissed him, your resistance would falter, and there’d be no going back.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his head tipping back slightly, his neck arching into your touch as though chasing the warmth of your hands. His breath was shallow now, his chest rising and falling beneath your palms as the tension between you thickened, taut and electric.

You barely catch him breathing your name, a whimper, before he was begging, “Please,”

“Please what, Joel?” you whispered back, teasing, even though your own restraint was slipping. You stood then, turning away from him slowly, your hips swaying in time with his ragged breaths. Bending over, you slid your fingers to the waistband of your lace panties, tugging them just enough to reveal a hint of bare skin, only to let them snap back into place.

His head snapped up, his eyes glued to your hands. “I need—” His voice broke, and he dragged his hands down his thighs, rubbing them as though desperate to release some of the tension coiling in his body. “I need to feel you, baby. Please.”

You looked over your shoulder, your lips curling into a soft smile. “Not yet,” you said, your voice low and teasing as you turned back toward him. You lowered yourself into his lap again, back to his chest and your movements slow, deliberate, savoring every inch of contact as you rolled against him.

Joel groaned again, the sound rough and primal, his hands still locked behind his head as though holding onto the last shred of control. You pressed harder against him, rolling your hips deliberately, savoring the friction of his rock hard cock beneath you. The sensation sent a jolt straight through you, and before you could stop yourself, a soft, breathless moan slipped from your lips.

That was all it took.

Joel’s restraint snapped. His arms moved like lightning, one snaking around your waist, pulling you flush against him, while the other slid up, his large, calloused hand curling around the side of your neck. His grip wasn’t tight, just firm enough to hold you in place, to make you feel completely surrounded by him.

“Breakin’ your own rules, huh?” His voice was a low rasp in your ear, thick with desire and edged with the kind of authority that made heat flood through your entire body. His scruff brushed against the curve of your jaw, tickling and scraping in a way that sent sparks down your spine, every nerve alight. “Makin’ all those damn rules and can’t even follow ‘em yourself.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine as his lips barely grazed the shell of your ear. “You want me to be patient,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, “but here you are, grindin’ on me, moanin’ like you’re beggin’ me to lose control.”

Your breath hitched, your hands instinctively flying to his forearm where it rested against your neck. His grip didn’t falter, holding you there as his hips shifted beneath you, just enough to press his hardness firmly against your core. The sound that escaped your lips this time was a mix of surprise and need, and it only made his hold tighten.

“You feel that?” he growled, his lips brushing your ear again, the rasp of his voice sending waves of heat through you. “That’s what you do to me, baby. You keep teasin’ me, and I’m gonna give you exactly what you’re askin’ for.”

Before you could respond, his grip on your neck shifted slightly, firm but careful, his other hand trailing up from your waist. “Now let’s see what you’ve been hidin’ from me here, huh?” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous in your ear.

His fingers found the lace of your bra, tugging it down until your breasts spilled free. The sound that rumbled from his chest was almost feral, a deep growl that made heat pool low in your belly. He cupped one of your breasts in his hand, the warmth of his palm making you arch into his touch. His thumb brushed over your nipple, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you before he pinched and rolled it between his fingers.

You gasped, your back arching further into him, but he wasn’t done. He brought the same hand to your other breast, the calloused pads of his fingers rough against your sensitive skin. He squeezed gently, then let his palm deliver a quick, stinging slap that made you jolt in his lap.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your heart. The sting melted into warmth, the sensation sharp and thrilling, and you couldn’t help but roll your hips harder against him, desperate for more.

Joel’s lips found the side of your neck, brushing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. “That’s it,” he growled, his voice rough with need as his hands continued to explore you, alternating between firm, teasing squeezes and sharp, delicious slaps. “Let me hear those pretty noises. Don’t hold back now.”

The way he rolled and teased your nipples made your head tip back against his shoulder, a soft moan spilling from your lips as his mouth found the curve of your neck. His teeth scraped lightly against your skin, making your nerves spark, your hips bucking in his lap.

“You’re so damn sensitive,” he rasped against your neck, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. His hands trailed lower, brushing over your ribs, fingertips grazing your stomach as they worked their way to the waistband of your panties. “Been drivin’ me crazy all night, wearin’ this...all for me, huh?”

You could only nod, your voice caught somewhere between a gasp and a plea. Joel chuckled low in your ear, the sound rough and teasing, as he hooked his thumbs under the delicate lace and tugged it downward, inch by inch, exposing you to the cool air and his burning gaze.

“Use your words pretty girl,” he muttered, his voice full of reverence and something darker, more primal. He shifted beneath you, one hand returning to your waist to hold you steady as the other worked the panties down past your thighs.

“All yours, Joel. I’m yours.” you breathed, hips rolling as his hands worked the fabric slip past your knees, pooling on the floor as his hands returned to your bare skin. He traced the curve of your thighs and pulled them open wider across his lap. The heat of him pressed against your core, and the rough denim only heightened the aching need coursing through you.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you gripped his forearms, trying to steady yourself.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmured, his hands steady and warm as they explored the newly exposed skin. His fingers slid up your inner thighs, deliberate and slow, brushing so close to where you needed him most but never quite touching. The tease was unbearable, your hips shifting instinctively to chase his touch.

“Not so fast,” he growled, his grip tightening on your thighs to hold you still. “You wanted to take your time, didn’t you? You’re gonna sit here and feel every second of this.”

His words made your breath hitch, the commanding edge in his voice sending another wave of heat pooling low in your belly. His hands trailed higher, his fingertips brushing just shy of your center, so close you could feel the heat of his touch but not the pressure you craved.

“Please,” you whimpered, arching back against him, your body practically trembling in his grasp.

“Patience, darlin’,” he said, his lips brushing against your ear again, his voice nothing more than a rough whisper. “I’m gonna take my time with you. Gonna make sure you feel all of it.”

Joel’s hands finally slid higher, his rough fingertips ghosting over the slick heat between your thighs. The barest touch sent a shiver through you, your body instinctively arching into him, desperate for more. He hummed low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your neck as his lips brushed over your skin.

“So wet for me,” he murmured, his voice a gravelly whisper. His fingers parted your lips slowly, exploring with a deliberate tenderness that made all the breath in your lungs tighten. “Could feel this pussy on me the whole time. Makin’ a mess of me.”

You whimpered, your hands gripping his forearms as his touch grew more confident, circling your most sensitive spot with slow, teasing precision. The pressure was just enough to send sparks shooting through you, your hips rocking into his hand as your breath hitched.

“Easy now, baby” he growled, his other arm tightening around your waist to hold you steady against him. “Daddy’s gon’ take good care of ya.”

He pressed a finger inside you, slow and deliberate, his thick, calloused touch stretching you just enough to make your head fall back against his shoulder. A low moan escaped your lips, your body trembling as he began to move, each stroke deliberate and unhurried.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice full of awe as he watched the way you writhed in his lap. “So beautiful, baby. You feel how good you’re takin’ me?”

You nodded, your words lost to the pleasure building deep inside you. He added another finger, the stretch making your toes curl as his pace quickened just slightly. His thumb brushed against your clit with every stroke, drawing a strangled moan from your throat as the tension in your belly coiled tighter.

Joel’s lips found the shell of your ear, his breath hot and heavy. “That’s it,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire. “Let go, darlin’. Let me feel this pretty pussy,”

His words sent you over the edge, the pressure finally snapping as your body tensed, waves of pleasure crashing through you. You cried out his name, your hands clutching at his arms as he worked you through it, his fingers moving steadily, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure until you were left trembling in his lap, boneless and breathless.

He finally slowed, his movements gentle as he eased his fingers from you, his arm still holding you close. He pressed a soft kiss to the side of your neck, his voice softer now but no less heated. “Good girl,” he murmured, his tone full of pride and affection.

Joel’s lips lingered on your neck, his breath still warm against your skin as his hand slid back to your waist, grounding you. The tension between you was electric, your body still trembling in the aftermath of his touch, but the need hadn’t faded—it had only sharpened.

You shifted in his lap, the friction of his jeans against your sensitive skin making you gasp softly. His grip tightened on your hips, steadying you as his lips brushed your ear. “What’re you doin’, darlin’?” he murmured, though his voice was rough, and his hips twitched up into you despite the question.

You turned slightly, your lips curling into a teasing smile as you met his dark, hungry gaze. “Taking care of you now,” you whispered, your hands finding his chest as you pushed yourself upright.

Joel’s eyes followed your every movement as you reached for the button of his jeans, your fingers working with deliberate slowness, savoring the way his jaw clenched and his chest heaved beneath your touch. When you finally slid the zipper down, the strained fabric gave way, and you couldn’t help the way you always were caught by surprise as his thick hardness sprang free, hot and heavy in your hand.

He groaned low in his throat as you wrapped your fingers around him, giving him a slow stroke that had his head tipping back against the chair. “Christ,” he muttered, his hands gripping your thighs, his voice rough and unsteady. “You’re gonna kill me, baby.”

You smiled, a mix of nerves and confidence swirling in your chest as you lifted yourself onto your knees, positioning yourself over him. His hands moved instinctively to your hips, guiding you, steadying you as you lined yourself up. The heat of him pressed against you, and you bit your lip, slowly sinking down until he filled you completely. You’d never get used to his size, the sheer stretch of him.

Both of you let out matching groans, the sensation overwhelming as you adjusted to him. Joel’s hands tightened on your hips, his grip firm but reverent, as though he was trying to hold himself back from taking every inch he wanted.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, his voice low and wrecked. “Always so fuckin’ good for me. So tight.”

You braced your hands on his chest, your breath hitching as you began to move. Slowly at first, rocking your hips in a rhythm that had his fingers digging into your skin. The way he stretched and filled you sent shivers through your body, and you couldn’t help the soft moans that spilled from your lips.

Joel’s eyes were locked on you, dark and intense as he watched every roll of your hips. You leaned forward, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “Feel good, daddy?”

“Fuck yes,” he growled, his hips bucking up to meet your movements. “Don’t stop, baby. Don’t you fuckin’ stop.”

You didn’t. You rode him harder, the friction and fullness building to a crescendo that had your breath coming in ragged gasps. Joel was unraveling beneath you, his groans and growls spurring you on as you chased the pleasure coiling tight in your belly.

His hands slid from your hips, one trailing up your back to steady you, while the other moved with purpose, his palm curling around the side of your neck. The pressure was firm, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make your breath catch, the sensation sending a sharp jolt of heat straight through you, making you clench around him.

“Fuck,” you gasped, your movements faltering for just a moment before the delicious contrast between his grip and the fullness of him inside you pushed you further. Joel’s dark eyes burned into yours, his expression one of pure control, his lips curling in a low growl.

“You like that, huh?” he rasped, his voice rough and commanding as his thumb brushed lightly over your throat. “Your pussy sure seems to like it, hunny–clenching around me like a fuckin’ vice with my hand around your pretty throat.”

You whimpered, nodding as the tension in your body coiled tighter. His grip tightened slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to remind you of his strength, enough to make you feel completely at his mercy.

“That’s it,” Joel murmured, his hips bucking up into you as you moved faster, harder, chasing the fire building between you. “Take what you need, baby. Let me hear you.”

The intensity of his hand on your neck, the way he filled you completely with every thrust, and the heat of his gaze locking you in place—all of it came together in a rush of overwhelming pleasure. The tension snapped, and you cried out his name, your body trembling as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over you.

Joel groaned, his own release hitting him as your body clenched around him. His hand remained on your neck, holding you steady as his other hand gripped your hip, anchoring you to him. His voice was low and broken as he growled your name, his body shuddering beneath yours.

As the last tremors faded, his grip softened, the hand around your neck sliding up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed tenderly over your cheek, a stark contrast to the raw passion of moments before. You collapsed against him, your breaths uneven, your heart still racing as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with only the sound of your ragged breathing and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

Then you tilted your head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone before murmuring, “So, a good birthday then?”

His chest rumbled with a quiet laugh, his hand cupping the back of your head as he kissed your temple. “Best damn birthday I’ve ever had, darlin’.”

[heedzhee-art]

my new character, his whole deal is that he's low-key.... uhhhh ....

So this is Luciano, basically he was born out of my interpretation of 2p Italy (alt design of hetalia Italy without a personality) being too different from how he's usually depicted in the fandom and the headcanons slipping into a separate setting that couldn't mix with hetalia (and I didn't want to make it hetalia either), I also got very heavily inspired by Schmalgauzen music (Ukrainian cabaret band) last January and then boom I hallucinated a backstory and a setting for this guy so I decided ok he's mine now

So personality-wise, Luciano is into sophistication and theatrical wit, but also has a playful, silly side. Throughout his life he's caught between a longing for connection and his fear of vulnerability, shaped by a past that left him grappling with identity and self-worth, and his main struggle lies in overcoming the scars of abandonment which make him question his place in the world and whether he’s deserving of love. Despite this, he radiates charm, humor, and a love for the dramatic, finding joy in life's finer details like make-up, sweets, fashion, collecting fancy stuff, and art. He deeply craves the feeling of belonging. He is also an intersex man, which is a big part of his identity since having PAIS shaped Luciano’s worldview in multifaceted ways. Negatively, it deepened his feelings of being "other," contributing to the belief that he had to earn acceptance. Positively, it cultivated empathy and a rebellious confidence as he grew to embrace his unique self thanks to challenging societal norms, so he comes off as unconventional and strange to most people, but grows to embrace it. Neutral aspects include a heightened awareness of individuality and a nuanced understanding of human complexities which shaped his intellectual and artistic pursuits, so most of the things he paints have to do with that. Ultimately I imagine it made him introspective and resilient

Now to the fun part, he was born to wealthy Italian parents who expected a "normal" child but got him instead, they panicked, tossed him into an orphanage, and pretended they adopted him later to save face (so he was deadass adopted by his birth parents), his teenage years were spent under the "guidance" of his adoptive father, a shady businessman with an absurdly specific niche in illegal antique firearm sales, involved in a lot of gunrunning, where he also learned to use weapons and charm a room in equal measure. He was also largely shaped by the streets of an ever-so-slightly haunted villa... Luciano eventually got tired of the criminal world’s chaos (especially after he faced legal consequences with his family) and set out to reinvent himself, embracing art, cooking, and vintage collectibles as if it were a full-time job. He later managed to earn himself a privilege to travel to other countries, particularly he's been to a lot of France. He couldn't be viewed as a legitimate business heir and instead got the training of an agent/guard/spy. Also, he has a white pet kitty. Yea

With all that I would like to also explore themes of fabricated memories with his character (Schmalgauzen song reference 😒); growing up in a volatile and high-stakes criminal environment might have led Luciano to subconsciously block out memories as a defense mechanism, then substance use manifested in memory issues, with confabulation as a subconscious way to fill in the gaps. So his life story focuses on figuring out which of the things he remembers are real while trying to find a place he could belong to where he's loved. Then there's fear of abandonment, his identity issues, unstable relationships, self-sabotaging behavior, impulsivity, brief moments of feeling emptiness. Also he's only about 25 years old and I've decided it's all happening in like 1960s

Schmalgauzen lyrics also inspired me to come up with a lot of abstract visuals for his character, which I want to use in future art with him, hopefully someday 😭 I kind of hate when this happens, one moment I look at a random design and the next I have a bazillion ideas that seem too overwhelming to apply to one concept, but I clearly have vivid scenes and ideas for plots I could put him into, like he's a tragic and complicated guy when I lay every little detail out about him, but if I have to imagine him behaving, he's a really sweet and fun character, and I don't wanna abandon this concept, so I didn't want it to just sit in my head forever, at least now it's also on my Instagram and Tumblr... mucho texto...

[love-archer]

More Than Meets the Eye

♡ what to do when your human is all blue? ♡

♡.Obey me! ♡♡.SFW! Fluff! ♡♡♡. @nalamyc00l I understand. Sometimes the world feels like it's got its magnifying glass pointed at all the wrong places, and you just need to feel seen for who you truly are, not just... what you look like, right? And here you go, babes <3 apologizes for the late post…

. . . M A M M O N !

♡ Standing slightly off to the side in the House of Lamentation, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Memories of your time in the human world before devildom were whirling and spinning around what happened at the mall this evening.

♡ A shirt that caught your eyes didn’t make it into your purchase, the saleslady shaking her head and not so subtly saying your frame was ‘distracting’, ‘loud’ for the shirt style, herding you, like a child, to a different isle of clothes.

♡ It wasn’t a first that you were talked to like that but this time, the words landed a little too wrong and too strong to just brush off.

♡ Mammon, pacing back and forth, counting Grimm in his hands, almost bumps into you. "Oi! Watch it, Human! You're gonna make me drop my—" He stops mid-sentence, glancing at your expression. His own expression falters just a touch. He sees the way your shoulders are hunched, the way your eyes avoiding looking up. Something in your downcast posture stops him short of making any jokes or teasings.

♡ He might clear his throat, shifting his weight awkwardly. "Uh, hey. You alright? You lookin' kinda… wilted." He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly less sure of himself.

♡ Before you can finish telling him everything what happened before you pushed into the dressing room, Mammon would actually frown. "Who said somethin' to ya?  Who? Lemme at 'em!" His impulsive instincts, ones you surprisingly tamed down some time ago, would flare up. “Ya know more than damn well I can take anybody on! Tell me!” He wouldn't understand the nuance of body image and insecurities right away (he is perfect) but he would understand someone being unnecessarily ugly to his human.

♡ All his grumbling and huffing would cease when he sees how badly you just want to fade away. Stepping to you, his arms would pull you closer, shielding you from sight of other eyes. "Look, uh… don't listen to 'em, alright? Demons are just… demons."

♡ "You’re… you’re fine. More than fine. You’re… uh… you’re useful. Yeah, useful! And… and freaking…” He breathes in, mustering up the words he wanted to say for a stupid long while. “And… and you look good. Alright?” The whorls would fall softly onto your hair, his lips hovering there as if he wants to kiss you but he pulls back. “Now come on, let’s go get somethin’ to eat. My treat. Anything you want. Except my credit card. That’s still off-limits.”

. . . L E V I A T H A N !

♡ Leviathan’s room was dimly lit, the glow of multiple screens casting an eerie blue light across the floor filled with pillows, snacks and the such. You had sought him out, hoping that the familiar chaos of his space might distract you from the turmoil in your head. You slump onto his beanbag chair, trying to appear casual as you watch him intensely focused on a new MMORPG on his main screen. His fingers danced across the keyboard, commands firing off in rapid succession, his brow furrowed in concentration.

♡ Leviathan’s senses were sharper than they seemed. He might be socially awkward in the real world, but he was surprisingly attuned to shifts in mood, especially amongst those he considered his comrades – and you were definitely in his ‘party’.

♡ “Oi,” he grunts, without taking his eyes off the screen, “ I can hear you sighing over the music and it's making it hard to enjoy the screams of these newbies. You’re… radiating gloom. Like a… a debuff aura. Is it…" He repeatedly hit the spacebar, "is it Diavolo again? Did he make you participate in some… cringe human tradition again?”

♡ You shake your head, managing a weak smile. “No, nothing like that. Just… stuff.” You try to brush it off, but Leviathan, surprisingly, presses a bit further, though still glued to his game.

♡ “’Stuff’ is vague. Vague is… inefficient.” He pauses, fingers still flying. "Someone bothered you?"

♡ You sigh. "Yeah… kind of. Someone… someone at the mall said some really rude things about… well, about my…” you gesture vaguely at your chest, his eyes staring at you from the reflection of the PC screens.

♡ Leviathan finally pauses his game, his avatar momentarily frozen mid-battle, much to the potential dismay of his online teammates. He swivels his chair to face you, eyes widened.

♡ Once everything was ranted out, Leviathan stares blankly for a moment, then his face scrunches up in confusion, and then, indignation. “Distracting? Distracting how?" He gets up abruptly, pacing in his small space, “It's a SHIRT!" He scoffs, "Distracting?!"

♡ "Distracting is-is when a poorly designed UI element obscures vital information on the screen. THAT would make sense. And even then, just that’s bad game design, AND still… not your fault!”

♡ “Listen,” he says, turning back to you, his voice earnest, “Don’t listen to those… those low-level losers. They’re just jealous because your… your character is clearly a… a unique, high-stat build. Everyone else is just… generic.”

♡ He fumbles around his desk, pushing aside stacks of manga, finally retrieving a slightly dusty, but clearly treasured, limited edition anime figurine. He holds it out to you. "Aha!"

♡ “See?” He points at the exaggerated curves of the figure. “This… this is art! Designed with… with emphasis! It’s… it’s beautiful! Like… like you! In a… in a non-dull, totally meta way!"

♡ "She's cool, you're cooler." He propped her on your knee, patting your leg in what he hopes is comfort.

. . . B E E L Z E B U B !

♡ Beelzebub was happily munching on a mountain of spiced chicken wings, his movements focused and economical. You watched him, a small smile playing on your lips. It was… endearing, in a strange way, to see him so utterly absorbed in his food.

♡ You were in the kitchen with him because… well, you just enjoyed being around him. Even if most of his attention was usually on whatever edible item was nearest. Today, though, you felt more awkward than usual. You’d deliberately chosen the baggiest sweater you could find this morning, hoping to minimize… everything.

♡ Beel glanced up from his wings, noticing you properly for the first time. He blinked slowly, his usual calm gaze settling on you. “Hey?” he rumbled, his voice slightly muffled by food. “You’re… wearing a big sweater.” You look down, fidgeting with the loose fabric. “Yeah, um, just… comfortable.”

♡ He tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “Comfortable? It’s… warm in here.” He gestured around the kitchen, which, granted, was warmer than usual thanks to the earlier active stove. “Right, well, extra… comfortable,” you inhale, feeling increasingly foolish.

♡ Beel watched you for a moment longer, then shrugged. He was more than happy to be returning to his wings. “If you’re comfortable.” He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, “Are you… cold?” “No!” you said quickly, perhaps too quickly. “I’m… perfectly fine.”

♡ He seemed to sense something was off. He put down his wing, wiping his hands on a napkin with a slightly more deliberate motion than usual. He turned fully to face you, “Is something… on your mind?”

♡ You looked down, avoiding his gaze. “It’s nothing, Beel. Really.” He took a step closer, his presence filling the space, in a grounding manner. “You’re… hiding.” He stated it simply, matter-of-factly.

♡ His steady gaze made the denial die in your throat. Brewing tea and scooting his stool closer to your frame, he listened to all the worries that bloomed in the back of your head since you woke up that morning.

♡ A look of understanding took over in his eyes, slowly, like the sunrise. He looked down at your chest, then back up at your face, his gaze softening. He still didn’t quite get it, not in the way someone who’d experienced that kind of insecurity would, but he was trying. “People… don’t like… your body?” he asked, his voice incredulous. "But nothing is wrong with you."

♡ “Your body… is… good. It’s… soft. Warm. It… smells nice.” He leaned in slightly, "It keeps you warm...and And… I like… all of you," He lowered his head slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “Don’t… hide from me, alright?” he murmured. “I… like to see you. All of you.”

Number 3 is served!

[chasingstardust]

Hi! Could you write a Nam-Gyu x fem reader where he has a crush on the reader in the games but doesn’t want to get teased by Thanos? After Thanos’s death, he finds comfort in the reader's presence and they take thanos’s drugs together to distract their minds but the the only thing he can think about is being with her.After he finally confesses .

(Sorry if this makes no sense i don’t do this a lot🌚)

yessss i love this

What I Couldn't Say

PAIRING:Reader/Nam-gyu

WORDCOUNT: 804

Request status: Open

Nam-Gyu had always been good at pretending. He pretended not to care, pretended the games didn’t scare him, and most of all, pretended you didn’t matter to him. But you did—more than he’d ever admit. Every time you smiled, his heart did this annoying little flip that he couldn’t control. But Thanos was always watching, always teasing. If Nam-Gyu gave himself away, Thanos wouldn’t let him hear the end of it.

So, Nam-Gyu kept his feelings hidden, shoving them down and brushing you off like he did with everyone else. He told himself it was easier that way.

But then Thanos was gone.

The games didn’t stop for anyone, and neither did life. Still, something had shifted. Without Thanos’s loud voice filling the space, the silence was unbearable. Nam-Gyu felt it most when he looked at you. Without Thanos there to tease him, he had no reason to keep pretending—but now, he didn’t know how to stop.

One night, he found you sitting alone in the corner of the room, your head resting on your knees. In your hands was a small pouch that looked oddly familiar. His heart twisted when he realized it was Thanos’s.

“You’re still carrying his stuff?” Nam-Gyu asked, sitting down beside you. His voice was softer than usual, missing its usual teasing edge.

You didn’t look at him. “I found it in his things. I… don’t know why I kept it. Maybe it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Nam-Gyu said quickly. He hesitated, then added, “He’d probably laugh at you for it, though.”

That made you smile, just a little. “Yeah. He would.”

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the weight of everything settling between you. Finally, you opened the pouch and held it out to Nam-Gyu. Inside were some pills and a few other things Thanos had kept hidden.

“I don’t know why, but it feels like he’s still here when I see this,” you said. “It’s like holding onto a piece of him.”

Nam-Gyu frowned but didn’t argue. Instead, he took one of the pills and rolled it between his fingers. “He wouldn’t want us to sit here moping about him, you know. He’d say we should do something crazy.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean, like…?”

Nam-Gyu gave you a lopsided grin. “Maybe just enough to forget how much this sucks.”

After some hesitation, you both gave in. The drugs dulled the sharp edges of your grief, replacing it with a strange, heavy calm. For a while, you sat side by side, sharing quiet memories of Thanos. But as the minutes passed, Nam-Gyu found himself focusing less on Thanos and more on you.

You were so close, your shoulder brushing his. The sound of your voice made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t explain. And then there was your laugh—soft, but warm enough to make the room feel less cold.

Nam-Gyu swallowed hard, his mouth dry. He didn’t mean to say it, but the words came out anyway. “Y/N… I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

He looked away, his cheeks turning red. “I’ve been trying to ignore it, okay? Because Thanos would’ve made fun of me, and I didn’t want that. But it’s true. I like you. I’ve liked you for a while.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say. Nam-Gyu glanced at you, his nervousness clear in his eyes. “You don’t have to say anything,” he mumbled. “I just… I needed you to know.”

But instead of staying silent, you smiled. Leaning closer, you rested your head on his shoulder, the same way you had many times before.

“I like you too, Nam-Gyu,” you whispered. “You don’t have to hide it anymore.”

Nam-Gyu let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over him. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. For the first time since the games started, he felt something other than fear or sadness. With you beside him, he felt like maybe, just maybe, there was still something worth holding onto.

[rispwr]

“3 words, 8 letters. I mean it” - J.JK - Mini (M)

Pairings : j.jk x fem! Reader

Genre : situationship, smut, slight fluff.

Contents : chuckblair inspired, limo sx, gossip girl parties setting, unprotected sex (yk what to do babes), riding, praisekink, comparing, big c!jk, slight public sex, not proofread, lemme know what i missed!

Notes : don’t expect too much yall. I’m trying a new writing style. The one that’s not too detailed that i write about everything but the character😭 tell me what you think about this? Should i make more smut? Idk i think i’m bad at smut, i’m more better at fluff and romantic stuff but i just wanted to try this. Xoxo gossip girl💋💋 Ive been watching the show and i love itt!! I love chuck and blair and i think i will def write more inspired by them. I loved the “3 words, 8 letters” line. It’s my favourite tbh.

“I knew you had a type…” his voice trails behind me. I didn’t bother to move or to face him but to just stay still and silent, silently enjoying his touch, the way his touch felt like warmth to my cold like skin, the way the world stops, and everythingstops once he touches me.

“I missed you.”

After Jungkook suddenly left me in Paris without saying a word during our vacation together, I was shattered. One minute, everything felt perfect. the Eiffel Tower lighting up the night sky, his laughter filling my heart with happiness as we explored and the next, the right side of my bed was gone . Broken, sad, left, and helpless. I spent the four remaining days locked away in the hotel room we had booked together.

At the airport, sitting alone in business class, I tried to distract myself, to feel anything other than the suffocating pain that clung to me. That’s when a man approached me. At first, I didn’t want to look at him, but when I did, I felt a sharp ache in my chest. His sleeve tattoos, the undercut, the piercings. it all felt too familiar, too much like him.

When I learned he lived in the same city as me, I impulsively invited him to my upcoming party. I told myself it was a distraction, a way to move on. Maybe even a chance to prove to myself that I didn’t need Jungkook anymore.

I thought that was the end of us. I truly did.

Until now.

“You left me… alone in a country whose people I don’t even know,” my eyes keep shut, trying hard not to let a tear out.

“I’m sorry, honey… let me make it up to you?”

“I have Ian now, Jungkook,” I try to keep my tone straight.

“No, you won’t,” he chuckles deeply. “You’re only with him to replace the missing presence that you can’t live without.” His hands trail around my jawline. “And that is me”

“Three words, eight letters. I mean it,” his tone changes into a soft one, one that I only hear when he wakes up to me wrapped up in his arms, one when he starts talking about our future together, together.

“Three words, eight letters. Let’s get out of here,” I say, grabbing his hand, intertwining with mine, his smile widening.

—-

The limo driver’s voice, distant and polite, asked, “Your place, Ms.?”

“Mhm,” I hummed, breathless already, my response barely audible as Jungkook’s lips crashed into mine. The kiss was firm yet full of emotion, like he’d been starving for days…… He starved for my taste

My breath hitched as Jungkook pulled me into his lap, his large hands gripping my waist. all I could manage was a soft hum, barely audible, as I reached blindly for the button to raise the divider.

The divider hummed as it rises, It being the only thing keeping the driver from seeing us do the deed in the back of the limo, leaving only us in the together in the backseat. His tongue parted my lips, the kiss deepening as his hands roamed over my thighs, hiking my dress higher until it was bunched around my hips.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned against my lips, his voice low and strained. “I fucking missed you, my pretty girl”

I gasped as he tugged my panties aside, his fingers grazing the slick heat of my core. “You’re already so wet for me,” he murmured, his dark eyes locking onto mine as his fingers teased me, gathering the wetness and spreading it over my entrance. “You’ve been missing me too huh?”

“Jungkook,” I whimpered, unable to answer him as my hips bucked against his hand.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, his lips curving into a small, cocky smirk. His hands gripped my hips as he leaned back slightly, guiding me to straddle him completely. “Come here, baby. Let me feel you.”

I reached between us, freeing him from his pants. He was already hard, his cock thick and pulsing in my hand, and the deep groan that rumbled in his chest as I stroked him sent a wave of heat coursing through me.

“Don’t tease me,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, his hands tightening on my thighs. “You know I can’t wait.”

I positioned myself over him, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance, and slowly sank down, taking him inch by inch. The stretch was overwhelming, my body trembling as he filled me completely.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back against the seat as his hands gripped my waist. “You’re so fucking tight, baby. You feel so good.”

I braced my hands on his shoulders, rocking my hips slightly to adjust to the fullness. “Jungkook,” I gasped, my voice shaking. “You’re so deep.”

“That’s it,” he murmured, his hands moving to guide me as I began to move. “Good girl. Take me just like that. You’re doing so good.”

The praise sent a shiver down my spine, and I picked up the pace, bouncing on his lap, riding him with a desperation that matched his own. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small space, mingling with our moans and the occasional broken gasp of my name from his lips.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his voice strained as his hands gripped my hips tightly, helping me move faster. “You’re gonna make me lose it. You’re so fucking perfect. So good to me.”

“Jungkook,” I whimpered, my nails digging into his shoulders as the pressure built low in my belly. “I-I’m close.”

“Me too,” he growled, his hips thrusting up to meet mine as his pace turned erratic. His dark eyes locked on mine, his voice soft but commanding. “Milk me, baby. Let me feel you. I’ll fill you up, yeah?”

“Yes,” I cried out, my voice desperate. “Fill me up, Jungkook. Please. I want it. I want all of you.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, his grip on me tightening as he slammed into me one last time, holding me down as his release hit. “That’s it, baby. Milk me. Fuck, you’re so good.”

The sensation of him filling me sent me over the edge, my body clenching around him as my orgasm crashed over me in waves. I cried out his name, my movements faltering as he held me close, his lips pressing against my neck as we both trembled through the aftershocks.

For a long moment, neither of us moved, our breaths mingling as we clung to each other. His hands stroked my back, his lips brushing softly against my shoulder as he whispered, “three words, eight letters. I mean it.”

“Three words, eight letters. I mean it more.” I murmured, my fingers tangling in his hair as I kissed him, my heart racing as the limo drove us to my house.

[emeraldspiral]

Mopiness of Doom Script Doctor

So I know Mopiness of Doom is a fan favorite unfinished episode, but I think there's always room for improvement. Plus, since we've had access to the script for decades, there's no way they'd ever finish the episode or publish it as a comic as-is because we'd know all the jokes already and there wouldn't be any surprises. So the only way we'd ever get this story in a completed form would be with a massive re-write anyway.

So to begin with, I think having Dib give up on the paranormal because a talisman he bought at the mall didn't work as-intended is kind of a weak motive to give up on his life's ambition so suddenly. I think it would make more sense if he suffered a particularly humiliating defeat at Zim's hands or if there was another instance of Zim very blatantly giving himself away in public and no one noticing or believing him when he points it out. So he's like covered in garbage or slime or something disgusting, he looks like a total fool, people are pointing and laughing, and it's so demoralizing that he finally feels like it's just not worth it anymore.

Instead of Zim instantly becoming depressed, I'd have him laugh maniacally and gloat about how the earth will soon be his now that he's eliminated Dib as an obstacle. But first he has to come up with a new plan, but he can't. And after racking his brains for hours, he still can't come up with anything. But he figures inspiration will come eventually so he might as well take a break and watch some TV. He's got all the time in the world. No rush now that he doesn't have to worry about Dib anymore.

Then we'd have Dib go home and clear out his room. Gaz sees what he's doing and questions him about it, but instead of being disturbed she's actually happy that he's not going to talk her ear off about shit she doesn't care about anymore or force her to watch Mysterious Mysteries when she wants to use the TV to play a console game. But after Dib gets rid of all the paranormal stuff in his room, it's totally sterile and devoid of personality and he doesn't know what he's going to do now to fill that void in his life. So he asks his dad if he can help him in the lab.

Meanwhile, Zim has begun his transformation into a couch potato, but is totally un-self-aware about it. It occurs to him that he hasn't called the Tallest to brief them on his mission progress in a while. He panics after looking at a calendar and seeing just how long it's been. But then he reconsiders calling the Tallest since he still hasn't come up with a new plan, so there's not much to report. He tells himself that he's really got to get a new plan together today so he can call them tomorrow, but he'll do it after he finishes this next episode. A commercial comes on promoting Membrane's latest invention, and he sees Dib at his father's side and instantly dismisses the notion that his lack of motivation has anything to do with Dib as soon as it pops into his head.

Dib and Membrane are having a good time bonding together at the lab when they get a call from Gaz asking why they aren't home yet. They tell Gaz that they were just wrapping things up and about to head home when they suddenly had a breakthrough, so they tell her to just order take-out and have dinner without them. The next morning, the breakfast table is covered in papers and scientific instruments and Dib and Membrane are excitedly chatting about whatever they're working on, barely acknowledging Gaz when she walks into the room. Their science stuff leaves no room for her to even set down a bowl of cereal. They decide to pick everything up and finish breakfast in the home lab, but it's not because of anything Gaz said, they didn't even hear her complain, they were just really eager to get back to working on their project together.

As Dib is about to leave the kitchen, GIR smashes through the window and begs him to hunt Zim again so he can have the couch back. Dib looks back and forth between GIR and Membrane before telling GIR things are going great for him now, why would he ever want to go back to the thankless job of chasing Zim? Membrane is pleased and Dib leaves with him while GIR cries, pounding his fists on the ground. Gaz tells GIR that she doesn't like how much of their dad's time Dib is monopolizing now, so she'll help him get Dib and Zim back together.

Gaz goes to pay Zim a visit and finds him on the couch covered in take-out boxes with his eyes glued to the TV. One of three different scenarios happens here:

Gaz encourages Zim to come up with a new evil plan to make Dib regret brushing him off. Zim temporarily regains some motivation and tries to get something together, but he either loses steam or the plan just fails to tempt Dib, so he goes back to the couch and sinks deeper into depression.

Gaz tries to encourage Zim and he tries to muster up the effort to get off the couch, but he can't. So she props him up with a broom and lets him think he's doing the work when she's really doing everything to put together an evil plan. For a moment, it seems like it's going to work and Zim starts laughing maniacally and gloating and taking credit for Gaz's idea. But even though Gaz's plan is a legitimate threat, Dib just doesn't care about the imminent demise of the human race anymore. Whatever happens happens, it's not his problem. So the plan is aborted and Zim sinks deeper into depression.

Zim is still in denial. Why would he want Dib back to ruin his plans? He's just taking a little break, but any day now he'll totally make that insolent earth boy regret underestimating him. He doesn't need any help from Gaz. Gaz goes back to Dib and tells him "Zim's totally doing something super evil right now, better go stop him" but Dib brushes it off.

Rather than spending the whole episode seeming like he's totally fine and then dropping real science out of nowhere, Dib does have moments throughout the episode that show he misses the paranormal and is mostly just pushing Zim away because he's mad about being humiliated. He's trying not to click on links recommending him pages about new paranormal discoveries he might be interested in. He and his dad are about to watch a boring documentary together on the TV and he looks longingly at the thumbnail of a cool monster movie he was looking forward to but then pretends he's too mature for something like that now. He hides a UFO magazine behind a scientific journal so no one knows he's still reading that stuff. But it gets to be too much for Dib when he and his dad are hanging out and having a seemingly nice time together, but Membrane keeps making insensitive comments about how happy he is that Dib's gotten over his "delusions" and isn't "insane" anymore. Dib realizes that his dad's acceptance of him is conditional and it feels really shitty to only be liked when he suppresses his true self.

So just as he and Membrane were supposed to head to the lab together, Dib says "Actually, I'd rather not. It was nice spending time with you, but this shit's boring and what I really wanna do right now is catch me an alien". And then Membrane curses the heavens and Gaz smiles smugly as Dib runs off.

Dib barges into Zim's house declaring his intent to stop Zim's latest evil plan. Zim instantly perks up and kicks all the garbage under the couch so Dib won't know what a wreck he was without him and pretends like he definitely does have an evil plan in motion right now that Dib will never be able to stop.

Instead of Zim trapping Dib in a bubble, he starts shooting at him with lasers from his PAK while Dib chases him around his living room with handcuffs. You can hear crashing and car alarms and police sirens and animal screeches from all the destruction being wrought by Zim's lasers misfiring and blasting through the walls and devastating the neighborhood outside. But Dib is totally oblivious to how much more danger humanity is in now while he makes his grandiose speech about stopping Zim's reign of terror. The whole time Zim and Dib are laughing and playfully insulting one another while trying to kill each other, GIR is enjoying the newly unoccupied couch, kicking his little feet in delight as he picks up the remote and puts on some Floopsy Bloops Shmoopsy. The End.