#look how cute ink is that last one

[buckevantommy]

so i googled 'marker art landscape tutorial' and this video got me started. i like warm colours (and my marker collection is limited) so i chose this reference pic. 

[webism]

pornstar!sukuna who has a niche for the dark and dangerous, he only accepts shoots that cater to his more… intense nature—ropes and chains and gags and rigs beyond the regular bedroom scenes.

pornstar!sukuna who works with many other actors and actresses. he's demeaned and degraded more people for a pay check than he can count, but his favourite is you. you’re not so easy to break, which he likes—plus, videos in which you bite back make double the profit.

pornstar!sukuna who is easy to agree when you call him one night asking for a favour. you were meant to do a camshow with another pornstar when he cancelled last minute—and you know people are excited for this one, if you don’t want to miss out on a paycheck you’d need to find a quick replacement.

pornstar!sukuna who is expecting a homemade bd/sm rig to greet him when he walks into your home that night.

pornstar!sukuna who isn’t expecting a bed with a pink duvet and matching fluffy pink handcuffs hanging from your headboard. it’s cute, he thinks—he can picture the scene, you laid out and fucked like a whore in pink. he’s eager, until you tell him the handcuffs aren’t for you, but for him.

pornstar!sukuna who is about ready to walk out, to tell you off for even assuming he’d do such things on camera, that he'd ruin his crafted image of this sadistic figurehead for a camshow of all things.

pornstar!sukuna who just can't say no and turn on his heels, not when you look up at him like that, your pretty eyes just too convincing. He's seen you fucked out and stupidly cockdrunk before, he knows what you look like when you submit wholly to him, and though it's a beautiful sight—one of his favourites—he can't deny that he's intrigued to know how you look through his eyes when they're glossed with desperate pleasure.

pornstar!sukuna, the notorious dominant, who loads up on thousands. of peoples screens handcuffed to a pink bed. Everything pink: the cuffs, the sheets, his mussed hair, the pretty blush that paints the bridge of his nose, the leaky tip of his cock as you stroke it, your nails painted pink to match.

pornstar!sukuna who growls when people start tipping each time he gets close to cumming. who looks so insanely out of place, big and imposing and so covered in tattoos that even his ridiculous length has been inked to an extent, all needy and growing all the more desperate as you keep denying him his orgasm. wrists chained to your wooden headboard, his muscles ache with the temptation of breaking free.

pornstar!sukuna who can't help but wonder if his life has been flipped on its head when you start praising him and he moans at your words alone. Who, for all his life has gotten off on inflicting the worst onto others, and can now feel the most powerful orgasm of his life cresting when those narcotic words spill from your lips. "doing so well for me, god you look good like this, sukuna."

pornstar!sukuna who can only hold on for so long before his taut-pulled patience snaps and burns on impact. so when he's watching himself through the display of your laptop, cock red and angry as it leaks in need at your denial of his orgasm again, he snaps.

pornstar!sukuna who breaks your handcuffs with one pull, and has you flipped over and taking his mean cock in less time than it takes you to process his movements. who is glad you were enjoying torturing him, because you're so wet that the stretch of his cock is only searingly painful and you're not pushed to tears... this time.

pornstar!sukuna who fucks you mindless for toying with him for so long. for airing out a side of him that is weak in the bones for you, and plastering it on the internet for anyone to see. he bullies his cock into you, mean and unrelenting—yet whispers the sweetest of nothings into your ear as he does so, low enough that your mic can't pick up on them—your ears only.

pornstar!sukuna who kisses you when he cums. his lip piercing cold against your lips, your legs shaking in desperate need for mercy as he paints your insides white.

pornstar!sukuna who laughs when you, in your cum-drunk haze, try to reach for your laptop to turn off the camshow.

pornstar!sukuna who promises your now-doubled viewer count that the stream won't end until you've come ten times on his cock—he's going to make an example out of you.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 1

Or: a secret Admirer AU

Less than a month into the school year, and Steve’s already making use of the library. If Mrs. Click could see him now, she’d be proud–until she caught sight of the blank notebook page in front of him and the lack of textbooks on the table. 

He feels stupid; he’s hunched over his notebook, trying to make his thoughts transfer onto the page in any coherent form. But, he’s not like Eddie with his impassioned speeches and clever English papers.

Words flow through Eddie in fully-formed, concrete ideas. For Steve, it’s more of a drip. Each word has to be scaffolded onto the previous one with blood, sweat, and tears. Even then, it’s never quite right. Too abrupt, never what he was actually trying to say.

He’s just never been good with words.

By the time he gives up, there’s more crossed out than left written, so he gets a clean page of paper and transcribes it as best he can. He’s left with:

       Your hair is pretty. Do you use conditioner?

Steve tears it from his notebook and lays it flat atop his table in the library, smoothing out any crinkles in the page. It feels like the start to something, sure, but there’s more blank space on the page than words. By a lot.

He leans back over his work, adds a little wonky heart in his blue pen and signs the whole thing—

       ❤ your secret admirer

—the way all the girls who leave notes in his locker do. Their notes are usually on pretty paper, written in sparkly gel pen that smells like strawberries. The i’s are sometimes dotted with little hearts he’ll never admit to finding cute. And there’s envelopes involved, and usually more than eleven measly words.

His looks like something Eddie’ll toss out before opening, mistaking it for trash.

Steve grimaces. How do girls do this? Do they all take some sort of class on how to write pretty letters on pretty enough paper that boys will fall in love with them? Is that what they teach in Home Ec? He should have never let Tommy mock him into switching to shop class.

Should he ask a girl?

Under no conditions will he ever ask Carol. She’d have far too many uncomfortable questions and tell the whole school all of his embarrassing answers. He’d be run out of town within days, Carol holding the sharpest pitchfork.

Steve leans back in his chair with a groan too loud for the library and fists his hands to rub tired eyes.

“Are you okay?” Steve jerks, sending his pen and paper careening to the ground in his attempt to cover the compromising words upon the page. “Oh, sorry!”

Steve watches, horrified, as Chrissy Cunningham bends down to pick his supplies up off the carpet before he’s had time to scramble out of his chair. She’s in her cheer uniform, white zip-up Hawkins hoodie covering her arms. She looks perfect and preppy and just like all the girls who’ve ever left a note in his locker.

She’d be able to write something that Eddie would want to read.

“Steve?” Chrissy’s hovering over him, lips pursed, eyes big and worried. “Are you okay?”

“Shit, sorry,” he replies. She’s got his note clutched to her chest. He curls his fingers against the urge to reach out for it—that’ll just draw her attention, and that’s the last thing Steve wants right now. “Just got lost in my head.”

“Anything I can help with?”

He knows what she’s going to do before it happens. Chrissy’s sweet—if there’s a way to help, she’ll want to. So, she holds out the paper and begins to read, probably expecting an assignment she can tutor him on, and there they are: Steve’s damning words written in still-wet blue ink.

Her brow furrows as she takes an obscene amount of time mouthing out the words before she looks back up to meet his eyes. “Did someone give this to you?”

Her eyes are still big, but they look sad now, like just the thought of someone receiving the note he’d slaved over is enough to distress her. Unable to help himself, Steve snatches it from her hands and crumples it into a ball, damning words hidden in his fist.

Chrissy gasps at his abrupt movement and takes a halting step away.

“I wrote it,” he mutters, no longer able to meet her eyes.

She’s silent for long enough that he’d think she left, except the library’s quiet, and he hasn’t heard her take a step. He stares at the grains of the wood in the table, empty hand rubbing against the smudged top as he waits for her to do something.

“Are you…” she starts, trailing off for a moment before picking her thought back up, “…picking on someone?”

Steve clenches his fist tighter, note crinkling beyond repair beneath his nails as he mutters, “no.”

Chrissy’s quiet again. Steve doesn’t dare to look up, even as he hears the chair across from him pull out, the sound of her weight settling into the wood. The table’s just so interesting. Nothing has ever been as intriguing as the little chip out of its edge, the ring on the wood where someone had let their drink condensate against all the library’s rules.

“Who’s this for?” Chrissy’s voice is soft now, like he’s some sort of horse, prone to bolting when spooked. “Steve?”

Steve looks up. Her eyes aren’t sad anymore; they’re piercing.

He’s always liked Chrissy. She’s the nicest girl in the school, until someone does something she doesn’t like. Then, it’s all disappointed eyes, and pouty lips. It’s like disappointing his Mom, but worse, because his Mom’s never around to stare balefully at him.

The point is, Chrissy’s nice. She’s not like Carol. If he told her, there would be no lynch mob, or fleeing Hawkins in the dead of the night with nothing but the clothes on his back. Probably. Maybe.

Steve tries to smooth out the page, and scowls down at it when the wrinkles refuse to disappear. It’s even worse now, words made illegible by the deep creases his fingers have pressed into the paper. There’s no way Eddie’d ever want a note like this.

So, he says, “Munson,” looking up to try to watch his meaning land on her face.

It doesn’t. Her foreheads all scrunched up as she looks down at the note. Only then does Steve realize he’s caressing the wonky little heart. He pulls his hand back, curling his fingers in so she can’t see the smudge of blue on his pointer finger.

“And you aren’t making fun of him?”

Steve can feel his shoulders drooping. He wants to disappear into the floor, melt into the carpet and become one with all the other mysterious stains upon it. “No.”

“Oh,” Chrissy replies, drawn out and low as she peers down at the crinkled note with a confused frown. But something must click because she straightens, eyes wide beneath her bangs. “Oh!”

It’s loud enough that they both reflexively flinch. But, when no librarians come skulking around any corners, Chrissy turns back to him, gaze uncomfortably intent. Steve wonders, somewhat horrified by the turn his life has taken, if he’s about to get hate-crimed by a cheerleader half his size.

But Chrissy’s nice—always has been, always will be. So, she bites her lip and looks furtively around like she’s only just realized this is a conversation that shouldn’t have any witnesses. “But you like him?” she whispers.

Steve leans forward, matching her energy and pitch as he replies, “yeah,” quiet enough that it’s barely a breath. Chrissy smiles at him, warm and small, just like her hand as she reaches across the table to put it over his and squeeze comfortingly.

The note sits, damningly soiled beneath their linked hands, wrinkled, and smudged, and barely-legible handwriting. The weight that’d lifted with Chrissy’s smile sinks back into his gut.

“But it doesn’t matter,” Steve says, letting go of her hand so he can pull the note closer to himself. “I’m no good at this stuff.”

Steve crinkles the note back up. It’s unsalvageable—a stupid idea executed badly.

He’s in the middle of stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans to keep his keys company until he can toss it out in the comfort of his home when Chrissy says, “maybe I can help?” voice lilting up, like it’s a question.

Steve meets her eyes, hand still half-shoved in his pocket. She’s all earnest now, the way she usually is when there isn’t a sad boy infecting her with his own ineptitude. Eyes shining with conviction, bangs curling sweetly around her face. She’s no Carol, that’s for sure.

“How?” he asks, and when she smiles, it looks a bit like hope.

***

 “I can help you write a better letter,” Chrissy starts. He perks up like a dog the moment its owner gets home. “If you do something for me.”

She feels like scum when he curls back into himself, gaze forlorn.

When she’d caught sight of the note he’d spent what seemed like a full hour pouring over, this isn’t what she’d been expecting. And when she’d finally made out his chicken scratch scrawl, she’d been sure Steve was picking on someone, no matter how unlike him it would have been. But then his shoulders had curled in, and his ears had turned red, and his voice had gone all soft and squishy when he’d said Eddie Munson’s name.

And she’d just wanted to fix it.

So, even as he asks, “what?” all sad and droopy again, she knows she’s going to help him, no matter what he says.

“Date me,” she asserts. It’s only as Steve blinks stupidly at her that she realizes how that came out of her mouth. “No, wait, not really!”

Her hands are waving around wildly and she can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. In contrast, Steve seems to come back into himself, shoulders shoring up as he smirks across at her with his signature raised brow. The one he’d used while leaning on Nancy Wheeler’s locker last year, or holding her books as they walked to class, and all the other assortment of stereotypical boyfriend activities.

He’d worn it all the time, like it was part of the uniform. 

“I just meant, we could fake it?” His right eyebrow raises to meet his left, forehead scrunching up with his incredulity. “It’s just, Jason and I broke up? And he won’t leave me alone.”

It takes all her strength to keep meeting his eyes as the seconds tick away. But then Steve nods, swings his letterman jacket off, and tosses it across at her. Unprepared for his sudden movement, it hits her in the face and drops into her lap.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he says with a cheesy wink that somehow manages to feel more genuine than any of his actual flirting techniques. “Gotta sell it somehow.”

“What a romantic,” she replies, deadpan, but she pulls his jacket on anyway, something that feels an awful lot like relief steadying her heart rate as she smooths down the too-long sleeves.

Jason’s going to freak out. But after that, maybe he’ll stop calling her house, and trying to put his arm around her at lunch, and trying to pick her up for school every morning. She’d do almost anything to get it into his thick skull that she’s not interested.

So, here she is, hashing out the details of a secret admirer letter from Steve Harrington to Eddie Munson, of all the unlikely pairings.

“What’s wrong with what I wrote?” Steve whines, running his fingers through his hair until it’s all mussed up and falling into his face.

Chrissy snorts. “It sounds like you’re telling him his hair is frizzy and dry.”

“I said it was pretty!” He throws his hands in the air before crossing them and pouting his lower lip out.

Chrissy can’t help but laugh. She’s always liked Steve. He’s nicer than most of his friends, and he’s easy to talk to. But this is a side she’s never seen of him. She’s not sure anyone has; can’t imagine Carol or Tommy seeing him put his whole heart into something and not tearing it to shreds.

“Do you use conditioner?” she asks, throwing finger quotations around it as she reads it off the crumpled page.

Steve’s blushing again, cheeks all blotchy and red, rather unbecoming for the shoo-in for this year’s prom king. “Well, I thought you said you’d help!” he says, a little too loud for the library.

So, that’s how she ends up spending the next hour painfully turning Steve’s earnest thoughts into words on the pretty baby blue paper she’d carefully removed from the back of her daily planner.

In the end, they’re left with this:

       Eddie –

       I wish I could say this to your face, but I’ve never been good with words, and you’d probably think it was a joke.

       I can’t even get myself to talk to you, you’re so distracting.

       I like how pretty your hair is. How do you get your curls so shiny? I want to run my fingers through them.

       I hope this note brightens up your day. You deserve all the smiles you can get.

       Yours,

       Your Secret Admirer

It’s not what she would write, but still, it’s leagues better than what he’d started with. She slides it across to Steve, and he smiles down at it. He reaches his hand out, fingers almost brushing the page before he pulls his hand back, curling his fingers into a fist.

“What if someone sees me?” he asks, voice so quiet she can barely hear him even in the resounding silence of the library.

They’d managed not to talk about it, the dangers of Steve liking a boy. But it’d been present in the hesitancy by which he shared each of his thoughts, looking up at her like each remark would be the last straw before she recoils in disgust.

If someone finds out that Steve has a crush on a boy, it won’t take long until he’s getting beat up between classes or heckled straight out of school. Heck, even with all the rumors floating around about him, Eddie might be the one to throw the first punch.

“Do you want me to deliver it for you?” she asks.

“You’d do that?” he asks back, because apparently no one ever taught him not to answer a question with a question. “For me?”

“What else are fake girlfriends for?” she asks because they’re all questions now, no answers to be had between the pair of them.

Steve laughs, all tension leaving his shoulders as he throws his head back with amusement, eyes downright twinkling as he beams across at her.

“You’re the best, Chrissy,” Steve says, smiling even brighter as she replies, “I know.”

She leaves school that night after pushing Steve Harrington’s love note through the slats of Eddie’s locker, Steve’s letterman jacket keeping her warm from the cold.

This might be the best relationship she’s ever had, fake or not. Eat your heart out, Jason Carver.

PART 2

Welcome to my new AU! This will be posted in 21 parts. It is complete, so there will be a new update each morning until it's all posted. I've elected not to do a tag list, but it will be added to my pinned post each day as well. If that's not your speed, it will be added to Ao3 once it's all been posted here.

Special shoutout to @queenie-ofthe-void for not only their usual fabulous beta work, but also both the original idea and the writing of some of the secret admirer letters. You not only make me a better writer, but this work literally would not exist without you. <3<3

Title of the fic from the song Eyes in the Sun by Florist

[moonstruckme]

hello mae ! could i ask for an apple pie with any of the marauders with these prompts?

“a flea market wedding dress” & “hands stained with pen ink”

it would also be alright if it’s just the first one if ever you don’t feel like writing with two of them in mind !

- 🧸 (i always forget to sign off with this 😭)

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: some non-sexual nudity (it's hardly mentioned only really implied)

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 749 words

“Do we need eggs?” Remus asks from the other room. 

“I don’t think so.” You zip the dress up in the back, relishing in the smooth feel of the fabric on your skin. It fits like it was made for you. “I’m not feeling very eggy lately. Our last ones went bad.” You smile at yourself in the mirror, going to show Remus.

“It just feels strange not to have eggs…” he trails off as you come into view. It’s not your appearance that surprises him—you’ve been showing off your finds from the flea market since you got home—but the dress itself. “That’s pretty.” He sounds a tad breathless. “It’s, um. It’s white.” 

“Yeah,” you laugh, “it was someone’s wedding dress, once. Isn’t it nice?” You give him a little twirl. “I think if I take out some of the layers in the skirt it could be cute for summer. Very flowy.” 

“Very.” Remus caps the pen he was using for your grocery list, amusement coloring his tone. “You look lovely in it, dove. You know everyone will think we’re getting married when you wear it out, though, don’t you?” 

“With the way you dress?” You grin. It worsens when he stands, coming over to you with a grin of his own. “Doesn’t seem likely.” 

“My jumpers are very dapper,” he says, smiling into a kiss. 

You hum noncommittally, and he gives your middle a playful warning squeeze. A quick peck to your lips, then another, longer and sweeter. You set your hands on his chest, feeling the soft material of the jumper he’s wearing now. 

“I don’t know,” you tease, looking down at your contrasting outfits. “I think—oh, Remus!” 

You move away from him, but the damage is done. Two smudges of ink remain on your dress where his fingertips were. 

Remus is quick to follow your gaze. “Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” you say, even as your heart sinks. 

“No, dovey, I’m so sorry.” He looks like he wants to reach for you again, but he looks at his hands and swears instead. “I can—wait one second.” 

He goes back around the counter, and you hear the sink running. 

“Really,” you say, “it’s fine. It was only a few quid.” 

“No, but you were excited about it. I think I can get it out.” 

“It’s ink, Rem, it’s…” 

You trail off as he comes back around the corner, soapy dish sponge in hand, and presses it to your dress. 

“What…” You move your arm out of the way. Remus settles a hand on your hip, holding the both of you steady as he bends closer to your waist. He swipes the sponge over the fabric with a concentrated furrow between his brows. “Are…are you washing me?” 

“I’m getting the stain out.” 

“I don’t think soap is going to do it, honey.” 

The look your boyfriend casts up at you is equal parts loving and exasperated. “It usually works for me. This isn’t my first time getting ink on clothes.” 

That, you can believe. The writing in Remus’ notebooks is always smeared, the culprit to be found in his inky hands. Sometimes you swear he gets black and blue stains up to his elbows. You’ve no clue how he manages it.

“Now we only need to put baking soda on it, and it should come out.” He gives your dress one last good scrub with the sponge.

“Right,” you say hesitantly. “So should I just lie down for that, or…” 

“I probably should have had you take it off first,” Remus admits. “I panicked, a little bit.” 

You laugh. He looks relieved to hear it, some of the guilt easing from his expression. “That’s my fault, I guess.” You unzip the back of your dress, trying to step out of it without disturbing the stain. 

“No, I think it’s all still mine,” Remus says, but he takes it from you.

Once he’s done arranging it in the sink and piling it with baking soda, he comes back to you, slotting a hand behind your ear and letting his fingers slip into your hair. 

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He kisses you. 

You roll your eyes. He knows you can’t be cross at him when he does that. 

“You just didn’t want me to be better dressed than you,” you say, though there’s nothing but fondness to be found in your tone. 

“You’re always better dressed. As you’ve said, the bar isn’t high.” 

“Oh, shut up. You know I like your jumpers just fine.”

[zyafics]

TLC | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (imagine) | x Female Reader

Word Count — 1.0K

lıllılı No Scrubs by TLC

THINKING ABOUT... catching Rafe's eyes across the restaurant. It makes him notice everything about you—the way your cute skirt grazes across your thighs, your short top that's tantalizing enough to reveal a bit of your cleavage but have him wanting more, and your eyes. Fuck, those eyes. He keeps catching your gaze every so often, the innocence gleaming behind them paired with a mischievous look that dares him to move forward and talk to you but also warns that you won't be an easy target.

THINKING ABOUT... you standing from your table, rallying for your entourage to leave, throwing out a hundred-dollar bill to cover the check. You sashay out of the room, your arms linked around another friend, while your skirt rides up just enough to catch a sight of the fullness of your ass, and a trailing of dark ink—as if you have a small tattoo that's begging him to unravel and see. All while you're throwing one last glance over your shoulders to Rafe, with a charming smile that he wonders would be his last.

THINKING ABOUT... Rafe rising from his seat and before he has the chance to think, hustles his friends from the booth and out the door, not wanting to let you slip away. He catches the neon-red glow of rearlights through the window and sees you slip into the backseat of your friend's car.

THINKING ABOUT... you joining the giggles and squeals of your friends, how you're telling you about the boy who's been eye-fucking you all night. But you merely shrug them off. Then, all their easygoing expressions are wiped off their faces as they point to something outside your window, where your back is facing, and turning to discover Rafe hanging out of the passenger side of his friend's car, shouting for your attention.

THINKING ABOUT... how your eyes flit with bright amusement, tilting your head at Rafe as he tries to call out to you. His words are muffled by the closed window, and the high-speed ride down the road, while your friends are laughing and revering over his dangerous act. It's to the point that your best friend, in the driver's seat, slows the car down to match the speed of your courting companion.

THINKING ABOUT... how Rafe is pointing to you, saying something you cannot hear. So, you cup your hand around your ear, mockingly, teasing, asking, "What? What was that?" as Rafe reads your lips in a challenge. He repeats what he's saying, to no avail, before impatience wears thin on his handsome face and he gestures for you to roll down your window. You reluctantly—with the encouragement of your friends—do.

THINKING ABOUT... Rafe asking for your number, the resonance of his volume roars over the heavy grind of car engines, the harsh whistles of the wind, the rich atmosphere of street lamps streaming down the street, the bright lights of towering skyscrapers, and the fullness of traffic surrounding you making your head feel lightheaded. He shouts "I want your number," and you feel an odd mix of endearment from his courage and disapproval at how he's hollering at you from the passenger side of his best friend's car.

THINKING ABOUT... you and Rafe flirting across the flow of traffic. Him asking for your number on several occasions and you rebuffed his each and every attempt. It's exhilarating, how he's sitting on the window seal of the passenger door, while you're unbuckled and twisted, head nearly out of the window. It isn't until there's a traffic light that flashes red that everything changes.

THINKING ABOUT... how Rafe pulled himself back into the car, before opening his door and moving across the stagnant road to open yours. He studies you from head to toe, from the way you sit all pretty and poise on the seat, to your manicured nails that adorns a pretty shade of your favorite color that he can't help but imagine them clawing against his backside. "We don't have space for a spare ride," you would tease him, only for him to respond that he doesn't want a ride. Just a number.

THINKING ABOUT... the ticking clock of your interaction. There's only a couple of seconds until the light flashes green. Your friends are encouraging you, whispering that you'll never meet a guy like him again, who plays dangerous games to make you glance at him; who wants you so badly, that he's willing to defy state laws to grab your attention. You glance at the traffic behind you, the lines of cars waiting, watching, and with great resignation—and the cheers of Rafe's friends from his car—you type the digits into his cell.

THINKING ABOUT... the moment you hand Rafe his phone back, the light turns green. Cars behind goes to honk, telling you to move along, but Rafe refuses to step back to his vehicle. Refuses to budge. He turns to you, with a tilt of his head and a cocky smile. "Kiss for goodbye?"

THINKING ABOUT... how your friends are practically squealing at this invitation. Rafe offers his hand to allow you to step out onto the busy asphalt road, and you step on your tippytoes to give him something on his cheek. But, at the last second, Rafe turns and steals the kiss from your lips.

THINKING ABOUT... how it's the best kiss of your life. He lingers, catching the back of your head as he deepens the taste of your lips, nibbling on the plumped bottom lip, till you part and he swirls his tongue against yours. When you separate, your face is flush with heat, his expression is more than satisfied, and he bids you farewell with a promise of calling you tomorrow. When he drifts back to the passenger seat, he slams the door close, and with a parting glance in your direction, Rafe leaves.

THINKING ABOUT... the aftermath of that. Cars honking snaps you back into reality and you immediately return to the backseat. The moment you return, buckled and seated, your friends are interrogating you about what happened. They were too far to see, to bear witness of what just happened. And when one of their hand lands on your arm, taking in your shocked expression, you answer their question. "Fucker just stole my first kiss."

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

[chunghasweetie]

𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐄 | J.JK

— pairing | fem!oc x tattoo artist!jjk

— summary | jungkook’s still closing up after a long day of work. she went to his shop right after work and she was drained. luckily jungkook was just the right one to cheer her up

— warning | bad writing (i’m doing my best)

unprotected sex, cursing, praising, just sex lol

— word count | 1.3k words

— song suggestion | put it on me — austin mahone

Jungkook had been working at the shop all day. All sorts of clients going in and out of his shop.

His employees had already gone home a while ago. He was still closing up for the night.

He was exhausted and drained. He just wanted to see his girl, though she had never left his mind through his shift.

The clock had just struck 12pm and JK’s Ink Lounge had finally closed up for the night. It was late, and she was barely getting off work around the same time as well.

He hadn’t seen her since last night because of their busy schedules.

She was a nurse and would work insane hours at the clinic. The two hadn’t had a work break in quite some time.

A knock was heard on the locked door of the shop. “We’re closed!” Jungkook called out before looking at the door, realizing it was actually his girlfriend, not a customer.

“Oh shit.” He cursed to himself, getting out and unlocking the door for her.

Jungkook's face lights up when he sees her enter his shop.

“Sorry baby. I forgot my key.” She apologized, pecking her boyfriend’s lips.

“It’s okay beautiful. What made you come here? Aren’t you tired? I thought you were at home.” He asked her, a hint of concern in his voice.

“Wanted to see my boo.” She hummed. “Never get to really see you anymore.”

He exhaled, “Yeah I know.”

“I got dropped tonight so I thought my lovely boyfriend would pick us up dinner on the way home.” She fluttered her lashes cutely.

“Anything for my baby.”

“I’ll help you close. Just do your online stuff and I’ll clean.” Y/n walked to the front desk, setting her purse down.

“No no baby.” Jungkook stopped her. “You gotta be tired Y/n. I don’t want to do that to you.”

“It’s not that bad baby.” She chuckled, grabbing some cleaning products to properly prep the studio. “I want to help you.”

Y/n could almost run the studio on her own. She knew everything and was more than willing to help her man out.

“You’re so amazing.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll hurry.”

“No rush.” She shook her head, getting straight to cleaning.

The two worked on the closing duties, making sure every part of the studio was ready for tomorrow.

“How was work today baby?”

“It was okay.” Y/n shrugged. “I’m so drained.” She complained, taking a seat on his lap.

Jungkook immediately notices her drained expression, and his face falls. He pulls her into a tight hug, rubbing her back soothingly. "What happened, mama?"

“Short staffed again so I was kinda irritated.” She sighed.

He sighs softly, understanding her fatigue all too well. "You know I'm here for you, mama. Always."

His thumb gently strokes the side of her face, trying to ease her stress. "Why don't you let me take care of you for once?"

“Mm no. It’s my job to take care of you.” She protested.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head at her stubbornness. "That's my job, mama. You're too tired to argue, and I can tell you need some pampering."

“You’re so hard working baby. You’re better than me because you can take so much.” He hummed. “Sorry about your day baby.”

His thumb gently traces the outline her lips, before gently kissing them. "Let me take care of you tonight.

“Please.” She gave in, “I need it.”

"You're too beautiful to say no to." He carries her to a guest futon and sits down with her, his arm around her waist as he kisses her once again.

He groans softly, kissing her deeper and harder as his hands begin to roam her body.

"You know what I'm thinking about, pretty?" He whispers into her ear, his lips brushing against it. "I can't wait much longer. I was fucking trying to wait until we got home but— shit I can’t.”

“So fucking pretty” He whispered.

He begins to undress her, kissing every exposed inch of skin.

“Been wanting this for so long.” She spoke, “We never have time anymore.”

He groans as he hears that, his hands cupping her ass as he her you closer to him.

"Fuck I know pretty. I've wanted it just as bad you have no idea.” He lifts her up and positions himself before lowering her onto him.

“Haven’t seen you in so long.” She mumbled. “Haven’t touched you in forever.”

He nods in agreement as he thrusts up in her. "I know, baby. I've missed this too." His hands roam her body, touching every inch of it as he whispers sweet things to her.

"I love you, mama. You're so fucking beautiful." He croaked out.

His hands travel down her body and between her legs, rubbing her in just the right spot as he watches her with lust-filled eyes.

“Mm” She hummed.

Jungkook’s eyes darken at her soft moans as he leans in closer. "Do you want me to fuck you now, baby?"

He whispers hotly in your ear before nipping at her earlobe. "Because I want to fuck you so fucking bad right now. Just say the word.”

“Jungkook please. Want this so bad.” She whimpered

He growls at her whines, pulling out of her before flipping her over and pushing back into her. "Like this, baby?"

His hips piston in and out of her as he holds onto her hips, tugging her back into him as he thrusts forward.

“Fuck Jungkook— yes.”

He smirks as he listens to her pleas for more.

"Yes, baby?" He leans over her, his chest pressed against her back. "Do you like it when I fuck you rough?"

He moans at her words, his thrusts getting faster and harder. "Yeah, baby. You like when I fuck you rough like this hm? You're such a good girl for me."

He bites down on her shoulder as he reaches around and starts rubbing her clit. “So good for me.”

He smirks against her skin, feeling her getting closer to her release.

"That's right, baby. Cum for me. I wanna hear you scream my name." He thrusts into her a few more times before reaching down and starting to rub her clit furiously.

Her legs were shaking and her body was reacting all too well to his touch.

Jungkook was reaching his orgasm as well, trying to chase it with hers.

“Fuck I’m cumming.” She whined.

He groans at her words, feeling himself getting closer to his own release. "Yeah, baby. Cum for me. Cum all over my cock."

He thrusts into her as hard as he can, triggering her orgasm. "Fuck” Jungkook cursed.

“Feels so good— shit” she whimpered.

He growls at her words, feeling himself getting even closer to his release. "Yeah? Mm gonna cum all inside this pussy."

He thrusts into her a few more times before he couldn't take it anymore and cums inside her with a loud groan, filling her up.

“Shitttt” She panted, looking at how messy her pussy was because of them.

He pants hard, his forehead resting against hers as he tries to catch his breath. "Damn, baby. You felt so fucking good."

He smirks and kisses her lips gently. "Thank you, you always let me fuck you so good."

“Anything for you my love.” She giggled. “I can’t believe we had sex in here again.”

He lets out a chuckle, kissing her forehead. "Yeah, I know. I can't help it though. Everytime you walk in here I know I’m done for."

He smirks and kisses her again. "You always make me so excited.”

“You’re just lucky I can’t resist.” She laughed. “Let’s clean now so we can go get food. I’m fucking starving.”

He nods. "Yeah, let's clean up. My stomach is killing me." He pulls out of you and helps clean her up.

“I’m not done with you once we’re home.” He mumbled. “Once that food in my system I’m ready to go.”

“You can’t be serious.” She laughed.

[httpsdana]

Hey! Have you thought about writing for hector fort.

Him and his girlfriend are cuddeling and she starts tracing his tattoo. Just a cute moment with him enjoying the feeling. You could make them talk about their future together or something.

Feel free to ignore!

Tattoos~Hector Fort

*GIF isn't mine. credits to the owner*

I decided to write this hector fic then start with the series. I got a few ideas but I'm still not sure who it will be about. enjoy this <3

@hectorth wrote something similar before me go check it out too 🫶🏻🫶🏻

you can request from my prompt list

this is my master list

player/drivers I write for

Hector had a day off before going back to training, so he took this as a chance to sleep in while settling in the arms of his girlfriend. However, she had other plans. She was an early bird, waking up by 8 in the morning. If she tried to move, Hector would wake up, and that's the last thing she wanted to do.

She turned in Hector's arms, resting his head on her chest and an arm draped over her waist. Sitting there for a few moments she got bored quickly. If she tries to reach over to her phone Hector will wake up.

Subconsciously, her fingers started tracing the tattoo which she adored oh so much on Hector's arm. Her fingertips moving softly on the ink on his skin. The small gesture made Hector stir a bit in his sleep. She didn't stop though. Her fingertips kept dancing on his skin until he opened his eyes and looked up at her.

"mhm buenos dias amor" he mumbled, his voice deep from the slumber he woke up from

"good morning baby" she said back, pressing a small kiss in his curls.

"how long have you been awake, why didn't you wake me up?" he asked her, sitting up a bit.

"you needed this sleep I didn't wanna disturb" she ran one hand through his curls, the other one still on his tattoos

"don't be silly, wake me up next time" he said, resting his head back on her chest

"you know I'm gonna add a tattoo for you" he said. y/n smiled and looked down at hi

"will you?" she asked, failing to hide her huge smile

"of course, and when we have kids I'll add a tattoo for them too" he looked up at her with a smile

she slapped his head gently in a joking manner, trying to hide her blushed cheeks. He chuckled softly at her actions

"I see you already planned our future have you?" she asked with sarcasm, a smile still on her face

'of course, I even planned the names of our kids, and the wedding and our house. don't worry everything is planned out" he said

y/n laughed and shook her head at him.

"tell me your plans" she urged him to speak

"well first of all if we have a girl she'll be called Lucia Alexia Fort. how does that sound?" he looked up, an excited smile on his face. Her heart melted and the joy and excitement on his face. She leaned down and pecked his lips a few times

"I like it, Lucia is such a cute name, why Alexia though?" she asked

"well just because she's a girl doesn't mean she's not gonna be playing football. Alexia just a motivation for her to be like Alexia Putellas" he said. y/n pouted at his explanation, realizing how lucky she got with her boyfriend

"aww you're so cute...I assume the boy's middle name will be Lionel right?" she asked, Hector sat up immediately and nodded his head

"yes! I'm not sure about the first name but Lionel is definitely there" he said, a wide smile spread on his face

y/n sat there, admiring how passionately Hector spoke about their future together. He kept talking about their wedding and house, while she admired every single feature in his face

"i love you" she interrupted him, making him raise his eyebrows, blood rushing into his cheeks. He dropped down on her chest, hiding his red face from her. She giggled softly, kissing the top of his head

"i love you too" he mumbled into her chest, refusing to look up at her

[darlingbabyboo]

I've been thinking for a while about a particular one shot request and I read it last night on another fandom, so now I kinda wanna see it with TR.

So here it is : How would some of the guys react to us doodling on their hand during some boring class? (Mikey, Draken, Takemichi, Mitsuya, Haitani brothers and the Kawata twins)

Sorry if it's too much! It doesn't have to be anything big, just a small reaction would be more than perfect, since I love your writing so much. 🥹

Baby, What Are You Doing...

Summary: the guys react to you doodling on their arms

Notes: some small blurbs about the guys. These vary in length and I was lowkey running out of ideas while I was writing but I tried my best to stay original! Also, not edited bcs I don't got time for that, you see a mistake, no you didn't <333

Mikey is kinda out there so he probably wouldn't even notice you were writing on his hand, but when he does he eats that shit up. He's lazy so he doesn't like going to get tats but he loves some ink. He will praise you and start requesting things like you're a professional artist. 'Please babe, I want a dorayaki on my forearm.' You bite your lip to hide your blossoming smile, 'you know I'm not a professional artist, right?' Your boyfriend shrugs and smacks a kiss to your cheek, 'you are to me babe!'

Draken notices right away what you're doing and is probably a bit confused at first. Like, do you want him to get another tattoo??? He'll do it hun, just ask. You two are relaxing in his bed, just enjoying each other's presence. He's surprised when you pull out a Sharpie and start doodling your name on his arm. 'Honey, what're you doing?' You give a sheepish grin, 'sorry, is it a problem.' He looks at the doodle, and you start to relax when you spot no disgust in his eyes. 'No problem hun,' he turns to you, 'think I should get this my next visit?' You squeal and wrap your arms around his neck as he looks at the doodle in wonder, more love sprouting in his heart.

Takemichi is a loser (affectionate) and he would never get a tattoo because he can't stand that pain, so he will take take that doodle and he will hold it with pride. 'Sweetie, I love it so much!' He wraps his arms around your waist and you can feel his smile against your stomach. You giggle at his wonder at some shitty stick figures along his arms. 'It's really no big deal' You say, running your hands through his hair, 'you don't need to be so happy.' He shakes his head, 'it is a big deal,' He insists, 'I've never seen anything better!'

Mitsuya my love, my heart, my will to live. He will be gassing up so much that you'll probably start believing that you're the best artist in the world. He's just such a supportive cutie pie <3 'Darling, this is one of the greatest things I've ever seen,' You laugh at the amazement in his eyes as you scribble your name in mock script on his arms. It's barley legible, but Takashi doesn't seem to care, 'you sure about that?' The smile doesn't drop from his face as he looks at you with hearts in his eyes, 'I think it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.'

I'm sorry but Smiley is probably the biggest asshole when he catches you doing this. He loves it, I promise, but he's a jerk 100% of the time, it's hard for him to turn it off. He raises an eyebrow when he sees you uncap your sharpie and start to draw something on his hand. 'What the fuck is that supposed to be?' He mutters. You laugh awkwardly at his harsh tone and drop your Sharpie, 'sorry, I just saw some cute videos about people putting their initials on their boyfriends wrists and I thought-it's stupid sorry-I don't know why I did that.' You duck your head down, burying your face into his chest, feeling that your body's on fire. Smiley looks at the half-finished doodle on his wrist. 'Don't stop baby, shit's pretty cute.' He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, 'I might get it tatted up.'

Angry is so flustered when he sees you doing this and he loves it so much okay. He feels like wearing it is a testament of how strong your love is. He will ask you (nervously) to do it every day because he doesn't want it to fade. 'Oh my gosh! Souya, you scared me, what're you doing there?' He stands awkwardly in the corner of your room, playing with the ends of his sleeves. 'Sorry... I didn't want to scare you... I just...' He pulls up his sleeve and he sees the fading bunny on his arm. 'I don't wanna bother you, I just-' 'Don't worry baby, I get it.' You cut him off, cupping his cheek and placing a kiss on his cheek. You pull him towards the bed and tell him to wait, 'I just need to get my Sharpies!'

Ran won't notice I'm sorry. He sleeps most of the day and he already has so much ink that some doodles won't pop out to him too much. It's only until he notices you doodling on a piece of paper one day and compares it to what's all over his arms that he starts tweakin'. 'Angel have you been inkin' me up?' He raises an eyebrow at you, confused. You hide your smile, 'of course not, I have no idea what you're talking about.' He narrows his eyes, '...okay.' Not completely believing you, but too sleepy to question things. 'Wanna take a nap?' You feel the Sharpie in your pocket and bite the inside of your cheeks, 'I'd love to!'

Rindou will eat that shit up, oh my gosh he loves it so much. He's like the extreme version of Angry and Mikey. He wants it obvious, and he wants it bold. 'C'mon princess, your name on my collarbone, I need it.' You raise an eyebrow as you straddle him, 'in red though, that's a bit... much.' He shakes his head, 'no, no, it'll be perfect.' You shake your head in exasperation, your boyfriend is a big dummy, but he loves you with every part of himself.

[ellecdc]

Things You Can Say in a Swim Lesson & Also in Bed

meet cute/ugly - swim instructor!marauders + fem!reader

find part two here!

CW: learning to swim/fear of drowning, sexual innuendos, swearing (you know what to expect from me by now)

You were excited. Really, you were. 

Your best friend in the entire world was getting married, and she wanted to be married in the Maldives. So, that’s where you were going.

It didn’t matter if you might need to take out a small loan to afford the trip and time off, and it doesn’t matter that all of the events happening before the event were just as expensive.

This was your best friend, dammit! And you were happy for her.

There was only one problem.

You can’t swim.

But that was going to change today! Or...at least in the next few weeks starting today because you were officially taking swimming lessons.

You were not going to fly to the most beautiful beaches and islands in the world and be the fall risk on bridges, docks, and boats. And for fuck’s sake, you were going to swim with the dolphins whether it killed you (literally) or not.

So, you signed up to take swimming lessons. You felt ridiculous.

You felt even more ridiculous as you stood in the changeroom of a very posh country club that your best friend’s fiancé’s parents own, in a one-piece swimsuit you bought just for these lessons (the only swimsuit’s you owned her two pieces because their main use was for tanning).

You tried to find the most modest swimsuit you could, which was very difficult and still not quite as modest as you’d like because for fuck’s sake why won’t the bum cover your entire arse cheek!?

The people leaving behind you were all middle-aged to senior couples who obviously worked in ‘the business’ whatever the fuck that meant because they can clearly afford the membership fees this place obviously charges per month if their gold and crystal chandeliers in the bathroom stalls meant anything.

You tried to readjust your poor swimsuit one last time before grabbing your towel and making your way to the pool. You just hoped you didn’t flash your tits to the other children likely attending swimming lessons.

Except...you got to the pool and there was no one else there. 

Well, that’s not entirely true. There was one sexy looking lifeguard covered in various tattoos which stood out brilliantly against his fair skin. His black hair rivaled the ink of his tattoos and was long enough to be pulled back into a messy bun behind his head – though a few stray locks seemed determined to keep their place next to his sharp jawline.

You were jealous of strands of hair.

There was also another lifeguard on the other end of the pool putting away various life rings, flutter boards and lane dividers. He was just as striking as the first lifeguard for nearly opposite reasons. His skin was a deep tan colour, and he wasn’t built like a swimmer – rather, he was built quite like a body builder. His arms and torso were lined with hard defined muscle and his thighs...

For fuck’s sake, stop staring at the man’s thighs.

He had a mop of curly dark hair and a pair of glasses that seemed foggy with the humidity of the room; he seemed no less happy about his current surroundings because of it, however.

You awkwardly looked behind you into the changeroom to see if the rest of your class was coming out. Maybe you should text your friend? Ask her to confirm with her fiancé that you got the times right?

“Here for the swim lessons, love?” a deep, lilting voice startled you from your pondering.

You turned towards the voice and were accosted by the view of a third beautiful man.

Is it, like, a requirement to be hot as hell to work here!? 

The man had honey blonde curls and eyes to match that screamed trouble, but the kind of trouble you’d far too willingly find yourself immersed in. Unlike his tanned, spectacled friend, this man was built like a swimmer; he was all long limbs and long muscles, and unfairly tall. You forgot how to speak.

“I’m Remus, I’ll be the instructor tonight. What’s your name?” He asked you like he didn’t have it in front of him on his damp clipboard.

You cleared your throat and offered it to him, and he smiled at your shyness. The smile pulled at a scar that ran through the right side of his lip, and you noticed that he had a few more scattered across his face. They didn’t make him any less handsome, however. Damn him.

“Alright, Y/N. What has motivated you to learn to swim?”

You furrowed your brows at him and looked behind yourself again. “Shouldn’t we wait for the rest of the class?”

His smile faltered as his brows furrowed to match yours. “Class?”

“Private lessons, Dollface.” The tattooed man drawled as he made his way over to you.

“You’ve got the pool to yourself tonight.” He added with a wink.

“This is a private class.” Remus clarified.

“Jesus Christ.” You muttered. You were startled by a bark of a laugh from the tattooed man and immediately flushed to realize you’d said that out loud.

“How did you not know you booked a private class?” Remus asked with a bemused smile.

You sighed, face feeling like it was about to melt off from sheer embarrassment. “I didn’t book it. My uhm, my friend’s fiancé’s family owns this place and said he’d set it up for me. I thought it was going to be a group thing.”

You felt awfully foolish as the two men nodded. “What made you want to learn?” Remus asked again.

“Uhm, that same friend – her wedding is this spring, and it’s a destination wedding.” But the tattooed man started nodding before you’d even finished. 

“You wanna swim with the fishes, but not in the mobster way. Got it.” He said as he clapped his hands together.

“Sirius.” Remus gently chided the man. “That’s fair, well, you’ve given yourself a lot of time to learn. I figured we’d start by finding out how much you already know.”

You grimaced.

“Well, that’ll be easy, seeing as I know nothing.” 

“Nothing?” Remus asked.

“Nothing.” You confirmed.

Sirius and Remus shared a glance before turning back to you with matching smiles.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” 

“Prongs! We got a firstie!” The tattooed man – Sirius – shouted to the tanned man across the pool as he confidently made his way to the edge of the pool. You opted to skirt around the edge – widely.

The tanned man gasped (far more dramatically than you felt the situation called for) and immediately dropped everything that had been in his arms. 

“No.” He bellowed. “Can I help?!”

Great, now you were going to be inhaling pool water whilst three of the hottest men on earth watched – no big deal.

“That’s up to our swimmer.” Remus said as he looked towards you for an answer.

“I’d relax on the use of that title until you see me in the water.” You muttered.

Sirius barked another laugh, which made the corners of your mouth lift in comradery. He had a way of making you feel funnier than you likely were, just by enjoying your banter. 

“What do you think? Me and James here can be the rest of the class you thought you would be a part of.” He offered with a smirk.

“Class?” James asked, “I thought this was a private session.”

“It is.” Remus answered with a slight edge, clearly used to the other two men getting off topic. “She had the lessons booked for her – she didn’t realize.”

“Gotcha” James said with a clap of his hands. “Okay, I’m all caught up, lets swim!” and with that, he jumped sideways and made a large splash as he landed in the water.

“You’re welcome to use the stairs like a civilized person.” Remus said to you kindly as Sirius cannonballed himself into the pool behind him. Upon hearing the splash, Remus closed his eyes in exasperation. 

You took his advice and used the stairs, wading into the pool until the water hit around your waist.

“So, you’ve never been in a pool before?” Remus asked as he placed his clipboard on a flutter board and mindlessly sent it sailing to Sirius.

“No, not like this.”

“Okay. Do you know how to float?” He continued

You shook your head and looked down to the water.

“That’s alright. That’s perfect, that’s where we’ll start, alright?” He offered you, bending to try and catch your eyes. He was smiling kindly at you and his eyes oozed empathy.

“Here, Jamie and Sirius will demonstrate what we’ll do.”

Without a second though, James threw himself onto his back and brought his feet up, so he was floating on top of the water in a star-fished position. 

Sirius smiled down at him like he was the sun and placed his arm just below him to ‘support his weight’ – though you were well aware that part was just for show.

“Now, we’ll do it right here where you are now; you can touch the bottom, so even if you feel like you’re going to sink, you can just stand up.” Remus encouraged you.

Your heart fell at the ‘sink’ part.

“You also have three certified lifeguards here.” James offered sympathetically.

Yeah, three real Adonis’ here to watch me drown.

“Nothing will happen, love.” Sirius offered in the softest tone you’ve heard him speak since you met him, apparently your trepidation made itself known on your face.

“I’ll help you get into position, okay? Lean back... atta girl, just like that.” Remus coached you as he supported your back, and one of the other men grabbed your ankles to ease them up. The hands near your feet surprised you and you breathed in a gasp, which was mistaken for anxiety. 

“Hey, you’re alright, okay?” Remus said as he paused all movements, “I will not let anything happen to you.”

Jesus Christ, he was going to put you into cardiac arrest.

“Okay.” You offered instead of swearing at him and continued to lean back with his support.

Suddenly, you were suspended above the water as the hands (apparently, they were James’) let go of your ankles. Your instinct was to start kicking and tense up.

“No, you’re alright, keep your legs up and relax.” Sirius coached you from your other side.

Things you can say in a swim lesson and also in bed. 

“I’ve still got you.” Remus reminded you as you tried to do what you were told.

Your legs kept wanting to sink to the bottom, but you did your best to will them upward. 

“Try to take in a breath – the more air you have in your chest, the more buoyant you’ll be.” Remus told you.

You did as you were told, and your ears sunk just below the water.

“You can keep breathing, dollface.” Sirius said, and you felt your cheeks flush as you let out the breath you were apparently holding.

You listened to the sound of the water lapping against your head and the edge of the pool and timed seemed to slow.

This was actually quite nice – floating. You like floating, you decide. You’d like to do more of it; maybe this will be how you would spend your time at the beach in the Maldives and oh my god where is he going get back here you son of a bitch. 

Remus’ hand began to sneak away from you, and in your panic to correct yourself without his assistance, you overcompensated and ended up below the water line.

Gentle hands grabbed your forearms and hauled you above the surface again and you made terribly embarrassing choking and gasping sounds as you wrapped your arms and legs around the being like a newborn koala bear.

“Easy, easy. Hey, you’re okay! You almost had it! You did so well, look at you.” James said brightly as he pushed some of your wet hair away from your face with careful fingers, apparently unaffected by your attaching yourself to him.

Between the men, their flustering you, and the water up your nose – you decided you’ll just spend your vacation at the beach side bar.

[thehighladywrites]

— “pink + ink = cute tattoos”

☀︎ — pairing: nerd azriel x bimbo/ditzy/popular reader

☀︎ — summary: you miss azriel and are delighted when he comes back with a permanent reminder of you

☀︎ — warnings: light nsfw, making out, ink, talk about needles, horny reader, horny az, sad bc she misses az, fluff and some crack

☀︎ — amara’s note: i’d let az prone bone me if he did this for me🥰

series masterlist

Six days.

It has been six whole days since you last saw Azriel. To say it’s horrible is an understatement. Countless of times, you thought about going over and telling him how much you miss him, but he has exams, and you know you will be a distraction.

Even though he insisted he was fine with you around, you wanted him to focus, so you sent him off. Now, you had no one to blame but yourself, and the regret was palpable.

With a dramatic sigh, you skipped over to your comically large, pink, frilly bed— almost sinking in the marshmallow like mattress before you pulled out your even pinker phone. Dialing the number of the love of your life, you hoped to hear his voice and feel a bit closer to him.

After the last ring, the line goes straight to voicemail. “Hello. It is I, Azriel. Be so kind and leave a message after the beep.”

Your eyes roll playfully at your boyfriend’s formal way of talking. “Hi, honey! Can you call me back? I miss you soooo much. It’s, like, so lonely here, and I don’t even know why I sent you away in the first place.” Tears start to well up as you sniffle dramatically. “I think m’gonna die without you. Um, anyway, call me back, okay? Love ya lots..”

Your miserable pout only grows as you slowly put down your phone. For over two hours, you check it repeatedly, hoping for any new messages from him only to be met with radio silence. After two and a half hours, a knock echoes through your apartment.

Your eyes widen comically, heart beating twice as fast as you rush to the door. When you open it and see Azriel standing there with a soft smile, dimples on display, you can't believe your eyes.

“Baby! I missed you!” you squeal, leaping into his arms with such force that he almost topples over. He catches you as he hugs you warmly

Azriel’s rich, deep laughter is soothing you immediately. You nuzzle into his neck before jumping up and locking your legs around his waist.

You plant soft kisses all over his face and neck as he walks over to your massive bed and plops down on it. You pull back slightly, your hands gently brushing his hair out of his face so you can fully appreciate him.

His cheeks are flushed, his lips are slightly swollen, and his hair is adorably ruffled. “You look so handsome, Azriel,” you murmur, your eyes sparkling with affection.

“You’re a sweetheart,” he murmurs against your swollen, tinted lips before diving in for more kisses.

You find yourselves on the bed, entangled in a mess of limbs, legs intertwined, hands exploring under clothes, completely lost in each other.

Your soft hands weave into his hair, nails lightly scraping against his scalp as you swing your legs over lap, sitting on top of his lying body.

“I’m never, ever telling you to focus on school instead of me. God, i missed you.”

“I missed you even more, and i saw that you called me. I had to let it ring unfortunately.”

“Aw, why? Didnt wanna talk to me or something?” you lightly joke as the idea of him ignoring you spark tears in your eyes.

Azriel notices this and smiles softly. “It was not because i didn’t want to talk to you, it was because I was getting tattoed.”

Had this been a cartoon, your tears would have reversed and your eyes would have popped outta your skull. The idea of Azriel getting more tattoos made you all giggly and fluttery.

“You got even more?! Where? How many? What did ya get? Please let me see!” you beg sweetly, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

Azriel smiles, reaching down to pull off his oversized hoodie, revealing his newest tattoos.

Your eyes widen, hands flying to your mouth as you gasp loudly. Right above his heart is your name in delicate script, and just below his hip, ln his v-line, is a spider.

“No freakin’ way, my name? All for me? Awww, Azzie baby, that's so cute, I think i’ll cry!” you giggle with tears in your eyes, throwing your arms around his neck before planting a kiss on his lips.

“I think you deserve some head and a good fuck,” you mumble against his lips, fingers going over the inked skin.

“You don’t have to do that, please don’t feel like you owe it to me,” he tells you in a gentle tone.

“But i really wanna. You got my named inked on you and it makes me hot on the inside so i want to fuck you, is that cool?”

Azriel nods as he kisses you deeply, blushing as you put your hand down his pants, slowly stroking his growing cock.

—

It drives you mad knowing he permanently altered himself for you. He put a reminder on his heart no less, for the rest of his life. Your hips rocked against his as you rode him, doe eyes glued to his tattoos. “Say my name— please Az, say my name,” you whine, eyes closing as he repeats your name in a forbidden tone.

Azriel suddenly flips you over on your back before he pounds into you, secretly smiling at your moaning self. He pulls out just to watch his cock go inside of you very slowly. Azriel does this a few times, eyes locking in on where his dick bulges your stomach.

His hand rests on your stomach as he watches your stomach bulge with every thrust. “Do you feel me in here? Feel how deep inside I am, baby?”

One look at him is all it takes for you to finally cum with a sob. “Y-yes, fuck— feels so good, azzie,” you cry out as you hold his hand.

After cumming inside, he carefully pulls out and lies next to you. “I think I have an unhealthy obsession with you. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, you know? Fuck, I really love you,” he murmurs while smoothing out your hair and kissing your jaw and neck.

“You’re too sweet, baby. I love you too,” you quip, kissing him back.

—

“Az, I'm really nervous. Do you think it's gonna hurt?” you ask, standing outside Azriel’s usual tattoo studio, the neon sign flashing a welcome at you.

“I’m going to be honest, sweetness. It will not tickle; it’s a needle,” he says gently. “But you don’t have to do this. We can go back if you’re afraid or uncomfortable,” he adds, sensing your nerves.

You look up at him, squeezing his hand tighter. “No thank you, I think i’m good but could you please hold my hand during?” you ask sweetly.

Azriel kisses your hairline, inhaling the familiar scent of your strawberry shampoo. “Of course, beautiful. Feel free to crush it if you need to,” he jokes.

You nod determinedly, taking a deep breath before strutting into the tattoo shop with Azriel by your side, heels clicking against the concrete floor.

—

After two excruciating hours of sniffling and crushing Azriel’s hand, you leave the tattoo shop with Azriel's name inked on your lower back next to a heart. You also have a small Hello Kitty tattoo on your left pointer, dedicated to your kitten, all in pink ink. You can't stop smiling as you show him the delicate designs, feeling a mix of pride and excitement.

Azriel's face seems to soften impossibly. “It looks amazing, baby. You’re so brave,” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You giggle, leaning into him. “I did it, Azzie. Now we match!” You turn to give him a wink. “Plus, pink is so cute, right? Oh! Also imagine how cute this will look during backshots!”

Azriel chuckles, kissing your forehead. “Cute indeed. It suits you perfectly.” He admires the tattoo again with darkened eyes. “I think we should really head back home, right? I’d really like to appreciate up close. I’ll buy you ice cream too,” he suggests.

“Yes! That sounds perfect,” you beam, feeling a rush of happiness as you walk hand in hand, ready to celebrate your new ink together.

You also feel a rush of excitement, knowing that Azriel is going to fuck you into oblivion. With the way he is staring at you, there’s just no way you’re not getting some.

🏷️: @vbbaby-girl @whatdoyxumean @honeybeeboobaa @thescooby-gang @linoisqt @mischiefmanagers @tortured-artists @to-be-written @sidthedollface2 @stasiereads @amara-moonlight @scoobies @caroline-books @kalulakunundrum @meshelleexplosionmurder @danikamariewrites @claireswritingcorner @redbleedingrose @jeannineee @nocasdatsgay @v3lv3t-f0x @liati2000 @teenageeggscissorslawyer @impossibelle @stonerpersona @dreamlandreader @djaaaa @cadiawrites @thelov3lybookworm @polli05927 @ahitsalyssa @evergreenlark @thegirlintheshadows101 @saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofladydeath @acourtofwhatthefuck @readychilledwine @daycourtofficial @azriels-shadowsinger @sapphicmsmarvel @hungryforbatboys @justasillylittlegoofyguy @luvmoo @emryb @meritxellao @mochibabycakes @artists-ally @azzieslittlebunny @berryzxx @sweetshifter @lilah-asteria @hannzoaks @throneofsmut @taterslaters

[batbabydamian]

BATMAN AND ROBIN (2023) #14 by Phillip Kennedy Johnson and Javier Fernandez! rambling about the new team and arc!! a jumping-on point for anyone wanting to read recent Bruce and Damian comics 🦇🐥

setting the stage with action!! mystery and intrigue!! expectations for further character exploration for Damian!!

if that's not enough to pique interest, here's a rendition of one of the many cute grumpy Damian panels

first of all THE OPENING ACTION SCENE OH MY GOD (this splash page hello!!)

i love...the collaborative effort in comics...it shines through right from the start, especially when it involves traditional inks 😭

using this single panel as an example from Fernandez’s ig:

Fernandez lays out most of the groundwork in his inks - the fully inked silhouette of the driver in the foreground, the shading suggesting the lighting, the white ink/paint lined and splattered for the rain!!

then off to colors with Marcelo Maiolo!! he elevates the panel to emphasize how it's a shot from within the vehicle looking out the windshield - the lightly tinted inks, the bright lighting from headlights, and the slight window sheen + bokeh!!

one more similar example, with comparison by the man himself - Fernandez already implying the glare, scraping white against Batman and Robin's silhouettes. then punched up with Maiolo's colors/lighting!! WOW!!

OKAY SORRY ONE MORE along with Steve Wands’ consistently lovely lettering, Fernandez included his own sfx in his inks of this page!! not sure how often he does it past this, but SO cool!! ever since seeing Juni Ba's sfx lettering in his inks, it's such a sick extra detail to me 😭

ANYWAY i can go on about what i love about each panel for this scene but gotta move on from the explosive intro of Batman and Robin to the more grounded side of Bruce and Damian (which ends up being just as explosive)!! 🥺

there's small details carrying over from Williamson's run like Bruce making Damian vegan meals and Damian creating comics; otherwise, we have a much more engaging writing of the two almost reminiscent to Tomasi and Gleason's run!

one example being his attitude towards a fancy event interrupting his and Dick's patrol in Batman and Robin (2009) #20

the first line from Bruce and Damian's disregard for a fundraising event is a bit of head scratcher to me when Damian is plenty compassionate, BUT for the sake of a jumping-on arc for new readers it’s a clear point of reference for Damian’s character - a kid who believes more in Batman and Robin work than what could be done outside of those masks. it becomes a matter of how Damian's perspective might change around this subject and how he'll take action in helping outside of Robin 🤔

another similar Tomasi-esque moment is Damian's snark about his grandfather lol, a sentiment that carries over from Batman and Robin (2011) #1

PKJ references his Ra's al Ghul story from Gotham City Villains Anniversary Giant! especially curious when the final line by Talia is "...you will see my father again", when Ra's is currently dead. a fun lil callback or also a convenient nod to future plans? 👀

NOW THE MYSTERY AND INTRIGUE OF IT ALL...

Bruce's attention is caught by this man shouting "You sit atop the wheel" which i'm guessing is in reference to the Wheel of Fortune, especially if we're going by a literal interpretation of the rich and poor (depicting the group among tents and carts).

i'm really reaching here, but wondering if Bruce calling himself “Jack” at some point is also related to the arcana. the only relation i could find is the Page of Wands, and the Jack once being referred to as a "knave"

EDIT: an anon reached out to inform me that Bruce called himself “Jack” during his training! seems to be first introduced in Batman: The Knight (2022) #4

THE REVEAL OF THE NEW VILLAIN, MEMENTO...the first page opens on a deceased person's face, and the last dialogue is "We will see your face again." AND OH BOY WE CERTAINLY DO! 😭

the flames casting a harsh light against the plaster (or stone??) of Memento's mask, and how he looms over Bruce...SO EERIE...

FINAL RAMBLY THOUGHTS

Damian being colored with noticeable melanin...🥺 i can only assume this was a deliberate choice made by PKJ since the editors haven't changed, and for the past issues Damian's colors have been independent to the colorists - the only edit being after Rex Lokus gave him green eyes in #5 but were returned to blue in #6 (for consistency ig). along with the classic teen asian haircut, this feels intentional on PKJ's part and i hope Damian will continue to be colored brown here and other books 🥺👉👈

one of the things PKJ teased in an interview was the idea of Damian wondering if he even wants to still be Robin, much less Batman (begging this is where main canon Damian gives the Batman mantle up lol). so presenting Damian here as someone absorbed in that life makes me wonder what triggers those thoughts - is it going to be this incident or later? more currently, will Damian be able to protect the civilians that Bruce entrusted him with? especially after getting familiar with a few, however reluctantly?

anyway, a banger first issue that leaves you with just enough crumbs to know what you're expecting but still beg for more: what's the mysterious new group/villain, and their connection to Bruce? will Dr. Bashar and the Wayne grandparents have more to do with the story? how will this all affect Damian outside of being Robin? Talia and Ra’s?? so many questions!!

[thephant0menace]

| Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley head cannons

‘Tattoos’

Warning: Simon Riley x fem!reader, strong language, just a cute little fluff cause I thought of this when I was scrolling through Pinterest😻

You always had a thing for Simons arms. You found them so sexy….

You liked how muscular and veiny they were.

But something that really got you was the sleeve of tattoos that covered his forearm.

Simon was never made aware of this, thank god. You thought he’d find it weird…

This was until one day, the two of you were sitting on the couch together on a cold winters day in your little shared apartment in Manchester.

His arms were wrapped around you as you snuggled into his chest, watching a show you forced him to watch. (Probably some roncom he claims to hate but deep down he loves.)

As you watched in comfortable silence, you begin to trace your fingers along the outlines of his tattoos. Tracing out his veins carefully.

The simple touch sends shivers down his spine. The feeling of your nails dragging along his inked skin is so addicting.

You continue to drag your fingers along the tattoos, taking in the pretty designs of the art carefully.

Simon notices you marvelling at his arms and let’s out an amused grunt.

“watcha lookin’ at, sweetheart?”

His gruff voices brings you out of your thoughts.

“Nothing,” you almost whisper looking back up at him, “just like your tattoos.”

Simon chuckles to him self, “is that so?”

You nod, slightly embarrassed but then an idea pops into your head…

“Hey Simon?” You ask with a cheeky smirk on your face.

He hums in response and you sit up properly on the couch, smirk still plastered on your face.

“Can I colour in your tattoos?” You ask trying to hold a laugh in.

His face goes from amused to absolutely dumbfounded.

He sits in silence, staring at you before finally speaking.

“Sorry what?”

“Can I colour your tattoos in?” You repeat.

With a little bit (a lot) of begging he finally gave in and you happily ran off to find markers to begin your masterpiece.

You begin colouring in all the different shapes and designs and occasionally asking Simon what the tattoo meant to him and why he got it.

“What about this one?”

“Don’t fuckin’ know…Johnny made me get it when I was drunk.”

It was also an effort to get the motherfucker to sit still as he was so incredibly ticklish. It astounded you.

“Simon! Stay still, please!” You laugh, climbing onto his lap to try hold his giant squirming body down.

“Tickles s’much, lovie. Fuck-“ he says, burying his head in your neck, trying to hold his laughs in.

Although he complained through the whole thing…deep down he loved it. He found it cute that you were so interested in his tattoos and that you wanted to colour them in.

Would he ever admit it though?

No.

A/N: this was so random but I had the idea and HAD to do something on it! I’m currently working very hard on a ghost smut so get ready for that…hopefully will be up by next week! Thank you for all the love on my last post, love you all🫶

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Butter

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: None

Summary: What if Joel doesn't forget to buy himself a cake for his birthday? But by the time he remembers, all the bakeries in his neighbourhood are closed - except yours.

Warnings: No outbreak AU, pure fluff, mentions of baking and food, meet cute, some sexual tension but very mild stuff compared to my other fics, single dad!Joel being a sexy menace, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has an accent similar to Joel, very lightly edited, not my best work, but I'm in my writing for fun era 💁🏻‍♀️

Word count: 3.6k

Notes: It's here! This was an exercise in speed writing, and just putting words to paper without overthinking anything. I really enjoyed writing this sweet little piece, this is dedicated to @psychedelic-ink who has been the biggest cheerleader for this idea since day one. Happy birthday to our favourite single dad who never lived through a cordyceps outbreak ❤️

September 26, 2003 was supposed to be a good day.

It’s Friday, after all. Not that the weekend is relevant to you anymore, with Saturdays and Sundays being the busiest days for business. But you have a date for once tonight, and you’re determined to enjoy it.

If you can get the goddamn security shutter to close, that is.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pull futilely at the bottom of the metal shutter with both hands, but it refuses to budge. You lament the sweat seeping through the fabric of the nice dress you changed into, the hem reaching almost indecent heights on the back of your thighs where it’s climbed up. And you don’t have to look at your reflection to know that stress has already smudged the edges of the eyeliner you hurriedly painted on as soon as you got the last customer out the door.

You can be forgiven for not noticing the wash of yellow headlights over the windows of the shop front and the sound of rolling tyres as a truck pulls up on the curb outside the bakery, until a gravelly voice pipes up behind you alongside hurried footsteps.

‘Ma’am, please tell me you’re still open.’

You tap on the ‘Closed’ sign through the window without turning around, determined to wrangle the shutter into submission. ‘Bad luck buddy, come back tomorrow. We open at nine sharp.’

‘No I can’t, I’m so sorry, but I need a cake now.’

Curiosity turns your head, and over your shoulder, you find a broad-shouldered man in a dark tshirt and casual jeans standing a respectful four paces away. Under eyebrows sloping downwards in a pleading angle that matches the slant of his moustache, his warm and imploring eyes are on you.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I really need to go,’ you say. ‘Can you give me a hand?’

‘Look, I’ll do you one better. I’ll fix the shutter for you for free - if you sell me a cake.’

You purse your lips, the prospect of saving on what looks like an inevitable repair bill tempting. ‘You can fix it?’

‘I’m a contractor,’ he replies, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a battered looking wallet. ‘Here’s my card, if you think I’m bluffin’.’

Miller & Associates is printed in bold across the top, and underneath, is presumably his name and cell number. Glancing up at him, you say, ‘Look, Mr. Miller, I really want to help, but I’m late for a date, and I’m all sold out of cakes today -’

‘I’ll take anything you got. Cupcakes, cookies, whatever you have left,’ he cuts in, then apologises in quick succession, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’m sorry to be so pushy - I’m not, usually - but I promised my daughter I’d bring something home, and by the time I remembered, this is the only place I could think of. Please.’

You feel the exact moment your resolve crack, and then fold like a goddamn lawn chair. What can you say, this contractor really knows how to work those puppy eyes, and you can never say no to a man who refuses to let their kid down. 

Especially when the man looks like this.

Shooting off a text to your date to push back your dinner plans, you nod towards the door. ‘Alright. C’mon in, Mr. Miller.’

‘Nice place you got here,’ he remarks politely, hovering by the entrance as the fluorescent lights flicker on, his manners impeccably southern. 

‘You don’t have to flatter me, I’ve already let you in,’ you joke, lips quirking at the way he flusters. ‘But I appreciate it. You been here before?’

When he smiles, you notice the corners of his eyes crinkle charmingly. ‘No, but I know I’ll be comin’ back.’

‘I wasn’t lying when I said I was out of ready-made cakes,’ you tell him, holding the door open to the kitchen so he can come in after you. ‘But I have some cake layers in the fridge so I can put together something fairly quickly.’

He ducks his head in a manner that tells you he’s not used to demanding things, and protests, ‘I don’t want to put you out. I meant it, if you just have some cupcakes or somethin’ -’

‘Listen, you promised your daughter a cake, didn’t you?’ you interrupt.

He shrugs. ‘Well, yeah I did -’

‘I’m guessin’ it’s for a birthday?’

He nods sheepishly. ‘It is.’

‘Well, as a baker, ‘mfraid I can’t let a cakeless birthday happen on my watch, Mr. Miller,’ you insist, opening the fridge door with a flourish. ‘Let’s see what we have here. Cake for three, I assume?’

‘Two, actually.’

Hopefully you’re as discreet as you think you are when your eyes drop to his left hand - his fourth finger is conspicuously ringless.

Interesting.

You hum, considering the mismatched options in your inventory. ‘It’s gonna be a bit of a Frankenstein’s monster of a cake, if you don’t mind. How does chocolate and vanilla layers with cookies and cream frosting sound?’

‘Sounds perfect,’ he answers without skipping a beat. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

You shake your head, hands full of cake rounds wrapped in cling film as you nudge the fridge close. ‘Please, call me Bri, Mr. Miller.’

‘And you can call me Joel,’ he says in return. ‘Is Bri short for somethin’?’

Laying the cakes on the work surface, you reply, ‘Yeah, Bri for brioche, like the bread. It's a silly nickname.’

The single dad surprises you with a low whistle. ‘Can’t say I saw that comin’.’

You grin. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Joel.’

You don’t often have an audience while baking, and you find yourself talking Joel through the steps while you prep everything for assembly.

Swirling a spatula through the tub of buttercream you made earlier that day, you explain, ‘I just need to whip up some of this frosting so that it’s nice and soft for putting the cake together. You wanna help me break up some Oreos so we can make it cookies and cream?’

‘I’m all yours, chef,’ he says, one corner of his mouth curling into a teasing smile that has no business warming the apples of your cheek as it does. ‘Just tell me what to do.’

While your Kitchenaid whirrs to life, whipping air into the buttercream, Joel wields a rolling pin, smashing a generous helping of Oreos into crumbs in a Ziplock bag. The almost exaggerated care with which he moves speaks to inexperience in the kitchen, and you muse that either his kid makes up for it in that department, or they live off takeout.

Eventually, he picks up the bag and looks at you in a question. ‘I think I’m done?’

You smile and tap the lip of the mixing bowl. ‘That’s perfect. Why don’t you tip in the crumbs straight in here?’

Before you can step back to allow him space, Joel’s taken two strides towards you, and his arm brushes your shoulder when he lifts the bag and tilts the contents into the frosting. He’s warm and solid, and damnit, he smells good - like sawdust and sweat.

The thought comes to you unbidden - what a man.

There’s a lull, and only when you feel the weight of eyes on you do you realise that you missed his question.

‘Did you say somethin'?’ you squeak, embarrassed.

‘I said, is this ok?’ he repeats, nodding at the mixing bowl.

You nearly stumble over your words. ‘Yes, yes it’s perfect.’

He watches you closely, a touch of concern in his brown eyes. ‘You ok there, honey?’

‘Yup,’ you chirp, far too cheerfully. ‘Just need to mix it all up now -’

If you had your wits about you, you would stir in the crumbs first and set the machine on low. But this man somehow stole said wits by sheer proximity to you, and you accidentally start the Kitchenaid on high, an indignant yelp escaping you when Oreo dust flies aggressively out of the bowl along with a splatter of white buttercream that lands squarely on the front of your dark knit dress.

‘Oh shit!’ you cry out, frantically turning off the mixer. ‘Shit shit shit!’

Over your panicked mantra, Joel is calmness itself. ‘Hang on, honey, I gotcha.’

He makes a beeline towards the sink, grabbing a tea towel and wets it under the tap with a bit of dishwashing liquid. It all screams competent single dad, and you find yourself staring at his unfairly large hand, mapped with thick veins, holding out the damp towel for you to take.

‘Thanks,’ you stutter self-consciously, the tips of your ears hot while swiping at the stain. ‘That was a rookie mistake. I promise I’m actually a good baker.’

He gives you a wink to put you at ease. ‘Don’t worry, I believe you.’

Starting over, the mixer hums as it gently incorporates the Oreos until the buttercream is a speckled grey and doubled in volume. ‘Looks like it’s ready. You wanna taste, Joel?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘D’ya have a spoon or somethin’ for me?’

‘You can use your fingers,’ you reply, and it's too late to take it back.

You feel the back of your neck heating up when he shoots you a meaningful look, just a touch of mischief in the tilt of his lips. 

‘Can I, now?’ he teases.

You try a nonchalant shrug that probably comes off as painfully awkward. ‘This batch is just for you, I won’t tell the health inspector if you don’t.’

Joel chuckles, his strong shoulders quaking. And so you watch, shamelessly, as he raises his right hand, index and middle fingers at the ready, before diving into the metal bowl, scooping up a generous dollop of buttercream. There’s a peek of his pink tongue when his plush lips part, and then he sucks his fingers into his mouth with a gratuitously loud moan, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

When he turns to you with a pained expression on his face, maintaining eye contact all the while licking an errant streak of frosting off the side of his middle finger, you gape at him for a whole five seconds before you manage to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

‘Good?’ you barely manage to squeak.

‘You betcha, honey,’ he declares, then adds, ‘Mind if I double dip?’

He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know it, but a hot flush runs through your body and you swallow thickly. ‘You can do whatever you want, cowboy.’

You don’t think you’re imagining the wicked glint in his answering stare - you’re getting yourself into trouble, and don’t you know it. 

Clearing your throat, you attempt to thwart your mind's dangerous descent into the gutter by changing the subject. ‘So, I can do somethin’ really snazzy that I think your daughter would like - do you know what a piñata cake is?’

He shakes his head. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

‘Hardly,’ you chuckle. ‘It’s a cake filled with sprinkles, so when you cut into it, it’s a sprinkles surprise!’

He lets out a playful sigh of relief. ‘As long as there’s no whackin’ involved, it’s good by me.’

You gesture at him to follow you across the room. ‘And here’s the fun part - you get to choose the sprinkles.’

Joel whistles at the reveal of your compulsively organised sprinkles cabinet, each shelf sorted by colour, shape and size. He quips, ‘Is this what the inside of your brain looks like, honey?’

You grin. ‘Pretty much. What’s your daughter’s name?’

‘Sarah.’

‘What colour does Sarah like?’

‘Any and all shades of pink.’

‘I can work with that.’

Now that everything is ready and waiting on the work surface, you pull out a lazy Susan and plonk a cake board on top of it, dusting your hands dramatically. ‘Alright, Joel. Ready for the magic to happen?’

Making himself comfortable next to you, he leans on his elbows, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the way his tshirt stretches and strains over his back. ‘Go ahead, I’m ready to be impressed, honey.’

Filling a piping bag full of the cookies and cream buttercream, you ask, ‘You wanna get your hands dirty?’

He raises his palms in surrender. ‘I’ll leave it to you, I don’t want to make you any more late for your date.’

You’re used to working with much bigger cakes, so this one doesn’t take you long. With a cookie cutter, you carve out a small circle from each cake round, then you stack and fill the layers with buttercream. After loading the shaft in the middle with all manner of pink sprinkles, you stopper the top with the cake cut-outs.

‘How old is Sarah turning today?’ you ask conversationally while you spin the cake around, smoothing on the crumb coat.

Joel looks up, surprised. ‘Oh, it’s my birthday today, not hers. ‘

‘Wait, what?’ you cry, throwing your hands up. ‘I made this cake with Sarah in mind - it will literally be vomiting pink sprinkles!’

‘I’m a girl dad. I like pink,’ shrugs Joel easily.

You huff, using an icing smoother to make sure the buttercream is even all over the cake. ‘I would pop the cake into the freezer to firm up before adding a final layer of frosting if I had the time, but this will have to do.’

‘It looks great,’ Joel assures you as you put the finishing touches to the cake, with buttercream swirls all around the top and a final baptism of sprinkles.

‘There, all done. Lemme box it up for you and this bad boy is ready to go.’

‘Amazin’, thank you so much,’ he grins. ‘Please, lemme do the washin’ up while you’re at it.’

‘Oh, Joel, you can’t,’ you protest, but he’s already grabbed the mixing bowl and all the bits and bobs stained with buttercream. ‘You’re the birthday boy!’

‘Least I can do,’ he shoots back over his shoulder, already halfway to the sink.

‘Well no, you promised to fix the security shutter for me, remember?’ you call after him.

‘Damn, I was hopin’ you’d forgotten about that.’

Joel cleans up with a practised air, humming under his breath as he waits for the water to heat up and the soap to lather. You watch him from the corner of your eye while you secure the cake inside the box, throwing in a birthday candle for good measure. You’ve just tied a nice ribbon around the cardboard box when he puts away everything in the drying rack and wipes his hands dry.

‘Didn’t expect you to be good at that,’ you tease, moving towards the door.

‘Sexist much?’ he jokes, no real bite in his retort. Then by way of explanation, he tells you, ‘I work late, so Sarah usually cooks and I wash up afterwards.’

‘Sounds like you guys make a good team.’

Joel helps with the lights and locks the door, and you stand to one side when he grabs the security shutter and forces it into submission by brute force. You can’t help but stare when the bottom of his tshirt rides up, revealing a soft sliver of belly underneath, his biceps bulging and back rippling as the shutter is finally forced shut in a metallic ripple.

You give him a smile. ‘Well, happy birthday, Joel.’

‘Thanks again for the cake.’ He looks around, as if looking for your car, but the sidewalk is empty except for his truck. ‘How are you gettin’ to your date?’

‘I was just gonna call a taxi.’

‘No, you ain’t,’ he nods towards his ride. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

‘Oh, no, it’s late, and you should be getting back to Sarah -’

‘I spoiled your date, so please, let me,’ he insists, holding the door open on the passenger side. Hop in.’

Joel takes the cake off your hands and puts it in the backseat carefully, putting the seat belt over it while you climb in. Glancing over your shoulder, you see toolboxes and newspapers on the floor, and it smells like paint and wood dust.

‘Sorry it’s a bit messy, occupational hazard,’ he apologises as he straps himself in. ‘So, where are we goin’?’

‘Do you know the steakhouse on Third Street?’

‘Vaguely,’ he replies, pulling smoothly away from the curb. ‘It sounds fancy.’

‘You been?’

‘Nope, I barely have time to go anywhere nowadays. It seems like I’m only ever in bed, or at work, or in my truck.’

You turn to smile at him, admiring the way his his thick fingers around the top of the steering wheel, making it look so small. ‘I feel you. Small business owner, am I right?’

‘I hear ya,’ he shoots you a smile. ‘So - what’s the deal with tonight? First date?’

‘Fourth, actually.’

He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Fourth date? You know what happens on a fourth date, honey.’

‘I don’t, actually. Tell me, what happens on a fourth date?’

He blows out his cheeks, and admits, ‘Honestly, I can’t tell ya. I haven’t been on a fourth date since 1991.’

You burst into laughter at his unexpected answer. ‘You’re such a dork, Joel Miller.’

When the truck rumbles to a stop outside the steakhouse ten minutes later, he looks at his watch and announces, ‘Here we are, only fifteen minutes late.’ Squinting through the windshield, he points at a man smoking outside, an impatient frown on his face. ‘That him?’

‘Yeah, that’s him,’ you nod, but you stay put in your seat, in no hurry to make a move.

Joel nods, tapping his tidily trimmed nails on the steering wheel. ‘So I’ll swing ‘round tomorrow after work with my toolbelt? ‘Round six thirty?’

‘A toolbelt? What a sight to look forward to,’ you rib, slowly reaching for the seatbelt and unbuckling it.

‘Hell yeah, it’s got a special clip for my Nokia and all,’ he adds mischievously.

'You must fend off the ladies by the dozen,' you tease.

'Daily,' he answers without skipping a beat.

You probably shouldn’t have, especially not with the guy who you’re supposed to be on a date with glaring daggers at you through the windshield. But there’s something cackling in the air between you and this man you just met not an hour ago, and the way the streetlight filters through the window, backlighting his messy curls and scraggly beard, that has you throwing caution to the proverbial wind.

Impulsively, you lean across the gear shift, your left hand finding purchase on his knee before pressing your lips to the side of his whiskered jaw, your kiss fitting right into that little heart-shaped patch on his beard. 

You’re not sure who’s more taken aback, but you don’t have time to find out. 

‘Happy birthday, Joel Miller.’

He smiles after you as you hop out of his truck.

You’ve just sold your last cupcake of the day when the bell over the bakery door rings. And sure enough, it’s Joel Miller crossing the threshold, right on the dot at six thirty.

‘Hey, Bri,’ he waves, hovering half-in and half-out of the shop, a slight awkwardness having set in overnight.

But it's ok, you're happy to pick up where you left off. Putting your hands on your waist and a cheeky grin, you quip, ‘Wow, you weren’t kidding about that toolbelt, huh?’

Your chest swells as you watch him thaw with an easy smile, and he banters back, ‘I’m a man of my word, honey. You ok with me gettin’ to work now?’

‘Yes, thank you. I’ll be cleanin’ up back in the kitchen, I’ll join you when I’m done.’

Joel shoots you a thumbs up. ‘Great. I’ll grab the ladder and get right to it.’

When you emerge fifteen minutes later, he’s on the fourth rung of the ladder, tinkering the rolling mechanism with a screwdriver and a studious frown on his brow. He looks like he’s wearing the same thing as yesterday - you can believe that he’s a man who buys the same tshirt in bulk - and he smiles at you when you duck out of the shop.

‘Did Sarah like the cake?’ you ask in casual conversation.

‘She went nuts over the piñata surprise,’ he replies. ‘And the cake was delicious, there were hardly any crumbs left when we were done with it. She says we’re definitely ordering a cake from you for her birthday.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

‘How was your evening?’ he asks, glancing down at you from his perch. ‘Did you find out what happens on a fourth date?’

You let out a dry laugh. ‘Yeah, I did, actually. He dumped me.’

Joel freezes, a scowl darkening his countenance. ‘Oh shit, what? Why?’

You shrug, leaning your weight on the ladder as you look at the ground. ‘I mean, I did show up an hour late in some other guy’s truck. And I guess probably shouldn’t have kissed you on the cheek right in front of him.’

You startle when Joel’s fingers slip under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. ‘It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.’

‘Honestly, you don’t look that sorry, Joel Miller,’ you joke.

He cocks his head to one side. ‘Well, I can't lie, I think you deserve better than him.’

‘Do you now?’ you prompt. ‘Who do you have in mind?’

Joel peers at you from under long lashes with a half-smile that's almost shy. He dodges your question, and says instead, ‘I didn't mean to ruin your night, let me make it up to you, honey.’

‘How?’

Deftly, he climbs down the ladder, landing squarely on two booted feet, his presence comforting as he looms over you, his eyes warm. ‘Can I buy you dinner?’

‘Like - a date kind of dinner?’

‘Yeah, like a date,’ he nods.

You can’t help the dig. ‘And you were just sayin' you haven’t been on a date since...?’

He flashes you a smirk, and you shiver when his hand brushes your waist. ‘Since 1991. Tough sell, I know - but I thought I’d give it a shot.’

Running a finger along his sharp jawline, softened by the endearingly untidy beard, you have to bite your bottom lip to keep yourself from giving away too wide a grin. ‘Why, I think I have a good feelin’ about you, Joel Miller.’

Catching your wrist in his fingers, he presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles, the rough graze of his stubble chasing goosebumps across your skin as his eyes smile at you. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, honey.’

More notes: I hope you enjoyed this sweet little oneshot 🥰 I really leaned into the fluff and I have no regrets. Comments/reblogs/asks are much appreciated as always! I don't have plans for a second part right now, but a smutty follow-up is always a possibility...

The adorable dividers are by @firefly-graphics 👩🏻‍🍳

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Dead Man Walking || LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader Summary: A night out with your best friend ends in her brother's bed. For my sweet, @morgan108 and the nonnie who introduced me to the song Dead Man Walking by Jon Bellion Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, fingering smutish, fluff, angst WC: 2.3k F1 Masterlist || One || Two

You were halfway into the strapless dress you had chosen for the night out when the door swung open and Lando stepped inside with a package in his hands.

“Flo, can you please stop ordering shit off my Amazo-” 

You gasped as you dropped the material to cover your boobs but the thin satin just fluttered to your feet, baring even more to him. The lace thong did little to hide anything and his eyes drifted down over your body, down to the heels you wore and back up again before he realised he was checking you out. 

The package fell from his hands and he covered his eyes as you both winced at the sound of something shattering inside. “I didn’t see anything.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Norris,” you stated as you swiped the dress up and covered yourself properly. 

“I swear,” he cleared his throat and peeked between his fingers to see you were dressed before his hands slipped into his pockets and he rocked on the balls of his feet with a smirk. “I absolutely did not see the cute little tattoo on your hip.” 

You turned around and closed your eyes so you didn't have to see the hungry look in his. He was your best friend's brother, you had known him since you were three years old. You shouldn’t even hazard to think about him the way you did, and you definitely shouldn’t enjoy the way he looked at you. Well, the way he looked at you these past few years at least. 

Somewhere along the way he stopped seeing you as the annoying little girl who would steal his snacks on movie nights and started seeing you as…something more.

“Unless you want your sister to strangle you, I suggest you get out of here now.”

He threw his hands up at the idea. “It’s my house.”

You cocked a hand on your hip and he bit his lip at the memory of the dainty little constellation inked into the skin that lay beneath. He hadn't been close enough to see it in detail but he was certain it was your star sign. “It’ll be an estate sale if she catches you in here.”

With a sigh he backed up, murmuring under his breath as he left, “Last time I let her hide out here for the holidays.”

 Every surface of the house was littered with Flo’s belongings. She had spent the last two weeks in Monte Carlo with Lando and you were joining her for the last weekend before summer break was over and it was back to university. You were going to make the most of the trip and planned on seeing just how wild the nightlife could get in the small city. 

It was only moments after Lando left the room that Flo swept in and she stumbled to a stop. “Holy shit, babes, you look gorgeous! Don’t let Lando see you in that.”

“Why not?” you asked as you grabbed your perfume, the same one he had once commented smelt good on you. 

Flo crossed the room with a peculiar look on her face and she stepped right into your personal space so she wouldn’t be overheard. “I haven’t seen him with a girl the entire time I have been here, like not even on the phone. That's weird right?”

You pursed your lips and pressed a hand to her forehead. “Do you have sun stroke?” 

She brushed your hand aside with a roll of her blue eyes that matched her brothers perfectly. “The horndog hasn’t been horndogging.”

“Okay, that doesn’t sound how you think it does,” you said as you grabbed her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake so she could refocus her thoughts. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Because you’re stunning and, most importantly, you’re the only female in this house that is not related to him. I know you would never betray me like that but I know that horndog would totally try it on with you.”

“Seriously, Flo, I think you need a drink more than me,” you laughed, shaking your head as you grabbed your clutch and started to tow her out of the room. “I’m sure your brother’s not desperate enough to risk death. Plus, he could open his front door, throw a rock and hit ten supermodels in this place. I think I’m safe.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you compare yourself to supermodels when you are literally the most beautiful person I know - inside and out.”

“I’m not wearing waterproof eyeliner so can we please go before you make me cry?” You looped your arms together before descending the stairs where Lando was waiting with Max, the two watching some video on Lando’s phone before the tap of your heels caught their attention. 

“Oh boy, you’re going to be busy tonight. Good luck keeping the guys away from them,” Max laughed as he slapped his best friend's chest. “Ladies, looking lovely as always.”

“Not so bad yourself, Fewtrell,” you said with a wink, abandoning Flo’s arm for his. “Now what’s this I hear about you playing Counter Strike? Who am I supposed to shit talk with in the COD chat room now?”

“Counter Strike isn’t too bad,” he teased as he led the way to the Jolly and pulled the front seat forward for you to climb in the back, “maybe you could come to the dark side.”

“Who kicked your puppy?” Flo asked quietly and you looked away from Max to see Lando looking angry as he ignored his sister’s question. 

“You, upfront,” he said with a nod of his head your way. 

“I’m fine here.”

“Flo doesn’t need the leg room,” he countered as he snapped his finger, making your brow lift at the action. 

“Bro, you're stressing,” Max laughed, reaching for the chair and pulling it back into place so Flo could sit down. “Let’s just get to the club.”

You could feel his eyes on you in the rearview mirror the entire time and it would have been a lie if you said you didn’t enjoy teasing him. The pair of blue eyes narrowed when you shifted closer to Max, leaning across him to point at random shops and monuments, asking him pointless questions about them until you nearly flew forward with the heavy break Lando made. It was only Max’s quick reflexes that saved you, his arms catching you around the middle and tugging you back into his arms.

“Dude, where did you get your licence?” he complained as he kicked the seat in front of him, earning a glare from Lando.

“Fucking Mario Kart,” you muttered as you settled back in the seat.

As soon as you got to the club you ditched the guys and found your way to the bar. 

“What was up with your brother?” you asked after ordering some shots. “He was being a bit of a twat.”

“I have no idea, he’s just like Mila - if he doesn’t get a nap he’s a nightmare to deal with.” The drinks were put down and talk of Lando was forgotten. “Bottoms up, babe.”

You groaned as you slowly came to consciousness thanks to the uncomfortable, hard pillow. You knew if you opened your eyes you wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep so you tried to fluff it out with a whack of your fist, only for a pained groan to jolt your senses. 

“What the fuck was that for?”

You bolted upright as your eyes flew open and saw the smooth expanse of Lando’s chest, small outlines of your ear shaped into his skin from laying there all night. Your eyes drifted down his body and you held the memory of feeling every inch of it last night. 

“What did you do?” you whispered as you covered your mouth only to drop your hands to your body when you found you were equally as naked as he was. “Oh, fuck. Lando…”

“Yeah, you said that last night,” he chuckled as he sat up, his abs hardening with the movement and distracting you from what he was saying. “Though it was a little more breathless and a bit higher pitched.” Grabbing your waist, he pulled you over his lap and tipped your head back so you could see the little smirk on his face. “As for what I did, well, it was everything you asked for, no, begged me for.”

Your skin was too warm against his, the replay in your mind making your eyes shut as you tried to block it out. You had begged him, and he had been more than willing to give you everything you asked for. 

“This was a mistake. You are a dead man walking if Flo ever finds out.” You covered your face as you shook your head. “Oh, god, she was right, you were desperate. That’s the only reason this happened, why it was me and not some other chick who would blabber to the press. You knew I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“You’re wrong, about everything. I’m not desperate, you muppet,” Lando breathed across your skin and you peeked through the gap in your fingers as he kissed your shoulder. “How could I want anyone else when you’re all I ever think about?”

You could see Flo getting lost in the crowd as she danced with a handsome monegasque, the sway of her hips translating despite not being able to speak the same language. It was a side profile from the corner of your eye that pulled your attention away from her and you spotted Lando making a direct line her way. 

“Shit,” you swore as you did what any best friend would do and ran interference. “Hey Lan, I don’t think I thanked you for letting me stay at your place this weekend. It’s really nice of you.”

He looked torn as his eyes darted between you and the space where Flo had been before disappearing deeper into the night club. Without the distraction of the punk trying to grind on his sister he was able to give all his attention to you and you saw the switch as his face relaxed, the hard lines easing and a playful smile gracing his lips.

“I would say anytime, but I think you would get me in trouble,” he teased, dipping his head closer to yours to make conversation easier, at least that's what you told yourself.

“You get yourself into trouble,” you pointed out as his hands found your waist and he pulled your body closer. “This is what I mean.”

His lips brushed your cheek and the gravel in his voice sent goosebumps prickling over your skin. “We’re just dancing, love.”

Your bodies had moved closer and closer with each beat of the song until there wasn’t an iota of space between you. His palms had glided down the satin material to rest on the swell of your ass and your arms had draped around his neck. You could feel his breath on your skin when he buried his face in your neck and grazed his lips lightly over your racing pulse.

“Do you know that you drive me crazy?” he asked with a nip of his teeth and you shook your head. “You do. Seeing you flirt with other guys, seeing the way they look at you…”

You pulled back to see the hard lines return to his jaw as he clenched his teeth and you twirled your fingers around the short curls at his nape. “How do they look at me?”

“The same way I do,” he answered quickly before stepping out of your embrace. “But they have a chance that I never will.”

He started to walk away and you knew you should have let him because he was right. You loved Flo, and she had made it clear from the moment you realised that boys didn’t have cooties that Lando was off limits, just like your group of friends were off limits to him. You should have let him walk away.

“She cannot find out,” you whispered as your body started to respond to the small lines he traced down your spine and over your hip. 

He chuckled as his hand reached your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he guided them apart. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Your lips parted with a soft gasp as his fingers reached the juncture of your thighs and you combed your fingers into his hair as he teased your entrance. “Kiss me,” you begged, your voice quiet with the knowledge his sister, your best friend, was asleep on the other side of the wall. “Please, Lando.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he tortured you with slow circles until he sealed his lips with yours and stole the cry of pleasure when he finally curled two fingers into you. “Shh, love,” he chuckled as he brought you the edge of bliss on his lap, his eyes devouring the sight of your undoing right in front of him. “Been wanting this since we played Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

Your ears were ringing as your heart beat erratically and your body flushed with fever. Your legs began to tremble and your toes curled into his mattress as he pinned you to his lap with one arm curled around your waist and the other kept you dancing on the knife's edge. 

“You were my first kiss,” he confessed against your lips as the tension in your body snapped and he used his lips to smother the whimpers and moans he swore were the sweetest sounds he had ever heard. 

“You were mine too.” Collapsing weakly in his arms, your head rolled into the crook of his neck where it fit perfectly. “I wanted you to be my first everything.”

Click here for part two.

[mariasont]

THE BIMBO RECEPTIONIST WAS SO CUTE

now id like to introduce, goth/metalhead!bimbo!reader x spence ( more of the opposites attract vibe )

super dark clothes and jewelry and looks like elvira a little bit, maybe a few piercings and tattoos for spencer to oogle at

Brooding - S.R

a/n: EEK i hope u love this as much as i loved writing it :)

bimbo reader has my heart <3

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x goth!bimbo!reader

warnings: mmm none! fluff! just two cuties being cute!

wc: 0.6k

Your pen was a flurry of motion, streaking bold lines upon the sketchpad. Technically, you should be sorting through the endless stack of files, keeping them pristine and accessible for the agents. You were always ahead of your tasks, and this job, while not earth-shattering, mattered to you. But when you had a muse as captivating as yours, it was hard to put the pen down. 

That muse being the man rifling through the files before you, his face a masterpiece of pretty lines and angles, unaware of the intensity of your focus. You contemplated expressing your admiration aloud, but the idea seemed a little too forward. So, you poured that impulse into a portrait, tracing the contours of his handsome face.

But it proved difficult to accomplish with his relentless pacing. Each step he took sparked another round of redos on the pad. Your tongue, tipped with a silver piercing, unconsciously found its way to your lip as you wrestled with the proportions of his nose, erasing furiously to get it just right.

You let out a sigh, louder than intended, and it was enough to pause his steps. "Sir, can you please stand still?"

He looked utterly baffled, lifting his brows toward his hairline. As your eyes met, he pointed to his chest, his question simple and unsure, "Huh? Me?"

A quick nod sent a ribbon of dyed hair fluttering before your eyes as you beamed at him. "Yes, you! Please, if you don't mind," you murmured, your fingers racing over the paper. "I just need, like, one more second."

He stood frozen, brows remaining quizzically raised. Why he complied, he couldn't say, but the sight of you, so engrossed in your art, your necklaces chiming in time with your movements, and how your bold makeup seemed to frame your face perfectly kept him rooted to the spot.

You peered up through your lashes, giving him a sheepish grin, cheeks lightly flushed as you set the pen down.

"All done! You're free to go. Thanks for being so patient," you chirped, gently waving the paper in the air as if to dry the ink faster.

"Can I at least see the result of my patience?" Spencer asked, his approach casual yet expectant. 

You hugged the sketchpad to your chest, a gentle laugh escaping you. "Well, I don't usually just let anyone see my work, especially strangers."

Spencer's smile was tinged with amusement.

"Considering I'm the subject, I think I have some claim to it," he joked. "And by the way, I'm Spencer Reid. There, we're practically acquaintances now."

You couldn't contain the goofy grin that spread across your face, and a giggle bubbled up from your throat.

"Well, since you put it that way, I suppose I can make an exception," you said, drawing out the last word with a wink.

The portrait made Spencer do a double-take--it was him, but as if seen through a gothic, moody lens. His usual composure cracked, and a deep, genuine laugh broke through. 

"I never knew I had such a brooding side," he commented with a smile. "I look like I stepped out of a Brontë novel. Perhaps Heathcliff on one of his better days?"

Your head cocked to the side, hair cascading over one shoulder, looking at him through lashes heavy with mascara as you shrugged.

"Heathcliff, huh? I'll take your word for it, but I get the brooding part," you said, with a bubbly laugh. "Come on, it's so you."

Spencer fiddled with his tie, raising a brow.

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or concerned," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he felt a pleasant heat rise to his cheeks.

You squinted sightly, pretending to mull it over.

"Flattered, for sure," you said. "Broody types are just secretly plotting world domination, right?"

He grinned. "Well, maybe not world domination, but certainly plotting something."

Your voice was light, but your question was pointed. "So, what are you plotting, Spencer? Should I be worried?"

He tried to remember what Morgan had taught him.

"Absolutely. But some things are worth the wait--patience, you'll see, can be quite rewarding."

And with a promise like that, you found yourself more than willing to wait. 

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[deadhands69]

Something More [than a hangover]

Katsuki Bakugo x gn reader

MDNI + eventual smut/afab

Setting: fuckboy!Bakugo, mid-time skip, Senior Year of College. Reader did not attend UA high, just joined for university. Enemies to lovers (with a lot in between.)

Warnings, etc: series contains eventual smut, slight angst, light violence/injuries, mentions of drinking/intoxication, swearing.

part 1 - this is part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7 - part 8

“Oh my god, what was I thinking,” you grumble into Jiro’s bed. You’d been lying there face down for twenty minutes after waking up, remembering your night, and stumbling down the hall to her dorm.

“It’s not that bad, right?” she reassures you, lightly untangling the knots in your hair with her fingers. “I’ve known him since high school. He definitely takes things too far sometimes, but he can be a good friend. He seems to have changed a lot in some ways since then though. But still, it’s not like you did anything with him…?”

“I don’t think so…” you trail off, “I think I’d remember that.”

Last night. You remember being in a closet with Katsuki Bakugo, which for some reason unknown to you now, you enjoyed more than you should have. You remember drinking with him, talking all night, and - that’s about where your memory ends. Checking your texts, it looks like you wanted to kiss him. Did you? You’d remember that right? 

Then there’s the photo you sent Mina and Jiro. Blurry and underexposed but you could definitely make out the situation. His arm around you as you lean into his neck, glossy eyes half closed but focused on him. His huge smile as he leans into you. You looked close. A wave of nausea hit again, sending you running to her bathroom. 

It’s Katsuki Bakugo, what the fuck were you thinking?

After pulling your hair back, Jiro leaves to grab you a cup of water. 

“Hey, uh,” she hesitantly starts, “maybe not the best timing but Bakugo just texted you to make sure you’re still on for the library today.” 

“Ughh I do not want to deal with him,” your voice echoes through the bathroom.

“I can tell him you need to reschedule?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll have to meet up with him eventually. Might as well rip the bandaid off.”

An hour later, you’d showered as well as you could after taking off your bandages (or what was left of them, it looked like you snagged them in the brush on the walk home.) The cold water helped the nausea and some of the pain. Dehydration made the remaining burns feel much worse so you try to drink as much water as you can keep down. Your raw and slightly blistered skin looks brutal but it’ll be better when you can visit Recovery Girl again on Monday. A few tylenol for your headache and pain, that was about all you could do for now.

Choosing an outfit, you put on basically what he made you change out of last night - skinny jeans and a huge hoodie, this time with cute sneakers in your favorite color. No makeup today, you throw on some oversized sunglasses instead. Grabbing an extra cup of coffee and your backpack, you head to the library.

Bakugo is already there. Leaning against a pillar, looking way too put together for the amount you saw him drink last night. 

“Aww, you look great,” he says sarcastically as you half drag yourself to meet him.

“Ughh. How are you alive right now?” you groan back.

“I threw up twice, ate a lot, and slept it off. Looks like you didn’t.” 

No words come to mind so you flip him off.

“You’re sweet when you’re hungover, this will be so fun,” he gestures towards the entrance, “come on, I already reserved a study room.”

In spite of being an asshole, he proceeds to hold doors for you.

The study room is small but quiet. There’s enough room for the two of you to sit on one side of the table with the notes and writings you’ve done on each other’s quirks, it’s not much. Each of the pages is crinkled from some combination of being passed back and forth between being on the receiving end of outbursts. Various colors of ink have crossed out each other’s writing, adding corrections. At least the quirk descriptions are done. You’d love to say the rest has been easier to work on in person but an hour and a half has dragged by without much progress. Still hungover, you wish you would have stayed in bed.

His phone sits on the table, buzzing with a new message. Glancing down, you notice five unchecked messages from three different girls' names.

You laugh and he silences his phone before setting it back on the table, this time face-down.

“Didn’t learn from last night, huh?”

“Eh, I dealt with it this morning when she was sober. Plus, it was an isolated incident,” he grumbles while you notice the tips of his ears turning red.

“Sure it was. Well,” you continue, ”when it happens next time, and I’m sure it will, I won’t be so nice and let you in my hiding spot.”

“Oh, your spot? Because if I remember correctly, I got there first. And I let you stay.”

“Aren’t you sooo sweet,” you lay on the phony niceness, batting your eyelashes at him before he throws it back.

“I really am,” his fake smile makes your heart flutter. 

What. The. Fuck. 

Back to our regularly scheduled sarcasm.

“Is that so? I’ll bet your mom must be really proud of you.” 

“She is,” he asserts, “really. My mom is so fucking proud of me. Want me to call her and ask?” He picks his phone up to start dialing and you swear she’s saved as ‘Hag.’

“No, I take your word for it.”

 Part of you is curious who raised the monster next to you, but most of you would like to be out of this room as fast as possible to figure your shit out. You really can’t tell if you’re annoyed, disgusted, or trying to flirt with him. All of the feelings blur together into one big mess while you helplessly watch your own reactions. You need to get through this.

Pulling your pen from behind your ear and grabbing one of the papers in front of you, you get back to work.

“So,” you begin before rolling your sleeves up, “right here you said your quirk works with...” but you realize quickly that your words fall on deaf ears. He’s staring at your arms, seeing your damaged skin for the first time. Awkwardly, you move to cover your wrists again before he grabs your hands to stop you. His mouth opens to speak but the words don’t come. Licking his lips, he tries again.

“I- uh, fuck,” he squeezes your hands a bit harder, “I really meant it when I said I’m sorry. I owe you. More than opening doors and walking you places and stuff.”  

Recovery Girl is convinced you’ll make a full recovery with minimal scarring. You don’t say this though, staring at your hands in his instead. There’s nothing romantic about the way he’s holding onto you. More desperate and uncomfortable, but you can’t say the closeness doesn’t do something as his huge fists completely engulf your own. It leaves you speechless.  

“I uhm…” you pull your hands away from his and pause to think.

You can’t let yourself get this distracted by him. He’s Katsuki Bakugo, your natural enemy. And on top of that, how long will he be nice to make-up for hurting you before he goes back to being his asshole self? If you let him get under your skin too much, you won’t be able to handle that when the time comes. 

“I know why you’re being nice,” you start, “but two days ago you were being a total dick to me. I appreciate you trying to make up for everything, but it feels more confusing than friendly.”

“Two days ago, you weren’t exactly nice to me either. I know we never really became friends,” he hesitates for a moment and you cringe thinking of how you slapped him, “but you don’t know why I’m doing this.”

“Go on.”

“Yeah, at first it’s because I felt bad, but Racoon Eyes and Shitty Hair said we have a lot in common. And they’re right. I’m trying to be nicer because I don’t absolutely hate being around you, you’re kind of cool when you’re not going off on me.” 

“You do deserve it sometimes,” you add.

Bakugo says nothing, instead he just nods. Sucking on the inside of his lip, he considers your comment before continuing, “If you don’t wanna be my friend it’s fine, just fucking say it,” you stare silently and he continues, “but with the way you’re acting I think that’s what you want too. And even if it’s not, we still have to find some way to work together because we have all this shit to do,” he says gesturing to the table of scribbled notes. 

That’s it.

“Wait,” you nearly whisper while reviewing the papers in front of you, “no, that’s totally it.”

“Uh, care to explain?” he furrows his brows at you, his vivid eyes searching your face for an answer.

“That’s why this has been so hard to finish. We’ve never worked together. I know what your quirk does but every time I’ve ever seen it, we’ve been so busy trying to beat each other we don’t actually have time to observe. We need to work together.”

The rest of the hour went by quickly, mostly planning where and when to meet next. ‘Where’ was easy. You want to train together and the forest near campus works great. ‘When’ was harder. It has to be after you’re healed but before a huge storm rolls in early on Tuesday. Bakugo is leaving today to visit family and won’t be back until Monday afternoon anyways, so it has to be that night. You think you can sleep enough to recover after your appointment. You hope you can, at least. Parting ways at the library doors, you agree to text him Monday when you wake up. 

On the walk back, you consider the last few days. Your biggest enemy now wants something like a friendship. A chill runs down your spine when the winter wind picks up, blowing air straight through your hoodie - making you wish you’d worn more layers. You walk faster. 

Can you even be friends with Bakugo? Bickering with him has been a lot more fun without a bite under your words, but it almost feels too flirtatious considering who’s on the other end. And, as much as you hate to admit it, he’s hot. Too hot for his own stupid good. 

You nearly trip over a curb in a rush to get back to your dorm.

Fuck, you need to sleep.

part 3

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