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yeyinde · 1 month ago

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You want a baby. Simon can't get over his hangups to give you one. The solution to both problems? Johnny.

18+ SMUT. breeding. mildly dubious consent. Johnny feasts on your pussy and then does his best to knock you up while Simon watches. slight body worship. bastardization of religious imagery. Mean!Dom Simon. rough, messy sex.

He's not the type to saw off his own hand to feed you, but would rather find a third man to satiate you both. The only one who can care for you, he said. Can't do that when he's dead, can he?

Maybe that's why he calls for Johnny.

down boy. eager mutt. lil' pyedogs got himself all twisted up in a rutt. help him, won't you, pet?

Johnny's softer than Simon but only just. This margin of distance, however, could be the gaping maw of a canyon for how wide it really is when scaled down to fit. Boxed inside a narrow bed—on your belly, cheek on Simon's knee; ass up, legs spread. Johnny behind you—colluvium to Simon's mountainside, but still so broad, so thick, your hips twinge with the effort of keeping your knees so wide apart.

You feel it whistling through the chasm when he licks his lips behind you—a loud, lascivious smack, a wet suckle—and feel the burn of his stare riveted on the split of your flesh. This bare seam Simon swears he found nirvana tucked deep inside of. A buried ravine. Aquifer he quenches himself on.

A pilgrimage Johnny has been aching to take.

And that's what this is, isn't it? Yatra to the hidden piscina. A procession to pollute the tarn—something Simon can't bring himself to do.

Bad genes. Trauma—sticky, noxious tar that oozes from the rotting filaments; festering deep inside. Cancerous: a mass you long to cleave from bone but know it's not cosmetic. Not just the ball joints, or the studs, but the foundation itself. If you start tearing up pieces now you'll have nothing but an empty plot and a pile of damaged debris.

So:

Enter the third man.

A tool. Vassel. Pays fealty by fucking a baby into your womb.

It's what you wanted, isn't it?

(yes, but—)

It happens faster than you can keep up with. Hands on your hips. Coarse hair tickling the back of your thigh. Warm breath against sticky, wet flesh. A broad nose parting your folds. Inhale. Exhale on a deep, reedy groan.

"fuck, ye smell heavenly, doe."

Simon hums before you can peel your tongue from the roof of your mouth, answering for you with a brassy invitation: tastes even better, Johnny.

It's all the permission he needs before he pushes his head closer to your bare cunt, groaning as his tongue cleaves a silky, thick line between your folds. Gorging himself without much preamble. Hands curled around your hips like expensive silverware, pulling you back into the wanting, eager suck of his mouth.

All at once, it's too much. Your hips shift, squirming away from his tongue, the too-sharp press of his teeth against soft, sensitive flesh. Mewling, whimpering into the rain-wet fabric of Simon's jeans.

His hand falls on your head. A gentle tap. Behave, it says, but you can't.

Johnny tramples over that thin line between pleasure and ecstasy, blurring them both until it becomes pain. Overwhelming. Shoving you towards the edge before you've readied yourself for the fall.

"Can't, Simon, can't—"

The words elide, slurring into a high-pitched whine as Johnny feasts on your cunt. Devours you from the inside out—all teeth and tongue, sucking your clit until your thighs cramp from how tight your muscles tense, bleeding lactic acid over sore flesh. The scrape of his stubble over your folds, chafing them until they are raw. Swollen. Drenched hole fucked with the spear of his tongue, digging so deep you begin to fear that he's trying to crawl inside of you. Salt your womb with his own two hands—

"Can take it, birdie," is all Simon says before his hand slides down your arched, trembling spine. Fingers digging into the meat of your cheek, spreading you wider for Johnny to eat. "Look how eager he is. Can't get enough of that sweet cunt."

"It's—it's too much—"

You don't feel him move. Can't see much from the blurry tears in your eyes. But his other hand whips out, cracking over your untouched cheek in a firm, burning smack. One that makes Johnny moan when it lands. Cruel. Open palm. Hard enough to leave a welt in the shape of his hand—something that makes him groan when he sees it.

"fuckin' hell—" his fingers dig into the aching flesh, grip bruising.

Johnny peels his wet, open mouth away long enough to pant into the slick spread of your cunt, resting his cheek on the swell of your ass. "Bit rough wit' 'er, Lt."

Simon considers it. Body shaking the bed when he shrugs, leaning back to trail his hand back up your spine, curling over the arch of your nape. Keeping you still as you sob into his knee. "She likes it."

"know she does. Fuck, Lt. Can feel 'er little pussy twitching. Tryin' tae suck me in."

Another hum. The grip on your asscheek eases as his hand peels away, sliding over swell before notching a finger between your cleft. Dry. Rough. It drags down your seam until it brushes over your fluttering hole, calloused tip digging in.

"soft, too, ain't it?" He asks, words mockingly cruel in their conversational tone. Nonchalant. But Johnny's hands tighten on your waist, palms slick with sweat. Glueing to your flesh. You can tell he likes that. Likes the way Simon talks about you. Demeaning and brutish. Butcher selling a piece of meat. "Bit of a tight fit at first—" he curls his finger inside of you, stretching your sore walls with the width of his knuckle. Sinking in deep. Another follows before you can remember how to breathe around the sting. "But swallows you up like a goddamn dream, Johnny."

His breaths grow ragged. "Fuck, Lt. Look at th'."

It makes you clench up around Simon's fingers, embarrassment scorching through your chest. "Please—"

Neither of them acknowledge you. Simon's fingers split, spreading wide apart as Johnny shuffles forward for a closer look, and nearly choking on his next inhale when he does.

"such a pretty fuckin' pussy—" he says it like a curse. Spitting the words out on a snarl. Angry, now, for reasons you can't discern slobbering over Simon's leg. "God, Lt. ah cannae—"

Johnny shifts back. You hear the clink of a belt. The rip of a zipper. Choked groans barely swallowed down as Simon buries his fingers inside of your weeping cunt over and over again, blunt tips cruelly skating over a spot inside, just behind your navel, that makes you feel liquid and loose between your hips. Debris floating down a whiteriver.

Pleasure peaks with each brutal thrust until you're howling into his leg, unable to move with their hands on your body, holding you down. Making you take it. Making you come undone as Johnny watches.

"fuck, fuck, Lt—she's gonna cum, ain't she?"

"Wanna feel it, Johnny?"

Simon's name falls out of his mouth on a whispered prayer. Drenched in thick reverence. Arched in need.

"aye, sir—" there's something about the hush of his voice, the way it slurs into putty. Enshrining his need in a halo of gold. It sends shivers down your spine. Heats you up fast like a fever. Sends you screaming over the edge—

"gonna miss it, Johnny. She's squeezin' me so fuckin' tight—"

Whatever else they say is swallowed by the keen clawing at the hollow of your throat when you feel the blunt, fat press of his cock knocking against your swollen, stuffed rim.

It's a burning thing—a sharp, heavy ache. Knock, knock. Simon spreads his fingers again, forcing you open. Pulling your hole wide apart for Johnny's engorged head to push up against.

It feels like being split down the middle. Ripped apart. Simon's fingers flex around your nape, thumb brushing soothingly against the knob of your spine.

Can take it, he mutters, brassy and low. A rumble just for you. Gotta take it, birdie.

You forget why. Why you need Johnny's too big, too fat cock inside of your cunt until the head bullies through, scissoring Simon's fingers apart until they're pressed tight on either side of the flared glands. Squeezed between your taut rim and Johnny's cock.

Johnny makes a noise like you've gutted him. A gutwrenching sob. "Oh, shite, Lt. M'—m'nae gonnae last—"

"gonna cum inside 'er, Johnny? Knock my pretty birdie up?"

Right. Right. A baby.

There's a heavy push. Your flesh wrenched apart to fit the fat, throbbing length of his cock—

(the cock that's gonna knock you up—)

Simon's fingers slip out of you as Johnny bucks forward, burying himself deep inside with a long, throaty groan. It's a horrible sensation—a bellyache. Without the splint of Simon's fingers forcing you open wide to near numbness, you're forced to feel the thick girth of his cock. Rim fluttering, spasming over the flared base. Too much, and somehow, not enough.

You sob through it. Each one ripples through your chest until it feels like it will collapse. Every inch of your body burns, throbbing. You don't think you'll survive this ache—

Johnny sets a brutal pace. Likes pistoning into you in quick succession until you're nearly howling into Simon's thigh before slowing to a crawl. Force-feeding you every inch. Making you feel every single one. Long strokes that batter the plug of your womb, bullying against the aching seal of your cervix until the flashes of pain, the savagery of this pleasure, makes you feel sick.

Getting fucked by Johnny like this is both a punishment and a reward. Baptism in hellfire.

Be careful what you wish for—

"gonnae fuck ye 'til it takes, doe. Knock ye up. Want th', don't ye? Aye. Can feel it. Feel this little cunt beggin' fer ma cum. Dinnae worry. Ahm gonnae give it tae ye. A' o' it, doe. Every—fuckin'—drop—"

Each awful word lands like acid on your spine. Chewing through flesh, tissue, until it melts bone below. Liquified. Helpless.

And with Johnny's hands on your hips, anchoring you in place as he hammers into your sore, abused pussy, possessed with the need to carve a space inside of your flesh where only he fits, rots, and Simon's hand on the scruff of your neck, holding you down, there's nowhere to run. Nowhere to escape the ragged breaths that spill from Johnny's slick mouth, the desperate way he pumps into you—thrusts growing sloppy as he stretches towards the precipice they dangle you off of, kicking and screaming as the scent of iron fills your nose, as his flared cockhead scrapes over that place you thought only Simon would ever know. Bluntly battering into the altar that sits, nestled behind your navel, like he's allowed.

Holy offering in a handful of seeds he'll sow over fecund land until something grows.

"Look at you take it," Simon coos, sticky, damp fingers petting over your tear-stained cheeks. It smells of loam. Salt. Iron and ozone. "So pretty when you're gettin' bred, ain't you, birdie?"

It rips a mournful keen from your chest, a feverish moan following on its heels when the lewd squelch, the echoing slapslapslap of Johnny driving into your cunt fills your ears. So wet, so messy, you can feel the slick drying, tacky and thick, on the inner crease of your bent knee.

"He's gonna put our baby in you, ain't he, birdie? Like a good mutt—"

The hands holding you over the precipice let go. Johnny's answering moan spears into your head, fluttering around the pulsing heartbeat of liquid bliss frothing in the pit of your belly. Overflowing over the rim.

Too much, you think, but that's not quite right because you can't feel anything at all except the length of his thick cock lodged deep inside you. Throbbing in tandem with your second pulse.

"gonnae cum, Lt. Gonnae—oh, fuck, Lt—"

His voice is a warm river washing over your spine. Pooling ecstacy. Something heavenly. Divine—

Molten gold blooms in the pit of your belly. Cockhead spitting against the seal of your womb as he cums, filling you to the brim. Fucking it into you even as his cock softens, unable to pull out he says.

Feels like fuckin' heaven, Lt.

"ain't she just?" Simon volleys back, sounding oddly dissonant. Off-key. "Pretty little birdie got what she wanted, huh?"

The drawl of his tone—acid-scorched, electric—forces you to blink through the tears, lifting your aching, wet eyes upwards at him. Searching.

He has the eyes of a predator. Leonine. The gaze of a beast after it's devoured something whole. His touch is as gentle as he can be—a rough, cracked scratch over your blistered cheeks—and when he meets your divining stare, he coos.

"Maybe I'll 'ave a go next time."

In the pounding, soporific slurry of your mind, you can't wrap your head around the words. Can't make sense of them. Struggling to keep your burning eyes open, even.

Not that it matters.

Johnny huffs a scorching breath of laughter over your sweat-slicked spine before wedging his forearm under your belly. Keeping your hips tipped up as he falls into you, resting his broad chest against your back and smothering you into the damp mattress.

"Yer cruel, Lt," he rasps, chin nuzzling over the arch of your shoulder, cock giving a feeble twitch inside of you at something you can't seem to piece together.

"m'jus' givin' my pretty bird exactly what she asked for." Huh? He prods, fingers tapping over your cheek when your swollen eyes slide shut. "Forgettin' y'manners, ain't you? Say thank you, pet."

With Johnny's half-formed chuckle echoing in your head, you mumble the words out on an exhausted sigh.

"an' say thank you to this mutt f'knockin' you up."

It comes out slower this time. Sluggish. His cock gives another twitch as he buries his face between your shoulder blades, smothering a groan.

"Sweetest thing, Lt. Christ—"

"more where that came from, Johnny. Jus' you wait an' see." Another tap. You mewl in response, feeling war-torn and achy. Unable to open your eyes for a second time, all you can do is whimper, burying yourself into his thigh. Pleading, silently, for clemency. Later, you think. Later—

But Simon has other plans.

"Fallin' asleep on me, birdie? Ain't even gonna give me a chance to put my baby in you? Greedy little thing, ain't she?"

Buried under the weight of Johnny as he peppers sucking, open mouth kisses over the width of your shoulder, cum leaking out around the softening plug of his cock, all you can do is snuff out the sob on the arch of his knee, resisting the urge to bite instead.

"Maybe next time then, eh, birdie?" Since you've been so good for this mutt, huh? Maybe I'll give you a reward.

Just be careful what you wish for, huh, birdie.

#i don't know how to end things sorry #simon riley x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader

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caymancontractorsassociation · 1 year ago

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Expert Solutions for Roof Leaks by Cayman Construction Companies

Cayman Construction Companies share their top 5 quick fixes to help you with a leaky roof. Learn how to protect your property and maintain your investment with these practical solutions.

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rusticahouse · 2 years ago

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Final Words

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#BEST METAL SUPPLIES #HAIL DAMAGE CONTROL #HAIL STORM DAMAGES #ROOFING SOLUTIONS #myrustica

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onlyswan · 1 year ago

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summary: in which you make jungkook’s world spin and you tend to… make him a little too dizzy.

> idol!jungkook x reader / est. relationship, fluff, angst / word count: 7k

> content/warnings: yea shirtless jungkook should be a warning… one (1) spank then he kisses it better, also gives a kiss to that lil bow on oc’s undies >:( + a flashback of oc crying and him getting stressed out bcs oc is a careless brat fr

> in which masterlist!

note: hehe i’m here <3 this drabble is basically just oc in a mood and jungkook being the sweetest bf ever 🤨 idk how it got this long either heh it didn’t feel that way at all while i wrote-edited? but i hope u enjoy and i’d love to hear ur thoughts 🥺 reblogs/feedback are appreciated !! <3

—

“oh my god- fuck!”

you cover your mouth in shock, squeezing your eyes shut and flinching at the ear-splitting sound that bounces off the walls of the apartment.

jungkook is rendered frozen, eyebrows furrowed and jaw slacked, staring down at his shirt largely stained by the chocolate milk you were walking around with after brunch.

“damn…”

his eyes are irritable when they communicate with yours.

“baby! really? did it have to be the white one?”

but seconds later, they become worried and calculating — wandering all over the tiled floor, and then your bare feet infront of his slides-clad ones, surrounded by shattered pieces of ceramic.

the collateral damage. an unforeseen tragedy.

suffice to say, jungkook woke up this morning blissfully unaware of the turbulent storm threatening to make a playground out of your mind. it’s craving to feed destruction, and here he is living with you under the same roof, an unfortunate casualty from your antics.

the hand-painted mug, wet from the condensation, slipped away from your hands when you accidentally collided with his tough build at the intersection of the living room and the kitchen. this… wasn’t part of the plan. the plan was a little spill and this is a landslide.

“that was expensive too.” you utter wistfully, chest deflating as you release an exasperated breath. “sorry. i’ll clean up everything. just stay there and i’ll- when did i last see the broom-”

his doe eyes grow two times its size when you start looking around the apartment in search of the broom, and perhaps something you can use to pat yourself and jungkook dry, causing your feet to unconsciously shift on the treacherous ground.

“ba-baby! don’t move! you’re going to hurt yourself. are you crazy?” he interrupts you with a hiss, voice stern as his hands curl around your arms to hold you steady. “it’s okay. this is nothing, i’m not mad… just stay still, understand?”

you nod slowly as he lets go, eyebrows knitting together to convey confusion when he starts pulling his shirt over his head, revealing miles of bare skin and planes of defined muscles on a perfect silhouette. perfect because it’s jungkook.

alright… to see him half-naked wasn’t one of your intentions, but you’re definitely not one to complain.

“tsk, i think i need to shower again.”

figuring that the internet has a solution to every problem one could think of, jungkook has decided to accept the horror that has happened to his shirt. what was it again? salt? vinegar? baking soda? powder? fuck it, he’ll search for it later.

he throws caution to the wind by using it to wipe his damp torso, brushing it over his tan skin glistening with a sheen of the liquid that you wittingly spilled. he winces at the uncomfortable stickiness that could be felt across his stomach, but he can’t help but to laugh when he sees how it further accentuated his abs.

and if only you were in a chipper mood today, you would be laughing along with him. would’ve taken over cleaning him up, apologized with a kiss on his waist. too bad you’re not.

eventually, he gives up on erasing on the feeling, proceeding to fold the shirt in halves.

“what are you doing?” you snap, putting on a guise of harsher irritation over your dreamy stares at your boyfriend’s glorious physique. “are we just supposed to stand here forever like idiots?”

“what is this? why are you so grumpy today?” he questions with a frown, patting your cheek with the soft cottony fabric because the splash managed to reach your face unbeknownst to you.

and then he bends down to place the folded shirt infront of your feet, looking up to you with his galaxy-filled eyes to say, “here- come on. stand here while i clean up.”

you stand isolated on the safe zone he created, childishly pouting with your arms crossed over chest as you wait for him to pick up your slippers in the bedroom.

the simple answer to jungkook’s question is you’re bored and in a bad mood. the more complex answer would be you came up with a one-man game you can only win if you successfully piss your boyfriend off, but you’re too scared to pull off anything that will legitimately make him upset with you.

because the last time you made him angry, it hasn’t been… that long ago. he’s been keeping a closer eye on you since then, and you’ve been trying to be good. keyword being trying. after all, you did lost his car key… at a beach three hours away from home. you searched the entire shore — retraced your steps, made your knees and palms bleed digging through the rocky sand, curled up by the waves to wallow in self-blame and the smell of salt-air defeat. you were nearly in tears as you listened to the call ring for what felt like an eternity, unsure if he already wrapped up the company meeting he mentioned to you the day before.

you still remember the desperate words you greeted him with instead of ‘hello’.

“babe, promise me you won’t be mad.”

—

“____, you didn’t even tell me you were coming here! care to explain that to me first? huh?”

your name, and not ‘baby’? heavens above have mercy; you’re fucked.

jungkook presses the heels of his palms over his eyes to alleviate the dull throbbing of his head, breathing heavily to compose himself, but he can’t disguise the frustration deeply embedded in his voice.

“you scared me!”

not yelling, but tone evidently very upset with you. somehow, that makes you feel worse.

“i had to make up an excuse infront of everyone and drive here fast. i was so worried of you being here all alone when it gets dark!”

“it’s your car so i thought i had to let you know right away. i’m sorry.” you chew at your bottom lip anxiously, eyes brimming with tears as you barely muster up the courage to observe how he’s handling this.

your heart pounds louder in your chest when he finally looks down at you, guilty and gloomy, sat on a wooden bench painted yellow. it drops to your stomach when you see the sullen expression painting his face a light shade of red.

“where did you lose it?”

you open your mouth, but no words come out. you can only manage to point at the shore with your disoriented eyes, and he traces the direction with his. the majestic orange sky where the sun descends below the horizon fails to be recognized by your foggy, distracted minds.

it’s silent for a few beats, then he huffs, breathing out a sarcastic chuckle before burying his face in hands.

“baby, please. please. are you sure you’re not pranking me right now?”

“no! do you think i’d joke like this? i really tried my best to find it!” you sniffle, roughly wiping away the lone tear that escapes your eye. you’re almost too humiliated to continue talking, volume falling a few notches above a whisper. “but the waves were getting stronger.”

he vehemently shakes his head, rendered speechless and stuttering, malfunctioning. he doesn’t think he has ever imagined this type of scenario before. “this is crazy. really… this is unbelievable… how did this even happen?”

he exhales loudly before removing his hands, revealing a calmer exterior. be that as it may, his skin is more flushed, all the way to his ears and down to his neck, where his veins have become noticeably prominent.

“i mean, what else can we do about it? i’ll request for a new one.”

“but are we just going to leave the car here?”

“did you leave anything in there?”

“i left my bag, but…” you pat the pockets of your skirt to check if your valuables didn’t meet the same fate as the car key. “i brought my phone and wallet with me.”

he nods. “then i’ll call a towing service.”

you pout.

“it’s such a bother.”

feeling exhausted after burning a concerning amount of energy in search of the missing item, you stand on wobbly feet to loop your arms around his waist.

maybe it’s to coax him into forgiving you. maybe it’s to make yourself feel better, nuzzle your face on his chest to drive away the anxiety weighing on your shoulders. but as it’s being lifted off, so is the barrier withholding your salty tears.

“i’m so careless. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i should’ve drove my car instead.”

“ye- no, that’s not…” he cuts himself off with a sigh.

he puts an arm around you, pushing his hair back and repeatedly carding his fingers through it out of habit.

“seriously, baby… you stress me out so much, do you know that? you’re always wandering around places you’re not familiar with… this is secluded. it’s dangerous. you could get hurt if you bump into the wrong people… really, i’m just relieved it’s not yourself that you lost this time!”

the recollection of old flashbacks playing in his mind like a movie reel elicits a throaty chuckle from him, low and rough, the vibrations of his chest rudely awakening the butterflies in your stomach.

“you couldn’t even send me a text. you didn’t turn on your location. i would’ve lost my fucking mind again… did you even thought of that? or is that what you wanted, huh? baby? you enjoy driving me crazy like this?”

and the confession tucked inside his scolding obliterates any coherent thoughts in your head, causing you to lose control of your whirlwind of emotions.

“this isn’t fair. you said you won’t be mad.” you wail out in response, tears fiercely leaking from your eyes akin to a rainstorm. “i didn’t know this would happen!”

he clicks his tongue, gingerly caressing your wet cheeks with his thumb, then with the rest of his fingers, and the paw of his jacket, because the streams just seem to have no plans of ceasing. his wide eyes worriedly scans your tear-stained face, heart squeezed painfully by the restrained sobs forcefully ripping themselves from your throat.

“shhh, shh. don’t cry- don’t cry. i’m not mad, i was just worried about you.”

“jungkook, you’re lying.” you whine. “don’t lie to me. i don’t like it.”

he slowly blinks at you, head hanging low as to compose his thoughts before he reconnects with your eyes. a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips before his tongue unconsciously sweeps over them, its tip catching the silver ring piercing through his skin to play with it.

a moment of silence, thick with restlessness and anticipation, harder to breathe with the unique smell of the salt-air entering and leaving your lungs.

you feel small under his stoic gaze. you want to sit back down and cry harder.

your boyfriend is mad. your boyfriend is infuriatingly hot even when he’s disappointed in you. you need to dig a hole in the sand and live there forever. after everything, these are the only thoughts left running in your head.

“okay, fine. you lost the key of our car in the ocean, ____. but what if someone already found it by chance?” he cocks his head to the side, briefly peering at the road behind you.

he knows that it’s no use. even if he does see the white jeep wheeling by, is he supposed to assume that he can outrun it by some heaven-granted miracle?

“what then? hm…? what else can we do? i guess it could be getting stolen right now and we don’t even know. you parked so far away.”

god, please, not your favorite car.

“it’s not only the car. i still have important documents left in the compartment too.” this only dawns on him now, judging by the look of distress written on his face. he suddenly slaps his thigh, and you flinch a little. “fuck! i should’ve cleaned sooner!”

“then you are mad.” you arrive at a conclusion, chin wobbling as you sniffle. “about a lot of things.”

you resist the urge to stomp your feet. you want to throw a tantrum so bad. tell him that he shouldn’t be keeping such things in the car in the first place, that he owns a safe for fuck’s sake, but you know you can’t get away with shifting the blame because you messed up horribly in comparison.

“i get it. i’m sorry… i take full responsibility this time.”

“shit, baby.” he deeply sighs.

it becomes quiet again. he just looks at your face with knitted eyebrows, not saying anything more, and you try your best to cut off your crying, not to act conscious, but your eyes still fall on the sand. they stay there for a few beats to avoid the intensity of his gaze.

he almost sounds pained when he finally speaks. “how can i stay mad at you when you’re crying?”

he tilts up your chin, and your glassy eyes, sparkling with a new wave of tears, look at him beseechingly.

the setting sun. an eternal witness to a brand new day of humans being humans. it kisses your skin with its golden light, bathing your figure to radiate an angelic glow that drives him to consider once more that you could just be an enchanting character across dreams and the year is still 2017.

you sniffle again, brushing off his hand. sometimes you despise that jungkook brings out messiest, most unstable side of you. you know that he practically signed up for this, and he will always love you the same, love you even more. but that doesn’t take away the fact that you’re so embarrassed.

“but i’m not crying just to make you feel bad, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“yah, that wasn’t what i meant?” he frowns, eyes softening at your reply. “of course. i know that.”

the cracks in your voice, he seals with a soft kiss on your lips, tender and swollen caused by the onslaught of your sharp teeth.

“anyway, i can take care of replacing it. i mean, it’s not like it can get stolen just like that, right…?”

he sounds rather nervous convincing the both of you.

“but i’m most worried about you. i can lose everything but you.” his tattooed arm pulls you closer, casting aside the tension by leaving not even an inch of space between your bodies. he tenderly rubs your back to console you, and another kiss is granted to your temple, his soothing voice slightly muffled as his lips stay glued to you. “did i make you cry? i’m sorry, baby, i’m sorry… it’s okay. things like this can happen.”

“no, i’m sorry.” you aggressively shake your head and he carries on with wiping your cheeks, the back of his hand brushing off the tears that drip across your chin. he dries his hand on the hem of his jacket only to get it wet all over again.

“let’s just learn from this and move on. promise me that you’ll be more careful next time, okay? you can do that, right?”

jungkook does scold you every now and then, but although you stress him out, he would hate it if he’s not the first person you call when you’re in trouble. he would hate it if you act nonchalant and secretly cry when you’re hurt. but most of all, he can’t imagine a life in which you don’t make his world spin, much as he tends to get too dizzy at times.

your defiant hum makes his tense shoulders drop in disappointment.

“there should be a bus stop somewhere, i’ll just go home on my own. i don’t want to keep stressing you out.”

you will yourself to break free from his embrace, dragging yourself away to leave behind a trail of footprints in the sand, and he knows he’ll be running after you today, too.

“oh? you better stop right there!” he warns with a hand over his hip.

you become smaller and smaller in his eyes with every tick of the clock, much like how the sun is gradually getting swallowed by the ocean.

“i’ll get angry for real if you disappear from my sight. really, i’m not joking!”

angry? what a joke. you know that he’d cry blood searching for you if you get lost.

“oh? you’re really not going to stop?!”

jungkook’s voice fall on deaf ears, except that of the dog leashed to a tree that stands infront of a humble home. it seethingly barks at him from many meters away.

“fucking shit. i need alcohol.” he chuckles to himself, rubbing his tired eyes. “____, i swear, you’re getting too stubborn these days. what should i do with you?”

but you’re too far away to hear him, and so, he answers himself.

“eh, it is what it is.”

the wind blows with a quiet whistle, deadly as it fuels the roaring waves.

“AH! nuh-uh!” he exclaims, jaw dropping in alarm when he sees an urgent reason to chase after you, putting those leg days at the gym to good use.

you jump, a squeak leaving your mouth when out of nowhere, a solicitous palm smooths over your behind, sliding down to the back of your thighs to hold down your rippling skirt.

but you’re determined to be unyielding, eyes shooting daggers at jungkook. “leave me alone. i can do it myself.”

“baby, isn’t that a little rude? is that how you say ‘thank you’?”

“thank you. now let’s go our separate ways.”

and just like that, you’re walking away again.

“shit.” he curses quietly through gritted teeth, pulling at his hair. “babe, please come back… i’m sorry! i didn’t mean that!”

—

“jungkook! how many times do i need to tell you to turn off faucet properly?!”

you’re hot on jungkook’s tail as he makes his way to the laundry room beside the kitchen, carrying a laundry basket over his hip. he’s still shirtless, only clad in a different pair of shorts after a quick shower.

“the bathroom sink was close to overflowing! again!”

“i know what you’re doing.”

“what? what am i doing?”

the basket touches the ground, standing beside the dryer, and then he turns to face you, eyebrows shooting up. “picking a fight with me won’t work today.”

“why?” your tone borders on a whine.

“what do you mean ‘why’?” he laughs in jest. “why? why do you want to fight with me so bad?”

“i don’t know.” you exhale loudly, rolling your eyes and shrugging. “just because!”

“well, that’s not very convincing, is it?” he teases you with a grin, proceeding to open the dryer to dump the fresh laundry in the basket. the clothes you wore in the past week once again soaked up the sweet, floral scent the people around you distinctly recognizes to be your own and jungkook’s.

“i know, but i’m done playing now. you’re not hearing me.” you close your eyes in frustration, recounting the other times you had to say these exact words. “you’re going to flood our house.”

“okay, okay. i won’t forget to double-check it from now on. i promise.”

“sure, that’s what you also said last time.” you indignantly scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “i’m not turning it off for you anymore. if we get flooded, i’m leaving you. i’m moving out.”

your threat puts a halt to his movements for a split second before he’s adorably replying in a sing-song voice. “then i’m going with you.”

“no, you’re not.”

and it doesn’t come as a shock to you that jungkook doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

“huh! good luck trying to stop me.” he slams the door of the dryer shut, standing up straight. “it’s not easy getting rid of me. you know that.”

he walks to the middle of the room to get a good view of you at the entrance. with the other resting on his hip, he lies his palm flat over the counter, outstretched arm cascading with varied colors of ink in sharp lines and swirling curves.

fuck, he has to know what he’s doing — flexing his muscles like that, not playing fair.

“aigoo, look at you glaring at me. you want to fight?”

and you’d feel intimidated by his challenging stare, the quirk of his eyebrow, his teeth sinking on his bottom lip… only if he didn’t blink to rake a stare over your body, lingering on your smooth legs that couldn’t be covered by your mere underwear. only if they didn’t flicker back to your face, and only if he didn’t smirk like a lovesick fool.

“so cute.” he chuckles. “you’re totally my type.”

“shut up.” you roll your eyes at the random compliment. “i know, i already get that a lot.”

his smile then fades, not so thrilled with the reminder that it’s so easy to fall in love with you, and therefore anyone would die to take his place. he knows that they hover around you like moths to a flame when he’s not there. well, he really can’t blame them, can he? you’re so fucking attractive.

“what does that mean…? who else is saying it, huh? tell me. i think i have a few guesses.”

“does it matter?” you stare at him blankly, which then turns into a piercing glare. “jungkook! i was just talking about you not paying enough attention. look at you proving me right!”

the stomp of your feet on the floor tells him that you’ve reached a level of frustration near to inducing a flood of tears.

oh, he truly got called out, huh?

“i’m sorry- i’m sorry. i admit that. i’m sorry, my love. i was just joking around. i’m listening well now.” he winces guiltily, beckoning you to be where he is. “come here then.”

“i don’t want to.” you stay rooted in your spot. “who do you think you are?”

“m-me…? i’m your boyfriend. boyfriend!” he points at himself, index finger repeatedly poking his bare chest to emphasize his point. his arm then drops to his side. his doe eyes widen as he breathes out a sigh of disbelief. “oh, i’m really getting upset now?”

you bite back a smile. the sweet taste of victory.

you can’t be the only one, can you?

“aish, i see you’re having your way again.” he chuckles, taking it upon himself to cross the distance between you. his hands find purchase on the curves of your waist, and every nerve in your body turns into a live wire. “let’s just go out today. do you want to practice boxing at the gym with me?”

didn’t he just watch you do arms day this morning? does he think you have the same stamina as him? you make a face of disapproval and shake your head.

“shall we go to a rage room again then? break more stuff?” he playfully sticks his tongue out, and you glare once more.

for the record, you loved that mug.

“boring.”

“and fighting with me is fun?”

you purse your lips into a thin line. “well, it’s not boring.”

“of course.” he laughs, softly squeezing your waist, pads of his thumbs mindlessly tracing shapes over the fabric of your top.

all of a sudden, he’s tugging you closer to envelope you in his embrace, voice slightly muffled as he sweetly talks. “are you mad at me for real? i’m sorry. sorry, sorry, sorry. sorry. i’ll really be more mindful of the things you remind me about, i swear… i don’t like fighting. it breaks my heart when you cry.”

what is this five foot ten man with bulging biceps, tattoo sleeve, and piercings doing here in the crook of your neck — affectionately nuzzling his face on your skin and telling you in a baby voice that he doesn’t like fighting?

you don’t know, but you feel good.

and his bare body is so comfortingly soft and warm.

he draws back for a kiss but his nose and lips only graze your cheek when you turn away, and you don’t see the sadness that flashes across his face.

“so what i’m hearing is… you don’t like fighting with me because i’m too sensitive? is that the truth?”

“no!” he perks up to interject without hesitation, shaking his head. “but i don’t think that’s a bad thing anyway… being sensitive.”

but you admit being a crybaby. you cry when you’re angry.

that’s when jungkook distinguishes the glint of mischief swimming in your irises. he feels dizzy after having his heart drop to his stomach.

“no. no, no.”

his mirthful grin returns, revealing his perfect set of teeth.

“ahh, i’m stressed!” he closes his eyes, throwing his head back, chest puffing up when he breathes in then out. “i knew it. no, i’m not falling for this trap!”

then he flees the room carrying the laundry basket, leaving you doubled over and covering your mouth to silence your giggles of amusement.

“i’m hanging the laundry now!”

“how dare you walk away from me?!”

“you can’t follow me!”

“i’m not.” you scoff, purposely bumping your hips against his. “i’ll vacuum the living room.”

—

“where are you going? gym?” you genuinely begin to sulk, watching your boyfriend slide into a baggy pair of bleached denim pants. “are you leaving me here?”

he avoids your inquiring eyes, ignoring you as he pulls up his zipper and does the button. you pout when he walks further away to pull out a black shirt from the clothing rack.

“is that it? are you tired of me already?”

he tosses its hanger in the basket where you discard the empty ones before wearing the final piece of clothing, covering himself fully for the first time today.

you sigh, feeling dejected. “you don’t love me anymore?”

and jungkook needs to physically restrain himself so he won’t grab your face and say ‘i love you’ over and over again until he runs out of breath.

you leave the closet to follow him to the bedroom, where he sits on the edge of the mattress to put on his socks.

you stand by him, patience quickly running thin. “hello?”

he brushes away the non-existent dirt on the left sock before switching his legs to put on the right one.

“did i turn invisible?”

your eyebrows furrow in disappointment. this isn’t how fighting works. you need a reaction at the very least.

you tug at the sleeve of his shirt, starting to get annoyed, already planning your exit if he continues this act. “you’re hurting my feelings. you’re not even going to look at me?”

he mumbles, and you almost fail to piece his phrase together. “can’t, you’re too pretty.”

his big brown eyes faintly glimmer with hope when he looks up at you, puckering his rose-tinted lips and making kissing sounds.

your sweet and clingy boyfriend, he’s making this too difficult.

a tsunami of affection washes over you, and it becomes impossible for you not to crack at his cheekiness then. “jungkook, you’re impossible!”

atleast he tried to shoot his shot.

“tsk, see? i thought so!” he grumbles, snapping the elastic band on his ankle. “just want one kiss.”

he disappears into the closet again.

he returns not a minute later, unceremoniously placing a white bucket hat on your head before tugging it down to obstruct your vision.

“hey!”

you hastily take it off, scowling at your laughing boyfriend who turns out to be already wearing a black bucket hat of his own.

“you’re bored, aren’t you? let’s go out, have some sun.”

“no.”

you reply exactly as your boyfriend predicted you would.

jungkook captures your wrist to slip his credit card on your palm, folding your fingers over it, but they aren’t enough to hide the black rectangular thing you can use to buy the world with if you wanted to. your amusement spills out as giggles, brighter as he pushes your hand to your chest so you have no other choice but to accept it.

he scrunches his nose, face only inches away from yours as he persuades you with his natural charm. “what if we go shopping, hmm?”

“thanks babe, but i can’t think of anything i want right now.” you sniffle with teary eyes, flipping the card and holding it between your longest fingers as muscle memory takes control.

“then just keep it incase you see something you want.”

he kneels on the floor out of the blue, and you eye him curiously, your fingers automatically tangling with his silky locks before making a loose fist.

“here, put some pants on. hurry-” he presents your pair of faded gray cargo pants.

you tug at his hair lightly, which prompts him to lift his head. you scrunch your nose cutely, giggling. “i’m spoiled.”

“ey, so what if you are?” he brushes off your observation with his satoori accent, blithe tone listing down reasons. “i love you. i worked hard so i can do these things for you. we moved in together so we can take care of each other.”

and you want to cry. you truly do. your face began to feel warm after he said that he loves you, but the tears never make it past your lash line when his big palm lands a loud smack on your ass, skin-to skin.

“but i do think that you are a brat. does that count for something?”

it catches you by surprise, and a scandalized gasp escapes your mouth as you feel the sting spreading across your skin.

“shut up! give that to me.” you roll your eyes, stealing the pants from his grasp.

“see, that’s what i’m talking about.” he chuckles lightheartedly. “get dressed then.”

his fingers dig in the soft flesh of your thighs when he pulls you closer to kiss the tiny little ribbon on your underwear, heart-shaped lips pressed to you so firmly you can trace their outline bleeding through the thin fabric and onto your skin. “mmm-mwah!”

and then you feel them there next, where it still hurts, a softer kiss in comparison to soothe the sting he left behind.

your heart is beating so loud you can feel it in your throat, feeble knees nearly giving away to crash and break.

who does that so casually? who the hell does that?

oh, right… jungkook. of course.

you raise the white flag today.

perhaps he will flood the apartment tomorrow, and you can stay angry longer then.

—

“what’s taking him so long?” you mutter absentmindedly to yourself, lost eyes scanning the park in hopes of getting a glimpse of your boyfriend and his classic jungkook outfit, but he’s still nowhere to be seen.

your sour mood makes a reappearance.

to your credit, taking you out and then asking you to wait here without telling you where he’s going is rude, and you’re lonely and jealous of the couples around you having a picnic. not to mention that the clouds have uncovered the sun and you’re burning.

this scene also leads your brain to wander to those cliche flashbacks in a film or a show where a parent lies to their child that they’ll come back, and then they doesn’t. it’s always, always at some sort of park.

oh, for fuck’s sake, why are you wasting your time giving this a lot of thought?

too bored and antsy to sit still, you finally decide to text jungkook.

to: my baby love

i'm gonna look for food. do you want anything?

orrr is that what you're away buying 😥

WHERE ARE YOU

why didn't you just take me with youuuu

please me lonely :(

[sent 1 photo]

a black cat !! is sleeping on my shoes!! 😭

i miss you :(

are you almost done

i hate u

whatever i'm going. call if you still remember that you're someone's bf i guess.

—

jungkook crosses the street like an excited puppy, long pretty hair bouncing as he practically skips his way to the area where he left you to wait.

only to be greeted by a complete stranger.

his radiant beam fades into a hue of confusion.

the bench is now occupied by a woman chugging an energy drink after running laps around the park.

they lock eyes for a split second. he averts his befuddled stare to pretend that nothing happened, walking past her with a bouquet of sunflowers until he settles down two benches away.

he wears his bucket hat again only for him to throw it aside with a sigh, messing with his hair to release his frustration. of course you left. he can only snort to himself while he reads the last message you sent. you’re so cute. he knows you’ve never been keen on having to wait, but he didn’t expect himself to take so long either.

not wanting you to be upset with him another second longer, he instantly decides to call you.

his forehead creases when his phone vibrates, informing him that he typed an incorrect password. he tries again, slow and deliberate, only for the same thing to happen, and he begins to feel nervous.

what the fuck?

okay, calm down, JK. one more time.

he freezes as the same words flash on the screen. his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he feels the irritation bubbling up inside of him.

“why is it like this…? what’s your problem? what am i touching wrong?”

—

you return to the park more carefree than before. since jungkook is god knows where, you decided to have a picnic on your own. you had to buy a new picnic blanket, though. you can’t get the one in the car because he has the key. but just to be petty, you hope that he figured it out from the text notifications he got when you used his card.

oh, there he is looking angrily at his phone.

you halt on your tracks, instantly pulling the brakes on your feet when you recognize your boyfriend from your peripheral vision. you slowly chew the remaining tteokbokki in your mouth.

he’s holding his phone… and he hasn’t called you yet?

“wow, did you seriously forgot about me?”

upon hearing your familiar voice, jungkook’s features soften, not having to squint at the sunlight either because you’ve kindly blocked it with your back.

“where did you even go? i didn’t see you!”

the password-protected device that’s been giving him a headache for the past ten minutes is abandoned in the depths of his pocket.

“baby,” he utters airily as he stands on his feet, reaching out to hold your forearm. “i’m sorry. i took so long, didn’t i…? i went to buy you flowers but they didn’t have tulips anywhere. anywhere. every shop said someone bought all of them!”

he scratches his head with a sheepish grin, revealing the bouquet he’s been concealing behind him.

“i got you sunflowers instead… they-” he points at them, eyes flickering on the bundle of yellow flowers he’s offering as a gift. “they’re not bad. i think they’re pretty too. you like them too, right?”

sunflowers are pretty. after all, it used to be your favorite in middle school, mostly because it’s the first flower you received from an admirer… it was for your birthday and you felt like you died when it withered, heavily on-brand for a young heart drawn to romance. excluding that, everything has changed. it’s a typical saturday and beads of sweat have formed on your lover’s forehead after running around under the sun. you think you can keep them alive longer this time around.

“i like you the most.”

and then he receives his gift in return, that particularly sweet smile of yours he only sees when you’re so giddy.

his heart flutters wildly at your following actions.

“kiss.” you adorably demand, copying his pout earlier when he was asking for a kiss.

but unlike you who left his wish ungranted, he crosses the distance to plant a kiss on your lips. he pulls away a mere three inches, muttering to confront you. “but i thought you hated me?”

“who said that? that wasn’t me.” you feign ignorance, eyes so wide as to mimic being confused. you carefully take the flowers into your embrace, subtly exchanging it with the paper bowl you’re holding. “thank you, baby… here, do you want tteokbokki?”

he goes for the fish cake first, poking it with the stick and popping it in his mouth. you find yourself too absorbed in admiring the sunflowers one by one to sense your boyfriend staring at you, thinking to himself, you’re always worth the effort and this overpriced tteokbokki is pretty damn good.

“i turned on my location like i promised i would. did you see?” you mention without looking at him, acting laidback, still too shy when anything related to the incident is brought up.

he awkwardly smiles. no, he didn’t, unfortunately. he’s still fucking locked out of his phone.

you whimper when he pinches your cheek. “good job, baby.”

—

jungkook removes his head on your stomach to lie down beside you on the red picnic blanket. his hair touches his face and he tucks them behind his ears for the millionth time today.

“will you type my password for me?”

you take his phone without question, putting yours over your chest for the meantime. you successfully unlock it within a second, experienced fingers nimble after years of typing on the daily.

“here.” you hold it out for him without looking, picking up your own phone to continue scrolling through trending topics. however, seconds pass and the heavy weight on your hand has yet to be eased, so you wiggle it to catch his attention. “hey, it’s done.”

he gasps, gaping at you in bewilderment. “how did you do that?”

“you changed it again last night, remember? because i told you our anniversary isn’t a good idea.”

shit, right. he added a new one to the list of passwords that he uses for everything. he totally forgot about that. you’ve taken over every working brain cell that he has in his body.

“baby, this is your fault!” he groans, finally snatching away his phone. “ah- i wanted to throw it away. i didn’t know what was wrong with it. i was seriously so close to crying!”

that bad? was he about to get all his data wiped out? your poor baby. you laugh out loud at his reaction, belly aching as you roll over to wrap your arm around his waist and bury your face on his side.

“anyone can guess it if they try hard enough.”

“but that was the trick, you know? they’d think it’s too easy. they wouldn’t even consider it!”

“that doesn’t mean they won’t try it!”

“ah, i don’t care. i’m changing it back.” he stubbornly pouts, falling back on the blanket.

you want to cuddle. he feels a tug on the sleeve of his shirt and he immediately understands. he allows you to use his tattooed arm as a pillow. it envelopes you entirely when he reaches for his phone to type with both hands, and you automatically snuggle with him closer by resting your head on his chest.

“fine. do what you want, you dummy. you better not leave your phone lying around.” you mutter, heavy eyelids fluttering shut as the wind blows to softly caress your face. “and don’t take more pictures of me sleeping.”

“you’re sleeping? i thought we’re going to the mall.”

“we are. i’m letting you rest before you carry shopping bags.”

“ah- wow. thanks, baby.”

you don’t how much time passes, a minute or ten or more, but falling into a deep sleep proves to be impossible with the cacophony of sounds you’re surrounded with. you’re resting somewhere away from the crowd, but there’s still the hiphop music from a bluetooth speaker, honking of vehicles… and the main culprit, jeon jungkook scrolling through tiktok on your phone and bookmarking videos for you to watch later on. you can hear his giggles louder than his heartbeat, feel them make his body vibrate throughout.

so, you give up. you open your blurry eyes with a tired sigh, blinking to readjust to the brightness. he feels your movements, your nose brushing against his neck, and he squeezes you to his side, dutifully stroking your head to remind you that you’re safe despite being in a public place because you’re with him. you kiss his cheek to show your appreciation.

you end up harmonizing with his giggles when you do decide to join him, nearly tearing up at the sight of a cat riding a motorcycle toy on the screen. a little while later, your fascination is then stolen by fiddling with his tattooed hand — tracing the veins, the lines, the tattoos; pressing the faded heart like it’s a button connected to the beating one in his ribcage; grazing the rough areas of his palm calloused by lifting heavy weights.

and as you do so, you mull over the house by the sea you’re saving up for. how much longer will it take? should you check out more locations? do you tell jungkook? that it’s your back-up plan, a place where no one knows your name, just like how this city once was. it’s where you would run to, where you would build a new life if the time comes that this one falls apart, too. if not, if not, if not, would it be so bad to wake up beside you with an ocean view when he’s sixty?

fuck, you don’t know anymore. it shouldn’t be this hard— not anticipating the worst, but still being prepared for it. you despise being an adult.

you do it absentmindedly, taking off one of your silver rings and slipping it into each of his fingers to see where it would fit best… he knows you’re only entertaining yourself, but feeling it in his ring finger still puts a lump in his throat.

“are you proposing to me?”

“this is your right hand, silly.” you tease your stunned boyfriend, sticking your tongue out. “if you want me, come and get me.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

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yandere-wishes · 4 days ago

Text

✮⋆˙Red Hood and The Big Bad Wolf ˙⋆✮

⭒⌒★ Yandere! Jason Todd x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝓕𝓪𝓲𝓻𝔂 𝓣𝓪𝓵𝓮 𝓐𝓤 ♡ ｡゜

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

*ੈ✩‧₊ Thinking about how similar Red Hood is to Little Red Riding Hood, not just in name but also in practice. At their core, they are both things, red things, that survive. Reborn from the lugubre maws of death, forced to live another day, carrying baskets weaved of anguish and instability.

*ੈ✩‧₊ Jason keeps the old picture book tucked in his jacket pocket. He can't quite remember where he found the fickle thing. Can't remember why he chose such an evanescent tale to cling to.

*ੈ✩‧₊ Or maybe he does, maybe he knows exactly why he runs his fingers over his inside pocket after every fight, just to make sure the eccentric fable is still in place. Maybe it's because he understands Red Riding Hood. Knows what she's been through, what it feels like to have your innocence stripped like skin being torn from bones. To be killed and revived all in the same breath. Maybe it's because he wants to know what happens next. What happens when Little Red learns to breathe again? He wants to ask her, beg her to tell him. To be the solution to all his problems.

*ੈ✩‧₊ "How do you swallow the trauma? What do you do with the phantom pain of your heart's reanimation? How do you make the darkness go away? Did you come back the same?

*ੈ✩‧₊ There is only one thing that makes them differ. One fundamental little thing...

*ੈ✩‧₊ Jason doesn't mind the wolf. Pretty pup prowling about. He blames it on his upbringing. He'd been taught to fall in love with such wicked things. From as early as he can remember he's watched bats chase cats across gargoyle-littered rooftops. Watched pretty girls throw themselves at bleached killers. That's why he's quick to be enarmed with the new villain terrorizing the Gotham streets. The girl in a wolf mask, planting bombs in jewelry stores and biting off her victim's ears.

*ੈ✩‧₊ There is nothing scary about the big bad wolf, Red Hood thinks, as he re-reads the page where the wolf and girl meet. Why fear pain when you've been to the end of the road? Why fear something when you're acquainted with its ending?

*ੈ✩‧₊ "Shouldn't wolves only come out when there's a full moon?" He swings in from the skyline, ironclad military boots lodging into your stomach pushing you back into a glass display case. "That's werewolves you idiot" you mumble out of breath, glass shards pocking at your spine. The ticking of your newest explosive rings melodically through the air. He's quick to cut the wires, to defuse your toy without a second thought. Professional you think bitterly as you pounce on his back looking for an opening of flesh to sink your teeth into.

*ੈ✩‧₊ The thing they don't tell you about dying is that you always come back wrong. Primordially, spiritually, the person who closes their eyes, is never the same one who opens them again.

But Red Riding Hood was lucky, her story ended before she realized that dreadful thing. Jason has to deal with it every day, the reverberating scars, the colorless world that fractures and breaks should he let his mind wander astray. The fact that his heart only ever truly beats when he sees the fluffy ears of your cowl and that damn bloodthirsty smirk.

*ੈ✩‧₊ Yandere!Jason Todd who's only brave enough to call it love after you stake a knife through his heart. The bulletproof vest and armor keep the damage away, but he can see the murderous intent shimmering in your eyes. It's only then that he pulls you down by the back of your neck. Lips to lips, a messy clash of anathema and apprehension. Your teeth gnaw at his lips while his tongue composes ballads on the roof of your mouth.

*ੈ✩‧₊ He wonders if Little Red ever went back for the wolf. If she ever dares kiss him with all the pain and anguish she has left in her body. Nicking her tongue on his razor-sharp teeth. Guiding his claws to ghost over her frail body. He wonders if the wolf can even hurt her. There's so little left that can hurt you when you've already felt the end.

*ੈ✩‧₊ He knows you stalk him, follow him even during the day. Sometimes he pulls you into the back alleyway. Knife at your throat as he soaks up your ethereal face. Mask on, mask off. In the end, you'd have found out anyway. His hands squeeze at your hips, needing the flesh, leaving his essence over your body. His lips danced over the back of your neck, biting tenderly at the apex of your shoulder.

*ੈ✩‧₊ You seem to like it when his knife cuts deep. When his punches crack bone. When his boots crush you into the pavement. You throw your head back and laugh, witty little threats spilling from your mouth. So this is love he thinks as your claws rake over his biceps ripping the muscle like ribbons, rummaging through the blood and tissue in search of bone. "Poor little puppy" he mocks "looking for a bone to chew on". "Shut up you tomato-looking freak" you scream as his teeth sink into your jaw, crunching of bone.

*ੈ✩‧₊ He thinks you look gorgeous when you're irritated, he thinks you're beautiful when your bloodthirst seeps through the anger. He bites back a moan as your knee nests into his gut.

*ੈ✩‧₊ Did Little Red ever talk to her mother again? Or did she hold a grudge, haunted by her betrayal of sending her into the woods unarmed, heartbroken that she never came looking for her? Jason's thoughts pound inside his head, picture-book illustrations flash before him of Little Red pushing her mother away, of tears streaming down her face, screaming, screaming, screaming. He hisses as his lacerations burn. Hand suspended, pushing down the urge to knock on his father's door. Bruce would know what to do...he always knows what to do. It's such a childish notion, he clings to. Even now, even after he was killed and left un-avenged Jason still wholeheartedly believes in the notion that Daddy will fix everything...He's halfway to the entrance gate when Bruce alls after him, cadence thick with grief and ache. Jason doesn't turn back, he runs and runs and runs.

*ੈ✩‧₊ Yandere!Jason who crashes through your apartment window. Pushes you back onto the bed and lies next to you as you squirm and scream. He wraps his arms protectively around your waist and nuzzles into the crux of your neck. Mumbling Little Red Riding Hood's tale until you fall asleep. "How did You know I love the story?" you ask, the next morning to the empty half of your bed. Last night's tremulous dread still laying heavy on your corpse.

*ੈ✩‧₊ Yandere!Jason who lays on his window seal, watching as the sun pokes through Granny Red's face. It's funny isn't it, in such a twisted way didn't he also die in his grandfather's house? Only to be reborn while he watched? Didn't the same thing happen to Little Red?

*ੈ✩‧₊ That night Jason dream he's was walking through the grass, headed for the forest behind Wayne manner. He's trapped inside his jejune body, the body of a boy wonder. Clutching a basket with a crowbar inside as dread dances in his stomach. His old red cape taut around his neck, suffocating, skin-tight. He's forgotten how to breathe, puerile fear of those ghoulish old trees clawing at his body. Through the dimness, through lose rays that escape the moon's greed he's able to spot you. Weaving through the bushes and trees, stalking closer and closer. He doesn't know whether to meet you halfway or retreat. Frozen like a robin being pounced on by a sickly smiling cat. His eyes meet yours, right before you attack.

*ੈ✩‧₊ Yandere!Jason who misses you, when he doesn't catch you on patrol, of course, he misses you, it's hard not to miss a broken bone. Hard to feel the sting of your wounds and forget who put them there.

*ੈ✩‧₊ Yandere!Jason finally realizes that he just can't bear to be away from you. This love, this mania, it's all for you. He needs you. He's got you corned, the end of a chase. You smile, all teeth and games, "You're pretty when sulk" you whisper, tracing claws up his chest, digging into the space between each ridge. "Oh really? How can you tell when I got this helmet on?" You laugh, coy and flirtish "I just do" you shrug. Pulling his helmet up, lips ghosting over his in a mockery of a kiss. Jason pushes forward, entraping your lips against his. Lost in intimacy he's quick to grab you, to drag you back to his apartment, to lock the doors and throw away the key. To keep the big bad wolf where she belongs, right next to Little Red Riding Hood.

🎀I feel like every Batson deserves a villainess to fall in love with. Let's call this one WolfWoman. TBH I feel like I want to write more for her in the future.

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renovationgroup · 1 month ago

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Reliable Roofing: Protecting Homes Across Alabama

A reliable roof is the cornerstone of any safe and comfortable home. In Alabama, where weather conditions can range from blazing summer heat to heavy rains and storms, having a durable roof over your head is essential. Roofing isn’t just about aesthetics; it’s about ensuring safety, insulation, and long-term structural integrity. For Alabama homeowners, the importance of choosing reliable roofing solutions cannot be overstated.

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Invest in Reliability, Protect Your Home

A reliable roof is more than just a necessity; it’s a cornerstone of your home’s safety, comfort, and value. In Alabama’s demanding climate, ensuring your roof is up to the task requires quality materials, professional services, and consistent maintenance. At Roofing Experts Services, we’re here to help you achieve peace of mind with dependable roofing solutions tailored to your needs. Don’t wait for small issues to become costly problems—invest in a reliable roof today and protect your home for years to come.

#roof damage solutions #roof tarping #roof repair safety #roofing experts #emergency roof repair #storm damage protection #professional roof services #roofing experts services

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

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Playboy || PG10 {3}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x fem!reader Summary: Pierre proves himself and makes promises. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut WC: 2.2k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four

Wind whipped through the gaping hole in the back of the Ferrari and you shivered from the cold, curling your knees up to your chest as Pierre drove back to the city. You expected him to take you home but he pulled into a far nicer apartment block and spiralled down the ramp to the underground carpark.

Slipping out of the car and into the well-lit carpark you saw the full extent of the damage and shook your head at the new paint job that was needed. “I’m sorry,” you murmured as you ran your fingers over the worst chips and dents.

A pair of hands came to rest on your hips and Pierre rested his chin on your shoulder as he looked at his car. “Don’t worry about it, insurance will cover it.”

“I was apologising to the car,” you said with a smirk but the move only served to split the cut on your cheek and fresh blood welled to the surface as you winced. “Do you have a first aid kit I can borrow?”

Pierre laced his fingers with yours and nodded as he led the way to his apartment. The elevator ride was quiet and you felt the tension rising as you idly played with the thick ring on his thumb. Looking away from the jewellery, you realised it was a mistake as you met his eyes and knew the feeling wasn’t one way, but the elevator was not the place to start what you had in mind.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Pierre all but groaned as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Like what?” you asked innocently, tilting your head to the side and peeking up through your lashes.

“Like I’m a playboy who will fuck you on the first date.” There was a sinkhole in the ocean of his irises and it was stealing all the colour from them the longer that he looked at you. He reached out and hit the button for the 12th floor again as if it would magically make the ride go faster. “I’m trying to prove a point and you’re making it hard.”

“Is there a rooftop here?” you asked as you thought of a solution.

“Yeah, for maintenance I think. Why?”

“Take me there first,” you urged and he frowned as he hit the button for the level above his. The elevator opened to a short hallway and you saw the stairs that led to a metal door so you tugged his hand and made your way outside, sticking a brick in the door to keep it from locking you out. “Lay down.”

“You can be quite bossy,” he chuckled but humoured you as he did as he was told, joining you on the cold concrete roof top. “What are we doing?”

“Stargazing,” you said as you turned to him, propping your head up on your hand. “It seems like a reasonable second date.”

“A second date already, hmm,” he smirked as you sat up and leaned over him with a matching smile.

“I think that officially means you aren’t a playboy.” You dipped your head down and he met you halfway, his large hands grabbing your waist to pull you onto his lap as he sat up and kissed you.

“Very clever,” he murmured against your lips, making you smile more.

“I’ve been known to have a few good ideas on occasion.”

He chuckled as his hands roamed your body, brushing along the hem of your dress and edging it up. “Any others you can think of?”

“One or two,” you breathed as his fingers slipped beneath the material. “But not here.”

There was a new urgency as you rose on unsteady feet and Pierre’s arm curled around your waist as if the distance to walk at your side was too far for his liking. After three quick presses of the elevator button and no instant result, he growled and you looked at the stairwell before kicking off your heels.

His laugh echoed off the concrete walls and he was quick to make chase as you raced ahead of him down the next floor where his keys were already in his hands and rushing to unlock the door. It crashed open as he turned and pulled you with him, your bodies sealing close together while your lips collided with a deep hunger.

He blindly kicked the door shut behind and his large hands splayed across your ass before gripping tightly and using his strength to pick you up. A moan escaped you as your legs wrapped around his hips and you felt just how bad he wanted you.

“Wait.” Your eyebrows lifted at the order he gave as he sat you on his kitchen countertop, his chest rising and falling with quick pants.

“Wait?” you echoed in disbelief, the needy sound making him smirk.

“You’re still hurt,” he reminded softly as he reached under the sink for his first aid kit before nudging your knees apart so he could step into the space. “Let me take care of you first.” He was gentle as he cleaned your cheek, the gauze turning pink with your blood, and he apologised when he opened the antiseptic wipe. “This might sting a bit.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

Curiosity filled his eyes as he dabbed the skin dry before putting a little butterfly stitch over the cut. “What happened?” he asked as he cradled your jaw in his hand to keep you from looking away.

“That’s something that would need to wait until at least the third date,” you said with a shake of your head. “I thought you were going to take care of me.”

A cocky smile played at his lips as you challenged him and his hands brushed your dress up over your hips as he dropped to his knees. “Oh, I’ll take care of you, Beautiful.”

The first aid kit was scattered across the kitchen floor where you had knocked it off the bench in the throes of your first orgasm. He had enjoyed taking his time with you laid out, writhing under the talent of his lips, his tongue, his teeth.

The next victim was your dress, his impatience and strength breaking the zip in the frenzied need to remove all barriers between your bodies. Your hands had tugged his sweater over his head before pulling his shirt open, little white buttons popping off in all directions.

“Jesus,” you moaned as you ran your fingers down his body, feeling every hard ridge of muscle until you reached his jeans. “I knew you were going to be fit but fuck…”

He grinned proudly at the remark and took over removing him of the denim keeping you from reaching what you wanted. The thin pair of boxers did little to hide the length of him begging for freedom from the constricting material but before you could tug them down he was tugging you back into his arms and leading you to his bedroom.

“I’ll lose all my common sense if you touch me, beautiful, and then we will be in trouble,” he admitted as he laid you on his bed, kissing you before pulling back and rifling through his drawers for a condom.

You weren’t sure you were going to be able to feel your legs again anytime soon. The man was obsessed with making sure you were in a constant state of bliss and you were almost relieved when he couldn’t hold back his own release any longer. He had collapsed beside you with a deeply satisfied sigh before disposing of the condom so he could recover with you in his arms, your head on his chest.

His fingers danced lazily across your hip, tracing invisible letters and shapes on your skin until he noticed the changes in texture, the slight bumps on an otherwise smooth surface. Lifting his head, he pushed the sheet away and spied the scars in the dim light. “What happened?” He had seen the scars that littered your knuckles and palms, victims of the job you did - but these were different.

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered, pulling the sheet back around your body as you sat up. “I should get going.”

“Stay,” he urged, but you were already leaving the room to find your underwear on the messy kitchen floor. “It was just a question.”

It was a question that there was no easy answer to. It was a question that opened the door for more questions, and they would surely lead to memories that were better off left in the recesses of your mind.

“It was just sex, Pierre,” you said as you felt him following you, “that doesn’t mean I have to bare my soul to you.”

You pulled your dress on but it hung open at the back so you grabbed his shirt and shoved your arms inside before he pulled you back into his arms and his lips pressed to your neck.

“It wasn’t just sex to me.” The quiet admission had your eyes closing and your head tipping back onto his shoulder. “Please, stay.”

“I can’t give you the answers you are after.”

“You already have.” He turned you in his arms and you could see the sadness swimming in the ocean of his eyes. “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Men make promises they can’t keep.”

“Not real men,” he said with a little laugh. “You’re probably thinking of those playboys.”

You rose on your toes and brushed your lips softly over his. “I don’t trust people very easily, but I’m trusting you. Please don't make me regret it.”

His smile made your heart skip a beat and when he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead you knew you weren’t going anywhere. You let his shirt fall back to the floor before brushing your dress straps off your shoulder, taking his hand and leading him right back where you started.

“So sex in your car is out of the question,” you giggled as you watched the playback of the dashcam. The man had a camera on the front, at the back and, more crucially, facing the driver so everyone could see exactly who it was that won the race. They would also see the heated kiss you shared after coming to a halt at the lookout. “A shame really, we look pretty good together.”

“I’m adventurous but not that adventurous,” Pierre admitted with an amused shake of his head. “You ready?”

Your finger hovered over the button to post the video, tagging D as well as the other Street Kings. “Long live the King,” you muttered as you hit it, uploading the file almost instantly. “No going back now.” Closing the laptop, you spun around in his gaming chair and looked up at Pierre. “Now what do we do?”

He glanced at his watch and saw it wasn’t even noon. “I know a place where we can kill a few hours.”

“The bedroom?”

He smirked and caged you in his chair, nudging your legs open with his knee. His oversized shirt you wore rode high up your thighs and his eyes lingered on the bare skin before he dragged them up your body to your face. “You don’t need to convince me, but I was thinking about something outside of the apartment.”

Less than an hour later you were pulling up at a racetrack on the outskirts of Nice, half a dozen cars already there.

“Hey Pretty Boy, how’s your girl running?” you greeted Charles as he stepped out of his Pista.

“Very well, thank you.” He looked between you and Pierre, his smile growing as when he saw the possessive arm curl around your waist. “Now you can finally stop calling me that.”

“Why would I do that? Pierre would have seen your mid-teen-crisis too. Plus, I have a better name for him now.”

“This should be good, let’s hear it,” Charles chuckled until you pressed your forefinger to your lips.

“Sorry, it’s not for innocent ears.”

Charles’ nose wrinkled with an idea of where it was heading and shook his head before leading the group inside. “Whose team are you going to race on?”

“What are we racing?” you asked as you walked past a line of Porsches but continued along to a few garages open.

“Not this time,” Pierre teased as he pointed to a smaller track you hadn’t noticed to the side. At the start line, Joris, Ilies and Arthur were already picking up their race suits and you cocked an eyebrow at the mode of racing chosen.

“Karts?”

“I thought you could race anything?” he challenged playfully. “It has an engine and four wheels.”

You cracked your knuckles and accepted the helmet and race suit he grabbed for you. “I suppose I could do with a warm up before the big race.”

“What race?” Charles asked with concern before looking at his friend. “You’re not getting yourself into trouble are you?”

Pierre couldn’t help sending a wink your way before he clapped Charles on the shoulder. “Relax, mate. I’ve got this.”

Click here for chapter four.

#pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly smut #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly x y/n #f1 smut #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #formula one fanfiction

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dxckgrxsonx · 6 months ago

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Out of office is ON. Absolutely ZERO customer service duties until Monday and I am sososo relieved!

May i give you all a look at my exbf!dick WIP?

Watching that first edge of your relationship catch at the precipice of failure felt so much like grief it was alarming; letting go has never been something you’re good at, especially not when it comes to him.

But you couldn’t stop Dick Grayson from slipping through your fingers the same way he couldn’t stop you from slipping through his.

Ending the relationship was a mutual decision. But that fact brought no relief. He was still leaving you, and in the terrible reflection of that, you were leaving him too.

There was no coming back from that.

Your relationship ends on a Tuesday and first thing Wednesday morning you walk into Titans Tower to find Dick standing at the kitchen counter.

Time stalls, your whole life stuttering in a furious backfire.

Whatever you were expecting. It wasn’t this.

Memory blooms against the palms of your hands and it’s tangible, focus hard enough and your fingers could trip along the interlocking bones of his spine. It’s historic recollection, almost twelve months eclipsing the time it takes to blink; one trip around the sun together and your life comes back to you irrevocably changed.

Three hours of sleep isn’t enough to deal with this; you don’t think any amount of sleep is enough for this.

Dick stares at the wall just past your head, mug held halfway to his mouth. He’s still wearing the same clothes as last night, doesn’t look like he’s slept for even a minute, and you could throw a dart at what you’re feeling about that and still not pinpoint it exactly.

Silence seems to echo, then swell, and you can't help but fumble in the face of it, caught in foreign territory. You wasn’t quite sure what you were expecting, but seeing him again so soon wasn’t really on the list. For a moment you consider turning on the balls of your feet and leaving, and yet, you know that won’t solve anything.

A cup of coffee is pushed across the counter in your direction and you stare at it, bewilderment shoved up against the roof of your mouth. You know it’s made exactly the way you like it; know with the same sort of certainty that you bring into mission briefings, the same concrete accuracy you display in combat.

It feels like you’re going fucking crazy.

Glancing at Dick you try to gauge the look on his face but you can’t.

When you first starting dating it was hard to read between his lines–difficult to spot the miniscule changes in his mannerisms–you could stare him straight in the face and miss the switch; miss the split second where emotion filters through the cracks and he shuts it down, hides behind a smooth facade of indifference.

After all the time you spent together it got easier. You learnt. But you look at him now and you might as well have never known him at all.

Dick opens his mouth and every muscle along your spine flexes in preparation, "Let’s not make this weird, yeah?"

Your teeth grind.

What a fucking diplomat.

One thing about you is this: you’re petty. Hand on heart you can’t help it. You get wronged and hit back in the lowest form you can think of–the most inconvenient way your mind can conjure up. The satisfaction you get from it is unparalleled.

Years ago, your uncle told you to leave your own house after a disagreement and in retaliation you parked your car so close to his bumper he couldn’t get out of the space. Then you blocked his number and didn’t come back for three days.

Not once did you regret it.

Dick knows exactly what you’re like; who you are on the inside, and yet he arrives at the solution of damage control. As if that would have ever gotten a positive reaction out of you–as if there would be any moment in your life where you wouldn’t bite all the way back to your molars into something glaringly spiteful.

There’s a split second where you wonder if he’s doing it on purpose.

He knows you on a level you can’t speak about–knows you through all four seasons and right down to the cosmic dust that interlocks with the fabric of your being–and he’s so brilliantly clever. Strategist since he was a child. You don’t have a doubt in your mind that he knows what you’re about to do before you do it. The revelation stings the same way a papercut does, wound superficial and with clean edges, yet painful no matter what.

Dick Grayson knows you, and in a fit of something helpless and tearful, you wish he didn’t.

The mug of coffee tips in your fingers and you pour the whole damn thing down the drain.

“Yeah.” You say, blinking furiously, refusing to acknowledge the wobble in your voice. “Fuck that.”

Dick stares at you the whole time–the blue of his eyes almost flashing with something un-named–his free hand tightening into a fist. The exhilaration is damning, blood rushing up to greet the sick satisfaction sparking in the hollow of your throat.

Fuck him.

Fuck him so goddamn much.

#exbf!dick grayson my beloved #I’ve missed him #being petty to push his buttons is my number one goal in life #to the anon who sent the ask inspiring this #I owe you everything #dick grayson x reader #ella writes #WIP: Event Horizon

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winged-void · 9 months ago

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Here's the story yall asked me to post

Hello! I am posting this short little story, which is the first of a number of short stories I have written about these two characters, a delusional noblewoman and her deranged maid. By clicking the readmore you agree that both characters contained within, regardless of what the text says, are girls.

In some forgotten corner of some forgotten city, a forgotten noble of a forgotten family sits in petty agony.

Protected from the onslaught of acidic rain only by a hastily constructed sheet metal roof, he imagines Mother's pain at the tears in his coat, and the scion of the Branche family considers weeping.

What would it cost?

Too much.

Elan Branche pushes it down. At twelve, one puts such childishness behind them.

Back straight. Assess the damage. Find the solution.

The coat was heavy. Too large, and far too decorated with old and meaningless signifiers of unearned and forgotten glory, weighed down further still by the damp of rain and blood (hidden at least by the deep red color of the fabric), he takes it off and hangs it on a bit of exposed rebar.

It was old and beautiful; burgundy and torn to shreds. The sleeves and the tail had cuts and rips that Elan knew he could never fix. He thought of a picture he'd found of the family's old staff, and the dedicated tailor among them. All gone now, gone since before his birth. This burden, like all before it, must be borne alone.

Put it out of mind for now.

He turned away from the coat to inspect his blade. Sharpening the noble edge sharpens the noble mind, he thought, and began to clean. His adventures to these parts were proving more expensive than he thought, but the rabble must know the Branche Family. Their petty vassals and pettier commoners had forgotten and darkness had come to them.

By sword and torch and pistol he would bring light and flame back. He would polish the old blazonry with the blood of those foolish and cruel enough to have taken advantage of the weakness of his family. No longer would commoner merchant thugs an-

Hold. A sound.

Elan jumped and turned, blade pointed at his empty coat, hanged and swinging in the breeze.

Foolish. Too easily startled. Undignified. Waving your sword around at an empty coat.

But then another sound, like the whimper of a kicked dog.

“N-Nothing gets by you, milord….”

A hunched and crouching pathetic figure emerged from behind the rebar, raising its hands, but holding onto what seemed to be an especially short thin piece of scrap metal, bent at the end such that a thread could pass through it.

Elan's mind raced. First, relief, then recognition. Figure was a boy. No older than thirteen or fourteen. Thin, so thin, tall and dressed in rags.

“You. You're that kid from the other day. The mugging victim, yes?”

Wasn't that mugging four towns over?

He left it unsaid. He continued.

“What are you doing with my coat?”

The figure squirmed, and tried to stand up straight.

“I-I-I saw. The state of your coat. And I thought I might be useful, milord…” It paused, and jumped as though shocked, “My lord.”

It gestured towards the left sleeve, and Elan's eyes traced the crimson thread from the needle in its scarred hand to the sleeve of the coat, partially sewed with baffling skill.

Elan considered the boy. His hair gray (common in these chemically stained regions), his form clearly starved, his body shaking but his hands so very steady.

Potential and possibility, all of it. Solutions to problems named and those he refused to name.

“How useful,” Elan lowered his sword and allowed himself to smile, “would you like to be?”

#Harpyguide #Wing Tipped Pen #maid

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nirbobharvey · 3 months ago

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Hurricane Milton Resources, Emergency Contacts, and Recovery Assistance

Hurricane Milton is making landfall in Florida, and residents across the state must prepare for the potential devastation it could bring. With forecasts predicting high winds, torrential rain, and widespread flooding, Hurricane Milton could leave communities struggling to rebuild.

New Image Roofing Atlanta gathered information about Hurricane Milton, the damage and devastation it will likely leave in its path, valuable emergency resources, and what New Image Roofing has invested to assist the urgent upcoming recovery efforts.

New Image Roofing Florida 352-316-6008 is ready to assist residents and businesses with roofing and recovery needs. Below is a breakdown of the potential risks, necessary resources, and emergency contacts to help Floridians navigate this challenging time.

Potential Devastation from Hurricane Milton

Hurricane Milton’s impact on Florida could be catastrophic. Forecasts show a Category 4 storm, and officials urge everyone to prepare for the worst. The potential damage from this hurricane could include:

Winds up to 150 mph – These extreme wind speeds can tear roofs off homes and businesses, uproot trees, and snap power lines. Flying debris could cause significant property damage and put lives at risk.

Torrential rainfall and flooding – Milton is expected to dump up to 20 inches of rain in certain areas, leading to flash flooding in low-lying regions. Coastal areas face the added threat of storm surge, which could inundate homes and infrastructure.

Watch this video to grasp the dangers of storm surge (a storm surge of 15 feet is expected with Hurricane Milton).

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Power outages – Downed power lines will likely cause widespread outages. These outages may last days or weeks, leaving communities without access to essential services.

Tornadoes – Hurricane Milton’s powerful system could spawn tornadoes, particularly in the eastern parts of the state, causing additional destruction.

Watch this video to see Hurricane Milton’s approach to Florida’s west coast.

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New Image Roofing Florida’s Response

New Image Roofing Florida has a strong history of helping communities recover after hurricanes. The company is prepared to assist with Hurricane Milton’s aftermath. As part of their commitment to helping Florida rebuild, New Image Roofing teams will be deployed to the most affected regions as soon as it is safe to begin repairs.

Rapid Deployment – New Image Roofing Florida teams are on standby, ready to travel to hurricane-affected areas to begin emergency repairs. Their teams specialize in patching damaged roofs, installing temporary tarps, and providing long-term roofing solutions.

NEW IMAGE ROOFING FLORIDA 352-316-6008

Residential and Commercial Assistance – New Image Roofing Florida is equipped to handle residential and commercial properties. Their priorities are to rapidly secure buildings, prevent further water damage, and help businesses reopen quickly.

Free Inspections and Estimates – The company offers free roof inspections and damage estimates for all affected Floridians.

Experienced Hurricane Recovery Teams – With years of experience handling the aftermath of powerful storms, New Image Roofing Florida will work efficiently to secure homes, schools, businesses, and critical infrastructure.

Federal and State Resources

In the wake of Hurricane Milton, Floridians will rely on various state and federal agencies to provide essential services. Below is a list of important contacts and resources for emergency assistance, shelters, and recovery support:

Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA)

Website: fema.gov Phone: 1-800-621-FEMA (3362)

Services: FEMA provides disaster relief assistance, including temporary housing, emergency financial aid, and infrastructure repair.

American Red Cross

Website: redcross.org Phone: 1-800-RED-CROSS (733-2767)

Services: The Red Cross offers shelter, food, and medical support during and after disasters.

Florida Division of Emergency Management (FDEM)

Website: floridadisaster.org Phone: 850-815-4000 State Assistance Emergency Line: 1-800-342-3557 Florida Relay Service: Dial 711 (TDD/TTY)

Services: FDEM coordinates state-wide emergency response, disaster recovery, and evacuation orders.

New Image Roofing Florida

Website: newimageroofingfl.com Phone: 352-316-6008

Services: New Image Roofing Florida provides full-service emergency roof inspections, patching up damaged roofs, installing temporary tarps, and providing long-term roofing solutions. The company will also coordinate/attend adjusters meetings with your insurance agency.

Florida Power & Light (FPL)

Website: fpl.com Phone: 1-800-468-8243

Services: FPL provides power outage reporting and updates on restoration timelines.

National Flood Insurance Program (NFIP)

Website: floodsmart.gov Phone: 1-888-379-9531

Services: NFIP provides information about flood insurance policies and assistance with claims after flood damage.

Florida Department of Transportation (FDOT)

Website: fdot.gov Phone: 1-850-414-4100

Services: FDOT manages road closures and traffic conditions. They provide real-time updates about safe evacuation routes and road repairs after a storm.

Local Florida County Emergency Services

Each Florida county has emergency management teams coordinating shelters, first responders, and relief efforts. Check your county’s website for specific contact numbers and resources. At-risk counties include:

Charlotte Citrus De Soto Flagler Glades Hardee Hernando Hillsborough Manatee Pasco Pinellas Sarasota Sumter

Visit WUSF (West Central Florida’s NPR station) website for valuable local information, emergency shelter, and guidance.

Website: wusf.org

Hurricane Season Risks and Preparedness

Florida’s hurricane season runs from June 1 to November 30. Hurricane Milton is hitting just as the state braces for more potential storms. The danger doesn’t end when the hurricane passes. After a storm like Milton, communities are left vulnerable to future weather events. The risk of another hurricane striking Florida before Milton’s recovery remains high.

Weakening Infrastructure – After Milton, homes and businesses will be more susceptible to damage from weaker tropical storms or hurricanes. Unrepaired roofs and weakened structures could collapse or fail under minimal pressure.

Flooding Risks – Milton’s heavy rainfall and storm surge will saturate the ground and fill waterways. This will leave communities vulnerable to even small rain events, with the potential for additional flooding.

Power Restoration Delays – With Milton causing widespread outages, the power grid may remain unstable for weeks, making it difficult for residents to recover fully before the next storm hits.

Preparing for Future Storms – Residents must begin making plans now for the rest of hurricane season. Stock up on supplies, make sure your property is secure, and stay informed about future weather developments.

Additional Tips for Hurricane Preparedness

To ensure the safety of yourself and your loved ones, follow these guidelines when preparing for a Hurricane:

Evacuate if Ordered – Listen to local officials and immediately evacuate if you are in an evacuation zone. Delaying could put your life at risk.

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Secure Your Property – Install hurricane shutters, trim trees, and secure outdoor items. Consider having your roof inspected by New Image Roofing before the storm hits.

Prepare a Disaster Kit – Include essentials like water, food, medications, flashlights, batteries, and important documents.

Stay Informed – Official sources like FEMA, FDEM, and the National Weather Service offer updates and information.

Read more about hurricane preparedness at newimageroofingatlanta.com/hurricane-preparedness-a-comprehensive-guide

Hurricane Milton Resources and Recovery

In this article, you discovered information about hurricane preparedness, potential severe damage to roofs and homes, post-hurricane emergency services and resources, and how to repair your home and roof after the storm.

Your awareness and preparedness for Hurricane Milton (and coming storms) will minimize damages and help you return to normal in the storm’s aftermath.

Lack of proactive measures and delayed action will leave you uninformed, in life-threatening situations, and severely challenged to get your home and roof repaired after a hurricane sweeps through your community.

New Image Roofing Florida – 352-316-6008

Sources: fema.gov/disaster/current/hurricane-milton climate.gov/news-features/event-tracker/hurricane-milton-rapidly-intensifies-category-5-hurricane-becoming nhc.noaa.gov/refresh/graphics_at4+shtml/150217.shtml?cone

New Image Roofing Atlanta

2020 Howell Mill Rd NW Suite 232 Atlanta, GA30318 (404) 680-0041

To see the original version of this article, visit https://www.newimageroofingatlanta.com/hurricane-milton-resources-emergency-contacts-and-recovery-assistance/

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