#skip hop and thump!

[youwantedadog]

1x01 // 7x02

[theafictionados]

Every Afictionados Best Line Award (Robyn)

Riverdale Episode 702: Skip, Hop, and Thump!

by the Afictionados Podcast Network

[megamindsecretlair]

So um I’m kinda obsessed with Aaron and that fic you just wrote kinda makes me feel like I’m going through withdrawals😂😂….. so um are we gonna get the part where he eats her like a full meal cause um yea (Love your writing btw❤️)

A/N: Not with that dynamic, anon, but how about this one??

Let Me Take Control

Pairing: Toxic!Neighbor!Terry Richmond x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, PIV, fingering (female receiving), oral (fem receiving), teasing, size kink, dirty talk, degradation kink, praise kink sprinkled in, rough sex, persuasion, reader is able to be picked up, use of n-word, all consensual.

Summary: Your fine as hell neighbor, Terry, hits you up late at night with a text. Already knowing what’s ‘bout to go down, you invite him over and get yourself ready for an unforgettable night.

Word Count: 3,807k

AO3 Link

A/N: MISS HIMMMM. I watched Rebel Ridge for the (mindyabidness) time and I neeeeeeed him! WHEW! Ya'll blew my first fic up, and YALL. Don't make me cry with all your sweet words! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

That Munch: You up?

Your phone chimed and you flipped over in bed, reaching for your phone on your nightstand. You opened the message to see a text from your fine ass neighbor, Terry. You popped up in bed, bouncing with the effort as you turned on the lamp.

Cool light flooded the room, taking mercy on your sleep deprived eyes. You pulled the bonnet off of your head and assessed your hair. It was currently coiled into a bun to keep it neat, but your braids were recent and still fresh. Good, you were gonna need that extra strength. 

You bit your lip as you texted back.

You: What’s up?

That Munch: Can’t sleep.

Your heart skipped a beat. Terry said the two magic words that got your blood thumping. Your core heating up to dangerous levels. You hopped out of bed and ran to the bathroom to freshen your breath and relieve yourself. 

You washed your hands and looked at yourself in the mirror. Terry’s brain needed to be studied. It was like he knew what you were missing without even having to ask. Or think about it. You were just tossing and turning in bed, sleep eluding you for the hundredth time. You were running through possible solutions when that little chime and those two words fell from the sky like a divine intervention. 

You texted back, feeling a little giddy that he was up and willing. You’d been like two ships passing in the fog lately. Always arriving or leaving a touch out of sync with each other. He would just be getting in the elevator when you left your apartment. He was just closing his door when you were emerging from yours.

And once inside, you usually kept contact to a minimum. Tried to put Terry into a box. Firmly in the neighbors with benefits column. He was too fine. Too hot. Too intense to ever be a regular thing. You couldn’t stand it. Looking at that man night and day? Please, you’d die. 

You paced the room in your oversized T-shirt and panties, biting your lip as you waited for the short trek through his apartment, out of his door, and the knock on yours. When it came, you skipped to the front door on a bed of nerves. Each footfall felt like lead and each heart beat felt like a stab in your chest.

You opened the door and leaned your head against it. “Hey stranger,” you said, keeping your cool around this man.

You were terrible at it, actually. Terry blinked those pretty electric eyes at you and entered your apartment. You closed the door behind him and locked the door, taking the time to admire his back side. He didn’t wear anything but some long joggers that cupped around his ankles. His ass was well rounded, looking good enough to bite. One side was slightly higher on his calf and for no reason at all, it was the hottest thing ever. 

He turned around and his eyes softened. “Were you sleep?” He asked. 

His voice alone sent shivers down your spine. On the inside, you were screaming. He was too damn hot to be real. He was like a marble statue made real. He moved with care. Purposeful. You shook your head and with it your thoughts. “You know that ain’t true,” you said.

“Why didn’t you text me?” He asked. He stepped closer, crowding into your space. The door was the only thing holding you up at the moment. He approached, stepping into your personal space. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off of his smooth skin. 

You shrugged. “‘Case you were busy. I came home late tonight,” you said.

Terry smirked and tilted his head. “Has that ever stopped us before?” He asked.

You shook your head. Terry bent his head down and kissed your cheek. You gasped, lips parting as he left behind tingles. Your breathing began to hurt your lungs, breathing too fast and too hard. He hadn’t even done anything yet. 

“You been tossing and turning when you know I’m right next door? Willing? Eager?” He asked. 

You shivered even though he was hot enough to fill the room. You kept your hands down at your sides. If you started touching him now, this would be over before it started. His shoulders were broad, honed, sculpted. His full lips glowed in the low ambient light in your living room. 

“Terry,” you said, more of a warning than a plea. This was why you didn’t call him. This was why your brain didn’t even give you that option. It always felt like you were taking advantage, knowing he wanted more and you continued to toy with his feelings.

It wasn’t on purpose. You truly couldn’t decide to take that ride with him or not. If you were ready to be with someone so grown. So in control. You were used to little fuckboys who played in your face. Who were bigger drama queens than you were and that shit didn’t fly.

But Terry? Terry was a different breed. Falling into his lap was almost an accident. You were smart enough to know your limits but dumb enough to toss them right out of the window. 

Terry took your hand and led you away from the door. You smiled at him as he moved without light to your bedroom. You supposed each layout of the apartments were about the same, with some variations. Did that mean his room shared a wall with your bathroom? The thought alone had you biting your lip picturing him all glistening wet. 

Inside your bedroom, Terry spun you around and pulled you against the nearest wall. He smirked at you and then he leaned down, bringing his lips to yours but not kissing you. You pouted when you caught up and looked at him.

“I missed you too,” he said. 

You took a deep breath and laughed. “I didn’t say that,” you said. 

“You were thinking it,” he said. He blinked slowly, lips touching but not completely. You couldn’t feel the full weight of them and you leaned forward, trying to close that distance. Terry leaned out of the way at the last minute, making you grunt.

“You want to fall asleep or not?” You asked, sucking your teeth. Trying to hide how turned on you were. How needy. You could feel your slick leaking out of you and you just needed some damn friction.  

Terry’s eyes narrowed. His hand slipped around your throat with such ease, you didn’t even feel him moving. “Who you think you talkin’ to like that?” He asked. 

You moaned, eyes crossing at the slight pressure. “You got an attitude with me?” He asked.

You tried to shake your head. Ah, shit. It was one of those nights. You moaned even though you shook your head again. You didn’t mean to get him riled up so quickly. 

“You sure? You talkin’ real reckless for someone who want they pussy licked, huh?” He asked. He squeezed your neck and you threw your head back, placing a hand on his chest. You couldn’t take it. You were on fire. Licks of flame made its way through your veins. 

“I’m sorry!” You moaned. 

Terry chuckled and finally kissed you, bringing you forward by his grip on your throat. “You lucky I’m just hungry tonight.”

“Oh fuck,” you moaned.

Terry released your neck and dropped to his knees. He was still tall as hell, so it didn’t really look like he knelt. The look in his eyes at this angle had you sighing. He didn’t have a merciful bone in his body. Even on his knees, looking up to you, he looked defiant.  Challenging. Like he wanted you to fight him because he knew that he’d win. 

Terry’s big, strong hands came around to cup your ass. He separated your ass cheeks, giving it a full squeeze, before releasing. Your ass jiggled and Terry hummed and kissed your belly. 

“When you gon’ stop playing with me?” He asked. 

You cupped his cheek and scratched at his beard. He closed his eyes and hummed, a deep rumbling in his chest. Almost like he was purring. 

“Not now, Terry,” you said. You were too lost in the sauce. Too lost in the depth of those eyes. Swirls of brown and blue and green, like he contained the world in them. You’d agree to anything right now and he didn’t need to know that.

Terry lifted your shirt, kissing all over your stomach. He left fat, wet kisses on your skin. You ran your nails across his fade, filling the slight ripples. His hair was coarse, feeling like heaven against the palm of your hand. Terry moved lower and pulled your leg over his shoulder. 

He pushed your panties to the side, taking a deep breath and moaned. “Smell so fuckin’ good,” he said. His tongue darted out and licked you from entrance to clit. You yelped and collapsed against him, leaning all of your weight on him.

Terry hummed, purred, and placed a hand on your belly and pushed. You fell back against the cold wall, yelping from the shock of it. Terry kept one arm under your leg, supporting your hip from the back. His other flattened across your belly, pushing you against the wall and stabilizing you.

“I was laying in my bed, trynna think of what would make me go to sleep. And then, I started thinking about this pretty pussy,” he said. He began to eat you out and talk through it, dragging his lips. He spoke these words into your pussy like he was writing affirmations into your skin with his tongue. 

“About how you get so wet, so quick. My favorite is when you start leaking down your leg,” he said. At the end of the sentence, he sucked on your clit and you cried out, gripping his shoulders and trying to push. He held you down, held you open, while he purred.

“I like knowing you get so needy, you can’t help it. You’d fuck anything nearby, wouldn’t you?” He cooed into your pussy. 

Your teeth chattered as he licked and prodded at your entrance, gathering up your essence, and suckling it all down. He moved back up to your clit, playing with the swollen nub with the tip of his tongue. You shivered against him and he moved with you, dodging your attempts to turn to mush in his arms. 

“And then I started thinking, hmmm, I need that. I need to bust down that throat. Or maybe save this load for this pussy. She look hungry,” he said, moving his lips between your folds. 

“Oh god, oh god,” you moaned. The fire he started went straight to your lower belly, clenching painfully as you neared an orgasm. Why was it so difficult to maintain a cool exterior with this man? In no time at all, he already had you screaming to the heavens. Screaming for any neighbors to hear that he was hand delivering pleasure.

His hand squeezed your ass and you moaned, biting your lip painfully. His lips began smacking, suckling on your clit and releasing it with a loud smack. Your clit throbbed, uselessly clenching around nothing. 

“Please, Terry, oh god, please, please,” you begged. 

“Keep begging, baby, shit turns me on,” he said, repeatedly suckling your clit. 

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, finally letting the climax take over. You shook and shivered, flopping against the wall and turning boneless. Terry kept up with your flopping, chuckling evilly as he continued to eat you out while you spasmed on him. 

“That’s it. That’s it, beautiful. Let all that shit go,” he whispered into your pussy. You didn’t know how you heard him. Perhaps he was just that good. Just that in control. That deep voice was lower than sin as he whispered against your clit, rolling his tongue. 

You looked down at him and his eyes snapped to yours. Eyes soft. Pretty ass eyelashes. He was perfect. Too perfect. Your body stopped flopping and you panted, huffed, as you came down. Terry slowed his tongue against your clit, flattening his tongue against and making you jerk. 

His heavy breaths fanned across your pussy and you moaned, writhing against him. “Fuck, Terry,” you said. 

Terry kissed your thighs, leaving a trail of wet kisses. He continued up to your belly, lifting your shirt with his head and he came up further. Your leg slid from his shoulder down to his  side, and wrapped around his leg as he stood up. 

He gripped your chin and pulled you into a kiss. You smelled and tasted yourself on him, your slick on his beard. You moaned, turning the kiss nasty as you played with each other’s tongues. 

Terry broke the kiss and smirked at you as he hooked his thumbs into your panties and tore them from your legs. 

“Hey!” You yelled, slapping his shoulder. Terry smirked, licked his lips, and stuffed the panties into your mouth. You smelled your arousal, your essence, and you moaned. 

“You like it,” he said with a shrug. 

You rolled your eyes, lifting your hand to pull your panties out. Terry snatched your wrist, pulling it above your head. Before you could lift the other, he snatched that one too. He kept both in one hand, and then stuffed your panties further into your mouth. 

“When you gon’ say yes and let me play in these guts whenever I want?” He asked.

You groaned and closed your eyes to the onslaught of pleasure. His voice found your off switch, making your brain fritz out over hearing his words. “Not now, Terry,” you said, voice muffled by the panties. 

You breathed harshly through your nose, rubbing yourself against him. He was so tall, so big, so thick. 

“Why not now?” Terry asked, nudging his nose against yours. He kissed the corners of your mouth, kissing your jaw below your ear, and then nibbling on your earlobe. 

He used his free hand to lift you on top of him and you wrapped your legs around his waist. His impressive bulge slotted between your legs and you moaned, rubbing yourself against him. Fuck, he made you needy. Wanton. Like you truly grew dumb, replaced with nothing but your baser instincts. To fuck. To grind. To toot your ass in the air and let him do whatever he wanted. Whatever he asked for. 

“What’s holding you back from me? From this? From fucking you in the morning, fucking you at night, in between meals when I need to get inside you. I know you feel this too,” he said. He moved his joggers down, exposing his huge dick. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, rubbing against him. Your pussy smacked as he tapped his tip against your pussy. 

“She nice and loud tonight,” he said. 

Your legs shook as Terry moved his dick through your folds, getting the tip of him wet before pushing in.

“Oh shit, shit, shit,” you moaned, throwing your head back against the wall. He was so big. “Fuck, fill me up, fill me up.” 

Terry groaned as he pushed inside, rolling his hips to sink inside. To bury his shaft deep and touch a that part inside. The part only he could touch. You tried going on dates with other guys. You tried convincing Terry and yourself that you were for the streets. Wasn’t no nigga gon’ play ‘round you no more. 

But they all fell short. They all were measured against Terry and were found lacking. Incomplete. With a look, Terry could have you whining and fucking yourself on him like a horny dog. 

“You could have this whenever you want,” he said. He began to stroke, proving that what came before were merely foreplay. He snapped his hips, pumped his arms and slammed you on his dick. 

You moaned and grunted on his dick, crying, shaking, gripping onto him for dear life. He was the only one capable of delivering this type of pleasure. He leaned down and buried his nose into your neck, absently kissing you. Licking the rapid pulse in your neck. 

“Terry, please, not-now,” you moaned. You didn’t know if he knew what you were saying considering the gag. Every inhale brought a fresh wave of your scent to your nostrils and you moaned. His moans mingled with yours, sliding more easily inside of you as your essence flooded his dick. 

“Say yes, baby, say yes. Say yes for me. Say yes for Daddy,” he said, snapping his hips faster.

He fucked you furiously against the wall, slamming inside of you while placing tender kisses against your neck. Under your ear. Moving along your jaw. He clamped his teeth down on your panties and pulled it from your mouth. He leaned down and kissed you. Kissing those sweet lips. Playing with his rough tongue. His mouth was a gift from God himself. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck. He moved his hands to your ass and smacked it, causing the sound to echo in your bedroom. “Oh fuck, Terry!” 

Terry smacked your ass again. “What you s’posed to call me?” He asked.

He dropped you against his dick, pouding against that deep spot inside of you. The pitch of your moans changed, turning higher and faster. Coming quicker than you can breathe. 

“There it is. But you gon’ have to earn this second nut,” he said.

You pushed feebly against his shoulders. Not to get rid of him but you needed some kind of release. Something to make the pressure pop. You forced yourself to breathe, to gulp in air. 

“Please, Daddy,” you moaned, turning wet, glistening eyes to him. 

A tear escaped your eye and Terry licked it off of your cheek. He purred, dick throbbing inside of you. 

“Be good for me and say yes. Say yes to getting dicked down every night. On demand,” he said.

“I can’t,” you moaned, shaking your head back and forth. 

He found a good rhythm, hitting your spot and making you moan every time he did it. Sweet, musical moans that sounded good even to your own ears. He was fucking you too well, had you clutching onto his neck. His thighs were like steel, effortlessly holding you and slapping against your ass. 

“Sure you can, you wanna cum, right? That’s why you opened the door for me? That’s why you’ll always open the door for me? ‘Cause you know I dig this shit out right. You know you can’t find another nigga ready to treat you like this. Give you what you need. What you crave. Like a good little fuckin’ slut,” he said.

He abruptly pulled out of you. “No!” You screamed. 

Terry chuckled as he carried you to the bed. He laid you down, pushing your shirt up enough for him to see your titties. 

He spread your legs wide and slid back inside you like he never left. He rutted inside you, increasing his pace now that he didn’t have to support your weight. He was relentless, moving his hand up to rub your clit.

Your thighs snapped shut, trapping his hand. “Open that shit back up. Now!” He barked.

You whimpered and whined as you fought against your body, opening your legs even though you wanted to stall him. Hold him off. “Move that hand before I move it for you,” he said.

You sniffled, hot all over and sweaty all over. You moved your hand, lowering it to the covers and grabbing a handful. “Fuck! Please, Daddy!” You moaned. 

Terry pushed your legs until they were practically at your chest. He slapped your ass a few times. Each slap was worse than the last, lighting your ass up like a Christmas tree. 

You yelled out, cried out, pleaded with him while he continued to smack your ass and dig in your guts. You felt him deep inside, throbbing, pulsing. 

“Please, give meeee,” you moaned. 

Terry chuckled. He flicked his thumb against your pussy, your slick making your pussy sound louder. Wetter. 

“Hear how she sings? You gon’ take this dick and still lie to my face?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Not-lie,” you huffed. Fuck, you were close. You were so close. You clutched at the covers, at the sheets, clawed at anything close by. 

“You want that shit, then you say the magic words. I’m tired of waitin’,” he said. 

You sniffled. Aw hell. There was no use fighting anymore. It was clear that Terry was the only one for you. He was the only one who knew exactly what to do, what to say. He was a man. All over. 

You leaned on your elbows and stared in his face. “Fuck me, Daddy, like I’m yours. ‘Cause I am,” you said. 

“You mine?” He asked, grinning wide and stealing your breath away. Fuck, he was so pretty. So beautiful. 

You nodded. “I’m yours,” you said.

“This pussy mine, too?” He asked. He pressed on your clit and you moaned loudly. You lifted your hips, needing him to do that shit again. He obliged, pressing on your throbbing clit. 

“Yes, Daddy, all yours,” you agreed. You’d agree to steal the moon for him if he would just let you cum. If he would grant his permission. 

“Good, then cum on this dick like a good slut,” he said. He kissed you, changing the angle of his hips and snapping against your sweet spot. You came instantly, legs shaking, pussy gripping him tightly.

“That’s it. Squeeze that fuckin’ dick,” he moaned against your lips. He palmed your tits, kneading, pinching your nipples and making you grip him even tighter. 

“Make me feel that,” he cooed as he thrust one more time and exploded inside you. His pulsing cum painted your walls white. 

Terry moaned, face falling into bliss as he came. He was even more beautiful like this. Undone. Unleashed. Untethered to that iron clad control of his. He scrunched his face up, like it felt too good. Too amazing.

“Ohh, good girl, good fuckin’ girl,” he moaned, kissing your forehead. You huffed, panting, sweating. Your skin turned clammy, the pressure gone from earlier. 

Your pussy squelched as Terry softened, pulling out of you. His cum gushed out, leaking down your ass and onto the bed. Terry kept your legs spread, watching as he leaked out of you. 

“Tomorrow night. Me and you. Date night. Then back here so I can fuck your brains out,” he huffed. He kissed your forehead and then pulled you into a sitting position. 

He caressed your chin and you fell forward, placing your forehead against his sculpted chest. “Yes, Daddy,” you said and kissed his belly.

“There’s my girl,” he said. 

There's more Terry! The Secret Terry Richmond Files

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[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: another installment of the mini tik tok series! this one was fun and aggressively smutty lol. i’ve been having fun with the tik tok fics and there’s so much more i want to work on this summer (which lol can’t believe it’s august 🙈) enjoy! 🤍

word count: 3.5k

tw: dirty talk, unprotected sex, fingering (f recieving), cum play, semi-tit job, brief oral (m recieving), semi-public sex

summary: mat comes home from golf to find you set up for another tik tok video, much to his surprise and excitement

You tap lazily over to the Find My Friends app, searching for Mat’s little circle on the map. He’s smack in the middle of the green blob that represents the Glen Oaks Club, right next to Bo’s little circle too.

Sharing locations with half the team is wild, but was absolutely a necessity after last year’s summer trip to Italy where half the guys had gotten lost during a vineyard tour, drunkenly singing a bastardized version of ‘New York, New York’ when they’d been found.

Since then, it’s been location sharing city for your little group.

It’s especially useful when Mat’s at the golf course and you want to have an idea of when he’s on his way home. Today, you’re letting him have his time on the course since training camp opens in two days and soon he’ll be in full hockey mode. But you do have a little fun planned, a Tik Tok trend that you’d seen earlier in the summer and have been waiting to test out on Mat. He’s a good sport about joining in your videos - between you and Liana, he’s used to being used as an unwilling participant in your videos and likes making random cameos. And this video is more for his benefit than yours.

It’s a beautiful mid-September day on the Island and the UV is an 8, so you decided to take the setting of your video outside and you’re posted up on a lounge chair with your book and Stanley until Mat comes home.

After polishing off nearly half of your book, you check Mat’s location again and you’re surprised to find that he’s on the move - heading back home. You hadn’t realized so much time had passed.

He’ll be home in ten minutes, according to the app, so you hop off the lounger and get everything set up, adrenaline making your heart skip a beat. You shake out the towel on top of the lounger and straighten it, moving your book and Stanley off to the coffee table. You check the app again and Mat’s down the block, his little circle stopped at the intersection that has a traffic camera, where you’ve both gotten caught more than once.

Once his car turns onto your block, you take the final step and untie the strings of your bikini, stepping out of the bottoms and tossing the scraps of fabric off to the side. You shiver a little, even though it’s not cold at all and sit back down on the lounger, bending your knee and then straightening it out. You scrunch up your face and bend it again - there’s a slight breeze on your bare cunt and you wiggle, unbending your knee again.

“Fuck this is so awkward,” you grumble to yourself, tipping your head back and closing your eyes against the warmth of the sun.

After a few seconds of soaking up the heat, you check your phone again and Mat’s little icon is right on top of your blue dot. He’s home and you grin when you hear his car door slam shut in the driveway. You give an excited little wiggle and open Tik Tok on your phone, thumbing over to start recording.

The back doors are open so you can hear Mat come through the front and kick off his shoes. One hits the wall with a faint thump and you roll your eyes, knowing there’s going to be a little scuff mark on the wall.

Quietly, into the microphone of your phone, you say, “Mat’s home and I’m naked in the backyard. I’m going to call him out to see something and I’m sure he’ll give us all a reaction for the ages.”

From inside, you can hear him call out for you, “Squeaks? Babe, I’m back.”

A giggle bubbles on your chest and makes your voice shake a little when you call back, “I’m outside. Can you come take a look at something for me?”

“I’m not catching another lizard,” he shouts out, footsteps getting closer. “Leave them alone on the deck.”

You roll your eyes to yourself - it was one time, twice tops, but Mat will never let you forget it. “No lizards, just come here,” you call, moving the phone slightly away from your mouth and making sure the back doors are squarely in the frame.

He appears in the doorway a second later, dressed for golf in his shorts and polo, with a brown paper Chipotle bag in his hand. “I picked up lunch and I’ll even sha—“ his sentence stops short when he steps onto the deck and catches sight of you. You grin to yourself and watch as he processes what he’s seeing.

Mat’s eyes are wide and his jaw is slack briefly before a slow smirk stretches his lips. “Squeaks…” he trails off your nickname, his voice suddenly rough.

“Mhm?” You hum, still holding your phone slightly to the side. To your amusement, the front of Mat’s shorts tighten in front of your eyes, the fabric straining over his cock. He so clearly doesn’t know where to look, eyes bouncing from your phone to your face to your tits to your thighs.

To be extra wicked, you sit up and stretch your legs open, feet on either side of the lounger so Mat has the perfect view of your cunt, bare and dripping wet.

His jaw works and he carefully sets the Chipotle bag on the deck table. “I’m not even gonna ask what Tik Tok trend this is, but thank God for it,” he mutters, yanking his polo over his head and sending his hat flying off in the process. His hair is messy around his face, sticking up in all directions and you can’t wait to get your hands in it.

You giggle. “I told you I wanted you to come look at something,” you reply, watching with hungry eyes as he kicks off his shorts, the belt still half buckled, and crosses the grass in a few long strides. He’s standing in front of you in just his boxer-briefs, black and tight over his growing erection.

Mat grips himself roughly over the fabric and you watch the tendons in his wrist flex.

“Yeah,” he huffs a breath out of his nose, “I’m definitely looking at something.” His hand sinks under the fabric of his briefs and you watch his hand move, stretching the fabric obscenely while he pumps his cock once, twice, three times. “And now I’m gonna get my hands on her.”

Your hand falls slightly to the side, still recording on your phone and you have the brief thought that you’re definitely going to have to edit the shit out of this video before Mat’s yanking down his briefs and kneeling at the foot of the lounger, his hands wrapped around the outside of your thighs. He pulls, dragging your body closer to his and you let out a little yelp at the sudden movement.

Your phone goes flying from your hand, landing in the grass next to the chair and you pout at Mat, “my phone! Let me -“

“Nope,” he cuts you off with a little swat to your hip. “We’ll deal with that later. Right now, I have to look at something.”

He leans forward, his cock bobbing up against his stomach and you swallow, arousal dripping down the curve of your ass. You’re very glad you decided to put down a towel.

Mat’s hands are hot on your thighs, trailing up over your sides and splaying out over your ribcage, fingertips brushing the undersides of your breasts. He grins down at you, “looking at these tits, my favorite tits. But I think -“ he cups each one in a hand, flicking his thumbs over your nipples until they’re tight and pebbled, “yeah, they look better like this. Even better with my mouth on them.”

You whine as soon as Mat leans down and wraps his lips around one nipple, tracing a circle around it with his tongue. You can feel his cock - hot, hard, and leaking - on your stomach and you lift your hips subconsciously, trying to relieve some of the ache that’s building between your thighs. His grinds his cock against your stomach lazily and you moan his name, hands flying up to his hair to tug. Mat grunts against your breast the harder you pull and after a particularly hard yank, he bites down. The sting is enough to make you yelp and rake your nails over his scalp.

“That hurt,” you pout and he shakes his head, releasing your tit with a wet pop.

“Did not,” he counters, pupils blown wide and lips slick with saliva.

You grin and tug at his hair a bit more. “Let me bite you and we’ll see who’s right,” you reply breathily, Mat’s hands kneading at your breasts.

He slides his cock against your stomach and you gasp, fresh arousal pooling between your thighs. “Baby, we’ll get to the biting, don’t worry,” he teases, pinching and rolling your nipples until you cry out.

You hum, pulling at his hair to drag his face to yours, desperate for a kiss. Mat obliges, sliding his lips over yours and sucking at your tongue while his hands play with your breasts and his cock grinds against your stomach. It’s hard to catch your breath with all the sensation, the pleasure building steadily in your stomach.

He smells good, a combination of sweat and grass that isn’t masked by his deodorant, and you let your hands drift out of his hair and over his back. The muscles bunch and move as he does, sweat gathering between his shoulder blades.

You nip at his lower lip and Mat smiles against your mouth, pulling back slowly. One of his legs shifts, his knee sliding up and pressing against your cunt. A gasp punches from your lungs, the rub of his leg hair against your clit the friction you’ve been searching for. “Oh my god,” you whine, scratching at his back and rolling your hips against his knee.

“Needy,” Mat clicks his tongue, amused. As if his own hips aren’t moving of their own accord, gliding his cock against your stomach and leaving a trail of precome in its wake.

“You love it,” you murmur, scratching down his back. The longer you grind against Mat’s knee, the closer you come to an orgasm and it’s right there when Mat moves his hands back to your hips and pulls you down, hiking your cunt higher up on his thigh. His hands wrap around your thighs, his thumb subconsciously finding the spot on your upper inner thigh where the tiny ‘mb13’ is tattooed. He looks down and grins at the ink, rubbing it with the pad of his thumb. His cock seems to swell the longer he looks at the tattoo, thick and heavy on your chest.

“Fuck yeah, I do,” he leans in more, pushing his cock over your chest, in between the valley of your breasts. The hot weight of him on your chest makes your breathing shallower and you lose track of your movements, hips stuttering to a stop on his thigh. “You’re distracting me,” he mumbles. “Supposed to be looking at something.”

“What are you looking at now?” You murmur, breathless. Your hips move mindlessly and Mat shifts your legs, pulling them together and straddling them so your thighs are pressed tight and there’s steady pressure on your clit. You whine and wiggle your hips again, pleasure coiling tightly in your stomach.

Mat grins down at you, thrusting his hips forward so the head of his cock bumps against your chin. “Looking at that pretty face of yours,” he replies, hands finding your breasts again and playing with them. “My favorite face, especially when you look all fucked out.”

“Haven’t even fucked me yet,” you whine, darting your tongue out to lick at the tip of Mat’s cock. It jerks, twitching against your chest, and you grin wickedly, licking it again. Your hands find Mat’s thighs, tracing over the thick muscle until you let them slide over his stomach and wrap around the base of his cock.

He groans over you, curling forward when your fingers tighten around him.

“Don’t need to,” his voice is strangled. “You always look like that when I get my dick out.”

You stroke his cock firmly and press your thumb against his leaking tip, craning your neck to lick him again before sucking the tip between your lips. Mat’s chin falls to his chest, a loud grunt vibrating through his body.

“Shh,” you giggle faintly, releasing the head of his cock with a wet pop. “The neighbors are going to hear!” Even as you admonish him, you repeat your actions, gripping him tightly and drooling over his cock.

Mat shifts back, his cock falling out of your grip and slapping against your left breast. There’s sticky precome all over your chest and stomach and Mat drags his fingers through it before shoving them in your mouth. You hum around his fingers, swirling your tongue over them until they’re dripping. He’s further down your legs now, using his other hand to pry your thighs apart slightly, nudging his cock head in between your legs. He taps the leaking head of it against your tattoo, leaving a smear of precome, and then shifts so it’s pressed tightly against your clit. The pressure makes you see stars and you whine loudly, muffled by his fingers.

“Shhh,” he teases, thrusting his hips shallowly. He lets his fingers fall from your lips and you yelp loudly when those same fingers find your clit and pinch it at the same time his cock bumps against it. “Neighbors will hear you.”

“Oh my god, Mat!” Your groan shifts off into a strangled shout when, without warning, Mat’s fingers find your soaked entrance and circle it, fingers spreading you wide so he can thrust the first few inches of his cock into you. The stretch always burns briefly and then he moves, rolling his hips into yours and filling you to the brim, pleasantly full. You chant his name like a prayer, louder and louder every time he batters against your g-spot. Any concern about the neighbors hearing you is out the window with all the rest of your thoughts.

Mat’s got one hand gripping at the top of the lounge chair, his hair flopped over his forehead and sweat trailing down his temple as his hips snap relentlessly. “Look so fucking beautiful taking my cock,” he groans when you clench around him. “Fucking waiting here for me, naked and ready. Goddamn Tik Tok giving you the best ideas.”

Your nails dig it to his asscheeks, dragging him closer, knees bent to open yourself more for him. “Love you, love you, oh my god,” you babble, nearly at the edge. His free hand trails down your body and presses down on your lower stomach, feeling the bulge of his cock from the outside. You shriek at the sensation, rocking your hips and meeting him thrust for thrust.

He snaps his hips again, harder, and you fall, seeing stars as your orgasm rushes through your body. You come hard and wet around his cock, squirting all over his pelvis and lower stomach. Mat’s cock thickens inside of you and he comes a second later, filling you for so long you’re startled that he’s still hard even after his hips have stopped moving and he’s collapsed on top of you. The sweaty weight of his body makes it hard to catch your breath and you can’t help but wiggle underneath him, digging at his thigh with your heel.

“Gimme a sec,” he mutters against your neck, shifting his hips. You gasp, sensitive and overstimulated and still stuffed full of his hard cock.

“How’re you still hard?” You breathe, pushing at his sides, trailing your fingers over his muscles.

Mat finally rolls off of you, wedging your body against his on the lounger meant for one. You cling to him so you don’t fall off. “How is that even a question?” He laughs, trailing a hand over your back and in between your legs. You wiggle against his touch, his cock pressed against your stomach and his fingers rubbing your mixed fluids against your inner thigh. It’s messy and disgusting but you don’t have any desire to move. “I’ve been hard for you from the minute I met you. Squeaks.”

“Perv,” you tease, licking a bead of sweat from his jaw.

His laugh is loud, echoing around the yard. “As if you’re not the one who started this,” he pinches at your inner thigh. “Sitting out here butt ass naked, filming a Tik Tok.”

“Oh my god!” The mention of the social media app sparks in your brain and you remember your phone, in the grass and still recording. You try to scramble over Mat’s lap, but he locks you in place with his arms. “Let go, oh my god. I have to delete that video. It’s hard core porn!!”

“Soft core,” Mat counters, laughing. “It’s just our voices.”

You growl at him, “not helping!” and wriggle in his arms until you’re draped over his side with your ass in the air and your arms stretched out to the grass to reach for your phone. Mat laughs under you, shaking your whole body and making it hard for you to reach your phone. He pats at your ass, a little nonsense rhythm and you kick your foot in the air, knowing it won’t hit him.

“You should send me the video,” he says as soon as you’ve managed to snag your phone. “I like hearing you scream my name.”

“Nope,” you shake your head, blood rushing to your face the longer you stay practically upside down over Mat’s lap. You stop the recording and your thumb hovers over the button to delete the video. A small part of you actually wants to rewatch it and see Mat’s reaction again. The smarter part of you wants to make sure your soft core porn never leaks on the Internet.

Your brain struggles to focus with the way Mat’s kneading at your ass, his voice soothing as he speaks, “download it, it’ll just be for us. Can’t even see anything.”

“Stop trying to be the little devil on my shoulder,” you complain, but your thumb moves away from the delete button and you find yourself canceling the action instead.

Mat laughs again, your favorite sound, and slides his hand in between your legs, playing lazily with your clit. You wiggle and gasp, clenching around nothing. “Put it in a locked folder,” he continues, dragging you slowly to the edge.

You can’t think with lust and arousal fogging your brain and by the time Mat’s fingered you to a second orgasm all thoughts of deleting the video are gone.

“Hey,” Mat says, his chest vibrating under your cheek. You’re slumped over him, legs straddling his hips, completely limp and boneless.

“Hmm?” You hum, wondering briefly if the sting on your ass is from Mat’s hand or the beginnings of a sunburn.

“You have any other Tik Tok videos you want to make?” He teases, playfully gripping your ass. “I like these naked ones best.”

He yelps when you bite down on the muscle of his pec, a little nip, and taps at your cheek with his free hand. “You’re such a gremlin,” he says over your laughter.

You lean your chin on his chest, looking up at him with a wide smile on your face. “Takes one to know one,” you shoot back, kissing his jaw. “Now carry me inside, I want my Chipotle bowl.”

“You mean my Chipotle bowl?” Mat retorts. Still, he sits up and takes you with him, your arms looped around his neck and legs locked around his waist.

“What’s yours is mine,” you giggle, waving a hand in the hair behind his back. “Happy wife, happy life. All that Hallmark-y stuff.”

He stands and you cling tighter, the slip of your sweaty skin against his making your thighs flex around his waist so you don’t fall. “Not a wifey yet, Squeaks,” he teases, locking his hands under your ass and carrying you over to the deck. Your phone’s back on the grass, but you’ll make Mat go get it in a second, along with both of your discarded clothes.

“Less than a year,” you point out, wiggling your left hand in front of his face.

He kisses your finger and in a sappy little move, says, “counting down the seconds until you’re Mrs. Barzal.”

Your entire body turns to mush, so much love for Mat flooding your brain. You press a kiss to his cheek. “I love you,” you mumble.

“Love you too, my little exhibitionist freak,” Mat laughs, drowning out your outraged gasp.

You can’t be too mad at him though, not when he settles you on the deck chair and hands over his Chipotle bowl, retrieving his golf polo and pulling it over your head so you can eat comfortably and not sunburn.

[chiscaralight]

Could u write something similar to the thing u did with scaramouche where he’s praising us while fucking us into oblivion but instead of scaramouche it’s xiao? If you don’t write for him that’s totally okay :D

taking a break from cleaning up to write this bc i miss xiao sm😞 hyv bring him back please. nsfw xiao x reader. established relationship, choking, cockwarming, it’s kinda short but it’s super cute to me! basic nsfw tags, hope u like it! and sorry to the other requests i skipped, once i saw xiao i just had to hop on it 💔

he’s so close to you. so so close. your knees are bent up, pushed far apart curtesy of your boyfriends strong grip. his breath is fanning against your face and you’re trying so hard to stay with him here. but he’s pounding into you with a force that even he didn’t know he could.

“ah, you're so pretty..”

his voice is low. you would have teased him, he usually shys away and from talking when he fucks you. but your mind can barely comprehend the word coming from his mouth. the only thing you can understand is each heavy thrust he’s using to lay waste to you with, and how your clit is bumping against his public bone.

its nasty the way he's fucking into you, but the words dancing off his lips with each passing second are a stark difference in his actions. he lets one of his hands free to firmly wrap around your neck, and you swear you can see stars. the blood is pumping fast in your ears and down between your legs, but your heart is thumping extra hard because of the way he claims you. he’s calling you his. his to own, his to love.

with whatever strength you have left, you’re wrapping your arms around his neck to pull his lips against yours. the kiss is sloppy, teeth clashing and filled with scattered moans from the both of you, but it only fills you with more love. he hooks his arms round your shoulders as he fucks the last of his orgasm into you, lips trickling from yours to the side of your face, down to your neck.

the soft bite he sinks into you is the final push you need as you cum around him. your whole body is shaking, and it takes the air right out of your lungs. but he’s there to hold you and rub those reassuring circles into your side until you’re fully relaxed into the bed.

he doesn’t pull out. just turns the two of you on your sides so he can pull your leg over his. being this close to you is such a blessing he’ll never take for granted. your eyes shut along time ago, but he’s still staring at your sleeping face for as long as he can remember.

his fingers softly cup your relaxed cheek, thumb grazing over and over. you unconsciously lean into the warmth and he smiles. even though you’re asleep, you still manage to catch the ‘i love you’ that he whispers.

[shares-a-vest]

I just think Eddie would add the nickname 'Slugger' to his roster of pet names for Steve when he finds out about the nail bat...

Eddie awakens to a scratching sound at Steve's bedroom window.

He thinks it must be the trees. God knows the isolated Loch Nora has enough of them to make a consistent amount of noise 24/7. But his heart skips a beat when he comes to enough to remember that there is in fact, no tree directly outside Steve's bedroom window.

He flips over to face his boyfriend, sending their blankets flying and starling with enough movement he rattles the set of framed baseball cards Steve has on the shelving of his headboard. But the fanatic himself doesn't move, still fast asleep. Looking all angelic and cute as he steadily breathes in and out with only the faintest hint of a snore.

"Steeeeve," he panics, slapping his shoulder, "Steve, there's something at the window!"

Again, nothing.

He groans and leans forward, pressing his weight on him as he speaks directly in his ear, "Steve, wake up and put your goddamn ears in, I'm scared."

He doesn't care that it all sounds a little dramatic. Steve knows he's a total scaredy cat.

"Eds," Steve murmurs, sounding very grumpy, "What is it?"

"There's something outside."

Steve pushes him off, snapping to and hopping straight out of bed in one swift move. Eddie scrambles, spluttering as he struggles against the, now tangled, bed sheets. He looks up just in time to see Steve duck down and retrieve something from underneath his side of the bed…

It's a baseball bat.

A baseball bat covered in large nails. Nails that have been haphazardly hammered in, sticking out every which way and making it quite the deadly weapon.

He watches as Steve spins it around in his hands before gripping it tight and standing at the ready. Oh.

Steve cocks his head and quirks a brow in the direction of the frightening window in question.

The noise is still there, tap, tap a-tapping on the window.

But Eddie really couldn't give a shit anymore because now he is solely focused on his boyfriend creeping towards the window, waving his bat like he geeing himself up to hit a homer. His hands clench with every step, exposing all the veins on his hands and spider up his forearms. All the while the guy is sporting his impossibly voluminous bed hair and skulking along in his loose and tantalisingly-thin sleep shorts that leave nothing to Eddie's filthy imagination.

Well, maybe he can think of a few things…

"Step back against the wall," Steve commands, not tearing his eyes away from the window.

Eddie nods, backing back and clutching at the wall for support as his heart beats faster as Steve whirls the bat around again. He palms along the wall, feeling around until his shaking hand hits the bed and he stumbles onto it.

But Steve isn't paying attention to his immediate disobedience. He is too busy looking out the window.

"Oh, fuck," he curses before groaning with abject annoyance, "Eds!"

"Huh?" Eddie mumbles, watching Steve's bare shoulders flex and then drop as he allows the nail bat to fall by his side.

"It's a raccoon!" Steve whines, stumping the bat into the carpet with a solid thump to punctuate his frustration.

He whips around and starts off for the bed again, dragging his weapon along behind him. As if in a reverse move, Steve rolls the bat back to its hiding spot and flops onto the bed.

"Eds, I was dead asleep!" he complains, dry-sobbing. He helicopter-kicks his feet in order to propel his legs back onto the bed properly, "Why couldn't you have checked it out first?"

"Excuse me," he protests, raising a hand to his chest in offence, "I was terrified."

"You woke me up!" Steve retorts, pulling the covers about without a great deal of finesse - if anything, his technique makes their bedding situation worse.

"Could'a used that weapon up against a colony of flesh-eating bats, my dear," Eddie grins as he attempts to smooth out the crumpled covers before quickly abandoning the futile task.

"Yeah, no shit," Steve snaps. He really is a bitch when he's sleep-deprived a grouchy, "But I didn't exactly have time to come here and get it. You being a wanted fugitive and all."

"I apologise for the inconvenience," he teases, holding out grabby hands, "Come here, Slugger, and I'll make it up to you."

Steve smirks, thoroughly perking up at the new pet name. And before Eddie knows it, his baseball bat-wielding boyfriend is lunging straight over their mountain of twisted blankets for him.

[reve-writes]

—dense; kaz brekker.

ʚ kaz brekker x reader | grishaverse | 2,2k words. ʚ you're a bit clueless as to why the dirtyhands do the things he does, like call you schatje and pay you to steal something when he clearly doesn't need to. ʚ fluff. ʚ a/n maybe ooc kaz im sorry. more at the end!

Ketterdam is a marvel from afar, a pretty little flower offering promises of its nectar—new life, new opportunities, debauchery—only to catch you in its trap and swallow you whole. All the way up on the clock tower, roughly centralised in the port city, the Barrel is nothing more than bright lights emanating from bar signs and glittering roofs.

The bell rings, reveberating to signal the change of the hour. It's time to work, finally.

Your boots thump as you make your way down the spiraling concrete staircase, paying attention not to step on the chunks flaking off of the edge. Whoever was responsible for building this was clearly cutting cost, the concrete is about as fragile as clay.

A painting. It is an annoying job to do on your own, but your contractor offered a lot of Kruge for it—perhaps too much, but if Mr. Kikkert is willing to scrape his pockets for it, then you're more than happy to accept. It is more Kruge than you would ever need for a while, so you won't have to scrounge for scraps in this Ghezen-forsaken town. Moreover, it's been a while since your last job and you're frankly not doing too well.

You step lightly over the rooftops, hopping from building-to-building with sure, steady steps. You have done this for most of your lives, to avoid being stomped into the vile muck at the bottom of the Barrel, you learned to hide near the skies.

Where the painting is being kept isn't far from the Canal, just on the rows of overpriced apartments for rent. You were told that it was housed on the third floor of the corner building. Everything is going well. Your journey is uninterrupted and the stadwatch aren't on alert.

Until you spot him.

The familiar curve of his black hat. The high collar of his coat. The shining leather of his gloves.

Brekker.

You strut towards him as if you are neighbours crossing paths on your evening walks. When in truth, his Crow Club is on the other side of the town and you never come to this area without reason. You call his name sweetly. His head whips around immediately, finding you in the dwindling foot traffic of the street.

He says your name in a warning tone, suspicious of your being here.

“What? Can't I come and see an old friend?”

Brekker scoffs. “I don't know. Can you, schatje?”

You almost turn around and leave when you hear the term of endearment. He knows it gets under your skin—it always does. Your heart skips a beat or two and your train of thoughts gets interrupted whenever he calls you that. He means it as a jeering nudge and your head is wholly aware of that. Your heart, though. What a fickle little thing.

“A bit of a walk from the club, isn't it?” you say, falling into step next to him as he turns the corner towards the apartment building. “I assume you must be up to something.”

“Ah, but I'm always up to something.”

“I can't say I disagree,” you snort. “You don't happen to have a job around the area, do you?”

He halts, his cane knocking against the stone pathing. He turns to look at you and your elbows brush against each other. “Do you need anything? I have important matters to attend to.”

You bring a hand to your chest exaggeratedly, feigning a frown. “How callous. Call me schatje and throw me aside. Is this how you treat everyone, Kaz?”

“Only you, mijn schatje.”

You roll your eyes, unsure how to behave. Huffing, you say, “Stop calling me that.”

“I was under the impression that you liked the nickname.”

Oh, you do.

“I'll be going now. I've something to do. Stay off my job,” you warn. “You still owe me literal crown jewels from last time.”

Kaz's neutral expression shifts into fond nostalgia as he recalls the incident you're referring to. The crown jewels in question were under dispute by a pair of soon-to-be divorcees. One of them hired the Crows' help. The other called on you. One thing led to another and the item ended up in Kaz's hands and you went home empty-handed.

“I won that fair and square,” Kaz retorts. “Your current job wouldn't involve a certain painting, would it?”

Judging by his smug thin smile, you know that he knows.

“Tell me it isn't what you're here for.” You sigh exasperatedly. “Stay off of it, Brekker. I can't afford to lose another job.”

You think to be threatening, bluff your way out and tell him you'll tear down his Crow Club if he gets in your way, but you doubt it will work against the Dirtyhands. After all, you're one person and he has the whole Dregs behind him.

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow for a moment and for that terrible moment, you think that he may be there for the same reason you are, but he shakes his head lightly. “Fortunately, schatje, no. Stop looking as if you're going to murder me in my sleep.”

An involuntary smile blooms. “I wouldn't dream of it, Kaz.”

“Go on, then,” he says. “Be careful.”

You bite the insides of your cheeks to keep from smiling. “You too.”

With that, you part ways with Dirtyhands, entering the building. Your acquisition of the painting goes smoothly and the deal is closed swiftly a few hours later. It's too easy. You know it is. You're missing something.

Miss something, you did.

You push open the door to the Crow Club carelessly. The loud chatter mixed with atmospheric radio surges to meet you as you push your way past sweat-slicked bodies and drunken patrons. Your eyes dart back-and-forth, trying to spot the familiar curve of his black hat or the shiny glow of the head of his cane.

Jesper spots you from one of the open gambling tables.

“If it isn't my favourite thief,” he says, inclining his glass towards you. “Fancy a game?”

It isn't until you stop by his table that he sees the downward slope of your frown and the sharp glare you're giving. He instinctively sits up straighter, taking his shoes off of the corner of the table.

“Where's Brekker?” You ask, to-the-point, without indulging in your usual chit-chat whenever you visit.

The other three patrons on the table freeze—sensing the tension on your shoulders, too. They look between you and jesper, both confused and intrigued to know more. What is Ketterdam if it doesn't have rumours and secrets whispered about?

Jesper's brow furrow. “Are you okay? What's going on?”

To Jesper's knowledge, you and Kaz are on friendly terms, despite the frequent bickering. Hell, he assumes you're more-than-friendly, with the way Kaz gives you a nickname—an endearment, to be specific. Is it possible that you're going through a lover's spat?

“Brekker, Jesper. Where is he?”

A familiar rasp cuts through the rowdiness. “Here.”

Your head whirls around and you shoot an accusatory stare at the source of the voice. You stomp your boots as you make your way towards him. As you pass by him, you tug on the sleeves of his coat.

“We need to talk.”

“Hold on, schatje,” he says, still trailing after you. His cane knocks against the hardwood of the floor. “About what?”

You make your way up the stairs, to the second floor and swing the door to his office open as if it belongs to you. He has an eyebrow raised when he enters after you, closing the door behind him. He leans back against it, waiting for you to speak whatever it is that's on your mind.

“Kikkert,” you snarl. “You paid him to pay me.”

“That's quite a conclusion. How did you come to it?” His voice is level, not betraying whether or not you've spoken the truth.

You're pacing in front of him. “He says, and I quote, ‘If you're so close to Brekker, why doesn't he ask you himself to do this?'”

His eyes furrow and he runs a hand through his combed hair. He sighs, holding a hand up in a you-caught-me gesture. “Kikkert clearly has no idea what discretion means.”

You glare at him. “Do you think this is funny?”

He seems taken aback. “I don't see why this is a big deal, schatje. It's a job. You're paid. I get the painting. What's wrong with it?”

“Why are you doing this, then? Pay me for something you clearly are able to do yourself? Hell, whose painting was it? Was it yours? Did you pay me to steal from you?”

He doesn't reply, but the way he shifts his gaze away from you let's you know. It's as clear as a verbal admission.

“It was yours. That's why you were there. From your safehouse, wasn't it?” You stare at him in disbelief. “Is this amusing to you? I'm sorry if I don't quite see it as such.”

“Schatje—”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

You can't wrap your head around Kaz Brekker's thinking process. He pays someone to pay you to steal a painting he already owns. What's his plan in the long run? To embarrass you? Hurt your pride? Is this some sort of ploy to rope you to be indebted to him?

He sighes. “You were struggling. I only wanted to help.”

“Dirtyhands doesn't help people. You don't run gangs the way you do charities,” you retort.

Is that all you see him as? The demjin? The one who's willing to stain his hands for the right price? Is there no other version of him in your eyes?

“You're forgetting the man behind the monster here,” he says softly.

“Am I?” You approach him, leaving a little over two steps in-between the two of you. “Who exactly is the man behind Dirtyhands then?”

He pushes himself off of the door, taking one step forward. The thump of his cane practically echoes in the room. The hustle bustle of the Crow Club is nothing more than a muffled sound. There's a sudden tension in the air—the same one that hangs over you whenever he calls you his schatje, but this one is heavier due to your lack of light-hearted banter to parry.

“Do you really not know?” he asks, as if the question is staring at you in the face. As if it's the most obvious thing in all of Kerch. His stare is heavy, dark irises acting like magnets that pull you in. He scoffs, “You really are dense.”

“Well, enlighten me, Brekker! None of this is making a lot of sense to me.” You let out a frustrated huff of breath. Your hands move wildly to stress your points. “You know what? Whatever it is, I don't want to know. Just — quit doing it. I'll never take another job from Kikkert. I'll stay away from your damned club and all your friends. I'll stay away from you. I'm a capable enough thief without your pity, Brekker. I don't need it. You can shove it up your—”

His gloved hand wraps around your wrist as it's flailing in the air. Your speech immediately comes to a halt and your eyes widen.

“You are impossible,” he says.

You snort. “And you aren't?”

“At the moment, no,” he retorts.

His stare is intense. It isn't until then that you realise you've taken a step forward during your rant, decreasing the perfectly amicable distance and turning it into a heart-thundering one.

“It wasn't pity,” he says. “You're capable, I have never doubted that, but even the most capable ones struggle sometimes. My intention is to help. Trust me on this. I know you're too prideful to accept any, so I paid Kikkert.”

“But why? Why bother?”

“Why?” He blinks, sighing loudly before continuing. “Why? Have you ever stopped and thought, for a moment, that I've been calling you schatje. Do you think that was out of pity?”

You bite the insides of your cheek and shake your head. “It was something else.”

“Has it ever crossed your mind that it's because —ghezen forbid— I may actually harbour fondness for you?”

You blink once, twice. Kaz thinks he much prefers breaking into the ice court than having this conversation right now. His hand trembles when he brings them to brush your cheekbone lightly. He lets out a relieved sigh when you don't pull back. Your hand wraps over his gloved one, the leather cold on your skin. You lean into the touch.

“I thought it was one-sided,” you say finally. “I'm quite fond of you, too, you know.”

“You do a horrible job of showing it.”

“Says you,” you argue. “Just—don't do it again. Let me handle my own problems, Kaz. I'll let you know if I need your help.”

He hums in agreement. “You'll let me know.”

“I will.”

The two of you jump apart abruptly when there's a loud knock.

“Boss?” Jesper's voice sounds muffled through the door. “Everything okay? I hope ___ hasn't murdered you yet.”

“I haven't,” you answer, half-chuckling. Turning to look at Kaz, you say, “It's funny how he doesn't assume you'll murder me instead.”

Kaz shrugs. “He knows I can't.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Can't or won't?”

“Both,” he answers. “Can we not talk about murdering each other after what just happened?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. What just happened is you practically professing your little (well, maybe not-so-little) crush on him.

“So, is Kaz okay?” Jesper shouts again.

“Fine,” Kaz answers. “You can go back to your table.”

[ ]

i wanted to write something cute. schatje is taken from google and inspired from a kaz fic i read that used 'schatz' as a nickname. the plot is slightly ehhh? because it didn't really end the way i intended it to and i didn't proofread (when have i ever?). i was hoping to turn it into a two or three part series, but this is what we've ended up with & im quite happy with it. thank you for reading!

[incorrectmarvelquotesss]

— flufftober (day 19) —

Warnings: fluff, implied sex

Prompt: “Hey, wake up!”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

@flufftober || flufftober masterlist

A/N: Like I said, I have a ton of them in my drafts just waiting to be finished.

Bucky was ready to crash.

His eyes were dropping shut as the soft rumbles of the Quinjet sing him a lullaby. The seat, no matter how uncomfortable, had never looked so inviting. He wanted nothing more than be at home in his bed, holding his girl. But they were still hours away from the Compound then.

And Steve just had to have the post-mission meeting five minutes after they landed.

Bucky was ready to blow a fuse by the time Steve dismissed them. He hurriedly packed his duffel bag, exchanging the Kevlar for regular clothes without bothering to take a nice long shower—they had been out in the rain anyway. Not that you liked the smell of wet grass and dirt.

He just hoped he didn’t smell like shit as he sat into his pickup and drove away.

The landscape of trees woved into old town buildings before he pulled into the driveway of an old brownstone. It was in good condition, but it wasn’t hard to tell that it had been standing for a couple of decades. The vine that had grown along its side had etched into the bricks and the driveway was still gravel halfway through.

He had left it like this for that damn mission.

He parked beside the bright blue SUV and shoved the door open, grabbing the duffel bag on the passenger seat at the last second. He grumbled incoherent threats to Fury, Steve, and the stupid, idiotic people who just couldn’t stop doing harmful things. He kicked off his shoes quickly, ignoring the fact that you were going lecture him on putting his shoes on the shoe rack where they belonged. Especially when they looked like that—muddy and wet.

He took two stairs at a time, ready to finally have you in his arms.

Then, when he opened his bedroom door quietly, he saw that his spot had been taken. His heart skipped a beat or two. The two figures were easily recognizable, cuddled up in the bed with the extra pillows thrown behind you. Bucky’s heart thumped loudly in his ears as he took in the sight before him, heart practically melting.

He dropped his duffel bag, accidentally waking you up with the knives clashing in there. He came over and kissed your forehead, running a hand through Grant’s curls of hair and gently kissing his chubby cheek. The four-year-old smiled in his sleep.

“You smell like shit,” you said with a loopy smile. You tilted your head back and pouted your lips, letting him know that you expected him to get into bed with you and your baby boy the second he came home. He kissed your lips quickly three times, both an act of love and apology.

“I’ll be quick,” he murmured, unable to talk louder even if he tried. His heart was still trying to process the absolute precious moment in front of him. “Wanted to be home.”

You hummed lightly and let your eyes droop shut. “You hurt?” You asked with a grab at his hand. He squeezed your hand gently.

“No, ma’am.”

You peeked at him and have him a once over. “Be quick.” His eyes wandered over the two of you again, so unbelievably baffled by the fact that he had a wife and kid to come home to now.

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled against your forehead before placing a chaste kiss on the two of you again. He took no time taking off his clothes and hopping into the shower, all that dirt and grime that had been stuck in his hair streaking down into the drain. No wonder he had smelled like shit.

He dressed in his boxers and sweatpants, drying out his hair as much as he could before coming out of the bathroom. Grant couldn’t sleep without a nightlight, so he didn’t have to wait for his eyes to adjust to look at the two of you again. He swore his heart would never stop melting at the sight of you and his son. It was a miracle that he still had trouble believing in.

But he knew how to ground himself to reality now. He carefully moved all the pillows away from you, checking the clock just before climbing into the bed. It was already 6:30am and he was sure he was going to get just a blink of sleep before Grant decided it was time to wake up. He was always a morning bird.

Just as Bucky fell asleep, Grant yelled, “Hey, wake up! Mommy, wake up!” He shook you, which indirectly shook Bucky awake too. “Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!” He crawled over you and fell onto Bucky’s side before Bucky could move to lay on his back.

“Hey, buddy,” Bucky replied with as much energy as he could possibly muster after half an hour of sleep. But, with the way Grant was grinning and looking down at Bucky, with his blue eyes sparkling, Bucky couldn’t have imagined a better way to wake up.

He turned his head slightly to see you smiling up at him from where you rested your head on his shoulder.

Well, he could think of a few other ways.

[scre6m]

TONI TOPAZ & CHERYL BLOSSOM RIVERDALE | Season 7, Episode 2 Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen “Skip, Hop, and Thump!”

[pullhisteeth]

hello, lovely! so so happy to see you writing again, you're really one of my fave writers here 🥹 if you want, would you mind writing a fluffy best friends to lovers one with eddie where he accidentally overhears nancy and robin talking about reader's feelings for him, and how the reader feels like she should just give up on her feelings towards eddie because it seems like a hopeless case lmao i'm sorry if it's too specific! ily ❤️

hi! I love you!!! I'm so sorry this took so long, I got stuck in the middle of it with no way out, so I scrapped it and started again. I hope you love it. thank you for the kindest message, you're a star xxx

contains some dubious eavesdropping and lots of fluff. somethin' suggestive towards the end but nothing huge. :-)

[3k (ish)]

-

“Hey, handsome.”

Eddie turns to the door. There you are, between the edge of it and the doorframe, socked feet on the step. You’ve got your hands behind your back and you want something.

He smiles at you softly and reaches his hand out without a word. He watches you return the smile and step down onto the porch and towards him. You lift your hand, take the lit cigarette from between his two fingers and lean on the post opposite him.

His eyes linger as you pull it between your lips and inhale, eyes fluttering shut and cheeks hollowing.

“You look nice today,” he tells you.

Your eyes open slowly as you turn your head to look at him. You bring the cigarette down and hold it out to him, twisting back towards the road to blow the smoke out of the corner of your mouth.

As he takes it from you, you say, “Thanks.”

“New top?”

You nod. “Mm-hmm.”

“‘S’pretty. Suits you.”

“Thanks,” you say through another smile. This one’s sly, coy, a wall because he’s complimented you twice and that’s at least one time too many for you. He likes the way he can see how your cheeks warm and how you shift your weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting to stop yourself swooning.

You watch cars go by and listen to the distant sound of Robin’s laugh inside the house, passing the cigarette between the two of you until it’s nothing more than a butt. Eddie throws it onto the gravel at the foot of the porch steps, being gracious enough to save the Wheelers’ nicely varnished wood from being ruined by ash and a filter, and does his best to stomp it out without shoes on.

“Your sock’s gonna get wet,” you tell him.

“‘S’okay,” he says, hopping back up onto the porch and swaying about until he reaches the front door. “C’mon. There’s a mean game of Irish snap waiting for us in there.”

You hum again, only this time it’s a sadder sound. He feels the skip of his heart and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“‘M’gonna stay out here a minute. Need some air.”

“Oh,” he breathes. He takes half a step back towards you. “Okay. You want company?”

You shake your head and it rips something within him. It aches. “I’ll only be a second.”

The ache yawns open somewhere in his chest but he surrenders, returning to the door and leaving it ajar for you as he goes back inside. His mind stays with you as he moves through the house, eyes on his feet and the damp spot on the side of his left sock.

He passes the stairs and as he rounds the corner, he stops dead at the sound of your name.

His ears perk up like an animal and he moves, without thinking, so his back is against the wall.

“-And I get why she feels like that, you know?”

Robin’s pacing. He hears the soft thump of her fluffy slippers each time she takes another step on the carpet.

“She just…” Nancy sighs. “Surely she should try to tell him?”

“Nance, c’mon. You’re, like, the smartest person I know.”

“I just…”

“Nance.”

“He’s just… They’re so close, there’s probably so much we don’t see.”

“She tells us everything.”

Eddie catches his breathing getting heavier and stops, holding it at the hilt with lungs full of air. His hands are splayed across the wall behind him and he’s leaning with all his might, willing the floorboards beneath his feet to stay quiet just for a few moments more. His ears strain because to his right, Steve, Argyle and Jonathan are having some kind of cruelly-timed debate about pizza crusts in the kitchen.

“We can’t know that,” Nancy says. Eddie thinks she sounds sad; he can hear her mouth turning down in the shape of her words, and her fingers are drumming across the glass-topped coffee table, her anxious tell.

“We’ve known her long enough. And we’ve known him long enough. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“She just seemed so sad. I wish she’d try.”

“It’s not worth it,” Robin tells her, words short and frank. Her repetitive footsteps stop. “Clearly.”

Nancy hums.

“He’s hopeless,” Robin continues. “She’s been pining after him for what? A year?”

“More than that,” Nancy says quietly.

“Exactly! She deserves to be happy, we want her to be happy. So she has to-”

“Move on,” Nancy offers.

“Right.”

“But… We see him all the time. He’s our friend.”

“I guess we just… Help her through it,” Robin says. “Get Steve to set her up or something. Surely we know someone who’s far removed enough from Eddie?”

The colour has drained from Eddie’s face, seeping down his body and through his damp socks and into the floor. The hands keeping him steady on the wall are rendered useless, because he can feel them clamming up and slipping down the tasteless wallpaper the Wheelers have covered their hallway in. He slowly pushes himself up to stand and his head spins, the gaudy florals on the walls blurring to crisp bursts of colour.

What the fuck?

What the fuck did he just listen to?

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have listened; it was a private conversation, a private conversation about you. And yet he can’t bring himself to move, ears trained solely on the now-quieter mumblings between Nancy and Robin about how to cheer you up, and…

Andy.

Eddie’s stomach turns at the four letters as he hears Robin say them, louder than she’d been before, bright like a lightbulb.

Andy.

He lives down the street from Nancy, in a big house with a wrap-around porch and a mailbox Eddie probably knocked over at some point in his early teens. He has a good car - better than Steve’s, even - and wears ugly, pasty polo-neck sweaters and pristine tennis shoes. He probably plays tennis, Eddie thinks.

He’s everything Eddie knows your parents would love. Hell, he’s heard you complain more times than you should ever have had to about the sly comments your mother makes, the garden parties and barbecues you’re dragged to on hot Saturdays with the sole purpose of setting the two of you up.

“She hates him,” Eddie hears Nancy tell Robin flatly, their voices hushed again but just loud enough for him to do exactly what he knows he should not be doing.

“But he’s interested,” Robin whines.

“Only ‘cause her parents try so hard. He’s awful, Rob.”

“At least he’d try! I bet he’d take her to Enzo’s if we asked him to.”

“Rob,” Nancy hisses. “You can’t be serious.”

Eddie thought his stomach had dropped out of him a while ago, at the first mention of your name, but he’d been wrong, because he gets that awful sinking feeling once more when he hears the front door close.

In the seconds that follow, everything happens both incredibly quickly and painfully slowly, the way a car crash does, or watching someone fall. You round the corner, footsteps softening as you tread over the rug. Nancy and Robin’s hushed voices stop. Steve throws something at the bin in the kitchen. He misses. Argyle and Jonathan shout. You look up from watching your feet, and your eyes find him, wide and unsure. Eddie dies.

Well, whatever he’s feeling is what he imagines dying is like. There’s a cacophony of sensations and emotions bursting from within his body: firstly, there’s nerves, taking the form of butterflies the way they always do when he looks at you. They’re followed by a wave, though, of shame and, later, dread. He shouldn’t be here. He thinks you have worked out that he shouldn’t be here. He can hear Robin’s slippers again, only they’re getting closer this time, and then she’s at the door, right by his left ear. He can’t tear his eyes off you.

She calls your name, once in a tone so soft Eddie’s surprised it came from her mouth, and then again, only more confused.

He sees her in his peripheral vision as she leans her head around the doorframe and finds him with his back against the wall. She gasps, a quiet, wobbly noise, and then Nancy’s there, too.

You’re still standing a few paces from him, damp socks on the rug, looking at him with an expression that he cannot read.

“Eddie?” you call and he wants to die, he seriously wants to die. The world should swallow him whole for this, spit him out in the pits of Tartarus, let Cerberus have his way with him.

“Oh, god,” he hears Nancy say slowly from her spot beside Robin.

“Eddie,” you say again. “What’s wrong?”

Your face has crumpled into something between concern and remorse. Something unspoken hangs in the stuffy air of the hallway, broken only by the sounds of trash can basketball happening in the next room.

“Uh,” Robin drones, “We’ll, uh… We’re just gonna-” She slides out of the room, past Eddie, pulling Nancy with her by the wrist. “We’ll be in here,” she says, more to you than to him, an unspoken declaration that says come find us if you need us, before disappearing into the kitchen and closing the door.

He’s still looking at you, and you’re still looking at him. You’re about as pale as he feels as he stands upright again.

“What happened?” you ask him.

“I, uh… Fuck,” he stumbles, squeezing his eyes shut and holding the top of his nose. He catches your wince at the curse and the aggravated edge it comes out with. “Uh… Nance and Rob, they were… They mentioned you, I might have… Overheard a couple things.”

He looks away from you as he admits this, that wave of shame more akin to a tsunami now. He’s an asshole. He shouldn’t have listened.

But he did.

“I don’t…” You’re fiddling, fingers winding around fingers, standing before him looking more lost than ever. He chances a glance at you and your face is twisted in confusion. And then it relaxes, mouth agape, as realisation dawns.

“Oh.”

Warmth crawls up your neck. It spreads like wildfire behind your ears, across your scalp, over your cheeks. Everything is hot, the room’s too small, the air’s too close; more than anything, Eddie is too close.

He watches you fidget. You step forward, and your face drops again, wincing like you’re standing too close to a flame, so you step back and turn, moving away from him quicker than he can process. His call of your name falls on deaf ears and ends just as the front door shuts again.

He hears the shuffling of many feet behind the kitchen door but ignores it, pushing himself off the wall and through the hallway. The space is like water, the pressure pushing him down, keeping him from the fresh air - and you.

When he wrenches the front door open he’s hit first with the smell of rain, that hollow, metallic scent. And then it mixes with something like sorrow, and he feels it burrow into his bones, a deep-set melancholy he wants so desperately to fix.

You’re sitting on the porch steps, your back to him, hunched over with your head in your hands. The way your shoulders move gives you away; Eddie’s at your side quicker than he can think to breathe, touching you before really checking that you want that from him right now. It doesn’t seem to matter; you lean into him like always. You hiccup and sniffle, face pressed into his t-shirt without thought, and his arm sits around your shoulder and his fingers press into your shoulder.

“I’m here,” he says, unsteady. “You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you say into his chest. You lean back and press the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I didn’t… You weren’t supposed to find out like that.”

Eddie’s brain is working too quickly for him to keep up with, but he manages to tell you it’s okay. “I’m not mad,” he says, thumb pressing into your jaw, the pads of his fingers on your neck, checking you over.

“I’m mad,” you choke. There’s the hint of a laugh there and he can’t help but return it.

“That’s allowed,” he says. He’s surprising himself with how quickly he’s turned into something solid and reassuring. “Want a do-over?”

You look at him and he aches again, his nose burning. You’re flushed and your eyes are pinker than usual, and as his eyes dance over your lips he sees they’re wet from crying and ripe for kisses.

They twist into a smile and he decides that, for now, that’s better.

“Eddie,” you breathe, coy. You nudge him softly in the stomach with your elbow. “Fuck off.”

“What?” he laughs. “I can leave you out here, if you want. Maybe Andy will come save you from m-”

Your elbow hits his lowest rib this time, with far more force than before, and the gasp he pulls from you is almost comical.

“Eddie,” you hiss, “they did not-”

“Oh, Rob would set you up in a heartbeat.”

You groan and let your forehead fall to his shoulder. And it’s here, where he’s enveloped in the smell of rain and the feeling of you, that he feels something open in his chest, and he speaks before he can stop himself.

“He’s better than me, anyway,” he says quietly, fingers carding through the ends of your hair. “You’re too good for me. Some other boy would be better.”

“Other boys are boring,” you tell him, leaning back. Your voice is small and you can’t meet his eye but it’s the truth; he’s blind to it, apparently, but Eddie Munson is the only boy who has ever interested you. He is the only boy who listens, the only boy who sees you, the only boy you have any desire to know inside and out. You’re not sure you ever will know him completely, but if you spend the rest of your life trying, you’ll be happy doing it.

His fingers dance through the space between the two of you until they find yours, toying with the loose threads of denim at the frayed hem of your jeans. His bigger hand takes yours and you still can’t look him in the damn eye. You’d find a smile if you did, though.

He squeezes your hand and touches your chin lightly with the other, pressing the side of his index finger to the underneath of it to bring your face level with his own.

“Look at me,” he whispers. You obey, because it’s Eddie, and he’s so close and you can smell his uncle’s washing powder and the stubborn stain of pot and you love him.

“We could go for pizza,” he says, just as soft. “How’s Enzo’s?”

“You don’t have t’go fancy on me,” you whisper back. “I like Benny’s more.”

A grin splits his face and you match it, giggling.

“My girl likes burgers, huh?”

“Y’know I do,” you say, squeezing back. “Your girl?”

“Gotta take you on a date first,” he says. “Do it properly.”

“You’re startin’ to sound like a gentleman.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

Your breaths are one and the same by now, your mouths so close together that your vacant space has become his. Your eyes move between his eyes and his lips and you catch his doing the same, and there’s an ache somewhere between your legs that makes you pull your thighs together.

He dips his head just enough, thumb pushing into your chin to pull you closer. You let your eyes shut and feel his lips over yours, slow and distant, before you lean into him. He kisses you sweet, his hand smoothing over your jaw to hold your face like it’s made of gold, and he moves against you with certainty.

He’s determined and as his tongue meets yours you bend into it, relenting. It’s magic, just as you’d imagined all these years.

He releases your hand and grabs your waist in his firm grip. It starts to get slovenly, your hips against his thigh, his tongue everywhere, and your head’s starting to spin.

“You’re gettin’ ahead of yourself,” you say, panting, smiling, pulling back from him to look him in the eye again. He’s all browns, dark lashes and darker irises, never wavering from your sight. “Thought you had to take me on a date first.”

“You’re too pretty,” he says, kissing you gently at the corner of your mouth. His breath blooms across your skin as he speaks. “Got years of not kissin’ you to make up for.”

His fingers dig gently into your sides and you suck in a breath that’s half a giggle.

“Gotta get back at Rob and Nance,” you say as his mouth moves over your jaw and leaves a mark somewhere beneath your earlobe.

He hums and leans back, saying his goodbyes to your skin with one last peck to your cheek, just below your eye.

“I think we owe them,” he says. “I do, anyway. Was never gonna get my ass in gear. Coulda lost you to Andy.”

“Never,” you say without a beat.

“Never,” he says back.

-

[princessbrunette]

i was playing with my rabbit last night & thinking about how rafe & JJ would act around their girlfriend’s pet rabbit😭😭 like i feel like JJ would be the one to be kinda scared of it ngl…

soooo cute !!!

ᙏ̤̫

rafe would be like, you know how when families get a new pet and the dad is always the most reluctant like “whatever, im not looking after it though” and then they end up being the one to love the pet the most ?? that’s rafe all over. when he comes to your house for the first time and you happily skip over to the hutch to let your bunny roam around for a little while he kinda doesn’t care at all. animals were never something he had too much interest in, especially something as weak as a bunny.

but it’s apart of you, and you love that bunny so much so by extension he must care about it too. he won’t show it, you won’t often catch him scratching behind its ears or speaking to it (unless you’ve put him on hutch duty and then he’s quietly talking to it like “c’mere you little shit.”) — but he’ll get this slow and loving smile on his face whenever you ramble on about something funny your bunny did, or when he’s watching you play with it. he thinks you’re adorable, and a pet like a bunny just makes sense for someone like you — feminine and fragile, in need of protecting from foxes and big bad wolves (ironically, like himself)

you invite him round, and he pulls up in his car, casually and oh so nonchalantly pulling bags of hay and rabbit food from his boot. the expensive kind of course.

“yeah so apparently you’re not buyin’ the good shit, so i stopped by n’picked this up. you know you can ask me… to buy you this kinda thing right? im good for it. plus that cheap shit you’re buying is toxic, okay? only took a little bit of research, sweetheart.” he’s somehow lecturing you whilst being super sweet and you’re just ??!!!!

he also texts you randomly out of the blue like ‘It’s fox season on this side of the island. Don’t let rabbit out on the lawn for a while’ which is so cute bc rafe is so busy n important and yet he still finds time to think about ur bunny :(( n he knows if god forbid anything happens to that album it’ll be his job to pick up the pieces and he’d rather avoid all that .

jj on the other hand definitely thinks it’s cute, but he’s more enamoured by the way you behave with your bunny than the bunny itself. he definitely is down to play with it though, letting it thump at him and kick him and hop all over his lap :(

“climbin’ all over me n’still acting like a brat. yep, you definitely belong to my girlfriend. can see where you get it from…” pretending to talk to the bunny all quietly like he doesn’t want you to hear !! he’s just so cute ♡

ᙏ̤̫

[theafictionados]

Every Afictionados Best Line Award (Blanche)

Riverdale Episode 702: Skip, Hop, and Thump!

by the Afictionados Podcast Network

[wlwsource]

Toni Topaz. Here to buy your ticket to the sock hop, I hope.

RIVERDALE | Season 7, Episode 2 Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen “Skip, Hop, and Thump!”

[swee7dream]

Hiii, I was just wondering if I could request hc's for what cg names you think NCT would use? Thanks!

I love your blog btw, it's a huge comfort when I'm regressed or want to regress and can't :)

cg!dreamies' favorite nicknames ! cg!nct dream x f!reader

genre fluff, agere content warnings feminine nicknames, one mention of blood dni if you sexualize age regression author's note thank you so much for the request and kind words, nonnie ! leaving huge kiss on ur forehead. 127 + wayv soon ( now that i'm out of school ! cheer ! )

mark lee (ᓀ‸ᓂ)

mack ! the result of his tiny struggling with the letter r - 10/10. very cute no notes from him

also, consider: minnie

was a bit feminine for his liking at first but didn’t say anything

over time it’s a name he’s grown attached to and is lowkey overcome with cuteness aggression when you call him that

“what rhymes with heart?” mark breaks the comfortable silence in his room, notebook next to his seat on the bed as you draw with your belly to the floor, feet swinging up in the air. “um… part? bart? lart?” you think. “heart… fart. hehe.” “…part.” he repeats in a mumble, scribbling the idea down. “fart!” “i’m not using the word fart in this song, baby.” “minnie so boring!”

huang renjun ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა

jun! specifically jun(e) bug.

likes having matching names with his tiny so he calls you lovebug! junebug and lovebug.

you also call each other just bug, for obvious reasons.

that would be his only “title” so to speak

uncomfortable with any of the traditional ones and cringes at the other ones because he is nothing if not the number one HAY TER

“bug has gotta go to the restroom, okay?” “okay!” you reply, hopping off your seat and walking down the hallway, not even noticing renjun matching your pace at your side. when you two bump into each other at the door frame, you just blink at each other. “wait, which bug gotta go bathroom?”

lee jeno ૮ .◜◡◝ა

nono :3

liked it until you began to say it nonstop as an excuse to tell him no to things like changing into your pajamas or drinking water

so used to jaemin that when you started calling him puppy he didn’t even blink

you don’t even call him that often, just when you’re in that in-between of a play pretend and not

never calls himself that though.

“puppy, help.” you pout. jeno drops his head to the side, hands still balled up to his chest, immersed in his role of doggy at the vet. “got’a cut.” you hold up your pointer finger, blood beginning to gather and spill out of a slit in your fingertip. “paper cut, gumdrop?” “yeah…” “let me see, sweet girl.”

lee donghyuck ʕ˙Ⱉ˙‧:ʔ

channie

titles were an attempt. he really tried it lol

but you just couldn’t! he’s not a daddy or a mommy or a sibby ! he’s just your channie

you also tried hyuckie but when you skipped your ‘h’s it sounded like you were saying yuckie and as funny as it is to you, it always was met with haechan’s :l

you still call him that, but only when he’s being annoying and not paying attention to you!!! something about needing to sleep or something

whatever. as if

“channie!” your shout wakes hyuck in a split second, the balance he found falling asleep in his desk chair lost. his feet hit the floor with a thump as he turns to meet your eyes. “what’s wrong?” he breathes out. “lunchtime! made sammies!” you grin, acting as if you hadn't almost given him a heart attack.

na jaemin ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

any! he honestly doesn’t care, he finds all of them adorable

nana and jaemie are a given, i feel

he’s so nana shaped! :D

he likes other names more, though.

even if you don’t call him it yourself, if you are comfortable with it he will refer to himself as daddy. ‘daddy this, daddy that’ 25/8

you considered using your washi tape to shut him up once but didn’t want to waste it

his hands have a mind of their own to pinch your cheeks to death when you’re really little and you can’t help but let a ‘mama’ slip.

it’s like a reward /ref

“meow…” still waking up from a nap, you point at luke grooming himself. “meow?” jaemin’s eyes raise from the potatoes he’s peeling at the kitchen sink to see you laying on the couch, cheek pressed into the cushion. “meow, mama.” you repeat, wiggling your fingers to encourage luke to come closer. a lazy smile appears on your face when he does. “lukey’s a meow...”

zhong chenle (ᯟ︿ᯏ)

daddy.

point blank. no other options

when you’re Little the ink on his birth certificate magically erases ‘chenle’ and writes in its place ‘daddy’

if you call him chenle he will turn around (a full 360 degrees) and then just ask: “who’s that? is somebody else here? that’s so crazy what”

he’s goofy like that

refers to himself by his title more than you do. which is saying a lot considering he likes you saying it so much he basically makes you say it every time you ask for something

chenle drops his head down do your lips brush against his ear when he heard you mumble something he couldn’t understand. “talk to me, dollface.” “sleepy…” there’s a pause in between the two syllables as you rub your cheek on his sleeve like one of jaemin’s cats. “wanna home.” “you wanna go home?” “yeah.” “okay bye.” he sing-songs, gently lifting your head off him. “no…” you sigh. “daddy, can we go home please?” “of course, princess, let me go get our coats.”

park jisung (∩˃o˂∩)

jiji/didi + sungie + bubby

where did bubby come from? jisung doesn’t know. honestly, you don’t know either. you just said it one day and it stuck.

at the very beginning of figuring out how your regression would work with jisung added to the mix, you looked up a list of cg names and just went down the list, giggling at his very physical reactions to each one

best reaction? daddy. he literally looked like a cartoon character getting hit by a giant piano

you had to take a break. bro dissociated for a solid minute

“didi okay?” you pouted, waving a hand in front of his face. his eyes were out of focus and you haven’t seen him even blink for the past few seconds. “didi, wake up!” you whine, pulling at his fingers to no avail, leaving you to stand before him with your arms crossed until you stomp away. “gonna watch pj masks by m’self!” your decision snaps jisung awake, chasing after you immediately. “no, wait! don’t start it without me!”

author's note off-topic but yves (re)debuted recently ! highly suggest for everyone to give her ep a listen :D

[ratking-mo]

My king, My jester

Synopsis: You are the king’s Jester, one of the most valuable members of his court. You are the only thing that’s able to pick him up from his dreary, stressed out mood. Though this time around, he seemed to be in a worse mood than usual. And you know just how to get him to bring him back to his old self.

Tags: Dom!Switch reader, Sub!Switch character, nipple play, slight dumbification, reader is silly, rim stimulation

Word count: 3.1k

Authors note: the people that know how to write moaning/begging are real ones fr; might end up writing a part two in the future

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“FOOL!”

A low, booming voice shouted out throughout the castle halls.

Your head lifts slightly, the bells decorating your ivory and black felted hat jingling lightly as you move. A wide grin spread itself across your lips as you let out a soft, giddy laugh. It seemed like your king requested your presence.

And who are you to deny him the need?

You skip gleefully down the cinder-colored palace, a labyrinth you've grown to become quite familiar with. The walls, holding canvases decorated with oil paint, were strewn about. Some paintings depicted a different descendant of the royal family, while others depicted different environmental scenes. Useless decor to show off, really. Your pointed shoes lightly thumped against the hard red carpet as you turned the corner, walking through the quiet corridor as your smile began to grow into an open-mouth grin.

Your bells came to a halt as you finally entered the throne room, taking a knee in front of your King.

There sat King Istemi, plastered broadly against the dark wooden throne and soft blue cushions. Around him sat two, quartz pillars. The farther they went into the air, the closer they leaned into one another, soon conjoining and creating a slightly damaged alter of sorts. The throne room itself was a large, circular room. Two other large entryways sat on the right and left of you, two knights on either side as large flames sat beside them to dimly illuminate the room.

Istemi slowly lifted his head when the jingle of your being ceased, amber-hued eyes boring into your gaze. Yet your stature was unrelenting.

“What is it that you desired of me, my liege?” You spoke, voice lightly bouncing off the walls as you lifted your head up

Istemi lifted his left hand slowly, waving it back and forth dismissively. And with that, the four knights took their silent leave, leaving the two of you alone. Your king let out a harsh, disgruntled sigh, slumping within his chair. “Ive grown overstretched, my dearest jester..” he spoke, his tone growing into a more softer one. “My duties as your king have begun to push me to my limits, and I fear the day that my mind wanders into distances I cannot come back from..”

Istemi lifted once more, motioning for you to rise. And you do not skip a beat. You hop up onto your feet. “Poor thing..” You cooed out, skipping off towards the throne. Once you reach it, your hands gently graze against the crest rail. You dangle your head over slightly, your hat nearly tipping off as the bells jangled. “Your pity towards our kingdom is appreciated in ten full. Though, if I may comment,” you move your hand up, gently playing with the tips of his crown. “If you keep this up, you’ll end up going mental by the morrow!” you giggled out in a teasing manner.

Istemi’s eyes opened up more before he quickly moved to face you, a lock of his chestnut-colored hair falling in front of his eyes. He seemed rather frantic, worried that he may lose himself so soon in his rain. He has only been king for six years, how embarrassing would that be to his bloodline? “W-what are you saying??” He demanded an elaboration, his hands moving to grab onto the arm of the chair. “Keep what up? I am only doing what is demanded of me!” He lifted his hands gazing down at the palms of his hands as he struggled to figure out any possible meaning to what you said.

“And that is your problem,” You pointed out before leaning backward. The spine of your back bent inwards as you pressed firmly against the ground, soon kicking your legs upwards and causing the bells on your shoes to jingle lightly. You stand tall. If you could even call a handstand standing, that is. “You push yourself to follow your duties every single day, despite your psyche.” You then tilt yourself to the side, your left foot colliding against the ground as you flip yourself into a proper standing position. “It is quite pathetic, once you think about it..” You laugh lightly, placing the tips of your fingers over your mouth as you look to the side.

“Fool, your words are not making any sense,” Istemi mumbled, his index finger and thumb lightly rubbing at his eyelids as a shaky sigh emitted from his throat. “You have not a clue what I go through every day… From the moment I rise, to the moment I must leave to my chambers, it is nonstop motion.” He explained, eyes slowly lifting upwards to make mutual eye contact with you.

While he was looking at you, it was as if he was off somewhere else, somewhere distant. He wanted oh so desperately to be back on the same plane of freedom as you, but something was stopping him. He ached to stop this senseless carousel of thought for at least a brief hour.

Istemi lowered his head slightly, placing his hands within his hair as he sighed out. His gold-laced crown shuffled slightly on his head due to the constant movement, so you took the rare liberty of removing it. You held it delicately in the air, pretending to analyze the accessory in scrutinizing detail. “Ugly thing, this is..” You commented offhandedly.

“Now don’t say that, fool..” Istemi muttered, lightly nudging at you with his foot before he went back to focus on his anguish. “I just wish for a break… A break where I am not demanded, not pushed into the constant stream to fix others' problems, or to do my duties.. Just once, I wish to be free from thought itself.” He mused, shutting his eyes for a moment.

Your eyes shifted to look at him for a moment, your arms lowering the crown as your head slowly tilted to the side. How rare it was to see your King in such a weakened state. And even rarer it was to have someone such as him, confide in someone like you.

Perhaps even, someone like you could help him, if he so wishes.

You take a minute to weigh your options and gather your thoughts, before deciding it was best to act. You move a step closer, placing the crown on one of the arms of the chair. “My liege,” you start, reaching your hand out. “It hurts me to see you in such a state… I would give nothing more than to aid you in any way I can.” You pledge, gently resting the palm of your hands on his stubble-ridden cheek.

Istemi seemingly stiffened at the sudden touch, his eyes popping open once more in an instant. He slowly moved his hand, about to place it over yours.

“My knowledge may be limited, unlike yours,” You acknowledged, soothingly beginning to rub the thumb of your finger back and forth. “But I certainly know a few… Options we could test. One is bound to put you in a better mood.”

“…” Istemi’s mouth opened slightly as he gave a shaky, hesitant inhale. He closed his eyes as his eyebrows knitted together, cheeks beginning to heat up. He was not used to such gentle care (or any care, at that.) He began to push his head further into your hand, sighing.”… I trust you, my jester.” He confided quietly.

You hum at that lightly, leaning forward and gently pressing your forehead against Istemi’s. The bells gave a quiet jingle due to this. “You won't need to have a single thought until I'm done with you, my King.”

!!

You remove yourself away from him for a brief moment, breaking the warm contact shared between the two of you. Istemi gave a small frown, opening up his mouth to protest the separation but was nearly immediately interrupted.

You gently pressed your lips against your king’s, bringing him into a warm, sweet kiss. For you, it was a decent enough opening to lead him into the rest of your little excursion. Not that you were hating, this, however. Itsemi’s lips were slightly chapped, and the lower one was cold to the touch. It was as if he had been biting on it for quite a while. For Istemi, the kiss was rather unexpected, to say the least. He didn’t know what to expect, however, but it certainly wasn’t this. But that didn’t stop his trust in you. It seemed to only heighten it. His eyes slowly began to flutter shut as he leaned into the kiss, his lips following behind the rhythm that was set by yours.

Your hand began to travel downwards as the two of you focused on the other’s lips, your right hand giving a firm squeeze at the corresponding pec. This caused Itsemi to gasp out, the blush on his increasing. You took the chance to slip your tongue into his mouth, the muscle lightly swiping against your king’s as he tried to keep up with your pace. He tasted like salt, mostly, with the faint flavor of fermented grape. Istemi shivered slightly in your hold as your gloved hand groped his clothed chest. What a sensation, both of them. The feeling to be ravaged and tasted in such a way, the feeling to be grabbed like you have never felt anything like it. The dual sensations were causing his mind to grow flooded, despite how minuscule they were. He was struggling to focus on them, his overwhelming grip slowly slipping to a thankful lucidity.

Istemi arched his back slightly, further pushing his chest in your hand as it wandered. You then pulled your lips away with a soft gasp, a trail of saliva faintly following your tongue stemming from your King’s mouth. Istemi let out a small whine, eyes squinting to gaze at you. “Wha..why’d you stop..?” he whispered out groggily.

“Because sharing a kiss won't fix your problems that easily, my liege.” You responded harmonically, a soft dust of blush coating your cheeks as you gazed at Itsemi. You then moved to place your left hand against his chest, firmly holding it before glancing up at Istemi. “My Liege, may I remove of your fabrics?”

Istemi gazed down at you with half-lidded eyes, face flushing at the thought. He seemed a bit hesitant to fully reveal himself to you, those thoughts of his demands, duties, and status still holding him back, You take notice of this. You soothingly began rubbing at his sides, thinking of some way to encourage him. Hm, how to take this in a different approach. You then had an idea. You lean forward, mouth close to your King’s ear as you whisper out. “Come now,” you breathe. “I love your mantle so much, but you won't be needing it anymore… Be good for me,” you spoke, planting a gentle kiss on the lobe of his ear. “Will you?’

Istemi let out a quiet whine at the feeling of your warm breath against his ear, once again arching his back in an involuntary response. He opened his mouth, taking a moment to form any coherent words before quickly sputtering out. “Y-yes, please..” he whispered out, eyes drifting over to look at you. “I-I’ll be good, just.. Please.” He pleaded out, shedding off any inhibitions that once held him captive.

You take this and act quickly, disrobing him cloth after cloth in a steady succession. Istemi’s head lazily drifted to the side, eyes following your hands after each movement. His typically stiffened form was like putty in your hands, warmth radiating with every delicate touch. After finally pushing off the last barrier of clothing, it falling to the sides and joining the others in a small pile on the throne, you were greeted with his undershirt. “Such a sight this is,” You commented, gently placing your cheek against the palm of your right hand while the left hand pushed up the bottom of his shirt. A bit of his stomach and pelvis came into view, you pulling a lazy grin. “To see my King in such a weakened state..” you added, slowly trailing upwards. The shirt began to ride upwards against the wrist of your hand, Itsemi beginning to shutter at the feeling of your felt-covered hand sending shockwaves through his body.

“What a waste, this body is, on such a wandought man like you!” You teased in a laughing tone. Itsemi whined a bit at that as he evaded eye contact, his face complementing a soft red hue.

It was hard to tell if that was from arousal or embarrassment, however. Perhaps both?

“Do not tease me with such words, fool..” He croaked out, tilting his head back slightly. “Oh, my King,” Your hand finally reached its destination, cupping it for a brief moment. The hairs decorated across his body pricked through your gloves ever so slightly, due to the weak material. Though, you were undeterred. You lifted your thumb, beginning to circle his nipple in a rhythmic motion. “Is it really I who is the fool at this moment?” You question.

“You-”Istemi stopped mid-sentence, letting out a shaky moan at the sensation. “O-oh.. Heavens..~” he whispered out, pushing himself further into you as he partially covered up his mouth. You chuckle lightly at that, finding it rather cute. You free your right hand from the grasp of your cheek, pulling Itsemi’s shirt further upwards. “Be a dear and hold this for me?” You requested before shutting his hands. “With whatever you can, kindly.” Istemi took a moment to even register your words before giving a small nod, lowering his hand. He knew that he’d most likely get tired of holding his shirt up for however long with his hands, so he chose the next best option. He leaned forward slightly, opening up his mouth in a small ‘O’ shape before biting down, holding up his shirt with his mouth. You give your trademark smile, closing your eyes. “Good boy.” You praised him, causing Itsemi to visibly stiffen slightly as his body somehow got redder. You laugh sweetly at his reaction. “What a reaction!” You teased, placing both hands against your cheeks. “I wonder just how red you can get till you resemble a tomato.” he jeered, causing Itsemi to whine at you in embarrassment. You hum, waving your hands back and forth dismissively. “I kid, I kid..” You clarify, leaning downwards till you are in the eyeline with the bud. “Now, let us get back to it..” You whisper out before opening up your mouth slightly, taking in his left nipple before gently rubbing and pinching at the right. Your lips locked around the hardened nipple, your tongue teasingly rubbing around it while giving light nips now and then. You could feel each steadily getting warmer the more you showed attention to the two.

Istemi’s body shook slightly at the new sensation, feeling an overwhelming amount of warmth fill his senses. “F-fuck–” He cursed his head tilting back slightly as he felt your teeth graze over his bud. He lifted his hands, his fingers nestling themselves underneath your belled hat as he gripped onto your hair. “Ke- Uhn– K-keep going, please-.” He pleaded, squeezing his eyes tightly. You move your freehand slowly, trailing it down towards the tent slowly forming within Itsemi’s pants. The palm of your hand pressed down against his clothed tip, grinding it down in a firm motion. You could feel Istemi’s body tense up underneath you, him letting out a low moan in a content response. You decide to push forward, tucking your hand into the crotch of his pants. His undergarment was rather thin, to the touch it felt like the thinnest of lenins.

It didn't leave much to mystery.

Your fingers traversed past his ever-aching erection, going to farther nether regions. Soon the distance and space you were given began to close in, your fingers beginning to grow encased between your King’s two firm, chiseled cheeks. It was warm, cramped, and ever so slightly hairy. It's a sense and texture that only you will ever get to know. Lucky you! Then; the pads of your fingers touched his puckered hole. Itsemi tensed up for a moment at the sudden touch.

“Ho–” he breathed out, grip tightening within the locks of your hair. “My g- haah–” his voice struggled to croak out, struggling to search for words. Nothing for him was connecting, not a word on the tip of his tongue. All that was able to formulate for him, was thoughts of pleasure and you. “I-”

“Hm?” You look upwards, eyes meeting Istemi’s finally. You slowly pull your lips away from his nipple, saliva now coating it in a faint glaze. “I- Uhnn..” He faintly whimpered out, closing his eyes firmly as he ground his rear further down against your fingers. “Use your words, my King.” You encouraged, your freehand lightly nudging at Istemi’s side.

“In,” Istemi finally gasped out, eyes fluttering open as the bottom of his shirt fell from his teeth. “In, please, in.” He pleaded, letting out a choked-out moan. “Yes, dearest.” You respond in a gentle tone. “But I do feel it is best to tell you that if I go in dry, I-”

Istemi reached up, his hand roughly grasping the ruff of your ensemble. He yanked you up towards his face, the two of you making close contact once more. “IN,” he demanded, voice going low once more. “This is an order from your king, fool.” he spoke to you slowly as his chest rose and fell, a soft color of red remaining on his form. You stare up at him for a good moment, eyes wide before giving a simper across your face. “Well!” you let out a giddy laugh, hands clasping together eagerly as you held them up. “You certainly know what you want now, don’t you?” you prompted the King before letting go.

“Bet that didn’t take much thought now, did it?” You wink at him playfully before pushing both of your hands underneath his legs. “What are y-” Before Istemi could finish his question, you lifted his legs with ease, causing him to slump in his chair with a startled yelp. His hands moved to grab onto the sides of the chair loosely, making sheepish eye contact with you. You let out a soft giggle, placing his legs on both of your shoulders gently. “Now,” a joyful glint filled your eyes. “To carry out my king’s order.”

[riverdaleladiesdaily]

BETTY COOPER & VERONICA LODGE RIVERDALE | Season 7, Episode 2 Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen “Skip, Hop, and Thump!”