#the tools are right in front of you it’s not like you have to search things up on your own

[7-wonders]

Seeing Ghosts

Dr. Jack Abbot x psychiatrist!reader (gender-neutral)

Summary: A case hits too close to home for you. Jack wants you to know you're not alone.

Word count: 1.9k

A note from the author: "I'm just going to write a little blurb," I say to myself. "Fucking liar!" my laptop yells at me.

I don't even know what I'm doing with this but I'm watching The Pitt and cannot get this old man out of my head! If you're reading this, I sincerely hope you enjoy!

Content warning: Mentions of suicidal thoughts

You’re on night rotations for the first time in years, taking over for Dr. Gibbons who’s out on paternity leave. Night shift has been kind to you with a fairly easy workload as your body gets adjusted to a completely opposite sleep-wake schedule, but tonight, you’re called down to the ER for a 5150. 20 y/o male, brought to the ER after his roommate found him with cuts to his wrists. He's crying as his wrists are tended to, so sure that some unseen entity is on the phone with Pitt's admissions office right now to get his scholarships revoked.

You recognize him, this young overachiever who has the weight of the world on his shoulders for no real reason other than that he feels it will all collapse if he's not the one to hold it up. Not because you've met him before. You recognize him because, at one point in time, he was you.

One of your favorite parts about your job is getting to truly connect with your patients, and you feel that one of the best ways to do that is by meeting them at their level. Sitting next to them, giving them your first name and insisting they call you by that, and, if they allow for it, holding their hands. You catch a fair amount of shit for it from other doctors (mainly those for whom psychiatry isn't their specialty), but there's a reason why your patient satisfaction scores are so high. You know what you're doing, and you know how to accomplish a positive outcome, so when Shaun Gold takes your outstretched hand, you know you've got an in.

“I understand, that you feel like you’re alone in how you’re feeling right now. But can I tell you a secret?" He nods, and you tighten your grip on his hand. "You're not alone. So many people have felt the exact same way. I have felt the exact same way."

"You have?" Shaun's face opens up at this revelation, seeing in front of him a successful (-ish) doctor who's also battled the lowest of the lows.

"Yep. And I'm not here to tell you that I never feel the way I did then anymore, because I would be lying to you. But I have the right skills now to help me combat those feelings. Therapy, and coping tools, and medication. That's what I'm trying to do for you here. Give you the proper skills so that you can be the best possible version of yourself. And maybe one day, you'll be in my position, helping to give hope to somebody who needs it. So?" You squeeze his hand, smiling when he squeezes back. "Can we help you?"

Shaun agrees, and you get him safely transferred up to your ward with a schedule laid out and a promise that you'll be back in an hour. A favorable outcome, which is all that one can ask for in this career. But it doesn't change the heaviness in your chest, which continues to press down on you even after you're back down in the ER to discuss potential care plans with Ellis. Throwing yourself back into work is normally your trick to get your mind off of a tough case—it's not the healthiest coping mechanism, but mental health is nothing if not a balancing act—and you're left searching for relief. Where's a physician to go when everything feels a little too...much? Your fellow dayshifter clued you in on just the place.

The roof of PTMC is quiet at this time of night, no incoming or outgoing medical flights interrupting your stolen moment of peace. Almost immediately, you can see why Robby finds so much comfort in being up here. Leaning against the railing, having the cool breeze on your face and watching cars crawl through the streets of Pittsburgh like ants in an ant farm...it may not comfort you, exactly, but it does help to calm you down enough that you can focus on the things you would tell a patient in your position to do: deep breathing and grounding.

From behind you comes the sound of the rooftop door opening and closing and your slow exhale turns into a harsh sigh, assuming that it's some medical student coming to find you about a drunk experiencing hallucinations. Do people not remember how to use a pager anymore?

"Fancy seeing you up here." You'd be able to pick Jack Abbot's voice out of a crowd of hundreds, and it's no different now when he's standing behind you. Your shoulders, which you hadn't realized tensed up at the threat of being pulled back to work before you're ready, loosen up almost immediately.

It was naive of you to think that Jack wouldn't have picked up on anything out of the ordinary in any of the doctors on the clock tonight. He and Robby are two of the best ER attendings in the state for many reasons, but the way that they look out for those on their teams is one of them. Ellis probably snitched, you think, before realizing that you're not giving Jack nearly enough credit for his intuitiveness.

"I've heard so much about this 'trick' from Robby, figured now was the perfect time to try it out. Sorry to steal your hiding spot," you call out, keeping your eyes focused on the lights of PNC Park in the distance.

"I'm not going to ask you if you're alright, because god knows I would hate if someone came up here, interrupted my moment of peace, and asked the same." You can't help the smile that appears on your face. "But I am...here. Y'know, just in case you feel like talking."

You recognize this language, and it makes you chuckle. "Who's the psychiatrist here?"

"Not me, thankfully."

"Saw a ghost downstairs," you supply, still staring determinedly ahead. "I'm pretty good at compartmentalizing, at separating my work life from my personal life. But every so often, a certain case comes in that just...hits too close to home."

"I completely understand."

What Jack doesn't tell you is that, the moment you saw your ghost in that student, he saw his own ghost in you. He often hears negative feedback from those in the ivory tower about how he could stand to be a little more caring to, well, everybody. Though Robby hosts some of the worst patient reviews, he has more than a few of his own.

But who the hospital administration hears from is the bad seeds. Drunk idiots, antivaxxer mothers, bigots who think they can get away with snide comments to members of the staff—the types of people for whom complaining is in their blood. They're more than happy to fill out the survey provided to them with their discharge instructions, flaming everything and everything about the hospital—but especially about Dr. Abbot, who has been called anything from "gruff and unapproachable" to "a raging asshole."

He doesn't do this for them, though. He does it for the people that can actually benefit from his help, those who likely won't fill out a survey. The young parent frantically making sure that every test and procedure for their sick child is covered by Medicaid before consenting. The unhoused man being treated on his fingers for frostbite (and who will find a warm, sturdy pair of gloves tucked with his discharge paperwork).

The veteran fresh off a tour of duty and having her first real bout of PTSD.

You found yourself caught off guard by how close you felt to this case, and in that moment, he saw himself in you.

"I've been that student before—still am, sometimes," you admit quietly, knowing Jack will still hear it. "I was always too scared of what would happen to me if people found out I was feeling this way. I was sure that I'd be judged by everyone, but especially by doctors. I had no reason to feel that way, of course, but I didn't know any better at the time. I think that's why this case got to me; I needed him to hear me, to know for certain that he wasn't alone in his feelings and that he had friends in those who would be taking care of him."

Jack's silent, but you know that's not a bad thing. When he finally speaks, his voice is closer than it was when he first joined you on the roof. "I think that's what distinguishes good doctors from great doctors. Good doctors study hard, perform quality work, and genuinely care for their patients. But the great doctors are those who allow their experiences to fuel them. Who go through pain, or heartbreak, or grief, and use those feelings to guide their work and how they treat those that come under their care. And you, my friend, are a damn great doctor."

"Thanks, Jack." You don't say what you want to, which is that he's describing himself, too. The man's trying to teach a lesson, after all, and you've seen his disdain when his lessons have been hijacked before.

"Got any plans after work?" he asks.

"Besides still trying to get used to working nights?"

He chuckles. "Can't help you there. But if you're not feeling like the walking dead come seven, I know a great diner in the area. We can share some more ghost stories, maybe. Only condition is that you can't divulge the location after we go, no matter how much you may want to sing its praises. I can't go having my favorite breakfast spot overrun by interns and residents, after all."

It's a good thing that you're still facing away from Jack, because you wouldn't be able to school your face to some neutral expression fast enough. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't carried a bit of a torch for Jack for a while—the kind of crush that's easy to sustain when you work opposite shifts and your interactions are in stolen five-minute interactions before your shift ends and his begins. If this were day shift, you know Dana would be teasing you endlessly and going on about the betting pool that's allegedly been steadily gaining money since you volunteered to temporarily move to nights.

("Garcia has twenty on you both being too chicken to make a move before Gibbons returns from paternity leave," Dana whispered to you last week when she was supposed to be giving you a status update on the Kraken before clocking out for the night. "Don't give her a win."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you claimed, cheeks burning as you focused on reading from the tablet in your hands.)

"Let me guess, the VFW?" you tease.

"Nah, their pancakes suck."

On your next exhale, when the heaviness in your chest seems to have finally abated, you turn around to face Jack. He's closer than you thought he would be, a couple of feet away at most. Close enough that you can see the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you. "Alright, we can go to your super secret breakfast spot. But I'm expecting world-class waffles, deal?"

"Deal."

When Jack wraps an arm around your shoulders in a loose hug, he doesn't put it down again until right before the elevator doors open on the ER. You don't mind in the slightest.

[sukunasteeth]

Taking Care of a Tired Sukuna

Sukuna has had a long day.

Well, night.

Morning.

Fuck.

Working construction had been twisting up his sleeping schedule. At this point, Sukuna was starting to feel it in his body; in the strain in his muscle, and the aches and pains that randomly gripped him.  

They had him working on a new project that could only be done at night, while the public was off the main roads, and that meant his new work hours were starting from sometime in the middle of the evening and ending in the morning or the mid-afternoon. Being nocturnal wouldn't be so bad if his commute home wasn't during rush hour. The traffic was always worse when he just wanted to crawl onto his couch and fall asleep there. And when he does come home at the end of the day - he's aching, exhausted, and every bone in his body is vibrating with the noise from a jackhammer or the hum of a forklift.

Sukuna has always liked something that keeps him busy, interested, something that tests his strengths. So, he can't say that he hates the job, but he does wish that it wouldn't occupy so much of his time. He's wont to forget things when he's so wrapped up in a new task.

Like today, for example, when he finally swings his truck around the front of his apartment building, barely making it off the freeway without murdering someone, and he spots your car parked there in his spot.

He starts a bit, his sleep deprived brain suddenly spinning as memory serves him. 

That's right. You were supposed to come over today after he got off of work and spend the night- and he didn't plan a damn thing. There's no flowers in the backseat, he didn't stop to grab lunch for the two of you, he doesn't even have anything in his fridge for dinner tonight, besides a few forgotten beers tucked away in the side door.

As Sukuna searches for a parking spot much further down the street, he knows he should be disappointed with himself, but he can't help the touch of excitement that's suddenly dissolving the exhaustion from his muscles. Sometimes, Sukuna resents the fact that you manage to reduce him to this. He hates that he can't control that his heart skips a beat at the thought of seeing you again, like he's in some sappy romance novel.

But it was the hold you had on him, and he was starting to accept it.

~

You got to Sukuna's apartment about two hours before he was scheduled to be home. It was a day off for you, and you woke up with butterflies fluttering around in your chest.

You were giddy to see him. You always were. And not a single butterfly has died in your heart-space for him since the moment you met Sukuna, around two years ago. He has tended to each of them since then with his gentle but stubborn touch, although, he would never admit it.

You adored him for that.

It's still early in the morning when you use the key he had made for you to unlock his front door. Immediately upon stepping in, you're hit with how dark his studio is. The sun had risen over the horizon hours ago, and yet, the only hint of its light came from a small gap in Sukuna's blackout curtains. When you pull them back, you turn around and wince at the room behind you.

Yep, he's working too hard.

There's construction tools all over the house; sitting on the counter, in the sink, on his bed-stand, there's even a huge oil covered machine beside the front door that you nearly trip on in your trek over to the curtain. His coveralls and work clothes are strewn across the living room like he's been too exhausted to even make it to his bed at the end of his days, which is not very far from the couch. Meanwhile, his bedroom and the kitchen look nearly immaculate, telling you he hasn't cooked in days and confirming your suspicions about his sleeping arrangements. You wander over to his fridge and pop it open, sighing hopelessly when you're greeted with nothing inside.

Good thing he has you. 

~

By the time he makes it home, it's around one in the afternoon. You've got his laundry hanging on the clothesline outside, more in the washing machine, and all of his tools and odds and ends have been sorted and dusted clean. You've opened every window he has, and cool, fresh air sweeps away the oppressed darkness his apartment held before. Everything was back in equilibrium. 

When his keys jingle outside the door, you're just finishing up the last of folding his laundry. Sukuna steps inside, and your heart aches at how drained he looks despite the way his eyes widen as he peers around the room in surprise. His clothes are covered in dust from the construction site, and there's a smear of dirt on his cheek that makes him look like a chimney sweep. There's a tool in his hand that looks rather heavy, straining the muscles in his arm, but he seems to have momentarily forgotten to put it down. Half moon circles are embedded under his eyes, but they only bring out the intensity of his gaze. 

"Hi 'Kuna?" You chime, calling his attention to rest on you.

He blinks, taking a moment to process the situation. You don't recognize the glimmer in his eyes then, and part of you starts to sweat at the thought of him taking this all wrong. Sukuna had never been particularly picky with you, but vice versa, you had never done something like this for him before. He never gave you the opportunity, after all. Out of the two of you, Sukuna was usually the one who was always effortlessly put together.

"You... cleaned..." He notes. 

You swallow, "I did but I didn't move things around though. Just tried to put things back. Your laundry is right outside and I got you some groceries-" Sukuna drops the tool in his hand without warning, and you start talking faster, your voice raising a pitch as he starts towards you. "Okay, thinking back, I guess I should have asked. Maybe texted- no, you hate texting. Maybe called-"

“Did you clean the paint specks off of my air compressor?” He was standing in front of the machine beside the front door, which you painstakingly made sure not to ruin in your cleansing, despite having no idea what it was. 

When he looks at you for an answer, continuing to close the distance between the two of you. You swallow the rock in your throat. “Too much?” 

He’s made his way across the room and his surprised expression finally settles into a familiar hungry grin. He grabs you by the hem of your jeans, yanking you roughly towards him. You catch yourself on his chest, making a small noise of surprise. When you look up to scold him, Sukuna is an inch away from your face, his lips almost brushing yours, save for half a centimeter of space between them. He smells like sawdust and menthol, you can taste it in the close proximity as he greedily takes your breath away. 

“Off. Now.” He growls, but his fingers are already undoing the button clasped in the front of your pants. “I’m about to fuckin’ eat you, sweet thing.” 

~

You end up skipping lunch, but you're well satisfied a few hours later. A certain hunger: satiated. Sukuna is resting peacefully beside you. You can hear his even breathing against the sound of the cicadas outside, screaming in through the windows. Seeing him so content, sets your heart at ease and you release a sigh of relief. 

Now, to end the night, it was time to slip out of bed without him noticing to finish folding his laundry. 

Or so you thought. 

As you carefully peel back the blankets and try to sneak off the side of the mattress, a warm pair of fingers loop themselves around your panty line, effectively preventing you from going anywhere. Guiltily, you peek over your shoulder to see Sukuna glaring at you with half of his face still smushed into his pillow, genuinely disgruntled with the fact that you were trying to leave his bed. You can't help but chuckle.

"I'm just gonna go grab your laundry." You reassure him, brushing a tousled tuft of his hair out of his eyes. The knot between his brows deepens.

"Let me do that later. C'mere. " He tugs on your panty line, confident that you'll be submissive for him.

The sun outside was casting tall shadows on the walls of his bedroom and the glow was now deep and rich, telling you that it was preparing to set. You didn't want Sukuna's laundry on the balcony all night, which is what you were sure would happen if you didn't go and grab it now.

You hear a thread rip in your panty line interrupting your contemplation and, quickly, you grab his wrist, squeezing it as a signal for him to let go.

He continues to hold fast, his brow cocking in a silent dare.

"'Kuna, come on." You try, "Lemme take care of you-"

"You've been doing nothing but take care of me all day." He scoffs, like the idea of it is absurd to him. Rarely does Sukuna allow you the opportunity to show him as much care and adoration as you have today. Being doted on was not typically something he enjoyed. You knew that, and that's how you also knew that he was exhausted to his bones that day. "Get your ass back here."

There's a tug again, and another thread snaps somewhere. You pout at him, already having the foresight that this pair of panties wasn't going to last you long either. Your partner had the tendency to rip them off of you, and this wouldn't be the first pair to become a shred of what they once were. To be fair, he was also known for giving you his credit card and telling you to go buy "some things for him to see you in", so it would be at no cost to you. But, you happened to like this pair.

Sukuna watches you consider your options silently, unrelenting in his hold on your lace. When you peek up at his gaze, testing one more time, you know you've already lost.

"Don't make me chase after you." He warns, the promise of your inevitable surrender is evident in the predatory glint of his eyes. If Sukuna had a tail at that moment, it would be swaying back and forth, preparing for a pounce. "It's been a while since the last time I had you tied up. I do miss those sweet little bruises we left on your wrists."

You feel the hair on the back of your neck stand at attention upon his recollection. The last time Sukuna had you in ropes, you had to call off of work the next day. Your backside stings with the memory, but half of you can't help but ache for it too. Tied up in Sukuna's bed while he was forced to care for the boneless pile that was his girlfriend, drunk off of his lovemaking? That wasn't the worst place to be.

But, on the other hand, you could tell how exhausted he was with the new construction project at his job. You have a flashback of showering with him at the end of the night and scrubbing sawdust out of his hair. Having to gently prod and kiss him awake as he fell asleep standing up in front of you. You were adamant that you weren't going to do anything to tire him further tonight. 

Before you can properly give in, Sukuna must have decided that you were taking much too long to obey him. 

His other hand reaches over and winds around your lower waist, pulling you backwards into the soft cushion of the pillows and easily flipping the two of you so that he’s mounted above you. In your surprised stupor, he collects both of your wrists in one of his hands and pins them above your head. 

"You've forgotten how to follow directions again, kitten." His murmur is like velvet against your ear. His teeth graze over his favorite spot on the nape of your neck, where he’s already tortured it with his teeth and hickies. You didn’t realize how raw the skin was until he bites you there, drawing a whimper from your throat. 

 "Let's remind you."

[fangswbenefits]

Lockpicking

Summary: You ask Astarion to teach you how to lockpick and things get... out of hand.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Fingering. Dry humping. Innuendo. Praise kink. Finger licking.

Word count: 1.7k

You should have known better than to have asked him this.

Initially, he had regarded your request with an entertained scoff and no less amount of smugness.

But Astarion did find enjoyment in showing off his skills whenever the situation called for it.

And that was what landed you on your knees, inside some dingy cave near Baldur's Gate.

“You do need to focus, darling.”

You repositioned yourself and straightened your back to properly eye-level with the rusty chest in front of you, thieves’ tools in hand, prodding the stubborn lock.

Astarion was down on one knee, right behind you, body pressed faintly against yours.

An unwanted distraction, no doubt.

His cool hands gripped yours as expert fingers twisted and turned the sharp tools inside the opening.

He always made it look so easy, unlocking doors and chests in the blink of an eye.

“Maybe the lock is faulty,” you huffed in annoyance, allowing him to guide your fingers. “Should we try another one?”

“You're too impatient,” he said disapprovingly, his voice but a whisper next to your ear. “The lock isn't faulty, but it requires some tender love and caring to pry it open.”

Your brows furrowed as you took a deep breath, taking the reins and twisting both tools to the right.

His fingers gripped yours in an instant, and he took control once again, but all to no avail.

You let out a low growl of frustration.

“Darling, lockpicking is like making sweet love,” he chuckled briefly, fingertips grazing the back of your hand. “You need to exercise patience and focus.” You could feel his lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “Just as a lover, you must listen to them and tend to their needs.”

You nearly rolled your eyes. “You did not just make that comparison.”

“You'll find it to be true. Every lock is different and requires not only the right tools but the right amount of dedication.”

An innuendo?

“That is nothing like love-making.”

A metallic click.

“Did I not just describe how I make love to you, then?”

Inadvertently, your heart jolted into a quicker thrum, and heat rushed to your cheeks as his words caught you off guard.

“Must you be so vulgar?”

He rotated the metallic rods in your hands effortlessly, his body pressing further into yours.

“It's simply the truth, darling,” he said with a click of his tongue. “It's not my fault that dexterity comes in handy in various situations.”

This entire ordeal felt strangely intimate all of a sudden, as if you were both dancing to a tune only Astarion was privy to.

The mechanism clicked once more.

“You're doing good.”

Being sincerely praised by him provided the kind of pleasure that you wouldn't easily find anywhere else.

He rubbed the back of your hand tenderly, effectively letting you know you were on the right path.

“Grip it tighter with the tips of your fingers,” he urged before pressing a fleeting kiss just behind your ear. “You must keep a firm grip.”

Shivers spread across your body at the feel of his cold lips caressing your sensitive skin.

You swallowed hard, finding it extremely difficult to concentrate on the task at hand with your lover actively working against you.

Your hands jittered, and you nearly dropped one rod.

“You're awfully distracted.”

The familiar pool of heat in your lower abdomen flared at his taunting words, but you cleared your throat and shoved one of his hands away, wanting to keep your focus and sanity intact.

“I've got this.”

He scoffed. “Have it your way, then.”

You expected a snarky remark and triumphantly smiled to yourself as you were met with his silence instead.

Narrowing your eyes, you kept prodding the opening with renewed focus, following his previous instructions.

You heard a few more clicks, but not the one you were in search of.

And then you felt his free hand grazing the waistband of your trousers, fiddling with the buckle of your belt.

And just like that, your concentration was broken yet again.

“What are you doing?”

Silence.

Experienced fingers pulled on the strap until it was set loose.

Your eyes widened, and the tools in your hands quivered as you came to a halt. “...Astarion?”

He undid the button next and gently tugged on the fabric. “As you said, you've got this,” he whispered dangerously low in your ear. “And I've got you,” he finished before slipping his hand inside.

Your mouth dropped open as his finger trailed past your undergarments and settled between your folds.

Immediately, your hips jerked, and you let out a strained gasp as the throb intensified.

“Focus,” he cooed, rubbing gentle circles. “You're nearly there.”

His other hand steadied your grip around the tool.

“Try rotating it to the left.”

Your hands were getting sweaty and far too jittery, and you nearly dropped the one on your left when he began drawing circles anti-clockwise to match his words.

Words failed you, and you could only gasp, allowing him to take control, using the tool to turn the mechanism.

“Hear that sound?”

You heard a faint metallic pang coming from the opening.

“Focus on the sound coming from the lock,” he said in between kisses on your neck. “Make it sing, and it will open up for you.”

He increased the pace, and you moaned loudlier than intended, eyes fluttering shut as you rolled your hips against him, yearning for more and more friction.

“Hear how beautiful it sounds?”

“Yes…”

At this point, you weren't sure if he was indeed referring to the locking mechanism or to how you kept whimpering under his touch.

He then bucked his hips into you, and you felt the unmistakable print of his strained erection pressed against your lower back.

The motion nearly had you tumbling forward had it not been for his free hand that steadied you.

“Easy now, darling,” he teased, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Maybe you should part your legs. For balance, of course,” he added, but you doubted that was the real motive.

Even so, you quickly shifted your knees apart just enough to grant him further access.

“Good girl.”

You had to bite down hard on your lip to suppress a moan.

One finger circled your entrance, and you felt a gush of wetness spilling from you with each stroke.

Your hands quivered from the stimulation, rattling the metal rods inside the lock.

He brought his hand back to yours, his thumb caressing your unsteady fingers. “You're nearly there… just a little more prodding…”

“Astarion…” you groaned in frustration.

He immediately hushed you. “Careful… we don't want to draw unwanted attention, do we?”

Just as he finished delivering his taunt, he dragged his finger to spread your wetness across the throbbing swell in between your folds.

The overwhelming sensation was too much to bear, and your hand dropped to your thigh, gripping the rod tightly as if holding on for dear life.

He paused his ministrations in an instant.

“You'll need to slide that one inside to unlock it, darling.”

You couldn't care less about the damned chest, as the need for release took over you.

But Astarion seemed to have other plans.

“Slide it in,” he said, gripping your wrists. “Go on… I'll help.”

You slumped lightly against him, enjoying how his cock kept on hardening against you, and how he was beginning to lose his composure, low grunts erupting from the back of his throat.

He lifted your hand, and just as he slid the tool back inside, you felt a finger slip inside your entrance until he was knuckle-deep.

“See how easily it slides in?”

You rolled your hips, wanting to fuck yourself on his finger, riding it desperately.

The increasing pressure in your lower abdomen began to blur your vision as your mouth fell agape, your senses taken over by him.

You were close.

Too close.

Deliciously close.

And he knew it.

Of course he did.

Astarion was a dedicated and devoted lover who didn't shy away from having you come undone for him.

“Nearly there…” he said, rolling his own hips into you.

You kept on riding his finger, the heel of his palm pressing down between your folds, further pushing you over the ends on your sanity.

His free hand still covered yours, his slender fingers fully guiding you, and you couldn't even understand how he was able to keep his focus on the damned lock as you rode him.

Your head fell back against his shoulder, and he seized the moment to tease your exposed skin with his fangs.

Somewhere in the distance, you heard a familiar clicking sound.

“Let go, darling… I've got you.”

His sweet guidance was all you needed from him to finally tip over the edge, plunging headfirst into the blinding wave of pleasure that began tearing through your body like lightning.

He added a second finger just in time, prompting the neediest sobs to erupt from deep within you, and he quickly covered your mouth with his other hand, muffling your cries of pleasure.

“There you go.” He cooed sweetly.

You immediately dropped the tools to the floor with a loud pang and gripped his wrist in the hopes that would be enough to anchor you.

For a split second, you considered biting his hand to suppress the uncontrollable moans but decided against it, enjoying how your voice reverberated across his palm.

And as you began spasming against him, you heard the most delicious hiss spill from him, his strained cock rutting further into your lower back.

You clenched hard and rhythmically around his fingers, riding out your wave of pleasure.

His hand eventually dropped from your face, and he planted the softest kiss to the flushed skin of your cheek.

“Well done, darling.”

You gradually went limp against him, struggling to control your breaths and hearing your heart still pounding hard in your ears.

“Gods… that was…”

The words died in your throat as he slid out of you, earning a whimper from you.

As you regained some of your strength and battled your sore muscles, you turned your head to face him.

“How are you so good with your fingers?"

He chuckled as he tasted your wetness that dripped from his fingers.

“In which way?”

Your gaze was fixed on how his tongue expertly wiped you clean from him.

“Don't play coy. I wish I could be this skilled…"

His crimson eyes narrowed deviously. “I'm sure you'll get there, eventually – well, probably not, though.”

You gave him an offended glare.

He nudged his head to the chest in front of you, and you watched in perplexity as the lid had slightly shifted.

“Not that hard, was it?”

Masterlist

[ilovekittycats2]

High Maintenance

Jake Seresin x reader

(use of y/n)

In which,

Hangman keeps breaking his jet, and you’re not sure if fixing it or dealing with him is more exhausting

or,

one act of recklessness makes you realise that there may be more to Jake Seresin than meets the eye.

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Jake “Hangman” Seresin was good at a lot of things��flying jets, making cocky comebacks, and driving people absolutely insane. Unfortunately for you, as the Navy’s top mechanic, his messes always landed squarely on your plate. “You fly like you’re trying to piss me off, Seresin,” you snapped, tossing a grease-streaked rag onto the workbench. 

Hangman leaned against the side of his F/A-18 with his signature smirk. “I fly like I’m the best, sweetheart. It’s not my fault if your tools can’t keep up.” Sweetheart. That nickname alone was enough to make your blood boil. “If you’re the best, why do you spend so much time breaking your jet?” His grin widened. “Because I know you’ll fix it.”

This was your dynamic—a constant battle of wits with an undercurrent of tension neither of you acknowledged. Hangman was insufferable, arrogant, and way too charming for his own good. Worse, you hated how your pulse raced when he leaned a little too close or shot you that lopsided grin. 

Keep it together, Y/n.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The call came through like a punch to the gut: Jake Seresin’s bird was in trouble. You’d been elbow-deep in another jet’s maintenance when the commotion started, and the urgency in the tower’s tone made your stomach knot. Hangman might have been the cockiest pilot in the squadron, but he was still one of yours—and whether you admitted it or not, that mattered.

You ran to the runway just as his F/A-18 skidded to a stop in a haze of smoke and screeching metal. The landing gear barely held, and the right engine let out a sickening hiss as flames licked at the exhaust. When the canopy opened, Jake climbed out slower than usual, his movements careful, deliberate. For the first time, he looked... human.

“You okay?” you barked as you closed the distance between you.

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Engine failure. It cut out at altitude, but I managed to bring her in.” His voice was steady, but his hands betrayed him, trembling ever so slightly.

You studied him for a beat longer than necessary, searching for any cracks in the façade. His usual bravado was gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded. “Let me worry about your jet,” you said, pulling your gaze away. “Just... don’t touch anything.”

The hours that followed were grueling. You stayed on your feet, wrench in hand, sweat dripping down your temple as you fought to diagnose the failure. Jake didn’t leave, hovering just outside your workspace like a restless ghost. He wasn’t offering quips or trying to charm his way into a response this time; he was just there, quiet and watchful.

“Why are you still here?” you asked finally, not looking up from the engine bay.

He hesitated, and when he spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “Didn’t feel right leaving her—and you—like this.” The confession made you pause. For a moment, you just stared at the mess of wires and metal in front of you, trying to ignore the strange warmth curling in your chest. “Well,” you said, trying to keep your tone even, “if you’re staying, make yourself useful. Hand me the wrench.”

To your surprise, he did.

When the jet finally roared back to life in the early hours of the morning, you stepped back, exhaustion tugging at every muscle. Jake, who had barely moved from his spot all night, let out a breath of relief that mirrored your own. “Thanks for saving my ass,” he said, and this time, there wasn’t an ounce of sarcasm in his tone.

You turned to him, wiping grease off your hands onto a rag. “Don’t get used to it,” you said, but the sharp edge in your voice was missing.

Jake smiled—small, tentative, and not at all like the cocky grins he usually threw your way. As he walked off into the dawn light, you found yourself watching him longer than you should have, wondering what it meant that Jake Seresin, for once, wasn’t acting like Jake Seresin.

And why it made your chest feel so strange.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

hey guysssss once again sorry this is bad but i really wanted to write so idk....... lmk if you want a part 2 and send reqs!!!! pls!!!

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Lesson Learnt | John Price x Reader

Summary: Your good-for-nothing boyfriend won’t help you change out your flat tire in the cold, soaking rain, but luckily someone else comes along to assist, and teaches your boyfriend a lesson while he’s at it.

Word Count: ~ 1.6k

Warnings: annoying boyfriend, toxic relationship, platonic!gaz being a cutiepie, price being the greenest flag known to mankind, fem!reader, I’ve never changed a tire before in my life and it’s glaringly obvious…

A/N: been in a major writing slump lately+school kicking my butt+I think I’m getting sick, but full credit to @ceilidho for this idea, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Masterlist | Next

Your day hadn’t been the shittiest so far, but it certainly hadn’t been great.

You’d been off that day, but your boyfriend had called, needing you to pick him up early from his job for whatever reason. He only worked at some little restaurant in town with a decent salary, enough to get food and rent paid for combined with your money anyway. Something about his shifts being moved or the schedule being off, but whatever it had been had been enough for you to hop into his truck, drive over to him, and pick him up.

“Did you cook for dinner tonight?”

He asked from the passenger seat, the seatbelt not even on, despite it already being dark because of the early winter months, and the rain coming down against the windshield. Your lights were on, but still.

“No, wasn’t thinkin’ about it.”

You replied with a small mumble, and he sighed. You were the one who cooked and kept the housework up, and he earned most of the money. It would be balanced, except for the fact that you earned almost the same amount of money as him, and also worked full-time. It barely left any time for meals, most just being pre-prepped on weekends, or thrown together.

“Guess we can just get takeout then.”

He said, tone holding a bit of disappointment. You sighed inwardly, turning your turn signal on as you went down the road to one of the nearest places there. It was a run-down chicken joint that you were pretty sure was a front for some sort of illegal activities, but they had delicious chicken at cheap prices, so you weren’t complaining.

Your mind began to wander when you thought about the restaurant, and what you’d order. You hoped your boyfriend had brought his card because you’d left your wallet at home, ID and license long forgotten. Well, I guess you were just hoping to not get pulled over tonight, or come in contact with any cops.

As if whatever gods there were had heard your thought process, a small ‘thump’ caught your attention, and then a light squeaking sound as the air pressure in your front right tire began rapidly decreasing. With a sigh, you pulled over onto the side of the not-too-busy road. Your boyfriend gave an exasperated exhale.

“We’re gonna have to change the tire.”

You said, and he gave you a withering glance, jerking his chin towards the back of the truck.

“Spare’s in the back. Got a few tools back there to get ‘er done.”

A small pause for a moment as your hand reached for the handle of the door, and he didn’t move at all. You just stared in pure shock.

“You aren’t going to help?”

He gave you a look as if to say you were being ridiculous and illogical right now. You hated that look.

“I just got off work. I’m tired and hungry, and your poor driving skills aren’t my problem.”

He said with a shrug like it was obvious. Your mind still reeling, you searched for the little umbrella you kept near the console, only to find it missing. Great, just great, you thought.

With no other option, you stepped outside, immediately being pelted by the cold raindrops, and skin being lashed at by the harsh wind. You walked around to the trunk, opening the back, and finding the spare tire there, and a toolbox as well. Your shivering hands sorted through the cold metal tools, eventually finding a lug wrench, and a screwdriver, and behind the toolbox you found a jack.

You advanced towards the flat tire, rolling the spare behind you, and you knelt, skirt already soaking wet, your white shirt soaked through and not leaving much to the imagination as it was practically see-through and sticking to your form. The lug nuts didn’t come off easily, but somehow, your fingers got them.

Right when you began using the screwdriver to try and get the hubcap off, something else caught your attention.

Another car, beat up, but well-loved on and taken care of pulled up behind you on the side of the road. It stopped, and two men stepped out. One was taller, with a beard, a thick cigar in his mouth, and a hat on. He might’ve been one of the owners of that chicken restaurant. Whatever it was, he looked familiar. The other man had pretty brown skin, was less tall but still had some muscle in him like the other man, and wore his hat.

The taller one strode up to you just as you managed to pry the hubcap off. His brows furrowed as he looked at your boyfriend sitting in the car, and you, drenched in rain, changing the flat tire of the truck he assumed probably wasn’t even yours.

“Gaz, come help ‘er out wit’ this.”

He said, his voice brusque but also warm at the same time. Realizing he hadn’t introduced himself yet, he gave a nod of his head to you.

“John Price, that there is Kyle, but we call ‘im Gaz.”

You blinked, and Kyle walked over, crouching down next to you and offering a polite smile. One that didn’t quite meet his eyes, but it wasn’t rude. Price must’ve noticed your shivering form or the sheer white shirt that was clear because of the rain because he took his brown jacket off and put it around your shoulders. The insides were fuzzy and warm, and it was oversized, but enough to keep the heat insulated and the wet cold out. A bit surprised, you simply said your name.

“Oh..thanks. Y/N.”

You offered, for some reason trusting these strangers enough to give them your real name. Something about them felt right. Price nodded, then raised a brow at your boyfriend in the car, who still hadn’t noticed them, too preoccupied with his phone.

“What’s a pretty birdie like you doin’ changin’ wheels out here?”

John asked, and you weren’t sure what overcame you, but you cast a glance up at the boy in the car.

“He wasn’t going to help.”

Gaz and Price both looked slightly taken aback by that, exchanging glances, as Price opened up the door where your boyfriend was (avoiding hitting you or his sergeant's heads with it, of course) and pulled him out by the collar.

“Hey—what-“

Price shut him up real quick, then moved to hold him by the scruff of his neck.

“Now you listen here, why’ve you got your girl ou’ here doing all this work in the soakin’ rain, when you should be the one doing this, yeah?”

He asked, and your boyfriend turned a light shade of pink that wasn’t fully visible in the dark of the night.

“Well, I..”

“I’ll show you how a real man provides for his partner. Garrick, move over.”

He shoved your boyfriend back into the grass, and Gaz scooted more to the right, letting Price take the left side. Price carefully grabbed you by the hips and moved you back, out of the way, but to where you could still watch and hear him talk.

“Can’t believe it, ‘at’s ridiculous.”

He muttered, and Kyle shook his head.

“Can’t help but agree, sir.”

They used the jack to jack the car up, strong arms easily placing the spare tire in place, Gaz holding it up while Price screwed the lugnuts back on. While putting the hubcap back on, John began talking to you.

“You oughta find you a man, someone that would provide for you, that lil’ boy you got isn’t it. We’d never treat a woman like that, now would we, Gaz?”

“Never, sir.”

“Look at ‘im, two complete strangers are here, changing out his tire, and he ain’t offered a lick o’ help.”

He said, shaking his head, not even glancing back at your boyfriend who still was sitting in the grass behind you all. The hubcap was put back into place, and they both stood, lowering the jack before removing it. Price offered you a hand up, and you took it, surprisingly enjoying how his burly callouses felt against your soft skin. Kyle put the tools and jack back in the trunk, before again being at Price’s side.

His eyes met Kyle’s, and Kyle took out a small notepad and pen, scribbling something down, before passing it to John who did the same. They tore the paper off, handing it to you. It was their numbers, Gas’s having a little smiley face next to it, and Price’s having a simple ‘Call me’.

“If you’re ever in trouble, give us a ring.”

Price said, and Gaz nodded as if to confirm this. You took the piece of paper and folded it in half, putting it in your pocket to protect it from the rain. Price gave you a little pat on the back, and Gaz brushed his hand ever so slightly against yours, before they both walked back to their car, getting in, and driving off with nothing more than a wave.

With a judgemental look down at your boyfriend, you got into the car, throwing his things that were still inside out at him where he was still sitting in the grass.

“We’re done.”

And with that, you drove off before his angry cussing started.

It was only when you got home that night (to the shared apartment, which you would very soon be leaving) that you noticed something. Price hadn’t ever taken his jacket back.

[maybefae]

What do you need to hear right now?

Pile 1 - Pile 2 - Pile 3

Remember, this is a general reading and it may not resonate for everyone or completely. Tarot is a tool to help guide but you are responsible for your actions and life, you choose your path.

Tips!

|Pile 1

Tarot: The Tower, Page of Pentacles, The Moon, Queen of Swords, Knight of Swords, King of Cups, Ten of Pentacles, The Hierophant, Four of Cups (bottom of the deck)

Advice: The Opossum and Peony — bashfulness, The Bear and Cedar — leadership

Mhm, Pile 1… Well, I am doing your pile second and I also got distracted for 10 minutes (and keep getting distracted) as if I was avoiding something…Much like how you are. :)

This feels more job related, but adapt it how you will. One of the things that distracted me actually feels similar to the messages I am receiving for you. My sister was trying to find her guitar tuner, which my father had previously used for his bass a few weeks ago. But she couldn’t find it on her desk so she asked me to help find it. But the more we looked, our parents ended up joining in on the search. Turns out, the tuner was clamped on her amp right in plain sight.

You are trying to achieve something but you have come to obstacles that you can’t solve by yourself. I mean, you can…but it would certainly take a lot longer. Ask for help, Pile 1. There is someone, maybe more qualified, that could help. This person could also have others join in to work on the problem as well so there is a whole team that is striving to solve whatever problem you have encountered. 

I don’t know if you’re stubbornly independent, shy, or both. But the solution is really simple and is presented right in front of your eyes that you are neglecting to even flirt with the idea. Your solution is to just ask for help. You may have that “well, that was stupid” feeling that you get when something turns out a lot smoother than expected after worrying yourself sick beforehand. For example, when I was in uni, I used to worry myself way too much over exams that I had studied for extensively and I knew that I knew all the material — I take the test and ended up with a passing or perfect score which I was then left dumbfounded that I worried so much in the first place. 

You would probably help someone if they asked so why do you think that someone else wouldn’t do the same? You’d actually be surprised that other people would extend kindness and help.

|Pile 2

Tarot: Six of Swords, Page of Pentacles, Queen of Swords, The Empress, Ten of Pentacles, The Emperor, Ten of Swords, Six of Cups (reversed), Three of Swords (bottom of the deck)

Advice: The Quail and Gooseberry — Anticipation

Hello Pile 2! I am actually doing your pile first because the energy was being really insistent and I also feel like someone’s spirit guide was pushing me to start with your pile first. It’s a more feminine energy but it also almost feels like an angel or light being in an androgynous sense. I don’t know if that was any help trying to determine who or what it could be for you.

Pile 2, I keep second guessing myself and it’s really reflective of the energies in your reading. It’s like you keep digging your heels into the ground while an energetic force pulls you in the direction you need to be going. This could honestly be the spirit guide I was picking up on. There’s, not stubbornness per say, but an unwillingness to move. You may have to move in a direction that causes a lot of emotional turmoil for you. You do know that you need to make this move but you keep saying “I don’t know” because you truly don’t want to make the decision, even if it’s what is best at the moment. 

The way I’m getting these messages is really fast and it’s really hard to grasp each one so I can relay it because it’s so much. There could be a lot of energy surrounding this (dark or light), either way, both energies are a conductor that will facilitate this movement. Or you have spirit guides that are grabbing you by the arms and dragging you in a direction because you have stalled for so long. Think of it as a pipe — you are the blockage that is backing up all the energy behind you and at some point, the force behind you will move you.  

This situation has to do with walking away from something. A partner, family, a childhood friend, something from your childhood, or something that wasn’t the best for you and you knew you should go but you stayed (leading to you getting hurt over and over again). This could be an “older daughter/sibling” dynamic that you want to break but it leaves you feeling terribly guilty. If it is, just know that your younger siblings want you to do what is best for you and to stop beating yourself up. 

I don’t really like to bring up “divine feminine/masculine” energy but I don’t have other terms to use… But there is a need to bring balance. If you’re an older daughter, that will be incredibly difficult since it’s usually harder to truly express emotions and just let everything flow, not controlling everything. But I remember hearing about “feminine rage” energy and how you can confuse it with divine masculine energy. Feminine rage energy is the act of plowing forward with endless amounts of adrenaline until a hardship is done and your safe, it’s quiet because you’re detached from emotions, it’s easier to burn out, and you endure until you're safe and then you collapse. Masculine energy is more about self discipline — you have routines and boundaries that take care of your physical body, mental health, etc, and you are more logical but your emotions aren’t ignored. 

A lot of you are at different points. Some need to make the decision to walk away from someone or something while others are told to develop a healthier balance in your life now that you’ve made said decision. Your guides want me to tell you that there is a lot to anticipate in the future (but won’t specify what…It’s definitely a surprise).

|Pile 3

Tarot: Nine of Swords, Past Lives (Death), Ten of Wands, The Vessel (The Devil), Eight of Cups, The Shapeshifter (Knight of Wands), Two of Cups, Five of Wands, Seven of Wands (bottom of the deck)

Advice: The Fox and Ivy — Adaptability

I saw The Vessel while I was shuffling and had already got a message but I ended up putting it back and just shuffling the cards out. The Vessel is The Devil in this deck that I’m using and the image is a lot less scary than the original picture we get with the devil card. It’s a drawing of a capped vase and there’s a lot of light coming from it, practically glowing. And definition-wise, a vessel is used to transport something — but it’s also contained to that space. 

Some of you have an addiction (when I saw it the first time, someone very much needs to quit vaping/smoking but it could really be anything) that has really hindered your life and has trapped you. A bad habit, substance abuse, a mindset, anything. This addiction has entrapped you…It could’ve once been something that actually allowed you to carry through life, but only so far. Again, you are stuck in the walls of this vessel. And I get the feeling that this addiction has finally reached the point where it is getting annoying to you. There’s frustration that this addiction has so much power over you and your life. You are ready to lift the lid on the vase and finally set yourself free. For some of you, this could be breaking generational trauma.

I feel like you know this, but this reading could be external validation to finally take baby steps towards your personal freedom. I want you to know that I support you. Breaking any addiction isn’t easy and it’s very easy to fall back to bad habits, but it’s the fact that you are willing to try over and over again to finally get the freedom you want that means the most. It could look like you’re lazy or not trying hard, but trust me, there’s a lot of strength and courage and willpower that you have to muster to try after failing numerous times. 

You love yourself. You are willing to try to get better and that is loving yourself, even if you are hard on yourself sometimes. Be gentle with yourself. Tough love isn’t beating yourself up — it’s willing to be disciplined with yourself. And ya know, you may have to try different ways to break the cycle. It may not land with the first way you try and it may not be in a way someone else does it. It honestly could be unconventional.

I am supporting you and I’m sending love. xoxo

Dividers: @inklore

[silverspiralling]

Semi-niche fiber craft discourse take here but I had to get it out of my brain because it was driving me insane.

“Machines can knit but it’s impossible for a machine to crochet” is NOT TRUE. OBVIOUSLY.

The sentiment behind it is “we don’t have mass production crochet machines like we have mass production knitting machines.” This is the true part.

However, people (mostly crocheters searching for some level of oneupsmanship over knitters for some reason) take that as “crochet has some magical property that makes it impossible for machines to do” when that is just obviously on the face of it blatantly not fucking true because literally why and how would it possibly be true.

If a machine can do the precise six axis movements required to assemble a car, why would that machine be incapable of the comparatively simple movements required to crochet? There’s no magical property that makes crochet anathema to automation. The only reason we don’t have mass production crochet machines isn’t because machines CAN’T crochet, but because they don’t crochet EFFICIENTLY at an industrial scale at the moment because of the difference between the construction of knit stitches vs crochet stitches.

There’s no superiority there. People who uncritically repeat “machines can’t crochet” despite having every tool available to investigate that claim, including their own eyes on their craft and knowledge of the capabilities of robots, and the ability to literally GOOGLE “ROBOT CROCHETING” and see videos of it right in front of their eyes, frustrate me to no end.

If you see a claim that is really absolutist, but upon some level of thought seems odd, please fact check it before you thoughtlessly repeat it for the sake of winning internet clout in niche rivalries that no one cares about except me.

And for the record, as someone who does both, knitting and crochet are equivalent. They have different strong suits, and if you can learn one you can learn the other. Neither of them is that difficult, neither of them is particularly special, neither of them should be a point of putting down people who prefer the other. If you’re a knitter who wants to make plushies consider picking up some crochet. If you’re a crocheter who wants to make smooth fabrics that drape well, consider picking up some knitting.

You don’t get to flex about your fiber craft unless you’re doing bobbin lacemaking, in which case god bless, that is witchcraft, and you are beyond all of us mere mortals.

[mullermilkshake]

Stretching limits.

Part 1 <- -> Part 2

You’re being chased, will you make it out unscathed?

Kento Nanami x Fem! Reader DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT,Non con,Knife play,Possessive,Forced,Vaginal fingering,Drug use/ drugging,Forced orgasm,Squirting,Mouth gag,Threat of violence,Stalking,Kidnapping,Nipple play,Hair pulling

<<< For more Nanami content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

You never should have skipped gym class. 

If you hadn’t, you might have carried on into your adulthood and gotten fitter. Much fitter so you wouldn’t try and keep your gasping lungs quiet as you ran through the abandoned building you had found yourself in. 

You would be as quiet as a mouse if you had just gone to the stupid gym.

The concrete flooring was the biggest conductor, alerting anything of your movements like it was taking revenge. What a bastard.

Who you were running form was more complicated than just a one word answer, a name or even a reason. It was horrific and it couldn’t just be explained away. No, it was an experience only others could understand when they lived it themselves, which was few and far between. 

Climbing up the stairs, bare and musty, the plastic on the ground floor was ripped away, it crinkled deadly fast, but no one spoke. You stopped, not daring to move in fear he would see you if you did. 

Slowly, you slipped your shoes off, the dust and grime already sticking to the soles of your socks. You weren’t sure if you should have kept your shoes, but there was no time, he would head up the stairs eventually so you chose to hide them. 

How did he even find you in the first place? You’d moved, changed numbers, gotten the police involved. Everything you could have done, you did. But it didn’t stop him from tracking you down like a deer in open season.

The cross hairs were right between your eyes. 

You carried on up the stairs, minding yourself past wet patches and puddles to keep an invisible path leading to you, stepping over the loose cables and forgotten equipment you couldn’t afford to trip over.

You searched and rummaged through a tool box, too inviting to leave unattended, perhaps you would find a wrench or some other weighted tool you could sling at his head. 

You knew he could dodge an attack like that, but it never swayed you to think otherwise, just in case there was a contributing factor. Maybe the sun would reverse, and rise instead of its steady drop in the sky, blind him for a second and a flying wrench would knock him over so you could get away. 

A nail gun? No the cable wasn’t nearly long enough, the big industrial ones never ran off of gas, it used the generator placed precariously in the middle of the floor over some hazardous sheets of metal over a large hole to the ground below. 

Right where you thought he was. 

Where the hell could you put your shoes? 

You cursed as quietly as possible, you were starting to panic. You finally hid them under a screwed up dust sheet you found and took the next set of stairs, crouching just in case. You hadn’t heard anything since the plastic sheet, for a foolish moment you almost talked yourself into believing that it was just the wind, and you were hiding for no reason but that hope shattered like glass.

“Darling.” His voice echoed and sounded so close. “I know you’re in here, there’s no point in hiding. It’s getting dark and I want to go home.”

You backed up slowly, never taking your eyes off of the stairwell behind you. He was baiting you, if you spoke now, he’d appear right in front of you like a ghost, a demon ready to swallow you whole. 

Part of you wanted to tease him, you’d escaped once, you’d escape again. Unless he chained you, that wasn’t the most comforting thought. You were still struggling with your breathing, you covered your mouth and took one deep breath.

Then, you snuck up, trying to at least get a floor difference between you. Think. Always be prepared, your father had said since you were little. How could you be prepared, if there was nothing to prepare with? 

Going up another flight, here was your golden ticket. 

Rope and sheets, crudely hung up as though they were drying, tents and discarded trolleys littered around on the floor. Plenty of places to hide and plenty of opportunities to slip past him. 

There were plenty of chances to get caught too. Wet and moulded newspapers, spilt candle wax and old blackened metal spoons, all hazards. 

Getting low, you moved around the sheets, looking for anything, something to inflict pain, even if it was as small as a pin, anything could hurt him. All you found was a ballpoint pen, you almost spoke out loud. 

But it was like he heard you anyway. “So you’re up here then. I guess I still know you very well, but if you think you can slip by me, you still have plenty to know about me, Darling.”

He could have been mere metres away from you by now and you wouldn’t know any difference. He was much more silent than he had even been before, had he taken his shoes off too? 

You froze in place and listened, clutching the pen as your lifeline, waited for a sign, a sound to tip you off. You could maybe slip into the neighbouring tent, but the zip, it would scream your location. You scanned the floor and found a pebble that could work as a deterrent. 

Getting down lower there was a shadow, faint, barely there but it was moving, that’s where he was. You threw it away from you, away from the stairwell and that was when you heard his footsteps. 

So you made a break for it, silently so, but still with a rocket up your ass. Freedom so close, so tasty you could smell it like a warm inviting home.  

There he was, in front of you, his back turned, but he was right fucking there, you almost blew it by your gasps you caught in time.

“If you show yourself now” He boomed, nothing like you had ever heard before, like he panicked. “I’ll forgive what you did back at the house and we can start over, if you don’t, there will be severe consequences.” 

His wrapped knife was on his back, smiling at you, you begged the inanimate object to keep quiet and it did. He still hadn’t seen you, so you kept going. But it was foolish of you to turn your gaze, even if it was just for a second. 

“There you are.” He was so quick, wrapping his fist around your hair and holding you there. He’d never done that before. “I thought I told you to show yourself when I asked.” He said your name with so much vitriol.

“Ken- ouch!”

He ripped you by your hair. “I don’t recall giving you permission to speak. Though I do recall you leaving me tied to the bed and you walking out without an explanation. Care to elaborate on what you were thinking?”

You’d put tablets into his drink, tied him down for good measure, but you underestimated the amount he needed. 

“No explanation? I had one! You took me away from everything I knew and I told you over and over to let me go!” You pushed at him, swinging the ball point pen, hoping no matter how much you hurt, you hurt him too. 

He smacked it away. “Watch your manners!” It didn’t hurt him. He just pulled you again so that you could have sworn your hair was coming out in his hand.  

He let go, much to your relief, and took your arm. It didn’t hurt any less but you could manage it. He looked so angry, the shadows of his face were so sunken, like voids, black holes under his eyes that would swallow you up. He started dragging you down the stairs.

“Stop! I’m not going back!”

“Yes you are.”

Kento pushed you up against the wall on the stairwell and squeezed your shoulders in an act to scare you, it worked too. “You will go back. I don’t treat you unfairly do I? Do I beat you or force myself on you? No, I definitely do not, so don’t act like I do.”

“It’s not what you do though. It's about how you did it, all of it!” You tried to push him away, you really did.  

He never moved, pure muscle brick house. You were just lucky you got away the first time. If you went back with him, there was no way you were getting out another time, one big fat lie you told yourself. You were never escaping him again.

“You should have let me go! I have a new life now, a job, friends and you're fucking it all up again!”

Kento got close to you, towering over, he had the same cologne on he always wore, the undertones of fresh cotton lingered, along with the tickling of his breath. “I took you with me because you were the only thing that made me feel more than just a fucking worker ant. And I won’t let that go, do you understand me? I won't allow it.”

If someone had walked in on that moment, they would have assumed they'd walked into a sensual, steamy romance novel. The mist of your breaths in the ever growing darkness, heavy breathing, closeness, your noses almost touching. But it was more like hell. 

You barely spoke, “Just let me go.”

“I won’t do it.”

“I don’t want to be with you, I just want to live my life.” Those were famous last words.

“You can live your life with me. You won’t leave me. I’m not the villain here.” He growled your name. “I’m not like those other pigs, I take care of you, make you dinner, buy you clothes, provide all of these nice things, for what?”

“I didn’t ask for any of it!” 

He took your wrists in his hand and pinned them against the cold concrete, it scraped against you, uneven and unforgiving. “I can be like the others if that’s what you want- is it? Want me to be like the others?” He pulled his knife away from his back and pushed it slowly under your chin.

“What the fuck?!” 

“I don’t want to have to use this, so I need you to behave, can you do that?”

What? Was he just going to kill you if you didn’t do whatever he wanted? Had he fallen off that deep? You found yourself fighting for self preservation and nodded, but that didn’t stop your words.

You tried to calm your tone down to a respectable calmness. “I want you to leave me alone, Kento… Please, just go.”

His voice was a whisper. “Just once, Darling.” 

“What?” You hadn't properly heard him the first time, but your gut already did.

“Just once, then it’ll be alright.” 

He held your wrists there, keeping them tight as they were. His free hand pulled the knife back and slotted it back into its holster. “I’ll put it to your throat again if you try anything.”

 He wandered, touching you in places he never had before, caressing the side of your neck, down to your hip. It was incredibly suggestive and the penny finally dropped.

“No! Kento don’t, you're better than this, I don't want this.”

“You will.” He moved in, pressed his lips on yours, but you pulled away. “Once we've done this, you’ll see why you're so special, I’ll show you just how special you are.”

He cupped your breast, your t-shirt gathering around his fingertips, squeezing hurt, the chill in the building made your skin react. He kissed you again, but quickly moved to your neck, sucking and nipping like he was starved. Lifting your t-shirt, he pulled your bra down rough, exposing your breasts to the cold air. His grip never ceased, only clamped down more, your hands were going numb already. 

“You drive me crazy.” He took your nipple in his mouth, warming you up ever so slightly. “You don’t realise what kind of man you threaten to make me.” 

The tension changed on his lips, he was marking you, the side of your breast, the soft, sensitive skin there was close to going purple. 

“Kento, stop this now before it goes further. You’ll regret it, I know you will. Don’t be like the others.” Whoever these others were. 

He pulled away and admired your body, you couldn’t see the mark, but knew just as well it was there. “You’ve made me like this.” 

His hand moved down and slid across your stomach, going straight to your jeans, to your underwear. 

“Kento.” You said with more of a blunt tone. “Stop right this minute, you don’t know what you’re doing!” 

“My conscience has never been clearer.” 

Kento pulled his tie off in a fashion he always did, something he made look sensual though he never meant to. But you knew he knew all along by the look in his eyes, it came apart in his hands and he balled it up. 

“Open.” 

You went to shake your head in defiance, he couldn’t assume you would just agree, you remained still though, the thought of the clothed knife still lingered. He took your chin and forced your mouth open, shoving the fabric into your mouth, it instantly took the moisture away. 

The pop of your button came and the heated pads of his fingertips touched you where they had never before. 

“You lied to me.” He cooed your name. “You said you didn’t want this, but your body is telling a completely different story.”

You didn’t. It was your body's response to stimuli, nothing more, you knew it was a lie he kept telling himself to make this situation more consistent with his beliefs. He was going to regret this after his spurt of clarity. He barely touched and you flinched and he even made a noise so close to a laugh, it caught you off guard more than ever. Kento was always so serious.

“You’re starved, look at you. My bet is that you’ve never even squirted before, have you?” He rubbed you, playing with the slickness to improve his movements. 

You hadn’t, you didn’t know if you could, but it wasn’t something you tried. You tensed and pushed your thighs together, he wouldn’t find out, you wouldn’t let him. 

You moved your hips to the side, recalling every self defence video you ever watched, but it all went out the other ear. He shoved his knee between your legs, pinching the skin until he touched the wall. His fingers moved over slowly, slipping, squelching around you, like he knew clitoral stimulation was the way to make you come every time. 

“Do I need to get my knife out?”

Shit. You shook your head again.

“Good. Now relax.” Why did he sound so soothing? “If I curl my fingers like this,” You were wet enough, two fingers slid in, his long, slender fingers. “You’ll experience the best orgasm of your life.”

He still held you in place, so strong, never ceasing with the amount of raw strength,  just there like he was holding up a poster on the wall. The chill had ridden up under your shift, the faint, thin hairs on your back stood up straight, welcoming goosebumps to your predicament. 

His fingers pumped at a pace that was neither acceptable for a lover, nor a quick one night stand, it was neither here nor there like it had its own rhythm. Kento’s rhythm. You could feel every inch on him, turning, squelching, moving with purpose inside you. 

“Can you see now, how you make me feel? You’re sucking my fingers in because you’re so good. You’re so good for me.” 

You weren’t good for him, you didn’t even know him. You fought alongside that thought, even when you sensed an orgasm brewing in the pit of your stomach. Using your tongue, you were able to push the tie free from your lips, mouth scraping at the barrel to collect as much saliva it could. 

“K-Kento.” 

“Hmm?”

“Stop this, I don’t want to be here.” You almost sounded defeated. 

He thrusted his fingers and even added another, stretching you out, like he could take more aggression out on you without getting violent. 

“You’re here. Right now. And nothing will change. You’re coming back with me as soon as you come all over my hand.” 

“But I-“

“But nothing. Come for me now.”

The rush accelerated, you tried to dismiss it, ignore it, because if you couldn’t feel it, then it wasn’t there. But it was, and it was fast approaching. His lips around your nipple made it go quicker, ramping up the heat to new levels, deeper, much more solid.

What the fuck is this? 

There we go.” He went faster, really moving his fingers. “I’d like you to come, pretty fucking hard now.”

It was coming, you were coming. 

What was this? Did you piss yourself? As you came, liquid shot out of you, the pressure of the orgasm beat against you as you squirmed and writhed under his touch, threatening to send you to the floor when your knees buckled. 

Wetness gushed and dripped, soaking into your jeans, all up Kento’s arm. The post orgasm clarity hit you like a ton of bricks, what a fucking idiot you were, it had gotten much darker and you still had to find a way back home without Kento finding you. There was no way you were going with him. 

He didn’t let go. 

“You’re a good girl.” He placed a soft peck on your cheek, almost cheekily to the point it stunned you. “I knew you’d listen.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, you know that, right?”

He finally let go but kept your exit blocked “Did you think we were finished? Come on, let’s finish this at home, you’re filthy, look at your socks. I’ll run you a hot bath, okay?” 

“You aren’t listening to me!- get off!” The pain shot down your arm again as he took it again in his grasp. 

“We’re going home right now, and we’re finishing this. Don’t ever think of leaving again, who knows what’ll happen.”

And he just took you, kicking and screaming back to hell, like the devil he was. 

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[junkpuppet225]

note: Well well well, if it isn’t the consequences of your actions. This one’s not smutty and it’s kinda messed up really. Super short and quick and barely proof read. Enjoy.

Consequences

Daryl looks up at you from his motorcycle slowly, a sly grin spreading across his handsome face as he tosses his rag to the work bench and stands to his full height as you make your way across the narrow room. He has that look on his face - the one you’ve seen a hundred times a hundred different ways over the past few months as you watch his eyes fall to the bench.

He’s not thinking about the tools in his line of sight or the man that gifted them to him along with the bike but the night you showed up out here wearing that pale blue sun dress Rosita found in the back of her closet. He had stalked you like a predator, pulling you into his arms and kissing you until you didn’t give a fuck who or what stumbled into the garage.

Tonight you stop a foot away from him trying to collect the right words but his gaze is far away, remembering the sound of tools clattering to the ground as he laid you back on that work bench and buried his face between your legs.

“Daryl?”

He doesn’t notice how bad you’re shaking until you’re almost in front of him with tears in your eyes, one hand closed in an impossible grip - the other placed against your chest trying to steady your racing heart. It felt like you were cracked open, the ache inside of you so strong you’re not even sure how you willed your feet to get this far.

The air rushes from Daryl’s throat as he finally sees you. You look like you’re dying inside. “What’s wrong?” He looks behind you to the silent and empty street before rounding the bench and placing his hands on your trembling arms. “Are you okay?”

You want to remember him like this, in his dark t-shirt - his hair falling into his ocean eyes. He really is beautiful, even when he narrows those eyes and tells you to fuck off every time you mention it to him. He’s going to leave because he doesn’t want this - how could he possibly want this when he can barely stand to be behind these walls as it is?

I ain’t no family man. The fuck kind of dad could I ever be? All mine taught me was how to take an ass beatin’.

“Hey? Talk to me girl, yer scarin’ me.” His hands are in your hair now, eyes desperate and searching as you take in a shaky breath. The muscles in your clenched hand ache all the way to your elbow as you hold onto the pregnancy test in your grip, knuckles white as Daryl lets his gaze fall between you - his back going rigid.

“What the fuck is that?”

He knew what it was - he wasn’t stupid but all rational thought was slipping away as he gaped at the device in your hand. This couldn’t be fucking happening. Not that he’d done anything to prevent it - not like he had one ounce of will power when it came to you and you’re perfect fucking pussy that gripped him like a goddamn vice. A groan rushed from his throat as he took a step back and put the work bench between the two of you.

“Daryl, I’m…”

“You have to get rid of it.”

He couldn’t look at you. His heart couldn’t take the pain that washed over you from his words but you couldn’t have his baby. The last thing this fucked up world needed was another Dixon in it or another dad like he had.

“Please don’t say that.” He’d never heard your voice so small before, forcing himself to look at you as he stood with his arms on the bench gripping the splintering wood with his shoulders bent in defeat. “Ya can’t bring a baby into this world, Y/N.” Not his baby. White hot fear was licking at his insides - bringing bile to his throat at the thought of having a son or daughter and being just like his old man. Daryl’s eyes closed tight as memories of his childhood played back like a horror movie in his head.

“Lori did.”

“Yeah? Look where the fuck that got her!”

The next thing you know a wrench is flying across the garage then his bike is on its side as he kicks it to the ground, raking his hands into his hair. “Fucking get rid of it Y/N.” Daryl demands - voice cracking with the hollow words as you stand before him in shock - silent tears rolling down your cheeks as he returns to his position at the work bench, head hanging as his own grief consumes him.

He loves you - with every fucking part of himself but this is one thing he won’t allow. If what happened to Lori would happen to you his life would be over and he’s too selfish to risk that. To fucked up to risk becoming his father.

It feels like years have passed as you both stand in silence, one a complete stone void of any emotion and the other a trembling mess of despair. When Daryl finally looks up at you, silently pleading you let the pregnancy test fall to the ground and turn on your heels - leaving as quickly as you came without another word. He stands at that bench, the one that gave him such fond memories until everything aches inside of him then he goes to the small white device on the ground and kneels, picking it up to inspect the two pink lines staring back at him.

[tkpuke]

23 and jayvik pretty please :3

Jayce + Viktor - 23. “Yes…I mean, no!”

author’s note: okay so the plot for this was heavily inspired by @ticklish-ghost , @home-of-the-squirmle and I’s discussion on one of their posts so why not make it into a fic okay? okay cool

It was nearing midnight, the only light shining into the lab through the curtains was the moon and its luminescent stars scattered around the sky. Viktor perched an elbow on the table, leaning his cheek on his hand while reading a book that could hold answers to have them move forward with their project. They were close, but it seemed like they were met with a dead end. Scientists don’t take those lightly, so they hungrily search for other possibilities and correct their mistakes on what went wrong.

He doesn’t have a clue on his partner’s whereabouts, but he’s not going to waste time searching for him. Usually Viktor takes the extra mile and works on projects a little more than he’s suppose to. He tends to struggle with the definition of teamwork when he’s been mostly alone his entire childhood, so he has no issue working alone while Jayce heads off for other duties or sleeps at a healthy time compared to Viktor’s sleep schedule.

It was peaceful and quiet. Viktor treasures nights like these. Until something was dropped beside him, creating a loud thunk.

“Look what I made.” A voice suddenly spoke out from behind, it belonging to Jayce which made Vitkor nearly jump a foot from his chair. “Jesus Christ—Jaycewhendidyougethere-“ He looked beside him to see what was dropped, picking it up to examine. An iron knife in the perfect size to fit in your pocket, the ends in a twisted pattern to make it look a little stylish. His face doesn’t show it, but Viktor is slightly impressed. There is no interest in him for weapons, but when it’s created so clean and perfected by Jayce himself, he can’t help but be in awe.

He then puts the knife down, finally meeting Jayce’s eyes. “Another tool that will never be used for its purpose.” Clear to say Jayce has made a couple of tools, most having the same theme: sharp and dangerous. He never uses them, as Viktor stated, but Jayce always gives the ‘you never know’ excuse. In reality the man just gets bored out of his mind at times and gets these random surges of creativity to go down and make any toys his heart desires. Who wouldn’t if they had the skill to properly do so?

Viktor’s eyes started to register that Jayce is full on shirtless right in front of him, muscles exposed and pumped to its core from all the wielding. It never really dawned on him how strong of a guy Jayce is, feeling a bit fragile and small the more he compared his own build to him. How easy it could be for Jayce to effortlessly pin him. How he could take away Viktor’s right to squirm by simply sitting on his waist. How he could be picked up with one singular arm by Jayce with zero sweat.

Jayce caught on to his more than five second stare. Viktor noticed.

He took attention to the soot covered all over Jayce’s upper body, taking that as an explanation of his longing stare. “You’re dirty. Here, sit.” Viktor nudged his head over to a nearby chair, heading over to grab a cloth that will soon be damped with water and soap. “Oh, thank you. You really don’t have to.” Jayce chuckles all flustered in appreciation by Viktor’s care, taking the seat anyway. Viktor comes back, starting to dab the cloth on his shoulders while he works his way down. “Hmph, I’ve seen you sleep before in this state. Least I can do is help you get cleaned up.”

“Hey, I get too exhausted sometimes!” Jayce replies defensively, but gives a soft smile at the end. He grabs the knife he created earlier, fingers feeling around it. “You have to admit, this one looks a bit cooler than the others I have made.” Viktor nods in somewhat agreement, now focusing on the upper chest to clean off. “You can keep it, if you want to of course.”

Viktor shakes his head, not meeting Jayce’s eyes while conversing. “There’s no need for me to have it, but thank you for your…kind offer.”

“You’re keeping it.” Jayce responds back with, putting it on top of the open book Vitkor was previously reading so he won’t forget to take it with him. The other only sighs, being aware it’s a losing battle to argue with Jayce when he’s so set on gifting someone something they’ve never asked for. It’s one of the man’s many love languages: giving gifts.

His hand started moving down more, getting near his upper ribs. A quick shift of change in Jayce’s demeanor, beginning to have trouble sitting still like before and biting down his lip hard. Viktor catches on. Of course he did when he begin to rub the cloth against his body more gently, hoping it sent a ticklish shockwave. Revenge was right in front of him from all the times Viktor was ruthlessly, in his opinion, tickled silly by Jayce who never shot down an opening opportunity to do so. Little to Jayce’s knowledge, Viktor has been seeking out opportunities himself to get back. The whole idea of touch is just a subject he awkwardly moves around in, never having someone so playful and lovingly touchy like Jayce in his life.

With the way Jayce was squirming and huffing air out of his nose to suppress the giggles forming in his throat, it fueled newfound confidence in Viktor’s actions. He took it a step further, pretending a spot of soot around Jayce’s ribs was giving him difficulty to rub off, so he pressed his fingers deeper while curling them a little.

Not expecting the firmer touch along with feeling nails through the cloth gliding around his ribs freely, a surprised gasp slips out. Small giggles came right after, instinctively grabbing ahold of Viktor’s wrist. Viktor raises a brow, feigning confusion. “Sorry, does this tickle?”

“Yes…I mean, no!” Jayce got too distracted from the ticklish grazes that the question failed to register on time for him to think of an answer that may save his dignity. Viktor nudges Jayce’s firm grip off of his wrist, and he hesitantly does so. His partner looks up, doing incredibly well on not cracking a smile to foil his true intentions. “Yes? No? Which one is it?”

Jayce finds Viktor’s calmness to a newfound discovery nerve-racking, wishing he could read his mind right then and there. This is the first time Viktor has ever tried to tickle Jayce, but the poor man truly believes it was done on accident. He’s been so use to Viktor taking his ticklish onslaughts like a champ and never immediately attacking back, or even days later. Jayce had his own assumption that Viktor would never live up fully to his playfulness and do so much as tickle him back. The guy doesn’t even complete Jayce’s friendly hugs most of the time by wrapping his own arms around him, just kind of standing there until he pulls away.

So that’s why Jayce is sitting here, staring into Viktor’s questioning eyes, not knowing exactly on how to respond. He decides to lie, feeling like there’s no use in telling the truth if Viktor won’t indulge a little more.

“Um, just a little. Felt weird mostly.” He so badly does a terrible job of convincing. He releases a quiet held back sigh, not knowing if it was out of relief or disappointment when Viktor continued on cleaning after not questioning him a bit more. Viktor created a pattern, dragging the cloth and his fingers across Jayce’s skin that wasn’t ticklish at all. Then in the middle of doing so, he would press more firmly and curl his fingers again just enough for his nails to graze.

Jayce is terrible at holding in his giggles, making weird ‘kcchh!’ noises and sometimes letting a couple out for a few seconds but in a whisper tone as if Viktor isn’t right in front of him to hear them all. “You’re giggling a lot for someone who claims to just be a little ticklish.” Viktor nonchalantly states, placing a hand on top of Jayce’s shoulder to keep him steady. Jayce was about to do another failed attempt of denying until that pattern Viktor was doing met down around his stomach.

Jayce snorts, instantly slapping a hand to cover his mouth in shock as Viktor pauses his movements. His mouth twitches upward for a split second, almost smiling from Jayce’s flushed cheeks. “Oh, so it does tickle.”

“Viktor, wait—“

“You lied to me?”

“Nononono, it’s just that—“

“No need to explain yourself, Jayce. I’ll be careful.” You’d have to be dumb to not practically hear the smile in Viktor’s tone. Both of them, and if anyone else were to be in that room, would very much know that Victor won’t be ‘careful’. Viktor kept up that god forsaken pattern again, but this time letting it tickle Jayce more frequently than it cleaning.

He observed Jayce’s reactions, testing out different areas around his stomach and what brought out a louder reaction than the other. Fingers curling to the middle of his stomach earned him a full boisterous laugh. Nearing his belly button made him receive laughs that shot an octave higher with an occasional whistle coming from the gap of his two front teeth. Cleaning over his belly button made Jayce snort again, a noise Viktor was seeking out for.

Jayce’s rambunctious laugh got Viktor stuck in a trance. How it’s so loud it can be heard from all over Piltover. Jayce’s high pitch snorts coming out only when Viktor tickles somewhere particularly more sensitive. His eyes being closed shut, a random push to Viktor’s face as if it’ll tone down the ticklish sensations. Viktor now understands Jayce completely. He doesn’t want to stop the fun and hearing the flow of his laugh, everything so mesmerizing and ridiculously childish. Viktor could do this all day. 

Two hands grab Viktor’s wrists while a leg kicked out when he dragged the cloth over his belly button again, shaking his head. “Hohold on plehehease!”

Viktor scoffed. “Stop being a baby. I’m not doing anything.” But it was clear as day everything was now being done with purpose. Hands still holding onto Viktor’s wrists, Jayce takes the granted time to catch his breath. “Hehehe…ohohokay, I am one hundred percent sure I’m clean now.”

Viktor tsked, watching him take in air like he ran a marathon. “I think you might be more ticklish than me, Jayce. Isn’t that something?” Jayce abruptly stares at him, peeved. “Ohoho, is that what you think? Let’s put it to the test then.”

Viktor is now the one grabbing at Jayce’s wrists, pushing with all his might out of reach. “No, Jayce! Stop!” Jayce manages to skitter across Viktor’s side, earning him a squeak that he’s terribly embarrassed of. Jayce relishes it.

“What are you, a mouse?” He teases, letting Viktor push his hands away so he can feel like he’s having the upper hand ever so often just to play fair. Viktor stops his attempts of fighting back, shooting a glare but meanwhile grinning. “At least I don’t snort like a pig.”

Viktor just sealed his own coffin shut. “Oh, is that how you want to play?” Jayce gets up from his spot, startling Viktor. He picks him up with ease, showing no effect of Viktor’s shoves and shouts to be put down at once. Jayce lays him down on the couch softly, a location Viktor is all too familiar with by how frequent Jayce pins him down and tickles him mercilessly whenever Viktor, in Jayce’s words, deserves it.

Jayce does not attack right away, taking the time out of pure entertainment to watch him struggle a bit as if by some miracle today is the day Viktor manages to escape Jayce’s evil clutches.

He’s already giggling. “Jahayce, I am telling you now. Do not.” He manages to sit up a bit, hoping to level with Jayce more and seem convincingly threatening when his cold glare meets his eyes.

Jayce’s hands started slowly moving downwards.

“I now know where you’re most ticklish. I promise you, I will not be gentle when my next chance comes if you dare to do this.”

A leap of excitement was felt in Jayce’s heart at those words, causing him to smile and shrug before drilling into Viktor’s hips.

“I can live with that.”

[gracieheartspedro]

Your Needs, My Needs

I : Strawberry Wine

a masterlist of how you can help gaza

the prelude to this series

pairing: cowboy!joel x f!reader (no outbreak)

description: joel fixes your toilet but you can't help but yearn for more time with him. so you invite him to dinner and try to win his stomach? aka love?

word count: 3.2k words

warnings: there is no smut in this part. still MINORS DNI! no use of y/n! vague talk of reader's old life before texas, no real description of the reader, reader does have anxiety/mental illness that is not fully recognized/diagnosed, mentions of eating food, reader lives alone, reader got MONEYYYY, mentions of joel's ex wife (gasp), alcohol consumption, smoking cigarettes, kissing, flirting. all the fluffy stuff <3

author's note: hey...hey.... how y'all doing?? i'm so so so sorry this has taken so long. my life has been crazy for the last like 4 months and I'm finally getting settled into my life again. I miss y'all and I miss writing, so HERE I AM! I'm hoping everyone who wanted me to tag them months ago is still cool with me tagging them 4 months later lol. okay, lemme know what you think xoxo

Joel comes and goes for days. The first day he returns, he inspects your toilet again and tells you he has the wrong tools. You discuss a game plan and by his initial projections, your toilet should be fixed the next day. But when he fails to come by in the morning, you decide to call the phone number on the post-it note he left for you the day before. 

The phone rings and you get an answering machine of a younger girl telling you to leave her and Dad a message after the beep. When the line lets out a long ding, you breathe out the random croak in your throat. 

“Uh, hey, Joel, it’s me. Just seeing if you’re stopping by today. If not, that’s fine, I’ll be home all day today and tomorrow. Okay, uh, bye.”

Hours go by and you find yourself pacing, regretting your decision to leave him a message. What if he gets it and thinks that you’re crazy? 

Ever since you had made his acquaintance, you felt completely reliant on interacting with him. It may be due to the fact that you haven’t socialized with anyone else in months. You were very good at isolating yourself, but lately, it’s been eating you alive being so alone. Now that you had this big house, the silence felt almost too quiet. Joel’s southern drawl and straightforward responses gave a bit of light back to your life. 

Around dinner time, your landline rings. You practically fall over your couch racing to pick it up, hoping it was him. 

“Howdy neighbor,” He grunts through the phone, “Sorry I didn’t come by today, hope ya didn’t miss me too much.”

You let out a dry laugh, trying not to sound too giddy about him following up with you. You were borderline pathetic. 

“No, I just wanted to make sure you were still alive,” You manage to get out, “You are still alive right?”

“Still kickin’, just busy as all get out. ‘M fixin’ to head to your place now if you’re not busy.”

You look down at your pajamas and start to nod. It’s not like he can see you through the phone, but you are reacting to his words like he’s right in front of you. 

“Sure thing, I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

-

“So… It’s really just you here? All by your lonesome?”

He’s messing with his toolbox, searching for the one tool he needs to fix the toilet. You stir your fresh brewed tea, ensuring none of the sugar clumps up at the bottom of the mug. You had offered him some, but he politely declined, telling you that he had a big dinner.

You take a sip, testing the sweetness. “Just me. How about you? Just you and your daughter, right?”

He laughs heartedly, turning towards you from where he’s squatted. You look at him with curious eyes, unsure if you asked the wrong question. He stands up, a wrench in his hand, a smile still spread across his face. 

“Her mama left town with her new boyfriend about 5 years ago. Wanted the city life, not the life I gave her. It’s been just me and her ever since.”

So he’s single. You think to yourself. 

You realize the laugh was probably because of how absurd and new it must be for someone to ask him about his life. He grew up here and you are positive everyone here already knew all about his business. You are a breath of fresh air for him. 

Before the silence becomes awkward, you speak up. “City life ain’t worth a shit.”

“Yeah, she’s different. Won’t speak ill of her ‘cause that’s my bosses’ mama. She sees her now and again. They are just very different.” 

The conversation comes easy with Joel. While the first couple of interactions you two shared were a bit strained, after days of small talk, you realize he’s the truest Southern gentleman you’ve ever interacted with. Polite with a little bite. He never speaks ill of others, except his brother. He loves to pick on Tommy. He seems like an attentive father. He loves to pick at you, always pointing out your Northern tendencies. Your horrible driving. Your accent and your speech patterns. But he’s also very complimentary. A couple of days ago, he remarked how nice your perfume was when you were standing close to him. It made your heart skip a beat. 

And on top of all of those things, he’s very easy on the eyes. 

“That’s mighty fine of you not speaking ill of your ex,” You try to drag out the silly Southern saying, which causes him to chuckle again. You smack your lips before continuing, “Wish I could do the same.”

You are not sure what he’s doing to the tank of your toilet, but you watch him strain to get a piece out of the corner with the wrench he has. He clenches his teeth, turning the piece to the left to loosen it. 

“Exes are exes for a reason,” He grunts, fiddling with some more things in the tank, “I ain’t too hung up on datin’ right now. I got my girl and my horses.”

“And now you got me, your annoying neighbor who almost crashes into your horses and asks you to fix toilets.”

He breathes out loudly, “Yeah, ‘nother pain in my ass. Just what a man needs.”

-

The toilet is fixed too quickly. You had busied yourself with other small cleaning tasks that when Joel finds you in the kitchen doing dishes, he startles you. It took him about 15 minutes to finish the job and you had thought you could at least finish up the dishes you made from dinner. 

“‘M all finished up. Gotta get back home to do some rounds at the stables,” He says as he waltzes over to your paper towel holder. He grabs a sheet and begins to wipe his damp hands, “Anythin’ else for me today?”

You turn off the running water, going down a list of fixes you could ask him to do. You decide it’s probably best to just ask him to swing by another day to help you with other things. 

“No, thank you though, Joel. I am sure I’ll be by to ask for more help,” You chuckle, shaking your hands dry, “I owe you dinner or something.”

As you say it, it feels like all the air leaves your lungs. He’s staring at you and there’s a glint in his eyes. You are not that good at reading people, mostly because you are deathly afraid of being wrong. His eyebrows raise as he leans against the counter near you. He’s so close and in your space, but you try to push the thought of him coming onto you out of your mind. 

“What’do you got on the menu tomorrow?”

His voice is kind of husky which makes your brain draw a blank. You wipe your hands on your pants before crossing the kitchen to check your fridge. You glance through your ingredients, settling for the only dinner item you can conjure up that his southern palette may like. 

“Baked chicken and vegetables?”

He nods, tossing his paper towel into the bin beside you. “Yeah, I've been needing a home-cooked meal. Think I could come over at like 5? Tomorrow?”

You recollect a time when a guy showed interest in wanting to hang out with you outside of work. It had been years and he was not nearly as attractive as the man in front of you. 

You nod slowly, trying not to look too robotic due to your nerves. “Sure thing, cowboy.”

-

You did not know what to wear. You contemplated going into town to see what the local boutiques had but you ran the risk of Joel seeing you out. You didn’t even know if this was a date. 

You settle on a sundress you have owned since high school. It’s the perfect length and while your mind goes to wanting to impress Joel, you also need to be comfortable. 

You cleaned your house, adding some new decorations to your living room walls. You even clean your sheets and make sure your bedroom is vacuumed. 

When the time comes for Joel to arrive, you pace the kitchen anticipating the doorbell. You already had all the food prepped and ready to put in the oven. The vegetables have been cut and seasoned. Everything was just the way you needed it to be. 

Joel gets there 5 after your scheduled time. When you welcome him at the door, his hair is styled and you can tell he put on his “fancy jeans”. 

What you didn’t expect was the bouquet of flowers he had in his hands. 

“Afternoon, neighbor,” He begins before extending the floral arrangement towards you, “My girl said I had to bring you something nice. Somethin’ bout being a gentleman.”

You smile widely, giving flowers all your attention. Even with the fragrant bouquet, you get a whiff of his sandalwood cologne. 

“Nice to see you cleaned up for me, cowboy. Come on in, dinner is about to get put in the oven.”

-

You catch him scanning you up and down when you place the spread of chicken and vegetables on the table. He was in the midst of talking about his daughter and her band fundraiser, but he completely halted when you took notice of his staring. 

You settle into the dining room chair across from him, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t. 

“She needs more sponsors?” You break the silence, wanting to move away from the sudden awkwardness. 

He swallows, reaching for the serving fork, “Oh, yeah. She needs to reach a certain goal to go on her senior band trip.”

You try to avoid his wandering gaze again, focusing on organizing your plate of vegetables. “Where are they going?”

“Disney. She ain’t never been out of Texas, so she really wants to go.”

You remember all the trips your family said they’d go on to Disney, but they never did. Your father could not stand being around his own children, let alone other people’s children. You think about how he used to complain about your constant questions, all the times he completely ignored you for your brother. You start to spiral, the anxiety creeping up in the back of your throat. You push your chair out from under the table, excusing yourself for a moment. You go to the bar you have set up in the living room and grab the only sweet wine you have. Strawberry. You grab two glasses from the top of the setup and walk back to Joel. 

“Forgot wine,” you mumble, setting a glass in front of him, “You want some?”

He is already picking at his chicken, “Yeah, I’ll take some.”

You are quiet as you uncork it expertly, pouring it into each of the glasses. Joel watches you like a hawk. You can tell he’s trying to read your expression, so you try your best to remain neutral even though your hands are shaking. 

You place the bottle in the middle of the table, making sure it’s easily reachable. 

You finally sit back down, sipping the red liquid. The strawberry flavor isn’t very strong, it’s more like a hint of the berry. You had gotten the bottle from a roadside stand in Kentucky. An older lady who must have owned a vineyard nearby was selling them for $5 each. You told yourself you would only use it for a special occasion. This event seemed fitting. 

Wine always makes you flushed, but you are always a bit flushed around Joel. Even more so when he’s watching you so intently. 

After a couple of sips, you finally rest your shoulders and begin to eat your dinner. 

“I could sponsor her,” you finally say, returning to the previous conversation. For some reason, you felt obligated. Joel quickly retaliates, shaking his head as he chewed on your roasted veggies. 

“You ain’t gotta do that, doll.” 

The nickname rings in your ears. You take another sip of wine. You can tell Joel notices your reaction because he smirks with his mouth full. 

“But I want to, Joel. I’m sure she has worked hard her high school career, she deserves to have fun.”

He hums, but still shakes his head negatively, “I can’t let you just pay for-”

“You can and you will,” You enjoy another bite, smirking at your defiance towards him. He looks perplexed. “So when is this fundraiser? Is there like a dinner or something?”

He finally caves, “This Friday at the school. It’s a dinner and auction. I guess if the kids don’t find their sponsors, some local businesses are willing to sponsor them.”

“Are you going?”

“Yeah,” He cuts up his chicken, “I guess you’re gonna come along, too, if you’re givin’ my girl all that money.”

“Does a check work?”

He sits back in his chair, already finishing off his wine, “You seriously don’t have to-”

“What are neighbors for, Joel?”

He nods, “You mean friends.”

You furrow your brows, trying to let your hazy mind find a time when you called him your friend. This was a new development.

“Friends, huh?”

He pours more in his glass, “Well, I’d like to think so.”

The wine is hitting your system and you realize your arms feel lighter. You grab the stem of your glass and tip it up to down the rest of the alcohol. Joel’s eyes are trained on you, waiting for a snarky response. 

“Do friends stare at other friends like that?” You pour more wine for yourself. You realize he’s done eating so before he can respond to your flirtation, you speak up again, “You done with that?”

He looks down at his empty plate, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes friends look at other friends like that, or you’re done eating.”

He grins, “‘m done eating, doll.”

-

You two find your way out to the rocking chairs. They were left there by the previous owners and you could tell they were probably as old as you. 

You had another full glass of wine, sipping it as Joel lit up a cigarette. He admitted it was only a bad habit when he was drinking, which was rare. “Sarah gets onto me when I have even one beer. So this has gotta be between us two.”

You swirl the crystal, watching him carefully take a drag of the stick. “Your secret is safe with me, cowboy.”

He giggles as he lets out a huff of smoke. “I haven’t had secrets in a long time. Guess I’m lucky it’s with the town stranger.”

The statement hits you in the very pit of your settling tummy. You furrow your eyebrows, leaning forward towards him. Your chairs are not that far away from one another, so this is probably the closest you have ever been to him except for that one moment in the kitchen. 

“Luckiest man in Texas that’s for sure,” You muster, averting your eyes. You could not stare into his beautiful brown eyes for too long. “Having the privilege of getting me out of my head. No man has done that in years.”

“What? You not good at letting loose?”

You shake your head, knowing that he did not understand what you meant. You take a moment to inhale, finally glancing up at him again. “I think I may just be cursed.”

“Now, why do you say that?”

You contemplate spilling the beans. Letting your heart fall onto your sleeve after years of shielding it from anyone who looks your way. Your lips part, but no words come out. It’s just the sounds of the cicadas. 

“As soon as something is good, it gets bad somehow. I don’t even get a moment to savor it.”

You feel the statement down to your bones. The last time you felt settled in your own life, the rug got pulled out from under you. You cannot remember a time when you truly felt present in a special moment. You always felt like you were floating outside of your body, watching things happen and never really truly feeling anything. 

You don’t expect him to lean closer to you, “Whatever happened before you got here, you ain’t gotta worry about it anymore. You obviously put distance between you and what happened for a reason. Let this little side of the world be your home now.”

You push your spiraling thoughts away, letting him be right. 

“I’m workin’ on getting settled. It’s easy when you have a handsome cowboy to help along the way.”

It comes out like word vomit. Between the wine and the nerves coursing through your entire being, you can’t help but admit your little crush on the man. You slap your free hand over your forehead, admitting defeat before he can even respond. You knew he would take the comment and run with it.

“You always flirt with your friends, sweetheart?” He was toying with you, which was a good sign. If he wasn’t interested, he wouldn’t call you such a thing. 

You smile, releasing your face from your hand. His eyes are tracing every curve of your face, a subtle pass that you did not capture quickly enough. 

“Only ones that fix my toilets.”

And then, he kisses you. It happens so quickly, that you don’t fully grasp that it’s happening until you're molding your lips into his. Once your buzzed brain picks up the fact that the man you have been crushing on is kissing you, he pulls away. Your eyes are still closed, your hands still gripping onto your wine glass. 

He huffs loudly and stands up quickly. Once you place your eyes on him, he’s pacing around the back deck stairs, not too far from where you’re sitting. You instantly bite back the urge to ask him what’s wrong, because there’s always something wrong. 

“‘M sorry, sweetheart. I should’na done that.”

He instantly regretted it. The thought made your throat tighten. He continues to walk back and forth, causing a draft. 

“It’s fine, Joel. I’m n-not mad.”

He shakes his head, halting his robot-like movements. He finally looks at your pitiful expression and lets out a long sigh. “I don’t think I’m much of a gentleman, kissing you on the first date.”

You watch as he places his hands on his hips, contemplating his whole life right before your eyes. You realize he is too traditional to see that nowadays, people are sleeping together on the first date. First base is nothing. You rest your glass on a decrepit table next to you and stand up. 

You slowly approach him, trying to catch a glance from him, but he continues to avert his eyes. You grow bold enough to tilt his chin towards you, letting your guard down for a moment. 

“You’re such a gentleman, it hurts,” you whisper, slowly letting a smirk grow across your face. The comment makes his shoulders lower, finally relaxing from such a heated moment. 

“Just don’t wanna mess this up with ya,” He murmurs, only letting you and the nearby fireflies hear you, “I enjoy spending time with you.”

You slowly lower your hand to your side, trying to act casually about the confession. But the truth is you want to run and wake up every cow and horse within a 10-mile radius with a squeal of delight. 

“I like spending time with you, too, Joel.”

He takes your hand as you say it, bringing your knuckles up to his lips. His breath is hot on the back of your hand before he says, “Well now, I quite like the sound of that."

taglist (some of y'all can't be tagged, I tried lol)

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[msgexymunson]

Sammy's Mom

Description: Eddie Munson finds it difficult to get over his fantasies about you, his best friend's mom. He tries so hard to keep it in check. The only problem? Sammy's mom has got it going on.

A/N: kind of a little nod to the song "Stacey's Mom" (which is 20 years old now BTW, so if you remember it it's time to take aspirin for your back pain), I've written too much older Eddie in my time so trying to balance it out, as I've given him far too much rizz! And his friend is called Sammy as I've watched a lot of Supernatural recently. Please comment and reblog if you enjoy this my sweethearts.

Warnings: where do I start lmao, NSFW, Minors DNI or I'll slap you with a wet fish, age gap, Eddie's 21, reader is early 40s, MILF reader, reader referred to as 'Mrs F' a few times no first name given, perv Eddie, voyeurism, male masturbation, very slight foot fetish (nothing actually happens), oral both male and female receiving, p in v unprotected sex, slight anal play, cum eating.

10.5k words

Masterlist 

"UNCLE EDDIE!!" 

Johnny's little six year old voice rings out like a bell in the front yard. You look out the window and see him running as fast as his little legs could carry him towards a young man getting out of a beat up van. 

"Hey Squirt!" Crouching to his knees, he accepts your kids embrace, then stands with him, swinging him around in the air as Johnny shrieks uncontrollably, unbridled joy brimming from his chest. The next minute he's got Johnny on his shoulders, walking around the house to the back yard. 

You smile at their antics, warmed at the gesture. Eddie has always been good with your youngest son when he comes to visit Sammy, your oldest. It was nice, him having another man around to look up to, even if he really needs to remember to watch his language. 

Voices sound from the back yard; Eddie had found Sammy and as usual, they were loud and laughing. Not that you minded at all, any laughter those kids could get was music to your ears. 

You grab your sunglasses and perch them on top of your head, searching around for your gardening tools. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining and you wanted to be near the kids at least. Grasping your pruners and gardening gloves in one hand and a cooler in the other, you make your way to the rear of the house. 

Pushing the back door open with a hip, you see Sammy is already in the pool. Johnny is still talking a mile a minute at Eddie, as he sits on the edge of a lawn chair. 

Well, he's certainly grown up. 

Eddie's shirtless, sitting there in his long black swimming trunks. There's a new tattoo on his ribs but you can't make it out from this distance. He's looking toned; his jaw is sharper, with shoulders broader than you remember. He's become a man. 

When the hell did that happen? 

Shaking your head out of your temporary revelry, you walk over to the pair of them. The snippets of conversation you overhear as you approach widen the smile on your face. 

"So, you think of any new monsters for me big guy?" 

Johnny beams at Eddie with pride. "Yeah! So right, it's like, a big bat thing right? With metal bits all over, and- and- then it's got these huuuuge teeth, and- and- when he opens its mouth the teeth fly out, right, and turn into bats!!" 

He starts excitedly flapping his arms around and screeching as Eddie laughs and ruffles his hair.

"Bats huh? That's sick. Pretty metal, squirt. Have to add that to the campaign." 

Johnny beams at the praise, staring down at his hand, trying to work out his fingers, then flashes the devil horn hand at him triumphantly. 

"Johnny honey, do you want to play in the pool? Give Uncle Eddie a chance to breathe?" 

"Yeah! Can I do cannonballs? Can I can I can I?" 

His enthusiasm always brings a smile to your face. "Sure thing honey, just don't go in the deep end, 'K?" 

"Kay!" He flashes a thousand watt smile at you and runs off, calling to his brother. 

Your gaze returns to Eddie, who you are sure was just checking you out. His eyes flick to yours almost guiltily. 

"Brought some beers out for you both. Here." Passing him the cooler, your hands brush briefly, the slight touch running a shiver down your spine despite the heat. 

"Thanks Mrs F." 

Eddie licks his lips and you trace the movement with your eyes.

"Mom! What are you wearing?" 

Sammy has exited the pool, dripping water everywhere. You look down at your outfit. You were wearing a two piece, slightly skimpier than your usual swimwear, and a pair of jean hotpants. 

"Sammy love, it's hot. I'm in my backyard. What am I supposed to do? Dress like a nun?" 

Eddie snorts a laugh next to you. 

"But you're all… exposed mom." 

"Sammy, shut up. Your mom can wear what she wants." 

"Yeah? You're only saying that because you-"

But you're destined to never hear the end of that sentence as Eddie pushes him into the pool. Water splashes everywhere, and Eddie laughs, throwing his head back. The gesture has you staring yet again, looking at the skin on his neck, the way his Adam's apple bobs. A mad idea enters your head; what if you just darted your tongue out and licked over it? Decorated that delicate skin with kisses? Nipped at the sides of his throat with your teeth?

Eddie makes eye contact with you then, and you quickly look away. He was sure you were eyeing him up, almost certain of it. Hell, he's been staring at you for years, mapping your curves with his eyes, knowing he'll never get a chance to feel them under his hands, but the look you just gave him made his stomach twist.

Before your thoughts can go any further you tear yourself away and over to the rose bushes. You deadhead the rose bush as if your life depends on it, furiously snipping and cutting, as if you're trying to trim back the impure thoughts you're having. 

After a while, the bushes are looking a lot neater. Stepping back, you remove your gardening gloves and swipe the sweat beads on your brow with the back of your hand. 

"Mrs F, you wanna beer?" 

You turn to see Eddie laying on a sun lounger, waving a cold one. As you walk towards him he stands up to hand it to you. 

"That a new tattoo Eddie?" You ask, pointing to his abdomen. He looks taken aback by your question but responds nonetheless. 

"Yeah, you like it?" 

Your hand drifts towards him almost instinctively, only realising when his muscles tense under your soft touch. It's a scorpion, surrounded in a wreath of flames. Tracing it with your fingers, you circle it slowly. Eddie can feel his heart pounding in his chest. A slow moan escapes Eddie's lips which pulls you out of wherever the hell you were heading. The heat must have gotten to your head. Pulling back your fingers, you respond.

"Yeah, I like it. Metal." 

Looking up around him through your lashes, your eyes meet his. He looks flushed, cheeks heating at your stare. 

"You OK Eddie?" 

"Y-yeah, fine. I'm gonna have a dip in the pool." 

He shuffles awkwardly off, nearly bent double. All his strange stance does is draw attention to the tent in his swimming trunks that has appeared. It's really rather large; to your amazement, you can't seem to take your eyes off it. Eddie dives into the pool, swimming over to your son. 

Did I just do that? 

You shake your head, banishing thoughts of Eddie's package, and head off to the kitchen to clean some dishes. 

As Eddie rushes into the pool, he's wishing the cool water would shrink the raging hard on he just got. 

Fuck, you look so good today. That skimpy bikini top barely covering the curves of your tits; them damn near spilling out of the top. Those tiny shorts, framing your hips and ass perfectly. Then you had to go and touch him. That had him nearly busting in his pants. He can't help but wonder if it was on purpose. A crazy thought he shouldn't be entertaining. 

He dips his head under the water trying to cool the blood that had rushed to his cheeks. 

You had to be at least 40. Sammy's Dad had been out of the picture for a while, he knew that much. He couldn't help but wonder if you were a little lonely; maybe that's why you had been flirting with him. Or it was entirely Eddie's imagination and he just needs to jerk off and get it out of his system. 

As he gets out of the water, shaking his hair like a dog, he thinks he sees you looking at him through the kitchen window, but he can't be sure. 

"Dude, why have you got a boner?" Sammy points at him from the water, forcing Eddie to cup his erection, trying to hide it from prying eyes. 

"I can't help it!" He whisper shouts, cheeks flushing anew, "your mom's hot!" 

"Eddie! Don't say that, that's gross!" Sammy slings back, pulling a disgusted face.

"Hey it's not, she's a total fox, what can I do, it's like, biological, she's a babe!" 

Little did he know you can hear every word, pressing your lips together firmly to suppress a laugh as you dry up a cup in the kitchen. 

"She's like, really old, and she's my mom for God's sake!" 

"Hey, rude, she's not that old. You think she's into younger guys?" You can hear the smile in his voice, he's clearly just trying to wind Sammy up now, but your thighs clench together at the thought. The cup in your hands is dry as a bone right now. 

"Eddie shut the f-" 

"What's a boner?" The little voice is clear and loud, cutting through the argument. 

A loud laugh shoots from your chest uncontrollably. You try to mask it with your hand but there's nothing you can do, it's out there now. 

Eddie's head whips around to face the house, flicking water droplets in its wake. 

"Oh shit." It's low, but loud enough to hear. 

Making your way back outside, you call out to Johnny to save either of them answering the awkward question.

"Come on kid, you want a snack?" 

"Yeah mommy! Shit!" Eddie's mouth drops open. 

"What did I say about copying Eddie" you ask sternly. 

He parrots back in a sing-song voice, "don't copy Eddie, Eddie is dirty." 

"That's right. Come on, inside." He runs past you in the way only a child can, feet flat on the floor slapping on the concrete.

Eddie steps a little closer to you.

"I'm so sorry Mrs F it won't-" 

"Hey, it's OK," you reply, stepping to meet him. You drop your voice lower, hand up as if you're telling a secret. On autopilot, Eddie leans towards you to hear your whisper, close enough to smell your shampoo. 

"Sometimes mommy's dirty too." 

Turning on your heel, you walk back into the house without a glance, leaving Eddie with his jaw on the floor.

Where the hell did that come from?

You try to steady your breathing as you go inside. That was reckless of you, he's half your age. You admonish yourself, telling your brain that you need to stop flirting with the poor boy. 

Eddie's frozen on the spot. It's clear you overheard their little conversation, and then you come out with something like that? It's definitely not his imagination at this point. For a crazy moment he thinks he might actually have a shot at you. 

Stop it. She's Sammy's mother for Christ's sake. Pull yourself together Munson. 

"Imma take a quick shower if that's alright and get, er, changed. You wanna work on the campaign some more?" Eddie says it over his shoulder to Sammy, not daring to turn. He's never been so hard in all his life. 

"Sure, just stay out of my mom's room." 

Eddie laughs nervously, "who do you think I am?" As he walks to the house. 

"Eddie fuckin' Munson." Sammy mutters under his breath. 

As he stumbles into the house with his bundle of clothes over his crotch, he catches another glimpse of you, on your hands and knees searching in a cupboard. 

"Honey, I don't think we've got any animal crackers left." You say over your shoulder to a pouting Johnny. 

You're barely contained in your jean hot pants, the denim tight against your perfect ass. 

"Fuckin' hell" Eddie mutters under his breath, tearing his eyes away to make his way upstairs. 

He practically runs up the stairs, tripping slightly on the last step. Flinging his body into the bathroom, he shuts and locks the door. 

Five seconds later he's in the shower with his hand wrapped around his slippery cock, tugging on it as if it were his last day on earth. 

Fuck, why does she have to be so fine? 

He's whimpering and stifling breathy moans as he cums hard in less than five minutes. Shame snags its sneaky claws into his heart then, as he hangs his head under the shower head. He needs to get it together before the thought of you ruins him completely. 

********************

Knocking on your eldest son's door, he calls out for you to enter. Both him and Eddie are sitting on the bed, a pile of books and notes between them. You do your best to ignore the smoky weed smell as you address him.

"Sammy, I'm heading out, you still OK to take care of Johnny?" 

"Woah, Mrs F you look h-" Sammy elbows him in the ribs before he can finish the sentence, "-very nice." Eddie finishes lamely. 

A smile spreads over your face at his words. Your date tonight was nothing special, not really, but the need growing between your legs needed to be sorted out somehow. So, you'd dressed to impress; a red figure hugging dress, ending just at the knee, with matching slingbacks. Your hair was down, hanging past your shoulders in soft curls. 

"Mom, I'm going to Tiffany's, to stay over, remember?" Sammy responds, raising his eyebrows meaningfully at you.

"That was tonight?" Well, fuck. "Your grandma's coming to pick Johnny up at 9, can't you stay until then? 

"I can watch him." 

You both turn to look at Eddie. He looks just as surprised as you two at his words.

"I can watch him, no problem. I ain't got anywhere to be tonight."

Eddie doesn't know why he offered. Well, in part he did. He might get to see you again in that dress later. 

"Thanks Eddie, you're a lifesaver. I can pay-" 

"Oh no, don't worry about it." He flashes a grin which does something to your insides, melting them just a little.

"Thank you, I really appreciate it. Johnny's downstairs watching TV, he's had dinner, just need to wait for my mom to pick him up. You sure it's OK?" 

"Of course, it's no problem." 

"OK, well make yourself at home." You give him a winning smile of your own which makes his face flush red. 

"Oh, and Sammy?" 

"Yeah mom?" 

"Use protection." 

"Mom!" 

You laugh and shut the door, heading off to your date. 

********************

The date was a total bust, not that you'd expected anything less. Greg from accounting was nice, sure; kind of handsome, in a middle aged balding kind of way. A reliable sort of guy. Then, when the dinner was over and he kissed you, you knew there was no way it was going to go any further. So, you'd refused his invitation to go to a bar, made your excuses and got a cab home. 

Standing outside your house, you look at the time. 9:30. Rock and roll. You huff into the humid night air at how old you must seem right now, and open your front door. 

"Eddie!" 

Sprawled on the sofa, manspreading, sits Eddie. A beer rests on the coffee table, and the TV is blaring out some horror film. 

He scrambles to his feet looking like he's about to be told off. 

"Mrs F, sorry, erm, your mom's not here yet, she called saying she was running late-" 

As if on cue, there's a knock at the door. You open it, and see your mom standing there, pushing past you in a cloud of perfume. 

"Hey love, so sorry I'm late!" She looks at you, then Eddie. "Is this your date?" 

Blushing a furious red, you shake your head. 

"Oh, no this is Sammy's friend, he was watching Johnny for a bit." 

"Oh, the young man I spoke to on the phone. Shame, he's very handsome." She winks at you. 

"Mom!" 

Eddie looks like he's about to die from blood loss; his face is so drained it's ghostly white. 

"I-I'll go get squirt," he stumbles out awkwardly. 

"Mom, please behave." You whisper when he's left the room.

"I'm behaving! I thought you were on a date, what happened?" 

"He wasn't my type." 

"Well, you should find someone who is. How long has it been?" 

You run your hand through your hair, feeling a little more confrontational than usual due to the alcohol in your veins. 

"Mom, just drop it. I'm fine!" 

"OK, OK! That babysitter is a fine looking young man-" 

"Mom!" 

"Mommy!" You turn just in time for Johnny to grab your legs in a hard hug, squishy cheek pushing against your thigh. 

"We went on an adventure! I'm a Knight, I saved the lady! There was gobbins and stuff!" His little eyes shine, staring at Eddie in pure adoration. 

"Really? Well done! Sounds amazing love. Go on, go with nanna. I love you." 

"OK! Love you mom! Bye Uncle Eddie!" He runs over to him and grabs his legs fiercely. Eddie ruffles his hair in response.

"Night squirt. Or should I say Sir Johnny the Just?" 

"Yeah! Imma hero!" He beams and runs off to grasp your mother's hand, regaling her of his adventures. 

"I'll see you later mom," you say, passing her Johnny's overnight bag by the door. 

As the door shuts, the only sounds are coming from the gristly movie on the TV until Eddie switches it off. Silence. 

"Mrs F, I only opened the beer after I put him to bed, I swear-" 

"Hey, it's fine, don't worry. Thanks for staying longer, I appreciate it." 

"Oh, it's fine. My trailers empty anyway, and you have cable." He smiles sheepishly at you. 

"I told you, make yourself at home. Finish your beer." 

Shoes are kicked off to join the jumble at the front door, and you rub some life back into your aching heels. Eddie's staring at your feet and he can't figure out why. He's never had a thing for feet, but yours? Yours he'd happily have running over his body, in his mouth, on his cock. He's almost ashamed at how just the slightest bit of your flesh on show has him practically drooling. 

You're oblivious to Eddie's perverse thoughts however. Tonight was not what you wanted, and it makes you huff aloud at the thought. 

"You alright Mrs F?" Eddie asks, concern in his voice as he sits back down on the couch, trying his hardest not to stare at your cleavage. 

"Yeah I'm-" why are you lying? "no, actually I'm not. Not the night I was expecting." When you flash a weak smile at Eddie, it's not returned. He looks worried almost. 

"Wanna talk about it?" 

It's sweet of him to ask, and you're about to brush it off but he just looks so invested in your welfare that it takes you aback briefly. 

"Sure. Hang on a minute." You pad barefoot to the kitchen and grab a beer, returning to the living room to sit on the couch beside him. 

Eddie is trying to tell himself he's just being nice. It's not just an excuse to stay. It's difficult to believe his own thoughts however when your dress is riding up your thigh like that.

The very air between you both seems thick and laced with unanswered questions, tension real and palpable. 

"So, Sir Johnny the Just?" You ask, to try and clear the closing space. 

"Yeah," Eddie grins, face lighting up at the mention of your boy, "I gave him the name. Made a little one shot for him, you know, fought some goblins, saved a damsel in distress. He's got a knack for D&D." 

Your eyes glisten at that.

"Thanks, he really looks up to you. It's nice, him having some guys around." 

"Can I ask, what happened to… Mr F?" He knows he's crossing a line here, but he's so curious, and Sammy never talks about it. 

"He left me. I was pregnant with Johnny, and he met some blonde twig, had an affair." 

"Oh, I'm so fuckin' sorry." 

You shrug. It's trauma, yes, but it's passed. A wound that has long since closed over the years, scarring but healing. You sip your beer and ask a line crossing question of your own.

"So, no girlfriend then? Since you're free on a Saturday night?" 

You're not sure where that came from, but it's been asked now. A bubble of nerves pops when you ask it, showering you in drops of second guesses. 

"N-no, well I mean, yeah I've had like, girlfriends in the past but no, I'm single. As a pringle." 

What was that about? Smooth Munson. 

You just laugh as he visibly cringes at his own words. 

"Pringles aren't single, they fit together. They come in a tube." You add, mock helpfully. 

You both chuckle then, diffusing some of the awkwardness between you. He knocks your knee with his. You reciprocate, and look up into those soulful puppy dog eyes of his. 

Eddie's arm lays on the back of the couch behind you, and he's painfully aware of that fact. He wants to drop it to your shoulder, to run circles on your exposed skin and give you that smile, the smile he's given to a dozen girls. But you aren't a girl. You're a woman. The thought is making him more nervous than a virgin on prom night. 

Coughing the thought away, he asks you about tonight. 

"So, what happened on your date? I thought you'd be out later." 

"So did I." You slug some more beer back to calm yourself, and continue, "he was a nice guy. Opened doors, paid for dinner. Then he kissed me." 

Eddie attempted to ignore the burning jealousy in his gut. 

"Oh yeah? Sounds awful.' 

Laughing, you reach and stroke his side for a minute. Your hand lingers, feeling down to his hip. Eddie's heart is pounding in his throat. To his amazement, you leave it there, absentmindedly running fingers over his t-shirt. 

'Yeah, torture," you quip, "it was the kiss." 

Suddenly, you're moving your hand, much to Eddie's dismay, and turning to face him on the couch. He does the same, noticing that his arm is now so close to your head he can feel a slight tickle from your hair. 

"Can I be honest with you?" 

"Sure," Eddie tries to say coolly, to act like his entire insides aren't on fire because of the eye contact you're giving him. 

"It's, er, been a while. A very long while." Your eyes dip down, unsure why the hell you're telling Eddie this, but something about him is making you want to be open when usually you're a closed book. 

Eddie swallows thickly. He knows exactly what you're getting at. On instinct his thumb is rubbing the back of your head, over the soft curls. You don't seem to mind, better yet, your shoulders drop some tension, letting go just a little. 

Still looking down, you say "I can usually tell what someone's going to be like, in bed, from a kiss. Never been wrong yet," you laugh a little, "and he felt, well, dull, and kinda selfish." 

Grabbing your beer for something to distract you from the ache in your core, you drink some more, nearly finishing it. 

As you place it back down on the coffee table, you glance at Eddie's lap. He's fumbling with his rings, spinning one with his thumb as he shifts in his seat. There's an unmissable bulge in the front of his jeans; they're so tight you can see the outline of it. Of him. 

Glancing up at his face when you feel brave enough, it's beetroot red, but his eyes look dark, hungry almost. 

"Well, th-that's a cool superpower to have," he laughs out nervously. 

"I suppose it is" You smile. 

Eddie's trying so hard to control himself. The devil on his shoulder is pulling at his hair and yelling in his ear to make a move. 

This isn't right though, it's Sammy's mom for fucks sake. 

That's when you put your hand on his knee, touching that bare patch of skin where his jeans are frayed. Your touch is delicate, almost hesitant, and it destroys any resolve Eddie had. His hand is shaking slightly as he puts his fingers over yours. 

The touch is warming and electric, fanning the flames of the blazing fire in your stomach. As your eyes meet, Eddie's confidence grows. He can see that you want this, but someone needs to make the first move, and he would kick himself if he missed out because he didn't have the balls to make it.

"You know sweetheart," he begins, as you take a sharp breath at the nickname, he's never called you anything other than Mrs F before that, "you can't just say you have a superpower like that and not show me." 

There's nerves in his voice, but also a cheeky smile playing on his lips. To his amazement you blush, mouth curving into a smile of your own. 

"Listen, Eddie, you're a very sweet boy-" 

"-man," He interjects, "I'm 21." 

Chuckling, you reply, "OK, a very sweet young man, but I don't think that's a good idea." 

It's true, you don't. It's a very bad idea, but it's one you can't get out of your head, your eyes drawn to the curve of his jaw, his stubble, those plush lips of his. Wetting your lips impulsively, you nibble at the bottom one which sends Eddie's head into a dizzying whirlwind. 

"I just wanna know if I'm good in the sack, think it's only fair if you can tell me, it's just a kiss." 

Luck being pushed as far as it can go and then a little further, he daringly places a hand on your cheek. 

He is right, it's only a kiss. 

You say it in your head as if you're trying to convince yourself of the lie. By the time you realise how weak of an argument it is, you're already leaning forward, eyes unmistakably drawn to his lips. 

Eddie leans in, breath fanning your face. 

"Don't you want to… satisfy your curiosity?" 

It's bold, he knows, but you're the one who leans in further.

Eddie doesn't think twice, not when your eyes are hooded like that and your lips are forming a sultry pout. He presses his lips to yours softly at first, feeling the plush of them melt against his, his hand winding into your hair. 

You don't stop him, or pull back. His lips on yours are disarming, taking away your bite. The kiss is gentle, and you dissolve into it, moving your lips against his with a passion you can't remember ever feeling. 

Eddie's trying really hard not to just stick his tongue down your throat and feel you up, but he needs to prove something. He might not ever get a chance ever again, so he takes it slow. Opening his mouth, his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, begging. Not only do you let him, you return his tongue with a lick of your own, running it over his lip in turn. Tongues stroke into each other's mouths sensually; you feel as if you have something to prove. Like he's the one who will be judging you and not the other way around.

He tastes intoxicating; you can't put your finger on why, it's beer, and cigarettes, and something else that's drawing you in. It's just pure Eddie. His smell too, leather, smoke and Old Spice;  it's filling you up from the inside out, making your head spin. 

Eddie's obsessed. Your touch, your scent, your taste. He could kiss you forever; he could kiss you until he dies, suffocated by your mouth, your passion. This feels like some sort of fever dream and he never wants to wake up.

Your fingers are touching cotton fabric before you even understand that you've got a fistful of his shirt, pulling him in further. He responds by dropping his hand to your neck, thumb rubbing intoxicating patterns on your pulse point. 

When you're feeling on the brink of being entirely consumed by his kiss, he's the one to pull away. It's a little sneaky, he knows that, but he wants the upper hand and thinks he won't get it ever again. Eddie can't believe his luck when he sees your eyes still closed, lips chasing his touch, with a ball of his shirt in your hands. 

As your eyes flutter open, you look up at him. A self satisfied smirk is smeared across his face and you can't help but think he's won this round of whatever the hell you're playing. Playing with fire it feels like. 

A moment too late and you remember your hand bunched into his clothes. You unhand him and slap his knee, fingers unwilling to pull away. 

"So, what's the verdict sweetheart?" Eddie asks. His fingers are still massaging at your neck, rubbing back and forth, sending tingles down your spine. 

"What?" You ask, mind well and truly blank. 

"Guessing that's good." He laughs, taking his hand away to take a sip of his beer. "Remember your superpower, Wonder Woman?" 

"Oh, yeah. It was… good." You shrug, picking up the last of your beer and downing it. 

"Good? Good?! Come on, you gotta give me more than that!" He huffs dramatically, slamming his beer bottle on the table. 

Laughing aloud, you turn and face him again. He really is beautiful. His hair framing his face, that triumphant smile on his lips, laughter lines creasing in his day old stubble. You can almost believe he's older than he is, but knowing what you know about his family, he's been through a lot. 

"OK, it was the best kiss I've had in a while. A very long time." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

It's quiet for a moment; a loaded kind of quiet. It hangs heavily in the air like a thunderstorm. 

"Well, how about you?" You ask. 

"What do you mean?" 

"You know what I mean!" You laugh, nudging him with your foot.

"It was… good." He says, mimicking your words. Then he takes in your face, drinking in your beauty with his eyes, until he can't hold back anymore, "alright, it was mind blowing, you're really fuckin' hot." 

"Yeah, for my age" You scoff at his response, disbelieving him even after that kiss. You hear it alot, ever since you passed 35. 'You look good for your age', the backhanded compliment that feels like a knife in the chest. 

"That's bullshit!" Eddie responds loudly, shaking you out of your head and into the here and now, "you're fucking hot, period. Nothing to do with age sweetheart." 

If his words are lies, the bulge in his pants sure isn't. You feel drunk, and not from the alcohol. Eddie's kiss had you feeling reckless. Naughty. Young. 

"I overheard your little conversation earlier," you admit, scooching closer to him on the couch. Faces an inch apart, Eddie's torn between pouncing or running. So are you. 

"Yeah, you weren't supposed to hear that. Kinda glad you did." 

That makes you braver. All thought has gone, and the pounding need in between your legs has you losing all inhibitions as you lean towards his neck.

"Do you want me, Eddie?" You purr into his ear, nipping at the lobe with your teeth. 

"Uh, like, yeah. Yes, o-of course" He replies shakily, hand restless against your thigh. 

"You're trembling Eddie" it's your turn to smirk, lips dragging against his throat, "you've been with a woman before, right?" You know he has, but you can't help teasing him a little. 

Yes, a dozen, but none like you. 

"Y-yeah, I'm not a virgin, if th-that's what you're asking." 

Get it the fuck together Munson. 

"Then why are you nervous?" 

"Girls don't make me nervous. You make me nervous" He laughs, with absolute honesty in his words. 

With a flick of your eyes to his lips, you cradle his jaw. Eddie can't wait a second longer, he's about to burst. He takes a breath, grabs you by the hip, and presses a hard kiss to your mouth. 

The first one was a test, an examination. This one is pure desire, neediness etched into the marrow of his bones. Yet you're the one to deepen the kiss, mouth opening up to him, your tongue running over his with fervour. Lust is rolling off the pair of you, filling the room with its sultry fog.

Impatience gets the best of him, he needs you closer, so he yanks you into his lap, hands grabbing hard to your hips. Gasping into his mouth at the sudden dominance, you let him lead. His kiss is burning you, hot and heavy. Your hips start grinding into his lap of their own accord, each movement inching your dress higher and higher. 

Eddie rolls it up and over your ass so your red lace panties are on display, dress bunching at your waist. His hands are all over you, feeling at your thighs, your hips, your ass, kneading at the dough of your flesh desperately. 

Each grope, each bruising squeeze of his fingertips has you panting in his mouth, your hands winding into his loose locks, tugging. 

The kisses are becoming sloppier, allegedly immovable lipstick starting to smear on Eddie's face. You're biting at his bottom lip, grinding hard against his clothed dick; Eddie feels like he's died and gone to heaven. 

He tugs at your dress urgently, coaxing you to wriggle it up your frame and fling it away. 

The sight of you in your matching bra and panty set is enough to stop him in his tracks. It's gorgeous satin and lace, one of many you have. Even Eddie can see this is expensive. He runs his hands up and down your sides, drinking it in as if it were his last day on Earth. 

You allow him the few moments he takes to worship you with his eyes. If anything you're enjoying it as much as he is, his hungry stare fuelling your ego. 

"See something you like?" You tease, fingernails dragging across his neck. 

"Fuck yeah" comes his breathy response, pulling down a cup of your bra roughly, his mouth finding your nipple and sucking. 

Throwing your head back, you let out an unadulterated moan. You grab the hem of his shirt and tug it upwards. He gets the message, wrestling it off of his toned frame and throwing it away as if he's exasperated with clothes. Relishing in this new uncharted territory, your hands run all over his skin, tracing tattoos and freckles, fingernails leaving evidence of your desire. 

"Sorry, I just need to-" instead of telling you, he shows you, standing up with you grasped firmly at the hips. You think for a moment that he's going to take you upstairs, but he's pressing you down gently to the floor, lips and tongue tasting your neck, playfully licking over your collarbone. 

Eddie needs to know what your pussy tastes like; he's been dreaming of this for as long as he can remember. The thought of you unravelling because of him has him twitching in his pants. 

So, he makes his way down your torso, mapping your skin with his tongue. You're just so reactive; each time he laps and sucks at you a breathy gasp comes spilling from perfect painted lips.  

It's driving you crazy, his mouth is setting each patch of skin aflame, burning with passion. You're surprised by his movements as his mouth trails lower and lower. It looks like he's taking every enjoyment in tasting you, and the way he wiggles to get between your spread legs makes you realise he's going to go down on you. That is what's so surprising; you've never had a man who did that without some serious coaxing, let alone one who seemed to really want to. 

Now you're not self conscious by any means; you've grown to be very comfortable with your body, the feeling just comes with age. You can't help but be a little worried however, when Eddie reaches the stretch marks on your tummy. Little lightning strikes, lighter than the rest of your skin. You're not embarrassed, those little marks on your stomach and thighs are signs of your two beautiful boys. What's troubling you is the fact that Eddie can't have possibly seen any before, at least like this. What if they disgust him? 

It seems you needn't have worried. Eddie's in awe, running his fingers over the soft skin of the scars. He plants a kiss over the top and watches your muscles tense up. 

It's not that he likes them, or dislikes them for that matter; it's the fact that they are real. You're real, and in front of him in your underwear, and they ground him to the fact that this is actually happening. 

Reaching the hem of your panties he's torn between taking them off or not; you're just so damn pretty in them. He settles for running his tongue along the seam making you moan. You, Sammy's mom, moaning underneath him. He'd pinch himself if he didn't think it would spoil the mood. 

"You can take them off if you want baby." 

"Can I just, move them to the side? You're so fuckin' pretty like this." 

"Sure" you nod at him. He does so and nearly dies at the sight. Seems everything about you is thought of, down to your manicured nails, waxed legs, and bikini wax. The little patch of hair left is driving Eddie fucking crazy. 

He wastes no more time and runs his tongue through your folds, lapping at you like a man possessed. You taste exquisite, a flavour Eddie will remember for the rest of his life. It has him groaning into you, the vibration tingling over your clit making you writhe under him.

He's trying to map what you like, what makes you whimper, what makes you buck into his mouth. You can tell he's trying, really trying, but you know what you need. 

"Eddie, oh fuck, use, use the flat of your tongue," as he changes his tongue shape and rhythm, you wind your fingers into his hair and tug him right where you need him, "Oh God fuck, right there!" 

Yes fucking ma'am. 

Eddie's birthdays, Christmases, Easters, fuck it, all the holidays, have come at once. You are using him for your pleasure, riding his face. His dick is so swollen it's almost painful; he's rutting into the carpet like a teenager, the seam on his jeans not nearly providing enough friction.  

The pleasure is coursing through your veins, throbbing inside your stomach and thighs as you take what you need, fingers pulling hard at his hair. 

The moan that rips from your chest when Eddie pushes two fingers into your soaking wet cunt is pornographic, long and loud. He curls them upward, stroking incessantly at your g spot and spots appear in your vision. The last coherent thought you have is, fuck he really knows what he's doing. 

"Eddie!" 

You come with a strangled scream of his name, then it's all just white light and searing ecstasy as you ride out your orgasm. Your pulse and the feel of Eddie's hair taut in your fingers are the only things keeping you on planet Earth. 

Eddie just about holds it together, fingers working you through your release. You screamed his name. He almost came in his pants right then and there. The sound of you screaming his name is now a new core memory. He's sure he will replay it in his head many times with his fist on his cock.

Your back finally touching the carpet again, you tear Eddie's head away from your pussy and coax him none too gently upward. He hovers over your mouth, a little worried about kissing you when his face is covered with your release, but that worry turns into shock when you push his head forcefully towards yours and slip your tongue in his mouth. 

You can't help but moan at the taste of yourself in his mouth. The moan sounds low in your throat, buzzing into Eddie's mouth so low he feels it in his dick. Seems you weren't lying when you said mommy is dirty too. 

Suddenly Eddie's world turns sideways as you flip him onto his back, pushing his thighs apart with your knee. His scent, the feel of his skin, it's intoxicating. Before you realise what you're doing, you're sucking a love bite into the side of his neck, hard. 

Mine. 

Trailing lips and manicured nails down his torso, you pause at the fly of his jeans. You look up at him through your lashes. 

"This OK Eddie?" 

"Erm… oh God yes?" 

You giggle girlishly, flicking the button of his jeans undone and unzipping the fly gently. Relishing in the moment, you guide him to lift his hips and pull his jeans and boxers down slowly, unwrapping him like a gift.  

And what a fucking gift. 

As you pull his jeans and underwear down to his knees, his hardened cock springs out, coming to rest on his abdomen. It's big, the biggest you think you've seen in real life. Blushing a pretty pink at the tip, a pearl of pre cum sits on the slit at the top. 

Eddie takes your stillness as judgement, he can't help but fill in the silence. 

"Sorry, it's er, it's not like, impressive or anything- oh fuck" 

His apologies are interrupted when you take the tip in your mouth, sucking up the pre cum that glistens there. You roll the tip around your mouth, amazed at the fact he tastes so good. 

Breaking away with a pop, you reply, looking at him as you fist his length slowly with one hand. 

"Eddie, you're really, really big." 

"Really?" He doesn't look convinced, leaning up on his elbows to look at you. 

"Really. You're huge Eddie." 

"Yeah?" An edge of disbelief coats his voice, but he's smiling. 

"Biggest I've seen." 

Eddie's smile is damn near splitting his face in half. 

"So, could I get that in writing or- Jesus fuckin' Christ!" 

You take him in your mouth again, fitting as much as you can, fisting the rest in your hand. The groans and whimpers coming from Eddie's mouth are downright obscene. The wetter you get him, the louder he gets, so you dribble purposely all over your fist, letting it drip down to his balls. 

Eddie's eyes keep trying to roll back but he won't let them, he refuses. He needs to see this, to see you. The slick sounds your hand and mouth are creating are making him fizz from the inside out, each movement is making him want to blow his load in that perfect practised mouth. 

Sammy's mom is sucking my fucking dick dry. 

He's trying to get his head around this impossible situation but it's so outlandish he wants to laugh. Or cry. Or scream. He settles on moaning, hand resting on the back of your head, stroking encouraging circles. 

"Fuck, you're- you're too good at this, holy shit!" 

Relinquishing his length with a sodden wet noise, you fist his length, running your thumb over his tip and lapping at his balls. Taking one in your mouth and playfully sucking, he nearly busts right then and there. 

"OK sweetheart, I-I can't hold back if you, fuck, if you d-do that-" 

You finally unhand him with a cheeky smile and straddle him, your underwear the only barrier between your sex and his throbbing length. 

"You OK there champ?" You ask, a mischievous grin plastered all over your face as you drag your perfect nails down his chest. 

"Y-yeah, I'm fine, I-" Eddie grabs your hand, stopping you in your tracks, "Please give me a minute, please." 

Eddie's eyes are big, wide and wet. Almost like a lost puppy. You're torn between wanting to hold him close, look after him, and fucking him hard until he cries. 

Suddenly he looks concerned, eyes growing impossibly wider. 

"I don't have, a-a condom or anything-" 

You chuckle lowly, bringing his hand to your lips, kissing softly at his knuckles. 

"Eddie, baby, I had my tubes tied years ago. It's OK. If it's OK with you?" 

Holy shit. Sammy's mom wants to ride me raw. Jesus Christ. 

His head is spinning; he realises he's nodding so hard he may have whiplash. You smirk at his response, the rigorous nodding and wide eyed look is just doing something to your insides; twisting them up, making you hungry. 

Maybe that's why you do what you do. You wink at him, and swing your leg over, pushing your underwear to the side once again. Though this time, you're straddling him backwards, round ass on display as you tease the head of his cock with your soaking wet lips. 

As you sink down onto him, you hear the guttural moan that strikes out from his soul almost, travelling swiftly to your core. He's big, you weren't lying. You feel each vein, each ridge, as you seat yourself fully onto his cock. 

This boy has no idea what he's packing. 

Jesus Christ, the spots this impressive length can reach are unreal. You bounce on him slowly, revelling in the stretch. He's throbbing underneath you, inside you. The sensation makes you moan wantonly, feeling sexier than you've felt in years. 

Eddie's mesmerised by your ass, watching it bounce on his dick, drooling at the shake of it when it plunges back down. His eyes are drawn to your tight hole, half hidden by the pricey underwear that still adorns you. Just a tiny slip of lace hugged in your ass cheeks. 

He's already pushed his luck; he's well aware of that fact. The arousal pumping through him has him throwing caution to the wind however, so he sucks his thumb, getting it nice and wet, and pushes it against your asshole.

It surprises you, sure, but you're moaning louder at his bold move. 

Eddie's reeling, dizzy at your reaction. He was expecting at least for you to just slap his hand away, but if anything you speed up and make even more noise. Fuck, if you could get more perfect, you just did. He pushes his digit in, feeling you clench around it, riding him for all he's worth. 

"Oh fuck, Eddie!" 

It's too much for you to take, being filled in both holes, riding him hard and fast until your vision is blurring and spots are in your eyes. Your release startles you, a fuzzy feeling filling you up from the inside out and exploding from your cunt in a gush. 

Reality seeps in as you come down from your high; pain in your knees searing up your leg. 

"Sweetheart, I need to get on top, please." 

It's a relief you're not prepared to admit to as you climb off, legs twitching and knackered. 

Near collapsing on the floor, Eddie's on you, falling in his excitement. He's forgotten his jeans are still woven around his ankles. He kicks them off and slides between your spread legs. 

"Can I take your panties off now sweetheart?" 

What he's not saying, is he really doesn't want to miss what might be the only time he gets to see you naked. You oblige, lifting up your hips so he can wrestle the sodden garment off you. 

As if you can hear his prayers, you unhook your bra too, flinging it toward the couch. Eddie's nearly having a heart attack; it's hammering hard in his chest, the only thing stopping it from bursting out is his ribcage. The sight of you, nude, beneath him? It's unravelling him in a way he didn't know was possible. 

So he loses it for a moment, burying his head in the valley of your breasts, licking and sucking as if his life depended on it. Your nipples stand to attention at his ministrations, yet your core hums at the lack of attention. 

"Eddie, please, I need you inside me." 

Fuck this is unreal. She's so beautiful and she's begging for me. Feels like a dream. 

But it's not a dream. He's pressing his quivering length against you again and your pussy is swallowing him up as if it's hungry for him. 

You let him in, his hard member spearing you, humping into you hard and rough. You groan against him, fingernails finding leverage in his broad shoulders. 

His arms hook under your sweaty knees, pulling them hard against your torso, angling himself to fuck into you mercilessly. 

"Fuck, you feel- so fuckin' good" He stammers out, slamming his hips into you. 

You're beyond words, screaming his name like it's the only word you know. 

"You gonna come again? Please, fuck, please come, I need it, I need it baby please" His babbling words fire out at you, driving you ceaselessly to another orgasm. 

Fingers wind between your heaving forms, running urgent circles over your clit. They slip and slide against your sodden nub, desperately seeking to get you to that precipice. You moan, and moan, and finally clench and scream his name, voice hard, burning in your throat.

Eddie can't take it, not the way your cunt is grabbing onto him so tightly, constricting his dick as if it's afraid he'll leave. He stutters his hips and grunts his own release deep into you. 

For a minute he doesn't stop, He refuses to stop. He doesn't want it to be over. So, he fucks his cum into you until it's impossible to continue and finally comes up for air. 

You envelop his lips into a suffocating kiss, swollen lips and tongue and spit. Messy and passionate, he returns it, glad that you still want to kiss him at the end of all things. 

Though, you don't want it to be over. His touch, his feel, his taste, you could soak it up, roll around in it forever, wrap yourself in his arms and stay. A mad thought. A maddening thought. 

Eddie slips from inside you making you frown at the loss. His smile is soaked in mischief however, as he starts to kiss down your front again, burying his head in the deep valley of your breasts, tongue lathering over the supple flesh and moving downwards. 

He's never, ever, felt the need to taste himself on another. As a matter of fact, if you had told him yesterday he would feel the desperate urge to press his tongue into a pussy that is dripping with his own cum he would have laughed in your face. But, this is your pussy. Your tight wet cunt, and he needs to taste it. He needs it like he needs air to breathe. For a second he stares up at you with big soulful eyes. 

"I wanna taste what we made." 

His words are shooting into the pulse spilling from your core.

"Really?" Your words drip in perplexity, amazed that any man would want that, but the thought lingers, making you realise that you want that. 

No further time wasted, he dives into your dripping core, tongue dragging through your aching lips. For a moment it's too much, until it drops into pleasure; pleasure that you sink into, melting under his touch. 

Eddie laps furiously at your clit, both of your releases dripping from his chin. He sinks thick fingers inside, squelching into your soft heat. 

Wordlessly, he takes his fingers out and reaches them up to your face. His eyes are trained on you, flat of his tongue rubbing against your swollen nub. 

Hesitantly, you take in the sight of his sticky fingers, before you take them into your mouth, sucking and hollowing your cheeks. The taste is indescribable; it's salty, sweet, tangy, each separate flavour hitting your tongue differently, fuelling your desires.

You're making Eddie's dreams come true with that gesture. Your trust in him, your filthiness, the way your tongue works against his fingers, it's all shooting to his heart, and his cock. He's impossibly hard again, groaning into your cunt. 

Another release is speeding toward you. You can feel yourself hurtling towards it, free falling into ecstasy. You grip around his wrist, fingers digging bruises into the tendons as your orgasm rushes out of you in a string of curse words. 

He moves back up your body and you envelop his slicked lips in a firm kiss. To your surprise, you can feel his hard member digging into your thigh. It's been a long time since you've been with anyone who couldn't go more than one round before rolling over and falling asleep. The joys of youth. 

"You OK Eddie?" You ask between breath-taking kisses. 

"OK? I'm fucking amazing sweetheart. Feel like I just won the lottery or something" He huffs a laugh, nudging the tip of his nose with yours. 

"You, erm-" you begin, feeling almost embarrassed, "-you wanna go again?" 

"Oh hell yeah." 

His tip is already begging at your entrance but you place a firm hand to his chest, stilling his movements. 

"Eddie, upstairs? My back is killing me." You admit it, the hard floor giving you aches and pains. 

"Fuck, yeah, sorry. Come on" practically leaping up, he holds out his hand to you and you grasp it in yours. You giggle at his eagerness, the sight of him stark naked leaping up the stairs three at a time stoking your amusement. 

This might be inappropriate, it might be a bit wrong, but damn, this is fun. Having someone desire you so much, who wants to fuck you over and over? Morals can kick in tomorrow. Tonight, you have a gorgeous young man aching to give you more. 

********************

"Hey, you still here?" 

You look up, distracted from your musings of last night. God, that boy had some stamina. 

"Huh?" 

"Wow, that date must have been good! You going to spill? Come on, tell me about it!" 

Blushing, you sip the glass of wine in front of you. Karen Wheeler had popped round unannounced with a bottle and you were sitting around your kitchen table whilst she grilled you about why you were smiling so much. She would lose her shit if she knew who you were smiling about. 

"I mean, I can't really talk about it." You mumble around your glass. 

"Oh God, why? Oh, he's married, I bet he's married! You naughty thing!" Her words are admonishing, but her cheeks are glowing. She's loving every minute of this. 

Why not? At least that would explain it away. 

"Yeah, he's married." 

"Oh my you're terrible!" She cackles, laughing. "How was he?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about Karen." 

"Oh, come on you're practically glowing! I know that look" She says, nodding sagely. 

"OK, look" You say, taking a gulp of wine for composure and a deep breath before it rushes out of your mouth in a torrid whisper. 

"It was fucking incredible, like toe curling incredible, you know? And he just kept going, I mean, honestly? The best I've ever had." 

Karen coughs and nods pointedly behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you see him. 

Eddie. Fuck. 

He's standing there nonchalantly, leaning on the doorframe with a Cheshire cat grin. 

"Sorry for the interruption, just grabbing a couple beers." 

He bounces into the kitchen and fetches two beers from the fridge. 

"Me and Sammy are just working on the campaign. I'll er, leave you ladies to it." 

He practically skips out the room, leaving you red faced. 

"That Eddie?" You nod, face red as a beetroot. 

"He's grown up, hasn't he?" 

You steer away from this line of questioning, mortified that he heard what you said. 

"Only on the outside. You want a top up?" She agrees with a grin as you fill her glass up and she regales you with all the poolside gossip. When the bottle is done, she leaves with a wink, saying she'll keep your secret. If she only knew what that was. 

Eddie's on cloud nine right now, bouncing up the stairs three at a time. 

The best she's ever had. The best she's ever had. 

It's in his mind, playing in a loop. His mantra, a quote that will live deep in his chest from now until forever after. 

The best she's ever had. 

He flings the door open and flounces into Sammy's room, banging a beer down on the bedside table. 

"A beverage for you, good fellow!" 

"Aha! Fine work m'lord!" Sammy twists the cap off, tossing it in the bin. Eddie does the same, twisting to face the waste paper basket, and takes a long swig. 

"Eddie you dirty fuck." 

He freezes, ice pouring down his spine. Spinning on his heel, he turns to face Sammy.

"What are you on about?" He asks, a fake smile masking the fear that had bottomed out in his stomach. 

"I see the panties you've got in your back pocket, red ones. They're poking out! Dude, did you get lucky last night?" Sammy smirks, swigging his own beer.

He couldn't help himself. He swiped them when he was leaving. They were still wet, soaked with a mixture of his spit and your release. He'd sniffed them and got himself off twice this morning. 

Chill out. Sammy's grinning. He's got no clue who they belong to. 

Eddie relaxes and grins smugly back, laying on the floor, his back against the bed. 

"Oh, you have no idea." 

********************

Humming to yourself, you sort through the dirty clothes in the laundry room, separating darks and lights. 

Your thoughts drift yet again to that messy haired rocker. His large hands, his tight torso, his dick. Fuck, his dick. 

Shaking your head, you do what you can to rid your brain of your salacious thoughts, loading the washer a little more forcefully than you necessarily needed to. 

You hear the unmistakable click of the door behind you. Not bothering to turn, you huff as you shut the washer lid with a bang. 

"I swear to God Sammy if you need a shirt for tonight I've already-" 

"Hey sweetheart." 

Flipping to face the door, there he is. Arms folded across his slender chest, smug smirk spread stickly across his features, he stares at you. 

"Eddie, you need to leave." 

Your tone is stern, but your bottom lip disappears into your mouth, being nibbled at by your teeth. 

"You sure? Thought you might wanna see me. You know, since I'm the best you ever had." 

"Eddie shut the fuck up!" You hiss between your teeth, eyes flashing to the door. 

"Sweetheart, Sammy's fallen asleep. He had a long night. You know what that's like." 

"Eddie, that was a one time thing. God, it's not like this can go anywhere, so why are you here?" 

Tapping your foot impatiently, he closes the gap between you, cornering you between the wall and the washing machine. 

You want to be angry; to push him away and leave, but the pounding of your pulse between your legs betrays you. 

As if he knows, he slots his leg between yours, denim clad thigh hovering near your throbbing heat, pushing your sundress up in the process. 

"I know. Fuck, I'm well aware. I just wanna- help you out. Like, an arrangement" He smiles, knuckles reaching up to stroke your cheek. 

"Eddie-" 

Before you manage to form words, he's on his knees in front of you, large palms running over your bare thighs. 

"Please." 

That's all he says, wet doe eyes wide, gleaming up at you as if you were some sort of goddess and he was kneeling at your altar. 

Eddie's begging to the old Gods and the new; fuck it, to anyone who might be listening. He wants you, with everything he has. Each fibre is burning for you. He thought it might go away after last night, but it was simply a taste. A drop of water doesn't quench an undying thirst. 

This little sundress is doing nothing to sate his hunger for you. The flimsy material clings in all the right places, forcing his eyes to trail over your curves like a man starved. 

Without a thought in your head, you wind your fingers into Eddie's hair, relishing the feel of his hot breath on your naked thighs. Guiding his head forward, you shudder as his lips trace across your flesh. 

Eddie lifts your dress up, reaching desperately to pull your panties off and away before you change your mind. Slick sticking to them, he pulls them down, watching as they gradually peel from your core. 

He sits on his heels, eyes flitting from your eyes to your cunt. 

"Sweetheart, please. I just wanna- I wanna help you with your needs. Fuck, with my needs." 

Nodding emphatically, you tug at his hair, drawing him in. 

Eddie counts his blessings and dives straight at your pussy, lapping between the folds just like you taught him. 

"Oh God" you moan aloud, then bite at your hand to stop your noises. Flicking one leg over his shoulder, you force his head as close as you can, nearly riding his face. 

If anything, Eddie is a quick learner, at least when it comes to you. 

His tongue is electric, hitting all of the right spots. He feels your cunt on his tongue, leaving hot and heavy licks. Running his hand up your thigh again, he presses his thumb against your clenching hole, wiggling into your slick drenched pussy. 

"Eddie, yes!" You whisper, fingers pulling at his curls incessantly. Eyes rolling back, you rut your hips into him, on the brink of falling apart.

White hot light sears your eyelids as you  come with a stifled cry, cunt undulating around his thick digit. 

"Fuckfuckfuck!" 

Yanking his head away from you by the roots of his hair, you cannot fail to hear the unmistakable moan that spills from his lips. 

Eddie's staring up at you dumbfounded, as if you created the universe just for him. 

Panting, you stare back down at him, his lips parted and shining with your orgasm. 

"Eddie, holy hell." 

He stands, wiping the slick from his face with the back of his hand, though it does nothing to remove the grin. 

Against every better judgement, you grab him by the shirt and pull him closer, lips nearly touching. 

"You- you can't tell anyone about this, OK? Not a soul, understood?" 

If it were possible, his grin grows even wider, palm resting at your waist. 

"I can be discreet." He whispers as he presses his lips to yours. Winding fingers into his hair, you deepen the kiss, tongue moving expertly between his parted lips to taste him, and you. 

Eddie pulls away reluctantly. 

"I better go." 

As he moves to the door, hand hovering over the handle, you call out to him. 

"Eddie, wait." 

Turning his head, he looks at you. 

"Sammy's seeing Tiff again tonight, and er, Johnny's still at his grandma's." 

"Good to know." He winks and leaves. What you don't know is that he does a mini victory dance once the door is shut, fists pumping in the air with sheer joy. 

He doesn't know how long this is going to last, but he'll take every single second he can get with you whilst you let him. 

Taglist (just some likely candidates ;) )

@cursedyuta @eddiesprincess86 @munson-blurbs @rip-quizilla @emsgoodthinkin @josephquinnsfreckles @zestychili @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @eiightysixbaby @lightvixxen @ali-r3n @usedtobecooler @roanniom

[fairy-writes]

MERCY

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Trigun Stampede

Pairing(s): Vash the Stampede x Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Pre-Canon, Established Relationships, Possible OOCness with Vash but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head

Notes: I HAVEN’T DONE THIS IN A WHILE

BUT CATCH MY DOCTOR WHO QUOTES

__________________________________________________________________________

It wasn’t often that you saw Vash angry.

In fact, in all the time you’d known him, you never remembered him actually getting angry. Irritated? Sure, but never like… this. 

Three days was enough to wear down the Humanoid Typhoon. 

It should have been simple: just keep your heads down and let the bandits currently hunting for Vash’s bounty pass on through the little town. 

It seemed easy enough. You’d done this a million times. You were practically pros! What would change now?

Oh, how you wished you could take those words back. 

“Vash, stop!” You plead and cry and tug at Vash’s coat as you try to keep him from shooting the man in front of him. He grits his teeth, but that doesn’t stop his finger from curling around the trigger. 

“I’m done negotiating.” He snaps, and you flinch back as if struck across the face. 

“We can talk this out! Just like you do every time! Vash, please!”

He rounds on you, keeping the gun pointed at the bandit.

“Every time I negotiate, every time I try to understand. Well, not today. No. Today, I honor the victims first. His, Nai’s, the humans, all the people who died because of MY mercy!”

Right…

The people who died. 

You can still hear a mother wailing for her dead child behind you, cradling his limp corpse in her arms as she begged whoever was listening to bring her baby back to her. 

You could tell Vash heard it too, because he ground his teeth together even more. His thumb pulled the hammer back on his gun, and he stepped closer to press the barrel to the bandit’s forehead.

The aforementioned bandit was shaking in his boots. His knees knocked together, and sweat dripped down his brow. His own gun had been batted away after shooting at Vash and you. Luckily, the bullets had lodged in Vash’s prosthetic arm instead of flesh. The arm itself was fine, if not sparking a little.

But that didn’t matter.

“Vash,” You began, slowly, calmly, like trying to calm a spooked animal. Vash turned to look at you, and you weren’t surprised to see tears starting to prick his eyes. 

He had always been the emotional one.

“Please, put the gun down. Have some mercy, and we can talk this out.” You tried, and his following words made your blood run cold.

“I’m so old now. I used to have so much mercy. But not anymore.” He snarled, and you flinched back. 

This wasn’t the Vash you knew and loved

What had happened to him?

One of the townsfolk stepped forward,

“Mr. Typhoon… Please. Put the gun down. We will arrest the bandit and hold him until the police can arrive. you’re scaring your love.” She said, and those words snapped Vash out of his violent stupor. He looked at you with new eyes, heartbroken and horrified.

You couldn’t stop him as he stepped away and fled,

You found him in the desert of No Man’s Land two days later.

Two days. Two days of relentless searching. Two days of worrying. Two days of Vash obviously beating himself up over everything. The bandit was apprehended, as was his little posse of criminals. So you were able to search for Vash safely.

You found him in a cave, bits of his arm strewn about as he tried to get the bullets unstuck. He was muttering and cursing under his breath, eventually throwing the tool in his hand toward the mouth of the cave where you stood.

You picked up the tool and approached him, kneeling by where he sat cross-legged and offering the tool.

“How’d you find me?” He said bitterly, and you offered a small smile,

“I know you.” You mumbled, and he scoffed,

“Apparently not. I’m turning into Nai. Merciless. Cold. And—”

“You aren’t. Your reign of terror would end at the sight of the first crying child, and you know it.” You cut him off gently, and he looked up at you, something glimmering in his eyes. You took that as an invitation to scoot closer, crossing your legs as you went. Your knee brushed his, and you could practically feel him shudder at the contact.

But you didn't comment on it.

You just used the tool to dislodge the bullets smashed into his arm and palm of his hand. You were gentle, not at all like he was moments ago. Soon enough, his arm was pieced back together, and he gripped your hand as you went to stand.

“Where are you going?” He asked, practically pleading with you to stay.

“Just getting my pack. I left it outside.” You said, and he sagged in relief.

He must’ve been lonely in those two days he was apart from you.

That night, you sat by the fire you built and tossed branches from debris into the fire. Vash sat next to you, his flesh hand on your thigh and his head on your shoulder. You let him have this. This sense of normalcy. This sense of love that you tried to build around him. 

Because he deserved that much. 

It wasn’t long before he turned to nose your neck, pressing a fleeting kiss there. You shivered and felt him smile against your skin.

“I’m sorry for scaring you.” He whispered eventually. You hummed,

“I forgive you… Just… Try not to do it again, okay?” You replied, and he pecked your cheek before squeezing your thigh.

“I promise.”

[catn4pp]

Harvey x Reader | Scars

an: FIRST STARDEW VALLEY FICC!!! LETS GOOO

————————————————————————

The day was just like any other in Pelican Town, with the sun lazily making its way across the sky, casting golden hues over the valley. You had ventured into the mines, determined to gather some precious resources to upgrade your tools for the farm. However, luck wasn’t on your side today, as you ended up with a minor injury—a small cut on your arm from a slip while mining.

As you returned home to your cozy farmhouse, you tried your best to hide the injury from your husband, Harvey, not wanting to worry him unnecessarily. But Harvey, being the observant and caring man he was, noticed the slight limp in your step as you entered the house.

“Hey, love, how was your day?” Harvey greeted you with a warm smile, setting aside his medical books as he noticed your return.

“Uh, it was fine, Harvey,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant as you quickly moved towards the bedroom, hoping to avoid any further scrutiny.

However, Harvey’s trained eyes caught the slight grimace on your face as you moved, and his concern deepened. He followed you into the bedroom, gently closing the door behind him.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” he asked, his voice laced with worry as he approached you, his hands itching to inspect you for any signs of injury.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a bit tired,” you reassured him with a forced smile, hoping he wouldn’t notice the cut on your arm.

But Harvey was not convinced. He gently guided you to sit on the edge of the bed and knelt down in front of you, his fingers trailing over your back as he began to massage away the tension from your long day in the mines.

At first, you relaxed into his touch, enjoying the comforting sensation of his hands on your skin. But then, as his fingers grazed over the cut on your arm, you couldn’t help but flinch, a sharp twinge of pain shooting through you.

Instantly, Harvey’s touch halted, his expression turning serious as he carefully examined the fresh wound. His brows furrowed in concern as he realized what had happened.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” he asked softly, his eyes searching yours for an answer.

You bit your lip, feeling a flush of heat rise to your cheeks. “Oh, um, that? It’s… it’s always been there,” you stammered, avoiding his gaze as you tried to come up with an excuse.

“I know every inch of your body.. and I know for a fact that wasn’t there before,” he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of concern and mild irritation.

Harvey’s gaze softened as he cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I’m here to take care of you, always.

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at his words, his proximity suddenly making you acutely aware of every inch of your skin. “I… I must have missed it before,” you mumbled, feeling flustered under his intense gaze.

Harvey couldn’t help but chuckle softly at your reaction, his thumb tracing patterns over your cheek as he teased you gently. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to inspect every inch of you more thoroughly from now on, huh?”

You laughed, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as you leaned into his touch, grateful for his unwavering care and love. Despite his teasing, you knew that Harvey would always be there to take care of you, healing both your body and your heart with his gentle touch.

————————————————————————

[sluttywonwoo]

color me like you || l.jh

pairing: lee jihoon x f reader

summary: you put your heart into every piece of jewelry you make, so why does it only hurt when they're for him?

warnings: swearing, some jealousy, smidgen of religious imagery, smut (18+ ; mdni)

smut warnings: oral (f receiving), protected sex

word count: 5.3k

author’s note(s): for @sluttywoozi's birthday <33 ilyyy

this was the hardest fic i've ever written ;-; idk why but it just kept fighting me the whole time // also did not mean to be so heavy-handed with the rubies it just sort of happened

“What would you pick?” 

Every single fucking time. It was like he didn’t know what he was doing by asking you that. And maybe he didn’t. 

Lee Jihoon’s consultations were your least favorite part of (nearly) every month. And it wasn’t because he was a rude customer or a schmuck just looking to blow his money or anything like that- but because month after month he waltzed into your place of work and bought a custom piece for someone who wasn’t you even though he never failed to ask you that god damn question.

It wasn’t like it was uncommon for jewelers to get asked that. In fact, it was rather common. Men tended to view women as a monolith, accepting any opinion from whoever was nearest as a reflection of their partners’ solely based on the other party’s gender. 

But with Jihoon it’s different. It was like Jihoon actually cared what you had to say about it, like it mattered what you thought of his decisions even though you were the one designing the piece and not receiving it. 

It sends you into a mini spiral every time. Every time he walks through the door, eyes automatically searching for you. Every time he sits down in front of you and leans over your desk to get a closer look at your work and you catch a whiff of the expensive cologne dotted at his pulse points. Every time you have to gaze into his deep brown eyes and swallow the jealousy rising in your throat as you bare your soul to him laid out on a satin pillow for him to take and give to someone else. 

You already know who it is once you see that the VIP Room is booked on your schedule. You groan internally, cursing the man as you run through all of your preparations. There isn’t much to do because almost everything is already ready for you but you try to stay busy anyway, finding yourself checking the clock on the wall over and over again until the bell above the door finally chimes to signal his arrival. 

Your back is to the door and you don’t turn around right away even though you know he’s seen you. You can feel his gaze on you. It’s piercing yet magnetic in the way things like glass and icicles are-  deceptively alluring, sharp enough to draw blood. 

When you do finally turn to face him, you note that he’s flanked by a security guard, not unusual for him but unsettling to you nonetheless. You don’t know what he does for work. You’ve never asked. Better not to get attached is what you told yourself, not that you were having much luck with that. 

Jihoon smiles politely at you and you return the nicety, gesturing to the door behind the counter for him to follow you. 

The lights in the showroom are dim as always. The dark, velveted walls seem to be absorbing what little light the decorative lamps are effusing. The walls are lined with built-in display cases, illuminating their contents and nothing else. 

In the middle of the room sits a desk, with a chair on either side. You take your place behind the desk and wait for Jihoon to sit before doing the same. He’s ditched his shadow so the two of you are alone, something you try not to think about as you organize your tools in front of you. 

“How have you been?” Jihoon asks, his voice breaking the silence but doing little to ease the tension between you. 

“I’ve been well,” you answer. It’s an honest answer, for the most part. “And yourself?”

“Busy,” he sighs, “but good.”

You fold your hands on the desktop in front of you, letting its cold surface ground you. You can already feel yourself starting to sweat even though the showroom’s the coldest place in the store. “So, what are we doing today?”

“A bracelet,” Jihoon says. 

“For you or someone else?”

You never ask your clients who their orders are for. In your profession, you’ve learned that being too nosy, even in good conscience, can be dangerous. You’ll ask if the piece is for the client themselves,  if it’s to celebrate a specific occasion, and what the person’s tastes are but little else. If they offer the information voluntarily, so be it. 

“Someone else.”

You grit your teeth as you ask the next question. “Do you have their measurements?”

Jihoon doesn’t answer right away. 

“Not exactly. It doesn’t need to be a perfect fit. They, uh, have about the same size wrist as me.”

“Then I’ll ask you to hold out your wrist for me…”

He extends his arm across the space between you, pale skin almost translucent under your Circline light. 

“Which way,” he turns his hand for you, “palm up or down?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He leaves his palm skyward like he’s waiting for you to take his hand but you wrap the tapeline around his wrist instead, bringing the magnifier closer to get an exact measurement. You make a mental note of the number and definitely not of the way his fingers are long and calloused and-

“That’s really pretty.”

Jihoon’s voice startles you out of your unprofessional thoughts, making you jump a little in your seat. He grins apologetically. 

“Sorry, I just wanted to tell you how pretty I think your ring is.”

Your eyes flit down to the piece of jewelry on your finger, a thin gold band looped around a few times like a wiry piece of thread. In between the strands of gold are three gems, diamond, alexandrite, and tourmaline, set in what looks to be random spots. You’ve worn it every day since you finished it but no one had ever commented on it until now. 

“Was it a gift?” Jihoon asks. 

“No, I made it.”

“I should’ve known,” he sighs. 

You want to ask him what he means by that but you know his answer will only make you more delusional. 

You release the end of the measuring tape and roll it back up, replacing it in its spot in your drawer and pulling out a leather bound notebook instead. You flip to a blank page and jot down Jihoon’s measurements along with the few details he’s told you thus far about the piece he wants made. 

“Do you have an idea of what you want your bracelet to look like?” you ask, swiftly changing the subject. “Or should I show you some of my previous designs?”

“I think I have an idea but I don’t know how to describe it.”

“How about I show you some pieces and you tell me if they’re similar to what you had in mind?”

“That sounds perfect.”

You stand from the desk and turn around to face the display cases behind you. There’s an assortment of original jewelry pieces made by you and your colleagues to choose from but you only select ones you’ve made, knowing Jihoon would instantly be able to tell the difference. It’s happened enough times before. 

You walk him through each of your selections, making note of what he points out about each of them. From his musings, you gather that he wants an argentium silver chain— thick enough to be inlaid with stones but not too thick that it would become too heavy or gaudy. 

Listening to him talk about the piece made you smile despite the envy twisted around your heart. He had started to pick up on the terminology after coming here for so many months and seemed so much more confident about his knowledge of it all. It was apparent in the way he held himself now during consultations. 

You get all of the initial details about the body of the piece squared away before moving on to the finer ones. Categorizing the steps like this helps you stay organized.  

“And do you know which stones you want embedded in the bracelet?” you ask. 

Jihoon rubs his thumb across his lips in thought. “I thought I did, but after seeing that,” he pauses to point at a necklace you’d shown him, “I’m having second thoughts.” The necklace he’s referring to is set similarly to the style of the bracelet, only gold and lined with rubies. 

“What was your first choice?” 

“Amethyst. Since it’s a birthday gift, I thought I’d go with their birthstone, but now I’m torn. What would you pick?”

There it was, the dreaded question. It was like he’d been holding a knife to your throat this entire time and finally decided to draw blood. Still, you answer like you always do. 

“I’m partial to amethyst,”  you admit, “and there’s the added significance of it being their birthstone, but the rubies would make more of a statement. It really depends on what kind of person you’re buying for. Are they a sentimental person or a flashy person?”

“They’re both,” Jihoon groans, putting his head in his hands. Then, after a moment, he sits back up. “But I think they’d like the rubies more. I feel like those evoke a more dramatic aura, if that makes sense.”

“It does. Rubies are associated with power and passion.” They’re also associated with romance but you choose not to mention that part. “In some cultures, they were believed to protect the wearers as well.”

“That’s perfect then.”

You clasp your hands together and force a smile. “Great! Do you want them around the entire band of the bracelet? From clasp to clasp?”

“What would two-thirds look like?”

“Let me show you.”

You discuss the size, cut, and spacing of the stones before calculating a price and timeline for the piece. You give Jihoon the receipt that states how much he owes today and how much he’ll owe when he comes to pick it up, circling the pick up date with your pen. 

He pays with his black card, the one you’ve become accustomed to swiping every time you see him. You expect him to leave promptly after the payment, that’s what usually happens, but he doesn’t. He lingers a little awkwardly as you put the jewelry back in their display cases, hesitating by the door like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

“Jihoon?” you ask him eventually, “is everything okay?”

You refer to most of your clients by their surnames but Jihoon had asked you not to the very first time you met. “It makes me feel old,” he’d explained with a laugh. 

Now, he laughs again. This time, it’s a nervous laugh, one that draws confusion and sets your own nerves on edge. 

He swallows harshly. “I know this may be entirely inappropriate, but I promised myself I wouldn’t leave today without asking if you would go to dinner with me.”

“W-what?”

“Go to dinner with me?” he repeats, this time in the form of an actual question. 

You blink. “For real?”

“Um, yes? Unless your answer is no, then no, not for real.”

You put both hands on your desk to brace yourself, unsure what to make of his request. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little confused. Why would you want to go to dinner with me?”

“Because I want to take you on a date.”

“A date?!”

Jihoon clears his throat a little bashfully. “Yes, I thought that was implied when I invited you to dinner.”

“Dinner could mean a lot of things! Maybe it was a business proposal.”

He chuckles. “I’m a music producer, I don’t know what kind of business I’d have with a jeweler.”

It doesn’t even dawn on you that you’ve finally found out what he does for work because you’re so overwhelmed by the fact that he’s asking you out to comprehend anything else. You can hardly comprehend this. 

“You want to go on a date with me?”

“I- uh, I’ve been coming here for months just to see you. I mean, I was really getting gifts for people but they don’t give a fuck about what I buy them for their birthdays as long as it’s expensive... they don’t really care about the different gems and settings and shit.” You’re still processing his words when Jihoon lifts his head to peek at your reaction. “Are you... upset?”

“Upset? No, I’m relieved!”

“Wait, what? What do you mean?”

“This whole time I thought you were getting gifts for your partner, or partners, I thought you were taken.”

You watch the corners of Jihoon’s mouth quirk up into a smile as he realizes what you’re saying. “And that upset you?”

“Yes,” you mumble. 

“You like me back?” 

“Yes. It’s been terrible.”

“Pardon?” he chokes out. 

“Imagine the roles were reversed,” you explain, “I’m coming to you every month, getting to know you better and you’re learning more and more about me, I’m flirting with you, you’re starting to feel like we’re getting closer-”

“Only for you to buy the jewelry for someone else,” he concludes for you with a grimace, “presumably a romantic partner. Yeah, okay I can see how that would be miserable.”

“But then, who have these even been for this whole time?!” you blurt out, finally breaking your number one rule. 

“I’ll explain everything over dinner,” Jihoon promises. 

“But when is dinner?”

“What time does your shift end?”

-

Jihoon does explain everything over dinner, as promised. He gave you some time after work to get ready for the date and then picked you up from your place in a town car. He’d told you before that he’s never felt the need to get a drivers license, that public transport and ride services were plenty to get him to where he needed to go, and that he seldom left the house anyway. You offered to drive to dinner since you did have both a car and a license but Jihoon astutely refused, saying that while he wasn’t very old fashioned, he was the one who asked you out and he’s always liked the idea of a more traditional first date. 

Dinner is at a restaurant you’ve never even heard of but apparently has a Michelin star. The food and mocktails are delicious, but truthfully the last thing on your mind as you stare across the table at your date. He’s dressed in all black, like usual, but had chosen an outfit that was much more formal than what you were used to seeing him in: pressed slacks and a dress shirt that was buttoned just low enough to show off a hint of collarbone, cleavage, and a chain you recognize as one you’d crafted for him almost a year ago. 

He almost always wore a hat when visiting your store but tonight he’s forgone the baseball cap and swept his long hair back in a half up, half down sort of manner. There’s product in it but a few wisps of his bangs have escaped the hold of the gel and hang in front of his eyes. 

You briefly wonder if he’d let you style his hair, if he’d let you braid it back. He’d look so pretty with french braids-

At the end of the meal, after he’s paid, he asks the question. Not the question, the one you’re always dreading, but a new one that makes your heart beat just as fast. 

“Are you doing anything after this?” 

You take a sip of your drink, ignoring the watered down taste in order to keep the air of suspense. “That depends, what are you doing?”

-

Jihoon’s apartment is closer than yours. It’s in the middle of the city, nestled safely above the bustling crowds and chaos of the streets beneath it. You would call it a penthouse but it isn’t on the top floor of the building nor does it have a terrace- the point is, it’s bigger than the house you grew up in. You can tell just from standing in the doorway with all the lights off. The floor to ceiling windows lined all along the far wall give it away. They let in just enough light from the billboards and neon street signs below to cast shadows in the corners of the room that emphasize its depth. 

There’s music playing softly throughout the apartment when you enter.

“I wasn’t expecting this to happen,” Jihoon insists as he scrambles to turn on some lamps. “I swear, I just always have music playing.”

“Sure,” you tease him, bending down to slip out of your heels. 

You’re still a few inches taller than him without them on but he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. You certainly don’t. “I can turn it off if you’d prefer,” he offers. 

“No, that’s okay. I like having it on when-” you stop yourself mid-sentence, cheeks blooming with heat. You had been about to say, ‘when I’m having sex,’ and Jihoon seems to fill in the blank himself from the way he smirks at you. 

“Really? That’s good to know.”

You’re too flustered to think of a witty response so you just pucker your lips like you do when you don’t know what to say and hope he can’t tell how insane with lust his answer just made you. 

The lapse in his gentlemanly manner is brief and before things can go too far he takes your coat and purse and leads you to the couch in the living room. You sit and watch as he crouches in front of the fireplace, rolling up his sleeves. It’s a gas fireplace so all he has to do is turn the dial to the desired strength, there’s no soot or ash or really anything that would make him dirty, but you appreciate the view of his arms nonetheless. 

You know Jihoon is a big fitness buff. It’s one of the first things he ever told you, apologizing for how sweaty he was as he shook your hand and introduced himself. It’s been hard not to let that knowledge distract you whenever you see him now. You’ve caught yourself ogling his biceps and quads (and ass) an unhealthy amount of times in your consultations. You can let yourself get distracted tonight, though. Now that he’s not your client and you’re the girl he’s brought home. Now that he’s got his forearms out on display specifically for you to ogle. 

He joins you on the couch a moment later, creating a respectful distance between you. 

“Would you like anything to drink?” he asks suddenly. “I don’t have any alcohol in the house because I don’t really drink but I could make you something like we had at dinner. I also have Coke Zero and water and-”

You put your hand out to stop him, relieved to know he’s just as nervous as you are. “Water would be great, thanks.” 

“Ice?”

“If you have it.”

“I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t,” he points out. 

“Right. That’s... right.”

He laughs affectionately and touches your knee as he goes to stand from the sofa. His hand is warmer than you expect, making you suck in a quick breath that makes you both freeze. Your eyes meet his before his gaze shifts to your lips. 

“Do you... still want that water?” 

Your mouth does feel dry but for an entirely different reason. 

“Maybe later.”

-

He’s on top of you as soon as your back hits the mattress, strong thighs straddling your hips. His hair falls into his eyes and subsequently yours as he leans down and gently cups your face. 

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, kiss me,” you gasp, pulling him into you before he does. 

Jihoon groans the instant your lips touch his, grinding into you almost involuntarily. It isn’t long until you’re moaning too, practically writhing underneath him as he kisses you like he’s found God.

Everything about him is soft, except his hands. His voice, his tongue, his touch. His hands leave your cheeks and start to explore the rest of your body, grazing your chest and hips over your dress. 

His fingers skim the hem of it and dip just below the seam, lifting the fabric from your thighs before letting it float back down.You don’t know if he’s teasing you on purpose but it’s driving you crazy. You’ve wanted him for so long now that his self control feels cruel, like he’s dangling himself just out of reach. 

“I’m sorry, I got carried away,” he says, running a hand through his hair. 

“I honestly wanted you to get more carried away,” you admit.

“Really?”

“I thought I was making it obvious.”

“I didn’t want to assume,” he mumbles through a smug grin, “and I didn’t know how far you wanted to go tonight.”

“I want to go as far as you want to go,” you assure him. 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

You’re not typically one to sleep with someone on a first date, not for any religious, moral (or internally misogynistic) reason, you just don’t like being that vulnerable with someone you’ve just met. You’ve also found sex to be a lot more enjoyable with someone you feel connected to. 

So even though it’s technically your first date with Jihoon, you’ve known him for what feels like half of an eternity and craved him for every single moment of it. You aren’t going to deny yourself what you’ve longed for for ages. 

“In that case, can I eat you out?” he asks.

“Fuck yeah you can.”

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs as he positions himself between your legs and pushes your dress up to your hips.

“Really?” you sigh.

Jihoon kisses the inside of your thigh and then hums against it. “Mhm, every single time we were alone in that dark room I’d just think about crawling under that table and spreading your legs apart...” 

“You should have.”

Jihoon scoffs. “You would have gotten fired.”

“Worth it.”

“But isn’t this much better?” he asks, pressing his tongue over your panties. “I can take my time with you and you can be as loud as you want...”

Jihoon repeats the motion with his tongue and you whimper as if to prove his point. He’s barely done anything and your panties are already soaked through. To be fair, you’ve been wet since dinner but that was his doing too. All he had to do was look pretty and you were melting for him. 

“Want me to take these off?” he asks.

“God, please.”

“Here, lift up for me then, perfect. Now put your legs over my shoulders... good, just like that.”

He drowns himself in you, worshiping your cunt with his lips and his tongue and his entire being. He takes his time tasting all of you before moving on to what he knows you’re actually waiting for. You try to be patient, you know he’s been waiting for this just as long as you have, and it feels good... you just need more. 

He does give you more, eventually. His tongue dips inside of you when you’re least expecting it and your thighs clamp around his head in surprise. He’s completely unfazed by this, and pries them apart with ease, holding your legs open as he continues to drink you in. 

He switches between tongue fucking you and sucking on your clit a few times to figure out which you like more, settling on a pattern that has his name echoing off the walls of his bedroom. 

You can barely hear the music playing over the obscene sounds he’s making as he eats you out but you find you actually prefer them anyway. 

His mumbling is incoherent, muffled by you in every sense of the word. Still, you can tell he’s praising you, encouraging you to surrender to the pleasure. 

It doesn’t take much convincing because he has you on the edge in record time. No man has ever gotten you so close so fast, you don’t even think you’ve made yourself cum this fast and you have that shit down to a science. It’s over for you as soon as he adds his fingers into the mix. You wanted to hold off a little longer just to prove a point but Jihoon has his own point to prove.

You don’t necessarily need penetration to get off but having something to cum around does make orgasms stronger for you. He must know this, or at least have an inkling, because he pushes two fingers inside of you right when your breath catches in your throat and your body locks up and your vision starts to blur…

-

“Baby- is it okay if I call you baby? Are you alright?”

It’s more than okay, you think to yourself and then you realize the disembodied voice that sounds a lot like Jihoon’s is actually expecting an answer.

You open your eyes the tiniest bit to see a very wet, very concerned-looking Jihoon hovering above you. 

“You can call me whatever you want,” you tell him. 

“That wasn’t really the important question out of the two,” he sighs. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great!”

He breathes a sigh of relief and collapses against your shoulder. 

“What are you doing?” you laugh. “Aren’t we going to keep going?” 

Jihoon lifts his head and gives you a look. “You just came so hard you blacked out, don’t you want to take a break?” 

You shake your head. “No? Why would I?” 

His lips part and he sputters, “because you just-”

“It’s sweet that you’re worried about me, but I promise I’m fine. I’ve never been better.” 

“Never?” 

“Never ever.”

“So… I can kiss you again?” 

“As many times as you want.” 

The power you’ve bestowed on him in that one sentence immediately goes to his head and he spends the next several minutes pressing kisses into your skin as he undresses both you and himself. 

He kisses you in between every piece of clothing that comes off, every button of his shirt that he undoes, dragging out every moment until you’re both completely naked save for your ring and his necklace (and a condom). 

He’s huge, unsurprisingly. What is surprising is how hard he is already. You knew he was turned on, you could feel him through his pants when you were making out and he was grinding into you, but you didn’t realize it was like this. You haven’t even touched him and his cock is rock hard and flushed at the tip. Did he get that worked up just from giving you head? Just when you thought he couldn’t get any hotter...

He pumps himself a few times before easing into you, bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he struggles to keep his composure. You aren’t faring any better, hands flying to his biceps when he bottoms out. The stretch is more intense than you’re expecting. It knocks the breath out of your lungs and the thoughts out of your head. All you can do is lay there on the satin sheets and feel as Jihoon makes himself a part of you.     

“Are you okay?” you hear him ask distantly, voice trembling. 

“I’m perfect,” you manage to respond. 

“You are,” he agrees.

Your brows wrinkle in confusion as you try to blink him back into focus. Hm?”

He just smiles and pets your hair gently. “Don’t worry about it.”

“O-okay.”

“Am I good to start moving?” 

“Yes, yes please fuck me.”

You wrap your legs around his waist and pull his body even closer just in case he needs further convincing, gasping in relief when he finally does start to move. It’s slow at first, experimental. You’re still sensitive from cumming so every sensation is heightened. Every stroke feels better than the last and you can only hope it feels just as good for Jihoon. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans, “how are you so fucking wet?”

“I really like you,” you laugh, “and you’re so good at, like, everything! It’s unfair and it’s, fuck, not my fault.”

“I really like you too,” he confesses, starting to fuck you harder. You expect him to elaborate but he doesn’t, not right away. Instead, he lets his body do the talking for him while he busies his mouth with yours. You can still taste yourself on his lips along with traces of your lipgloss and chapstick that he’d long since kissed off. It’s intoxicating. He’s intoxicating.

When he raises his head and puts a hand on the headboard to steady himself, the necklace you’d made him dangles right in front of your face, the cross pendant just inches from your nose. He grabs it with his free hand and puts the charm between his teeth so that it won’t hit you, smirking at the way your eyes roll back.

“You like that?” 

 “Fuck you.”

He laughs, then mumbles, “God, you’re so hot. I’m so fucking close already.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him back down to you, down into another kiss. The chain still in his mouth presses into your lips, the cold metal a striking difference from the heat of your bodies. 

“Please tell me you’re close too,” he whispers.  

“So fucking close.”

You just need a little more to get you over that edge again. You release one of your arms from around his neck and snake it in between yourselves to rub your clit but Jihoon pushes it away and replaces it with his own. He repeats the same motions with his fingers that he’d done with his tongue, begging you to cum with him. 

“Let go for me, baby,” he urges, “wanna cum together. Please let me feel you.”

You don’t black out this time but you do cry, fingernails digging into his back as you fall apart under him. Jihoon fucks you through it, helping you both ride it out. He’s shaking by the time the aftershocks pass and carefully lays himself on top of you like a blanket so that you can both catch your breath. 

“S-sorry, I thought I’d last a lot longer,” he apologizes sheepishly. “Next time I will. Maybe. Your pussy is crazy though so you can’t hold me to that.”

“You’ve got such a way with words,” you scoff. 

“What can I say, I’m a songwriter. It’s in my blood.” 

You snort and push him off you, searching your phone. Your best friend had probably alerted you missing to the authorities by now after not hearing from you for however many hours it’d been since you last updated her. You find your phone under one of the pillows and see a barrage of texts from her and the groupchat just like you predicted. Snitch. You would have to grovel later, though, because Jihoon had gotten up to start the shower and returned to get you now that the water was warm. 

He helps you step into the basin and shows you how to adjust the temperature in case it isn’t to your liking before asking if you want him to stay. You do, and you point out that he needs to shower too so it would be more efficient if you showered together anyway. 

He joins you without a second’s hesitation, kissing your shoulder from behind as he begins to gently lather your body with soap. You return the favor after he’s done with you and soon enough he’s wrapping you and himself up in plush white towels he’d grabbed from the warmer next to the shower.  

“Stay the night?” he asks as he dries you off.

You don’t have anything you need with you because you hadn’t planned on spending the night. It’s usually impossible to sleep without your overnight essentials but you’re honestly so exhausted you think you could fall asleep standing up. 

“Don’t feel like you have to,” he adds when he senses your hesitation. 

“No, I want to,” you assure him. “I just wasn’t expecting to have a sleepover so I don’t have any of my things.”

“I have an extra toothbrush,” he supplies helpfully, like that’s the only thing that could have been preventing you from making a decision. 

You smile, trying not to laugh. “Thank you, that’d be great.”

He smiles back. “Anything for you.”

this was something kind of different but i hope you liked it bestie <3 can't wait to hear your thoughts i love youuuu

[naumin]

How to format, print, and bind a zine

This is a consolidated version of previous posts on zine making, with more detail and screenshots. For a version of this post on gdocs, click here.

This is a step-by-step guide on how to use InDesign (or similar programs) to format and print a zine. This can be used for fanzines, sketchbooks, anything. It’s also only one way to do things - there are as many methods as there are zines under the sun. If you’re interested in other ways, searching for zinemaking on youtube would be a start.

If you are printing your zine, your total page count must be a multiple of 4.

Examples of multiples of 4 ✅

4, 16, 112

Not a multiple of 4 ❌

7, 99, 31

This is because our book will be made of folded A4 sheets (that’s regular printer paper). 1 folded A4 makes 2 A5 pages. Each A5 page has a front and back. Therefore each sheet of paper makes 4 pages.

How to format

Open InDesign. Go to Create New > Print. Choose A5 and tick Facing Pages. Enter your page number (this can be changed later). I’ve put 12. Hit Create.

Locate the Rectangle Frame Tool.

Draw a rectangle over your whole page, or just the part where you want your images to go.

Press Ctrl+D and insert the image you want on that page.

That’s it! Repeat on every page and you’ll have a book. Promise.

Further reading

I need a free alternative to InDesign.

InDesign is free for the savvy but I also recommend Scribus which is free and open source and very lightweight. The method is exactly the same but the Rectangle Frame Tool is called Image Frame and the Ctrl+D shortcut will now be Right click > Get Image instead.

I need help with designing my A5 pages.

For my first sketchbook zines, I arranged several images on an A5 canvas in a program like CSP or Procreate and exported them as a JPG into InDesign or Scribus. You can do this if your images aren’t already A5 size or you don’t want to waste time with InDesign’s formatting tools.

I need to get fancier with it, format text, or export my file as small as possible.

Here are the InDesign tutorials I used and liked:

How to Add Page Numbers

How to keep Page Numbers on Top

How to Create a Table of Contents

What is Overset Text and How to Fix It <- essential for formatting text onto multiple pages

How to Reduce InDesign File Sizes

Formatting best practices

Remember that in addition to your front and back cover you also have an inside front and inside back cover. You can leave these blank or create an endpaper with a pattern or include a short message or something. Look inside any books or zines on your shelf for inspiration. Or don’t listen to me and put your first drawing or poem there. Just be aware printer paper is thin so you might be able to see it through the cover.

Avoid putting anything important in the gutter (inside edge) or outside edges of the page. Also be careful of creating double page spreads that go across the centre of the book. Because of how we will print and fold the pages, each half of your spread might not meet up perfectly. 

How to print it out

Open your completed book’s PDF file in Acrobat Reader (free download: https://get.adobe.com/reader/)

Print with the following settings: Booklet, and Booklet subset: Both sides. 

We can see a preview of our print-out on the window on the right. The pages will look jumbled up, but form the book in order when folded.

Congratulations! Now you’ll have a stack of paper. Once it’s folded it should resemble your (unbound) final book. Use a bulldog clip or similar to keep your pages together neatly.

How to bind (2 methods)

If your book is less than 30 pages, I recommend using a long arm stapler, or a stapler that can open to lay flat. They are cheap.

There are also special book binding staplers or heavy duty staplers, if your book is thicker than 30 pages. Just position your book so the staples are in the middle of the spine (or as close as you can get) and send it. They will be a little wonky… that’s fine.

You can also separate your book into staple-able segments and then join them into 1 big book with tape or thread.

For my 112-page zine, I used thread to bind it.

These instructions are copied from the video ‘How to Print & Bind a Zine’ by LFONinja.

You can watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zKYy6G7lIy8

You will need: Ruler, awl, thread, sewing needle

Make 5 holes in the crease of the pages like so. (½ page, then ½ of that, then ½ of that again)

If the paper is thick, be careful when making the holes. It helps to have a piece of blu tack, putty, or soft eraser underneath the spine of the book as you work for the point of the awl to push into.

I don’t recommend separating the papers into smaller stacks as your measurements will likely vary and the holes won’t align.

Use a needle and thread to go through the holes in the following pattern. At the end, tie a knot with the ends of the thread (1 and 9) in the centre of the book. You’re now done.

About page creep

Because we are using folded pages inserted into each other, they push each other out like so:

From: https://www.greenerprinter.com/ support/page-creep/

You can use a heavy duty or industrial paper cutter/trimmer to remove this edge. This is why we kept any important contents away from the edge of the page during formatting, because we don’t want this process to destroy our book’s contents.

About image edges

Because of how the printer works, the images in the book don’t extend all the way to the very edges of the paper and have a thin white border on all sides. It’s possible to crop these edges from your book with a heavy duty paper cutter. Be careful and start small (3mm or less). Depending on how much your pages move during the printing process, the size of the white edge can be different on different pages. Or you can just leave them in.

To read some of the zines featured in this post, check out naumin.itch.io.