#then it cut to a downward angle of his head

[dayshorizon]

I had a short dream about Zera and this is what he looked like

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (consent somno)

Sleeping with Simon means you might wake up from the tingling yet comfortable feeling coming from your breast, still disoriented from the slumber, letting out a sleepy whimper as the pleasure keeps coursing through your spine like tiny lightnings.

“Morning.” Simon doesn’t even detach his lips from your nipples as he greets you, lapping lazily and rolling the little peaks with his hot tongue.

“Simon…” Your fingers card through his locks to encourage him, he’s always extra horny in the early morning, but the eagerness in his movements is more evident now than the other days, practically burying his face in your breasts. “What got you so worked up today?” you ask him between the moans caused by his antics, his intentional sucking on one of your sensitive buds makes you unable to hold back a whiny cry of bliss.

“Wake up and see you sleeping in my arms, safe and sound…” Simon huffs out a laugh when he gives your nipples a nip, eliciting a yelp on you “You wearing my shirt, leaning against my chest, just the right angle for me to peek in the collar and see those cute nipples of yours…”

“It’s not my fault, you told me to wear one of your shirts last night.” Your pouty facade can’t be kept on for long, not when he finishes taking good care of your now fully hardened nipples, peppering kisses on his way downwards, as if memorizing your body and claiming his territory again with those pink love bites.

“And you’re the one who chose the thinnest and loosest shirt, ain’t you?” Taking your clothed clit between his lips, he smirks as he dart out his tongue, pressing down forcefully at your core and toying it skillfully, so you’ll throw your head back on the pillow and grind your needy pussy against his lips, begging for more with those sugar-coated pleas. “Fuck, all greedy and soaked just from me worshipping your tits, sweetheart? Who’s the eager one now, eh?”

“Just…Just pull down the panties already, god…” Not enough, your mind screams for more, yearns for his lips directly touching your wet folds.

“Bossy.” He chastises you, like you’re an impatient girl craving for candies, but he won’t deny you—or deny himself, from tasting what he’s been wanting since he woke up this morning.

Pulling down your panties and let it pull around your ankles, not even sparing time to take it off properly, he dives back between your thighs, wet tongue gliding through your core, drinking down those nectar as you reach out and push his face down further, the crook of his nose nudging your clit so good that you roll your hips to meet his consistent onslaught.

“Bloody hell, princess…smells so fucking good.” He groans, a low and half-growling one which only worsen your insatiable desires. Even when he lifts his head slightly to speak, his hands immediately move in, sliding two thick and long fingers into your dripping cunt, pumping and pressing the correct spots to make you scream out his name.

“Trying to wake the neighbors up with those cute moans, huh? ‘m not sure if they’ll feel grateful.” Thumbs spreading your pussy lips, he latches onto the now-exposed clit, bringing you another level of joy by sucking that twitching little thing.

“Simon! Si- oh, gonna…” You try to warn him before you get pushed over the edge abruptly, liquid gushing out and smearing his face, only for him to moan contently and make sure not to miss any drop.

“What a sight…” Straightening up and looking at the pool of mess staining the bedsheets, before his gaze travel to you face, eyes still blurry and cheeks tinted with rosy red, panting and quivering after squirting so hard for him, Simon smacks your pussy teasingly, earning another delectable whimper from you. “Squirting all over the sheets, will have to change it later.”

“Can’t go another round, baby…” You look down at him the moment his lips touch your puffy folds once again, big eyes meeting his dark ones with satisfaction and tiredness, but your protest is cut off by a soft smack on right on your trembling clit, and further words are replaced with moans when he ducks down to resume devouring his favorite meal, pressing a reassuring kiss to your pussy and croon. “Won’t stop until you squirt again for me, you can do it, love, and you will do it.”

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 196 }

control me.

sylus x (non mc)fem.reader

warnings: 18+ thirst post / drabble; minors don’t interact.

by choosing to interact with this 18+ content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings.

{ but i'm loving watching you think you're controlling me instead… }

it takes a herculean effort for sylus to maintain his nonchalant expression while watching you move back and forth from his cock. despite how his hands were itching with need to grab at your hips and simply slam your wet heat down on his shaft, sylus manages to maintain an air of feign arrogance, appearing almost bored.

he could feel his veins pulse against his temple, forcing his head to remain settled on the plush pillows settled on top of his bed, admiring the way you slowly slide your cunt up and down the length of his erection without fully sheathing him inside of you. sylus could feel his mouth going dry at the sensation, his gaze losing all trace of its ruby red color as an endless void seemed to take its place.

your hands were placed on the broad expanse of his chest, never once moving away from him as you provided his cock with an almost hedonistic sensation. he could feel the top side of his cock collecting at your honeyed arousal, causing it to twitch each time you continued your deliberate massages against him.

the squelching sounds heard coming from your pussy lips was enough for sylus to lose his control right then and there, but he manages to hold back, letting out a grunt in response. he watches the way your silken walls make a shiny sheen appear across his erection, causing the friction to become even more maddening for him.

“d-do you like this…?” you ask him with a pant, and he could practically feel your cunt swelling up with need for him. he lets out a hiss, forcing his head back into the pillow once more when he manages to tell you. “i love it. just feeling you like this makes me want you even more.”

a low, guttural groan was heard coming from him as he watches you removing yourself from his erection, your arousal seeming to drip down onto his pulsating cock, making you lick your lips in response. his heart was felt rapidly pounding against his chest, watching you with bated breath when you crawl down towards his cock and gave it a tentative lick.

red hot pleasure was felt coursing through his veins the moment you began licking and sucking at his shaft, with his hands going to your hair, allowing him to fuck your mouth as he bobbed your head up and down his cock.

“that’s it… fuck, that’s it.” you hum against his dick, curling your tongue up and down every inch of him as you traced at the veins felt pulsating inside of you. you continue your ministrations on him, hearing your boyfriend let out a string of curses as you felt the familiar twitch inside of your mouth.

not allowing him to climax so soon, you immediately pull away from him, a string of your saliva connecting your mouth to the tip of his cock as you proceeded to to lick your lips in response, further teasing him as you heard sylus let out an aggravated roar of your name.

“how dare you deny me-“ however, you manage to cut him off when you got back to straddling him, taking a hold of his cock as you expertly angled it against your slick heat before coming down on him a mere seconds later.

the moment he feels your silken walls envelope his cock in one swift thrust, sylus was forced to bite back his words as a groan escapes from him. “y-you cheeky little brat, hng!”

you smile sweetly down at him, proceeding to bounce up and down his cock. his expression darkens significantly, feeling angry at how you denied him of his prior release as he thrust upward, meeting your downward motion with a forceful stroke, making you toss your head back and nearly lose balance on top of him.

“oh my god, sylus!”

now, you were no longer in control as sylus forcefully pounds himself right up into your aching core, making your legs give out as you were forced to stop bouncing on top of him while trying to hold on to your balance against his chest. sylus gives you a cocky smirk, practically drilling into you as he keeps your hips still with his hands alone.

sylus keeps up with his breakneck pace, watching the way your eyes roll to the back of your head before stilling his hips completely inside of you. your walls clench around him the same time he shoots his seed directly inside of you, letting out a hiss at how your body was clearly trying to milk him for all he was worth from how much tighter your cunt felt surrounding him.

sweat covers his body when he lets out a grunt, feeling you land on top of him as you placed the entirety of your weight against him. a drunk expression paints your features, and he couldn’t help but find you achingly beautiful in such a fucked so good state.

your breathing was all he heard, earning a rich chuckle from him as he gently delves his fingers into your hair, now made damp from sweat. “was i too much?”

a weak giggle manages to escape from your parted lips, “mmm… no… you’re perfect. that was perfect. it still feels so good, even now.”

“heh, shall i continue pleasuring you?”

you gasp when sylus switches positions with you, forcing your back against the bed before spreading your legs, “let’s say you and i go a few more rounds… and by a few, i mean at least five more times.”

unable to fight back your mutual need for each other, you spread your legs even wider and allow sylus to retake his control on you, knowing that you would be exhausted by the time he was done with you-

but with the sheer amount of times sylus has taken you to heaven, you were certain that you didn’t mind one bit ♡

a.n. - i’m so thirsty for this man; send help 🫠

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[k4vehrtz]

⸻ FUCK THE LANDLORD ?!

. ✦ . starring — dom!top! t. fushiguro / m! reader

warnings — pwp, protected & unprotected sex, feminization, breeding kink, discussions of pregnancy, anal, minor degradation, creampie, cockwarming, implied dom/sub dynamic . ✦ . wc — 874 . ✦ . notes — anon said toji has a breeding kink and couldn't be any more right !! this man makes me feel things...

The groan that slips past Toji Fushiguro’s bloodied lip is nothing short of pure frustration. Then, as he throws his head back to emphasize this, he narrows his gaze. One of the fingers that was tangled in your dishevelled hair is brought to your lower lip. Prodding at it, at first, before he drags it downward for a reason unknown to you.

Your mind is elsewhere, focused only on the rhythm of his hips against yours as he drags his cock in and out of your winking hole. Your ‘boycunt’, as he calls it. It’s loud, lewd, and has your cock standing at full mast, throbbing as it threatens to splatter another load of cum onto your exposed stomach.

“Please,” You whimper, and you haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re pleading for. Maybe it’s for his permission to cum, paint your stomach with your bodily fluid like a debauched slut as he’d made you do so many times before. Or, perhaps, it’s a plea for him to go harder on you — your way of saying ‘I can take it!’ through short gasps that are cut off by your moaning and mewling in utter bliss.

He clicks his tongue in what you presume to be disapproval but it’s hard to say. His finger, or, rather, his entire hand has been moved away from your mouth, now tracing the outline of your stomach. It’s strange, which you convey by way of knitting your brows together, feeling him caress the fat of your stomach like that as the head of his cock presses against your prostate at that angle that makes you see stars.

“Maybe Megumi needs a younger brother or sister to get him out of that shell of his,” He muses in between grunts that border on animalistic as your cock begins to spurt another load of cum onto your stomach; the stimulation of your prostate proving to be too much for you. “At the rate we’re going yer’ going to give him a younger sibling.”

You shake your head — grimacing as the pile of used condoms comes into view. Your face heating up all over again (not that it had ever stopped, really). Toji, utterly unbothered by your attempt at denial continues, “How would you explain it? ‘I let him fuck me once a month instead of paying his rent in the form of cash and got knocked up somehow’?” He asks, his voice is all rough and manly, but there’s that unmistakable boyish amusement to it that his lazy smirk only highlights.

You want to tell him how ridiculous he sounds right now. Not only is that a shit explanation but it’s entirely impossible. It’s at the tip of your tongue, really, but so is your squeals as he continues his assault on your ass.

“Should I marry you?” He laughs, pressing the rough pads of his fingers (now with both hands) into the fat of your stomach as the rhythm of his hips becomes more erratic. He’s so close; the veins lining his thick cock throbbing against your walls as they clench around him. You could hear the sound of his balls smacking against you echoing throughout the room.

“Tell me, boy, do you want me to cum inside you like this? No condom protecting you from the possibility of a life-long commitment?” He pants, eyes gleaming with something you can’t quite discern, as loose strands of hair begin to cling to his sweaty forehead. And when you’re like this (you swear, your eyes have rolled to the back of your head), body jolting upwards on the mattress with each thrust of his hips like you’re nothing more than his fleshlight, the prospect doesn’t seem all that bad.

It admittedly takes some effort to string a sentence together. Your throat feels raw — a testament to all the noise you’ve made through the past few rounds. But you do, eventually, string one together. “I... I want it,” You respond, your voice wispy as your chest heaves, “I want to give Megumi a younger sibling.”

Toji smiles at that. It isn’t a warm smile; If the wolf smiled in Little Red Riding Hood, this would be it. All teeth and restrained aggression. But Toji doesn’t restrain himself per se, he continues to chase his high albeit with more resolve. His attention solely focused on breeding you — impregnating you, if he could.

Say what you will about Toji Fushiguro — and you can say a lot — he’s a man of his word. He doesn’t stop rutting his hips until his cock is painting your gummy walls white with his cum. Even then, as he rides out his high, he doesn’t detangle himself from you. He’ll see this through until the end.

You, on the other hand, are writhing underneath him. Eyes fluttering, threatening to close, but you dare not close them. Not when he’s still inside you like this, plugging your ass with his cock, trapping his cum inside you.

“You’re disgusting,” You grumble, exasperated, as you bring a hand to his face, tracing the outline of his jaw. He doesn’t kiss you — it doesn’t feel right to do that right now — but he does smile knowingly. “Then make me pay rent some other way.”

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Butter

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: None

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

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

Word count: 3.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Especially when the man looks like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs. ‘Well, yeah I did -’

‘I’m guessin’ it’s for a birthday?’

He nods sheepishly. ‘It is.’

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

‘Two, actually.’

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The thought comes to you unbidden - what a man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Can I, now?’ he teases.

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

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

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

‘Good?’ you barely manage to squeak.

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

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

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

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

He shakes his head. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘Sarah.’

‘What colour does Sarah like?’

‘Any and all shades of pink.’

‘I can work with that.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Sounds like you guys make a good team.’

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

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

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

‘I was just gonna call a taxi.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘Do you know the steakhouse on Third Street?’

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

‘You been?’

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

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

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

‘Fourth, actually.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Daily,' he answers without skipping a beat.

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

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

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

‘Happy birthday, Joel Miller.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I like the sound of that.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘How?’

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

‘Like - a date kind of dinner?’

‘Yeah, like a date,’ he nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[byhees]

when you accidentally hurt yourself.

엔하이픈 ・ female reader + word count 600 genre fluff established relationship non-idol au warnings not proof-read skinship kissing petnames mention of injuries, cuts — more

a/n. requested!

heeseung would be so incredibly sweet; the way he’d tend to your injuries with such gentle touches— “you alright, baby?” he’d ask, looking up to meet your gaze, his hands in the midst of bandaging the cut on your knee; would raise a hand to softly wipe away fallen tears, planting a pretty kiss on your lips to make you feel all better…

jay would, initially, begin nagging at you; although there’s a furrow painted on his features, the soft look in his eyes doesn't fail to show his care and concern— “baby... didn’t i tell you before that it’d be dangerous?” he’d lightly chide, tending to the wound on your leg with soft caution; wouldn’t tear his gaze from you, worry-filled eyes watching as you carry out daily tasks with a limp— would offer his help in a heartbeat…

jake would be so soft; doesn’t hesitate to rush to your side, an arm swiftly wrapping around your build to steady and support your bodyweight— his first priority would definitely be your comfort; wouldn’t wait a mere millisecond to carry you in his arms, resting you at a bench nearby; “oh gosh... did you sprain your ankle? do you think you're still able to walk?” he’d ask, though it seems natural to him that he piggyback you back home, no matter the answer; would press sweet kisses all over your face as consolation…

sunghoon would be so meticulous, despite the injury being a small cut on your finger; “is this okay, baby? or does it hurt a lot?” he’d check in with you almost minutely, pure concern clouding his eyes— and when you’d reply with a little giggle, he’d only shoot his gaze towards your direction, lips curling downwards in a small frown; “what's so funny?” he’d ask, lips puckering in a tiny pout; ‘charming’ would be a better word, you think— especially when he’s carefully angling a huge bandaid over your little paper-cut…

sunoo would be gentle beyond the capabilities of words; the way he’d softly gaze up at you, slipping a small “this will hurt a little”, before lightly dabbing the cut with a disinfecting wipe; would probably pick out the cutest bandaid for you. “be careful, okay? it hurts to see you in pain,” he’d add, lightly ruffling the top of your head with adoration brimming from his gaze…

jungwon would, unexpectedly, be really serious; if it were to be concerning any other thing, he’d probably be more lighthearted— your health and safety, however? that tops the list of importance; doesn’t waste another second to dash over, one knee to the ground as he examines the gaping wound on your leg; although his brows dig deeply into his skin, a disgruntled expression glued onto his face, he’d try his best to make his concern less obvious, not wanting you to worry. “c’mon baby, i’ll carry you on the way back— it’s no biggie,” he’d add, flashing a sweet smile towards your direction…

riki would be so worried; one second you two were jokingly fooling around, the next you were laying on the ground, a pained expression tugging on your features— would immediately drop everything and anything just to check up on you; would be so tender, yet cautious, not wanting to be the one inflicting pain on you— “is this okay for you? let me know if it gets uncomfortable”, he’d softly say, tending to the cut on your leg with pure gentleness; “gosh.. you’re so clumsy, baby”, he’d lightly chide, shaking his head in soft disbelief— best believe that he’d spoil you with affection and tons of kisses throughout your recovery…

taglist open! @halcyoni-ki @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @vnsux @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sona-verse01 @lilly-bubblelops @smouches @mrchweeee @luvistqrzzz @nwjws @ibsysbsfsunsbs @rikisly @amyysfics @mixtape-racha @berry-and-kkami @rikislady @gweoriz @czlluvriki @okwonyo @okwons networks! @kflixnet @enhanet @k-labels

[strangerstilinski]

hiii my dear <333

would love if you could combine [heal] and [kiss] with steve 🫶

love u n have the bestest day

[HEAL] sender ends up in the receiver's lap trying to tend to their wounds to the best of their abilities. [KISS] the sender lowers themselves into the receiver's lap in order to kiss them properly.

Steve is bleeding. Again.

And why is it that Steve always seems to be fucking bleeding? If it's not a fistfight, it's inter-dimensional monsters. And if it's not monsters, it's foreign governments who hold no qualms against beating and torturing minimum-wage mall employees in the hopes that it might yield answers.

This isn't like any of those times. You know that. And yet, watching the slow trail of blood ooze from the gash at Steve's hairline, crimson dripping slow down his temple and smearing into his brow — It makes your stomach turn. Makes your knees wobble just slightly. The floor suddenly feeling decidedly unsteady beneath your feet.

You'd asked him to find a casserole dish and he'd practically crawled his way inside one of the lower kitchen cabinets in his search. Wide shoulders crowded into the space, his narrow waist on display as he reached even farther and prompted his shirt to ride up. Your eyes had been glued to the dimples at the base of his spine, objectifying gaze too stuck on the way his jeans pulled on his backside and thighs, the way the elastic waistband of his briefs cut into the softness of his hips-

He'd yelled triumphantly as he re-emerged, and you'd been too distracted to warn him to watch his head when he turned a bit too early and bashed against the edge of the opening with a resounding thunk.

You couldn't care less about cooking dinner, now. You're entirely too consumed with worry at the sight of the blood pouring from Steve's head. And, alright, pouring might be a bit dramatic. But your boyfriend is bleeding, and it's slightly your fault.

You push him from the kitchen and he drops dutifully into a chair when you give his shoulder a pointed shove. Both of your hands find their way to his face, warmth bleeding into your palms as you try to angle his head into the light a bit.

He only winces a little when you push his hair up out of the way so you can see where his skin is split. Your fingers tighten around his jaw, biting into his cheek as you turn his head this way and that in an attempt to get a better look. A frown pulls at your lips as you note the swelling that's already building into a sizable lump, and no sooner have your lips quirked downward when Steve's hands find the backs of your thighs.

"Hey, pretty sure I'm the one who's supposed to be pouting, pouty." His hands tighten, dragging you forward until you're standing slotted between his legs.

Warm, honeyed brown eyes peer up at you, his hands rubbing up and down the backs of your thighs in a comforting motion. The way he looks after you, even now, when he's the one who's injured — It sends your heart thrumming wildly.

You snatch some paper towel from the tabletop and dab at his head lightly, frown sinking further when blood immediately wells back up and begins to follow that same path down his forehead and into his eyebrow.

"It seems like it's bleeding a lot," You tell him, blotting at the growing egg on his head again, "I don't think it should be bleeding this much. Should it be bleeding this much?"

"It's a head wound, they bleed a lot." He shrugs, like it's no big deal.

You repeat his words back, mockingly, putting a little more pressure on the towel to his head. And then, "How much is 'a lot'?"

To your frustration, Steve just shrugs again, "I dunno, should stop in the next few minutes, I guess. If it does, we're good. If not, I guess I'm probably a goner-"

The pressure you're applying to the towel increases enough to have Steve wincing again, but you refuse to feel bad.

"That isn't funny." Your eyes drift as Steve's lower lip juts out, soft and plush and not even remotely portraying genuine apology. "Now who's pouting?" You grumble quietly.

"The guy who just came within an inch of braining himself to find your casserole dish, actually." Steve returns your snark all-too easily, "You know what'd really help, though?"

Your eyes narrow just slightly at the sweet edge to his voice, at the way his palms press with a little more intent into the backs of your legs. He's still looking up at you, lips quirked up now into that flirty grin of his, chin jutting out like he's expecting you to just bend down to kiss him already.

"What?" You ask, infuriatingly breathless in the wake of his touch, the gentle rumble of his voice.

"C'mere."

He pulls at your thighs again and you realize he's trying to get you to sit down. You smile softly, stepping back from between his legs and settling into place in his lap. Your thighs frame his hips, towel still pressed firmly to his head all the while.

"Better?" You ask, nosing at the space between his brows before placing a fleeting peck to his forehead.

Steve hums, "No, no, not quite. Think you could spare another kiss?"

"Oh, I suppose," You sigh woefully, like it's a big ask, though you both know it isn't. Your lips find the bridge of his nose, "Like this?"

Steve hums again, "Not quite. Little lower, honey."

You lean back just a bit to look at him, the way his eyes have clouded over with something like adoration. It still makes your head spin, that he looks at you like that-

Your thumb strokes his cheek, lips finding the tip of his nose and just staying there for a moment — waiting.

"Lower." He orders softly, his nose nudging up against you as he tips his chin up toward you.

Your lips brush his cupids bow, faint stubble scratching softly when you press the faintest kiss to his mouth. "Here?" You whisper against his lips, breath mingling warmly with his own, "Does this help?"

He knocks the bloodied paper towel from your hands and ignores your protests as he drags you back down for another kiss, this one deeper.

You're breathless when you pull back again, your eyes glued to the shine of spit on Steve's lips before your gaze flicks up to the drying blood at his hairline, the cut clotted and no longer bleeding.

"Hey, you stopped bleeding." You tell him, relieved.

"Yeah, that's great-" He says blankly, already sliding his hand to the nape of your neck to pull you back in, "Now, c'mere-"

[twola]

i know arthur is a giver but sometimes i think he’d like being cruel. i have this image of him leaned back in a chair taking a drag out of his cigarette with reader writhing on his lap with tears in her eyes practically begging for him to do anything to her while he watches with feign indifference

Hooo boy. Okay, this is my first shot at a true low honor Arthur.

Lookin' for Trouble

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

The afternoon light was more than enough for you to finally get to reading after getting Grimshaw’s list of chores done. Finally, you’d be able to crack open this book that Hosea lent you all those weeks ago.

All of a sudden, the light is obscured over the pages of your book, and when you look up, you place a hand over your eyes to see the mountain of a man before you, peering down at you with a cigarette hanging off his lips.

“Oh, Arthur, I didn’t realize you’d be back so quick.” You smile up to him, closing the book and moving to your knees to stand up.

An outstretched hand juts into your view, “Ain’t nothin’ interesting in that backwater town.”

You take it and allow him to pull you up, but you frown up at him and don’t let go, turning both of your hands so that his knuckles face the two of you. The skin is broken and oozing a small amount of blood.

“Oh dear, let me clean that up for you in your tent.”

You drop his hand and he follows, smoking that cigarette without a reply. On its head, it must be a funny sight, the grizzled outlaw following your small frame back to his tent so dutifully. 

He pulls the canvas down after the two of you enter the tent, tall enough being built off his wagon. The perks of being the enforcer of the group. You make yourself busy looking in the chest at the foot of his cot for some alcohol as you pull a handkerchief from the pocket of your skirt.

Arthur sits down on the edge of the cot, taking that old black hat from his head and dropping it atop the pillow that had seen better days.

“Here we go,” you dab your handkerchief with a bottle of god-knows-what and move back toward where Arthur sits.

He places the still-lit cigarette in the little glass tray at his bedside, the end of it continuing to smolder as he blows smoke toward the top of the tent, away from you.

You frown, twisting your head to change your view of his outstretched knuckles. “It’s an awkward angle, I-”

He cuts you off by making you yelp as his free hand shoots around your hip and pulls you down, your rear colliding with his firm thigh, his hand on your hip balancing you as you regain your composure.

“Oh… thanks…” you blush slightly, having been caught off guard. You return to dabbing at the broken skin of his knuckles, his large hand outstretched and dwarfing yours, as you perch upon his thigh, your back flush to his barrel chest.

“How did this happen?” You ask softly as you pick at the dirt in his inflamed, broken skin. 

“Y’know, a bit of this, bit of that.”

You sigh, “I really hope you ain't out pickin’ fights, Arthur.”

Arthur hums dismissively in response, jostling you slightly on his thigh. He props the cigarette between his teeth and his free hand moves forward and begins bunching your skirts up, the hem of your dress being pulled higher and higher.

“Arthur-” You go to scold, but his searching hand gravitates right over where he’s looking for, pressing against your cunt through your bloomers. You give another yelp as his finger digs at the cotton, prodding and stroking and petting.

“A-Arthur, I’m tryin’ to-”

As you go to grip his forearm with both hands, his injured hand darts downward, grasping both of your wrists and holding them away from your body, essentially binding you and leaving you unable to stop his ministrations.

A low, satisfied noise rumbles out through his chest as you pant, his fingers edging the leg of your bloomers open and touching your bare skin. Just barely touching, teasing, as you squirm in his lap, his hold on your wrists as strong as iron. 

You honest-to-god whine, tears welling behind your eyes as you squirm in his lap, trying to break free of his hold on your hands, trying to jut your hips into his hand more.

“A-Arthur- god, please-” you gasp aloud, squeezing your eyes shut tightly as you beg. He removes his hand entirely and you nearly sob at the loss.

Cracking your eyes open, you see him pull the cigarette from his mouth and place it in that glass tray, mashing the butt into the ash as he puts it out. He bounces his thigh as his hand returns to your cunt, chuckling darkly as you continue to squirm.

“Ain’t you just the prettiest little thing when you’re all needy like this?”

A fresh set of tears burst from your eyes as his hand snakes into your bloomers again to rub at you.

“P-please-”

“Please what, what d’ya need darlin’?”

He cups your cunt fully and helps you roll your hips over his thigh bone, and it’s all you can do not to sob loudly at the frustration.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Arthur please, please god, please touch me.”

“I am touchin’ ya’.” He responds, pleased with himself as you struggle against his grip, iron-like in its strength.

“In-inside-” you pant, continuing to squirm against him.

“Hmm, like this?”

You are able to bite back the scream you nearly let out as Arthur slides his trigger finger into your dripping cunt. He curls it with a practiced precision, and you buck in his lap, throwing your head back against the curve of his shoulder. Your temple brushes against his days-old beard before he leans in against you.

“There’s my girl,” he nips at your earlobe with haughty pride, fully taking satisfaction with the way you writhe atop him, “Makin’ them noises like a whore.”

There’s no snapping back at him, no retort back at his dry, teasing humor. You are able to do nothing but give a breathy sigh, almost agreeing with his statement.

Arthur grabs your hips and hoists you up to stand, quickly following and pushing you two stumbling steps to the table where a few of his guns are spread out. One sweep of his arm and the guns clatter into the grass before you're abruptly bent at the waist and spread out on the table.

“Arthur-”

One of his large hands splays across your lower back as he fiddles with the buttons of his pants. Essentially keeping you pinned down on the table, you have no option but to lay there and take whatever he is going to give you.

Arthur pulls your skirts up, tossing them over your hips before yanking your bloomers down and over the swell of your ass. His hand is between your legs quicker than you can sputter in indignation, and you bite your lip to keep from moaning as he strokes his thick fingers in and out of your wetness. Your eyes tightly shut as you breathe out your nose, and for a moment, you’re empty as he pulls away.

The hot, blunt head of his cock prods your entrance before he pushes himself inside you, in one strong thrust. Your fingers clamp on the edge of the table as you clench your teeth at the intrusion, fluttering on the edge of pain as his thick cock stretches you. It’s always like this, he’s not much of a gentle man. 

“Tha’s it, what a good girl you are, takin’ everything I give ya.” Arthur drawls as he begins to buck his hips forward into yours, unflinchingly setting a rough, fast pace.

You’re unable to last after all the stimulation before, and it’s not long into the slamming of him into you that you begin to get that feeling that your release was imminent.

“A-Arthur-” you gasp out as you reel toward completion, the table squealing beneath you as he rocks his hips into yours faster, harder - punishing - all six foot of him hunches over you as he fucks you into a wet, messy orgasm, you pressing your forehead into the table as you clench around him.

He grunts, jerking his hips backward as his hands clamp harshly around your hips, squeezing so hard you’re sure there will be bruises in the morning. You feel the hot splatter of his spend on your rear as he lets out a long breath through his nose, trying himself to be quiet within the confines of the tent.

You pant, still bent over the small table, your skirts flipped over your hips as your knees shake. You hear Arthur fiddle with his pants before returning to you, his hands grasping at your thighs greedily before pulling at your skirts to right them.

He swats, albeit gently, at your rear before your skin disappears under your skirts. 

“You gonna let me finish cleaning you up?” You ask, leaning over slightly to pick up your discarded bloomers from the ground, tucking them into your pocket.

Arthur sits back on his cot, his pants still unbuttoned and open unapologetically, as a sly smile creeps across his face.

“If yer really gonna clean me up, I think there’s a lot less clothing involved.”

[yesimwriting]

Known

A/n i see this as taking place a little after  this , but they're both separate drabbles that can be read on their own :)

Summary: Late night drinking turns into reminiscing between friends. Or, in which you realize that you've always felt safe around Logan.

Warnings/info: age-gap (both characters are of consenting age!!), casual drinking, unnoticed pining, technopath!reader

----

The colors and voices radiating from the TV screen are easier to feel than experience, the electric current buzzing against your skin.

You move to sit up a little straighter, hands pressing into plush cushioning as you adjust. There's a distance to the way you're feeling, as if some odd lightness has managed to wedge itself between you and the world around you.

You lean forward, reaching for the bottle abandoned on the coffee table in front of you. Your fingers press into the glass as you move back into place, the side of your thumb tapping against the neck of the second beer you've finished tonight. A third might be nice, but the darkness around you makes the door feel too far to even think about getting to the kitchen.

There is a bottle of whisky only an arm's length away...it'd be easy to--

"No." The word is flat in its finality.

A soft laugh gives you away immediately. You press a palm against your lips as if that'll take the sound back. Sometimes Logan reads you so well you have to wonder if he has secret psychic abilities he hasn't told anyone about. "I didn't say anything."

He turns his head, lips pressing together in what feels like an attempt to dismiss the amusement behind his eyes. "Didn't have to." Logan's attention shifts back to the glass in his hand. "You're not drinking it."

You shift, turning to better analyze him. There's a stiffness to him that doesn't suit the amount of alcohol in his system. Maybe he's overcompensating for something, like his level of commitment to the stance he's taking. "Okay," the response is warm, cheery.

Logan lets out a breath as he leans forward, angling himself so close his forehead nearly touches yours. He watches you with an openness that's more dizzying than the alcohol in your system. "I mean it."

His proximity is so disorientating you nearly forget that you're meant to respond and not just stare at him.

"Fine," a genuine concession. Nothing else comes to mind, and you can't bring yourself to look away from him. The overwhelming desire to look at him is far from rare, but you're usually better at suppressing it.

You set one of your hands against the space between the two of you. "I'm gonna go get another beer."

He sighs, as if something about the statement has deeply drained him. "You're not."

Your lips part in a mock gasp. "Are you cutting me off?"

The joke seems to ease him, the corner of his mouth pulling itself upwards. "You're drunk."

Please--who gets drunk off of two beers? You narrow your eyes, not sure if you're more offended by the assumption or his hypocrisy. "Am not."

He has the audacity to smile fully. "Then let's keep it that way." The side of his hand moves to rest against the back of your palm. He's--Logan's always so warm. "Don't need to make putting you to bed any harder, princess."

An uneasy warmth begins to crawl its way up your neck. "Y'know you've had twice as much to drink as me, and you're still going."

You press your lips together in an attempt to hide the fact that you're arguing for the sake of it more than out of a desire for more alcohol.

There's a beat of silence as Logan tilts his chin downwards, making the distance between the two of you feel even smaller than it really is. "And when you're my age, you'll get a third beer."

You let yourself openly frown. "You're no fun."

He sighs, attention shifting back to his glass. "Don't pout."

"I'm not," it's a little more directly dishonest than you'd usually be, but the mood seems easy enough for you to get away with it. "I'm just...talking."

Logan watches you for a moment, doubt etched into his expression. "Sure, kid."

You roll your eyes as you shift away, arm stretching forward to place the bottle back on the coffee table. When you lean back, body pressing into the couch, a strangely poignant wave of drowsiness hits you.

The show you had been forcing Logan to watch has been replaced by something bright and loud. The sitcom had been familiar in that slightly off way, the theme song and characters like something out of a recurring childhood dream.

Before your thoughts can snag on the blurriness of your past, you lift a hand. You let your mind give into the draw of the electric current, the two melding until all you have to do to change the channel is flick your wrist. You flick through a few of them before settling on a show you're much more familiar with.

"You're a regular universal remote."

Despite yourself, you smile. The more you've worked on using your powers, the better you've gotten at motor control. Before, sometimes so much as touching something plugged into the wall was enough to make you lose control. "Much cooler than being the person that blew up the toaster."

He laughs once at the memory, the sound low but warm. "Or electrocuting me."

You glare. "I never electrocuted you." It's the truth. Your first few days here had been hectic, the stability you were being offered seemed too good to be true; every instinct in your body begged you to get out before it was too late. But you hadn't hurt anyone.

"But you thought about it." You don't have decent response. When you met Logan, you were running on nothing but adrenaline. "It's okay, I didn't make the best impression."

When the two of you first met, Logan had been...gruff, and maybe defensive in a warranted way, but you can't remember ever not liking him. Maybe that's why you felt more comfortable around him than anyone else, Logan never spoke to you in a way that felt like a facade.

But he doesn't need to know that, so you just shrug. "We're good now, though."

The show cuts to commercial break, an ad for detergent filling the screen. You let yourself relax further into the couch, your head moving to rest against Logan's arm.

"Yeah," he mumbles, "We're good."

You're aware of your blinking, of the weight of your eyelids and the focus needed to pull them back into place. Logan's presence makes it easier to accept the sluggishness and the vulnerability that comes with it. This isn't the first time he's made you feel okay about something like this.

"Logan?" He hums once in acknowledgement. You let out a quiet breath, the words briefly tangling in the back of your throat. "I'm glad you were the one that found me when I was like that."

He's quiet for a moment, and then his hand squeezes yours. "Me, too."

His voice is so quiet it almost feels like an extension of the electricity floating through the air, another thing that's easier to feel than to know. Your eyes fall shut, and you're comfortable enough to let them stay that way.

----

Taglist: @whyausername99

[kingscythe-art]

Behind every tumblr sexyman is a bear who is just absolutely GOING THROUGH IT

ID and alternate versions (no glow + no string) under the cut :]

[start ID:

A drawing of Bill Cipher and Stanford Pines from Gravity Falls. It is mostly rendered in different shades of purplish gray, with sketchy ballpoint lineart. Bill is in a 3/4 view, floating on the left, with one knee drawn up and a hand held up to his eye coquettishly. His other hand is trailing behind him. He’s looking over his “shoulder” to the right. He is surrounded by a faint yellow glow.

Ford is on the right, also in a 3/4 angle, head tilted slightly downwards. He is shown from his shoulders up and looks to be in his mid-60s, with wrinkles and spiky hair that stands up at the front. He is wearing a dark turtleneck sweater and slightly cracked glasses, and scowling wearily off to the right.

A thin, swirling red line connects them; it loops around Bill’s left wrist and ankle and Ford’s head.

end ID.]

alt versions!

[aerynwrites]

Whittle Mistakes

Halsin x GN!Reader

A/N: Based off this Request. Hope you all enjoy this little fluffy piece!

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: small injury, magic healing, mostly pure fluff

The afternoon is a mild one today, the usual heat giving way to a pleasantly cool breeze as you listen intently to Halsin’s instructions. 

You managed to convince the druid to show you how to whittle, a feat that actually took very little convincing in truth. Once you found out about his hobby, you’d been wanting to ask him to teach you. Not only because you are genuinely interested, but because you knew it’d give you an excuse to spend time with him away from the others. 

He’s been increasingly patient with you, bringing all of the supplies you both would need in order to take on this task. He even had small blocks of wood already prepared, and was now walking you slowly through the steps of what to do. 

He’d already shown you how to draw a rough shape of what you want to create on the sides of the wood with a small piece of charcoal, and now he was showing you the actual techniques of whittling. 

He holds the wood in one hand, and his knife in the other, large hands holding the tool steady as he slowly carved small slivers of wood away. 

“The key is to not cut away too much wood at once,” he says, as you lean over to watch from your seat next to him. “You can always cut more away, but you cannot put it back. Better to go slow.” 

You nod as you continue to watch him. You’re both sitting in a small clearing in the woods, Halsin having one leg propped up to support the arm holding the knife while the other lays comfortably out in front of him as he works. You sit right beside him, cross legged as you support the block of wood on one of your legs. 

“Okay,” you say, nodding. “Slow and steady wins the race.” 

Halsin smiles. “Precisely. Now,” he gestures to your block, “go ahead and start, let me know if you have any questions and I will also try to keep an eye on you if you need assistance. But there’s no better teacher than instinct, so just do what you think is best.” 

You nod as he turns back to his work, but don’t kiss the way his eyes flick back over to you as you pick up your knife. From everything he’s told you so far, it can’t be too hard, once you get to the intricate parts of the project it will be, but right now you’re just trying to get a general shape. 

What could go wrong? 

You start slowly, pressing the knife’s sharp edge against the wood and pulling it towards you slowly as you dutifully work to shave off more and more of the wood. Halsin is of course whittling a duck; but you’ve opted to try and carve a bear, wanting to give it to Halsin at the end. 

Silence falls over the clearing as you both work, only occasionally making small talk or commenting on one another’s work. It’s comfortable like this, a nice reprieve from everything happening around you all. 

You and Halsin have grown close over the past several weeks, and to say you were surprised when he expressed interest in you was an understatement. But you’d happily accepted, and as time went on, it feels like you both have known one another for years, falling into such a comfortable partnership that it never made you think twice. 

Even now, despite the silence, you’re content just being close to him and sharing something that he cares about. You’re happy to just be in his presence even if there’s no words passing between you. 

Soon, more defined shapes start to appear from your respective wood blocks, Halsin’s looking much more identifiable than yours. Taking a moment to look at your misshapen attempt at a bear, you realize its malformity is because of its head. You don’t seem to carve enough wood away to create a defined difference between the head and body. 

But as you try to do so, you find your knife slipping against the awkward angle. So, in an attempt to achieve your goal, you turn the wood in your lap, and move to run the knife away from your body, hoping the downward angle will help. 

You just start to push the knife when you see Halsin reach for you. 

“Be careful, my heart-“

His warning comes too late. Your knife slips from the woodblock, and with the pressure of you pushing down, you’re unable to react fast enough to stop the sharp blade from slicing into your leg where the wood rests. 

You cry out in surprise more than pain, but as the blood wells up from the shallow cut, the sharp sting makes itself known. 

Halsin is up and crouching in front of you before you can even blink, taking the knife and wood from you. The blade cut through the thin cotton of your pants, allowing you to see the wound clearly. It’s nothing serious and doesn’t seem too deep, but Halsin brows are creased with worry nonetheless. 

He reaches out for you, placing gentle hands on your thigh just around the wound, inspecting it quickly. 

“Halsin,” you say, reaching out to place a hand atop his own. “I’m fine, it’s just a little cut. Nothing some bandages won’t fix.” 

Your words fall on deaf ears, because before you can stop him, bright golden light glows beneath his palms and you watch as the wound closes up in the blink of an eye, the pain ebbing away until it’s gone completely. 

Halsin looks up at you then, eyes soft and you can’t help but let out a quiet huff. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say quietly as Halsin shifts closer, one hand coming to rest behind you as a smile tugs at his lips. 

“I could not very well leave you injured, what kind of partner would I be then?” 

You roll your eyes, but reach up to cup his cheek affectionately. “You’re such a mother hen, sometimes.” 

A small chuckle escapes him before his lips capture your own in a chast kiss. One your return happily before he pulls away. 

“I should have warned you not to carve away from yourself,” he says softly, moving back so he’s sitting in front of you once more, reaching for your now lumpy piece of wood. 

“It’s alrigh,” you assure him, taking your project from his hands as you pick up your knife once more. “I should have known that wouldn’t end well,” you admit, staring down at your sad excuse for a bear. “I was trying to make this look more like a bear but…I think it’s a lost cause.” 

Smiling Halsin shakes his head. “Do not give up, my heart. You can achieve whatever you set your mind to, even something as simple as whittling.” 

You laugh, and start to continue your work. “We’ll see about that.” 

The smile on his lips doesn’t leave as he takes up his position beside you once more, and this time, you shift to lean into his side as you work, smiling when you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I love you,” you tell him. 

“And I love you more,” he replies. 

Then, the comfortable silence falls over you once more. The only sound being the gentle scraping of knives in wood as you both continue your work.

[bennysblabbering]

An Unexpected Reaction

contents: armpit kink, musk kink, thigh riding, praise, cumming in clothes (you're the one cumming), pet names used are babe/baby and cutie

words: 1.3k

g/n afab reader

↓ Ficlet below the cut ↓

Toji's just finished his workout in the other room, the heavy equipment hitting the ground with a hard 'thunk'. You're sitting on the couch as you watch his silhouette make its way down the hall and closer to you, his perfect broad torso on display; his outfit of choice is simply a pair of compression shorts with no shirt, and it makes you salivate at the sight.

The exhausted man sits down next to you with a huff, leaning back and stretching his arm across the back of the couch, his other hand uncapping a water bottle and bringing it to his lips.

"Good workout?"

He nods as he swallows before parting from the bottle. "'S fine. Annoys me that I can't do as much as I used to."

You shrug. "It's alright. You're still strong as fuck."

He chuckles, flexing his arms, placing his hands behind his head. "Damn right."

At this angle, you can get a perfect view of his sculpted armpit, a tuft of coarse black hair on display in the dip of the glistening muscles. The thick, savory scent of his sweat floods your senses and you can't help but let out a small hum.

"Like what you see?" He smirks, letting his arms back down and leaning back into the seat again. You playfully roll your eyes and lightly smack his chest. He must have noticed your pleasant reaction, but assumed it was from looking at his physique. Which, of course, you did love his body, but he wasn't aware of this particular kink of yours. You'd been too embarrassed to bring it up yet; you'd just started getting sexual with each other- your first time having sex was only a week ago. How would he react to you telling him about such an...odd interest? Would he make fun of you for it like previous partners had?

He takes another drink of water for a moment, huffing as he sets it down. "Gonna go shower. I fuckin' stink." Standing up, he starts to make his way across the room. Shit, when are you gonna get this opportunity again? Should you tell him? No, it's too early, he'll think you're weird!

"Hm?" He turns his face slightly with a quirked brow.

"What?"

"You just whined like a sad puppy. What, you wanna shower with me?"

You freeze and blink. Did you really make a noise like that? You must have been disappointed at the idea of him getting rid of the tantalizing musk and fucking *whimpered.* Get a grip. Fuck. What should you say?

"Um...well if you're offering, yes, but...maybe later. Can...can you come back for a sec?"

You can feel your face heat up, your cheeks turning redder with every step he takes back towards you. You ball your hands into fists and can feel your heartbeat quicken. Too late to back down now.

He sits back down where he was before, a hint of concern in his voice, but his expression remaining collected. "Somethin' wrong, babe?"

You shake your head, keeping your gaze downward. "No, no, it's just...I think..." You scoot your way closer to him meekly, keeping your eyes downtrodden but your arm makes its way to gently place on his bicep.

"Sorry if you think I'm weird for this, but...I actually...really enjoy the smell of sweat. I think you smell really good. Stay for a few more minutes?"

Chewing on your lip nervously, you look back up at him, expecting a confused or disgusted look. But that's not even close.

He's grinning like a motherfucker. "Oh yeah?"

You feel your pussy twitch. He likes the idea? Would he really let you?

You meekly nod, a smile slowly creeping onto your face. "Yeah. Um...armpits are my favorite though."

The grin is still plastered on his face as he raises his arm, the upper half parallel with his head and his forearm behind him. "Come get it then."

And there it is once again, perfectly on display; his muscular pit, sticky and warm with sweat, the thick hair puffing out, almost inviting you in. You swallow hard, feeling your core clench once again, eagerly anticipating being able to indulge in your more personal kink.

You briefly look into his eyes, searching for a hint of judgement. But there isn't. The only thing you can sense from him is sincerity and even a bit of arousal. You lean forward, all in one motion, so you can't back out from nervousness.

Nuzzling yourself into the crevice, the hair tickles the sensitive skin of your face as you take in the intense, rich smell. As everything hits you all at once, a moan is forced out of your throat. Even though you're absolutely mortified, you can't help yourself but keep going. His scent is enveloping you, slowly sending you into an aroused trance.

"Damn, cutie, you really like this huh?" He smiles down at you, feeling his own arousal rise from seeing you in such a state. "You like my stink?"

"Yeah...." You nod with closed eyes, a dazed smile on your face. If you'd known he'd be this accepting before, you'd have tried this way sooner. Placing yourself on his thigh, you grind down a little as you put both your hands on his body, one lovingly sitting on his waist as the other squeezes at his chest.

"Yeah? What about it do you like?" He can feel his own cock hardening, excited to discover a new interest of yours. He'll definitely be doing this with you more often.

At this point, you're fully lost in the scent of his musk, drooling a little and lazily dragging your needy cunt across his muscular thigh. "I...I like...that it's so...instinctual. It's full of pheromones...makes me want more. 'N it's...I dunno...something so...masculine about it."

"Oh? You like it 'cause I'm a man, huh?" He grins as he uses his other hand to place on the back of your head, pushing you even further, your face now completely enveloped in his pit, skin meeting skin. "Maybe I should work out here more often, really get that nice sweaty stink goin' for ya. Huh, would you like that?"

You simply whine and nod in response, unable to form words anymore. You almost feel high. And knowing that you trust each other so much to do something so intimate, especially something others might judge you for outside of this room, really makes your heart swell for him.

You can feel that familiar warm and tight feeling building in your core. Fuck, are you actually getting close from this? How does he always know the perfect things to say and do in every situation, even something he's never done before?

"Good little cutie. So good for me, like me so much you even want my scent, you want me bad don't you? C'mon baby, I can tell you're close. Give it to me. C'mon, be good for me. Cum all over me, show me how much you like my musk."

And finally that thread snaps. A gush of warm juices are released from you as you tremble and moan, gripping onto his body for dear life as you make a mess on his leg, whimpering into his armpit as you ride out your high.

Pulling back with shaking arms, your heavy and enamored eyes lock with his. His deep gaze softens as he smiles slightly, content with your satisfaction. You're still lost in the post-climax high; you giggle and place a kiss to his lips before laying your head on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you, picking you up and making his way down the hall once again.

"Alright baby, time to shower."

[cheollipop]

am i 2 late for hard hours… bc domming woosan n sitting n having them both eat u out, running ur fingers thru their hair and guiding them along, their tongues tangling together as they moan n pant, palming each other’s cocks n getting off on ur taste like omg

NEVER TOO LATE FOR THIS OH MY GOD- IM RUINED, THE SOUND I MADE WHEN I READ THIS PLEASEEEE (I may have went a little overboard with the mxm oops)

also this reminded me of @kitten4sannie 's fic so make sure to check that out too if you want!! (give her sm love for me <3)

nsfw under the cut—minors dni!!

with the dinner wooyoung had made going cold on the dining table, the TV played idly in the background, the actors' voices masked by the heavy panting filling up the room.

your fingers ran through wooyoung’s hair until they reached the small ponytail just below his crown, clutching it roughly to push his face further into your cunt. san's lips trailed up your inner thigh, stopping when wooyoung's head got in the way, a soft whine vibrating over your skin.

"move," he muttered, trying to squeeze his face in between your legs.

your other hand quickly grabbed his jaw, angling his head upwards to meet your eyes. wooyoung's tongue breached your entrance, curling between your pulsing walls while his nose pressed into your clit. you stared into san's hooded eyes while breathy moans escaped you, your hips rolling over wooyoung's face once before you shifted your focus back to the older man.

"behave, sannie. can't you see youngie's busy?"

san pouted, leaning into the hand holding his face. "but I wanna taste you too," he whined, his eyes glimmering with want.

you weren't sure if san was aware of the effect he had on you, more so now that he was on his knees between your legs, looking up at you expectantly with a line of drool beginning to stream down his chin. you widened your legs, making room for san to slot himself next to wooyoung and kiss around your slit. using the hand in wooyoung's hair, you pulled the man off you, confused eyes meeting yours. you cursed at the sight of him—eyes glazed over and the bottom half of your face dripping with your arousal.

without any instruction, you brought both men closer to your core again—wooyoung by his hair and san by his chin—their tongues rolling out immediately to lap at your pussy. they quickly found a pace that worked for them, san's lips latching onto your clit, alternating between rapid flicks of his tongue over the swollen nub and harsh sucks followed by light nibbles. wooyoung didn't waste a second before burying his tongue inside you, sliding it over your walls until it brushed over your spongy gland.

"fuck! such a good boy, woo, making me feel so good," you praised, relaxing your grip on his ponytail.

san's lips trailed downwards, slipping off your clit to slide his tongue over wooyoung's. the younger man pulled off you, his lips ghosting over your clenching hole before pressing against san's, swishing a mixture of your arousal and their spit between their mouths. you watched as the two men made out between your legs, following the arms crossing over each other to slip through the other’s waistband. you could see an obvious dark stain on the crotch area of san's grey sweatpants, wooyoung's fingers wrapped around his dick behind the fabric, most likely smearing the obscene amount of precum leaking out of him down his shaft.

you could feel a wave of wetness gushing out of your neglected pussy, your lips parted as you watched the two men devour each other in front of you. your hands tangled in their hair again, tugging roughly until they separated.

"I think that's enough," your hand slipped down to their jaw and turned their heads towards you. "are you gonna be good boys and make me cum now?"

san nodded frantically, wooyoung's face already buried back between your legs. this time, they alternated roles—wooyoung's tongue prodding against your g-spot and making you see stars before slipping out to flick over your clit, san's mouth sucking harshly over your needy hole then slipping in to send waves of pleasure shooting up your spine. a series of praises slipped off your tongue, your eyes rolling back when wooyoung nuzzled the tip of his nose into your clit, the curve of it pressing into the bundle of nerves just enough to send you tumbling off the edge.

your thighs shook around their faces, your lips parted in a silent moan while your orgasm violently rushed through you. the two men didn't stop, their mouths working over your pussy to elongate your high, relishing the sweet arousal flooding their taste buds and dripping off their chin.

they pulled off you once your muscles spasmed with overstimulation and turned to face each other. wooyoung's tongue flattened over san's chin, licking upwards to reach his lips and slipping it inside. his fist tightened over san's leaking cockhead, pressing his thumb into the slit and drinking up the high-pitched sounds he emitted before going back to pumping his length.

"youngie- hnnngh! 'g-gonna cum-"

"give it to me, sannie," wooyoung whispered over his lips.

san's thighs widened unconsciously, his cock twitching once, twice, before spurting hot cum all over wooyoung's hand and the floor between them. his lips parted uselessly, throaty moans ripping through his chest while wooyoung milked him of every last drop. he squeezed his fingers around wooyoung, unable to process what was going on anymore as the younger man ovestimulated him, continuing to move his hand over his softening cock. wooyoung thrusted into his fist, chasing his orgasm with a burning need until ribbons of white painted san's clothed thighs.

you watched them come down from their highs, resting their foreheads on each other's shoulder while their chests heaved in the gap separating them. you slowly sat up so not to disturb the peacefulness, running your fingers through their hair before bending down to place a kiss on each of their heads.

a quick shower later, the forgotten dinner reheated and steaming on the dining table again, you shared snippets of your day over the homemade meal, the deep baritone of san's voice and the charming squeak of wooyoung's laugh echoing between the walls of your apartment as the day came to a blissful end.

[ask-maxie-boy]

Goonion's Ghoul (Part 3) [dp x dc]

(A/N we switching the official name of the goonion to The First Universal Henchmans' Union. Just makes sense, thank y'all for the advice)

(Parts 1 & 2: here) (Part 4: here)

"Before we begin, I'd just like to clarify a few things. Mainly, can I ask for your preferred name?"

"Is that a joke?"

"Well, I figured it would professional to come out and call you Mr. Cobblepot, but seeing as we're talking about a... certain aspect of your enterprises, I wasn't sure you wanted your legal name in the records. The Union takes confidentiality very seriously."

Oswald Cobblepot looked down at the scrawny boy in front of him. This was the guy that had Eddie shaking in his boots? He tapped the ashes off his cigarette into the ashtray, and scoffed. "Doesn't matter to me, as long as you remember who you're talking to before you open your mouth."

"Of course! As you wish, Mr. Penguin."

There it was. That smile just a bit too wide, just like Riddler had said. Oswald Cobblepot wasn't an amateur, he wouldn't let something like that throw him off balance. "Alright, kid, lets cut to the chase. Whats this all about a Union?"

"Oh, Mr. Penguin, I had thought you heard! The First Universal Henchmans' Union is a recently formed collective of working class freelance goons, henchmen, and grunts of all different colors."

"Hweh! And what do I care if a bunch of simpletons wanna have a party together?"

The kid's head tilted, a sickening crack! ringing through the room. Just for a second, its eyes seemed to glow.

When you deal with bats for so long, little things like that don't sway you.

"If they're so little to you in your mind, then surely anything they might ask of you shouldn't be that hard to swallow?"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop, as the thing's face tried to imitate inquisitiveness.

Good. The Penguin likes it cold.

"You can toss away the whole intimidation shtick, boy. I didn't get to be where I was by bending over to every ignoramus who thinks they can get me to do what they want."

When you deal with Bats for so long, you start to pay more attention to little expressions. The way the shadows suddenly fall onto the boy's blue-eyed, black haired face as he tilts his head downward makes The Penguin's flinch, just for a moment.

"I promise you sir, the Goonion is a very real, and very serious organization."

Cobblepot sneers, cigarette holder angling upward, as he taps his umbrella on the ground. "I pay my people well. My lounge is up to code, too. You don't have a damn thing on me, and here you are trying to pull the wool over my eyes. Well listen here, boy, you don't run an operation like this in Gotham without knowing fear. Fear is watching every shadow, looking for the pin pricks of light. Fear is the cracking of bones in the room over as you know the jig's up. Fear is watching Gotham's shadow spawn appear from the darkness, promising the only thing he wont do is kill you. You're way out of your league if you think I'll bend to such a cheap trick."

When you deal with Bats for so long, you learn to keep your eyes open. You keep track of exits, you look for little disturbances, keep your ears ready for even the softest sound.

You pay attention to that little voice that says you're being watched.

"Mr Penguin, do I need to remind you just who these 'simpletons' are? They're the men who carry your goods to and from your lounge. They're the ones who rig up the Riddler's bombs, traffic weapons in and out of the city. What happens when deals go south, when plans are canceled partway though?"

When you deal with Bats for so long, you watch the shadows. They practically live in them, entering and exiting like they're made from the stuff. Anything that might give away their position.

The shadows are dancing. Pulsing with something even darker than Gotham. He swears he can hear the sound of a bat gently hitting someone's hand. Distant laughter, not natural, almost forced.

"You know, Mr. Penguin, The Joker is easily one of our worst offenders. One of his more interesting complaints is the lack of security in regards to chemicals. See, he doesn't really care much if there's missing inventory, or what happens after his plan, as long as there's enough for what he needs." A vial flutters between its fingers, eyes almost bored as a forked tongue slides between sharpened teeth. "I wonder, where does it all go?

Eyes, green as emerald and as bright as the sun burn into Ozwald's. A grin stretches wider, wider, quite literally from one ear to the next filled with jagged teeth. "Do you want to find out?"

...~☆~...

"...My... smoking habits."

"Yeah, honestly. Its like you said. Most of your stuff is up to board, and your workers are fairly happy. Its mainly just an issue for henches with asthma, though secondhand smoke isn't something most people enjoy."

"You did all that over my cigarettes?!"

"its fairly understood that the Iceberg Lounge is not a smoke-free area, so you can do as you please there, but when it comes to abandoned warehouses or other places of business, we ask you please refrain from smoking."

"I can't believe this."

"For what its worth, the goons understand its part of your whole outfit, and are willing to compromise. We have a list of alternatives that visibly resemble a lit cigarette, and will fit in your holder, but wont actually release any smoke..."

@akikkobara @thegatorsgoose @addie-lover-of-stories @apointlessbox @screamingtofillthevoid @semiprofessionaldumbass @sailor-goddess @malice-of-the-sunrise @savaton @spikedlynx @emergentpanda-blog @starlightcat04

[tmwcs]

heethans reaction if h/n posted revealing bikini pics with y/n on insta???

Warnings: yandere theme, slight bit of non-con turned dub con implied, choking, use of force, punishments, fingering, cursing, pet names, think that’s it.

A long day of classes. The weekend was too short as the first day of the week already drained you. How you wish tomorrow was Friday already.

“Hey y/n.”

A calm voice catches your attention up head and you recognize that deep tone and accent. “Oh, hey Jake.”

He smiles someehat mischievously as he walks in your direction. “What’s up?” You nervously smile as you route up your question. The expression on his face told you of his awareness in something that you felt as if you should know of.

“Nooooothing. Like your picture on IG. Maybe you can tell H/N where you got that swimsuit.” He speaks and stares down, but never pauses in his steps. He continues to walk past, unlike yourself, where you were caught off-guard by his words and stood still for a moment trying to figure if the slight bit of sarcasm was intentional.

You head out to meet with Heeseung at the curb, as usual. There he stood, leaning backs against the front passenger door with his arms crossed, his head angled at a downward tilt, allowing for his cap to cover his features. Some things will never change.

“Hey babe…I had a weird conversation with Jake just now—“ your mind snaps into a blank slate as you try to process the sudden jolt of movement that gripped you by the neck. Twirling you around, you found yourself being the one leaned up on the car, while being forced to fare directly into his eyes. His plush lips make contact with yours as he swipes his tongue over your bottom lip before breaking in and coating your entire mouth. “Bad girl.” He growls against youc barely breaking the kiss and allowing for you to catch a breath.

“W-what? I—“

“You what?” His voice antagonizes your unfinished sentence as he squeezes your throat. You let out a small gasp for air as you reach up, desperately trying to feed your fingers in between his in an attempt to loosen them. “H-Heeseung…”

“Can’t breathe baby?” Once again his words come off laconically. He propels a look of playful malice as he lets out a scoff through that wicked smirk. Kissing you once again, his tongue movements are much more aggressive. He finally releases the tightness of his hold, yet still has his palm wrapped around you. With your body being re-introduced to oxygen, your caught offguard when his free hand shoot’s down your jeans and feeds itself through your panties. He does not leave you any room to configure what was going on as he plunges his fingers inside you. “Time to feed Ethan.”

His dark expression turns murderous as you witness the switch on his personality. Unsure of what brought on this animalistic behavior, you beg him to give closure.

“W-what did I do wrong?”

He scoffs as he continues to violate you in the open parking lot, completely aware that no one was around to witness his volition, although you knew better than to figure that it wouldn’t have changed anything had there been eye witnesses present.

Biting down on your neck, he darkly chuckles against your skin, pinching it against his teeth. Taking his hand out from your jeans, he fishes it inside your satchel and pulls out your phone. Presenting it to your face, he lightly taps the screen against your collarbone. “No more social media for you.”

Leaning forward, he presses his nose in and rests his forehead against yours. “You just had to go and show off what’s mine. You trying to make me angry?” The smirk on his face flares sarcasm as you see past the smile and see nothing but anger. The way he grits his teeth was enough to nearly make you urinate your own jeans. “I—that wasn’t mean to—“

He cuts you off once more as he shoves you in the backseat. Nearly flinging you in, he straddles on top, restraining every bit of your movements. Pinching your chin, he forces you to face forward. “Don’t move.” He issues.

You knew better than to disobey. He was already mad, and considering he was Ethan now, doing anything more against his demands would only cause you pain. He’d make you pay for it all.

You felt him tighten his belt around your head, enforcing you to clamp down on it with your teeth. Oh no…

“Bite down, darling.” He says as he props himself on his knees, groin pressed against your buttocks as he stations your legs to rest around his waist. Undoing his jeans right before you, he smirks deviously. “Better the belt, than your own tongue, in which case I’ll bite it for you.”

Your eyes grow extremely teary as you brace for what is about to come. He smoothly pulls your jeans off, along with your panties. Rubbing the nub of your clot with his thumb, he fishes out his lengthy member and pulls his own jeans down just enough, until the waistband rests against his upper thighs. Slapping the tip against your swollen lips, he aims the head of his cock to hit your clit dead center. You whimper and jolt, all to his pleasure. “Let’s have some fun, hmm? I know i will.”

His words stamp your ears as you feel the sting of his swollen head pushing in. Without any four play, you weren’t exactly prepared to take in his member so suddenly. Your body hadn’t had the chance to lube up.

“Don’t worry baby, you’ll be wet here in a sec. And you don’t have to be in a bathing suit to enjoy riding the waves this time. Ethan’s got you.”

[stomach-bugg09]

summary: three avatars dead, one injured big sister, and two angry parents waiting at home. what could go wrong?

lo’ak x oldersister!reader

a/n: this is a part two of his protector as requested by both @perfectprofessorloverapricot + @lololo392. hopefully i did it justice! it ended up being a longer fic than i originally meant (2.4k), but i’m pretty happy with it. if there are any mistakes, let me know—this is a product of stress and unhappiness inbetween finishing each midterm exam.

reblogs, comments, and requests are always appreciated !!

tags: @pinkhotdogsfr @eywas-heir

warnings: mentions of blood, injury, bullet wound, mentions of death + killing

reckless ( but helpful )

“are you hurt?” lo’ak asked softly, his ear pressed right against her chest. from where she held his head, he could hear her wince every other breath that she took, causing his worry to fluctuate.

it didn’t help his panic when she hesitated. “uh,” she rasped, sniffling thanks to her tears from earlier. “it’s just a little wound. nothing to worry about.”

“[y/n]!” he scolded, immediately pushing his big sister’s arms off of him. his eyes scanned her body, trying to locate where exactly she might be in pain, but as soon as he saw the small pool of blood underneath her thigh, he inhaled sharply. “let me see.”

when she adjusted her weight, freeing her leg from where it formerly sat underneath her body, lo’ak ran a hand over his face. “okay,” he sighed, inspecting the injury carefully. “it could have been worse, but it’s still a bullet wound.”

“well, aren’t you smart,” she teased, reaching up and pushing his head away.

“[y/n]!” he hissed, swiping her hands away. “this is not the time to be joking. we need to get back—sooner rather than later. it’s nearly eclipse.”

she nodded solemnly, dreading the moment in which they saw their parents again. thanks to her injury, it was impossible for the two of them to cover up their dangerous adventure. “go take off that dream-walker’s shirt, brother. i can use it as a bandage.”

lo’ak rolled his eyes at the request. “of course, making your baby brother undress a dead stranger.”

“don’t make it weird, you perv.”

but, of course, lo’ak obliged. he took his knife, sticking it under the dirty t-shirt and angling it upwards. as he ran the knife downwards, the shirt split into two pieces, eventually allowing for lo’ak to grab it off of the avatar’s corpse.

when [y/n] finally had it, she grabbed both the knife and the shirt from her brother’s hand. “let me see this,” she sighed, continuing to cut the shirt down into a long strip of thin fabric.

“here, sister,” lo’ak offered, dropping to his knees beside her. “let me wrap it. it would be easier for me anyway.”

silently, [y/n] nodded, inhaling slowly as she watched her brother grab the bandage. in preparation, [y/n]’s fingers curled inwards towards her palm, looping through pieces of grass. she helped the process by bending her knee ever-so-slightly, allowing for lo’ak to wrap her thigh easier.

“stay still,” lo’ak scolded when she winced as soon as he touched her skin. “it will be done quicker if you keep it together. i promise you.”

as he wrapped her thigh, her ears pressed back against her head, a hiss of pain leaving her throat as lo’ak tightened the pressure. “just keep going,” [y/n] exhaled, eyes closed as she tried to regain her breath.

“almost done,” lo’ak commented, his eyes drifting back and forth between the progress he was making and the pained expression on his big sister’s face. both parties felt immense relief as soon as he tucked in that last tail of the fabric.

[y/n] flexed her knee back and forth, watching as the bandage remained secure, although she immediately regretted her choice when she felt the pain shoot through her leg. at the feeling, her stomach shifted, skin going the slightest shade paler.

“hey, hey,” lo’ak called for her attention softly. “look at me, okay? you’re good, safe for now. our next step is getting home, alright? so, we’re going to call out ikrans, i’m gonna help you get on, and then i’m going to board both of our rides with some souvenirs.” he eyed the barrels full of guns and ammo behind them.

[y/n] dragged a hand down her face, eventually trailing down her neck. “alright,” she sighed. something deep inside of her felt so much immense guilt at their situation. not only did she almost kill both of them, but now she, the big sister, was under the care of her baby brother. oh, how backwards it all seemed.

both siblings put their fingers to their lips, blowing out their own unique whistles to catch the attentions of their ikrans. as soon as the melody rang out, lo’ak’s ears perked up to listen, spinning around to try and locate the direction in which they would come from.

at the familiar sound of flapping winds, lo’ak held his hands up as a signal of where exactly they were, and as a result the two beautiful creatures landed in front of him. their feet were heavy, a shake rumbling beneath them once they stopped flying.

[y/n] immediately tensed nearly every muscle in her body, straining to get up on her own. in exasperation, lo’ak ran over to her, her arms slipping underneath her arm pits to help her balance. “you lack patience, sister,” he commented with a breathy chuckle.

“i’m just independent, baby brother.”

“something like that,” he grunted, eventually pulling her up and adjusting his position so he stood next to her, allowing for the older girl to use him as a crutch of sorts. the two stumbled over to her ikran, the creature kneeling on the ground at the sight of her sister’s injury.

thanks to the lowered height, [y/n] could get on much easier, pulling her leg overtop so she straddled the saddle. tears pricked her eyes, her stomach turning. just stay strong, she told herself.

from where she perched atop her ikran, her eyes gazed upon lo’ak. he moved back and forth across the small campsite, loading the saddle-pockets with guns and ammo. he huffed and puffed, the weight a lot more than he was expecting. she swallowed a laugh as he paused at one point, wiping sweat off of his forehead.

by the time the pockets were completely full, the sky was much darker. although still not quite eclipse, there was absolutely no way that they would return home in time. but, what’s another rule broken at this point? they were already going to be dead.

lo’ak now sat atop his own ikran, breathless and tired. both siblings were more than exhausted, although for different reasons. [y/n] was fighting the urge to close her eyes. she needed to get home first.

“hey,” lo’ak called, catching the fading attention of his sister. “let’s go, yeah?”

“'bout time,” she mumbled, straightening her shoulders and rubbing her eyes. [y/n] looked back over at her brother, and as soon as he gave her the nod, she was in the air.

the flight itself was long, but based on both [y/n]’s inability to understand time and the fact that she kept spacing out, it felt extremely short. the only thing that kept her somewhat awake was the chill of the wind against her skin, her skin that was noticeably burning up.

by the time they neared home, the sky was pitch black and full of twinkling stars. a beacon of bright light shone up into the sky from the nightly campfire in the center of camp. as they got closer and closer, [y/n] could finally make out the image of jake and neytiri standing ready with their ikrans, about to fly off into the night. most likely to find us, she thought, cringing at the scolding they were about to get.

she could tell lo’ak was thinking the same thing when she heard him mumble, “shit.”

the two of them circled downwards, watching as neytiri pointed out their silhouettes to jake. by the time they landed, the pair was looking absolutely furious.

around the parents stood their other children, all three staring with an insurmountable amount of worry. they just knew their parents were about to murder the two of them based on how worried they had been for the past hour or so.

“where have you been?” neytiri hissed, eyes narrowed at her eldest daughter and youngest son. “the first time we entrust you to scout alone, you stay out past eclipse.”

lo’ak was quick to get off his ikran, face cast downwards in shame. but, instead of stopping on the ground like jake and neytiri expected, the boy moved over to his sister, helping her get off her ikran. the parents did not miss how she winced in pain.

immediately, tuk ran over to them, her small hands checking to make sure that lo’ak was safe. behind him neteyam was taking the saddles and whatnot off of their ikrans, eyes widening as he felt the weight to them.

“[y/n]?” jake questioned, his once disappointed eyes now fading into concern. his jaw dropped the slightest when he saw the make-shift bandage wrapped around her leg, the thin material absolutely soaked in blood. at the sight, kiri jumped to run over to her sister.

“look,” their daughter sighed. “i understand, you’re disappointed. whoops, our bad. we can explain later, and you are more than welcome to yell at us then, but until then, i really want to not die, so can i please see grandmother?”

“you two are very stupid,” kiri said, tone flat as she unwrapped the bandage. lo’ak and [y/n] now sat in the tsahik hut, surrounded by about a thousand medical tools and salves. kiri was quick to attend to her sister, knowing that it would take a bit until neteyam could help mo’at wander from the campfire back to the hut.

[y/n] hissed in pain, her thigh tensing involuntarily. “yes, yes, thank you kiri. your words are oh-so helpful.” she barked a curse at her sister when she poked the wound a bit too hard.

beside her sat lo’ak. he was fine, but tuk was forcing to stay until mo’at could clear him. she just didn’t want her big brother wandering around if he was hurt!

kiri inhaled deeply when she finally got a look at the wound. “that’s not very fun, is it?” she muttered, swallowing her anxiety. she didn’t need to freak out her patient—that always led to disaster.

the tension only increased when neteyam, their parents, and their grandmother entered the hut. “[y/n]!” mo’at scolded before even looking at the injury. “always hurt, always making me work.”

“sorry, grandmother,” [y/n] offered with a small smile, a layer of slick sweat surfacing on her forehead. she felt her own stomach growing nauseous at the sight of the bullet wound, the area soaked in her blood.

jake cleared his throat, catching the immediate attention of all five of his kids. “while your grandmother surveys that—” he gestured towards her leg—”why don’t you fill us in on your afternoon?”

lo’ak scratched the back of his neck, his eyes meeting the pained expression of his older sister. “well,” he started slowly, a sheepish smile on his face. “we were scouting. like we were supposed to!’

[y/n] nodded in agreement. “yes, doing just as you told us.”

“and then we found this new sky-people camp. it was completely empty, too! so, we did as you would, sir. we went and took notes, counting the supplies and surveying the area.” lo’ak barely met the eyes of his father.

as to distract herself from the poking and prodding of mo’at, [y/n]’s hand gripped lo’ak’s wrist. “but, it turned out that the only reason it was empty was because they heard our arrival as we were scouting. they shot at us, and, well…”

jake took a deep breath, pushing down the urge to yell at the two of them. “how many are there?”

[y/n]’s eyebrows furrowed, a gift given to her by her father’s dna. “‘are there?’” she questioned. “father, there are none left. i killed all three.”

lo’ak found himself beaming with pride. his older sister was the coolest. “yeah, and she even shot the last one right between the eyes as he was holding me. she didn’t even harm me!”

“what can i say, baby brother. i’m a good shot.” she swallowed a cry as her grandmother’s long tool reached into her wound, trying to locate the bullet. poor lo’ak was suffering her iron-grip on his wrist.

immediately noticing her discomfort, the siblings gathered around her. none of them seemed to notice the look exchanged between their parents. they were impressed. and proud!

“it is okay, sister. it’s almost over,” neteyam told her, holding her head up so, if she did pass out, it wouldn’t slam against the table. eywa forbid she got any dumber than she already was. tuk’s eyes were teary as she rested a small hand on her big sister’s shoulder, kiri holding her other hand.

once mo’at got a firm grip on the small metal capsule, she mumbled words of warning before she tugged. a bedraggled scream left [y/n]’s throat, tears trailing down her cheeks. the faces of lo’ak and kiri were priceless as they felt their hands lose feeling for a split second.

“you did it!” tuk cheered, rubbing up and down [y/n]’s hand as a sense of comfort. “you are done!”

[y/n] sniffled, a smile appearing on her lips. “yes, yes. thank you, tuktuk,” she said with a slight chuckle.

“hold still,” mo’at scolded, immediately causing [y/n] to roll her eyes.

the gesture of annoyance had everyone laughing. “don’t worry guys, she’s still herself!” lo’ak teased.

from where [y/n] laid back, her forearms now resting overtop her eyes, she gasped. everyone looked over, still on edge from moments before. “the.. the—whatever! the things, lo’ak!” she recalled, her brain going too fast to locate the exact words.

“wha—oh!”

everyone watched in utter confusion as the younger boy practically sprinted out of the hut.

“you will see,” [y/n] promised, taking a deep breath of relief as she felt the cool salve against her wound, her grandmother’s fingers soft as she applied it.

it was even more confusing as lo’ak sprinted back in, two guns in hand.

“woah!” neytiri warned, immediately grabbing the weapons from her reckless son. “explain.”

lo’ak grinned. “they were at the camp. we grabbed a bunch before we left—there’s more of those in the saddle.”

neytiri and jake blinked. “you’re telling me you killed three sky-people and stole their weapons?”

“and ammo!” lo'ak exclaimed time as his sister corrected them, “they were avatars.”

a grin sat itself on mo’at’s lips. “ah, so much like your parents. reckless, but helpful.”

“that’s us,” [y/n] agreed, sharing a look with her baby brother. “reckless, but helpful.”