#and ceramic tile flooring. quiet

[sstudiously]

Multiuse - Transitional Laundry Room

#Utility room: mid-sized transitional galley utility room idea with beige walls #a side-by-side washer and dryer #a single-bowl sink #raised-panel cabinets #medium-tone wood cabinets #solid surface countertops #and ceramic tile flooring. quiet #home office #privacy #large backyard #exclusive area #laundry baskets #fireplaces

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Tongue Tied✨

Dbf! Joel Miller x fem! reader

A/N: This just came out of nowhere when I was eating cherries, so here we are 😂 I was going to post this one later, but it was just sitting in my drafts.

Summary: Your dad’s best friend, Joel Miller, finds you in the kitchen eating some cherries. For your birthday, he gives you something that’ll make you a little tongue tied.

Rating: 18+ Only MDNI

Word Count: 3.1k

Tags: Smut, flirting, teasing, eating cherries, age gap (reader is 24, Joel is 51), oral receiving (fem), fingering, dirty talk, sneaking around, switching POVs

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  The air is warm as the summer breeze blows through the open window of the lit up kitchen. After a night of celebrating your twenty-fourth birthday, your parents decided to throw you a surprise barbecue. A few of your friends came, a couple of the neighbors meandered around the backyard, but one certain person was here that set your core on fire. Joel Miller. Your dad’s best friend, his favorite fishing buddy. 

   Joel was hot, like extremely hot. And not to mention he was fifty-one. Twice your age and off limits, but that made it that much more fun to tease him. 

   He’s in his signature blue flannel shirt today, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to expose strong arms and tanned skin, large veins threading down his forearms, and large meaty hands that could probably split you in two. His dark jeans hug his strong thighs, and his tousled grey speckled hair is slicked back just begging to be played with. 

   You can’t lie that you dream about him at night, can’t pretend you don’t imagine your fingers are his own that slip inside your dripping core and talk you through your orgasm. Attagirl. Say my name. Yeah, jus’ like that, sweetheart. Such a good fuckin’ girl.

   You bet he’s the best kisser, bet his tongue can take you to places that your fingers never could. You imagine his dark smoldering eyes all blown out and wide, his grey threaded beard tickling against your neckline while his tongue slides against your glistening skin. It’s only a dream, a fantasy your mind has conjured up to fill some void. But you’re determined to win him over one way or another. He will be yours.

   And it’s not like he’s completely innocent. You’ve seen him catch your eye once or twice, have caught him checking you out when you wore that pink bikini to the pool a few weeks ago. He can pretend all he wants, but the man fantasizes about you, too. 

   You sigh and pick another cherry from the big bowl sitting on the ceramic kitchen counter, popping it into your mouth as the sweet flavor slides down your throat. You lean against the counter and pull your short yellow dress down, the material barely grazing your tanned thighs. 

   You pop another cherry into your mouth and enjoy the quiet kitchen, taking just a few moments to pull yourself together until you have to go back outside. You’re sure they’re looking for you, but you had to get away from the heat of Joel’s smoldering stare. 

   Another minute goes by until you hear boots scuffing against the tiled floor. When you look up from under your long lashes, you freeze in place and gulp down the cherry that almost gets stuck in your throat. There he is, Joel Miller. Just standing and leaning against the doorway, brown eyes locked on yours. 

   “What’re you doin’ in here? Your dad’s lookin’ for ya out in the back,” Joel says across the kitchen.

   “Couldn’t come get me himself so he sent you instead? What a good friend you are.” You roll your eyes, one eyebrow raising in question while you see him scoff under his breath. 

   “Don’t be a brat. He’s busy makin’ burgers. Jus’ asked if I could come find ya.”

   “Well, you found me.” You lean into the counter and pick out another plump cherry. 

   “C’mon then. Get out there.” He nods his head towards the backyard and crosses his large arms over his broad chest. 

   “Can’t you see I’m busy?” You pop the cherry into your mouth and twirl the stem in between your fingers, keeping your eyes locked carefully on his. 

   He huffs out annoyed, pinching the bridge of his nose  while he makes his way across the kitchen, stopping on the opposite side of the counter as he leans against it and keeps his arms tight across his chest. “Yeah, real busy over there. Those cherries must be real good if they’ve got you locked in the kitchen.” His eyes flick to the glass bowl as you plop another one out from the batch. 

   “Sooo good.” You take your tongue and lick up the side of the cherry, pushing it into your mouth as you throw the stem on the edge of the counter. 

   He watches you chew, gulping down saliva as he focuses in on your red glossy lips. He thinks you look so gorgeous in your little yellow sundress, thinks your lips might taste just like those cherries. Savory, sweet, delicious. A thought that’s crossed his mind more than once before.

   He shouldn’t be in here alone with you, shouldn’t even stare while you lick your plush lips and devour the fresh cherries all seductively in front of him. He can picture you down on your knees, your tongue gliding over the tip of his throbbing cock, his fingers fisting the back of your hair while he fucks your pretty little mouth with his thick cock. He wants to hear those melodic moans out of your mouth, needs to get his mouth on your pretty pink pussy, would love to throw you on top of his bed sheets while he fucks you till he fills you with hot ropes of cum. 

   He’s a bad man for thinking of his best friend’s daughter like that, but he can’t help wanting something he can’t technically have. You’re off limits to him and so much younger, but he doesn’t give a shit. 

   He sees the way you’ve been teasing him. Walking around in those short skirts that barely cover your curvy ass and brushing your fingertips against his arms with every chance you get. He’s not a stupid man, he knows what you’re doing. But he won’t dare try to stop you. He likes the tease, loves the thought of you pining over him, and maybe one day he’ll finally teach you a lesson of what happens to naughty girls that just don’t know when to quit.

   “Stop that,” he demands, watching you lick your lips slowly while you swallow a cherry. 

   “Stop what?” you ask innocently. 

   “Stop teasin’ me.” His eyes are narrowed, jaw clenched as his eyes follow your tongue licking across the fresh fruit. 

   “Make me,” you smirk. You swallow the cherry whole and tap your manicured fingernails against the counter top, challenging him to make a move. 

   He clenches his fingers into a tight fist, sliding his tongue against the inside of his cheek, his eyes darkening as his nostrils flare in anger. He’s mad, furious that you’re making him this frazzled. He can’t ignore the hardening cock that stiffens against the denim of his jeans. All because you’re a fucking tease. 

   You pop your hip out and play with the cherry stem in between your fingers, batting your eyelashes flirtatiously at the handsome man that can barely control himself around you. “You know, they say if you can tie a knot with your tongue with a cherry stem that means you’re a good kisser,” you smirk. 

   “Is that right, darlin’?” he asks all intrigued, leaning forward as his dark eyes hone in on you. 

   “Mhm. Read a thing or two about it,” you giggle. 

   “Show me.” His voice comes out deep, gravelly as he leans against the counter and crosses his arms. It doesn’t come out as a response but a demand loud and clear. 

   You smirk his way and nod. You pop the cherry stem in your mouth and get to work. Your tongue twists and turns, working hard to get just the right angle with the stem. Joel watches you eagerly, his eyes blowing wide while his nostrils flare aggressively. You know he’s hard behind his jeans, and you’re dying to see just how massive he is. 

   When you finally feel the tiny knot in the stem, you open your mouth and reach in, grabbing the wet end with your fingertips. You hold it up and sure enough you did it. Right in the middle it’s tied in a tight knot. You knew you could do it. 

   Joel smirks your way, smoldering eyes glazed in a trance as he flicks them up and down your body seductively. Oh, he’s impressed and turned on. Look at the mess you’ve made. 

   “Color me impressed, sweetheart. That’s a neat talent you got there. What else can you do with that tongue?” he asks with a devilish grin curling against his big lips. 

   “Why don’t you come find out?” you taunt him. 

   He’s on you in less than a minute, large hands holding your hips against the counter while his hard cock digs into your thigh. You’re breathless, breathing in the scent of his mahogany cologne and his fresh soap smell while his dark eyes bleed into yours.

   “Careful with that pretty mouth, darlin’. I don’t think you realize what you’re gettin’ yourself into,” he warns, blown eyes making slick build in your lacy panties. 

   “No? I think I do,” you smirk. 

   “Shouldn’t be playin’ games with your dad’s best friend, sweetheart. Could get ya into trouble,” he tsks, clicking his tongue will his thick fingers dig into the material of your skimpy dress. 

   “So get me into trouble, Mr. Miller,” you whisper, enticing him to make a move as your hand drags down to where his hard cock is skimming across your thigh. 

   He’s on you then, his warm mouth pressing firmly against yours as his hands slowly slide your dress up. The kiss is messy, hot, uncontrolled as one of his hands fist the back of your curls. You part your mouth open and invite him in, letting him slot his tongue inside your panting mouth. 

   Your fingers slide through his tousled curls, pulling a low groan from his throat while his tongue licks feverishly inside your mouth. You could drown in his coffee taste, get lost in his lush locks with his teeth nipping at your skin. This was better than you imagined, better than your wildest dreams.

   He slides his calloused thumb against your drenched lace, finding your buzzing clit as he draws meticulous circles over and over. You moan into his mouth, panting his name as his fingers set your core on fire. 

   “Yeah? You like that, little tease?” he chuckles darkly, nipping against your bottom lip as another moan leaves your lips. 

   “Yes, fuck yes,” you say through clenched teeth. 

   “Mmm. Dirty girl wants her daddy’s best friend to finger fuck her, is that right?” he teases, sliding his fingers inside your lace and gliding through your damp folds, his fingers curling up into your dripping hole.

   You part your lips and moan, twisting your fingers tightly through his messy curls. “Fuck, Joel. Please, please. Want you to… ohhh,” you moan, melting into a puddle as his thick fingers hit that spongy spot that you can never reach yourself. 

   “That’s what I thought,” he chuckles. 

   His mouth finds neck, sucking against your collarbone as his free hand squeezes one of your perky breasts. He elicits another moan from you, the wet noises of his fingers fucking into you floating around the room, the obscene sounds making him groan against the shell of your ear. 

   Before you know what happens he releases his fingers from your core and grabs your hips firmly, hoisting you up on the edge of the counter while he pulls the ruined lace down your legs and drops them to the tiled floor. You let out a squeak, watching the way he spreads your legs and pulls you to the edge, hungry eyes eating you alive. 

   “Gonna need you to be quiet, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?” he asks through gritted teeth, like he’s holding himself back from dragging you to his mouth. 

   “Mhm,” you hum, out of breath while more slick pools in between your thighs. “Joel, please,” you beg. 

   “Ain’t gotta beg, baby girl. Gonna take good care of this pretty pussy,” he purrs. 

   He wastes no time as he licks a thick stripe up your folds, lathering you in the wetness of his warm tongue. You throw your head back and grip the edge of the counter while he settles your legs over his shoulders. 

   He places his meaty hands around the backs of your thighs and starts to make out with your pussy. His tongue divides your folds, licking up inside your drenched hole and makes his way up to your puffy clit. He draws meticulous circles over your aching bundle of nerves, eliciting low moans that fall off the tip of your tongue. 

   You tangle your hands through his smooth locks, hear him grunt while he pulls your buzzing mound into his warm mouth. “Oh my God, Joel,” you whine. 

   “Yeah? Like the sound of you moaning my name, sweetheart. Say it again,” he demands as he plunges two thick fingers into your gushing core, watching slick slide down his hand while he’s knuckles deep in you. 

   You moan it again and again and again, watching his blown out eyes stare up at you menacingly, mouth feasting on your drool coated pussy. He finger fucks you swiftly, curling his fingers to hit that spongy spot over and over again, his deft tongue gliding against your throbbing clit until you’re right on the edge. 

   Your walls clench against his fingers, mouth chanting his name dreamily while he gets you right where you need to be. 

   “Come for me, sweetheart. Drench these fingers with that sweet, sticky cum. Be a good girl now,” he purrs, licking against your warm core. 

   He pulls your bundle of nerves into his mouth and sucks hard, rutting his thick fingers against the sweetest spongy spots that takes you to the finish line. You throw your head back and moan his name, feeling the white hot heat slide down the back of your spine. 

   “Attagirl. Look at you spill, goddamn” he growls, licking your spilling slick between your thighs and working his fingers in and out of your core, making sure to get every single drop of cum from your center. 

   He talks you through it, licking you clean as he works you through your intense orgasm, massaging your thighs until your breathing is back to normal. He slides your panties back up your thighs, covering your ruined pussy while he pulls your skirt back over your thighs.

   He stands up between your legs and circles your hips with his meaty hands, whispering sweet incantations in the shell of your ear. “Happy birthday, sweetheart. Hope you liked your present.” 

   He gives you a quick kiss to your lips, letting you taste your own release on the tip of your tongue along with the delicious taste of him. 

   You wrap your arms around his neck loosely, not yet wanting him to leave the room without you tucked into his side. “Joel,” you murmur through a warm daze.

   “Hmm?” He knits his eyebrows into a tight line and looks at you with clouded brown eyes.

   “Can we do that again?” you ask with big sappy eyes full of hope.

   He huffs out, groaning through his teeth as his wide eyes stay locked on yours. “You want to do that again?” he asks, licking his tongue along the bottom of his teeth. 

   “Mhm,” you nod, smiling over at him. “Next time I want you to fuck me, and I want to suck your cock.”

   He chokes on his own saliva and chuckles out, shaking his head as he tightens his grip on your hips. “Jesus Christ. You’re gonna be a handful, ain’t ya?”

   “You know I am.” You giggle and push your fingers through his messy curls, adjusting it so it doesn’t look like he just went down on you. 

   He shakes his head and sighs, helping you off the spotless counter top. His fingertips hover over your back, hands pressing against your sweating skin while his lips hang dangerously close to your mouth. “You messy girl. What am I gonna do with ya, huh?” he smiles, tracing his thumb over your lower lip.

   “Guess you just have to keep me,” you shrug, smiling blissfully at the man of your dreams.

   “Maybe I will, sweetheart. Maybe I will.”

   He curls a strand of hair behind your ear and trails his lips against your cheek, mouth closing in on yours. Your breath hitches and body comes alive just waiting for his lips to be back on yours. Suddenly, the back door is swinging up and heavy footsteps are coming through the kitchen entryway.

   You and Joel jump apart, your heart in your throat and adrenaline coursing through your blood. “There you two are. Was wondering where you were,” your dad shouts, his loud voice killing the heat of the moment. 

   “Sorry, bud. Your daughter here was just showin’ me how good these cherries were,” Joel says calmly. He grabs a cherry from the bowl and pops it in his mouth, winking your way before he exits the kitchen with your dad. 

   You stand there breathlessly, not believing what just happened. Joel just kissed you, finger fucked you, and ate you out in the middle of the kitchen where anyone could’ve walked in and saw. You were walking on thin ice, but you’d happily do it all over again.

   You readjust your dress and smooth down your messy locks, making sure your lipstick isn’t all smudged down your chin. Once you make sure you look like you hadn’t just been fucked, you make your way outside into the backyard. 

   Your friends crowd around the inground pool while your folks and neighbors sit around on some lounge chairs, sipping on lemonade and eating hamburgers off plastic plates. You find an empty chair next to your friend, Nikki, and act as if you were completely normal. Nothing was normal about today, though. Not after what just happened in the kitchen with Joel Miller. The hottest neighbor that had walked into your dad’s life three years ago. Guess he always had a thing for you secretly, you just didn’t know it till this year.

   Your eyes flick across the lawn and you find Joel staring at you, nursing a beer down with his lips around the flute of the bottle. His honey brown eyes find yours, and you gasp when you see a smudge of red lipstick smeared across the collar of his blue flannel. You giggle at the sight of it, snickering to yourself as you join in on a conversation about your weekend plans. 

   Guess you left your mark on him after all. 

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #dbf!joel #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel x female reader #joel miller pedro pascal #dbf! joel miller #dbf joel miller

[ieatcocoa]

Sweeter Than Hunny

Characters: Alastor/Fem!Reader

Reader's POV

Word Count: 1.6k

Important: 18+ minors do not interact. established relationship (?), accidental food play, use of honey, teasing, hickies, kissing, suggestive

In which Alastor indulges in your sweet tooth...

Divider credits to plutism !

The hotel is quiet. There is no sound except for the occasional creak of old flooring, caused by a particular serpent slithering around in the dark. While his hobby may be relatively harmless, it is still unnerving; the sizable goose egg on his forehead is a reminder of what you detest. During your stay, you have developed an interest in zodiac signs. Unfortunately for you, snakes embody stubbornness, and you are far too exhausted to give his knot a twin.

In your hands, the small porcelain cup radiates a comforting warmth that seeps through your fingertips and palms, soothing away the remnants of your tension. You take a moment to savor the aroma of the delicate brew before bringing the drink to your mouth.

The hell?

Immediately, your eyes widen in surprise, a deep grimace forming on your lips as you register the unexpected taste. A sharp bitterness lingers on, contrasting the anticipated sweetness. With a determined resolve to salvage your tea time, you set down the cup and rise from the couch. Making your way to the kitchen, you move around the familiar area effortlessly, and the pitter of your footsteps reverberates softly against the tiled floor. There is only one thing that could salvage a brew that harsh:

Ah ha!

Nestled among the pristine shelves sat your beacon of hope—the honey jar. As you retrieve the sweet treat, you cannot help but notice the signs of wear and tear that mar its once-pristine surface. The edges of the ceramic vessel are chipped and worn from its countless journeys to and from the pantry. Traces of sticky residue cling to the sides of the pot, and the substance adheres to the surface of your hands, creating an uncomfortable sensation. Would it kill folks to wipe it down after use?

Your gaze trails along to the lid; it sits slightly askew, showing signs of repeated twisting and turning, an ode to the desire with which it has been opened and closed numerous times. You shift your grip to the handle and run a finger over the smooth texture. The once-vibrant color faded to a dull patina. And yet, despite its weathered appearance, there's a certain charm to the honey pot—a sense of history and nostalgia that lends it a unique character all its own.

Almost everyone utilizes it, and is probably the only thing you can all agree on. To see it so well-loved and appreciated brings a smile to your face, knowing that the gift aids in adding a little extra sweetness to the lives of those who call the hotel home.

Corny. Maybe Charlie's exercises are starting to rub off on you?

Balancing the pot carefully, you retrace your steps to the living room. As you enter, you are frozen in surprise at the sight before you. There, seated comfortably on the couch, is Alastor, his crimson eyes glinting with delight as he regards you with a ceaseless grin. "Well, well, well, if it isn't my favorite resident! I seem to have caught you at an unfortunate time; don't you agree, sticky fingers?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha." You release a sarcastic chuckle before softly placing the container on the end table next to your cup. "Just indulging in a little tea break, nosey. I was in need of something to sweeten up my evening." As you settle onto the couch, a mischievous impulse stirs within...

With a dramatic, drawn-out hum, you casually prop your socked feet up near his thighs. "Ah, of course! I should have just called on you! You're sweeter than Hunny." Alastor, ever the picture of composure, arches an eyebrow at your antics, his expression a mix of amusement and bemusement. With a subtle flick of his wrist, he not-so-gently pushes your feet aside, his movements refined yet firm as he maintains his personal space. Undeterred by his subtle rebuff, you respond with a pout, forming your lips into an expression of dismay. "Nevermind, I lied. You're as bitter as death."

"Oh, you wound me, crude woman! Boo hoo. I'm afraid my legs aren't meant to serve as a footrest." He quips his tone light and teasing. With a roll of the eyes, you relent, withdrawing your feet with a dramatic flourish. "Fine, fine. I'll behave... for now." You concede that your impish demeanor was undimmed by Alastor's gentle reprimand. "What are you doing up so late anyway?" It is a silly question; however, that does not stop you from asking.

His gaze flickers to the poorly paned ceiling above before emitting a deep sigh, the faint rumblings of his static audible to only the most precise listener. "You know me well enough to know that sleep is but a distant acquaintance," he responds. Of course, you did; this isn't the first time you've graced each other in the dead of night, and it certainly won't be the last. Though the longing to know why always leads you to ask such foolish questions, some things are better left unsaid.

You sit up; your attention is now drawn to the end table, where the tea waits. With deliberate movements, you reach for the dipper, plunging it into the golden pool of honey snuggled within the pot. As you drizzle the viscous nectar into the cup, a sweet aroma fills the air, mingling with the soft glow of lamplight that bathes the room in a warm embrace. The gentle clink of wood against the ceramic echoes in the quiet of the night. "If you're up for a chat, I'm all ears." Alastor leans forward slightly; his expression reflects mock seriousness as he addresses your suggestion. "Well, my darling doe," he begins, his voice dripping with lively charm, "I'm afraid the only topic of conversation that truly piques my interest tonight is your rather unhealthy indulgence in sugar."

As you stare him down, a snort escapes your lips. "Really now? Is that what you want to talk about?" Alastor nods solemnly. "Indeed. I'm afraid I simply can't let such an important matter go unaddressed," he replies, his tone dripping with exaggerated concern.

Oh please!

"Don't be such a killjoy," you say while shaking your head in protest. "A little sugar never hurts anyone. Besides, eternity is too long for me not to indulge now and then." He lets out a scoff while waving a hand dismissively through the air. "A little sugar, you say? From what I've witnessed, your intake is hardly what I would call a little. I'm quite surprised your teeth haven't rotted out of your mouth by now.” While he spoke, you took a hearty sip of the tea, hoping that the addition of honey had tempered its bitterness.

However, much to your dismay, the drink remains as bitter as before, causing you to smack your lips. You make a mental note to avoid buying products from this brand in the future.

As Alastor continues his tirade about the perils of sugar, you half listen with a good-natured smile. "Well, I'll be! I didn't realize you had become the new spokesperson for Hell's Dentistry. Should I expect to see your face on toothpaste commercials anytime soon?"

His expression shifts almost imperceptibly as his once-toothy grin tightens into a thin line. The sudden change in his demeanor is comical, almost cartoonish, and you can't help but burst into laughter at the sight. While you laugh uncontrollably, you attempt to add more honey to your drink. The fit of giggles proves to be too much, causing you to fumble clumsily with the pot. With a sudden jolt, a small stream of honey escapes the confines of the container, dribbling down the wooden dipper and onto the carpeted floor. Determined not to waste any more of the precious nectar, you quickly lean down, attempting to suck the excess honey from the dipper. However, your efforts only result in more hilarity, as the honey dribbles messily down the side of your mouth. It beads slowly onto your neck, leaving a sticky trail in its wake.

"Shit." A mumbled curse leaves you while you place your cup down. Resigned to the mess made, your hand attempts to wipe away the sticky residue, only to find it stubbornly clinging to the skin.

Alastor, ever the opportunist, rises from his seat and approaches. Without a word, he leans in close, his tongue darting to lap up the mess that coats your neck. The sudden sensation sends a violent shiver down your spine, and a sigh catches in your throat from the warmth of his tongue. His lips close around the spot where the honey pooled, his mouth sucking at the sticky sweetness with a hunger that nearly has your knees buckling. Oh, how you wish he'd bite down. Your hands reach out to weakly grasp onto his shoulders for support, the material of his coat bunching up under your hold.

He remains an enigma; his actions are always veiled in layers of mystery, and this moment is no exception. Any questions floating around in your head about why are fizzed out. After all, some things truly are better left unsaid. With a soft pop, he releases the patch of skin, and his tongue trails upward to linger at the corner of your mouth. His touch is delicate yet possessive, a silent declaration of his presence and desire to explore.

Weakly attempting to lighten the atmosphere for your sake you manage a joke, your lips curling into a faint smile despite the lingering heat between you.

"What happened to sugar being an unhealthy indulgence?"

Alastor’s response is immediate yet measured; his gaze gleams with a newfound intensity as he finishes lapping. His tongue traces a final path before your lips meet in a sickeningly sweet kiss.

"I suppose I am starting to see the appeal, my dear!"

Thank you so much for reading ! <33 Inspired by hazelfoureyes !

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x you #alastor smut #hazbin hotel smut

[missmeinyourbones]

CLEAN ME UP 

c/w: established relationship, hurt/comfort, light mentions of blood and injury, atsumu lowkey gets his ass beat </3 but he is so sweet

Atsumu sits crisscrossed on the floor of your bathroom with a tender black eye and a busted lip—and though this should be a rare thing, you need all five fingers to count the number of times you’ve seen this film before.

The first two were ages ago, high school days when he and Osamu couldn’t stop themselves from throwing a punch or two over nothing at all. Their egos too big and brains too small, twice you'd gotten roped into their post-brawl aftercare. Another time it was a fight off the court, when a rival captain made a snide remark about his foul accent. The fourth, a drunken, immature mistake.

Tonight’s wounds are different. Because when Atsumu nonchalantly shows up black and blue at your door, he doesn’t tell you what happened. There’s no story attached to the bruises he bares, no lengthy explanations or excuses. And Atsumu is a lot of things, but speechless is never one of them. 

He looks childish, you think, the way his broad body folds itself into a tiny pretzel and hardly takes up a corner of your tiled floor. He’s oddly quiet, too. Sure, you heard his witty comments down the hallway about how you should see the other guy, but something’s still off. His eyes aren't lit with their usual flame of youth, pride. 

Only a few words are exchanged through the process of cleaning him up. Between wet washcloths and tiny sniffles, Atsumu fumes, You haven't asked enough questions yet, and it’s beginning to freak him out. He doesn't know whether or not he should be grateful or unsettled with your silence.

A frozen bag of vegetables presses against his left eyelid when you finally ask, "What the hell did you do this time?"

Atsumu smiles at the mere sound of your voice, an instant warmth against the burning ice on his body. "Why's it always my fault?"

You remove the bag from his brow to shoot him a look, that look. He knows better than to argue with that look. Arguing with that look gets him nothing but trouble and an achy back from a night on the couch. So, he diverts. 

"Nothing,” he sulks. “He started it, and—"

"—And you finished it, right?" 

Your words are meant to be sarcastic, at his dispense of how stupid he behaved, but Atsumu doesn't take them as such. Instead, at your interruption, he shoots you an earnest smile filled with satisfaction and dried blood stretched across his chapped lips.  

"See? So smart, baby." 

His hand rises to pet your chin but you lean back quick enough to dodge his caress. His eyes fall to the bag of vegetables that now sits by your lap. 

“Atsumu,” you try again, foreboding. 

He rolls his head back in a huff against the bench of the bathtub, and the ceramic feels warm against his neck compared to the still stinging chill on his eye. 

“What was I supposed to do? They were bein’ assholes.”

His whole team had gone out drinking tonight for a celebratory round or five, followed by a few days off. And as charming as Atsumu is, he does have his foes. People in the volleyball world he’s not the biggest fan of, for reasons he doesn’t seem to discuss with you. He likes to leave it at his good intuition, something you know he lacks.  

With the context clues provided, you can think of two or three people he’s implying. 

His reasoning is flawed, to say the least, but the way he says it has your heart breaking in the slightest. He avoids eye contact, as if he's embarrassed, dancing around the subject and wishing the ground to swallow him whole. 

His shyness has you trying a softer approach. 

“Everyone is an asshole,” you whisper, lightly returning pressure to his eye with the makeshift ice, “if punching assholes was reasonable, I’d do it all the time.”

Atsumu smiles a bit at that, but you catch how he winces slightly at the movement. 

“Yer so funny, baby,” he tries to trail off. “Funniest person I—”

“Miya,” comes his second warning, and by the look in your eye, he’s not brave enough to try for a third.

“Fine,” he grumbles, “but when yer a Miya, I’m playing that card on you, too. Y’know that, right?” 

You nod, and whether it's to his proposal or to encourage his words, you don't know. But it works, because Atsumu takes a deep breath and stares at the ceiling again. 

“This time was different, okay?”

His tone is eerily soft. One only you get the privilege of hearing, and not because it's out of love, but because it's out of hate. Something’s shaken him so bad, he’s almost been rendered speechless. 

“How was it different?”

“They were talking about you,” he shakily exhales. “Sayin’ stupid shit that isn’t true.”

Your heart softens as you do your best to keep a strong facade, but maybe Atsumu does have good intuition, as his hand squeezes yours through the quick moment of silence. 

“If it’s not true, then it shouldn't have mattered, right?” you try.

“No,” he’s quick to work himself up again, eyes finding yours. “Like hell was I gonna let ‘em keep talking about you like that, ‘specially when I’m right fuckin’ there.” 

Your fingers lightly skim his jaw, nowhere sensitive but he jumps all the same. You apply pressure to tilt his head, forcing him to find your gaze. He does.

“Do you want to tell me what they said?”

Atsumu gaze softens, and after a moment of thinking, he shakes his head. 

“No,” he decides, “I don’t.” 

His eyes fall to your lips and back up to your eyes. “Do you want to know?”

You smile at his sincerity. Atsumu, who you know to be just as sweet as he is boisterous, would tell you if you asked. He’d do anything you ask. But, you decide against it. 

“No. No, I don’t.” 

Atsumu exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding as he lets his head nuzzle against your palm. Contrary to the ice, it's warm and soft on his skin. He thinks it could heal wounds faster than any bag of broccoli ever could. 

“I trust you,” he hears you coo into his hairline, kisses now dancing along his forehead and jaw, “even if you do have the emotional intelligence of a middle school boy, sometimes.”

Astumu hmphs at your words, simultaneously agreeing and brushing you off. He doesn't care enough to bicker, right now. He doesn’t need to tell you about how the man from the bar was talking about you. About how easy you’d be to persuade into bed. About how you're just with Atsumu for his flashy perks and award winning smile. 

He doesn't need to because he knows they're wrong. Because they don't see these moments, when Atsumu sits on the ledge of your empty bathtub. With popped blood vessels and tender welts, those men don't melt beneath your careful fingertips or soothing pecks. 

He doesn't have to say anything, because you trust him. You trust Atsumu, and it's the one thing in this world he knows to be true. 

He lifts his head up from your hold to find your lips. 

“I jus’ love you,” he insists, lightly pressing himself to you with such caution, “so much.” 

And if there’s one thing in this world you know to be true, it's that Miya Atsumu loves you.   

#atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x you #miya atsumu x you #atsumu angst #atsumu fluff #miya atsumu fluff #miya astumu angst #atsumu fic #miya atsumu fic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu atsumu

[doomsdaybby]

i’ve been plagued by the thought of steve cumming in your underwear and making you wear them for the rest of the day. so of course I had to write it 🤭🫶🏻 [1.7k words]

You had a bad habit of interrupting Steve at work. Not like Family Video had him rushed off his feet or bending over backwards, but he seemed to always point it out anyways.

“You’re gonna get me fired one day,” he’d jab under his breath, loaded with that honeysuckle sweetness that could make your teeth rot, not a hint of malice behind the words.

“Doesn’t sound too bad to me” you fired back, leaning over the counter with your chin propped up in one hand, elbows keeping you upright, busying the fingers of your other to twirl innocently through strands of your hair.

Somewhere between the shelves of the horror section, Robin was dry-heaving, having been forced into listening to your flirtatious conversations at least three times a week.

Which is how you ended up in the employee bathroom, Steve’s jeans and boxer shorts pooled around his ankles, your shorts discarded somewhere forgotten on the floor, panties peeled down your legs just enough for Steve’s weeping cock to slip through your slick folds without restriction.

Steve had already made you cum like this once already, having hiked up your leg so the back of your knee sat snugly in the crook of his elbow. A large hand cushioned your lower back, skating down to bruise the fat at the back of your thigh.

Steve had you standing on tip-toe, your hands buried in the hair at the nape of his neck, relying wholly on him to keep you upright. The odd squeak of your sneaker against the tile was the only noise that could be heard over the tangles of panting breaths and heated smother of kisses to exposed skin.

You were a moaning mess, the trust you had in yourself to stay quiet faltering, finding purchase in the juncture of his neck. You pressed hot open-mouthed kisses there, lungs working double time, the top of your ass burning where Steve had you anchored against the ceramic sink.

You would be bruised come morning, you could feel the promise of the blooming purple hues in every rut of Steve’s hips. Though the discomfort was drowned out by the sound of heavy huffing in your ear, his lips were so close he merely needed to whisper, the rhetorics flowing through his teeth with vulgar ease.

“You feeling good? I know, my girl, I know. You can’t get enough can you?”

Steve chuckled something wicked when a rather rough buck of his hips knocked your strained legs further apart, his bulging shaft running in and out of your slit at a pace that had you dripping down your thigh.

“God, Steve. Steve, please. Steeeve.” His name came out tightly strung, your pitchy mewls causing his cock to twitch at your entrance, dipping the head in just the tiniest amount, the lewd slip of your arousal making it far too fucking easy for him.

Steve could fuck you raw right here in the employee bathroom, but he couldn’t let you get away with being the only tease in this relationship.

How could he let you show up in your shortest shorts and cropped spaghetti strap shirts, making his work day all the more unbearable, just to give you exactly what you were after?

To his dismay, Steve was determined to show you that he had just as much power over you as you had him.

“Ssshhh, baby. You gon - fuck - you gonna get me into trouble, huh?”

Your mouth was then clamped shut, his palm pressing snugly against your lips, and Steve couldn’t help but roll his hips up that tad bit harsher to slide the head of his cock right over the bump of your clit.

“That’s it, pretty girl, gotta stay quiet f’me, okay? I know you can, you’re being so good for me” he cooed, tipping your head back away from the security of his neck to press his plush lips to your forehead, bestowing the gentlest of kisses there.

All you could do was nod your head dumbly, feeling the pull of his lips into a cocky smirk when you did so, glassy eyes rolling into the back of your head. The overstimulation was almost too much, causing tears to collect at the corners of your fluttering lids.

Steve’s breath was hot in your hair, stifled curses passing his kiss-bruised lips that were every so often interrupted by a hiss through the teeth.

You were burning all over, especially so where Steve had his hands on you, a blazing sun beneath each one of his fingertips. Steve was scorching twice as hot, cool waves of shaky exhale escaping your nostrils scattering goose-flesh down his forearm.

“Mmmm, mmm, mmmm” was all you could mumble over and over again behind the restriction of your gag, wiggling your hips to angle them up a little higher, lost in total euphoria when Steve’s cock slid down and the first few inches slipped in.

“Fuuuuck, baby,” he drawled low, sickeningly lustful, “You’re being a greedy fucking girl” Steve released your mouth then, inhaling a broken breath as he moved his hand down to grasp midway up his length, squeezing a little brutal. Your cunt fluttered, aching for him.

“This what you want, huh?” he teased your hole, the head of his cock barely disappearing into where you needed him most. Steve pressed further into you so you were chest to chest, pulling at your hips without mercy.

Forehead to forehead, shiny lips merely inches apart as Steve smirked when your mouth opened in a silent ‘O’, groaning a devilish rattle in his throat when your back arched somewhat grotesque as he slapped the tip against your sodden clit.

“This is what I want” you agreed, in complete mumbling nodding disarray, unable to change the angle of your hips now due to the threatening looming spasm in your calves, wishing that he would just give in already and fuck you like you both wanted.

“Please. Please Steve, I need you. I need you” your begging trailed off into fucked out drawls, air-headed demands dripping from your lips, another orgasm looming on the horizon as promising as the rising sun, cheeks flushed scarlett.

But obviously Steve wasn’t going to let you cum again. That would just be greedy now, wouldn't it?

Steve cursed, hitching your leg up even higher, marking the outline of a red handprint into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. It took everything in you not to cry out, sobbing because it felt so fucking good. Too good, a shock rolling up into the pit of your stomach at every drag of Steve’s weeping tip over the hood of your clit.

“Gonna paint this pretty pussy, honey. Gonna keep my cum in these little panties f’me, yeah? Keep ‘em on until I can fuck you like you deserve later” Steve grunted, nosing at your hairline.

You watched as Steve hauls himself back, granting you some relief when his weight wasn’t crushing you against the bathroom sink. Both sets of eyes snapped down to where you met, mouths dropped open and heaving as he took his cock fully in his fist, ensuring you remained nice and spread open for him.

Steve flicked his wrist once, twice, three times. Swearing and whining something filthy, taking his bottom lip harshly between his teeth. The neediness in his moans had you squeezing around nothing, and Steve saw the throb of your entrance. That alone was enough to have him keening.

“Fuck, fuck. Oh my god, i’m cumming i’m cumming for you” Steve’s jaw falls slack, eyes squeezing shut in almost pained release.

Just as he promised, Steve’s warm seed spurts just above your clit, flooding down the seam of your slit to puddle at the center of your underwear.

You wrap your arms around his neck again, pulling him into you so you can press sloppy kisses into his neck. Steve is almost wheezing, short-winded and completely drunk on the buzz of his orgasm.

“Such a good girl for me” he laughed quietly, finally releasing your aching leg so he could pull your panties up. The feel of Steve’s release slick in your underwear felt foreign, strange. But you knew that if you didn’t follow through with his orders, you would face the consequences for it later.

Which was both a good and bad thing, but you enjoyed the fizzing giddy warmth that encompassed the space between your ribs when Steve showered you with praise. It was a high you never wanted to come down from.

After some soothing backstrokes, and when you felt secure in the fact that you wouldn’t topple over when Steve no longer held you upright, you both apprehensively filed out of the bathroom.

Your legs were wobbly, though you played it off rather well. Steve was still fixing the wild strands of his locks that were now uncharacteristically out of place when you approached the front of the store.

Back to the counter, arms folded and looking far from impressed, Robin watched as the two of you reappeared, her brow quirking when you adjusted the strap of your shirt.

“You guys are disgusting” Robin tutted, her top lip curling upstairs to bear her top row of teeth, button nose wrinkling in repulsion.

“Can you please refrain from covering any other surfaces in bodily fluids whilst I go on break?”

“Oh my goooddd, Robin!” Steve’s eyebrows sank, drawing his forefinger and thumb across his eyelids to pinch at the bridge of his nose, the tips of his ears dusting the prettiest shade of pink.

She tapped at the non-existent watch on her wrist, “Twenty minutes!! Twenty minutes ago I was supposed to be perusing a Bill’s Deli turkey sandwich!” her gravelly voice cracking slightly under the pressure, “And where were you? Sucking face and becoming parents in the bathroom? Life is good for some!”.

Your cheeks filled with a laugh you couldn’t hold in, between Robin’s blatant abhorrence and Steve keeling over from cringe-induced nausea, you could barely keep it together.

“We’re so sorry, Robs. It won’t happen again.” you assured her through a giggle, rubbing your legs together to feel the now cool collection of cum sitting snugly there, running a comforting hand up Steve’s arm in an attempt to resurrect him from his premature death.

It won’t happen again, will it?

#okay so sorry if this is meh #I get halfway through writing something and then I go 🤠 ‘oh I hate it’ #but I needed to rid this thot out of my head #my fics #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n smut #stranger things #smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine

[gtgbabie0]

-Finnick Odair x reader

{Quiet moments between you and Finnick when you can’t sleep}

I hope you enjoy my lovelies! 💕

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Winter was in full force, with harsh winds that nipped at your skin. Not even the fireplace could fend off, let alone the fluffy covers that you’ve layered upon your shared bed. Perhaps it was the cold chill in the air that prevented sleep from capturing you, or maybe it was something else entirely… you decide to not let your mind wander to what that could possibly be.

You sit up wrapping your cotton shawl around your shoulders tightly as your eyes scan across your room, dimly lit by the small sliver of moonlight that peaks behind the curtains and stretches across the floor trailing along the wall.

Finnick doesn’t stir with your movement which means he must be exhausted because he’s often a light sleeper, although you’re not surprised with the busy day he’s had. You smile softly down at him, the way his cheek is smushed against the soft pillow. You gently push his hair away from his closed eyes as you admire him, you’re glad he’s found comfort beside you.

The thought crosses your mind to wake him up, he’s always told you that if you can’t sleep to wake him up, he wouldn’t mind. But looking at him now, you just can’t bring yourself to do it, you’d feel far too guilty.

Instead, you decide to make your way to the kitchen, but not before putting on a pair of thick socks, after all, the tiled floor always felt much colder in the dead of night. Perhaps a warm drink would help lull you to sleep? You think to yourself as you fill the kettle.

You cringe slightly as the water begins to boil, squeezing your eyes shut at the sudden loud noise. Finnick had brought all types of different teas with the hope that one of them might help you get a good night's rest, he’d do anything if it meant you were happy.

You remember when he brought them home, two whole bags full of boxes with different kinds of ‘sleep treatments’ it brought tears to your eyes.

Finnick was always sweet to you, it shows in the way he looks at you, the way he holds you, and the sweet nothings he whispers to you whenever you feel down. You start to miss him, even though he’s only in your shared bedroom, the room next to the kitchen, fast asleep.

You pour the hot water into the small ceramic mug, the same one Peeta had gifted you as a congratulations for your engagement, he had hand painted them, beautiful flowers that swirl around the cup.

Soon enough the sweet smell of the tea reaches you, soothing the restless feeling that builds up within your chest. You take a small sip of the warm beverage as Finnick wanders through the kitchen, eyes heavy with sleep.

“It’s freezing out here honey” his voice is rough despite the softness of his tone, exhaustion hangs on his every word. he shuffles closer to you, bringing his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him as if he’s trying to protect you from the chill that lingers within the air.

A sigh falls from your lips when he presses a kiss to your forehead, his hands soothing against your back as you rest against him. Even in the safety of his arms the guilt still bubbles up within you, “Did I wake you up?” You ask, pushing your face against his shoulder.

“No, was already awake” he’s lying but you decide not to fight him on it, far too distracted by the warmth of his hands as they slip underneath your shirt, fingers splaying across your lower back. “Can’t sleep without you anyway” he says, pulling back to get a better look at you, the truth of his words are shown through his eyes.

“M’sorry” you mumble into the soft fabric of his shirt, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me” The words come out much heavier than you’d like and it strikes a cord within Finnick, one that pinches his heart.

He tuts softly as he leans back slightly, holding your chin with his finger and thumb. “Hey,” he whispers, tilting your head to look at him. His eyes immediately soften as yours find his, “Don’t apologise, honey, it’s what I’m here for, yeah?” He smiles, seeming more awake than he was just mere minutes ago.

“I know, I just- I don’t want to be too much” The words feel silly as they escape your lips but your chest feels lighter for it. You know deep down you shouldn’t feel like this, Finnick has never made you feel anything but loved.

“Too much?” He repeats after you as if you had just said something that had completely baffled him, and it did. “There’s no such thing, sweetness,” he tells you, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I love you- so much” he whispers against your lips before kissing you, not letting your mind wander elsewhere for even a second.

“I love you too Finn” you exhale, eyes closing as he rests his forehead against your own, your noses bumping against each others slightly.

“Come on, it’s warmer in bed,” he says, unwrapping his arms from around you as he picks up the tea you had made, “I got this, you go get into bed honey” he smiles and you know better than to fight him on it, so you do as he says, climbing back into the cosy bed with Finnick following shortly behind you.

He hands you the warm beverage before joining you, his hand slipping into your own as you take small sips of your drink. He talks about the market, how they're starting to sell that one specific seasonal bread you like, and he even begins to make plans for the weekend with you. his voice clams your nerves, it brings peace.

"Thank you, Finnick" you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder as he pulls the blankets over your legs.

He brings your hand up to his lips, pressing soft kisses to your knuckles, “Always for you” he says, voice heavy with sleep once again. You set your mug on the bedside table before turning back to him, and for the first time tonight, you start to feel yourself drift off as you lay in his arms.

Finnick could admire you forever without wanting anything, study every ‘imperfection’ and fall even more in love with you. He would pour his heart out to you right now if he wasn’t so tired so instead he settles for a simple, “G’night beautiful” with love dripping from his tone, and soon enough you both find sleep.

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#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair drabble #finnick odair blurb #thg finnick #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #finnick x y/n #finnick fanfic #hunger games catching fire #hunger games finnick #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x y/n #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games fic #the hunger games finnick #the hunger games imagine #finnick odair oneshot

[sopplle]

Bathtime!! (John Price)

Summary: John helps you out in the bath after a long week.

Content Warnings: Making out, Clittie rubbing, Fingering, Praise, (Overstim if you squint really hard)

A/N: I wrote this stoned ash so 👍 (pls give me feedback I'll give you a kiss)

A long sigh left your lips as you sank into the hot bathwater. Your muscles were tense with the weight of the workweek. It had been utterly exhausting; endless meetings, mountains of paperwork, and utterly rude clients. Not to mention your nightmare of a boss. You tried to relax your shoulders manually, taking a deep breath, willing your muscles to melt into the lavender-scented brew. But…your eyebrows were still drawn, and your jaw was still taught. Your mind couldn’t stray from work, and you were utterly frustrated. 

Huffing an irritated sigh, you attempted to think of anything other than work. A sunny beach, clear skies, shirtless John… It's okay you're doing self-care. And- you could be doing that report due Monday. All of the sudden, you were right back at square one. A loud groan of exasperation bounced around the shiny tiles covering the floor, and partial walls.

“What’s the matter, dear?” You jumped at the deep, rumbling voice coming from the doorway. You looked over and there he was, standing in all his glory. You always left the door ajar for John, but it was now fully opened so he could lean against it, arms folded. Despite being together for so long, you still felt shy being naked in front of him, you were grateful for the bubbles covering your body, John not so much.

“Just can’t seem to get my mind off work,” you said softly, not wanting to break the quiet atmosphere. He hummed, pushing himself from the doorframe, and sauntered over to you. He grabbed the small stool you use to reach things and paint your toenails and sat at the side of the tub. He stared down at you, admiring how soft and supple your skin looked in nothing but candlelight. The bubbles sparkled, covering the water's surface, leaving John to imagine, or rather recall, what was underneath.

He leaned down, one hand cradling the side of your face, drawing your lips to his; the other was placed on your knee poking out of the water. His lips connected with yours sweetly and softly. You sighed in contentment as he deepened the kiss. You met his eagerness in full, pressing up into him. He groaned, “Fancy some help?” he rumbled in your ear. 

His hand slipped from youre knee and below the blanket of sweet smelling bubbles, trailing along the interior of your thigh. You whined as you felt his hand stop just before your aching cunt. “Please,” you whined, hands resting on the cold ceramic edge of the tub. He smiled at your saccharine plea and his lips descended upon yours once again. He groaned as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, his thumb rubbed little circles on the soft skin of your thigh. He pulled away from the kiss to watch your face as he played with your pussy.

His middle finger pressed against your puffy little clit finally, and you let out a gasp. He studied your face intently as his calloused finger began moving in small circles. “John,” you whined out. He moved his other hand from your face to your chest, massaging and rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “There you go, pretty girl,” he cooed. Little gasps and whines fell from your lips, hips jutting up into his hand, longing for more.

He kissed you with fervour and moved his thick middle finger down to your leaking slit. 

He rubbed it up and down before gently pressing into you. The two of you  moaned in sync as his finger slid fully into you. Felling your hot cunt around his finger sent pleasure running down his spine, and leaking from his cock. He always mentioned how your pleasure is his pleasure, but he doesn’t really think you get it. His finger pumped languidly in and out of you, the water sloshing against his arm. He was sure if you weren’t in the bath, he would be able to hear the wetness of your cunt. “Fuuuck thats it princess, just relax,” he said, his fingers curved perfectly into your g-spot.

He slipped a second, girthy finger into your tight hole. A moan fell from your lips at the pleasent stretch. “Good girl, takin’ me so well,” he moaned as he felt you clench around him. “Fuck—i’m so close,” you moaned, gripping his arm; water droplets cascaded down the length of it and onto his hand. He felt you spasm, and he knew you were right there. He leaned down and captured your lips in a sensual kiss, you could feel every ounce of his love for you. “Come on, cum on my fingers, little one,” he all but moaned. His hips were jutting forward on their own, his cock meeting the cold tub through his pants.

You let out a loud moan as you came, legs closing around his arm, cunt convulsing. “Fuck,” he growled. “There we go, baby girl,” he said, softly fucking you through your orgasm. “There we go.” His fingers slowed to a stop, and he let himself stay there for a second, feeling your pussy clench through the aftershocks. He slipped his fingers from you, lovingly tapping your clit goodbye just to watch your legs jerk. His clean hand came up to hold you by the chin, guiding you into a sweet kiss. “Feeling better, Love?” he murmured against your lips. “Definitely,” you said sleepily. “Glad to help, now let's get you dried up; I’ve got dinner in the oven.”

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #John Price #John Price x reader #John Price smut #john price cod #captain price #John Price x reader smut #cod smut

[formulaforza]

hello, hello! can i request a blurb where carlos and reader have moved in together and are having a housewarming party. they’ve invited a couple drivers over and lando tries to use the fancy hermes blanket on the couch and reader gasps! "what's the point of the blanket being on the couch if it can't be used?" "it's for show!" "oh for the love of god-" you’d do it amazingly 🫶🏼 thank you!

—coming home carlos sainz x reader love, mackie... hi nonnie!! this turned into exactly how I needed to spend my evening (my day was quite literally from hell.) and this ran a little longer than a blurb at 1.3k words! regardless, I hope you enjoy it! I had a lot of fun writing it (and listening to lots of Spanish music)

There wasn’t much that was easy about blending the home decor styles of you and your boyfriend. For every item that Carlos fell in love with, you had an equal and opposite styled piece that you were in love with. From the herringbone floors to the tall white walls, it seemed that everything in the place was a direct contrast of the other. Quiet luxury and old money and neon signs and maximalist paint swatches, it was almost an entire year before the two of you finally allowed guests to come over (which–by the way–was a direct conflict to one of the major reasons the two of you decided to move in together in the first place: hosting friends and family without arguing over who would be doing the hosting).

The week following the Spanish Grand Prix felt like the perfect time to finally show your home off to the people you loved most; everyone was already in Barcelona for Carlos, an hour and change flight or a two and a half hour train ride wouldn’t kill any of them, not when half of them had to make their way back to the capital. 

That’s how it all cumulated into the night of all nights. The coffee table books are surrounded by half full, mis-matched wine glasses on old Spanish tile coasters (a compromise the two of you had made over the intricate hand painted ceramic that previously adorned the kitchen walls). The record player in the corner of the room stutters its way through Carlos’ dusty Boleros In Trío vinyl while the bluetooth speaker in the kitchen serenades listeners with the sounds of Sebastian Yatra. 

Everytime Carlos enters a room, he flips the lightswitch on. You follow behind him turning the overheads back off, opting for the warm yellow lamp light and the colors of the city beyond the bistro-themed balcony.  He burns a candle on the stack of decorative books, something with tobacco and cocoa and brandy and–jasmine, maybe? He always picks candles with jasmine, so you might just be imagining the smell out of habit. 

And you, and him. The two of you so terribly settled into the domesticity of your shared lives, the air of love in every corner of the home. He appears in the kitchen in a warm breeze, reaching over your arm to grab a slice of chorizo from the tapas platter on the counter in front of you. He kisses your cheek when he does it, undoubtedly in hopes of distracting your hand from smacking his. “¿Tienes frío, mi amor?” Are you cold, my love? He peruses around the bite of food. 

“¿No porque?” No, why? You ask, pressing the back of your hand against your cheek to feel the temperature of your own skin. 

“Lando sigue y sigue sobre tener frío,” Lando is going on and on about being cold, he explains. “Estaba empezando a pensar que me estaba volviendo loco.” I was starting to think I was going crazy.

You laugh. If anything but temperate, you’re warm, working around the kitchen perfectly plating a platter for your friends and family to snack on. “Bueno, creo que Lando ha perdido la cabeza,” Well, I think Lando has lost his mind. Carlos chuckles, gives you another passing kiss as he moves behind you around the island. “¿Encontrarle una manta, sin embargo?” Find him a blanket, though? You ask. He nods through a chew, holds his thumb up as he backs out of the room—you wonder how he managed to sneak another bite of food past you. 

You appear with the tray of snacks, chorizo with ham and cheese and bread, croquetas and patatas bravas and tigres. If it’s all as good as it was when you’d tested the menu last weekend, your company won’t even realize that you and Carlos aren’t serving them an actual meal this evening. Everyone hastily moves their coasters and glasses and Carlos moves the stack of books from the coffee table to the entertainment center, hovers behind you as you set the heavy platter down just in case you need him. 

You find your seat next to Carlos on one of the sofas, know that he hates that people are eating on his new couches. He’d researched them for months–months–before finally deciding on the ones that had been delivered last month as a replacement to the ones from your old apartment. 

You notice Lando is still blanketless, still dramatically letting a shiver run up his entire body every ten minutes. “Güey,” you say, and half the room looks up from their conversation, Lando’s eyes meeting yours. “If you are cold still, get a blanket.”

“Ay yai yai, pollita, relax,” he quips back in a thick, feigned Spanish accent. Carlos snorts and you meet Lando with your middle finger, an old friend of his. When you look to your boyfriend to meet his dumb chuckle with the same fate, he’s not even paying attention to the conversation. Instead, he picks at the bottom of a shelf hung on the wall above the two of you. It holds his trophy from Silverstone, a picture of him and Caco, a small jar full of incense sticks (maybe the jasmine you smell), which he has stuck a tiny Spanish flag into, and a picture of you and he following his win. The smiles on both your faces are so horribly cheek-aching that you can almost feel the phantom soreness when you look at it. 

You watch as Lando reaches over another friend with a quiet excuse me. You can see the thought process happening behind his eyes, in his path for the blanket draped over the back of Carlos’ brand new couch. It’s like watching the world’s lowest stakes car crash. 

“Carlos,” you whisper. “Carlos, él va por la cobija,” he’s going for the blanket, you say through gritted teeth, nudging your boyfriend to deal with his friend.  He ignores you, still focused on the bottom of the shelf and the single splinter that shoots off it. “Carlos,” you say, this time with more force. 

“¿Qué?” You finally get his eyes, nodding over to Lando, who is currently unfolding the Hermés throw blanket Carlos’ mother had gifted the two of you upon signing your lease. “Ay! Cabrón! No,” he finally says, standing up from his seat and moving to take the blanket from Lando, who looks on in utter confusion as Carlos refolds the throw and moves down the hallway. 

“What the fuck?” He asks you through a meek chuckle. 

“We don’t use that blanket,” you explain, and he looks even more confused than before. 

“You… hu–what?” He laughs, with more confidence in his confusion than before. “Why is there a blanket on the couch if it can’t be used?”

You sigh, your eyes rolling behind closed lids. “It’s for decoration.”

“It’s for decoration?” You nod, just as Carlos appears from the hall again, usable blanket in tow, expensive throw likely put away in your shared bedroom. He hands it to Lando. “It’s for decoration,” the Brit teases. 

Carlos shrugs, holds his hands up in defense in the return to his seat beside you. “Rule maker,” he says, pointing to you with a thumb before shifting it to himself, “rule follower.”

You laugh, adjusting to the sink of the cushion brought on by Carlos’ weight on the couch, your fingers finding the hair at the nape of his neck without even the beginnings of a thought. Lando groans, pointing to you, “whipped,” and then to Carlos, “whipped… but more.”

“Stellar delivery there, cabrón,” you smile. “No stutter or anything.”

Carlos exhales a sharp laugh, his shoulders bouncing silently. Across the coffee table, Lando, curled up in a fluffy blanket like a toddler staying up past their bed-time to hang out with Mom and Dad’s friends, flips you off and is sure to properly enunciate his silently mouthed fuck you.

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz blurb #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz jr #lando norris #f1 blurb #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 #f1 fanfic #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz fic #scuderia ferrari

[monstrouslyobsessed]

vile affection

concept: in which your guardian angel wishes nothing but misfortune for you—just to keep you. —momster

—a/n: well no one asked for a concept and I wanna post smth so here it is!! enjoyyyyy~

side note, i tried to be vague on what religion this story is referencing to so you yourself can implement your preferred beliefs, but unfortunately, catholicism still carried some weights in this one. sorry!! i tried my best dlfkfsdl

—tw / tags: gn reader, implied loved one(s) death(s), implied killing, heavy religious themes, grief, horror, body horror, teratophilia, exophilia, general yandere themes, sfw.

—featured character(s): the guardian angel / the angel, the (unfortunate) priest

A piercing wail erupted from the depths of your throat as you crumbled to the floor, shrieking into your phone, “No, no, nonono! No!”

Not another one…!

Sobs wracked your body so hard the sounds emerged as tiny high-pitched squeaks. Tears blurred your vision to near blindness, distorting the colors into blobs of grey. Your breaths came so harshly they scorched your lungs.

Curling into a ball, you lost control and hyperventilated. With wild abandon, you pounded your fist on the cold tiled floor and released inhuman cries of agony. Something throbbed where your knuckles had split open, staining the hard ceramic surface with your blood, yet you felt nothing. Numbness drenched the overwhelming misery and panic, and your world creased its spinning.

They were gone—every single one of them.

Distantly, a voice, laced with sympathy, pleaded with you not to hang up the phone. Without hesitation, your battered hand moved on its own accord to end the call. You sat there, head between your knees, as you let the device to slip away to clatter and crack against the floor.

Now, there was nothing left, nothing but the hollowing emptiness that gaped deep within your pounding chest, where the love of your life had once filled and kept it warm. Memories of their smiles faded as tears stung your swollen eyes. Wheezing sobs continued to fill the room, oblivious to a strange distortion perching on your bowed back to comfort you.

The funeral was a somber affair, a closed-casket viewing attended by strangers. You remained quiet throughout the priest’s recitation of the psalms, disregarding the whispered condolences offered your way. It took every ounce of your strength not to jump into that casket and howl your grief.

“Poor thing…” one attendant murmured to another, “this makes it the fifth loss in this year alone, doesn’t it?”

The other attendant responded sympathetically, stealing a brief glance in your direction. Anger flared within you, only to fade just as quickly when you felt something brush against your bare neck; feather-soft, cold and intangible. You tensed.

This was not the first time you had experienced these strange sensations—these invisible touches. At times, it would gently trace down your skin, soothing like a caress on the back of your hand, or enveloping you like an embrace around your waist. But, it always felt as though it was petting you with a sharp, scalpel-like claw, sharp and unyielding. These sensations left behind only cold goosebumps and an increasing sense that something was extremely wrong.

Once, you thought it might be the ghost of your loved one—but even you knew such possibilities were ludicrous. It could be your mind breaking apart under the weight of so many consecutive tragedies; less than a year felt like a lifetime of pain. And, by certain, their touches had never felt so…disgusting and inhuman.

There were moments where the hairs on the back of your neck bristled and you heard the faint disembodied crooning, words too indistinct for you to understand. Yet, it vaguely resembled a demonic chorus, singing some eerie song. The lingering echoes, you thought, was just an auditory hallucinations brought on by intense grief.

The phenomena worsened each loss you suffered though. These unseen presences grew more persistent and suffocating, clinging to you like a shroud of darkness. Your instincts would scream at you to flee—but how could you escape from something you don’t even know was there?

Rubbing unconsciously where the invisible entity touched you, you remained in your seat, fixated on the casket. As you waited for the priest to conclude his prayer for the departed soul’s safe passage to the afterlife, you lifelessly watched mourners rising from their seats to form a line to pay their respects.

Your mind was numbed by both exhaustion and sorrow to even count them all.

After the attendants withdrew for the impending burial, the priest motioned for you to join him. A gentle—yet strangely tight smile formed on his lips, as he spoke, “Would you mind returning here after the burial? I’d like a word with you.”

You furrowed your brows at the priest's unusual request but nodded, your agreement barely audible. Whatever he had to say couldn’t possibly be more harrowing than the lonely hell you were enduring. Quietly, you promised to return.

After the burial, once the guests departed for the wake, you found yourself alone in the cemetery. An ache gnawed at your heart as you forced yourself to walk back to the ever-looming church. As soon as you stepped inside the holy building, something strange caught the corner of your eyes.

Startled, you pivoted to see what it was.

But, there was nothing there, just the endless rows of gravestones scattered across the green grass. Your muscles taut with unease, you shook your head and drew a deep, heavy breath. Your sanity was fraying to a snapping point, you thought to yourself.

The weighty doors thudded shut behind you, the sound reverberating thunderously throughout the silent sanctuary, nearly jumping you out of your skin. Following the abrupt noise, you heard a voice beckoning you to follow, as the priest shuffled his feet down the aisle.

You couldn’t help but to notice the nervousness in his steps.

Closing the distance between you, he ushered you past the archway and toward the altar of the church’s fallen deity. Lightheaded and worried at the haste and anxiety he displayed, you allowed him to lead you to a room in the rear of the sanctuary. Rashly, he locked the door behind you and stood there stiffly, pressing his ear against the wooden surface.

“Father…?” You glanced at him, fear swelling up at his odd behavior.

His shoulders tensed upon your hesitant voice and he turned to face you, his eyes filled with unmasked horror. Swiftly, the priest made a sign of the cross and whispered a prayer. With a shuddering sigh, he returned his attention to you.

Before you could open your mouth to demand an explanation, he cut in with urgency.

“Tell me, my child, what do you know of the guardian angel?”

Perplexed, you blinked until his urgent words seeped into your mind. Swallowing thickly, you replied in a hoarse voice, stifling the swelling grief in your breast, “They are meant to protect and to guide you in the times of strife and tribulations.”

He fell silent for a moment, then parted his trembling lips, “Then tell me, my child, why has yours only destroyed? Why did it regard you with such a perverse gaze?”

“I…what?” You gaped, a cracked laughter escaping your lips in an unhinged melody.

Had this man lost his mind?

What could he possibly mean? How could this man assume that the loss of your family was the work of divine beings? How ridiculous—

But upon the stern and fearful look in his eyes, disbelief constricted in the pit of your stomach. An overwhelming urge to flee coursed through your nerves, propelling your legs toward the bolted door. You were disrupted by a sudden yank on the collar of your shirt.

An inexplicable dread settled beneath your skin, as the priest forcefully dragged you backward with unexpected strength. Before you could voice your frustration and demand an explanation, the door buckled.

The wood splintered and the shrieks of a demon reverberated.

A scream pierced the air, laden with terror—but you couldn’t discern whose voice it belonged to. Was it your own? Or was it the priest’s? You remained uncertain, as you transfixed by the sight of something great and dreadful emerging from the sundered door.

An angel.

Except, to you, it was not.

Trenched in crimson, the mangled remains of rotten bodies hung from its many jagged wings. Countless eyes turned toward you, each radiating with worship and desire. A seam split on its featureless face, forming a broken maw that drooled with hunger. Its tongue, as dark as oil, swept away the spattered blood on its pure white skin.

Numerous arms reached out for you, each finger tipped with claws, glistening with something pungent. Its resonant voice echoed your name, tainted with the same twisted desire mirrored in their manic eyes. It repeated those three words, like a disturbing hymn.

I love you.

Blood roared in your ears and fear seeped through your body, paralyzing you. You couldn’t move, your vision obscured by a sudden cascade of tears. Disgust churned within you, sickening you to your very core.

You couldn’t even discern the abrupt swing of one of its arms, releasing the lifeless body from its monstrous sword, as the abomination closed in. A flurry of limbs encircled your shivering form, some caressing while others coiled around your spine.

Its’ many eyes blinked at you and its rotting wings fluttered, its grinning face lovingly nuzzled yours. Against your ear, it moaned its proclamation.

I love you.

The slithering tongue smeared across your lips in a parody of kisses. Your skin crawled at the way it touched you, its embrace suffocating, yet sickeningly gentle. Its affection for you was vile. Unwanted.

Your hands beat its armor weakly, attempting to fend it off, and its crooning changed into something sharp and incensed. Snarling, frustrated that it was unable to indulge itself into its unholy pleasure with you, it grabbed your hands and held them tightly.

Sobbing, you knew you would never be able to escape. Desperate to appease it, your voice rasped out from your dry throat,

“I…love…you…too.”

Its painful clenches softened upon your trembling words.

Love swelled within those golden irises.

—end

#my writing #monster's writing. 👹 #yandere #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #tetrophilia #exophilia #reader insert #long post #unedited #sfw #concept #guardian angel #angel #biblical angel #yandere angel #gn reader #implied killing #death mentions #grief #tw: religion #religious themes #horror #body horror #eyes

[yxngbxkkie]

change of heart (s.c)

first piece of my skz street racing series! i'm extremely nervous, and i really hope you all like it 💓

feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰

You're cleaning the ceramic cups when his loud voice echoes off of the walls. You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you glance in the direction of the front door.

A few other patrons glare at Changbin as he walks up to the counter. It's not every day that he comes here, but most people come here to study, meaning they want the space to be quiet.

"Welcome to The Crescent Café, what can I get for you?" You ask the dark-haired man with no emotion in your voice.

"It's nice to see you too, Y/N," Changbin says while keeping his eyes on the menu. "Can I get a medium iced americano?"

You nod your head, inputting his order into the system. "Is that all?" You follow up, meeting his gaze.

"Can I get your phone number?" He asks with a smirk.

"No. Your total is $5.46," you reject him with no hesitation.

Changbin releases a light hiss before shaking his head. "Come on," he whines, laying his hands on the counter. "What do I gotta do to get a chance with you?"

You purse your lips as the receipt for his order prints. "You'd have to stop being a dick to people around you. You'd have to be more considerate too," you mention while handing him his receipt.

He just nods his head, keeping his mouth shut. Changbin doesn't say anything else as you start to make his coffee. A part of you is surprised that he shut up instantly.

It doesn't take you very long to make his iced americano, handing it to the buff man once you're done. He doesn't stick around after he takes the drink from you.

You feel proud of yourself for knocking him down a peg or two, but you also feel a bit guilty for sounding so… mean. Your gaze moves with his figure as Changbin walks out of the coffee shop.

"You okay?" Your co-worker asks while placing a hand on your shoulder.

You jump at the sound of his voice, placing a hand over your heart. "Jesus, yeah, I'm okay," you mumble, giving him a small smile.

The guy apologizes to you while placing a comforting hand on your arm. "So sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," he chuckles, rubbing your forearm.

"It's okay," you giggle, moving to rest against the back counter. "You're just early. Cho said that you weren't coming in until eleven."

"Ah, yeah. I thought I wasn't either, but the event I attended was shorter than anticipated," Ji-ho mentions, his arms crossing over his chest.

"Everything is okay?" You ask him.

His gaze meets yours, and a charming smile graces his lips. "Yeah, everything's fine. Don't worry your pretty little head," he flirts, tapping the pad of his index finger on your nose.

You feel yourself blushing, dropping your gaze to the tile flooring. Ji-ho hooks a finger under your chin, lifting your head up.

"Would you want to go out Friday night?" He asks you, smirking a bit.

"O-Oh," your eyes go wide, and you stutter, "I, uh, yeah, sure."

He smiles widely as a customer walks up to the counter. "Great. Give me your number after our shift, and I'll text you the details and everything," Ji-ho mentions while strolling past you.

You keep your eyes on him as he helps the older woman. Did he really ask me out? You ask yourself, furrowing your brows a bit. You can feel the nerves beginning to catch up to you, and you let him know that you're going to take a quick break.

Once you make it outside the building, you release a deep breath. "I have a date Friday," you whisper before doing a little cheer.

-

"Are you sure this is appropriate?" You ask your roommate, a laugh escaping your lips.

Hana runs her hands up along your sides before resting her chin on your shoulder. "Girl, yes. You look absolutely fabulous," she hypes you up, patting the top of your head. "Plus, didn't he say to dress nicely?!"

You nod your head, looking yourself over in the mirror. You do look good, you have to agree. "Okay, before the confidence wears off," you chuckle while walking out of your bedroom, heading into the living area to put your shoes on.

"Get some!" She screams, racing into the kitchen.

Another laugh comes from you as you slip your black heels on. Hana comes into the room with two glasses of wine, handing one to you.

"Hana, I'm just about to leave," you tell her, pushing the glass back towards you.

She pushes it into your hands anyway, making you take it. "It's for courage, babe. Drink up," she clicks your glass before downing the alcohol.

You raise the drink to your lips, drinking the red wine steadily. You gulp the liquid down and place the empty glass on the table in front of you. A knock on the door echoes off the walls, signaling that Ji-ho is here.

"Okay, I'm leaving. I'll update you later," you tell her with a grin.

She nods her head and quickly dips back into her bedroom. You take one more deep breath before opening the front door. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him.

"Hi," you greet him, meeting his dark eyes.

"Hey, you look gorgeous," Ji-ho compliments you, leaning forward to place a kiss on your cheek.

"Thank you," you blush, taking the hand he's holding out to you.

The taller man leads you out of your apartment building, making small conversations about each other's day. He stops in front of a sporty looking vehicle and opens the passenger side door.

"This is yours?" You ask him after slipping into the seat. Ji-ho nods his head before closing the door. You lock your seatbelt and rest your hands in your lap.

Ji-ho slips into the driver's seat and starts the vehicle. He revs the engine, the loudness of it startling you slightly. "Ready?" He grins, revving the engine again.

You nod your head once, and Ji-ho shifts his vehicle into gear. You grab a hold of the door as he speeds down the well-lit streets.

The ride lasts about twenty minutes, getting curious about where he's taking you. You notice a bunch of cars sitting in one area, the neon lights on each vehicle lighting up the parking lot.

"What is this?" You ask the man beside you, taking a quick glance towards him. "Where are we?"

"Street race," he tells you before parking the vehicle. Your lips part as Ji-ho gets out, gently shutting his door. He races over to your side and opens the door for you. "Come on. It'll be fun."

Your hands shake a bit as you slowly rise out of the vehicle. "Uh, you know these races are illegal, yeah?" You ask him, starting to feel a little uneasy.

Ji-ho rolls his eyes at your question. "Really? Are you going to be a buzzkill? This group comes here almost every night," he informs you, attempting to drag you towards the crowd of people.

"I don't want to be here," you truthfully tell him, planting your feet into the ground.

"Fine. Find your own way home," Ji-ho snaps before walking away from you.

You're honestly a bit surprised that he just left you alone. You look around yourself, feeling a bit overdressed for this kind of occasion. A slight gasp comes from your lips upon seeing Seo Changbin.

Of course he's here… You think to yourself, having an internal debate with yourself. "Do I really want to ask him to take me home?" You mumble while slowly making your way towards him.

He checks the engine in his vehicle as you walk up to him. The curly-haired man lifts his head, and his eyes widen once he realizes who you are.

"Y/N? What are you doing here?" Changbin asks you, looking around while resting a hand on your forearm. "How'd you even get here?"

You swallow thickly and jab your thumb in the direction of the crowd. "Uhm, I went out with a guy from work, and he brought me here," you begin to explain, tangling your fingers with one another. "I-I asked him to bring me home, but he just ditched me."

"Who is it?" He asks, straightening his back.

"His name is Ji-ho," you mention with furrowed brows. "It doesn't matter. I was just wondering if… if maybe you could bring me home?"

Changbin's eyes meet yours again, noticing the desperate look in them. "Yeah, sure," he pauses, the corner of his mouth lifting, "but only if you give me your number after."

You scoff, shaking your head at him. "I can't stand you," you laugh loudly, turning to walk away from him.

A hand quickly wraps itself around your wrist, stopping you from walking away. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Changbin apologizes while pulling you back towards him. "I have a race in five minutes, but after that, I promise to bring you home."

"You don't expect me to ride with you for it, do you?!" You ask him.

"I mean, you don't have to," he shrugs his shoulders, providing a small smile. "Although, I'd feel more safe if you were with me."

You bite your lip as you glance back at the group of people. They start to disperse, and you assume they're preparing for the race.

"If I scream to get out of your car, you pull over," you start while walking towards the passenger side of his crimson-colored vehicle, "I don't care if you're in first or last place."

Changbin places a hand on his heart after shutting the hood. "I promise to let you out if you scream," he swears, the two of you piling into the vehicle.

-

You can not believe that you're in Seo Changbin's car during an illegal street race. Hana's never going to believe you when you tell her this.

His car drifts around the tight corner, causing you to suck in some air and squeeze your eyes shut. "H-How does one do this?!" You ask out loud to no one in particular. "You're all crazy."

Changbin places his right hand on your leg before slapping it a couple of times. "Oh, come on. It's fun. We're having fun!" He says while squeezing gently.

You turn your head to glare at him, your knuckles beginning to turn white from how hard you're gripping. "Oh, yeah, I'm having so much fun," you almost growl.

He takes another sharp turn, and you almost bash your head off of the window. "Shit, be careful," Changbin's demeanor changes from amusement to concern. "You gotta pay attention, baby."

"Don't call me baby," you grumble, keeping your eyes on the road.

"You're cute when you're mad," he laughs while shifting his vehicle into another gear, the speed of it increasing.

You cross your arms over your chest for a few seconds. "Is that why you keep trying to get my number?" You ask him with a raised brow.

"I mean, it's part of the reason. The other reason is that you're so cute," he answers your question with his signature smirk.

Your hand grips his wrist that sits on the shifter, your eyes glancing towards the man. Changbin crosses the finish line in first place, and you release a deep breath as he starts to slow down.

As soon as he parks the car, you unbuckle your seatbelt before opening the passenger door. You tumble out of the vehicle, looking back to see others cross the finish line.

"Do you still want me to take you home?" Changbin asks you, leaning forward a bit to look at you from the driver's seat.

"Will you drive normally?" You almost plead to him, trying to get your heart rate down.

He smiles at you softly, nodding his head. "I promise," he places a hand on his chest.

You nod your head and get back into the car. The buff man beside you waits for you to get settled in before driving away. Silence fills the space for a few minutes, your eyes staring out at the quiet city.

"What do you get when you win?" You ask all of a sudden, keeping your gaze on the view.

Changbin hums in response while taking a quick glance in your direction. "Uhm, pride?" He chuckles, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel.

A loud laugh leaves your lips, and you finally look over at the pretty man. You give him a look, not wanting to believe that they don't get some sort of prize. "You're absolutely kidding?" You ask, leaning forward in your seat a bit.

"I'm being one hundred percent serious," he continues to laugh, turning his vehicle down a different street. "We all do it to be on top. You know how some guys can be. They get off on this kind of stuff."

"Gross," you laugh while shaking your head.

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for the rest of the drive. Changbin pulls up to your apartment building, parking the vehicle before turning it off.

"What are you -" you're cut off as Changbin piles out of the car. You watch him race around the front before opening your door for you. "Well, aren't you a gentleman?"

You giggle as you get out, flattening the skirt of your dress afterward. "I'm trying to woo you," Changbin says, shutting the door behind you.

"Woo me, huh?" You whisper to yourself, feeling your lips perk up into a smile. He walks you up to the main door, holding it open for you.

"Thanks for accompanying me tonight," he mentions. "I hope it wasn't all scary."

"I…" you trail off while walking up the last step, tilting your head to look at him. "I had fun. The driving scared me a little bit, but you're pretty good behind the wheel."

You hold your hand out to him, deciding to give him your number. Changbin looks at your open hand in confusion before realizing what's happening.

"No way!?" He asks in a hushed whisper, shoving his free hand into his pocket. He pulls his phone out, placing it onto the palm of your hand. "You're actually giving me your number?"

"Yes," you laugh, typing your contact information into the device. "You're pretty cute, Seo Changbin."

"You're cute," Changbin mumbles, his eyes dropping down to your lips. "Would you want to come to the next one with me?"

You hiss before gently biting your lip. "Hm, I don't know about that one," you tell him, rocking on the balls of your feet. "I'll have to think about it."

"I'll take that."

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning on your toes to press a kiss on his cheek. "I'll text you tomorrow," you tell him after walking through the open door.

Changbin grins, nodding his head. "I'll be waiting."

~

tagging: @thewxntersoldier @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @foxinnie8 @moon0fthenight @luckieleaf @stayconnecteed @tiaxa @yoonrimin @sunny-future @daysofskz-ateez @endzii23 @sweetbutpsychovalkyrie @bunnies-only

#stray kids #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids au #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fic #stray kids fluff #skz #skz x you #skz x y/n #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz imagine #skz street racing au #skz scenarios #seo changbin #seo changbin x y/n #seo changbin x you #seo changbin x reader #seo changbin imagine #seo changbin imagines #seo changbin fluff #seo changbin fanfiction #seo changbin fanfic #seo changbin fic

[lovejosephquinn]

Quickie with Joe in the kitchen while their friends are in the living room. His hand on your mouth to prevent you to make any noise. 😩😩😩 Que bendiciónnn!!

You found yourselves in a situation, one with consequences if you were to get caught by your friends. But the blanket you shared with Joe whilst watching the movie with your friendship group saw you two curled up in the corner together, looks thrown at one another every time the screen lit up enough just to make your features more visible. Small whimpers every time Joe's hand reached a little further up your thigh. You were wearing a dress so it was easy access, sporting non other than the jacket of his you had slumped around your shoulders from it being the middle of winter.

The movie was loud and our friends were transfixed, Joe had other ideas when his finger briefly stroked your panties, which found your hand solemnly rubbing down above the zipper of his trousers. Joe leaned closer to your ear, his breath warm and short, hitching an exhale as it hit your ear drum and caused shivers to run down your spine. "Meet me in the kitchen, they won't notice." Joe's head tilted to view your friends who didn't pay no mind, looking back to watch you side eye him, a small blush fell upon your cheeks in sheer worry yet excitement.

He made a move instantly and you watched him disappear through into the hallway, you gazed amongst the people sat on the floor in front of you, trying to pass thoughts into their heads that you were to not be disturbed and for the love of god not to come into the kitchen for however long you were to be in there. Removing the blanket from you and tossing it a heap on the arm of the sofa, you left the room and wandered out to meet Joe.

Joe stood facing the corner of the kitchen counter top, his finger tapping along the side of it that he held, a sign of impatience, a sign that he was well and truly in need of you.

"Finally." Joe grunted lowly.

You lightly walked your two feet across the ceramic tiles and drooped Joe's jacket across the table in the middle of the kitchen on your way, coming up to the back of your man who looked tense, stroking your fingers along his back, he swerved around before you could reach the small of it, grasping your hands with his and bringing them to his lips to kiss each of your knuckles.

"You're so naughty, Quinn." You chuckled, a cheeky smirk fell upon Joe's face as one hand let go of yours, pushing his index and middle finger into your mouth, lips parted as he watched you suck down on them, immediately popping them out, wandering down your chest, to your stomach and up inside your dress, immediately pushing your panties to the side and filling you where you stood. He bent slightly so he could gain better contact, thrusting his fingers in and out of you at a relentless speed. Your head immediately fell into his chest, a hand covering your own mouth so you didn't cry out too loud.

"Yeah you like that don't you." You heard just above you, Joe's lips whispering those delicious words into your hair, his other hand now cupped around the back of your neck. Your legs fell weak at the work he displayed, curling his fingers and pushing them up one side of your walls, you clenched tightly and he removed them immediately, earning a moan straight from your lips.

Pushing his slick ridden fingers into your mouth, your head bobbed up and down the fat digits as if it were his cock you were sucking. Your eyes bore into his and in that moment all you could see was a reflection of lustful thoughts.

Leaning down as if he were about to tell you a secret, it became more of an order, a dominant and deep voice perplexed your entire body. "If you want me to fuck you, you're going to have to be a good girl and be quiet for me. Can you do that?"

You nodded, the smile more sincere this time. Taking his fingers out of your mouth Joe manhandled you, picking you up and placing you on the counter top, unbuttoning his trousers, pushing his boxers down to relieve his aching and throbbing erection, the veins were bulging, his cock clearly crying out for release, desperate to be buried inside of you.

You spread your legs, lifting up your dress as not to make too much of an obvious mess, pulling your panties to the side one more time Joe held your hips, bringing you forward so that he could lean up to push inside of you. Bringing one hand to your mouth, completely smothering you with the whole of the palm, he began rocking his hips, thrusting slowly.

"Such a naughty little slut for me, wanting to take my cock when we're with our friends. Like it when we go for a danger fuck don't you baby?" Joe stifled his own moans by biting down on his lip, closing his eyes and concentrating on his own silent promise to be quiet.

Joe slammed into you faster, your ass was arched up, legs mid air, body shaking as your hands clenched against the edge of the counter top, his hand that once supported your hip came down to rub his thumb down on your clit, your moans fought violently against his hand which disallowed you from gaining a higher tempo. Your orgasm hit you at record speed whilst his thumb continued to attack your now swollen bud, your walls clenching tighter around his pre-cum ridden cock.

"Shit." Joe screeched, erratically beginning to rail your cunt into an oblivion of pleasure, your orgasm lasted the longer he kept up to the pace, slick dribbled out of you, a distorted call out of his name saw Joe exploding inside of you, blood cursing it's way out of his bottom lip from biting so hard, he came to an immediate stand still and felt his own cock pulsing, caged between your walls, whimpers seeping out of him at an uncontrollable speed.

You ripped Joe's hand away from your mouth. "Sshhhh." You punched the air a little, the fact he'd made the loudest noise out of the both of you was a triumph, a hot one to say the least.

Joe's eyes gleamed at you, the grin to match. "Why're you still inside of me, I thought this was going to be quick?"

"Keeping it in you so that I can add to it when we get home." Joe winked, releasing himself slowly, more probably at the embarrassment of being stood there for so long after.

"We'd better get back in, do you think they suspect anything?" You jumped off the counter top, steadying yourself with your hands still backed against where you'd previously held. Joe readjusted himself and buttoned back up his trousers, his hands grabbing at your cheeks as he placed a sweet kiss against your forehead.

"Even if they did, I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

#joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x y/n

[thispageisrendering]

Autistic Safe Spaces

If you own a business or a restaurant that serves the public, as the issue gets talked about more, you might be wondering how you can better help the neurodivergent community. Some places try to give spaces where autistic people can go to get their needs fulfilled, so if that is of interest to you, I've compiled a list of things we really enjoy.... made by an actual neurodivergent person.

NOTE: This is list is made by an adult, for adults and teens. The needs of children are slightly different, though similar, and would surely require a different list. 1. Silence - A lot of places, including malls, restaurants, and crowded stores, are overwhelmingly loud. The brains of autistic people process stimuli differently, and we can't "tune out" sounds in the same way neurotypicals can. Silence can involve the (seemingly) obvious things, like turning down music or reducing the number of people in an area, but a lot of things are loud to the point of pain that you might not think of, including metal silverware on ceramic dishware, shopping carts, doors opening and closing, and shoes on floors. A good rule of thumb is to think about how you would feel in a space if you had a migraine. This is easier in some places than others, but accommodations such as plastic dishware, softer floors, and carts left outside can make a big difference. 2. Stillness - I call the visual category stillness and not "blankness" or "simpleness" because that is simply not what I mean. A space can still be quite beautiful while not being overstimulating. We do not want ugly things, and you can still use style and color theory and design principles, but we do want walls without too much signage or distracting detail, floors and carpets without tightly repeating patterns or too much contrast (stripes and small tiles both bug me), and a visual block from the rest of the world, where things are moving like crazy.

3. Style - Because autism is often seen as a disorder than affects children, style can often be overlooked when designing materials and spaces for autistic people (although this, I would argue, is silly; many brilliant artists are / were on the spectrum, and a child, especially an autistic child, can enjoy beauty as much or more than you), and if you have the chance, I plead to you-- remedy this. Autistic people can appreciate detail and wonder in a way that is not concurrent with anything neurotypical people do, and along with having "icks", things we find particularly distressing, we also experience "glimmers", moments of unbounded joy over (possibly) seemingly ordinary things. I feel glimmers when shown any well-executed style; I feel glimmers in office buildings and abandoned neighborhoods and driving by courthouses... any style that is significantly different from my own, and significantly committed to the bit, so to speak, is a wonder to me. If you have the money and the resources, give us beauty, give us a an area that contains classy chic lounge or a medieval tavern or a vast, well-made mural of hyperfixations you polled from your own customers... pay craftsmen to give you a 20th century train station or a heist or an illusion floor in one area that looks as if dwarves are mining for gold hundreds of feet below you. You do not need to overwhelm us with detail-- this area need not be unusually large, or contain live-action roleplaying employees, or be loud or bright or over-the-top-- but you should also take the project seriously, bring people who love what they do and will truly take this opportunity with joy and a keen eye for style. 4. Solitude - I am a high-masking individual, which means that when I am being watched, I cannot "safely" relax; if you appear distressed, people sometimes talk to you, and ask if you are okay, which is a nightmare for me. I strongly prefer small, quiet spaces where I can be alone, about the size of a bathroom cubicle (which is where I do go to decompress a lot), where I can be unobserved and alone. It is a wonderful feeling-- it doesn't need to be (and shouldn't) be a perfectly soundproof room, but just somewhere I can be myself for a minute.

5. Snacking - Being autistic is exhausting. We process 42% more information than you all, and it really takes it out of us. Lots of people on all ends of the neurodiversity spectrum people have trouble waiting long hours between meals, but when a lack of snacks could mean a meltdown... please just let us eat our own food. At a sit-down restaurant, waiting for the food and not being able to eat anything until it comes is unbearable, I just get so hungry and frustrated, while being overstimulated and masking the whole time, and on top of that, because I cannot eat gluten, dairy, or much sugar / refined carbs, the appetizers are usually unappetizing or off-limits for me, and the food on the menu itself just as bad. I don't actually get much sustenance from meals provided and / or eaten in public, and a bit of acceptance around eating a couple pecans while you wait for you meal goes a long way. This is also true in stores, especially in malls, where food sold is usually not of much value to me, but there aren't great places to sit down and eat something. And, as a side note, if you want to sell food that appeals to people with autism, think Plain, Cheap, and Childish-- I mean this with absolutely no disrespect to autistic people, but I would never in a million years eat a fancy sharp cheddar (it tastes awful and gives me a headache), but I love the shredded colby jack from Costco. We like simple mac 'n' cheese, chicken nuggets, plain noodles, hot dogs... if a fancy chef would think it wasn't real food, it probably tastes amazing to us.

In conclusion: I don't know why I alliterated this list; I just started doing it, and I liked it. Many autistic people love life and everything in it, we just can't take it in all at once. Give us beauty. Give us the silence and stillness to appreciate it. And, overwhelmingly... leave us alone :). We love our solitude.

I have just been chatting in this post (I'm sure there are spelling mistakes please ignore them lol), so feel free to add if you have more ideas, fellow neurodivergents. POST SCRIPT: If you are doing anything similar to this, please talk to autistic people before embarking on a journey like this, and take in a wide bank of opinions. Don't worry, we like to answer honest questions, and we talk quite a lot if you let us. We love you guys. You got this.

#autism #adhd #audhd #neurodivergent #neurodiversity #neurodivergence #autistic #actuallyautistic #adult autism #adult autistic #autism awareness #autism advocacy #autism adhd #accomodation

[kookygranger]

Is This Desire?

Firefighter!Steve Harrington x Witch!Reader

A confession, a premonition, and a reality check for your inexperienced heart.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, fire injury, Steve gets hurt, witchcraft, reader is a town outcast, fem!reader, no upside down/no hawkins au

Word count: 2.1k

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

Chapter Four: Rub 'Til It Bleeds

I… Lie Steady Rest your head on me I’ll smooth it nicely Rub it better, ‘til it bleeds

The steady patter of rain on the roof fills your front room. Steve sits patiently on your velvet forest green couch, arms resting along the back, knees spread and eyes following your pacing form.

The petrichor that wafts through the open window along with the scent of your Palo Santo incense burning in the corner seeps through his muscles in a relaxing wave. Despite the solemn look on your face when you’d gotten up off the couch, leaving his fingers hovering for a moment instead of rubbing your temples, he wasn’t fazed. His heart rate didn’t spike when you’d blurted out that you had something to tell him. Because you were here standing in front of him, and you were safe. Right here in your space.

“I am a witch.”

Steve’s confused by the look you give him. Like you’re expecting him to react.

“And?”

Your shoulders fall from their heightened state, and he wants to rub the tension right out of them. “What do you mean and?”

“You said you had something to tell me.”

“That was it.”

“Oh, well I know that.” He shrugs.

“Excuse me?!”

“Baby,” he laughs, leaning forward, “You’ve got spell books and weird dried flowers all over the place. Doors close by themselves around you. The flowers in the front yard bloom better than any in this town, no matter the weather. No one can step a foot past the front porch unless you invite them in. I’m slow but not that slow.”

You tsk, “You’re not slow. But you realise I’m not just talking about practicing witchcraft? I have real powers Steve.” You place your hands palms up in front of you as if to demonstrate an invisible force.

He nods.

Your shoulders fall even further and now he knows he has to get in there with his hands. “Why haven’t you ever said anything about it?”

Steve shrugs, “What’s there to say.”

“It doesn’t freak you out?”

“Why would it freak me out? If anything, it’s pretty cool.”

You stare at him, mouth parted slightly in disbelief. “You’re kind of a freak yourself Steve Harrington.”

He beams. “Really? I always thought I was boring.”

You shake your head, sinking into the couch beside him and Steve grabs your leg to pull you in closer immediately. You rub over the white cotton covering his side, tracing circles as he leans his forehead against yours. “I would never use that word to describe something that constantly takes my breath away.”

His brows raise, as he laughs softly through his nose, “Cheesy.”

You nod, “That’s a better word for you.” You feel his smile against your lips as your eyes close.

***

It’s the feeling of heaviness that wakes you.

An invisible force sitting on your chest that slowly brings you around from a disturbing dream. Of what, you have no recollection, but you know it was something bad. It had to be.

Because the softness of the freshly washed pillowcase under your cheek and the strong arm holding you in place against a warm chest breathing steady did nothing to dissolve it. The feeling that something bad was going to happen.

When Steve finds you in the kitchen a few hours later, you hold onto him a little tighter than usual as he wraps his half-naked form around you.

The sun creeps through the stained-glass window over the sink, orange patterns painting the tiled floor and his bare skin. Your mug of tea sits on the counter, abandoned in search of him, hands finding heat-flushed skin instead of cooling ceramic. You breathe in his scent, face tucked into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your ear.

“Don’t go.”

He almost doesn’t hear your whispered plea over the quiet hum of morning rituals.

His arms tighten around you, lips placing a placating kiss into your hair. “What do you mean? I’m not going anywhere.”

He notices the lines under your eyes as you emerge from his embrace.

“Your shift later. Don’t go to work. Stay here today.”

He smiles, all sleep-mussed hair and pink cheeks, but your pulling away as he leans in for a kiss makes him frown.

“Steve, I’m serious. Please don’t go to work.”

He shakes his head, arms still wrapped around your back as you cling to his bare shoulders. “What’s going on?”

“I–I don’t know. I just have this bad feeling, I don’t want you going anywhere I can’t get to you. Where I can’t protect you.”

The smile returns to his face. “Baby, I’m okay. Nothing’s gonna happen to me. You probably just had a bad dream or somethin’. I trust those guys with my life, we’ve got each other’s backs.”

You shake your head, willing him to understand as you grip him tighter.

“I’ve been doin’ this job for years. I know it can be kinda scary but nothing’s ever happened to me.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

He doesn’t listen, shushing you with kisses instead. The creased lines of frustration on your face and worry over his well-being only stirred up the feeling he’d woken up with this morning. The cold empty bed that met his half-asleep wandering hand, was what prompted his journey downstairs in the first place.

You know that he’s not listening. That there are limits to the belief he has in your abilities because of his basic knowledge. He doesn’t understand that to you a feeling can truly be premonition.

So, you lean into the distraction and try and give him a reason to stay.

You let his hands find their way under your oversized shirt. Rough fingertips tickling your stomach, causing a rolling heat under your skin as they slide past the waistband of your sleep shorts, cotton pooling on the floor and protecting his knees as he gets down in front of you. Your lower back presses into the kitchen benchtop, quiet pops of bone as you arch at the feeling of his lips pressing soft touches.

He takes his time getting you worked up, leaving teasing trails of heat as your leg wraps around his shoulder and his hands dig into your hips – painting fresh blots of lilac over the fading petals previously left by him.

A high-pitched keen of his name, and he makes his way slowly up your trembling body, nose grazing along your soft curves and healed scars, trailing wet kisses in his wake. You feel him kick up at the moan you gift him with when you taste yourself on his tongue, his black boxer briefs quickly joining the growing pile on the floor after a soft graze of your hand sends his head spinning.

When you feel him begin to lose control, his hips stuttering and breath hot on the side of your neck, you distract him further. Pulling the hem of your shirt up around your neck and leading his hands to explore his second favourite feature on your body.

You lead with this trick when you find your way back to bed later, hoping he’ll lose time mapping your skin with his teeth.

When that doesn’t work, and his sweaty body disappears into the shower only slightly later than he'd intended, you tuck a handkerchief filled with dried Angelica root and blessed thistle in the pocket of his pants. Kissing him deeply at the door, mumbling Latin into his mouth while he, oblivious, promises you he’ll come straight back over after his shift.

***

There’s nothing you can do to distract yourself from the worry. The heaviness in your chest grows by the hour as you fruitlessly try reading, going on a walk and even baking cinnamon rolls – Steve’s favourite.

They’re perfectly fluffy. Spiced just right with the icing set in a sticky translucent layer. But the sweetness tastes bitter on your tongue, and you can’t manage more than one bite.

When night finally falls, you’re a mess.

Cup of tea now cold in your hands as you watch the minutes tick by on the old mahogany framed clock on the wall. When the big hand lines up in opposition with the little, creeping over the four, a sharp pain strikes you across the left side of your chest and you cry out in surprise, hand clutching over your heart. You knew it.

Your feet find the first pair of worn boots abandoned by the door, the cardigan over your night dress sufficient enough coverage on this still summer’s night as you race out of the door. Intuition leads you into the centre of town, following a trail of sirens and ignoring the burn in your lungs as you run.

The blaze is noticeable from two streets away, golden embers floating up high in signal. You’re not the only underdressed panic-stricken person on the street by the time you make it to the apartment complex, easily lost in the crowd of evacuees and curious neighbours. The top floor, three stories up is ablaze with a ferocious fire. Yellow flames licking up the side of the windows despite the steady stream of water blasting from the parked fire engine.

The sheriff pulls up with two patrol cars in tow, ready for crowd management but your attention is focused solely on the men in fire-resistant navy uniforms. Desperately searching faces for a familiar smile but all you see are foreign frowns on sweat-drenched brows.

Something’s not right. It isn’t under control.

You hear yells from inside the building, men rushing in to help clear a path for a limp body being carried under the arms and by the legs. Everything stops, the noise muffled like you’re underwater when you see a helmetless mop of golden brown hair.

“STEVE!”

Your body is stopped by the arms of a stranger, keeping you from him as he’s placed on the front lawn and paramedics rush to his side. Eventually, you thrash and wriggle enough to slip free, crumpling into a heap next to him as he splutters awake, taking ragged breaths through the oxygen mask strapped to his face. Somebody tries to tell you, you don’t belong here but as soon as Steve notices your presence he’s clutching your arm with a soot-stained hand.

He never lets go, even as he’s transferred onto a gurney and you follow alongside him while he’s wheeled to the ambulance, cheeks soaked with tears and breaths leaving you in hiccups, you hold on to his hand.

Another person tries to stop you from getting into the back of the bus, but Steve groans. Eyes shut tightly in pain his free hand pulls the mask away from him.

“She’s mine.”

Maybe normally you’d scoff. Maybe even give the boy a lecture about male possession and women's autonomy. But right now all you do is nod, letting his grip on you extend to your heart that feels his squeeze.

Once the back doors shut you lean over him, pushing his hair away from his sweaty forehead to place a soft kiss there. His eyes flutter open, the fluorescent light above you casting a glow around your form that he swears is there every day.

“I should’ve listened baby, I’m sorry.” He coughs harshly and a fresh wave of tears falls onto your puffy face. He clutches you tighter still when you bury your face in his neck, never wanting to be the cause of your heartache ever again.

“Please don’t leave me Steve.”

***

A fractured rib and smoke inhalation.

That’s what the older man in a white coat told Steve as you stood by his hospital bed. Rest, a night on the oxygen tank and constant monitoring. It could’ve been worse he said. Much worse if his unconscious body spent any longer laying on those stairs with the smoke curling around him.

Steve couldn’t remember what happened. Said his own oxygen tank might’ve caught on something or been pushed off his body in a rush to move through the burning building when the blaze worsened quicker than they were anticipating. All he remembers is smoke, not being able to catch his breath then you, weeping above him, embers floating around your head.

Nurses come by often during the night. A pitying smile on their faces when you refuse to leave his side, chair dragged over to his bed so he could hold your hand and you could watch his chest rise and fall steadily as he sleeps.

The pain in your own hasn’t left.

All you can think when you see his peaceful face twitch in his sleep is that you should've known. Good things never last around you.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things au #stranger things fanfiction #firefighter!steve harrington #witch!reader #she writes

[howlingday]

Jaune's Shampoo

Mawraider

"DAMMIT, NORA!" Jaune opened his shower door. As he exited, he noticed his body had drastically changed. Using a mixture of his shampoo and experimental goo found at the fiendish Dr. Merlot's laboratory, Nora had unwittingly created a mutagen just to prank her team leader.

Jaune pushed his way through the shower door, a loud crash echoing through the steamy room. He fell to the floor, catching himself on the slick tiles for a moment before his body scraped underneath him, and his chin smashed into the hard ceramic beneath. He gave a groan as he felt the aching and stinging in his mouth. He ran his tongue across to find where his teeth may be missing from, if there were at all.

"Huh." None were missing. "Guess I got lucky."

This luck was short-lived as he pushed himself to his arms, but his legs felt stuck. Actually, stuck wasn't the right word. Stuck implies individual movement hindered by another. This felt like he was moving both legs as one.. if that made sense, which it didn't for him.

"What the heck?" Jaune looked down, eyes nearly bulging as he saw large protrusions from his forearms. Were those... fins?! Not only that, but these fins had scales, too! He looked further down his torso and discovered his, er, other body parts were gone! Everything below his belly button was replaced by a long, solid white tail with fringes of yellow at his sides! "What the hell is going on?!"

"Would you keep it down in there?!" Jaune snapped his head to the door, where a melodious screeching voice muffled through. "Whatever 'teenage boy' problems you have can be resolved yourself! Quietly!"

Oh, this was not good. In fact, it was well beyond not good. He'd completely forgotten the study session Nora set up with him and Weiss! Wait, did Nora plan this whole thing together? Oh, she was the absolute worst!

"Uh, Weiss?" Jaune called. "Is there anyone out there with you?"

"No, it's just you and me." Even through the door, he could still hear her say 'Unfortunately' under her breath. "Everyone else is busy with some other study session." Another 'Unfortunately' could be heard, a bit louder this time. "Why? You didn't hurt yourself in there, did you?"

"Uh..." Jaune looked down at his body. "Maybe?"

"Unbelievable." Weiss sneered. "Not only are you late to our study session, but you're also injured." There was a drawn-out sigh for extra drama, as Weiss is wont to do. "Are you at least decent?"

Again, Jaune looked at himself. "Kind of?"

"Can you open the door?"

Dragging himself to said door, he looked up to the knob, realizing how close and yet so far away it was. "I'm here, but I can't reach the lock."

"Do you have your scroll in there, or do I need to get Ruby to emergency unlock it?"

"Uh, no and no! My scroll should be by my bed at the end of the room." Quiet thumps of footsteps grew softer, before returning to their normal timbre. "Um, before you open the door, I need you to promise me something!"

"And that would be?"

"Don't freak out?" He couldn't see, but she was rolling her eyes.

"I assure you," the door came open, "I have seen far worAAAAAIE!" Weiss ran to the dorm room door, slamming it shut behind her as Jaune tried crawling after her. Sadly, her bipedal and still very much human form beat out whatever abomination Jaune had going on.

"Yeah, I'd freak out, too." He said with a sigh.

Jaune crawled his way out of the bathroom, his body dragging across the carpeted floor. He didn't want rug-burn, so he tried his best to keep whatever human skin he still had stayed off the floor. Once he reached the desk, he struggled his way into the chair. Nora and Pyrrha shared a mirror up here for personal use. Looking in, he finally got a good look at himself.

His hair remained it's moppy, blond self, though the skin underneath had become coarser than it used to. Following the trail of yellow scales down, he passed his mouth full of serrated teeth, and caught a glimpse of a dorsal fin jutting from his back. Looking down from the mirror to his body, his pale belly shifted to pearl white down his new tail, which ended in a strange near crescent shape. If Jaune didn't think he was a monster, then this was one heck of a costume.

"What the hell happened?" Jaune asked. "No wonder Weiss ran away."

Weiss freaked out earlier, but how was everyone else going to react? Would Ruby still want to be his friend, or Yang, or Pyrrha, or Ren- Well, Ren was a pretty cool guy, so he'd still be his friend. Nora, too, though he'd be angry with her at first. Blake... Well, him and Blake were more friends of friends already.

Still, his mind raced to all the ridicule and disgust his change would bring upon him. He'd be kicked out of Beacon, ruining his dream. His family would disown him, leaving him out on the streets. He'd have to get a job as a traveling circus freak, or worse, be abducted for science experiments and-

"Here." Jaune looked to his side where a tissue limply hung from the delicate fingers of one Weiss Schnee. "Don't get any shark snot on me."

"Th-Thanks, Weiss." Jaune took the tissue into his clawed fingers, accidentally shredding them, and blew into the clumps of rags. "Ugh."

"My thoughts exactly." Weiss said, setting the box next to him. Taking the box, he grabbed more clumps of tissues. After a long silence without blowing, Weiss spoke. "How did this happen?"

"My best guess..." Jaune gave a sniffle. "Nora."

"I hardly think she's capable of genetically altering a human's body to this degree." Weiss said with a scoff.

"You don't know how bad her pranks can get."

"And when would she have time to change you into... this?"

"She must have put something in my shampoo."

"Hmph. I would have used honey."

"She did, last time." Jaune said, remembering his training session ending with him being attacked by Rapier Wasps that snuck into Beacon, mysteriously by a jar borrowed from Cardin. The former bully swore he had no idea why she needed his jar, but she did threaten to break his legs. "This time, she put it in my shampoo."

"...At least it doesn't smell bad."

"Did you just sniff me?" Jaune asked, looking to his crush. She turned away with a blush.

"I thought it might be a clue of how you changed into this!" She nearly screamed. "It's not my fault coconut and lemon would turn you into this!"

"Coconut and lemon?" Jaune asked. "I think that was my shampoo."

"Maybe." She said. "Do you remember the ingredients?"

"Uh... no?" He sheepishly chuckled. Sharkishly? Whatever. "All the ad said was that it was 'spicy fruit' that would 'make me smell like a big fish in a big pond'."

"Of course it did. It's Advertising 101: The Truth Doesn't Sell."

"Do you... Do you think there's a cure?"

Weiss was quiet for a long time. She walked over to the window and tapped into her scroll. She gave a huff and continued to do so. Having enough of looking at himself, Jaune fell from his chair as he attempted to climb down. He crawled over to his bed, his claws digging into the blankets and sheets he made that morning. He tried to lay on his back, only to feel uncomfortable as his dorsal fin almost bent, and chose to lay on his stomach instead. He watched her work tirelessly.

In the afternoon light, she looked like an angel. He fell asleep with those thoughts.

An hour passed when the rest of Team JNPR returned to their dorm. Weiss was asleep next to Jaune, her hand in his hair as they quietly dozed. Nora beamed at her partner. He simply sighed.

"I told you it would work~."

A special thank you to @rwby-encrusted-blog for the inspiration of this work. I hope it's up to your standards.

#rwby #Jaune's shampoo #jaune arc #weiss schnee #white knight #rwby au #nora valkyrie #lie ren

[shuacore]

[ 20:26 ] apes — castlecomer

"cause all i wanna do is get high with you, baby"

warnings: mature content, smut (18+), swearing

“We sh—shouldn’t do this anymore,” Vernon stutters, the sound caught deep in his chest as you slap a hand against his mouth, pushing his cheek away. The bathroom of this grimy club is just big enough for you to kneel while Vernon leans against the door, one hand on the sink, the other in his hair.

You take your mouth off his cock just long enough to mutter “shut up” before Vernon is mumbling incoherent profanities against your fingers again. His hand finds a way to the back of your head, and you make a sound of warning—don’t push your luck—before his fingers are tightening in your hair, clutching for dear life.

“Sh—Holy shit,” Vernon gasps, head jerking forward as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, eyes gazing imploringly up at him. You drool onto the tip, forcing the excess saliva from your mouth with your lips pressed tight, until you smack his cock flat against your tongue. Vernon groans in exasperation, mumbling more things along the lines of “You’re fucking insane, you’re crazy.” Pre-cum mixes with spit; a nasty mix of fluids seeping from your mouth onto the dirty tile floor. You just smile wickedly, running your tongue along the underside of his whole length.

It’s gross in the bathroom— it smells like stale cigarettes and old urine, but there’s nothing hotter to you than sucking Vernon off in the back of some seedy establishment like a D-list pornstar.

The best thing about blowing your best-friend-with-benefits when he’s least expecting it is that sometimes he’ll even fuck you after, like some kind of sex act trade-off.

And it looks like today is your lucky day.

You lift one knee onto the tiny ceramic sink, pressing a hand to the mirror as Vernon hurriedly unzips his pants, fumbling with his boxers. Vernon pulls your panties aside under your ridiculous miniskirt, running his fingers through the folds of your cunt a few times, lubricating his cock with your arousal. You bite your lip, muffling the quiet whines that want to escape past your gritted teeth.

“You good?” Vernon mumbles, and you just nod, letting out a strangled groan as he pushes his cock into you. No foreplay. No build-up. Sex with Vernon is rough and fast—just how you like it.

“Jesus, can you relax?" he mutters, planting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself.

“Less talking—ah!—more fucking, please,” you say, as Vernon digs his fingers into your hips, thrusting harder and faster the louder you moan. You tip your head back, one arm twisting around to grip Vernon’s wrist, the other bracing against the mirror.

Thankfully the music is loud enough that it masks the lewd sounds coming from your mouths, the bass louder than the sound of skin slapping against skin. Vernon lands a smack to your ass, one after another, until your eyes are watering, fingers gripping the edge of the sink until your knuckles turn white.

Someone pounds on the door. “Hurry the fuck up!”

“Hold your piss!” you yell back, biting back a scream of pleasure as Vernon takes the chance to wind his fingers in your hair and pull. He snakes a hand around your throat, pressing on the sides of your windpipe, teeth grazing against your bare shoulder as you moan shamelessly about how good his cock is.

The great thing about fucking your best friend is that he already knows everything about you, so when Vernon flips you around on the sink to fuck you from the front, he’s already playing with your clit, watching with sick amusement as you squirm underneath him.

“I need you to stop moving so much, baby,” Vernon says, clamping a hand down on your thigh.

Usually it’s a competition to see who can hold out the longest, but Vernon looks particularly sexy today, and you’ve been exceptionally horny, so when he spits crudely on your cunt, roughly rubbing it into your clit with his thumb, it’s over.

“Fuck, just like that!” you squawk, wrapping your arms around his neck as Vernon fucks you through your rushing orgasm. The faucet digs uncomfortably into your spine as you tip your head back against the mirror, mouth dropped open while a wave of pleasure washes over you. It doesn’t take much for Vernon to come right after, sent into a spiral watching you tense while you climax, makeup streaked across your face from giving head minutes prior. You slump against the mirror, as Vernon curses under his breath.

His release is warm in your cunt, and part of you is annoyed, knowing you’d have to deal with Vernon’s cum dripping down the inside of your thighs for the rest of the night, but the other part of you is smug, because he is yours. Also because you know the thought will drive him crazy.

Vernon tips his head against your chest, fingers still wrapped around your thighs as he crashes down from his high.

“Fuck.”

The thumping of the bass is not nearly as heavy as the thumping of your heart in your skull. You tap his shoulder, pressing a quick little kiss to his cheek.

Vernon looks surprised, but he says nothing as he pulls out, grabbing a wad of toilet paper to wipe your cum off his cock. He offers you a wad of toilet paper as well, but you just smirk, winking.

“No need.” 

The look on Vernon’s face tells you this isn’t the last time you’ll be taking a bathroom break.

—

my other stuff !

#shuacore thoughts #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop fanfic #seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen smut #svt fanfic #svt imagines #svt smut #vernon #chwe vernon #vernon x reader #vernon smut #vernon imagines #vernon seventeen #kpop smut

[beetled-juice]

I'm A Bunch Of Broken Pieces

Summary: When your favorite mug accidentally meets the kitchen tile courtesy of your ghoulish boyfriend, you simply spare a moment of passing sadness before going to clean it up. For some people, a broken cup is just a broken cup - for others, however, it’s a reminder of times they’d rather forget.

beetlejuice x gender neutral reader.

TW: mentions of abuse

AO3 link here

It began with a broken cup.

Not just any cup - it was your favorite! It held the perfect amount of tea, and the handle fit like it was made for your hand. It also had a deep blue glazed finish, something that always reminded you of the cold Pacific Ocean you’d grown up with.

You’d been doing the dishes while Beetlejuice told you one of his fantastical stories, feigning disinterest so you’d get the whole story rather than an increasingly embellished work of fiction. You’d learned early on that letting him think you weren’t paying attention was the best way to find the threads of truth in his words - he let down his guard, little slivers of his true thoughts and feelings bleeding into the tales he wove for your amusement. Unfortunately for you, he also tended to get so caught up in his stories that he’d begin physically throwing his body around as if trying to reenact the images in his head.

And this is how your favorite cup met its untimely demise.

It took a moment for the sound of shattered ceramic to compute in your mind, so out of place amongst the quiet running water and his excited chatter. When your brain caught up with your ears you turned to see what had fallen, and to your dismay you saw the broken remains of your beautiful cup scattered on the kitchen floor. Beetlejuice, seemingly unfazed by the broken shards around his feet, just kept talking. You reached out to pull the faucet to an ‘off’ position, a bubble of sadness working its way up from your stomach. You clamped down on it, knowing it was irrational to get upset over a stupid mug, and turned to grab the broom out of the kitchen closet.

When you returned with the broom in hand, you noticed that he had absentmindedly stepped on one of the pieces and crushed it beneath his foot. Frowning, you dropped the dust pan onto the floor with a loud clatter, and this finally seemed to get his attention.

“- and when I dropped that rat on his head, well he just started... babes? Are you listening?” Beetlejuice asked, looking put out that you’d interrupted his story. Huffing, you started sweeping up the remains of the cup nearest to you.

“No, I’m a little busy,” you snapped, shooing him out of the way so you could get at the pieces around his feet. He looked down, finally realizing what it was he was standing on, and stepped back. You'd expected him to launch back into his story, but instead silence fell over the kitchen as you finished sweeping everything into a pile.

Satisfied you'd gotten all the shards collected, you looked around to find where you'd left the dustpan. Seeing it out of the corner of your eye, you turned to grab it off the floor, but when you stood back up you saw Beetlejuice was staring at you. You noticed the ghoul was paler than usual, something you'd not thought was possible, and his hair had lost its bright green hue. His eyes were wide and dark, and you were startled to see what looked like tears in them. Setting the broom and dustpan aside, you stepped towards him.

"Beej? What's wrong?" you asked, reaching your hand out. He flinched backwards, his eyes darting between your face and your hand. Freezing, you dropped your hand, not wanting to startle him further. You wondered if he was upset that you'd snapped at him, and you immediately felt guilty for hurting his feelings.

"Beej, I'm so-" you began, but Beetlejuice interrupted you.

"I didn't mean to! Please, I'll get you a new one!" he yelled, flinging his arms out in front of him as if to ward you off. Completely caught off-guard by the defensive posture, it took you a moment to process what he said.

“...what?” you asked, internally face-palming at your eloquence. Before you could try again, however, he began to ramble at you.

“I know it was your favorite, I know that, but maybe I could find you another one? Or maybe I can fix this one! You know, pull out the Gorilla Glue and it’d be like a puzzle! You like puzzles, right? Who doesn’t like puzzles? Except when you eat a few of the pieces and suddenly nothing fits together anymore and turns out you have the wrong box so the picture isn’t right, and-” You watched as he talked himself in circles, slowly pressing back against the wall like he could shrink out of your sight. You’d never seen him like this, and you desperately tried to get his attention.

“Beej, I-” you started, but your voice was quickly drowned out by his.

“- and I knew the thing was right on the edge, but I wasn’t thinking and I wanted to tell you that stupid story, and-” Beetlejuice continued, his hands moving up to grip at his hair. The usual dark color around his eyes was taking on the appearance of mottled bruises, and his suit was beginning to turn ashen gray. Something about all of this seemed eerily familiar, and after wracking your brain for a moment you remembered a friend from school - a story about a broken glass, and the marks they’d tried to hide from the teachers. Realization struck you, leaving you feeling sick, and you had to grip the counter next to you to keep upright. Oh.

“Beetlejuice!” you called out, and the use of his full name seemed to pull him out of the spiral of his own thoughts. He watched you warily, his expression drawn and his shoulders hunching down further. You hated seeing him like this, his usual grin and bubbling exuberant energy completely replaced by anxiety and panic. Having his full attention, you continued: “Beej, I’m not mad - it was just a mug.”

It took a second for your words to register, but when they did his expression morphed to one of skeptical confusion. For a moment he simply stared at you, trying to process what you’d said.

“You’re not…?” he croaked out.

“No, I’m not! It was an accident, you didn’t mean to,” you said gently. Beetlejuice, however, shook his head violently, and his grip tightened in his hair.

“But it was my fault!” he wailed, tugging hard on strands of his nearly black hair. You took a moment before continuing, trying to figure out how to redirect him. 

“Okay… so you’ll be more careful next time, right?” you asked. Pausing, he considered your words before slowly nodding.

“Yeah, I guess, but-”

“Then everything’s fine!” you said, interrupting whatever the demon was about to say. In response, Beetlejuice muttered something unintelligible and fidgeted in place. He didn’t offer another argument, but despite your reassurances you could tell he still wasn’t entirely convinced. His hands had slid down from his hair, but his shoulders were still hunched in a way that looked painful and his back was still pressed against the wall.

Your heart broke seeing him like this, and you raised your arms in a silent offer of a hug. He watched you closely, head tilting like he was waiting for a trick, but he never could resist the offer of a hug from you. Seeming to unlock one joint at a time, he lurched forward into your arms, his body stiff and tensed as though waiting for a blow. You carefully wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pressed your entire body against his, simply holding him until you felt him start to relax.

The two of you stood together in the kitchen for a long time, though you couldn’t tell for sure how long. His arms were wrapped tightly around your middle, keeping you in place while he tried to calm himself. You kept running a hand through his hair, trying to gently smooth out the places he’d pulled on it, and you could feel where he had his nose pressed to the pulse point on your neck. Eventually he began to squirm, unused to staying still for so long, and you pulled back to look at him. His coloring was still too pale for your liking, but he was slowly coming back to his normal forest green. You untangled your hand from his hair and brought it to his face, cupping his jaw while stroking your thumb across his cheek.

"Hi," you said quietly, smiling as he leaned into your hand.

"Hi," he replied, turning to place a kiss on the palm of your hand. His scruffy beard tickled the inside of your wrist, and when you said as much he grinned and did it again. He then began trailing kisses across the delicate skin of your wrist and inner arm, making sure you could feel the scratch of his beard as he went. When he reached the inside of your elbow he blew a cheeky raspberry, startling you and making you laugh. After your laughter subsided, Beetlejuice reached down to take both of your hands and began to swing them side to side between you.

“So that was, uh, very unsexy of me,” he said, his eyes moving to look somewhere past your shoulder. He kept swinging your arms, now rocking his entire body along with them. You gave a noncommittal hum in response, squeezing his hands.

“Well, I always love having an excuse to hug you,” you replied. Freezing, Beetlejuice whipped his head around to look at you before leaning forward to bounce on the balls of his feet. 

“Yeah?” he asked, a slight smile on his face. You couldn’t help smiling back, noticing his hair turning back to its brighter green shade.

“Yeah, you’re very huggable,” you said, your voice taking on a mock-seriousness. Beeltejuice’s smile shifted into a cheeky smirk at your words, and he suddenly tugged you closer to him. You stumbled, not expecting this, and all but fell into the bastard’s waiting arms.

“So what you’re saying is you can’t keep your hands off of me? That’s okay babes, I know I’m a hot commodity!” he snickered, leaning down to press a sloppy kiss to your forehead. You thought he was being sweet, until you felt him start to lick you. You spluttered at the feeling of his tongue leaving a trail of spit across your skin, yanking yourself backwards to wipe it away.

“Beetlejuice, that's disgusting!” you groaned as you wiped your hand on your pants, but you allowed him to pull you back into his arms with only minimal amounts of complaining.

“Come on, you know you love it,” he teased.

“No, I love you - I only tolerate your drool,” you groused, adopting a pout. The ghoul blinked a few times, always taken aback whenever you casually stated your feelings for him, before a goofy grin spread across his face.

“Aw, you love me? Gross,” he said. Rolling your eyes, you leaned more of your weight against him.

“I’d love you more if you cleaned up this mess,” you said, nodding your head toward the pile of shards still on the floor. With a snap of his fingers it was gone, and with a final squeeze of his middle you pulled away to go finish the dishes. You were expecting the slap to your ass when you turned your back to him, used to his antics, but you weren’t expecting the surprisingly quiet voice that followed.

“Hey babes? Thanks.” Smiling, you nodded, turning your focus to the dishes in front of you.

“Of course, Beej.”

#beetlejuice x reader #musical beetlejuice x reader #fanfic #my stuff #I hope you guys like this - I've been working on it since september! #this is my first complete fic and i'm really excited to post it! let me know what y'all think <3