#and when i get fed up with it the lid goes back on and i can do something else.

[relto]

todays appointment was not therapy adjacent but i kept tearing up and he told me we can stop if needed and i was like wdym this is just what its like all the time.

#tütensuppe #its in a box and if you open the box its crying time. #and when i get fed up with it the lid goes back on and i can do something else. #but the box is always there. #a while ago i REALLY needed to let some out but was so annoyed by it #i put on some upsetting music and played a mindless game while crying bc its just so boring #oh cry cry can we do something else please. ugh #anyway momo wanted some attention so were laying side by side in bed and shes purring

[plushish]

Adam with a reader who’s very witty and quick with comebacks?

just some silly pre-conference banter! | Adam x Reader

headcanon/drabble — how would Adam be like with a reader who is sharp-witted?

content & warnings — NSFW, fem reader, fem pronouns, fingering & cunnilingus, sexual act happening in a public place (workplace).

a/n — this takes place in some sort of office-setting, i dont know what goes on up there in heaven but i like to think its similar to what we've seen so far in hell, so i'm sure conferences aren't unheard of. i wasn't sure what format this idea should take, so it begins like a headcanon list but finishes up with a drabble. it's also rushed and i struggled with it a lot but. we ball!!!!!!

Adam considers himself to be a pretty funny guy, always dishing out 'sick burns' on others, but his pride gets hurt really easily. When it comes to a reader who can keep up with him in comebacks; he's definitely impressed by it, thinks it's hot as fuck, but he'd never openly admit it because it also a ignites a strong sense of competition in him.  

The tension between the two of you is uncomfortably palpable, how you twist him through every conversation and leave him to stammer like a fool just when he thinks he's bested you. Watching him seethe is endlessly entertaining to you, it brings you satisfaction, finding your own sense of pride in seeing that bad boy persona crack little by little.

The two of you will be going back-and-forth every time Sera calls for a conference, taking up half of the allotted time with your back-and-forths, and everyone graced with the luck to have been summoned there just wishes the two of you would fuck already so they didn't have to keep sitting through this.

But he secretly likes it, your flippancy towards his status and identity as First Man, how you're always so quick to shut down his sleazy remarks with an air of arrogance, going toe-to-toe with his own. Cute. 

Until one day, you finally give into him– He somehow manages to get you to fuck him, and for days after, his bragging around the office is incessant: "[Name] cries when she cums!", "Her orgasm face is just the cutest fuckin' thing, I mean could you imagine? Wait, actually don't, don't picture it–"

You start to get fed up, not only annoyed at his oversharing and his ceaseless bragging about things that simply weren't true, but because you hadn't even gotten to cum from the experience. Instead of confronting him, you had a plan in place that would get you what you wanted, so you instead opted to ignore the hushed whisperings around you all day.

...Until a little later, when you're in an empty conference room together, and he's sitting across the table from you. Licking the lid of his yogurt container with a smug look. Mimicking the disappointingly tepid treatment he'd given to you the night before.

"Should we... address what happened, [Name]?" He asks smugly, like it was a topic of business, leaning forward onto the table with his hands clasped together.

"No, I'm good." 

"Noooo?" Adam's voice is as sugary as the extra pumps of syrup he'd overloaded his coffee with this morning in the breakroom. You'd seen that diabetes-inducing horror as it happened. "Why not? I feel like it's something we should talk about."

"Why?" You ask simply. "It happened, and that's it."

That gets him a little annoyed. Confused, too; why weren't you playing along?

"Didn't mean a thing to you, then?"

"Nah."

"Oh please, [Name]," he scoffs. He’s getting offended at the thought now, his wings giving a small flap in indignance. He’s supposed to be the aloof one! You should be begging for it to happen again.

"Don't fuckin' play. My dick gave you the best fuck you've ever had and now you don’t know how to feel."

“The best? At putting me to sleep, maybe. I did get a good nap out of it afterward, so.”

To Adam, the only thing better than your negative attention is your positive attention, and the only thing worse than that is your indifference. He hates feeling desperate, but you bring him to that shameful peak.

“You were on my dick like you had a fuckin' crush,” Adam continues to ramble on, trying to find a weak spot. “Fucking me probably meant a lot to you, huh?” 

"I hump my pillow before bed and it means as much." 

"Your pillow can't plow you like I do."

"No, but at least it actually gets me to cum."

Adam’s dick twitches in his pants. You know exactly what you're doing. Those words, delivered with that cruel flippancy he loves and hates so much, are precisely tailored-- All to drive him over the edge. 

“Then maybe that was just a trial run,” He says after a long, fervent pause. "Maybe you need another taste."

You smirk a little, but only offer more disdain.

"No thanks, I've had enough to decide I'm no longer interested."

"Oh come on," He finally says. He's desperate at another chance now, he needs the validation of making you cum for his pride to be restored.

"Just give me one more shot?"

And so there you are, bottoms down, legs spread, Adam's fingers inside you, sitting on the edge of the table where a meeting is supposed to happen in about 25 minutes.

You're sopping wet. He drags a finger over your cunt before spreading it. "You're so cute, all blushing and shit. Makes me crazy hard."

"Your vocabulary is fucking terrible. Stop talking."

"You like it, though." He grins, teasingly lifting his fingers away from your aching cunt to show you your own wetness. You let out a small whine at the absence. "You sure you want me to stop?"

"Shut up, I said," You grab him by his hair and shove his mouth where you want it, aggressive and impatient. "-and start eating."

Normally Adam is not one to take demands like that. But in this position-- looking up at your stern face from between your legs--he obeys. He kisses at your cunt over and over, sweet little pecks like a first crush. The sensation makes your core tighten around nothing. Adam was not one to take his time; he was teasing you like this on purpose. You weren't having it.

And so pettily, you decide to say: "You can do better than that."

So naively, he does, he takes your dare and you're practically gushing all over the conference table by the time he gets in there and starts eating for real. Desperately suckling your clit between those smirking lips, that mouth that never fucking shuts up.

You cum with a satisfied sigh, as if you'd just had a good stretch rather than an orgasm on his face. He looks up at you expectantly, lips glistening with your aftertaste. Eyes wide and eager, waiting for the praise that is to come, only for you to lean in and whisper:

"Look who has a crush now."

a/n — pls forgive me for taking so long to answer this! i don't think it's exactly what you're looking for but i tried. it's more of an "adam with a reader who he has a sexually-charged, competitive work relationship with" type of deal. you just like to play with him and you know exactly how to make him desperate

#adam headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #adam x reader #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam smut

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC x DP fic idea: Lex Luther's youngest

Lex Luther will admit that his attempt to clone Superman had failed because he gave Superbo far too much free will. He may have lost the lab and a few scientists, but he still had the receipt in his head.

Yes, Superboy's creation was considered a miracle, but there is no such thing in science. He was sure he could recreate the experiment.

He just needed to ensure this one would have less world knowledge. Keep the weapon a weapon by providing it never thought of itself as anything else.

So he got to work. He blended his DNA with the small remaining samples he had of Superman. It was frustrating to see ninety-nine failed attempts to get the cloning right. Lex was on the last of his piece when he almost gave up, choosing to hype up everything in a last desperate attempt.

He placed it in the tube, left it to process overnight, and when he returned, there was a full teenager in the pod- now glowing green for some reason? Lex pauses, surprised beside himself, before fierce pride overcomes him.

He did it. He's completed his second clone all on his own.

Lex had only a few seconds to celebrate before the experiment jerked awake, and the bluest set of eyes he's ever seen stared back at him. It should be aware later in this stage. Then again, it shouldn't be this grown, either.

The clone screams.

Its voice slams against the glass that should have held against any full Kryptonian and shatters it. Lex throws himself behind one of the counters, feeling the waves of power wash over him.

It shakes the whole underground lab, threatening to bring down the roof over their heads, and Lex can do nothing but cover his ears and press himself against the ground.

The clone is wailing like a haunting banshee. He wasn't even aware Kryoptonian could do this.

The noise dies down. Lex glances over the counter only to find the clone on its hands and knees, gasping for breath. He reaches for the lead box in his pocket, mindful of the clone's every movement.

He'll put it back to sleep with some kryptonite, then place it back in its pod to have its mind molded into the perfect weapon. The experiment springs to his feet as his fingers close around the box. Lex pulls it out and flips open the lid as the clone's eyes lock with his.

Its eyes are green and glowing. Fascinating.

He watches as it starts to waver, tilting dangerously to the side, and smirks, knowing the rock is working. Calmly he walks over; the clone raises its hands in two tight fists, a frown on its face. "None of that now."

He presses the kryptonite against its chin to teach it a lesson. Pian will be the best teacher, and it will learn to obey every command of Lex or face severe consequences. The clone looks down, gaps, and then bites the kryptonite. Cleanly enjoying the flavor as it chews and hums, eyes closing in blessed like Lex had just fed him the highest quality chocolates.

Lex's soft "What the fuck" was very warranted.

"Thanks for the food, Mister." The clone chirps after going for another bite. It smacks its lips, then in a bizarre turn of events, it holds out its hand for a shake. "I'm Danny, by the way. What's your name?"

Lex kept staring at it before slowly taking the offered hand and pumping it up and down. He's not sure if this is real anymore. Maybe he was still asleep?

"This is the part where you tell me your name." The clone says after a while of handshaking. It shifts on its feet clearly with far too much personality, but not one Lex created. Not even one that was influenced. It was literally made last night.

"You know what. This sort of feels like a FruitLoop-level situation, so I will go. Have fun with whatever this is." The clone says, gesturing to the area around them while stepping backward. Lex opens his mouth to tell it there is no escape when it goes through the wall.

Density shifting!? But that was a power of Martian Manhunter, and Lex knows he had not even gotten close to that DNA yet.

He quickly grabs his tablet, clicking on the security cameras of his home, watching the clone fly through all his walls- flying as simple as walking, but not like Superboy, who picked himself up with telekinesis, or Superman, who pushed against gravity but flying as if though he was swimming with the airflow.

The young clone found the last wall and flew out of his home, far above his property, disappearing into the sunset with a black and green blur in his wake.

Lex leans back, putting down the tablet now that he cannot watch the clone and its obvious awareness of its surroundings. How had it learned all of that?

The mystery didn't get in the way of the most important fact: His youngest seemed to be very talented.

Maybe he would treat it like a person if only to keep him here to study. He had to get to Danny- before the rest of the Justice League could and bring the boy into his fold as the perfect heir that Kon refused to be.

How hard could it be to get Danny on his side?

(Danny punched his way into a new dimension after escaping from the burning remains of Amity Park. His parents, sister, and friends fell in battle trying to keep humans and ghosts safe after the GIW started a war with the zone.

After losing his hometown, he led the spirits to victory once the GIW labeled all citizens as too contaminated and ripped away their rights. His town's survivors were at his side, fighting for the ones they lost.

Once they beat the GIW, the government was informed of the small civil war and disbanded the department. It was a hollow victory- their apologies and promises to rebuild would never bring back the ones he lost.

In his grief- and fear of becoming Dan- he went to Clockwork, who only shook his head and told him time was flowing correctly. He then went to FrostBite, who, after listening to the broken King, offered him a home among his people. Danny lived with the Far Frozeen for three years when he was offered a position on the exploration team that would map out the Ghost Zone.

Only the elites of the elites were allowed among them. He accepted. He was given a watch, a magical journal to record what he saw, and feast as a far well.

He then flew through the first uncharted portal, punching the barrier between worlds and bursting into a new universe where he would record and report back to the Far Frozen after five years of living among the natives.

Turns out, flinging himself at the barrier of reality took a lot of power, so when he got to the other side, he promptly passed out. He found himself inside a large tube, contaminating the water with his ectoplasm, and when he woke, it was to a bold man standing outside his box with greed in his eyes.

Danny used the ghostly wail out of instinct. Which may have been overkill since the man offered him frozen ectoplasm after almost passing out again for using what little he had acquired during his nap.

Maybe one day he'll see him again and say thanks. For now, Danny had a new world to explore. )

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Lex Luther's Youngest #dimension travel #Danny is confused for Kryptonian #Yes his portal open inside the test tube for another failed clone #Lex is going to dad him #If he can catch him

[velvetmud]

joel figures out how to make you squirt. he exploits this discovery brutally

hhhhhhhh im in the fucking twilight zone from this

warning(s): explicit 18+, daddy kink, dirty talk, light domsub undertones-ish

-

joel always said he preferred getting his hands dirty, putting them to work. that same logic bled nicely into his sex life.

he never gave you any half measures when he took you in, shoved you face first in his bed. looked right down his nose at you, holding you in your place and began explaining. now the rules were, either you wet his bed with your cum or you won’t get to cum the next night at all.

first night he’d discovered your particularly messy hidden talent, three of those vicious fingers were curled up in you. pounding and prodding every spongey sweet spot he could find. he was grinning like a sadist down at your scrunched up helpless face.

“you look so fucking perfect riding on the edge, baby. just keep holding it. don’t wanna spoil the ending so soon.” his other hand crept down to spread your opening further apart to feast his eyes. listens to the wet squelch when he perks his fingers in a certain way. he tisks at your begs and pleads to give in and finish you off, even after he’s spent a good hour toying with you.

“how’s it feel to fuck on daddy’s fingers like this? bet it feels so good, shit, you’re taking them all up the way up to the knuckle. bet’chu like that, mmm that’s so perfect, lemme hear it.”

your nails latch onto his shoulder, squeezing with irreparable need. the throaty whimpers cry out of you one by one. mixing his names, joel or daddy or fuck keep going keep going please. he eggs you on to scream for him some more, stroking his ego with your unhinged volume when he starts to pick up speed. scissors his runny digits back and forth, feeling your noisy walls closing up on him.

he ducks his head back down to smack his lips with yours. lovingly digs his nose into your cheek while he curls all three of his fingers at once. his happy trail ground down onto you in harsh circles, giving you the perfect friction, fuelling the growing mess of his fingers between your legs. breathless, you pull away from his mouth with quick motion to get a hold of yourself as the pressure became more and more unbearable.

he knows you’re mere seconds away from imploding, the micro movements and noises he’s memorized and replayed over and over in his head happening right under him. he playfully nipped at the side of your ear, sucking the spot with his tongue before whispering:

“you wanna cum on these fingers for me, angel? give me something to taste?”

he can’t help the pitiful laugh at your blatant desperation. “yes yes please, please will you let me—“

joel gears up to hear your pretty sounds when you cry for him again, his half lidded eyes swimming with want when you clench around his fingers once, twice.

you squirmed and twitched as if he fed you back to god himself with an exorcism.

he snaps his head down to stare in awe when he feels your cum drenching his fingers. a warm splash gushed from your legs as he rips his fingers out, admiring the work he’s done on your weeping pussy.

“atta girl, baby. made a nice big puddle, all for me. so fucking sexy.” he dips his face down and inspects the mess, nuzzling in it shamelessly. any energy you’d normally have to overthink or feel embarrassed got fucked out of you a long time ago.

your fingers drifted down to grip a selfish handful of joel’s hair, feeling him start his journey kissing up towards your belly button.

“sorry, tonight I know I gotta wash the sheets—“

“’sorry?’” he snorts, eyes widening with an almost humorous disbelief. crawling up to lay at the head of the bed, he tangles your legs together and brushed a strand of hair stuck to your face. “you did perfect for me, angel. next time I’ll fucking drink it outta you, if you’ll let me.”

from then on, he’ll insist it’s only a coincidence that he goes out of his way to refill your glass of water a lot more frequently. claims it’s because he wants to make sure his baby girl is full and hydrated, healthy. safe. not as if he was plotting for something he’ll be doing to you later.

after all, he loved putting use to his hands, and wasn’t ever afraid of getting them dirty.

-

still working on my inbox everybodyyyy I think about the ideas in my inbox everyday I promise I’ll get to finishing up more. thank you for reading and for patience and for telling me any thots

masterlist + buy me a ko-fi

#joel miller smut #joel miller/reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfic #the last of us #pedro pascal #joel miller/you #joel miller x reader #joel miller hbo #joel miller x f!reader #anon #ask

[potofstewie]

The Mechanic

The Lowdown: All you wanted was to get your tire fixed on this hot summer day...and maybe a lil something extra to beat the heat. Luckily, your trusty mechanic Haganezuka Hotaru knows just what you need.

The things to know: AFAB!Reader, chubby!Reader, Blackfem!Reader, Teasing, both Reader and Hotaru are in their late twenties, hair pulling (m. receiving), domish!Hotaru, choking, missionary, body worship, fingering, cunnilingus, creampie, overstimulation, attempted murder

Pairing: Mechanic!Haganezuka x Reader

W/C: 4.2K

A/N: This was, a 4-month struggle. Motivation was at an all time low, went on hiatus, reblogs were/still are scarce and I was in the lows. But then I said "you know what, my babies need to eat. I have to do what I have to do to make sure we eat." So I popped my pussy on this because as a mother I make sure my babies are fed their fanfiction. This fic was inspired by the above panel from GANSTA. ANYWAY ENJOY MWUAH

“Hey, Haganezuka!” 

You lifted your gaze towards an annoyed Kanamori who stood in the doorway of the mechanic shop. “It’s 97° right now! I’m leaving for the day so take a break, you hear Haganezuka?! That goes for you too, y/n! Don’t be a stubborn idiot like him!” He nagged before retreating into the air conditioned shop, not caring to wait on a reaction from the two of you. A soft sigh left your glossed lips as you gazed upwards into the cloudless summer sky, the sun harshly beating down upon the earth. All you wanted to do was get your tire changed but alas, Hotaru Haganezuka had other plans.

You had to agree with Kanamori, it was way too hot to be outside. Especially when you’re standing in a shadeless mechanic lot watching the very man that insisted on doing every little thing possible to your car from checking the oil to changing the battery. “Don’t be an idiot, a mechanic must always check these things! Just leave it to me!” Is what he proclaimed, arguing that you should be grateful that he was willing to do so much on the spot. Contemplating Kanamori’s demand, you looked back down at Hotaru, working in a silent frenzy as he changed your battery. 

You couldn’t tell if it was due to the heat or your emotions, but you felt your cheeks burn as you watched him. You didn’t mind admitting it, Hotaru was a bit of a looker; especially now. His long black hair had been tied back in a bun, loose strands sticking out and some on his forehead while his thick sharp-angled eyebrows furrowed in concentration. A black t-shirt rested on the back of his neck leaving his muscled torso exposed to the sweltering heat; the top part of his mechanics jumpsuit tied around his waist. Wiping the sweat off your chest with your tank top, you watched in silent awe as a single trail of sweat ran down his arm; bicep flexing with every crank of the ratchet. 

“Aren’t you gonna go inside?” You asked, watching his glove covered hands work with practiced movements. You stopped yourself from sighing as the image of his fingers rapidly pumping into your sopping pussy entered your mind. Instinctively gripping the bottom of your shorts, you tried to keep yourself in check, pussy squeezing at nothing but disappointing air. For about a year now you’ve had a thing for Hotaru. However, with his stand-off nature and how busy he was, it was a bit difficult to get closer with him on a more personal level. 

A throb rang inside you as you watched Hotaru slowly stand at his full height, leaning back slightly as desired hands held the old battery. “I’m busy. Why don’t you go in?” He wiped a few strands of hair away from his forehead as he set down the battery and picked up the new one, his sharp hazel eyes side-eyeing you from a half-lidded gaze. “It’s not like you’re doing anything. You’re just torturing yourself with this damn heat.” And with his last word, he leaned back into the engine, eyes focusing on the task at hand. 

You wiped your sweat covered palms on your shorts as you looked towards the street. Despite the heat being troublesome, people still walked around, loud music blaring from passing cars. “You know I only came here to get my tire changed. If anything, you’re the one torturing yourself with all this extra stuff.” You retorted, settling your gaze back to the man next to you as you crossed your arms.

“You should be glad I’m doing this at all. For free, no less.” He mumbled, wagging the ratchet in your direction. You played with the hem of your tank top as Hotaru grabbed his shirt and wiped his face, dark eyes fixated on your plush thighs that soaked in the sunlight, giving them a delectable glow. He softly exhaled as he eyed the bit of fat that spilled from your shorts, the fabric being a little tight on your thighs. He’d give anything to touch your thighs, to have them encase his head as he sucked on your sensitive bud and licked at your drenched folds. To feel your thighs wrap around his waist as he pounded into your tight cunt relentlessly.

“Why for free? Not that I’m complaining.” You inquired, desperately hoping to get a full conversation out of the asocial man while snapping him out of his lewd thoughts. If the conversation wasn’t about cars or the neighborhood kid Tanjiro that accidentally destroyed his prized motorcycle that one time, Hotaru would be a clam. With a sigh, he closed the hood before facing you, finally finished with his self assigned work and leaned on the side of the car.

“Think of it as a one time deal, you are a valued customer after all.” He answered plainly, trying his hardest not to watch a sweat drop disappear down your cleavage. You hummed at his answer, curious eyes traveling across the prominent veins in his crossed forearms. You envisioned his work worn fingers encasing your throat, his words almost going out one ear. “However, I wouldn’t mind some dango as payment.” 

“Just..dango?” You stepped closer to him, confidence flowing through your veins. Maybe it was the heat getting to you or the boredom of doing nothing except standing around, you didn’t know exactly what came over you. But you hoped that maybe he too was on the same page. You couldn’t be any more right. With the ghost of a smirk, Hotaru uncrossed his arms and closed the gap between you both, the smell of his cologne wafting into your nose. You felt immense heat rise to your cheeks as he slowly took off a glove, one by one pulling it from his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“You got something better?” One glove off, the other to go. You bit your bottom lip slightly as you nodded, your cherry flavored lip gloss enchanting him. With his pointer finger and thumb loose in his glove, Hotaru scoffed, happy about the new direction the day was taking. “You wanna show me, pretty girl?” With a quick tug, he finally took off his glove and shoved them in his back pocket before quickly pulling you closer, evoking a soft gasp from your lips. As a soft hum rumbled from his chest, his rough hands found refuge on your soft and plump ass; rubbing it in slow, small circles with slight pressure from the base of his palms as if he was a masseuse. 

“But, we’re out in public..” You said slowly, trying to remind him of where the two of you were but you couldn’t help but stare deeply into his lust filled eyes, his gaze slowly lowering to your agape lips. With an answering hum, Hotaru squeezed your ass slightly before placing his thumb under the hem of your shorts, the digit rubbing the lace on your underwear. 

“So?” He said simply, thumb and finger lightly tilting your chin up as he inched his lips closer to yours. “Let ‘em watch.” And with a short exhale, his soft lips crashed with yours; your lip gloss making its sticky mark on him. A soft moan escaped your throat as his tongue swiped at your bottom lip; asking for permission. You felt another, more harsh, squeeze on your ass as you caved in and gave him entry, his tongue immediately exploring and dancing with your own. The warmth of his velvet lips did nothing but cause you to sink further into the addictive feeling of lust that overwhelmed your senses. You were caught in a mind numbing daze as Hotaru finally pulled back from the intense kiss, a string of saliva connecting the both of you. 

As soft pants left your messy lips, he left a small, ticklish kiss to your neck. “I don’t wanna give them an entire show..c’mon.” With a sly smile and his hands still cradling your ass, Hotaru began to walk towards the shop, forcing you to awkwardly walk backwards. A chuckle left Hotaru as he relished in the awkward position he had you in, finding enjoyment in your flustered expression. 

“Hotaru..” You pleaded, your mind buzzing with the endless things that could happen, your pussy pulsating with every step taken towards the office and light squeeze Hotaru would gift to your plump ass. Once you both crossed the threshold to the messy office, his lips immediately found yours again, lightly nipping at your bottom lip as he pushed the door closed with his foot and guiding you to the messy desk. Momentarily removing himself from the sweet taste of your lips, Hotaru wiped off all the papers that were strewn on the desk before roughly planting your ass on the width of the dark wood; eyes swimming with carnal desire. 

Rubbing his hands up and down your thighs, Hotaru left a hot kiss on your clavicle before latching on and evoking a soft moan from your mouth. Kicking off your slides as your nimble hands snaked their way up to his neck, pulling off the shirt that he left there before tangling your fingers into his dark hair. You tugged gently at his scalp as he started peppering his bites and kisses all over your chest, a low groan slowly leaving his body. Pulling away once more, his eyes zeroed in on the cute stomach pudge you had. He wanted to run his rough hands over the soft body part and be hypnotized by it. Lifting off your tank top and pulling down your bra, Hotaru dived back in for his new target, mouth latching onto your nipple, his tongue running over your dark areola.

A saccharine moan was ripped from you as you felt his teeth nip and pull at the hardened numb while his rough hands unclasped and threw your bra to the side before gently pressing on your stomach, urging you to lay back. Following his command, you could feel his hands snake even lower, fingers tugging both your shorts and panties off. On instinct you widened your legs, the cold air kissing your folds while Hotaru brought his waist closer between your legs, still preoccupied by your irresistible breasts. Placing more kisses, Hotaru trailed them upward to your neck before stopping, his thumb lightly touching your clit. You released a soft whine as his thumb slowly started to massage your clit in small circles.

As his mouth left marks upon your neck, your hand gripped his forearm as you felt his fingers slowly enter into you. Feeling a sharp canine graze your warm skin, you released a soft gasp that signaled Hotaru to pump his fingers into you slowly. Lewd noises echoing in the office with every slow draw back and hard pump his fingers did to your pussy. 

“I know you want more than this, right ma?” He teased, his pants growing tighter as he soaked in your naked body. Fingers prodding your folds and getting themselves coated in your slick only deepened Hotaru’s hunger for you, for your taste. With a slight nod, your hands found themselves fondling your breasts awaiting whatever action this man would do next.

With a deep hum, Hotaru licked his fingers clean of your nectar before trailing more of his hot kisses south. From your neck to your stomach and to the edge of your clit, his searing kisses sent tingles up your spine. As he left kisses on the inside of your thighs, you couldn’t help but squirm a bit, the anticipation killing you. “Don’t rush me, Princess. I’m getting there, just leave it to me, alright?” He spoke, his breath gently gracing your impatient cunt. With another hum, his mouth finally latched onto your pussy, an airy moan leaving your lips. Hotaru’s tongue ran itself over and between your folds that were accompanied with intervals of harsh sucking to your clit. 

Soft mewls drifted from your lips as your fingers traversed and gripped and tugged onto his black locks, undoing his bun further while your other hand kneaded and rolled one of your abandoned breasts. His rough hands held your thighs with an iron grip as you squirmed and relished in the feeling of his warm tongue gliding in between your folds, drinking in your nectar. With a final suck on your clit, Hotaru began dragging his tongue upwards on your body; stopping right in the valley of your breasts as the interesting taste of your cocoa butter lotion settled on his tongue. 

Raising himself up, Hotaru couldn’t help but be immersed in the beauty your body exuded, from the pudge of your stomach to how erect your nipples were as they battled the cold air. Muttering a low “fuck” to himself, he slowly started to undo the sleeves of his jumper that were tied to his waist and watched your once blissed face contort to one of anticipation and desperation. Hotaru knew exactly what he was doing, taking his sweet time, testing you. Seeing how far he can go with his slow, sensual movements before you snapped and pleaded with him to run his rough hands on your body once more. 

With his head tilted down and eyes looking up at your face through his dark lashes, his hands languidly freed himself from his clothing, the ghost of a smirk gracing his façade as he watched you take in the view. Your body shivered with both excitement and worry as he finally stood before you in the nude. A dark happy trail guided your curious eyes downwards to his hardened dick. In all its 8-inch glory, his hardened dick carried a bead of precum on its reddened mushroom tip; a large vein adorning its underside. With a bit lip, you watched with desire as he lined himself to your entrance but stopped abruptly, tip a mere hair breadth from your impatient and needy cunt. It was almost like a shot of molten lava coursed through your veins when your eyes angrily shot up to his face and witnessed his mouth slowly form into that of a mocking smile; mischief ladened eyes watching your reaction. 

“Are you fucking for real right now? You’re a fucking di-” Your insult was cut with a breathy inhale as you felt his cock finally enter your sopping cunt, the stretch giving you a burning yet intoxicating sensation. A shuddered breath of pleasure morphed into a low chuckle as Hotaru relished in both your reaction to his cruel teasing and to the feeling of his cock slowly being engulfed by your warm walls. His rough hands held you by your waist, eyes watching your chest shudder with each inching movement within your pussy. 

“What was that? I didn’t hear you..” Hotaru teased as your hands encased his own as his pelvis finally met with your skin. With a slow sigh, Hotaru rubbed his thumbs on your hip bones, giving you a chance to get used to his size. Giving you a chance to talk more shit. 

“C’mon, tell me what you were gonna say, I wanna know..” He mocked as he slowly drew his hips back, the feeling of his thick cock dragging along the ridges of your pussy eliciting a soft moan from you. You squeezed his fingers as you screwed your eyes shut, trying your hardest to contain your annoyance. Despite how much you hated the teasing and mocking Hotaru has been doing thus far, you couldn’t help but enjoy the throbs his cruel actions gave to your pussy. 

“I-I said you’re a fucking dick!” Your declaration ended in a squeaked out high note as Hotaru harshly thrusted into you, the desk creaking with his action of shutting you up. Choked out gasps and mewls from your gloss smeared lips interlaced with that of the creaking wood as Hotaru began his cruel treatment to your squelching pussy. Your legs quickly wrapped around his waist as your pussy finally got what it had longed for.

Admittedly, you didn’t know what you were expecting when this moment finally arrived. Yes, you had your expectations in the dark of night when your fingers occupied the warm and soft confinements of your pussy; your mind thinking nothing but how big you hoped he was, if he was either a rough and carnal lover or a slow sensual one, even if he preferred doggy over missionary. But this, ohh, this was beyond your expectations. The pulses of pleasure that emitted from your pussy and traveled throughout your nervous system, the iron grip he had on your waist, and the low grunts and groans rumbling from your favorite mechanic was nothing you expected yet all that you had dreamed for. 

An airy chuckle escaped Hotaru’s lips as he sank further into the pure bliss of his cock being squeezed by your greedy cunt, a nice coating of your cream decorating his equally pleasure hungry cock. The sight of that alone sent shockwaves throughout his body, urging him to thrust faster. Removing his bruising grip on your waist, he unwrapped your legs from his body and pushed them towards your head; work worn hands holding the backs of your knees as sweet moans fell from your mouth at the newfound depth, Hotaru swearing under his breath as he felt his tip give your cervix bruising kisses. 

“Look at all that fucking cream..acting like you can’t stand me, shit..” A rumbling groan interrupted Hotaru’s dirty mocking, the tightness of your pussy nearly sending him into a nonverbal state. “But I know that if I stopped, you’d beg for more..” Hotaru leaned forward, pressing a lopsided kiss to the side of your knee as he drank in your cock drunk expression; lidded eyes rolling back and staccato moans wavering from your agape mouth. Hotaru’s eyebrows twitched in annoyance with your lack of answer, his hips abruptly stopping as a hand encased your throat. 

“Hey, answer me. I won’t start again if I don’t get an answer.” He demanded, ignoring how your abandoned leg pitifully kicked in the air for his grasp again. Your mind was too fuzzy to properly grasp just what was going on, but a quick squeeze to your throat brought you to attention. “You gonna beg for more, mama?” The belittling question dripped from Hotaru’s mouth like honey as you whined, wiggling your waist to finish what you both started. 

“Fuck! Yes, I need you! Please, Hotaru, keep going!” At your wits end, you finally answered the man’s degrading question, body desperately craving for its release. With a satisfied low hum, Hotaru began again but faster; the desk getting louder with each harsh thrust gifted to your needy pussy. You could feel the sticky liquid your pussy oozed out pool onto the desk as Hotaru’s hands nearly folded you in half; the mechanic close to his own relief. 

A rough hand came down to your sticky and stretched pussy, thumb rubbing circles on your sensitive clit that sent bouts of pleasure through your body. Each swift movement his thumb did against your puffy bud, you couldn’t help but have your pelvis follow close behind. His thumb goes up, your hips raise. His thumb goes down, your hips follow. The intricate yet harsh dance your bodies did resounded in the dusty office, the desk crying out from all the force, warning of splintering damage.

Your mechanic was absolutely enchanted with it all. He enjoyed seeing your pussy practically be a suction cup; with each draw back your cunt seemed to hold on, practically begging him to stay inside, begging for him to keep going, begging to be painted white with his seed. “I’ll m-make you feel good..fuck, just leave it to me..” Hotaru promised before folding you even further, lips roughly melding with yours and swallowing every pathetic mewl and moan. His lips traveled to your jaw as your vision became spotted and blurry; your release approaching steadfast. 

“ ‘M gonna- ‘M gonna, fuuck, ‘M-” Your choppy declaration couldn’t leave your spit covered lips properly as each thrust interrupted you and forced you to restart your sentence. If Hotaru had half a mind, he would’ve stopped right in his tracks again and have you plead for your orgasm. Fortunately for you, his own release was nearly there, evident by his thrust getting ever so sloppy with each push into your stretched pussy. 

“Y-yeah? Gonna cum f’me baby?” His words sent a throb to your cunt, your head nodding sluggishly. A breathy chuckle left Hotaru as your hands encased his own that held onto the back of your knees. “Fuuck, you can do it baby..cum on this cock, lemme hear you..” As if on command, your body jerked. A choked, drawn out moan resounded from your mouth as your back arched up, your orgasm running its course through your body. 

You pussy contracted on his dick with every jerk your body did as you endured your powerful yet anticipated release. It felt as if you reached nirvana; bliss being the only thing coursing through your mind. Your mechanic, on the other hand, was starting to lose it. He wanted to keep going, to drag this out as much as possible, but your orgasm did nothing but foil his plan. Sweet, high and barely restrained whimpers tumbled from his lips as he basked in your contractions. 

Coming down from your high, you couldn’t help the tears welling up in your eyes from the overstimulation of his thrusts; Hotaru’s pathetic whimpers coaxing you to pay attention to him, to see your quick to anger, hard to understand and hard to socialize mechanic be reduced to a pitiful state as his orgasm finally arrived. 

Hotaru’s whimpers abruptly stopped as his hips staggered, only producing miniscule thrusts as his hot cum decorated your tight and sopping walls; his fingers twitching with each pulse of cum. As if a switch flipped in his head, your mechanic groaned deeply and loudly as his body lurched forward, subconsciously trying his hardest to go as deep as he possibly could into your cum stuffed pussy. Shaky, heavy pants heaved from him as you groaned softly at the newfound sensation of his cock emptying inside you, some of it oozing out of your cunt. 

Sighing heavily, the spent mechanic slowly and carefully pulled out, eyes entranced by the sight of your mixed liquids stretch into thin lines connecting you two as his cock fully left you. Long, rough fingers lowered themselves to your entrance and separated your folds more, the gentle action sending a slight shockwave through you. He was absolutely enthralled by your gaping and abused cunt. His fingers continued playing in your pussy, ears completely deaf to your moans of overstimulation. 

In and out. In between folds, up and down. Those were the simple yet powerful dance moves Hotaru’s fingers did, his mind blank besides the fascination of seeing your messy cunt decorated. This state of mind was similar to the one he’d be in whenever working on the current machine in the lot. Your legs twitched with each move his fingers did against your battered and bruised pussy. “H-Hotaru, you’re gonna make me cum..” your soft, tearful declaration received no response from the mechanic who was too deep in his work. 

To your, albeit painful, enjoyment, his fingers kept dancing nonstop despite your mewls and words of pleasure. With hitched breaths, you couldn't help the pleasure formed tears decorate your lashes as your second orgasm came fast approaching. Cum coated thumb and pointer finger gently pinched and rubbed your clit, your sensitive and delicate bud eliciting electricity through you. As if on cue with Hotaru’s newfound enjoyment with your clit, your second release finally came. 

Saccharine moans dripped from your mouth as it washed over you, your body shivering with each intense pulse of pleasure. It wasn’t until you reached out and gripped Hotaru’s veiny forearm that he stopped his unintentional torture; his sharp eyes leaving their enchanted state and giving you a look of puzzlement. Hotaru was confused as to why you stopped him. Couldn’t you see he was busy toying with your pussy? “What’s the problem?”

An airy chuckle of disbelief flew from your mouth as you carefully raised yourself up on your elbows, dull pain starting to form below the waist. “You’re awful, y’know that ‘Taru?” Hotaru’s large hand encased yours as he pulled you forward, helping you sit up properly. A slowly growing smirk adorned his face as it finally dawned onto your mechanic what he’d done. 

“What do you me-” Before he could properly feign innocence, a loud crash emitted from outside followed by a loud and rushed ‘I’m so sorry, Haganezuka-San! It happened again!’ You watched your mechanic in absolute confusion as he swore loudly and hastily got dressed, rushing to pull a knife from the desk drawer. “That fucking idiot! Tanjiro! Don’t run away from me!” 

“Wait!-” Your words died out as your ever so hot tempered mechanic ran out, not caring to clean you up or even just talk to you for a bit. You sat there, stumped on what just transpired, your mind running over all the things that happened from watching your crush fix your car, getting absolutely fucked out of your mind by your crush, and watching your crush attempt to murder a child. Truthfully, you wondered if moving forward in the future with him as your new source of pleasure was worth putting up with his attitude. As the dust particles in the air floated and the ticking of the wall clock filled the silence of the room, you reached your firm conclusion.

It’s fucking worth it.

ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ʙɪɴᴅ ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ɢᴏ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴛᴏꜰꜱᴛᴇᴡɪᴇ™ 2023

Tags: @chrollohearttags @tojisblondebimbo @toji-dabi-wife @comatosebunny09 @nymphoheretic @spaceforher @love-2-fast @p3ach-gyals @itmightbejo @jellymantra33 @bontensbabygirl @chickenwingsandfries3425 @starrbright @sleepdepriveddork @haji-me-mashite @namjoonsbuspass @koyukiki @twisteddaydreams1135 @garie-gary @heavenlysageee @prettypurplebirb @bigmooncheeks @mousepillz @jenuchi @lunerenzo @bigmooncheeks @heibunniie @doveyrei @wntrsblvd @gobblethiskitty @ezay @marusatonanhin @chile-im-embarrassed @thickbihhwitdagapp @conniesluvrgyal @jasminefaerie @namidaass @tiazvni @ffushiquro @partypom @dawn-bunni @katymae12344 @iluvlay0111 @breadslut69 @grungedog13 @levismommymilker3000 @unknownaqxa @bookworm0ctavia

#kny smut #demon slayer smut #haganezuka x reader #hotaru haganezuka #haganezuka x black reader #haganezuka x black yn #black reader #black reader smut #kny haganezuka #stew’s smut stew #demon slayer haganezuka #original stew

[theirishwolfhound]

I do love the idea of an unhinged reader. Not like brutally unhinged but... like the kind that is harmlessly annoying and is just a brat to Task Force 141.

Like the mother fuckers nickname is Menace and they're somehow still alive after everything so they make it everyone's problem.

They're great at what they do, amazing even— but no team wants menaces like Menace, not even the heavens nor the hells want the damn person.

This is the same Menace who wears a devilish half-mask, but only above their mouth so people can see their shit-eating grin (think similar to the ghoul mask above) as they leave small firecrackers under the lids of toilet seats, or so people notice the way their lips curl up in mock disgust when someone is talking.

Menace who only goes through with the SAS training to one up another soldier they despised, enough to have sicked a pack of squirrels on that they personally hand fed a few days after— they even bonded enough with the little fuckers that when they were finally transferred out to be someone else's problem, the squirrels would steal the remaining soldiers foods.

Laswell, whose grand idea of knocking the boys down a peg since she's tired of their shenanigans includes getting this Menace of a person to join 141 with faint threats of blackmail— to which Coporal Menace respects, leading Kate to being the only one who is not subjected to the dumpster fire that is about to happen, but is only encouraged by her wife.

Price, who in his right mind, nearly rejects the idea of this misfit joining because of their turnover rate but gives in when Laswell tells him it would be worth it— that her wife likes them and they're an excellent solider after all.

Immediately upon arrival, Menace lives up to their name— pissing on the side of the building as if to mark their new territory before deciding it would be a good idea to rile up the behemoth of a man by asking Price: "Didn't anyone tell the poor bastard that Halloween was four fuckin' months ago? Look at 'em he looks emo."

It wasn't until then that the poor Captain realized how much of an untamed brat his new corporal was— only to be further set in after the first two weeks on base.

Sure Menace got along with Soap, but they were far too alike for Menace's likings and Gaz, sweet sweet Gaz, gave them a few too man odd glances and playfully snide remarks for their liking— meanwhile Ghost had made them scrub the bathroom from top to bottom with a small sponge, and well they could already see the forming regret in Price's eyes.

So Menace did what they did best.

It started out simple: silently attaching balloons on strings to the back of their clothes without them noticing, flipping all of the furniture upside down during the middle of the night, purposefully mocking every single move of one of the operators for a full day, sugar in the salt shaker or salt in the sugar dish, you name it they did it.

Glitterbomb the captain? Oh yeah, and there's still glitter in his mustache.

Tied the two sergeants' doors together so that neither could open it? Done and done, they were locked in their rooms for a good hour until someone cut the rope.

Move the lieutenant’s furniture two inches to the right so that he would constantly stub his toe? Yeah, you can practically see him fuming after every trip to his office.

And what irked the lads the most? Menace kept getting away without being caught— managing to even out sneak Ghost, which the only reason for it is: Menace knowing they don't know what they look like without that mask. So obviously they take it off and blend in with the many other people on base.

They made a fool of their sergeants, their lieutenant, and their captain and it was time to get back at the cunning prankster— but Menace grew suspicious. Usually they would have been booted out by a normal team by then, but what Menace came to realize a bit too late was that Task Force 141 was not normal.

And reality came to a head when Menace was called to Price's office to collect something— only for that something to be a bucket of ice cold water falling onto their head and for the captain to tell their now soaking wet and cold Coporal: "Game's on, brat."

#cod mw2 #gaz cod #ghost cod #john price #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mctavish #soap cod #price cod #call of duty x reader #cod x male reader #john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #honestly can turn this into smut #menace reader #task force 141 #tf141 are totally brat tamers while also being brats #tf 141 x reader #drabble

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not helping my family pay for hospital bills?

🎷🔥 so i can find it later

This is going to need a lot of context right off the bat. I (20'sM) am a gay man that comes from an extremely conservative family. My sister (20'sF) is also a lesbian and recently got married and adopted a child. I'm very proud of her, but that's not the issue.

My parents seem to have little to no issue with my sister marrying a woman. They do have a very big issue with me liking dudes, however. Like, it was the reason my parents got divorced "big issue." I'm not gonna go into everything, but my sister ended up with my dad and I stayed with my mom for reasons I'd rather not share.

Our last parting was on... less than decent terms. Upon finding out that I was of the homosexual variety, my dad flipped his lid. He called me several slurs and said some other very hurtful things, and even made moves to physically attack me. My mom, also a very homophobic woman, stepped in and thankfully talked him down. Then divorce, etc etc.

I saved up enough money to move out when I turned 18 and may have done some impulsive things including completely trashing my mom's bathroom, which I know I'm definitely the asshole for, but in my defense my mom kept "forgetting" to pick up my prescriptions and I was manic (I have bipolar). But, again, I know I'm the AH for that.

I now live with my two best friends R (20sNB) and P (20sM) in a house we all pay for. R comes from money so they help out a lot, and I love them both to death. We kind of have a sort of situationship but none of us are poly? Idk it's weird we're just going with it rn.

Anyway, I bring them up bc we all went to my sister's wedding together, and my parents separately chewed me out for bringing them (and for R daring to wear a dress. They're amab for context) and I obviously argued back bc hey they're my best friends and my sister specifically said it was okay for me to bring them (she and R are also friends and they wouldve been invited regardless of me bringing P) and also because R looks very good in a dress and i can handle them shit-talking me but i will not tolerate slander towards R or P.

At the wedding, I went full no contact with them and told them to lose my number. They, ofc, did Not lose my number and I got several calls from extended family saying about what you would expect them to say, so I switched numbers and gave only my sister and her wife my new number.

My sister. I love her to pieces but sometimes she gets on my nerves. She gives my number to my mom to have "just in case," but she reassures me that she won't give it to my dad or any other family. So far, she's made good on that promise, I just have to deal with periodic calls about getting a girlfriend and having kids.

Now, my dad isn't the healthiest guy out there. He has arthritis, osteoporosis, and several other things that i don't really wanna get into. As he's aged he's only gotten worse and there have been several times he's almost died, but recently he's been put on hospice and has an estimated Not Very Long to live.

Here's where I may be the AH. My dad calls me while I'm at a very important, personal event for R (he got my number from my mom) and goes on a long rant on how I'm an unlovable disgrace and how he fed me and clothed me and I could make up for all that by helping him pay off hospital debt. I say no immediately and tell him that he's never been my dad, only my dna donor, and that he's going to be dead anyway and that selling his house could cover all the bills. He calls me many more names and tells me he wishes I was never born (calling my mom some very derogatory names too (she's asian)) and that i should just go ahead and off myself to save the world someone like me. I tell him he should die faster while he's at it because God knows the world already has enough bigots in it and there could never be too many mentally ill queers.

I hung up, but now I'm thinking I went a bit too far. AITA for not helping out with his hospital bills and yelling at him?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[pupcuck]

SUBSTITUTE LOVER !

ft. jack krauser x fem!reader, jack krauser x leon s. kennedy

tags. p in v, daddy-daughter incest, internalised homophobia, referenced domestic abuse, use of the f slur im so sorry, some kreon, smut, a little voyeurism, blood at the end

note. commission for @d10nyx !!!! feeding people what they want :3 nyxie wyxie i hope this is good n i hope u enjoy it!!!!’ LUV U MWAH.. ignore any mistakes… my editing sucks 😓 goes back n forth between krauser n reader pov pretty fast n the smut is a little boring 😓 pretend bootcamp is like not super top secret !!! also idk how american military works so ignore my attempt at that

As a young girl, you understand love to be an unconditional, non-negotiable and non-refundable thing. It’s human nature to love, it is your god given right to love and for your father to deny you of the only thing your heart knows to do—It’s downright cruel.

He’s a military man and that comes with perks. You get to visit his platoon and get an eyeful of bulging quads and strong jaws and sweaty abs— That is the only perk now that you think about it. Oh, and that cute blond dude who still has all his hair. Duh. Otherwise he wouldn’t be blond. He’s a total babe and when he smiles, blinking at you with feline eyes as he watches quietly from behind his bangs, you find yourself keeling over to support the weight of your aching heart.

(Pussyache, heartache, it’s all the same to you.)

Whenever you ask your dad what’s so special about him, why’s he got such shiny hair? What shampoo does he use? Is it a medical condition, does he have to keep the hair? Does his head get cold or something? He goes all stiff like you’ve asked too much of him, which you never have, you ask for nothing but love.

Ever since your mother left—Well, no it’s not even that. He didn’t change when she left. Dad is the same ol’ dad you’ve had for years. Jack is Jack and your mother isn’t going to change that, she didn’t change that, so she left and never looked back. She left you ‘cause you’re Jack’s girl and nothing is going to change that. You carry a part of your father wherever you go and that would be unwelcome in her house. She told you over the phone that she no longer needed all that medication - it was just your father.

Oh, he’s not so bad. Jack keeps you fed and clothed and what else are you meant to expect from a dad? No dads love is adequate to the way you love them. Never has and never will be.

Still, he’s changed and that you’re sure of.

His temper is short, you’re well aware. You live with the guy, of course you know all about it. He flips out when the toilet lid isn’t closed, and when you give him a gentle reminder that you don’t carry the same junk he does down there, Jack gives you the cold shoulder. It’s all about gentle parenting with your dad, but the sulking has escalated into full blown temper tantrums and you don’t know where you’ve gone wrong.

Dad’s never gotten physical. Until he does. And now you don’t remember a time where he was ever kind. You’re beaten into a pulp by the hand that feeds you and you’re not quite sure where it all went wrong, what you’ve done to be on the receiving end of such intense resentment.

All you’ve ever known is a man devoted to anger, but he’s not violent. Your dad is not violent. He’s the one who picked you up when you toppled over, he taught you how to ride a bike and he put you on his shoulders to see the world from his point of view— And that is it really. Nothing more, nothing less.

You don’t have daddy issues so to say, more so it’s your father that has issues in general, and those issues are untouched by any flame, they burn brighter than tiger eyes. It seems that they’ve started to fracture, and now the only thing that brings him relief is his fist on your supple skin, a cathartic end to a hard fucking day.

Let’s get one thing straight - Jack Krauser is not a faggot. Jack had a wife and he fucked that wife in the marriage bed once and they never fucked again. You were conceived on the first try.

A faggot couldn’t do that.

It starts with Leon S. Kennedy. He’s wet behind the ears and wet in his pink mouth and pink hole. He stares at Jack like he’s seen something nice, then he looks away a moment later, unable to hold his gaze.

Jack Krauser isn’t gay. It just gets lonely out here. It gets hard to keep his men in line and nothing scares them more than dick. Jack Krauser is not gay—And when Kennedy’s tight little hole cranks him in like a wine cork, it means nothing. This is how you get through to insolent brats, it’s the only way, no other method has worked as well as this.

If Jack Krauser was gay he would lounge in the bunk with Kennedy, he would tenderly wipe the sweat from his blond brows and kiss him stupid. But he does none of that. Kennedy is sent to shower, limping as he goes.

(Not before Jack gives him a nice hard smack on his backside and tells him to Pack it up, Boy Scout. Not before Leon presses his nose into the hollows of his neck, his boyish beam is that of a cat that got the cream, sweat gleaming to highlight the shape of his collarbones.)

So yeah. Jack is straight, and he can prove it. He would be able to prove it but the only bitch for miles left him. There’s you. But that’s fucked up. Jack wouldn’t go there.

Then you start to ask questions about Kennedy. And of course it’s him, with the petal lips and tawny lashes that remind Jack of toffee drizzled on coffee cake, of course he caught your attention— Of course he did.

(Like father, like daughter.)

You prod and he snaps, icy eyes a frigid landscape as his gaze pierces you with bone-chilling intensity. You shift from foot to foot, toying with loose threads at the hemline of your frayed nightdress.

“Sorry, dad.” You look down at your feet, wiggle your toes against the kitchen tiles and get sent into the edge of the counter when Jack lands a solid hit on your cheek.

Why, he oughta use some of that military training on you. Not the dick. Not ‘cause he’s gay, but because you’re his daughter. Obviously.

Definitely not ‘cause he’s gay.

Jack could fuck you if he really wanted. You have some, uh, assets. Yeah, you have tits, those are interesting. You have an ass, that’s nice. Got a pussy, an extra bonus. All of those are things that Jack loves. Really, he does, and he doesn’t need to prove it to anyone.

Jack takes your chin in his crushing grip, tilts your head to the left and then to the right, you tremble and make yourself small, clutching at the counter behind like you intend to saw yourself in half so your top half can make a quick escape.

“Dad…” Your little hand wraps around his wrist, fingers barely touching as you try to get him off, shaken up by his sudden burst of violence. “I’m sorry.”

He grunts, releasing you from his hold and watching your body crumple in on itself. You cup your cheek to check for damage, pressing the pads of your fingers into your jaw with a groan.

It throbs with each pulse of Jack’s heart.

You think your dad has a crush on the rookie. It might be a stretch, but he never looked at your mom that way. It transcends love and turns into hatred and heat ‘cause your dad is incapable of producing any positive feelings towards anyone ever. You would know that better than anyone, you know him better than anyone, better than he knows himself.

His tongue runs along his white canines as he watches Kennedy hold a plank and man, he’s got it bad for the rookie. You don’t blame him - look at that form, at that ass. Dad has good taste, he gets it! Now that the two of you have found some common ground, maybe he’ll stop backhanding you into next year.

Kennedy’s given mercy by your oh-so gracious father and his body caves in, hitting the mud with a soft thump—He gets up ass first and you suck in a breath at the same time your dad lets one out. His hips raise and his hands find grip in the ground before he plants his feet, lifting his body despite the discomfort that tinges his muscles. Kennedy hobbles away and you love watching him leave. Dad must think the same ‘cause he reaches down to adjust his cargos. Gross.

You catch them in the showers a week later.

You got bored waiting around for him, okay? The showers were your main priority—Not to see this, but to catch some hunks mid scrub down and turn the place into a porn set. Life has a funny way of taking all your wants and twisting them into half-wants. Seeing Leon naked? Great, amazing, no notes. Seeing your father naked? Dear fucking lord, you need a bullet put through your brain stat.

They're giving each other a muscle massage or whatever. Code for the most tender groping you have ever seen in your life. Dad cradles the back of Leon’s head sweetly. Jesus, you don’t think you’ve ever used that word to describe him. Their lips brush and Kennedy is the one that pulls back, Jack’s head moves forward to chase them, settling with ghosting kisses along the soft skin of Leon’s neck, dotted in cocoa dust moles and a protruding Adam’s apple that gets the same delicate treatment. Along with a quick lick that draws a moan from the base of Leon’s throat.

You think you might be intruding on something more personal than sex. Holy fuck, you didn’t know your dad could do personal, you didn’t know he had the ability to love so ardently. To love at all. What a dick. You don’t know whether to look away or not.

Like, Leon is—He’s cute. You like when his feathery lashes dust his cheeks each time he closes his eyes, you like how his body, soft with baby fat, gives away to the roughness of your father’s touch. The flesh of his hips divots when Jack grips them. Your father presses his back to the cool shower wall, the buttery flesh of Leon’s ass moulds to the shape of his fingers when he tugs him close to his broad chest— Cute, he has back dimples. Jack slots his thumbs in them, and then he makes the mistake of lifting his eyes from Leon’s angel face.

The running water is not enough to stop him from spotting you, head poked into the shower room as you gape. For your sake, you dip out the door to make your exit and head back to the car, not sure on whether you should be traumatised or enlightened by the possibly harrowing image that’s burned into your retinas like the worst form of LASIK.

The ride home is silent. Dad is silent most of the time, he talks but not to you. There’s one thing to talk about, but you doubt either of you want to touch on that.

Jack lets you in first. The door clicks shut behind him and you’re both alone. He’s always alone with you. He’s never missed his wife until this very moment. Not out of love for her, but out of pure convenience. She would break up the silence, she would remind him that he is in fact attracted to women and what you saw back there was nothing. Hell, he could give you another sibling if you asked—He could do that.

In one try, like a real man.

He could get it up, he can get it up, he only gets it up for women. Kennedy is the closest thing to a girl, alright? That’s all there is. Wait till you find out about what they do in prison. Every guy at camp has had a turn with Kennedy—That’s just how it works. It’s not about being gay, it’s not— It’s just tradition, isn’t it? Picking on pretty boys like that, it’s the only way to get rid of all that pent up testosterone or whatever it is that swelters within Jack.

When you turn on your heels to leave for your bedroom, Jack calls your name. You freeze so fast it’s almost comical. Like you’re playing musical chairs.

“Yes, dad?” Your gaze is stuck to your white socks, the print of the floorboards is mighty interesting.

His brow dips and his scowl morphs into a pained smile that brings you more fear than comfort, his hand is heavy on your shoulder and Jack thinks this expression suits you well.

“You think you're smart?” Barging in like that, making assumptions that only women would make—You don’t get it. You’ll never get it.

“No, sir.” The chill that runs down your spine straightens it.

“On your knees, girl.” The way you’re looking at him—He hates it. You think you got him all figured out, putting him together like a puzzle, but you’re missing one piece—He’s not gay.

“No,” you say while doing as he says.

(Kennedy does that, cries out No! as the plush of his ass meets Jack’s thighs, as he fucks himself like a faggot on a dick that belongs to a man who once had a wife, a man with a daughter.)

“Dad, no—Daddy, I’m sorry, I didn’t even see anything.” You hang your head, pleading with the ground as Jack fishes his soft cock from his cargos, refusing to meet the tip with your eyes.

Your apology is lost to the softness of his dick, hanging huge and limp against his thigh like a deflated balloon. Fuck—No, no, it’s not because Jack is gay, it’s the daughter thing. You’re his daughter, and to get hard at the sight of your daughter would only ever elicit a prison sentence.

“Daddy,” you try again, cradling what you have with him close to your chest, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—Please, daddy, I don’t—Dad.” You fail to plead your case, you fail to garner any interest from his cock. “If it’s about—I don’t like him, I don’t like Leon, dad, you can have him, he’s all yours I swear—Just don’t do this to me, daddy, please.”

Jack’s cock twitches at the mere mention of his name.

“What did I tell you ‘bout running that stupid mouth of yours, girl? Where are your fuckin’ manners?” He rubs the ruddy tip along the crease of your jutting lips, the bottom one trembles. “Thought I taught you well.”

“No… No, don’t do that, dad—God, no.” Your complaints are snuffed out by the fat dick that stuffs itself down your throat, half-hard and thick enough to be a choking hazard.

(It poses a threat to you, but not to Kennedy. Man can that kid suck cock, with a face like that he’s lucky he’s not begging for his life.)

You gag and Jack pinches your nose. If he had a son, he would’ve taught him to play ball. But he’s stuck with a daughter, and the most you can do is dig your nails into his thighs, mucusy spit hanging from your chin in stringy strands.

“You’re made for this,” Jack tells you, and he’s right. Biologically, those lips of yours have evolved to maximum pout to suck cock. They bear resemblance to Leon’s—The vein on the underside of his dick throbs. Jack’s jaw is offset as his teeth grind together, splintering into thin shards of bone. Not the fucking time to be thinking of the rookie and his floppy hair, softer than cotton beneath Jack’s fingers, the rookie who is shaven clean save the shadow that lines his lips, the rookie that sports hardened lines on his otherwise plush abdomen, pink skin leading to an even pinker dick—Holy shit, what’s wrong with him?

At this pace, Jack’s going to contact a fucking therapist—Have it out with his bitch wife. That’s exactly what it is. Sexual frustration he's not been able to take out on your mother.

His cock slips from your mouth, it rests heavy on your face, casts a shadow as you cower at the sheer size. “Dad…” You cough wetly, hacking up bile that you push back down with a pained gulp. “Daddy… Don’t do it to me, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to look, dad, I’m not—I’m not mad at you.”

He scoffs, lifting you by the Peter Pan collar of your floral blouse—You look like a fucking Mormon. That pisses him off. Jack’s not a Mormon or a faggot, there are so many accusations in the air and it all rises to crescendo. You’re bent over the dining table, the fullness of your skirt is hoisted up to ruche around your waist in makeshift pleats and your white cotton panties are dangling around your ankles.

The lips of your puffy cunt cushion his dick and Jack starts to feel a little queasy. Not because—Not ‘cause of the pussy. It’s not that. It’s the daughter thing. Seriously—There’s no time to waste, Jack forces himself into your pussy before his dick folds in on itself. As he pistons himself in and out of your only partially wet cunt, it feels like nothing. Jack is numb.

Feels nothing, hears nothing—Sees nothing but him. The anger inside of him rises like a devastating wave, ready to engulf every skyscraper in its path. You end up being on the receiving end as you have been for as long as you’ve been alive—His very own punching bag. What else are kids for, huh?

Your stubborn pussy pushes him out, you dig your nails into the glazed wood of the table, clawing like they might find purchase in the grooves. Dad, dad, daddy, dad—It doesn’t work on him, you do nothing for him. When you cry, he doesn’t feel sad, and when your cunt clamps down on him, it brings him no pleasure.

A hand comes to rest on your back, forcing you into a sharp arch as Jack’s hips smack into yours at a bruising pace. Somewhere along the line, a very thin line that Jack snorts, it blurs—Your salty tears become the tang of Leon’s sweat, your hips become buttercream smooth in his grip, and your pussy—Your hole milks Jack for all he’s worth. The shroud has lifted from his shoulders and Jack feels weightless.

You lift your head, blood leaking from your nose, it congeals in fat lumps on your skin. “Daddy…” You sniffle, having had your head held down, grinding your bloody nose to a pulp against the smooth of the dinner table.

“Clean yourself up, girl.” Jack rolls his shoulders back, fists tightly balled by his side as he has proved nothing. Nothing at all. He’ll have to try again. No father of yours is a faggot. Can’t do that to his little girl.

(Excuse after fucking excuse.)

#jack krauser x reader #jack krauser smut #krauser smut #resident evil angst #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #jack krauser x you #krauser x reader #dead dove do not eat

[courtingchaos]

At the End of the World

Kas!Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

A/N: Don’t read too much into this. It struck me late and fast and now we’re here.

Warnings: Blood drinking

18+ NSFW No Minors

Another late night closing with just you and two other employees and all of Hawkins at the doorstep to Melvalds. The deeper fissures in the town still sat open but the government had shown up with all sorts of machines and now things could be delivered again and here you were, at work. At the end of the world.

Your keys jingle against the door and you wave off your coworkers who walk down the sidewalk ahead of you. The lock sticks sometimes and you’re left to struggle until you can yank your key ring free. A curse and a kick at the stack of cardboard you need to toss, you shove your hand into your purse to make sure you didn’t forget your wallet again. The main street stays lit by giant floodlights, the distant sound of road work and construction coming in with the late evening breeze. It’s cold now when the sun sets, October turning the weather and the leaves all the same like the earth hadn’t been split open just 5 months ago. You catch a whiff of a bonfire sprinkled on the back of the wind and for a moment you can pretend that everything is okay, that it’s all normal again.

10 pm and it’s later than anything in town stays open, Melvalds and the grocery store being the exception nowadays. Food and pharmacy to keep everyone afloat and stationary, locked in place by faceless government officials who tell you it’s for your own safety. For everyone’s safety.

You shake your head to clear it though, unwilling to linger on your pessimism any longer tonight. A long day full of half smiles and constant running back and forth to pull apart another pallet of Things Everyone Needs. Your room at your parents house, the one you’d moved back into after everything went to shit, calls to you from the cracked sidewalk and you hustle faster to toss your garbage and get to your car. The water mains have finally been repaired so you know you can actually look forward to a consistent hot shower tonight, can practically feel the beating of the water against your back.

You beeline for the alleyway so you can toss the empty cardboard, no thought given to a darkened path. Hawkins had been under curfew since the feds rolled in and with main street lit up you hadn’t worried about taking out the trash on your own in a while. You have to set the box down to to flip open the lid and that’s when you hear it. A muffled breathing from behind dumpster number two, something wet and ragged, something that makes you still completely. It’s human that’s for sure, heavy and big by the sound of it and you start yelling at yourself silently, cursing your placidity.

You take a single step back when you see a head rock into view near the wheels of the other dumpster. Too dark to make out anything yet, just a mass of hair that hasn’t seen a brush in too long. A rasp of a breath in and weakly, “D-do you work here?”

Frozen in place with your body poised to run, but that voice holds no malice. They stutter on their deep breaths, breaths that sound pained. “Y-yeah.” You don’t relax but you aren’t set to sprint anymore. “Are you okay?”

Neither of you move closer but the figure pulls themselves into view more, a frankly too thin hand wraps around the corner of the dumpster to pull themselves forward and you finally can make out a face covered in grime. Eyes shine in the light that bleeds into the alleyway and he, you can finally tell, looks close to tears. Face pulled into a grimace when he scoots out to sit on questionable concrete.

“I just…I need help.” His other arm hugs his middle where his shirt is torn and your mind goes fast, trying to remember the first aid you’d learned in Girl Scouts a thousand years ago.

“Are you hurt? I can go get someone.” You glance over your shoulder knowing there’s at least a cop or an agent doing rounds at this time. “There’s a patrol-“

That’s your mistake, you’ll own it, turning around for too long. For trusting a stuttering mess. You turn back to face him and are stunned at how quickly he’s standing in front of you, those bright wet eyes boring holes into your head. You’d thought it was the shadows maybe but they really are black, from corner to corner, deep abyss that tracks your jump backwards.

You hadn’t heard him stand or shift or breathe and he’s so god damn close.

“I don’t need a patrol.” His voice sounds like white noise. A tuning to your hearing that makes your ears flex backwards at the sudden foreign noise. You swear you can feel it vibrating against your eardrums and coiling deep inside, words made corporeal to slither into your skull. There’s two voices bouncing between you, a double speak that seems to run cold around your neck. “I just need one of you.”

You couldn’t move if you wanted to. It isn’t fear holding your feet to the stained ground but an invisible grip, ironclad and cold, just like his words. You can move your eyes though and you rake over his appearance and try to keep it in your memory.

Long hair, dark eyes, no shoes, ratty jeans, torn raglan with a devil-

“Eddie?” Barely breathed out, silently uttered. He was dead. Well, at least presumed. You’d seen the flyers his uncle had put up and you’d seen how the town had treated them; crude drawings and torn off of the bulletin boards. “Eddie Munson?” You ask again to the pale face in front of you. Four years of high school seated next to him in drivers ed and home ec and art class. Not friends but acquaintances. You know that face. Even when it splits into a formidable grin you can see the ghost of his warm smile under cracked lips.

“Sort of.” His hands come up slowly to hold your neck, thumbs resting under your chin to tilt your head back. “It’s complicated.”

You expect his hands to tighten around your neck but they remain gentle in their movement, too cold against your skin. Unnaturally cold under your jaw where he starts to turn your head to the side.

“I thought I smelled something familiar around here.” His breath moves over your neck like the cold autumn breeze, carrying the promise of dead things at its end. Your heart beats tirelessly against your ribs and you still can’t move except for when he manipulates you around, his head dipping into the crook of your neck.

Fear should be at the forefront of your mind. You should be screaming and shaking, yelling for the police you know are just outside of the mouth of alley. You should be fighting back at him, fist wailing into his chest to push him back so you can fly out of his grip. However there’s a creeping calm of sorts that weaves through your thoughts. It feels fuzzy almost against your brain and you don’t even flinch when his dry tongue scratches over your skin.

“I do need help.” He keeps a hand pressed to your neck while the other pulls at your work polo, baring your flesh to his mouth. “Thank you.”

You can hear him in that moment, Eddie, not whatever this thing is that’s sinking its teeth into you. It hurts only for a moment, like a prick of a needle, and you can feel your mind going blank. Thoughts slip quick like water over rocks and you catch yourself on his shoulder to stay standing. That invisible force that bound you to the spot has faded as soon he begins to suck and again you should be running but you cling. There’s a peacefulness that comes with absence of thought and worry, enough so that you barely notice him drinking your blood. You barely notice the gore in his hair or the deep scars along his cheek. Your hearing begins to fade to only the single sound of his lips attached to you.

A fade to black for all your senses.

And then you feel it. Black tendrils that sneak into your awareness. They swirl and thrash in their form, long fingers of doom that grow around you. It’s a rushing feeling like a thousand wings brushing by you, pushing air across your face and ruffling your hair.

“Do you hear it?” Eddie whispers against your ear, lips warm and tongue wet where it drags along your lobe. “Monsters in the sky, right under us.” You’ve been lowered at some point, his back resting against the dumpster and you clung to the front of him. “So many they’d blot out the sun.” His hands still hold you but they’re warm now too against your cooling skin. “They’re looking for me.” A drop of something on your nose, something thick that drips onto his filthy shirt. “For us.”

Everything is muffled except for his clear voice. Those black tendrils move steadily along your awareness still, vines creeping in to drag you under into oblivion. Your throat sticks when you swallow and you try to form words before you pass out or die. Eddie’s head tilts in close to your mouth and you can smell the dirt and viscera on him.

“Something’s…around…”

“What is it?” He makes a show of looking around the shadows of the alleyway before letting his eyes drop to your barely open ones. The deep black is gone, replaced again by the familiar brown you know.

“Not here.” You need him to understand. The fingers crawl into your vision now, the few specks of light left that you can see, great red eyes in the middle distance of your mind. “Inside.” A weak motion to your head and you see it dawn on his face.

“You can see him too?” He asks you but doesn’t wait for a response before he digs his teeth into his own wrist. Blood rushes from the corners of his mouth and he shoves the mangled skin at you, your wince doing nothing to get it away from you. He cradles your head now, knees drawn up to help hold you while he feeds you something of himself. The blood pushes past your slack lips, bitter tannin where you expected salt and copper. No fight left in you while the wind rushes in your ears and the dark fist closes over your minds eye.

“I need help.” He intones again when you latch on to his wrist finally. “Will you help me?” No double speak this time, no white noise to warp your thoughts. Eddie asks you for help while you lay in a cold alley on cold concrete and drink from his self inflicted wound. You’ve never been friends, just acquaintances, but the blood is heavy on your tongue. He holds you close and keeps you both hidden in the dark. He sees the same monstrous form you do and there’s fear in those brown eyes, still shining, still wet with tears.

Your senses stop whining like a flicked switch, your hands coming up to grasp more fully at his offered arm. You nod and keep drinking and there’s that smile again, the real one, the warm one. “Thank you.”

It’s silent now except for the sounds of your eating and the rush of leathery wings beating underneath your feet.

#Eddie Munson Fic #Eddie Munson Angst #Eddie Munson x Reader #Kas Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson #My Work #My Fic

[greytongue]

hi! the gum fic?? that was so cute, i loved it!! definitely haven’t read it multiple times now.

honestly, really missing the more flirty, snarky leon from the original re4. absolute menace. my ever-growing brainrot for this man has been fed. thank you so much. 🙏

ok, ok. hear me out—i imagine og re4 leon would be the kind of boyfriend who thrives on flustering his s/o. so much teasing. he can’t help it, you’re just so cute when you blush. makes him happy. he’d probably do shit like cup your cheek, leaning in real close so you can feel the warmth of his breath. half-lidded eyes, slow breathing, you’re weaving a hand through his hair. you lean in. and then he pulls away, acts like nothing happened, just because he knows it drives you crazy.

no pressure, of course! just wanted to share an idea i had. so sorry if this is too much, i am down astronomically bad.

an: thank you so much for the suggestion! no problem at all, my friend. anything relating to leon is a job for me, indeed. sorry this took me forever, i’ve been deathly sick haha. this is also all over the place, so forgive me. fever delusions haha

cw: no smut, but suggestive stuff. kissy mwah mwah stuff, leon likes to make you nervous

original re4 leon headcanons.

-

~•if you’re shorter than him, it will never end for you.

•if he’s standing beside you, he’ll use your shoulder as an armrest. he won’t disrespect you by using your head lol.

•will give you a bunch of nicknames. aka, “short-stuff/shortcake”, “lil’ bit”, “pipsqueak”, the list goes on.

~•loves getting near you/in your space, (as long as he knows you don’t mind it).

•if he needs your attention, he’ll place a hand on your shoulder or back, his thumb mindlessly rubs up and down on the fabric of your shirt.

•even if you’re just talking to each other, he’ll take an extra step forward so you’re that much closer. he likes seeing your eyes falter away from his when he does that.

•if you’re showing him something on your computer or phone, he’ll lean on close beside you. if it’s on the computer, he’ll place a hand on the back of your chair, the other on the desk conveniently close to where your (small in comparison) hand rests on the mouse.

he’ll nod encouragingly, humming close to your ear as you try to get the words out right. he’s just so close.

•he’s also known to kabedon. be on the look out for that if you’re leaning against a wall

~•will kiss you anywhere but where you want him to. he’s always asking,

“where do you want me, sweet thing?”

you’re squirming as you gesture to where you want him to kiss. maybe it’s your neck, your thighs, your lips.

•and he always acts like he’ll do your bidding. he positions himself and leans down, pausing as he moves the fabric of your clothing covering it previously. you exhale shakily as you feel the warmth of his breathe fan across the area of your sensitive skin and right as you think you’ll feel the press of his velvety smooth lips, all he does is ghost over the area and moves somewhere else.

•“leon..” he thoroughly relishes the groan of frustration you let out and he’s slowly making his way back up to you,

“all you gotta do is ask nicely, baby.”

~•teases you with acting like he’s gonna kiss you.

he’ll get all close, your breaths are mingling, his hands are on you, he might even have you against a wall. your heartbeat is picking up as he’s leaning in-

but all he does is nip at your bottom lip.

•you open your eyes and look up in disbelief, he’s sniggering and beginning to turn away, but you make quick work of him.

you grab his arm, tugging him close back to you by the collar, and feverishly capturing his lips in yours. he’s gasping into it and you’re growling in satisfaction.

•the force of your pull has him stumbling into you, accidentally pushing you back against the wall, his hand quickly splaying on the wall by your head to balance himself. his body shudders as you run a hand down his chest.

~•leon’s not scared of pda. he’s interested in you and he’s not afraid for people to know. not afraid for his hands to wander down to your waist, to hug you from behind. to let that innocent, quick peck to your temple to turn into licks and sucks at the curvature of your ear, down to nip at your jugular.

•“leon..!” you’re whining, reaching behind you to grab onto him, get his attention.

he’s humming low into your shoulder as you continue,

“there’s- hah.. there’s people nearby, please…” your eyes are squinting shut as his hands pull you flush against his back.

“mmm, if you say so.” he gives a long lick from where your shoulder meets your neck, to where it meets your jaw. it has you shivering, letting out a mindless moan as your head falls back-

and suddenly he’s gone, leaving you to struggle to come back to reality. you’re panting while you lean against the closest thing near you to support yourself on.

~•whoever gets home last, the other liked to help them unwind. help them undress, put them to bed.

•if it’s you he’s assisting, he takes his time removing your clothes. you’ll both be on the bed, he’s behind you encouraging your shirt off and once the fabric is gone he appreciates the skin of your back. his sizable hands massage at your tense shoulders, the space between your shoulder blades are gifted a series of kisses that make you shiver.

•leon always enjoys himself too much, either way. he makes a show out of it when you’re helping him.

•you’re busy unlacing his shoes, he’ll be leaning back on the bed he’s sat on, pulling his shirt over his head as he arches his back, stretching out his spine with a groan, the abdominal muscles poking through his pale skin contract with the stretch, his chest heaving with a satisfied sigh, your eyes glazing over the view you get of his throat and defined jawline with his head tilted back.

•you blink for the first time in a bit when he rolls his head back to front. you clear your throat as you finally get his shoes off, but he’s sliding a sock clad foot behind you and pulling you forward into his pelvis.

•you let out a soft ‘oof’ sound as you make contact with him, your hands splaying out on his hips as he speaks,

“enjoying the view?”

“obviously.” you scoff.

-

that’s all folks, stay tuned. <3

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil 4 #resident evil leon #leon s kennedy #fluff fanfic #leon kennedy x you #re4 leon #og re4 leon #2005 re4 #re4 x reader #re4 #resident evil x reader #leon x reader #headcanons #resident evil headcanons

[gimmethatagustd]

venor (11) | kth + jjk

The barista at the university’s café keeps telling Jungkook not to come back, but Jungkook is too busy daydreaming about kissing the beauty marks on his face to be paying attention to his warnings.

○ Pairing: Tiger!Taehyung x Bunny!Jungkook

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Hybrids, predator/prey, college au, strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, light angst, eventual smut

○ Word Count: 8,963

○ Warnings: Bunny Koo is really cute (when is he not?), Jai wrote too much about ceramic pottery but now if you ever want to make your own terracotta flower pot you'll know how!, hand jobs, blow job, anal fingering, what the gworlies call self-lubrication aka slick, that awkward moment when you know your roommate heard you having sex and you're afraid to confront them in the living room

○ Notes: Me, in my pirate voice: There be smut ahead, mateys! For real though, I wrote this chapter with scrambled eggs for brains, so I apologize in advance for it being so… niche and weird jhsdkfjs. I hope you like it despite that.

○ Post Date: March 24, 2024

○ Masterlist | AO3 Cross-Post

○ What was Jai listening to? The series playlist

Series Masterlist

Jungkook eventually goes home, but only after eating a hearty breakfast prepared by Hoseok at his insistence. There was no point in arguing with him; Hoseok’s hospitable nature would never let Jungkook leave without being fed and ensuring he had everything he needed to shower and freshen up for the day.

Such kindness leaves Jungkook buzzing with happiness as he makes the short but winding journey through campus to get to the prey side, smelling like Taehyung’s shampoo and carrying his small duffle bag slung over one shoulder. He doesn’t even care when people stare at the hickeys on his neck as he bounds up the stairs of his dormitory two at a time, not even bothering with the elevator so he can do something with the energy bottled inside him.

Surprisingly, even Yoongi’s nagging doesn’t make Jungkook less enthusiastic about life. He gives Yoongi a dopey smile and shrugs off his pestering questions.

“Where have you been! You didn’t answer my texts or calls! I thought you died,” Yoongi huffs as he follows Jungkook down the hall. 

Yoongi’s somewhat bristly orange tail swings back and forth. Jungkook feels bad thinking about how Taehyung’s tail moves more elegantly, even when he’s angry. He doesn’t feel bad enough to stop thinking, though. He has reached the most hopeless part of having a crush, the part when simply breathing reminds him of Taehyung. 

“Why would I have died?”

“You went to a predator’s house party, Jungkook-ah. How else am I supposed to react to you never coming home?”

Twirling around, Jungkook reaches their bedroom and flings the duffle bag onto his bed. He shrugs at Yoongi again and lets his body fall onto his bed next to the duffle bag, with his arms flopping lifelessly at his sides.

“I feel all loopy, hyung,” Jungkook smiles at Yoongi, eyes lidded and a permanent upturn of the corner of his lips. “The party got a little intense, but spending the night with Taehyung was so nice. He’s so sweet, hyung, you don’t even understand.”

Yoongi pouts with his arms crossed against his chest. He isn’t genuinely angry, just concerned. Jungkook finds Yoongi’s reaction endearing, considering there really isn’t anything to be worried about. Jungkook is more than fine, even if the situation with Byungchul shook him slightly. Jungkook thinks he understands Byungchul now. There’s no fear left in him for the wolf hybrid, only pity.

“What do you mean by intense?” Yoongi asks with narrowed eyes.

“It was nothing, hyung. I’m just happy I got to spend time with Tae.”

Watching Yoongi’s gaze drop from Jungkook’s face to his neck, Jungkook quickly lifts his shoulders and tilts his head to hide the splotches still dark on his skin. Taehyung told him that they would fade eventually, but sometimes, depending on how easily a person bruises, they can last a long time. Jungkook doesn’t know for sure, but he has a hunch that hickeys won’t fade from his skin for a long time.

“You better be careful,” Yoongi gestures to Jungkook’s neck, “Or else he’ll accidentally mate you.”

“Hyung!” Jungkook sits up and tries not to whine when Yoongi smirks at him.

“What? I’m just saying.”

“We’re not going to mate,” Jungkook mutters, a bit of the euphoria seeping out of him. “We’re not even together.”

Yoongi snorts at that. He rests his shoulder on the doorframe and gives Jungkook a curious look.

“You’re going on dates. You scent each other. He’s been courting you for months. How are you not together?”

Yoongi is right; Taehyung’s affections are obvious. If Jungkook were to make an assumption, he would think Taehyung probably even views their relationship as monogamous, even though they haven’t officially discussed their relationship status. Just the thought of Taehyung with anyone makes Jungkook feel sick.

“I guess…”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and lifts himself off the doorframe.

“Just tell him how you feel and get it all over with, Jungkook-ah. I can’t deal with this weird dance the two of you are doing around each other,” Yoongi mutters as he goes down the hall, his slippers shuffling along the hardwood floor.

“Easier said than done,” Jungkook groans and flops back onto his bed.

It shouldn’t be so difficult to talk to Taehyung. As Yoongi pointed out, they already behave like a couple. Perhaps that would be enough for some people, but Jungkook needs confirmation and a title. He may be old-fashioned or naive, but he’s always dreamt of having a real boyfriend, not the blurred lines that come with the hookup culture that’s more popular now. 

The thing is, in Jungkook’s dreams, it was always a prey boyfriend. He’s sure that if Taehyung has dreamt of a boyfriend, too, it has always been a predator boyfriend. 

If someone had told Jungkook that transferring to a new university would potentially bring him heartache and an existential crisis, he wonders if he would still have run away to Seoul with wide eyes and a pair of disappointed parents in his wake. 

Rolling onto his stomach, Jungkook leans off the end of his bed to grab his drawing tablet from his desk. Lying down while he sketches will hurt his lower back later, but he wants to burrow in his blankets and wait for the day to pass him by. Besides, at this rate, he might finish Taehyung’s portrait before everyone goes home for winter break. 

Assuming it won’t be too late. 

Upset with himself for letting so many doubts sour his bubbly mood, Jungkook pulls up his favorite Twitch streamer to rewatch her latest gameplay while he colors in the little beauty mark artfully placed on the tip of Taehyung’s nose that he regrets not having kissed yet. At least he has kissed the one on Taehyung’s lip, which he moves onto once he’s finished with Taehyung’s nose. As much as Jungkook loves all of Taehyung’s little details, his lips consume much of Jungkook’s aimless thoughts. 

As if summoned by those aimless thoughts, multiple text messages from Taehyung interrupt the video Jungkook is only somewhat paying attention to. 

vante95

hey bun

wyd

do you miss me yet

jkookie

Maybe

Do you miss me yet?

vante95

maybe

“Oh my god,” Jungkook huffs with a roll of his eyes, but his thumbs fly across his phone screen with a demanding response he’s sure won’t work but is worth a shot. 

jkookie

Leave early

vante95

lol i can’t

we’re short staffed anyway

jkookie

Tell them you’re sick

vante95

wow bun

this whole time i thought you were a law abiding citizen

now look at you

you punch one predator and you’re a villain 

evil incarnate 

Maybe Taehyung is right; Jungkook won’t admit it, though. A sense of responsibility was ingrained in Jungkook at a young age. It has taken very little time with Taehyung for that previous priority to dissipate in Jungkook’s mind. 

jkookie

Stop it 😠

vante95

cute

jkookie

If you’re not going to leave early then go back to working!

vante95

whatever bun wants 

hope you’re ready for our PG date 😘

Is Jungkook ready? Considering he has to kick his blankets off because his body grows too warm and the way his ears fall forward to hide his face when he faceplants into his pillow, he isn’t so sure. 

– 

Not to be a meme, but graphic design is Jungkook’s passion. He feels most at home with tablets and laptops, hunched over his desk with a blanket draped over his shoulders and a spinach-banana smoothie beside him. So when Taehyung holds open the door to the sculpture studio, and Jungkook is hit with the dusty scent of dried clay that cakes his nostrils and parches his throat, his confidence in his creative abilities immediately plummets. 

“Hardly anyone uses the studio on the weekends, and if they do, it’s on Sundays,” Taehyung beckons for Jungkook to follow him deeper into the studio, “So we should be alone.” 

Alone. 

Jungkook’s throat tingles when he inhales, maybe from the dusty air or the spike in Taehyung’s scent when he utters that loaded word. They’ve spent so much time together alone; it shouldn’t feel different today. So why does it? 

Taehyung’s tail flicks around his ankles as he weaves through the wooden tables scattered around the room. They’re covered in thick fabric that leaves dusty marks on Jungkook’s black sweatpants when he brushes against them. The entire room is blanketed with a thin layer of ceramic dust. No wonder Taehyung brought a travel-sized bottle of lotion in his backpack. Jungkook can only imagine how dehydrated the skin on his hands will be by the end of the afternoon.

Along the cinder block walls are shelves of pottery and little bottles of what, upon further inspection, Jungkook learns are ceramic glazes used to paint the pottery. 

“The kiln is in that room,” Taehyung explains as he points to an unmarked door on the opposite side of the room. “And that’s the pug mill. I’ll show you how to use it, but you need an apron first.” 

“Kiln, pug mill,” Jungkook repeats the odd words to himself. 

Taehyung nods enthusiastically as if he’s proud that Jungkook is learning. It’s cute to watch Taehyung navigate the room with so much confidence. He’s in his element, even more so than he had been at the museum. This time, it’s clear that Taehyung owns this space. It’s his domain. 

Along one wall is a row of clay-caked aprons hanging on brass hooks. Taehyung slips one over his head and ties the apron’s strings behind his back to secure the fabric protecting his ripped jeans and long-sleeve t-shirt. 

Jungkook smiles shyly when Taehyung grabs a soft, forest-green apron to loop over his head. His large hands are gentle when they squeeze Jungkook’s hips to turn him around so he can tie the strings around his waist. 

“Don’t want to mess up your clothes,” Taehyung murmurs softly, his touch lingering on Jungkook’s body. He slips his fingers under the hem of Jungkook’s hoodie, letting out a pleased hum when his fingers lightly skirt the smooth skin of Jungkook’s waist because he isn’t wearing a shirt underneath. 

Jungkook shivers when Taehyung pulls away. 

“Your clothes,” Jungkook corrects and feels heat spread across his cheeks when Taehyung winks at him.

On the walk to the academic building that houses the art department, Taehyung tasked Jungkook with brainstorming what he wanted to make at the studio and the method he wanted to use: hand-building or the potter’s wheel. Now that Jungkook has seen the three low-seated electric potter’s wheels in the corner of the room, Jungkook isn’t sure he wants to experiment with something that looks so intimidating. Still, he’s also worried about how crude his pottery will look if he molds it by hand. 

“You still don’t know what you want, do you?” Taehyung quirks an eyebrow at Jungkook as he folds his sleeves, pushing them past his elbows. 

“Not really...” 

With a bitten bottom lip, Taehyung pauses to look over Jungkook again. He huffs when he releases his bottom lip and subtly smirks. 

“Well, I know what I want.” 

Jungkook may be naive, but he’s sure Taehyung isn’t only talking about making art. 

“You were going to show me how to use that?” Jungkook changes the subject quickly, unsure if he can survive whatever Taehyung is pulling. He gestures to the odd cylinder machine Taehyung had referred to as the pug mill. 

Taehyung lets out what sounds like a purr when he slips past Jungkook to remove the lid of a giant bin beside the machine. He explains that the bin is full of terracotta clay. He shows Jungkook how to load the pug mill with clay and watches as the machine spits the lumps back out as a smooth cylinder. Using a short wire with little wooden handles at the end, Taehyung cuts off the clay for Jungkook to carry to the table. 

“It packs the clay and gets all the air out,” Taehyung explains as he gathers more tools for Jungkook, including a bowl of water with a squishy, worn-looking sponge floating in the middle. 

“Why?” 

“If the clay has air bubbles in it, it might explode when it gets fired in the kiln, and then you’ll fuck up your art and everyone else’s.” 

“Oh,” Jungkook gasps as he lowers onto a wobbly, dusty stool at the table. He’s pleased when Taehyung sits beside him, bumping their shoulders together playfully. “Has that happened to you before?”

Taehyung watches Jungkook with a small smile. He props his head up by resting his elbow on the dusty table and holding his chin in his hand. The studio’s windows aren’t large, but they’re high on the walls, and the golden sun rays of the dying autumn day make Taehyung’s amber eyes glow. 

“Someone else’s project exploded and broke mine once,” Taehyung finally looks away to start cutting off a lump of clay for each of them. 

“What was your art of?” 

“A figurine of a mushroom that was actually just a dick,” Taehyung flashes Jungkook a wicked grin, “I was really immature in high school.” 

“I thought this date was supposed to be rated PG.” Jungkook scrunches his nose, and Taehyung throws his head back with a deep laugh, making Jungkook’s skin prickle.

“How many curse words and dick jokes am I allowed?” 

“To be considered PG? I don’t think any!” 

Imagining a teenage Taehyung is funny. Jungkook sees a tall, lanky boy with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes and a rebellious streak that means he isn’t afraid to be himself, even if his interests are unique – that’s precisely why people are drawn to him. The image greatly differs from Jungkook’s teen years, when he was a shy little bunny who spent more time playing video games and talking to his friends on instant messaging platforms than exploring the outside world. 

“Bun?” 

Blinking, Jungkook quickly looks away when he realizes he’s been staring at Taehyung. Just when he thought he’d moved past his dreamy thoughts about Taehyung, they swoop back to snatch him up. 

“Sorry, I’m paying attention.” 

Smirking, Taehyung turns back to the lump of clay they each have in front of them. 

“I’m guessing you don’t want to use the wheel.” Taehyung chuckles when Jungkook fervently shakes his head. “So these are the tools you’ll probably want to use to help you shape the clay into what you want–” 

“A little flower pot, like the one you gave me,” Jungkook interrupts, keeping his eyes on the small wooden tools on the table. They’re smooth and lightweight in his hand and safer to look at than Taehyung’s heavy gaze. 

“A flower pot is a great idea.” 

Taehyung’s voice is so soft that Jungkook immediately looks up, and his insides turn to jelly from how sweetly Taehyung observes him. It’s a brief expression, quickly disappearing once Taehyung’s been caught. 

Clearing his throat, Taehyung continues explaining how Jungkook should approach making his flower pot using wooden tools and a bowl of water to keep the clay wet and pliable. Jungkook only half listens. It’s too easy to fall into the low lull of Taehyung’s voice, so gentle and smooth, like velvet against skin. 

“For our next date–” 

“You think I’ll want to go on a third date with you?” Jungkook interrupts, peeking at Taehyung’s shocked expression in his peripheral vision. 

“Wow, okay, rude.” 

“I’m kidding!” Giggling in a way that cutely accentuates his front teeth, Jungkook squints up at Taehyung and bumps their shoulders together. 

“Nah, it’s fine. We don’t have to go on another date.”

Jungkook gives Taehyung a gentle, but still sharp, kick to the shin that makes him try to scoot his stool away, the metal legs screeching horribly against the concrete floor. 

“Tell me what you were going to say!” 

“What I was going to say …” Glaring at Jungkook with mock indignation, Taehyung sniffles dramatically, “Was that for our next date, I want to do something to learn more about your tech stuff.” 

“Tech stuff.” 

Taehyung side-eyes him. 

“Yeah, tech stuff. You get what I mean.”

“Video games.”

“Yeah, video games.” 

The back of Jungkook’s hand is the only clean part, so that’s what he presses to his mouth to stifle his laughter at Taehyung’s ridiculous request, not because of the request itself, but how he requests it. 

“We can do that,” Jungkook says with a scrunched nose and rounded cheeks that he knows Taehyung can’t resist, even if he pretends not to think Jungkook’s giggling is cute. 

By now, Taehyung should know that Jungkook will agree to anything he requests. 

Crafting a flower pot, even a small one meant to hold a tiny succulent similar to the one Taehyung gifted Jungkook, proves difficult for Jungkook, though. If he isn’t pressing too hard into the clay and denting it in a way that makes it uneven on one side, he’s accidentally making the walls too thin or thick.

“It’ll shrink in the kiln. All the moisture evaporates,” Taehyung points out when Jungkook’s first flower pot is too small. Despite Taehyung politely telling Jungkook that he is doing his project incorrectly, it warms Jungkook’s chest when Taehyung explains the process to him.

His second attempt is an acceptable size but wonky and oddly shaped, even if Taehyung insists that it’s cute. Jungkook doesn’t want a cute flower pot; he wants a proper flower pot. Meanwhile, Taehyung’s flower pot is perfectly shaped and decorated with an intricate design he carved on the exterior with a sharp wooden tool. It’s a bit infuriating how lovely it looks.

Not one to back down from a challenge, Jungkook makes two more flower pots until he is satisfied with his final outcome. Flower Pot #4 fits in two hands and is deep enough to accommodate plant growth, giving room for roots to stretch out in the soil.

“I still think it would have been easier if you’d let me show you how to use the wheel,” Taehyung comments after Jungkook shows off Flower Pot #4.

Jungkook shakes his head.

“It looks scary.”

“Like me?” Taehyung teases, his boyish grin growing wider when Jungkook playfully slaps his arm. 

Jungkook gasps in horror when he realizes he has left behind a handprint of clay on Taehyung’s shirt.

“I’m so sorry.” Jungkook swivels around in his stool with both hands held up. There must be something to clean Taehyung off with?

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But—”

“Bun, you’re fine,” Taehyung insists, standing up. “Come on.”

Taehyung shows Jungkook how to use another machine to flatten the leftover clay so he can carve out little shapes to attach to the side of his pot as three-dimensional decorations. It’s cliche, but Jungkook meticulously carves out petals to create little flowers scattered about the pot, using one of the tools to draw little cuts into the clay and using the wet sponge and a bit of slippery clay to attach the decorations.

“What you’re doing is called scoring.” Taehyung carefully maneuvers Jungkook’s flower pot to inspect his hard work once they’ve sat back down. “You scratch the surface of each piece so they fit together, and then you use the sponge and really wet clay, sort of like glue, to adhere the pieces together. That’s called slick.”

“What ?” Jungkook squeaks, turning to the side so quickly to look at Taehyung that he almost falls off his stool.

A pretty pink blush blooms on each of Taehyung’s cheeks. He clears his throat and continues cleaning up the excess water droplets and wet clay from the flower pot, avoiding Jungkook’s gaze.

“It’s called slip,” Taehyung quietly corrects himself in a gruff voice. “Slip.”

Jungkook is unsure whether he should be embarrassed or amused by such a terrible mixup. Part of him wants to tease Taehyung over the Freudian slip, but he doesn’t want to rub salt in the wound.

The thing is, now Jungkook has slick in his head, and his brain doesn’t seem to want to move past it. The slip is slippery against his fingers as he finishes binding the final decorations on his flower pot, slippery like something else. It makes Jungkook think about the night before, the image of Taehyung on his knees in front of Jungkook hooking its claws in his brain and refusing to let go. He can practically feel phantom kisses tingling up his legs, Taehyung’s face nuzzling in the crease of his thigh.

“Are you done?”

Taehyung’s question forces Jungkook out of yet another daydream.

“Oh, um, yes,” Jungkook says quietly.

Despite the studio’s cold temperature due to its location in the basement and the windows letting in a slight draft, Jungkook feels like he’s burning up under his sweatpants and hoodie. It doesn’t help that Taehyung’s irises look a bit darker now, and his pupils a bit wider; however, those things could just be the studio’s lighting playing tricks on Jungkook.

Unfortunately, there’s no denying how Jungkook’s scent spikes when Taehyung leans into his personal space. They lock eyes with each other, neither willing to break the link they’ve created as Taehyung reaches out to pull Jungkook’s flower pot toward him by the piece of cardboard it’s sitting on. Taehyung’s forearm brushes against Jungkook’s chest, and he exhales sharply. It’s embarrassing, especially since all Taehyung is doing is taking Jungkook’s pot to place it alongside his own on a shelf to dry before Taehyung’s professor loads it into the kiln with the other students’ art.

“Do you want to keep the other pots?” If Taehyung’s voice sounds rougher once he has returned to lean against the table, that could be Jungkook’s ears playing tricks on him from how quiet the studio is.

“They’re ugly,” Jungkook pouts and gets a roll of Taehyung’s eyes in return.

“No, they’re not. They’re unique.”

“I hate them.”

“Alright, the pretty bunny gets what the pretty bunny wants.” 

With a teasing smile, Taehyung grabs the remaining three flower pots and drops them into the large bin of clay near the pug mill.

So much unadulterated attention from Taehyung is beginning to overwhelm Jungkook. It’s the damn slip! It’s got his brain all scrambled and his body feverish.

It takes the violent vibration of Jungkook’s phone on the table, disturbing dust that makes Jungkook sneeze, to knock his brain back into place. Unable to answer it because his hands are caked in clay, Jungkook stares up at Taehyung with wide eyes and a helpless pout. His phone is already dirtied from the dusty table; he should have slipped it into his apron’s front pocket.

“Tae, help me.” 

“You’re so cute,” Taehyung laughs and motions for Jungkook to follow him to the industrial sink in the back of the studio so they can wash their hands.

Jungkook tries his best not to think about how pretty Taehyung’s hands are, with wide palms and long, slender fingers. Jungkook thinks Taehyung has what the classic writers would describe as the hands of a pianist, deft and sensual. He wonders if Taehyung knows how to play any instruments, and wouldn’t be surprised if Taehyung knew how to play everything.

“It was Yoongi hyung asking where I am,” Jungkook announces once his hands are clean and he can safely check his phone.

Taehyung hums as he puts away their aprons and retrieves his backpack from where he stashed it out of the way.

“Does he think I murdered you for real this time?”

Jungkook stops sending a text to Yoongi so he can cover his face with his hands and groan. Yoongi’s reaction to Jungkook sleeping over at Taehyung’s dorm was embarrassing; Jungkook should’ve never told Taehyung about it. He’s sure Taehyung will never let it go.

“Hey, bun,” Taehyung laughs as he wraps his hands around Jungkook’s wrists to pry his hands away from his face. He ducks his head, forcing Jungkook to look him in the eyes. “I’m teasing you.”

“I know, but it’s still embarrassing, and I wish I hadn’t told you what he said,” Jungkook pouts again and wiggles out of Taehyung’s grasp.

With a gasp and a hand clutching his heart, Taehyung stumbles back in offense. 

“Bun, friends don’t keep secrets from each other.”

Jungkook laughs Taehyung’s joke off, but as the two men brave the chilly autumn night and walk back to Jungkook’s dorm, he can’t help but think of Yoongi’s comment about them mating. Predators and prey are barely friends; they certainly can’t be mates.

Despite the discouragement that seems to haunt Jungkook around every corner, he holds this naive, childlike hope in his heart that Taehyung won’t hurt him. Speaking as a predator, Taehyung has already promised Jungkook he won’t. Jungkook just hopes that Taehyung will keep Jungkook’s heart as safe as his body.

Once they reach the front door of the prey dormitory, Taehyung asks, “Did you enjoy our PG date?”

He looks so classically like a bad boy in a leather jacket with one hand pressed to the building’s brick exterior just above Jungkook’s head, molars chewing the inside of his cheek, and a lazy way to how he speaks that tells everyone he isn’t in a rush to get out of a part of campus he isn’t allowed to be in. Whereas Jungkook is nervous every time the front door opens and startled prey hybrids cross the threshold, whispering about the predator with a prey pressed against the wall, Taehyung doesn’t pay attention to anyone but Jungkook.

Yoongi said Taehyung would cause Jungkook trouble. When Jungkook stares into Taehyung’s dark eyes and struggles to breathe, he knows Yoongi is right.

“I did,” Jungkook whispers through an exhale. He licks his lips before he speaks again and shivers when Taehyung’s quick eyes track the movement. “Blood on a date isn’t ideal.”

“Not usually.” Taehyung smirks and the curl of his top lip exposes a sharp canine.

Jungkook tries to think about something other than when it would be appropriate for blood to be involved in a date.

He thinks about how perfect their date has been and how he doesn’t want it to end even though they’ve spent the past twenty-four hours together.

“Do you want to come upstairs?”

For a moment, the only sound that passes between them is their breathing as it harmonizes. They don’t smell like each other, only like ceramic dust and the cocoa butter lotion they moisturized their hands with. Jungkook wants to get on his tiptoes and nuzzle the crook of Taehyung’s neck, but he keeps his feet rooted to the ground and his hands shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie.

“Yeah,” Taehyung’s reply is just as soft as Jungkook’s question. It mixes with the wind that ruffles Jungkook’s bangs, dancing along his forehead like the tickle of a kiss.

Taehyung intertwines their fingers when Jungkook leads them through the dormitory’s front door. Jungkook doesn’t know why he’s so nervous as he brings Taehyung upstairs, his heart in his throat and his palm sweaty against Taehyung’s. Usually giddy with the prospect of spending more time with his crush, Jungkook struggles to even input the code to his apartment without trembling fingers. He hopes Taehyung doesn’t notice, though he doubts it’s possible for him not to.

“Yoongi hyung is home,” Jungkook mentions quietly.

Taehyung isn’t perturbed. He removes his shoes and hangs his jacket on the hooks at the door like he belongs there despite being too tall, too broad. His tail playfully swats Jungkook’s calf as he walks past him down the hall toward the living room, where Yoongi is curled up on the couch, unsurprisingly. 

Looking up, Yoongi eyes Taehyung suspiciously as he sets his laptop on the coffee table and takes off his headphones.

“Hey Yoongi,” Taehyung greets with a dazzling smile that even makes Yoongi’s cheeks grow pink and his ears flatten in what others might think is annoyance, but what Jungkook knows is embarrassment.

“Hello Taehyung… Jungkook.” Yoongi narrows his eyes at Jungkook when he creeps around the corner to peer around Taehyung’s body.

“Hi,” Jungkook’s voice wobbles, and Yoongi’s eyes narrow even more. “Taehyung and I are going to be in our room, but, um, just let me know if you need anything, hyung.”

With a tug on Taehyung’s wrist, Jungkook leads him out of the living room and pushes him toward the bedroom. Being introverts, Yoongi and Jungkook rarely have friends over, and when they do, they always hang out in the kitchen or living room. Belatedly, Jungkook realizes he’s never had anyone other than Yoongi and Suyun in their bedroom.

“I forgot you guys share a room,” Taehyung admits once Jungkook closes the door behind them.

“You don’t have to stay here,” Jungkook rushes to start apologizing, his nerves skyrocketing now that Taehyung might not even want to hang out with him.

“You’re such a skittish bunny today.”

Exploring the small but lively bedroom, Taehyung is immediately drawn to Jungkook’s desk. It’s solid and made of wood, with a few drawers where Jungkook stores school supplies and various tech equipment. The desk’s surface is a bit crammed, barely fitting Jungkook’s desktop monitor and laptop, with his drawing tablet sitting dangerously on the edge. The adjacent wall is decorated with polaroids because Jungkook is sentimental and cliche. Most feature Yoongi and Suyun, with high school friends thrown into the mix. There are a few prints taped to the wall, primarily of digital art Jungkook has drawn, but also some he has bought online by small artists. The art ranges from BL fanart to abstract designs; whatever little pieces made Jungkook’s heart happy when he saw them.

It shouldn’t surprise Jungkook that Taehyung picks up his tablet when he admires Jungkook’s extensive gaming setup. Video games aren’t a language Taehyung can use to communicate with Jungkook, but art is.

“When will you show me my portrait?” Taehyung muses, his usually sharp eyes rounding out as he juts out his bottom lip. Feigned innocence from a predator is dangerous. “I’ve waited so long.”

Maybe this is what has turned Jungkook into a nervous mess. For weeks, he has been thinking about a gift for Taehyung, especially ever since Suyun pointed out that Taehyung is courting Jungkook—allegedly. Courting is a way to express the intent to mate with someone, or at least the possibility of wanting to in the future, something that only happens within prey and predator groups, not between them.

Yet Jungkook wants to give Taehyung something in return. Maybe it’s because Jungkook is naive for having hope that there could be something more between them. Maybe it’s because Taehyung makes his heart flutter and his stomach flip, and Jungkook feels sick thinking about anyone else’s scent mixing with Taehyung’s and anyone else getting to kiss him.

“Do you want to see it now?” Jungkook asks quietly as he takes his tablet from Taehyung.

He knows Taehyung will want to. He’s already opening the file on his tablet when Taehyung murmurs, “Yes, please.”

Sitting on his bed, Jungkook pats the space next to him so Taehyung can sit down, too. They seemed silly, standing in the middle of Jungkook’s room.

“I’m not done with it yet, so there are still a lot of little things I need to edit, but…” Jungkook trails off, his face hot and his stomach in knots, as Taehyung takes the tablet again.

With a deep breath, Jungkook pulls his legs to his chest and wraps his arms around his bent knees while he waits for Taehyung to finish inspecting the portrait. The simple design highlights the little details of Taehyung’s face. The focal point is the bright amber hue of his eyes, followed by the constellation of beauty marks that freckle his face.

It means something to immortalize someone in art. Taehyung will forever be part of Jungkook’s portfolio, frozen in time with copper curls and a cupid’s bow that Jungkook spent hours shading the perfect pink.

“Bun…”

When Taehyung looks up, his expression is unreadable, nearly blank. It makes Jungkook nervous. This reaction wasn’t what he’d expected, nowhere near the excitement he thought Taehyung would have. Taehyung’s tail doesn’t even flick; it rests lifelessly on Jungkook’s bed.

“Um,” Jungkook picks at the drawstrings of his pants to stop his hands from shaking, “Like I said, it’s not done yet. I need to add more details and some shading; it still looks a little flat. And I haven’t decided on the background yet, but I have some ideas that I—”

Taehyung’s lips steal the rest of Jungkook’s thought, but he would have freely given it up if he’d known a kiss was the unnecessary but welcomed payment he’d receive for pouring his love for Taehyung into his art. The kiss is more than welcomed; Jungkook is comforted, and his confidence is fueled by it.

Taehyung cradles the back of Jungkook’s head with his free hand as he kisses him, keeping him stable so their lips can glide together. It’s different this time, the way Taehyung kisses him. It’s more ardent, even a bit forceful, though Jungkook willingly follows his lead, even if he fumbles a few times because of his desire to keep up. It’s hot and wet, Taehyung slipping his tongue into Jungkook’s mouth to swirl it around Jungkook’s tongue.

No one has ever kissed Jungkook with tongue. The sensation makes his cheeks flush, and his hands tremble when they search for something to hold onto, eventually grabbing fistfuls of the front of Taehyung’s t-shirt. He’s embarrassed by his body’s natural reaction as his tongue pushes back against Taehyung’s in a slippery dance.

“Tae…” Jungkook moans, breathy and desperate, when Taehyung finally pulls away to give them a chance to breathe.

“You’re so talented,” Taehyung murmurs against Jungkook’s lips, his sharp nose bumping against the rounded tip of Jungkook’s. “God, you’re amazing, bun.”

The praise strokes the fire rumbling in the pit of Jungkook’s stomach, drawing from somewhere in his core and igniting every vein it crosses until he feels like he’s burning from the inside out. It makes him scrunch his nose in a bunny smile, his brain loopy and floaty like it had been after he left Taehyung’s apartment.

“It’s good because you’re pretty, Tae.”

It’s true, even if Taehyung rolls his eyes to push the compliment into the back of his head. Taehyung is pretty.

“It’s good because you drew it.”

Both statements can be true; Jungkook is too distracted to make sense. Taehyung’s tan cheeks are a dusty pink from them sharing body heat. The outside of their legs press together from how they sit, and their torsos twist so they can face each other. One of Taehyung’s hands still holds the back of Jungkook’s head. The other sets the tablet to the side and lightly squeezes Jungkook’s thigh just above his knee.

Taehyung’s eyes are lidded and heavy, but Jungkook sits close enough to tell he’s got that wild look in them again, pupils dilated and irises darkened. It’s a carnivorous look, hungry and greedy. For a split second, fear grips Jungkook’s ribs like a caged animal, shooting something icy and piercing into the center of his heart.

Run.

His body screams at him to obey his instincts. The warning is so thunderous inside him that his breathing turns ragged, made worse by Taehyung leaning in as he slides his hand further up Jungkook’s thigh.

“You’re scared of me,” Taehyung’s voice is silvery and hypnotic. The beguiling tone beckons Jungkook, made more tempting when Taehyung’s tail curls around the back of Jungkook’s knee.

Jungkook shakes his head, but he can’t hide how rapidly his heart beats when Taehyung presses his lips over the pulse in his neck, nor can he hide the smell of his arousal permeating the room, especially to a predator with more enhanced senses than he has. He reaches for Taehyung’s soft curls to gently tug on them when Taehyung’s tongue licks broad strokes over the scent gland at the crook of his neck. Willingly, he tilts his head to give Taehyung better access to his throat and lets out a shuddery exhale when Taehyung licking and sucking his neck sends a tingling feeling all the way to his toes. On his next inhale, Jungkook feels his arousal build, making him wet as he breathes in the sweet summer thunderstorm their mingled scents create.

“Ahh, Taehyung...”

“Hmm?”

“I…” Jungkook’s voice cracks when Taehyung pushes the hem of his hoodie to run his hand up his bare chest. His pinky brushes one of Jungkook’s nipples as his palm slides upward, making Jungkook whine.

“You what?”

“I don’t know what to do.”

Saying the words out loud is too difficult; Jungkook can’t bring himself to be direct, even with Taehyung’s mouth marking up his body and slick making him uncomfortably wet. He hopes Taehyung catches on and thinks he does when he pulls back far enough to look Jungkook in the eyes.

The bedroom lights are still on, making Jungkook feel exposed. Taehyung can  see  him. He can see Jungkook’s flushed face, heaving chest, and glazed-over eyes. He can see Jungkook’s body tremble with a mountain of insecurities he didn’t know he had until now.

“What have you done?” Taehyung’s voice rumbles so deeply that it sounds like a growl.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Chewing his bottom lip, Jungkook nods slowly.

“It’s okay, bun,” Taehyung whispers as he leans in again, pressing kisses against the sensitive skin he’d sucked bruises on the night before, “I can be gentle.”

The soft promise makes Jungkook tremble and slick even more.

Taehyung drags his palm down Jungkook’s bare chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Eventually, he curls his fingers around the slim curve of Jungkook’s waist. Jungkook is naturally petite as a prey hybrid, but Taehyung’s large hand makes him feel even smaller.

Closing his eyes, Jungkook lets Taehyung guide him onto his back with his mouth capturing Jungkook’s and his palm pressed against the inside of Jungkook’s thigh to spread his legs apart for Taehyung to fit between them. Despite the icy fear that has melted into lukewarm nervousness about having a predator caging him in against his mattress, Taehyung’s closeness feels good. He’s warm and solid, a comfortable weight that presses down on Jungkook’s hips. It should be scary, and maybe it still is a little bit, but Jungkook mostly feels restless anticipation that eats away at his nervous system.

With his forearms resting above Jungkook’s shoulders, Taehyung brings himself down to kiss him as he rolls his hips into Jungkook’s spread legs, grinding their cocks together hard enough for Jungkook to gasp against Taehyung’s mouth.

“Mmmm,” Taehyung hums as he takes advantage of Jungkook’s parted lips to bite his bottom lip, tugging it into his mouth to suck it.

Jungkook curls his arms around Taehyung’s neck, tugging him down until their chests touch. He can feel their stomachs flutter, each breathing too hard to move in harmony, especially when Jungkook tries to meet Taehyung’s hips with each roll. Bucking up, he throws off Taehyung’s rhythm, making Taehyung release his lip with a turn of his head to chuckle against the vulnerable skin of Jungkook’s throat.

“You’re so hot,” Taehyung purrs.

“Am I?” It’s a genuine question, not Jungkook fishing for compliments, though the feeling Taehyung’s praise gives him is indescribable.

“Don’t believe me?”

The look Taehyung gives Jungkook is wicked, nothing like the teasing, boyish charm he usually smothers Jungkook with when they’re flirting under the guise of bantering. This look makes Jungkook’s stomach swoop and dip dangerously low.

“I… I don’t know,” Jungkook whispers, on the verge of cardiac arrest as Taehyung slowly lowers himself down Jungkook’s body.

“Oh bun,” Taehyung sighs like he’s disappointed in Jungkook’s answer. It makes Jungkook’s cheeks burn. “Do I need to show you just how hot I think you are?”

Taehyung’s wild eyes stare into Jungkook’s as he props himself up on his forearms to better see where Taehyung is now: on his stomach between his legs. He can’t speak and doesn’t even bother trying to when Taehyung curls his fingers around the elastic waistband of Jungkook’s sweatpants and slowly pulls them down, simultaneously unraveling Jungkook’s sanity.

“Lift your hips for me, bun.”

The whimper that slips from Jungkook’s lips is pathetic, breathy, and weak. He does as he’s told and gives up trying to be quiet as he hiccups through shallow breaths when Taehyung tugs his pants all the way down, taking his underwear with them to leave Jungkook fully exposed.

“Such a cute little cock,” Taehyung purrs, dark eyes shooting up to watch Jungkook’s face light up bright red.

Taehyung may have promised to be gentle, but he doesn’t hesitate. His hand wraps around Jungkook’s cock with confidence, his thumb immediately swiping over the precum that has already wet the tip.

“Oh my god,” Jungkook whines through his teeth in a poor attempt to keep quiet.

Yoongi’s presence right across the hall looms over Jungkook’s head as Taehyung begins pumping his cock, spreading the slippery precum in circles around the head with his thumb before spreading it further down to aid in the drag of his palm along the shaft.

Jungkook can’t stop squirming, even when Taehyung hooks one of his arms around his thigh to keep him still. All Taehyung is doing is jerking him off languidly and with a loose grip. Still, Jungkook already feels the overwhelming pressure of his orgasm building and pulsing every time Taehyung’s big hands engulf his cock.

“Fuck, you’re so sensitive. You’re soaking the bed,” Taehyung groans as he uses his grip on Jungkook’s thigh to spread him open further.

Jungkook chokes on his next inhale when Taehyung ducks his head to lick a fat stripe up Jungkook’s inner thigh, quietly moaning when he tastes Jungkook’s slippery slick. The visual of Taehyung’s wet, shiny lips and the sound of his low moan are enough to send Jungkook over the edge. He cums with a wail his neighbors and Yoongi are sure to hear, his eyes squeezed shut and his head thrown so far back that he can barely hold himself up on his forearms.

He only gets a few seconds to catch his breath before Taehyung starts pumping his cock again, the slide this time much smoother and more sensual since he uses Jungkook’s cum like lube.

“Tae-Taehyung, wait,” Jungkook gasps as he tries to sit up. He doesn’t get far. Taehyung’s clean palm presses against his lower abdomen, pushing him backward to rest on his forearms again despite the tremble ripples through his legs.

“Relax, bun, sit back and trust me.”

Jungkook doesn’t understand until Taehyung squeezes the base of his cock, holding it in place so he can keep it steady when he flicks his tongue against the wet tip, tasting him again.

“Tae —”

“You’re still hard,” Taehyung smirks as he tilts his head so he can press an open-mouthed kiss to the side of Jungkook’s cock and licks away the cum left behind on his lips. “And I heard bunnies can cum more than once. Is that true?”

It is, but Jungkook doesn’t know that as a fact. No one has ever gotten him off before, and the times he’s gotten off alone, he doesn’t think he was ever aroused enough to still be hard after. It has to be Taehyung doing this to him, but Jungkook can’t verbalize any of this. Every time he opens his mouth, a high-pitched moan comes out instead of actual words.

Not waiting for an answer to his question, Taehyung locks eyes with Jungkook as he closes his lips around the head of his cock. He suckles the head hard as he massages the underside with his tongue.

“Oh, my g-god, T-Tae,” Jungkook sobs, all his concerns about being too loud leaving his mind.

Everything leaves his mind. His brain completely blanks when Taehyung sucks more of his cock into his mouth with a low hum. He easily takes the whole thing until his nose is pressed against Jungkook’s lower abdomen, swallowing consecutively, each time harder than the last.

Jungkook can’t breathe. He digs his fingers into his blankets and squeezes them so tightly that he draws his entire body taunt. He doesn’t breathe, doesn’t even blink, just watches Taehyung bob his head to a rhythm just slow enough to keep Jungkook’s second orgasm at bay.

That is until Taehyung squeezes one of Jungkook’s thighs and presses it up so his bent leg drapes over Taehyung’s shoulder. Hot tears slip down Jungkook’s cheeks when Taehyung reaches between Jungkook’s legs to ease a long finger past his rim, the slick taking away any resistance. Swallowing at the same time he presses against Jungkook’s walls with his finger, Taehyung coaxes a second orgasm out of Jungkook as if he played him like an instrument.

Jungkook thinks he blacks out. Something skips in his brain, some kind of blip, like a scratched record or a flicker of the lights during a thunderstorm. His throat and chest burn, and his head throbs with the onset of a migraine.

Collapsing onto his back, Jungkook pants heavily. His arms and legs give out, flopping lifelessly at his sides. He thinks he hears Taehyung speak, but the ringing in his ears drowns out everything. It’s almost as disorienting as the black spots speckling his vision. The spots swim to new positions in his eyes every time he blinks, some tiny pinpricks while others are splotches large enough to block out whole items in his vision.

“Bun,” Taehyung calls out to him.

When Jungkook blinks, most of the black spots are gone, and he can see Taehyung’s pretty eyes staring into his soul. They’re bright, a soft amber, and his pupils are back to normal. Rather than lust twisting his expression, concern wrinkles his forehead.

“Hi,” Jungkook winces when his voice comes out hoarse.

“Fuck, you freaked me out,” Taehyung admits weakly. He brushes Jungkook’s sweaty bangs away from his face to kiss his forehead. “You, like, passed out while still being conscious.”

Jungkook scrunches his nose. “I don’t think that’s a thing, Tae.”

“Well, it just happened, and it freaked me the fuck out.”

Taehyung continues caressing Jungkook’s head, running his  now clean  fingers through Jungkook’s hair. It’s relaxing and contributes to the warm, sleepy feeling seeping into Jungkook’s body.  Taehyung just got him off.  His pretty, sweet, talented, funny, hot, precious tiger gave Jungkook two mind-blowing orgasms. Jungkook might consciously pass out again.

“Sorry for freaking you out,” Jungkook apologizes with a sweet smile that Taehyung can’t resist. He ducks his head down to kiss Jungkook, though this kiss is gentle and innocent — aside from the fact that Jungkook can taste himself on Taehyung. That in itself makes Jungkook’s stomach stir.

“I’m never giving you head ever again.”

Scrunching his eyebrows, Jungkook pouts as Taehyung helps him sit up and put his pants on. He cringes when he notices how wet the bed is; Taehyung hadn’t just said that to be sexy.

“No, it was nice. I liked it.”

“Of course you did,” Taehyung’s snort ends in a cocky smirk, “I’m great at it. But, also, everyone likes getting head.”

Emboldened by his sexual awakening — or perhaps lacking inhibitions from having a blank, loopy, fucked out brain — Jungkook eyes Taehyung’s crotch.

“Does that mean you like it?”

“Jungkook.” Taehyung grabs Jungkook’s chin and forces him to look at him. “I think your brain hasn’t gotten enough oxygen.”

“Taehyung,” Jungkook whines, beating his fist softly against the bed. “I want to make you feel good, too. Let me try.”

Taehyung doesn’t let go of Jungkook’s face, but his hold slackens as he closes his eyes. He takes a deep, intentional breath that’s shaky when exhaled, despite how seemingly unaffected he is otherwise. Jungkook may not have the predatory urge to devour like Taehyung does, but he likes the idea of pleasuring Taehyung, knowing that he could give back what Taehyung has given to him.

“Please,” Jungkook whispers, and Taehyung can’t possibly say no.

“Hands only.” Taehyung gives Jungkook a pointed look as he settles at the head of the bed with his back against the wall and a pillow behind him to keep his tail comfortable.

Jungkook is riding an adrenaline-fueled, orgasmic high when he grabs Taehyung’s shoulders to steady himself as he swings a shaky leg over to straddle his thighs.

“I want to be able to kiss you easier,” Taehyung admits when he explains why he prefers that Jungkook straddle him rather than kneel beside him. It feels like a perfect position for Jungkook, who would spend the rest of his life staring into Taehyung’s eyes if he could.

Taehyung smacks Jungkook’s ass playfully to get him to lift up briefly so Taehyung can shimmy his jeans down until he can pull his cock out. Jungkook keeps his hands on Taehyung’s broad shoulders while Taehyung adjusts himself. It’s nerve-wracking, even though Jungkook insisted that this happen. Sweet, considerate Taehyung was willing to ignore his own arousal; Jungkook wouldn’t let it go.

So why is he so nervous now?

“It isn’t prickly,” Taehyung whispers with mischief sparkling in his eyes, likely noticing Jungkook’s sudden anxiety.

Jungkook smiles shyly when he asks, “No cheese grater?”

“No cheese grater.”

Taehyung’s hand is warm against Jungkook’s when he takes his hand from his shoulder and slowly brings it down to wrap it around his cock. They both sigh at the touch, the back of Taehyung’s head hitting the wall with a quiet thud.

Looking between them, Jungkook confirms Taehyung’s joke: no prickly dick. It looks just like Jungkook would expect, the same general look as his own, though much bigger — not that Jungkook ever fantasized about Taehyung’s dick. He most certainly did not!

“Spit first,” Taehyung instructs and hums in satisfaction when Jungkook spits in his hand before he drags his fist over his cock.

Once Jungkook has picked up a smooth rhythm, Taehyung squeezes the nape of his neck to pull him forward in a rough kiss. Jungkook’s head spins as Taehyung growls into the kiss, his teeth scraping and biting Jungkook’s lips, and his tongue laving over them like a soothing apology. Taehyung doesn’t whimper or whine like Jungkook had; instead, he growls and moans with a low purr that Jungkook feels rumble in his own chest.

“Go faster,” Taehyung purrs against Jungkook’s swollen lips as he bucks upward with a squeeze of Jungkook’s hips to keep him from toppling over.

Eager to please, Jungkook increases his movements, adding his other hand to roll over the wet tip of Taehyung’s cock. It’s a move that Jungkook enjoys on himself sometimes, so he’s pleased when Taehyung groans and tilts his head back. Jungkook leans forward to scatter kisses along Taehyung’s neck, too afraid to suck deep bruises there but enjoying the feel of the smooth skin beneath his lips.

“Does it feel good?” Jungkook asks shyly, his breath catching in his throat when Taehyung’s dark gaze falls on him again.

“Mm, yeah, you’re doing a good job, bun,” Taehyung caresses the side of Jungkook’s face, holding his cheek in a gesture too soft for what they’re doing. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen and he almost stops moving.

“Oh! What do I do?”

Taehyung quickly grabs Jungkook’s hand and continues jerking himself off using Jungkook's hand until he’s confident Jungkook won’t stop.

“Cover it.”

Jungkook watches for a sign and thinks he finds one when Taehyung squirms briefly before his body locks up with a low moan that he releases as he leans forward to nuzzle the crook of Jungkook’s neck. Maybe it’s cliche, but Jungkook thinks Taehyung is beautiful like this, swept up in raw pleasure.

Then again, Jungkook thinks Taehyung is always beautiful.

It’s a messy affair, but Jungkook knew it would be, so he has a small towel on hand. He stays still until Taehyung calms down, only cleaning him up once Taehyung is no longer too sensitive. They’re both loopy and exhausted from their orgasms but also from the unique energy it takes to experience intimacy with someone new for the first time — especially for Jungkook.

“So much for a PG date,” Taehyung grins while he wiggles into the biggest sweatpants Jungkook could find in his closet. They’re still too tight on Taehyung and end right at his ankles, but they’re more comfortable than jeans.

“Our date was technically over, so I don’t think this counts.”

Jungkook yawns and pats the bed for Taehyung to climb under the blankets. The bed isn’t big enough for both of them to lie side by side, so Jungkook lies on Taehyung’s chest. It’s more comfortable than a mattress, if Jungkook wants to be corny.

“I can ask hyung if you can sleep over,” Jungkook offers quietly.

“I’m pretty sure he’ll never want me back in your dorm ever again,” Taehyung says in a grave tone, and Jungkook can tell he’s serious. “I’m actually afraid to leave this room right now.”

“Oh my gosh, Tae.”

“Bun… you are loud. You are so loud.”

With a whine, Jungkook tucks his face against Taehyung’s chest to hide his embarrassment. It doesn’t matter; they turned the lights off, so the room is too dark to notice Jungkook’s pink cheeks. Even then, Taehyung doesn’t need to see Jungkook’s face to know he’s being shy.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s fucking hot.”

Taehyung gently scratches the dark fur of Jungkook’s ears, and Jungkook can hear the smile in his voice. Too tired to scold Taehyung for causing him even more embarrassment, Jungkook closes his eyes and focuses on the steady beat of Taehyung’s heart and basks in the warmth that comes with falling asleep in Taehyung’s arms for the second night in a row.

Even if Yoongi will be pissed when he realizes Taehyung never left.

Series Masterlist

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd &daddytaehyungie).

#taehyung x jungkook #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #venor #jai writes #gimmethatagustd #taekook fanfic

[grumpybabybat]

A little short fic of Babybat and Dadfred, feeling a bit insecure with posting my writing but I wanna post it for Halloween.

Fuzzy. So, fuzzy.

Bruce felt this often, more than he’d like to admit.

Quiet music fills his buzzing ears, another ridiculous Disney movie on the Television, he assumes it’s Moana, but Bruce isn’t quite sure. Alfred is always putting on Disney movies when he feels like.. whatever this is.

Alfred’s warm hand startles Bruce, though he can hardly process the soft and kind words.

“..Bruce? Sweet boy, come along”

This is a rare day, with a rare feeling, for Bruce. Usually, Bruce is fighting their usual ‘routine’ of bath, food, then bed. Bruce had taken the bath without a fuss, silent the whole time.

While this was a slight concern to Alfred, he’s just happy to take care of his Bruce.

Alfred takes Bruce into the living room, but Bruce barely follows along, just allowing himself to be led by his caretaker.

“Come now, darling, wouldn’t you like some hot cocoa and to watch Moana while I whip up your dinner?” Alfred speaks in his usual gentle tone, often dawning it heavily when Bruce is small.

Bruce just gives a quiet shrug and shake of his head, the wet mop of hair grossly hitting his face, which he grunts to; pushing his bangs out of the way.

Alfred tuts quietly, picking up the towel that Bruce had so carelessly discarded right after Alfred had him wrapped in it. “Silly me, I didn’t fully dry your hair. I’m quite a silly butler, hm?”

Alfred tries his best to be gentle while ruffling up Bruce’s wet strands of hair, but the man still fusses and pulls his head away. “Now, come on dear, I need to get you all dry and comfortable, hm? I’m sure that wet hair makes you feel all icky, doesn’t it?” Alfred tries his best not to coo at the grumpy little bat, knowing that would only result in a tantrum, Alfred has quite liked their sort-of peaceful night so far.

After just a bit more struggle, Bruce’s hair is more dry, and he’s now finally seated on the couch. Alfred clears his throat gently to not startle the little one. “I’ll just be a moment, dear boy, you watch the telly, alright?” Bruce grunts in response, which, of course, is normal for him.

Alfred heads off to the kitchen to fix dinner and the promised hot cocoa, leaving Bruce alone with the awfully loud Disney songs.

The Butler stirs a mug filled with warm homemade hot chocolate, he hears a creak in the floorboards, a little bat must be coming up behind him. Alfred turns his head, peering over his shoulder to see Bruce, fidgeting with his sleeve as he shuffles up to Alfred.

The baby bat looks so upset, fiddling with his pajama shirt sleeve and looking down, obviously nervous though trying to hide it.

Alfred can’t help but let a coo escape as he kneels to meet Bruce’s eye level. “Oh, sweet boy, I was only away for a moment, did you get scared being alone?” Bruce’s bangs fall into his eyes from his reluctant nod.

Just as soon as Alfred opens his arms for a hug, Bruce hurriedly goes to him, clinging to the butler tightly. Alfred chuckles softly, stroking Bruce’s hair, and pushing his bangs back to the side. “Okay sweetie, let me finish making your cocoa alright? Your dinner is just cooling off, darling.”

While the hot chocolate cools off a bit, Alfred gets the little one all fed, though he only eats about half, just getting Bruce to eat even a bite of his food is amazing to him. There’s some fussing while Alfred wipes his mouth, but he manages to get Bruce’s face all clean.

Alfred takes his ward by hand, and they make their way back into the living room, steaming hot cocoa in Bruce’s hands. Alfred bundles little Bruce into his favorite blanket, getting him all snuggled up. Bruce just about drops the mug, thankfully it has a lid so it won’t spill.

“Alright, you little cuddle bat, what would you like to watch now? Tangled? Or perhaps... Toy Story?” Bruce peers through his bangs to stare up at the television, pointing at Toy Story. Alfred chuckles, putting on the nostalgic movie and snuggling up next to his baby.

The movie starts up, painting the dark living room in a soft blue. Alfred feels a gentle pull on his sleeve, he looks down at his little bat. “Hm? Is there something you need, dear?”

Bruce turns his head away, chewing his lip before letting out a breath.

“Love you, Baba.”

If Alfred’s heart could burst out of his chest it would. “Oh, my sweet little Bruce. I love you so much, my son.” Alfred’s voice is so gentle, just dripping with affection for his little boy. Bruce snuggles into Alfred’s side, a yawn escaping him, but his tired eyes still focus on the movie. “mm.. my dad”

Alfred cannot take much more of this just, cuteness from his baby. He pulls Bruce just a tad bit closer, kissing his temple. “My sweet, sweet boy.”

They snuggle together, wrapped up in this ball of love and affection. All that matters is Alfred loves his son, and Bruce loves his dad.

Sorry if this is bad, I don’t write that much and this took about two days just to fully finish,, I’d like to write more often, it’s really fun, just stresses me out.

(Also sorry if this is difficult to read I just pasted it from my notes app)

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!

#age regression #sfw agere #age regressor #agere #agere blog #safe agere #sfw interaction only #agere post #batman #agere batman #age regressor batman #autistic batman #dadfred #dad alfred #alfred pennyworth #caregiver alfred #agere fanfic

[melon-cream-enmu]

repost from peach-cream-yukio

cw descriptions of eating, afab reader, plus size reader, smut, you feed beel and he's horny

“Beel, can I feed you?”

“Hm?”

“Can I feed you?”

Beel thinks for a moment before nodding his head.

You walk over to the table currently piled with food on Beel’s side of the room. “What do you want?” Theres candy, chips, baked goods, meaty meals, all kinds of food.

“All of it.” You laugh at the hungry look in his eyes and gather some items in your arms and placing them closer to the bed. You approach Beel with a bag of the sweetest gummy candies and he opens his mouth. You open the bag and look at the excited demon sitting on the bed in front of you. His eyes look between yours as you press a gummy down on his tongue lightly. As your fingers retreat his tongue follows to swipe of the sugar crystals from your finger tips. He smiles up at you with closed eyes as he chews, completely missing the look of flustered shock on your face. You fed him a few more pieces before grabbing the rest of what you brought over. You had strawberry and blueberry filled pastries now.

Beel sat on the bed and you shuffled to stand with your knees on the outside of his and leaning against the bed. It was little uncomfortable but you weren’t going to complain.

“You can come closer.” You blinked up at him.

“What?”

Beels hands slide up to your waist. “You can sit here.” He pulls you gently and you’re quickly straddling his lap. “There…feed me more please.”

And the pastry goes straight to his mouth as you try to calm yourself, but of course when the pastries are gone, Beel has your wrists in his hands as he licks the stray globs of filling from your hands.

‘Ok ok ok, pick some he can’t possibly make attractive.’

So you pick up a burger, still nice and warm, with all the toppings (somehow, only the ones you like) piled high between the two buns. The wrapper says ‘max hellburger’. You half unwrapped it and brought it to Beels lips. “Ok, open up.”

Beel takes the biggest bite and gives a smile. His cheeks flush with the warmth of the patty and his thumbs idly rub circles into your sides. ‘He can’t possible know what he’s doing to me…right?’ You squirm in his lap anxiously, also not knowing what YOU are doing to HIM.

“How does it taste?” Beels hands move from your waist to your hands and takes the burger.

“Taste.” He says while still chewing. You look at him unsure.

“Is it…normal? A human can eat it?” You briefly inspect the burger

Beel presses it briefly to your lips with a small hum. “I’m pretty sure…” so you open your mouth a take small bite, Beel picks up a milk shake while you do. It does taste good! Until-

You force yourself to swallow the small bite before your mouth opens and your tongue hangs out in a pant. You whine, “Beel! Ith hot! Ith-“ you squirm some more, not realizing that your pressing yourself into his lap and his now hard cock. You whine and pant but only for a moment, because his tongue is soon exploring your mouth, cool from the milkshake and a welcome relief. In your shock you can only stare at his half lidded eyes when his hand holds your back as he dips you back to place the half eaten burger on the table. Beel pulls your bottom lip between his teeth when he pulls away when you don’t respond to his kiss, and he looks disappointed. You don’t let him get far, wrapping your arms behind his neck and pulling him back. Your tongue now explores his mouth, running over his canines and brushing against his own tongue. His hips buck up into yours once and stop, but you swivel your core against his cock. It’s all the invitation he needs before his hand is bracing itself against the bed, other arm wrapped behind you and hips suspended in air as he lifts and grinds into you, groaning at your weight now fully resting on his lap. He turns to kneel on the bed, lowering you while still grinding into you and lips never leaving yours.

#removed a line about the reader blushing #cream om #cream filled #cream afab #beel smut #beelzebub smut

[llliiinnnaaa]

Reprisal | Chapter Three

coriolanus snow x gaul oc

Summary: Ten years after the Tenth Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow is under Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s wing as a Gamemaker alongside her niece. Unbeknownst to either of them, they’re both being prepared for a much greater task.

Warning: This story will contain explicit violence against adults and children alike (I mean, it’s Dr. Gaul AND Snow) as well as explicit language, and sexual situations.

***This fic is in no way, shape, or form, me endorsing or co-signing the horrific shit Snow does, nor am I trying to romanticize it. Also, apathy and will be the main driving force of any remnants of a relationship between my OC and Snow’s character. So if you’re interested in something very romantic and fluffy…it’s not gonna be this.

     She’s home by nine o’clock, quietly tip-toeing in after realizing her husband had already gone to bed. 

Approaching the dinner table, she lifts the silver lid of the plate cover, seeing steak, some asparagus and a baked potato before quietly replacing it…

It’s when the lamp in the formal living room snaps on, capturing her attention as it illuminates the face of her father that she nearly jumps out of her own skin — her mind already riddled with enough guilt tonight. 

“Ah!” A sharp but short scream leaves her throat. 

Her hand rests over her pounding heart, taking in deep breaths as he offers a warm smile. “I forgot that you and mom were coming to stay for a little while.” She admits before it hits her fully. 

Oh, shit. 

The house isn’t ready, the groceries, her mental capacity to handle her parents…

“We just got in about an hour ago — Dyess fed us, don’t you worry.” He keeps the smile on his face despite his daughter’s appearance.

Exhausted and clearly scatter-brained. 

The same as she was when he and her mother visited for the night a little over a month ago. 

She had crept in well into the middle of the night, heels in hand, skirt on backwards, makeup smeared, hair a mess…exhausted. 

He had kept his mouth shut, then, and he does so, now. 

“I’m gonna go to bed. I’ve got a big day tomorrow.” She informs him quietly, kissing his cheek. 

“Goodnight, dear.” He replies sweetly, watching her disappear behind her bedroom door, the both of them huffing out heavy breaths once they're out of sight of each other.

"Everything alright?" Dyess asks, still awake, book in hand as Tawny steps to him, crawling onto the bed and on top of him to lay on his chest. “Did Snow go easy on you?” He adds, not taking his eyes off his book. 

She wants to scoff at the question. 

Snow never goes easy on her — or anybody for that matter. In any aspect of anything. 

“I still have a job. He told me we’d go over it tomorrow.” She mumbles, closing her eyes, deciding to leave off the part where he had her backed against the door, leaving her with no option but to dig  her nails into her palms and bite her teeth into her tongue to keep from getting on her knees, falling at his feet. 

“What about your aunt?” He asks it cautiously, eyeing her reaction.

“She just sat there and let me ramble on. She didn’t say a word to me until I went to go and she told me we’d discuss it in depth tomorrow.” 

“So…meet with Snow tomorrow, and your Aunt?” Dyess asks, terrified at the agenda himself. 

But he knows Tawny will face it with a stiff lip. 

She’d always been the better of the two of them to pull up her bootstraps and just push through. 

“They’re going to rake me over coals, Dy.” She whispers, dreading the lectures. 

“They’re like cats that bat around a mouse until it dies but never actually eat it. They’re bored and need someone to pick on. This time it’s you.” He mumbles, sighing out as he turns a page. “It’ll pass once they get bored again and move on to a new victim.” 

“I don’t know what to do. It’s easy to fix things when you know what needs to be fixed. All the problems start from nothing, it seems.” She thinks it aloud. “I started doing this because I believe in the Games. I believe they’re good, and justified. Everything I’ve done has been for our girl, but this last year…especially these last months…”

Trailing off, she swallows the lump in her throat. 

“You have two of our best Gamemakers on your side. If they weren’t, you’d be gone already. Just take a breath, think of tomorrow as a new day, and let it be for tonight so you can get some rest. Alright?” 

She nods, accepting his lips pressing to hers but she recoils when his hand finds the small of her back and tries to drift lower. 

“Not tonight, Dy, I’m really stressed.” She sighs out, earning a chuckled out, “That’s what I’m trying to help relieve.” 

“I don’t need anything relieved right now with my mother in the next room.” She grasps his face in her hands. “Okay?” 

He nods, smiling gently at her. 

“Okay.” He nods, to which she kisses him one quick time before heading to the bathroom to shower, and go to bed. 

     The next morning, Dr. Gaul and Coriolanus stare at the empty syringe that’s perched in a labeled, air tight bag, staring right back at them. 

“I want to keep this between us for now, Mr. Snow. I’ve ordered a discreet investigation into her other failed cases.” She says, her voice shaky with anger and irritation. 

“…It was in his office?” Snow asks, lowly, studying the evidence before him. 

“In the trash. The DNA on the needle matches that of the mutt Tawny was working on just yesterday.” 

“Liver failure due to too much iron.” He echoes what Dr. Crane’s students had told him the day before. 

“Implemented by her own husband, apparently.” Dr. Gaul mutters. “More than likely not the first of many of her cases he has sabotaged.” She adds. 

“Have you devised his punishment?” Snow hisses, anger cradling his words as blue eyes nearly puncture the evidence itself from how hard he’s glaring at it. 

Volumnia doesn’t speak a word. 

He slowly looks at her, letting out a breath. 

“Dr. Gaul.” He says in a grit, his mind running wild with his own vivid reprisal.

At first it’s the basic instinct to punch him until his face caves in, yelling, screaming, cursing…

Then it turns to more appropriate manors of revenge. 

Crane didn’t outright slaughter mutts or burn down any plants that his wife had tried her hardest to create and maintain, no. 

He was more discreet, more contrived, patient, planned…sneaky. 

His mind immediately drifts to Casca Highbottom, what feels like eons ago, knowing he carefully took his last breath by Snow’s will. 

No. 

A bloody and obvious murder wouldn’t be in the cards for Dyess Crane. 

Coriolanus has to play this just as Dyess is. 

It wasn’t that he was offended for Tawny, had it occurred to anyone else he’d still be infuriated if it possibly affected the Games in any way. 

They had deadlines, statistics, test runs, meetings, a certain amount of hours in the lab that needed to be met weekly, grievous schedules and agendas to make sure all went perfectly and keep everyone on their toes and try to maintain impeccable results. 

Scientists and Gamemakers alike were both on the same team. Their goal is to achieve and deliver a more entertaining and interesting Hunger Games than the year before.

And someone on the team is fucking it up for everyone — to what end, exactly?

He envies his wife? 

He scorns her for being the same intelligent woman he married?

It almost makes him scoff. 

Of course. He’d known this. The evidence had practically been there to anyone to see if they looked a smidgen closer at the Crane’s relationship. 

Tawny had confessed it in the aftermath of one of their times together.

Dyess Crane didn’t marry her because he was in love with her or her intelligence.

Coriolanus furrows his brows, rolling his jaw.

“ We got married because I got pregnant ,” She had whispered it to him, her delicate fingers fumbling with the gold wedding band on his left hand.  

Snow – in the lusty haze that followed his satisfaction that couldn’t quite be quenched when it came to her – had nearly admitted that his own marriage to Livia was out of convenience. 

He enjoyed her compliance, and beauty, and her ability to ask as little questions as possible. She was smart enough to have good conversations with, they shared the same opinions of Panem and how it should be. 

They were compatible, so he proposed. They married a year later, and were still happy enough eight years later. 

The way Tawny had spoken of her marriage, she’d been trapped for fourteen years. 

Fourteen years married to Dyess Crane.

He wrinkles his nose at the thought. 

He would’ve already taken a deep dive off of a short roof if he were her.

He never felt trapped with Livia, nor did he ever feel the need to do any extra-marital activities until the last few months of working directly with Tawny. 

He feels tempted to inform her that not only did her husband marry her solely because she got pregnant, but he married her with the hopes of her staying at home and raising their child while he got to run with the big dogs. 

“I want him dead.” He speaks it clearly, casually. 

It’s not him asking permission.

It’s him informing Dr. Gaul that Dyess Crane will die. 

“Wait for the investigation to conclude, and then we begin our game.” She says to him dreadfully, the promise of demise in her tone pulls his eyes to hers. “Until then, this debacle stays between us. Not a word of this will be mentioned during your time with her this morning.” 

“You want me to lie to her?” 

He’d never had to before, and he liked to think she hadn’t lied to him, either.

But omitting the truth…that line was thin, but not too thin for him to walk on. 

“She is going to want to retrace her steps, as she always does with her failed cases. She’ll order an autopsy and will receive the results and then eventually will put together that someone sabotaged her. She’ll be so consumed with fury that she’ll act irrationally — unbecoming — of someone in our profession.” Dr. Gaul says it as if knowing full-well how her niece will react.

“I want you to keep her dumb to the idea that the man she loves is trying to make ruin of her career…of her future as a part of my Games.” 

I want you to keep her dumb…

Keep her distracted . 

His mind roams at the thought.

It sounds like an order, one he silently wonders has creative liberties as he gets a brief picture of a few ways to keep Dyess out of Tawny’s mind completely. 

Go about things as usual .

He merely nods, taking in a breath as he steps from her lab. 

     An hour later, Snow waits impatiently for Dr. Crane, seated at his desk glancing over the past five of her failed cases — excluding the most recent. 

He checks his watch, huffing out an irritated breath. 

She’s nearly fifteen minutes late.

Down the hall, Tawny and Dyess slowly step toward Coriolanus’ office. 

“…I don’t want those people in my apartment, Dy.” She mutters. 

“Tawny, be nice, now.” 

“They’re district.” 

“They’ve wisened up and chose correctly.” He replies, optimistically. 

Strabo Plinth — an inherited friend of Dyess whose dead rebel son was in the same class as Dyess’ dead sister who might as well have been killed by a rebel — and his wife had been invited to dinner by Dyess and Tawny’s parents…who also adored the Plinths and the ground they walked on. 

“And that’s why their son was hanged for conspiring with rebels out in 12?” She remarks. “Because they’d wisened up?” 

He sighs out, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to them before he stops and pulls her aside. 

“I know you’re still angry. I know you’re still resentful, and you have every right to be. But the Plinths have been nothing but good to all of us. They can’t help that they weren’t born Capitol.” He says quietly. “Your parents enjoy their company, I enjoy their company, and they haven’t gotten the opportunity to come to our house in the fourteen years we’ve been married. It’s long overdue.” He adds, raising his brows. “I thought you’d be happy to have more people to celebrate fourteen years together with.”

She exhales, rubbing her full lips together and he awaits her answer. 

Ah, yes, ringing in their fourteenth anniversary with the Plinths and her parents. 

There’s no other way she’d rather celebrate. 

“Okay.” She relents, mumbling it to his amusement. 

“Okay?”

Nodding, she offers a little smile as he kisses her chastely, glancing over her shoulder when they pull from one another. 

She’s about to turn to go when he stops her, bringing his lips back down to hers. 

“Dy, I’m already late.” She giggles but doesn’t push him away or deny him, allowing him one last kiss before they’re both breaking it. 

“Good luck.” He says to her with a wide grin that he wears as the blue-eyed blonde approaches them.“Good morning, Mr. Snow.” Dyess states, not looking away from his wife until she turns to see Coriolanus standing a few feet away, platinum curls styled perfectly, reflecting the light above their heads. 

“ Dyess .” Snow says cordially, digging his hands into his pockets to keep from balling them up into fists as his gaze shifts to Tawny. “Dr. Crane, you’re late.” 

“We’ve had an eventful morning.” Dyess interrupts, Tawny’s face blushing slightly at his hint of utilizing the fact her parents had gotten up early and gone out for breakfast, leaving the two of them at home alone. 

“Well, no sense in wasting more of my time.” Snow blatantly blurts, stepping aside and motioning to the door of his office as he glares at Tawny despite maintaining his polite expression. 

“I’ll see you later, Sweetie.” Dyess tells her and she nods, walking toward Snow’s office. 

They don’t bother further entertaining the silent dick measuring contest that’s happening between them, the two men turning their opposite ways and going on. 

“I’m sorry.” She says to Snow when he gets in his office, shutting the door behind him. 

“You do realize I have every right to dismiss you and report you for tardiness, right?” He threatens in a sharp hiss. 

“I didn’t realize what time it was.” She honestly states. 

“You can’t get fucked and read a clock at the same time?” He doesn’t even try to disguise the root of his anger as he walks to his desk. 

“Are you angry because I’m late, or because I was getting fucked?” She gives it right back to him, using the same degrading tone, her irritation matching his perfectly. 

“I’m angry that I’m trying to help you, and instead of showing up on time, you screw around — quite literally — and take advantage of my grace.” He speaks as if she’s a clueless child. 

“If you want to dismiss me and write me up, you can.” She assures him. “I didn’t mean to waste your time. Everyone in Panem knows that your time — above everyone else’s — is so precious after all.” 

He grinds his teeth. 

“It is, actually. Quite precious.” He raises his brows. “But you know that, of course.” Referring to something else entirely, and she takes in a deep breath, peeling her eyes from his. 

She has to. 

“Are we going to go over my cases?” She changes the subject, shifting in her seat, trying to keep her breaths under control as he opens his desk drawer and pulls the few files from it, tossing them to the desk without a word. 

Sitting with a sigh and opening the first file, he thumbs through it and taps his fingertips on the heavy wood under the folder. 

His blue eyes narrow as he reads over her notes, his mouth pulling downward when he realizes it’s one Dr. Gaul even assisted her on. 

As far as he can tell, it should have worked out…

Assuming this is one of the ones Dr. Gaul referred to being a part of the investigation they've opened, he keeps his mouth shut on it and closes it, picking up the next one. 

“…Is something wrong?” Tawny asks. 

He doesn’t answer, scanning this one briefly before huffing out in frustration. 

Fuck, Crane. You slick bastard , he thinks to himself, closing this one and opening yet another. 

He wonders how far back this sabotage has been occurring. 

By the time he has to close this one without offering a word to her about it, she’s marching toward him and reaches for the small pile he’s working through, only for him to grab her wrist, stopping her. 

“None of it’s even good enough for you to want to discuss it with me?” She questions. 

“None of it's worth discussing when there’s nothing to discuss.” He replies. “It looks fine so far.”

“If any of it was fine they wouldn’t have failed.” She retorts. 

His eyes go back to the page before him, ignoring her words and releasing her wrist. 

After another moment, he stands, tapping his finger on one line of writing in particular. 

“Come here.” He says to her. 

She eagerly goes, wanting to see his finding, hoping it will help to answer the root of some of her confusion and frustration. 

He steps aside for her to read over the line, leaning over his desk as she does so, her hand taking his to move it from her way. 

Her dark brows furrow as she reads the sentence, then re-reads it again. 

He sees the struggle on her face to make sense of what exactly he’s talking about, until he lowers his lips closer to her ear and quietly, flatly states, “You used the wrong tense of ‘too’.” 

Brown eyes meet blue, noses almost brushing together when she looks at him, over her shoulder, infuriated with his behavior. 

Petty and dismissive. 

She knows he doesn’t care for her, nor love her, nor does he truly care about what her husband does with her or to her, but he seems curious enough when he nearly whispers out, “Does he know?” 

Does he know?

Does he know I’ve had you in the car he bought you? In his house? In his bed?  

No. Dyess didn’t know. 

Her head shakes slightly, plush lips parting to breathe somewhat easier but all that does is grasp ahold of his gaze. 

“No.” She has to speak to break his attention from her lips. “Does Livia know?” 

“No.” 

He thinks of his sweet wife, always gentle and easy with him, so he tried to be just that  with her as well. 

It would be too obvious if he snapped and treated her as roughly and ravenously he treated Tawny in their time together. 

“Would you like to come eat dinner with my family and the Plinths this Saturday night?”

“That sounds like torture.” He doesn’t hold back, needing a drink even imagining them all around a table. 

His make-shift parental figures, his mistress, his wife, his enemy, and his mistress’ parents. 

Then he thinks of Dyess’ face when he answers the door, seeing Livia and Coriolanus. 

He’d pay good money to see Crane try to mask that rage. 

“I’m sure it will be for everyone involved…but I’m going to need a buffer between the Plinths and my parents and Dyess is only so good for so long. You can invite your cousin since she helped her old boss with my wedding gown. Having a few  other people there to hold their attention will help me not want to bang my head on the table.” 

He thinks about it, looking back down to the paper they’re standing over. 

“Philo will drop off a new case for you to work on this afternoon. Your last one before the Games.” Snow moves from her, black eyelashes resting against her cheek from her briefly closed eyes. “Make sure it’s somewhat successful. Meeting dismissed.” He adds and she gives an acknowledging nod of her head before she moves from him, too, back to the other side of his desk to head to the door. “What time is dinner?” He asks as she reaches for the door knob, stopping in her tracks, a little hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“Eight o’clock.” She replies softly.

“I might be there. It depends on how generous I’m feeling.” He admits, seeing her eyes roll before she opens the door. “Oh, Dr. Crane?” 

“Yes, Mr. Snow?” She asks, raising her brows. 

“Don’t say a word of your new assignment to anyone. Not your students. Not even your husband. It’s imperative it stays between you, myself, and Dr. Gaul.” 

He sees the way her brows twitch in slight confusion, her mouth pulling somewhat downward, the many questions swirling in her eyes, but all she says is, “I understand, Mr. Snow. I won’t tell a soul. I promise,” before she leaves his office, shutting the door behind her. 

I won’t tell a soul. I promise. 

The same words she’d whispered when they swore their affair to secrecy before agreeing to stop. 

He looks down at the folders, each one perfectly planned out, notes dated exactly, steps drawn out…and not a success in the bunch. 

His mind drifts back to that syringe Gaul showed him.  

Dyess could be charged with destroying Capitol property, malpractice, misconduct…Gaul would ensure he suffers more than anything and if by some abnormal chance she didn’t, Snow would. 

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x oc #coriolanus snow x gaul oc #coryo snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

[its--fandom--darling]

smoke slow - e.m. x fem!reader

“She asks for a light, as our secrets spill on the window sill. We’re buying more time while we kill ourselves as we both inhale. Making believe there’s a future. Is it naive to think we could have a future.”

“Oh my god, give that here already and stop hogging it!” You huff, making grabby hands at Eddie. He’s sprawled on his back, arms loose and relaxed as he blows out a puff of smoke before holds out the blunt towards you.

“Quit whining! When you start paying for product, things can be shared 50/50,” he mutters, with a lazy grin on his face.

You snatch it eagerly, “shut up, I keep you fed at school everyday AND I helped you make those shirts for your little club.” Your voice is teasing and Eddie flips you off. He lets out a chuckle and then reaches for his guitar, strumming a few chords as you inhale and then flop next to him.

[[MORE]]

“You learning anything cool?”

He strums a few random chords. “Been trying to learn Master of Puppets, but I haven’t nailed the chorus down yet.”

“Very cool,” you murmur, as the high sets in, the fuzzy feeling filling up your brain and limbs.

“Cool?! It’s totally metal!” He crows at you.

You giggle and pass him the spliff. “Okay it’s metal,” you concede.

He nods and takes another puff. He lets himself look at you, soft fondness clear in his bloodshot eyes. The weed taking away some of his defenses. He watches your soft lips curl into a smile as you giggle and let your head loll towards him. He loves how giggly you get when you smoke and he lets his brown eyes meet your pretty ones. The weed has you heavy lidded but doesn’t do anything to dull their shine. Eddie feels his stomach flip.

“Can I see sweetheart?” You ask in just above a whisper, reaching your outstretched hands towards his most precious possession. He’d mowed lawns all summer, picked bottles to return and even changed the oil in a few older ladies cars in the park to save up enough cash to purchase the beauty that rests in his lap. So you understand the gravity of your question.

“First, my product, second my guitar… baby you gotta stop using me for my things,” his voice is teasing and cloyingly sweet.

You pout, “I’m not.”

He shakes his head. “Come here,” he says, lifting the guitar off his lap and opens his legs, patting the bed between them. You feel yourself warm at the thought of being between them but settle yourself there nonetheless.

“Don’t think your boy toy would like this would be too happy right now, princess.” He murmurs, as he brings the guitar rest against the plush tops of your thighs.

Your mouth goes sour at his comment, “Youre right, maybe I should go?” You make a move to leave, but Eddie stops you, gripping your waist gently.

“I’m sorry, please don’t go,” he takes a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have said anything…”

“Are you sure? I know that Matt is a sore subject.”

He sighs, his breath warming your neck as you focus on the spot that is trailing lazily from the ashtray on his night stand. “This is the only time I get with you anymore, so I’m sure, please don’t leave. Please.” He knows that he’s begging but he’s not too proud to admit that he’s missed you. “I miss you.”

You soften at that, “I miss you too, Eds. Okay, I’ll stay.”

His heart aches knowing that you’ll head back to your boyfriends arms and he’ll lose you all over again as soon as soon as the blunt is burnt up. But he tamps down the ugly green monster and leans back against the headboard, loving that you let your pliable body follow his as you strum at his guitar.

“She holds my guitar as I pluck out a melody. There’s only so far we can go, next to you but I’ll never be close, so take your time while you’re mine and smoke slow.”

“Want me to show you what I’ve learned?” He asks, voice low.

You murmur a soft reply and he lets his arms wrap around you and join your hands on the frets. He starts to strum out the opening bit of the newest Metallica hit.

You watch his fingers flex on the frets,l and arousal pools in your gut as his dexterity. A wash of guilt bathes you in hot shame. You were taken and happy, at least a majority of the time, even if he didn’t light you up the way Eddie did. Matt was sweet and everything a parent would want for their daughter. But Eddie was, well Eddie. Sweet, impulsive, enthusiastic Eddie with his kind heart and metal obsession, dnd and all things fantastical. Arguable everything on the outside that a parent wouldn’t want for their daughter, but everything you do want. The honesty of your own thoughts rock through your system, the steady this of his heart of gold beats against your back. You close your eyes and savor the moment in your best friends arms.

Eddie’s a bit afraid that you can hear the beat of his heart it’s pounding so. He thinks it’s been beating for you since the day he’d met you. It’d been the first day of his first senior year. You’d been a sophomore, in his Senior level English class. You’d bonded over Tolkien during study hall later and the rest was history. Now on his third and final year, (he jokes that he stayed back so he could graduate with you), he hoped that the two of you would be able to escape this judgmental, podunk town together. But you had had to go and get yourself a boyfriend. A boyfriend that wasn’t him and who had you thinking about Hawkins Community College. He thinks the thing he hates the most about “Matty” as you’ve come to call him is that he has you shooting below your potential. He knows that you have an acceptance letter to NYU sitting in your desk at home. He hates that you would throw all the plans you’d made together, (you going to NYU, Eddie and the guys, if they wanted, getting on nightclub circuits in the city as a way to get their foot in the door of the music industry. sharing a dingy apartment so you don’t have to live in the dorms,) but that was all in jeopardy now. He thinks of being hours away from you would suck even more if he knew you were spending all your with he who shall not be named.

“Breaking away for the hell of it, started innocent. I’m telling you things that I’ve never said, hope I don’t regret this.”

“What’s on your mind, Eds?” You ask, tilting your head back to look at him.

He shakes himself from his thoughts and looks down at you. “Nothing princess,” he says, softly a sick sort of sadness seeping into his voice.

“You can’t lie to me, Eds. I’ve known you long enough to spot it a mile away.”

He pauses for a minute. “I was thinking about what’s gonna happen to us after graduation.”

You sit up a little more, moving his guitar to rest beside you on the bed as you turned to face him. “What are you talking about?”

“We had all these plans for New York and now you’re talking about staying here and throwing them all away for-for,” he stops.

“Play with fire, take me higher. All that we are is all that we’ll ever be because he’s the one waiting at home.”

“For what? Matt? Just say it. Why does that bother you so much?”

He scrubs a hand down his face, “because I’m in love with you, Princess.”

You blink at him slowly. “You love me?”

Panic shoots across his pretty features, “Forget I said anything. I’m sorry.”

Before you know it you’re leaning forward and pressing your lips to his. He tastes like the blunt you’ve been sharing and of the cigarette he was smoking on the steps when you arrived and as he licks into your mouth, you can taste something that is uniquely Eddie. It last no more than a few moments but in the time you can see your future play out behind your eyelids. When you pull away you realize, as the two of you stare at each other, that Matt was nowhere to be seen in your vision. It was Eddie, he was your future.

“I love you too, Eds.”

He blinks at you with his big doe eyes, soft and tinted with confusion. “But you have a boyfriend.”

You shake your head, “I didn’t think that we had a future beyond being friends. I thought you liked Chrissy. But I’ve been stupid.”

“Chrissy is cute, but she’s not you, Princess. You had me since the moment we met.”

You two start to laugh.

“We’ve been pretty dense huh?” He says with his signature grin.

“Seems like it.”

“So you’re gonna break up with Matt?”

You nod, “tonight, I’ll call him when I get home.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek in his calloused palm.

You whimper at his words and Eddie’s bloodshot browns darken, “ya like that princess?”

You nod, eyes focused on his lips.

“I’ll save that for later then.”

You lean in to kiss him again. It’s slower this time, softer too, now that you’ve both realized that you have the future spread out before you like a open book. When you part, Eddie rests his forehead against yours.

“So take your time while you’re mine and smoke slow.”

“Be mine, princess?” He whispers, his warm heady breath fanning over your face.

You smiling, sliding a hand into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “Forever, Eds.”

Tagging: @hellfiremunsonn @luveline @bunnywritesmarvel @poppy-metal @quinnsbower @weirdowithnobeardo @sp1dyb0y1008 @salimahbicharara-comun @soldatsaleannan @persephone-is-here-omg @gearhead66 @mypoisonedvine @ceriseheaven

#Eddie munson x fem!reader #angst #happy ending #song fic

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for calling animal rescue/welfare on my mom who loves her pets?

My mom has 2 cats and 1 dog. I want to start off by saying that she doesn't physically abuse her animals.

They're in a weird state of being really emotionally spoiled and completely physically neglected. The dog sleeps in bed with her and is always on the sofa, doesn't get told off when he pees and poops in the house, and the cats are always getting cuddles. The cats are getting kinda fat because they're fed a lot.

My mom is an alcoholic and she doesn't look after herself or her home at all. It's been years since she showered or bathed, she goes weeks without changing her clothes except for when she works, her house is genuinely falling completely apart. Cupboard doors are falling off at the hinges and propped up with buckets, doors don't close, carpets are coming up off the floor, wallpaper is peeling, the shower door fell off and shattered, the toilet lid is cracked in half, the floors are too dirty to step on without shoes, the entire house STINKS of animal urine and there are stains everywhere. A couple of years back she had an insect infestation in one of the bedrooms.

Now, my mom loves her pets and really emotionally relies on them. Ever since I moved out she's been alone and has regressed even worse because when she's at home she has nothing to do but drink and watch TV. The pets are her only company most days.

However, her bad hygiene and home care translates to them. It has been YEARS since the dog was walked, and months since he even got a cursory trip over the road to the small grass area outside her house. His fur is always matted, and he recently had fleas (god knows how when he doesn't leave the house but there you go). He has bald patches of fur missing. He pees and poops all over the floors and carpets because he just doesn't get let outside to do it enough - and he runs away or hides when you find it so he 100% knows he's not supposed to, he just doesn't have a choice because he's not able to go into the garden. His claws are always so long they're bothering him when he walks, and as gross as it is to describe there have been COUNTLESS times I've visited and he's had literal shit caked onto his fur around his tail because he's had diarrhea and when I've pointed it out that he needs to be washed my mom brushes it off with "It's only a little bit" and continues to let him onto the bed/couch.

The cats are mildly better off because they can clean themselves, but their litter trays are always OVERFLOWING - like, genuinely, mountains of cat poop piling up in the trays to the point where they're going on the floor because they don't have room in the tray - and one of them is sleeping in a bed that is Caked in vomit stains, clumps of hair, other miscellaneous marks, all of that.

I've called someone about it before when I still lived there, and a woman did stop by to check it out and told my mom that the cat litters were unacceptable, but my mom just lies to them. According to her the dog gets walked twice a day without fail, gets a ton of enrichment, everything, and you can't really prove her to be lying. The woman told her she'd drop by in a week to check on the litters, my mom kept them clean until she came back and gave the okay, and then just went right back to neglecting them and nothing was done about it.

I have no idea what to do anymore but I want to call again and really impress upon them that they're not being cared for. I sent photos and video evidence last time along with an explanation, but it doesn't seem like it got me anywhere at all. I just don't know what else to do. I've brought up the idea of taking at least the dog with me to my new place (it's very nearby so she'd still be able to visit him and I'd be able to walk him up to her house), but she VEHEMENTLY objected and told me she'd never be able to let him go.

I'm not sure what it would do tbh, even disregarding that she'd probably just get a new pet I would be genuinely worried she'd lose all interest in life if they were taken away.

TL;DR Mom's alcoholism means she doesn't look after her pets and they're not being cared for at all, but taking them away would severely impact her mental health.

WIBTA for calling animal services on her again?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #unsanitary cw