#he’s a grown ass man you can’t just order him around like that

[tremendum]

Mr. Miller’s House 

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, use of she/her, use of the word girl)    

rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.)      

word count: 7.6k  requested: yes  summary: “Joel was a mean, mean man. and you eat it up like a woman starved for months.” warnings: mentions of food/eating, drinking alcohol, age gap (unspecified), Jackson era, Ellie gets a splinter, Joel is honestly rude to Ellie in this and reader is judgy about Joel’s parenting practices lol. but really,  this is just filthy smut (PiV, unprotected), dirty talk, sir kink, use of the word slut a LOT, one use of the word bitch, humiliation/degradation, hints of masochism, choking, exhibitionism, public smut, rough sex, dom!Joel, mean joel, lots of fighting/anger, cumplay, dirty talk, ass spanking, pussy spanking, mentions of blood (reader gets scraped knees), throat/facefucking, rough oral (m!receiving), overstimulation, dacryphilia, multiple orgasms. lmk if i missed any please lmfao

notes: okay jesus fucking christ!!! i wrote this so fasst lol but it was fun and highly requested. hope yall like it.  as always reblogs/asks/comments are always great motivations :’) this is not reread because as i have said before im lazy and INSANE! 

[this is a sequel to Mr Miller.    part three   other Joel fics:     fever       landmines  ]

★  

this was a mistake. you shouldn't have done this....this was a terrible idea. 

fuck. 

the chair is stiff beneath you. there's a hard coolness about it that is welcomed on the skin of your bare legs, the shorts you wear helpful in the heat of summer but futile against the slick of sweat that sheens your skin. the chair is hard, but yet still strong, sturdy.

 you swallow dryly, heart beating fast. it's the same chair you sat at just a few weeks ago, signing the log with Joel leaning over your shoulder, before he-

you look away, around, anywhere in order to avoid the memories, hot and boiling and clawing at your mind and suffocating you until you stop breathing- and then your eyes settle, they glue themselves across the kitchen table. 

they glue themselves to him. 

fuck. 

Joel's already staring at you; his lips are downturned in that permanent grimace he always sports, the muscles of his torso rigid with immobility - perhaps he thinks if he's still enough, the ground will just swallow him whole and he won't have to do this. 

you yearn for that escape as much as he does. 

then, out of the silence; "see, this isn't so bad." 

speak for yourself, Ellie. 

both heads in the room turn to the speaker slowly, the girl watching between the two of you, more than willing to ignore the obvious disdain in the air. she's grinning like a damn devil. 

this girl's going to kill you. 

it is that bad, contrary to Ellie's statement. 

it'd been days of her begging you, with a tug on the hand, a punch to the shoulder, and countless pleads and threats until you finally caved in and accepted her proposal to have her and Joel over for dinner. 

no matter how much you detest her guardian, you just can't resist those big puppy-dog eyes, or that gigantic, youthful smile. 

for the last few months, Ellie has grown to be quite the little farmhand for you; though you like to keep to yourself on your days in the gardens, it was nice to have the girl buzzing around you and the other gardeners, pollinating each person she sees with questions like what really happens in germination and is this ripe? can I pull it? 

it's cute, how excited she is to show Joel all of the crops you've grown with her in the last few months. but what isn't cute, is that it's him that has to be here. of all people, why did Joel have to be the one Ellie chose as her father? 

because.... things weren't okay between you and Joel. 

you're not sure if you were childish for expecting for him to warm up to you after - well, after the time he bent you on this table and fucked you stupid - but you hadn't been prepared for the coldest shoulder you've ever gotten in your measly life for the last few weeks. 

it didn't help that the summer was kicking up and you needed more crops than ever for the commune; your patrolling had dwindled into maybe one or two every week or so, usually with Maria - so you didn't have to face Joel, really, at all. 

but he avoided you like the plague when in town or on your street (though, he did that with everyone) and even at the Tipsy Bison, where your presence would clean him from the room before a drop of condensation could even slide down his glass of whiskey. 

hell, maybe he even put a word in with Maria and Tommy that the last patrol together didn't go as planned; you'd even considered doing it at one point. you're not sure, but it just made you all the more irritated when you'd catch glimpses of their porch in the afternoons, Joel holding a guitar around Ellie's chest, chuckling as she strummed horribly. as if everything was okay. like you didn’t exist. 

the anger and hatred grew awful. 

it festered, grew when Maria mentioned off-handedly to Tommy that some woman, Dahlia, had taken a liking to Joel. you'd nearly shattered the glass you were holding in your fist at that; Joel, with Dahlia? that grumpy piece of shit, taking a liking to someone sweet and kind like her? 

you ought to punch his fucking face. 

you're zoned out when Ellie suddenly comes into your line of sight; reaching over your chest to grab a slice of the fresh bread you'd picked up earlier that day. you blink back into reality as Joel grunts, "E-Ellie, hey." he's shaking his head as he gestures to her arm, "use your manners." 

he sounds almost embarrassed; annoyed. your mind betrays you as it whirls back; when Joel had you pinned down on this very table, commanding you in a different way, his eyes dark with delight as you cried and writhed for him. 

but at his chastising, you send Ellie a sneaky look, rolling your eyes when Joel's looking down. the girl chuckles at that and an untrusting Joel stares daggers between the two of you. Ellie clears her throat with a smirk,  "sorry. can you please pass me the bread?" 

you grin, "why, yes, ma'am." you hand her the basket, "thank you for asking." you add to the girl on your right, your eyes on Joel's. he stares back harshly, hand grabbing for the glass of wine that sits in front of him. 

another few moments of tension before Elie decided to take it upon herself to introduce as much of the food that sits on the table in front of you as she can remember. 

peas, spinach, lentil and cabbage stew, beet salad, goat cheese and roasted carrots, cauliflower mash. fresh bread.

proteins from animals are scarce and are typically served in only the dining hall, so you decided to skip the meat and serve roasted artichoke instead. Joel doesn't look too thrilled about that as Ellie explains. you hide your scoff behind a sip of your dark wine. 

"-and, look, I planted these beets." Ellie points to the bowl on the table which houses arugula and beet salad; you smirk down at the plate as Joel hums as if interested. his eyes flicker to yours from across the table as Ellie delves in on a tangent about how bloody beets look, those dark pupils flickering over your face before flitting back to the young girl. his eyes were swimming with something else, something.... seductive. 

a shiver runs down your spine.

does he ever think about it? 

you do. you think about it every night - how his hands felt, rough, unforgiving; the look on his face, that dark smirk when he'd made you beg for him to ruin you... the frenzy in his eyes when he'd ‘taught you some goddamn manners,’ when he'd taken you apart brutally and quick. Joel was a mean, mean man. and you eat it up like a woman starved for months. 

your name calls you back to Ellie, whose eyes are wide and tracing over a rough, splintered notch in your table, "the hell is this from, is it-" her fingers jolt away at the rugged piece that slides into her skin, "shit!" she yelps, shaking her hand. 

your brows furrow, rising to help her as Joel pulls her hand towards him.  "I have tweezers." you mutter, disappearing into your bathroom to pull out your tweezers, returning to see Ellie smiling in embarrassment and Joel sitting with his arms crossed, amused irritation lacing his face. his beard is growing in more recently - you can hear the noise of the short bristles scratching his hand as he rubs his knuckles over his jawline. 

nodding, pleased that Ellie's discomfort has subsided, you set your tweezers on your right, spearing some salad on your fork as silence cradles you three yet again. 

it’s only tense and silent for a moment. then Ellie speaks, and it’s just tense.

"why is there a notch like that in your table?" she finally wheezes, as if she'd been summoned to be silent until she couldn't handle her curiosity anymore. 

you don't have to look up to know that a pair of dark eyes pin you to your chair, daring you to say something about it. 

your throat dries as you swallow your mouthful of salad, coughing a bit. 

a rip in your flannel, the grazing of your soft skin with the blade. a hand pulling hard to dislodge the knife from its home against you; the thick slide of Joel as he drags his length through your destroyed, spent core. 

"um- I-I" perhaps it's your panic, of the knowledge that his eyes are glued to you, but soon your eyes meet his; unwavering. "well. someone likes to threaten people when they can't find patrol logs." 

"Joel!" Ellie hisses, smacking his arm, "you fucking stabbed her table and didn’t do anything about it?” she’s grinning. 

"yeah, Joel," you smirk, swirling with desire as his hawkish gaze pins you to your chair, "you really should use your manners. you've ruined my table." 

"shut the hell up right now." he snaps at you, hand slamming his fork down harshly onto the plate. you and Ellie both jump at the sternness in his voice. 

you listen, for once. 

and honestly, ten minutes ago feels like heaven compared to the tenseness of this silence. 

several minutes go by, the sounds of scraping forks and knives and the meager attempts by you and Ellie to salvage a decent dinner conversation ringing soft in your kitchen. 

at least you and her are trying. 

you ignore the notch from the knife like a wildfire and pretend Joel isn't even with you; Ellie is more than enough life and laughter for you, and your playful disposition matches hers perfectly despite the joy-damper of a man sat across from you. 

he's stewing. arms crossed, chewing on food here and then, mostly listening and sighing, brushing off Ellie's jabs or playful questions or stories. he won't do anything except eat and glare at you. 

the wine bottle is nearly gone and you're not sure if it's his fault or yours. probably both. 

you snap when he just outright ignores Ellie, shaking his head with a sigh and taking another bite. the audacity. 

"-she asked you a question, Miller." you snap, fed up with his dissociative disposition. you don't even intend to say it; even Ellie looks up at your words, surprised. 

his head turns to face you too slow to be safe. his eyes are fucking furious as he mutters, "excuse me?" 

"hey, guys-" Ellie's hands are out in front of her, but you can't take your eyes off him. 

"I'm just saying, you could at least try to pay attention." you spit, crossing your arms defensively, "we made this dinner, we're just trying to have a conversation, the least you could do-" 

"you don't tell me what to do." he states, calm and cool, pointing at you. his nose flares as he breaths heavy, your own breath quickening. arousal rushes to your center and you shift on your seat. 

"-listen, maybe this was a bad idea. I knew you weren't the best of friends, but this is-" Ellie starts again, eyes flickering between you both. "this is too awkward." 

"no, Ellie, I'm sorry-" you start to say, breaking. 

you don't want her to be caught in the cross-fire of your problems with Joel; it's unfair. the further this goes, the more she'll be put in a position of mediator, so you figure it should just end now. 

"Ellie, go home." 

Joel growls the demand, eyes looking to her, his hand falling gently to her shoulder. her eyes widen, as if asking him if he's serious. 

"what?" she asks, "no! you'll-you’ll fucking stab each other or something." 

yeah, you think. you might. 

Joel's shaken off her shoulder but he's resilient, "go on, go see the kids for the movie. I'll come later. we just need to sort something out." he mutters, eyes falling to you at the tail end of his sentence. 

shivers roll down your spine; fuck, fuck - a flood of arousal hits you again, and you swallow, willing the feelings to go the fuck away. 

Ellie's scowling, but still has the decency to thank you for dinner before slamming the door hard on her way out of the threshold. 

Joel's eyes stay locked with yours until her footsteps are gone. 

it’s silent for a moment before he speaks. 

"do not fuckin' disrespect me like that in front of her again." he snaps. 

you narrow your eyes, "you're concerned that I- what, I undermined you in front of your girl?" you hiss incredulously. "come on, that's pathetic." 

"I don't like you." he snaps, shoving his plate away from him in an almost childish act of defiance. it’s shocking, the immaturity of his words so sudden. barely prompted. 

it's clear he intends to continue this little confessional of his, but you have no intention of allowing that. 

you roll your eyes, "big fucking deal. what do you want me to say?" you hiss, "sorry that I was rude, Mr. Miller! let me just cook you fucking dinner and invite you over to make up for it." 

his nostrils flare, "never wanted to do this in the first place." he mutters. 

you nearly rip out your hair in frustration. "obviously you didn't! christ, why do you always act like everything you do is a goddamn chore?" you snap, "Ellie wanted to have a nice night and show you what we've been doing- what she's been doing for this community. and all you can do is sit here and act like a fucking asshole because you don't know how to enjoy anything. it's a miracle she's still around with you, when you treat her like that." 

his jaw clicks in anger, "you have no fuckin' clue what we've been through together." his voice is close to a yell, "you don't know how much that girl means to me." 

"then why won't you show her!?" you yell. 

it quiets the room for a moment and a fleeting feeling of pride is squashed when he speaks again. 

his brows raise, a look of realization creeping onto his face. he nods his head, "I see what this is," he lets out a bitter, mocking laugh. "you want me to tell you how much I love your food? y'trying to prove to me that you're not a bad influence on her, after all?" 

you stare at him, anger clouding your sight; are there tears of frustration rimming your eyes? you hope he doesn't notice. 

"-newsflash, darlin', I don't fucking care about you." he finishes, scowl dark. "you're a nuisance. don' know why Tommy took you in, anyways. you're a foul-mouthed, untrustworthy, pathetic little slut- and jus' because you can't stop thinking about my cock doesn't mean I owe anything to you. no dinner, no fuckin- cordial neighborly attitude, nothing." 

thinking about- what?

oh, fuck him. your face burns; your jaw unhinges. of course he thinks this is about you and him. your eyes spare a quick, fleeting glance to the notch in the table before you glare, "well I don't fucking care about you either, Miller. don't be so fucking conceited." 

he laughs, shaking his head as he downs the remainder of his wine before slamming the glass down, but you're not finished. you can't let him think he's won. 

"you’re delusional. I haven't thought of it once." you spit, aflame at his accusation. you feel flustered, still caught off-guard. if anything, it was him who was obsessed with it - you see the way his eyes can't leave you; the way he adjusted his jeans earlier when you leaned over to pull a bowl from your cabinet. 

"really?" he spits, brows raised. his chest moves with the exertion of your yelling and you resist the urge to hit him or stomp your foot or anything. "yes, really." you defend, face heating up under the scrutiny of his knowing gaze. 

"anyone ever tell you you're an awful liar, sweetheart?" he drawls, raising his brows at you. 

you fume, standing up, pointing to the door, "get the fuck out, Joel." 

his eyes light ablaze with the same anger that rages in your heart as he stands, throwing his napkin on his plate, "gladly. food was great." he spits, storming out of the house with no other words. 

-- 

your scowl doesn't leave your face for the entire rest of the night. what- what the fuck was that? how dare Joel assume so much about you- he doesn't know you, at all. 

your eyes fall to the bottle in your hands.

ellie left her water canteen at your place. you were so angry, so mad earlier, that you hadn’t realized she’d left it until a few minutes ago. 

she doesn't need it, right? she could get it next time she comes round. yeah. she'll get it next time, you don't have to go over. right?

no. 

you have to go over. 

the anger within you festers just as much as the slick that plagues the apex of your thighs in the aftermath of your spat with Joel; it's a vicious cycle where you think about his tone, how condescending it was and then you get mad - but some sick part of you wants it to consume you; wants him to consume you. 

you’re fucking obsessed with him. you hate him. 

you need to hear him yell at you again- if-if anything, to get your ten cents in on the argument, and also maybe to get some good content for your wet dreams tonight. jesus christ. 

god, you're so fucked up. 

christ. 

so once you finish cleaning from the remnants of the meal, your legs are carrying you over to his house with Ellie's canteen in your hand before you can second-guess it. 

what the fuck are you doing? 

you're standing on their porch in mere seconds, your breath heavy with wrath. what if Ellie opens the door? well- you suppose, if she does, you'll give her the canteen and talk to her. probably apologize for acting the way you did. no business with Joel, then. yeah.  that’s... that’s fine. 

fuck. why do you want Joel to answer so terribly? 

you know where the answer lies - a coiling beast of arousal, consuming and muddling your mind, just at the apex of your thighs. 

Joel is a fucking asshole. you need him. now. 

your knuckles slam so hard and unforgiving against their door that there is no possibility of them assuming it's anybody else but you at their porch. their light is flickering and dim above you as you stand, canteen in hand, eyes trained forward in determination.  

the door swings open in an air of irritation. 

your face jerks back as Joel Miller stands, staring at you with the disdain of a thousand lifetimes swirling around his eyes. 

"y'here for more?" he snarks. 

your momentary hesitation melts away when his words drip from his lips. a glare pierces him through the eyes when you shove the canteen into his hands, "I'm here for Ellie. she left this." you spit. 

he lets out a chuckle, humor absent from the ring as he scratches his nose, "right." he mutters. "well she ain't home. went to the movie in town." he clips, setting the canteen on the table just inside the house. "y'need me to pass any more of your words of wisdom on to her?" he asks, voice clipped and prickled with sarcasm. 

you glare. "yeah. just do me a favor, tell her I'm sorry her dad is being a hypocritical, neglecting asshole." you snark, sending a false smile up at him as he leans with his arms crossed at the doorway.

you don't miss how he leans into it, how he's not slamming the door on your face. he wants to argue, too. "-and you can suck a dick, Mr. Miller." you add, intending to whirl away on your heel. 

he scoffs, a deep and condescending noise. "thanks for comin' all the way over to return a little canteen. g'night, darlin', hope you don't make too much'a mess when you cum all over that table again tonight thinkin' of how much I hate you. glad y'got your ten cents in." 

your face burns hot in embarrassment, and at the irony of him using the same phrase you’d thought. 

the door moves quick to shut, but your arm moves quicker. 

your hand wedges is just before it shuts, leaving you far too close to Joel than you'd like - gunpowder, pine, and dark amber whiskey surround your senses. again. 

so you shoot another fist forward, aiming for his left jaw; aiming for it to hurt.

he’s going to fucking hurt.  

it doesn't make contact with the warm skin, though: no, his hand has caught your wrist in an iron-tight grip, wrenching your arm down hard. 

you let out a gasp of surprise as he shoves you off of the door and away from him before you can blink. 

but instead of the door slamming in your face, his rough hands are pushing you hard up against the side of his garage. the door behind him remains ajar as he pushes himself into your space, growling at you as your mouth falls open in shock. 

"did you just try to hit me, girl?" he whispers, voice deadly serious. you swallow, arousal rushing down to your heat; you swear you can feel your heartbeat in your pussy as he stares hard at you, but your eyes trail down to his jeans.

you hide your smirk as you take in the stretch of the rough denim, the outline of his own arousal evident even in the dim light. he’s hard because you were going to hit him. 

your body aches as you remember the stretch of him inside you, splitting you open. your eyes flicker back up to his where he breathes heavily, expecting a response. 

you give him one. 

"yes, but you already knew that." you smirk, cocking your head as you boldly gyrate your hips forward slightly, your clothed cunt clenching in desire as you graze his hard-on. "or are you not hard right now, Mr. Miller?" you purr, your voice laced with seduction. 

his rough hand shoves your hips hard back against the wall, a growl slipping his throat. "y'got a dirty fuckin' mouth on you." his breath hits your cheeks in a warm reminder of the wine you'd both had for dinner. 

"so it wasn't because of that?" you ask, blinking in a false sense of innocence, watching as his eyes swim with an animalistic hunger. you've got him right where you want him. "was it from thinking about me touching myself? or, from remembering the last time we were together in my house?" 

his momentary lapse in recovery allows for you to go in for the final kill, "Mr. Miller,” you coo, “do you think of my pussy when you fuck Dahlia? d'you wish it was me?" you spit, smirking up at him as red splatters his furious features, "you can talk all you want, Mr. Miller, but I know you're just a greedy, desperate man who loves to pretend you have any power over me." you whisper into the shell of his ear, palm roughly grabbing the outline of his cock boldly. 

his next movements take your breath away: the shock of his fists slamming hard against the wall on either side of your head makes you jump, and his hawkish, angry eyes bore into yours. 

"get your fuckin' hands off of me. now." 

his voice is... scary. 

the blood leaves your head as your damp spot of your pants floods with desire, the fear spiking a real excitement in you. you are smart enough to follow his orders; the look in his eyes suggests you do so. 

your hands shakily fly back from his crotch to hang by your sides as you stare up at him - nervous. excited, ready. 

his eyes are narrowed, stern as his brows are furrowed low. the permanent scowl on his lips is intimidating as he holds your gaze with fierce intent. "you're gonna be real fuckin' honest with me, now. okay?" 

you swallow dryly, staring up at his face, how he's boxed you in with arms on either side of your head. you feel cornered, small; prey, hunted by predator. 

you nod smally, startled into silence, unable to speak as the ache between your legs becomes unbearable. your legs clench, searching for relief only to be disappointed at the dull sensation. 

he stares at you for a few moments, unmoving except for the flaring of his nostrils and the rising of his chest as he breathes just as heavy as you. 

"are you wet?" 

your face flushes with heat. christ, Joel is going to kill you. (if you don't kill him first). your legs feel weak, desire driving your heart rate up as you nod meekly, voice cracking out. "y-yes." 

he nods, seemingly pleased with your honesty. 

"how long have you been walkin' round with ruined panties?" his head tilts down slightly, angled down at you as if chastising you. you flush in shame, genuinely taking a moment to remember the exact moment you first noticed your underwear dampen. 

you can't admit to him that you woke up this morning with his name on your lips and a wet patch on the seat of your sleep shorts, can you? (and certainly not that it happens every day.) 

"s-since-" you take a sharp inhale, glaring at him for humiliating you like this - outside, no less. anybody could walk past or look out their window and see Joel and you like this. "dinner." 

his brows raise, the look darkening on his face. you can tell, he loves the beginning - the teasing, the arguing, the embarrassment - just as much as the end. "dinner? s'like, two hours." his frown immodest, tempting. judging. 

you nod, biting back a snide comment about Joel being an excellent time-teller, your face burning in embarrassment as you break eye contact, staring at your feet. 

"d’you like being a slut?" he asks, then. you nearly whimper at his words, the aching in your cunt burning, pulsing and clenching around nothing as you stare at him in desire. fuck Joel Miller. 

"'m not a slut." you say, but the defiant words come out more as a whine than a sharp argument. one hand falls from the wall on your left to grip onto your jaw, holding your cheeks hard as he forces your eyes back up to him. 

his nails dig into the soft flesh of your cheeks as you gasp, your own hands in fists as you resist pulling him into you. 

"that's not what I fuckin' asked, now, is it?" he sneers. you blink up at him, shaking your head after a moment of contemplation. "no, sir." you whisper meekly. you don't miss the tightening of his grip at the honorific as it falls sultry from your lips. he hums. 

"do you want me to touch you?" he asks next. you can't even have the decency to stop your whine as you nod, "yes, please." 

his other hand falls from the wall, eyes just as angry and unforgiving as he undoes the button on your shorts single-handedly. "good. don't you fuckin' look away from my eyes, y'hear me? hands down, eyes up." 

this is twice now that he hasn't let you touch him - your brows furrow, but just as he snaps in front of your face, you let the thought melt away. 

"y-yes, sir." you nod, your palms sweaty, heart thundering as he shoves his hand down the front of your shorts, breaching your underwear easily as fingers slide through the deft curls that lie just above your heat. 

"gotta warm y'up for me this time," he mutters, eyes sharp as he watches yours, ensuring they don't do as much as blink. 

it's delicious, almost too much as two of his thick fingers part the seam of your lips, your wetness spilling and coating his fingers immediately. you burn in shame, thighs starting to close over his hand. 

one ruddy, thick thigh slides to kick your leg to the side, widening your stance as he shoves you harder up against the side of the house. the tip of his finger prods at your aching hole, leaking with desperation for him. 

there are crickets outside, a steady but low staccato of music filling the summer Jackson air as one finger slowly slides into you, curling unforgivingly as you gasp, rising on your toes as he stretches you. "fuck," you whimper, throwing your head back against the wall behind you. 

the thud is dull, but it echoes around the street and it calls your attention to the very public space you're in. 

"hey." Joel snaps, one hand swatting your cheek lightly as your eyes close, "don't look away." 

you blink back at him as he pumps lazily for a few moments, watching your every micro-expression, the way your chest stutters with his motions. the noise of your arousal is humiliating against the pleasant summer breeze. 

you can't help the low moan of his name when he adds a second finger. the stretch is nothing like when it's his cock inside of you, but the strokes, the curl of his fingers start to coax a simmering coil in you that you know will explode soon. 

your eyes are still on his obediently when you nearly whisper it. 

he hears it, though, and smirks, "what was that, darlin’?" 

you groan in irritation but it splinters into a sharp moan when his fingers pick up their pace, fucking into you as you lie slack against the wall, legs trembling. 

"just- fuck me. fuck me now." you wheeze, the desire a burning snake that coils around your chest and squeezes at your heart. 

"no." he decides, eyes glaring, "can't have y'whining like a bitch again, darlin'. gotta open you up on my fingers first." the sting of his words are cushioned by the lust that swirls around his voice, the languid was his thick fingers pump up into you, holding you up against the frame of the house with a dark smirk. 

you nod, hissing in stimulation when one finger slides to start rubbing your neglected clit with just enough pressure to curl your toes; your chest is slick with sweat, fingernails digging painfully into the meat of your palm as you hum, lips sealed tight to avoid yelping out. 

your eyes flicker from his once more, scanning the street just feet away from you, paranoid of the possibility of a neighbor seeing you. 

Joel notices, of course. "what, baby, don' want the neighbors to see?" he hums, eyes cutting into you as your face flushes with heat, "y'seemed to want everybody to hear me fucking you stupid last time, didn't 'ya?" 

you groan, "fuck you, Joel." 

his hand stops its ministrations just as cold ice pours down your spine. oh, shit. 

his hand slides out of your pants, face furious. 

you shake your head, eyes welling with tears; you hadn't meant for it to slip out like that. "n-no, wait, 'm sorry, didn't mean it." you whimper, voice choked with the loss of his hand. 

he just huffs a cold chuckle, wiping his hand over his face, the other one glistening with your juices under the light of the porch. 

your panicked, desperate babble of apologies is stopped with one look from him. 

"get on your goddamn knees now." 

you shiver with excitement, tears drying slightly as you swallow, complying quickly. the cement is rough and cold under your bare knees, your hands held still together on your thighs as you stare up at him in wait. he stands tall before you; the shroud of the flickering porch light emboldening him, making him look like a god - an unforgiving one, at that - as he pulls his thick, pulsing cock from his jeans. 

your mouth waters as he starts to pump it languidly, the tip a red color from arousal, leaking precum. 

he doesn’t have to ask you to open your mouth for him, your own desire to taste him spurring you to stick your tongue out flat in wait for his dick. 

"I'm going to ask you again." he says, tapping your tongue with the weight of his length, the slapping noise flooding your underwear as you ache to feel him again. "do you like being a slut?" 

you swallow, tongue sliding along the bottom of his head as you do, muttering a slight, "yes, sir." 

"'s right. you love being my slut." he nods, your mouth open and ready for him as he thrusts his whole length into your wet, warm mouth; you gag almost immediately, his hips unforgiving as he immediately starts to fuck into your throat. you try your best to breathe through your nose, gagging as his tip pokes the back of your throat - you know there'll be a bruise that will make it painful to eat, drink, speak - you fucking love it. 

he lets out a grunt of arousal, nodding as his hands gather your hair from your face, gripping your cheeks and pushing your head back against the side of the house. 

two thrusts, a few tears from your eyes as you choke, your lungs burning for air. 

he pulls away, you suck in air with a strangled gasp. your saliva links you to his heavy cock, a chain that holds you in his grasp. "tell me you love being my slut." 

you burn at his words and in your brief hesitation, his cock is slapping at your mouth, his impatience bleeding through his actions. 

"I-" your voice is wrecked after only a few seconds of him in your mouth, but you swallow as you gasp for air, "I l-love being your slut." 

he slides himself through your slick lips again, hips a punishing pace as he fills up your mouth, your throat tight and wet. his groan echoes through the street; in the corner of your eye, you swear you see a light turn on in a bedroom window. shivers of desire run through you as you resist the urge to touch yourself. 

you can't breathe; your nose brushes against the course hair at the base of his shaft, the scent of him surrounding you as his hips try to smash you against the side of the house. 

he holds you there, hands rough on your cheeks, slapping your right cheek as it bulges with his length. you choke, gagging as you try your hardest to keep eye contact. his face is harsh, his sneer cold as he stares at you, "'s right, choke on your fuckin' words, darlin'." his hips press forward slightly and you cough around him, it's too much - tears slide down your cheeks as you try not to gag more. 

"you gonna disrespect me again?" he asks, tilting his head as spit trails down your chin, tears meeting the trail of saliva as it drips down onto your chest. 

you can only hum a nuh-uh around his cock, hoping it's enough to satisfy him. you feel yourself throb and fucking burn with need, your knees sore from the cement under you. 

you cough and sputter when he pulls himself away from you, mouth sore, jaw aching and throat wrecked. his eyes flicker over to the house across the street before he grips your shoulder, tugging you in your aroused, dazed state up to your legs. 

"oh, darlin', you're bleedin'." he coos at you, thumb swiping your cheek as you stand up. he's right: your knees are just scratched enough to speckle the skin with dark splotches of blood. you feel a tingling sensation of arousal as he hums, "let's get you inside, hm?" 

you stumble to keep up as he storms through the threshold of the house, the door swinging shut after your shaking frame falls inside. it's dark; there is only one lamp turned on in the other room. 

Joel is almost a shadow as he surrounds you, your hands falling onto his large, stiff shoulders as he pushes you against the door frame. 

your legs give out from desire soon and the two of you tumble to the ground, a mess of grunts and shoves, tearing at clothes as you whimper in desire, his own lustful groans echoing the empty house. as his pants are shucked off and your shorts are thrown across the room, your hips are shoved and flipped over until you're ass-up for him, one of his large hands moving roughly to grab a handful of your plush behind. 

your hands and knees ache, but you wiggle your ass slightly in need, not daring to speak to him. the anger that radiates from the two of you is a grenade; you can feel the tension bubbling behind your desire and so you just move back until you brush against his hard length, the fabric of your panties completely soaked as you grind against him. 

his moan echoes as a hand falls hard to slap against the skin of your ass. you let out a strangled yell, the pain stinging through you as you keen forward. you know there will be a handprint branded into you, you know it'll be sore to sit and you'll have to think of him each time. he'll consume you for days. 

you love it. 

his fingers tease the wet material that's glued to your pussy with desire, tracing over your lips lightly over the fabric. "pretty cunt, just for me." he mutters; you shake with desire when you realize it was more a mutter for him than an intentional phrase for you to hear.

"think you're ready for me, baby?" he grunts, his fingers pulling your underwear to the side, exposing your puffy, glistening cunt to him. 

"I'm so re-ready sir, please, fuck me." you beg, reduced yet again to nothing but a writhing mess for the worst man you know. 

he gives no warning, no teasing - he breaches you swiftly and rough. you scream. 

it cracks, it echoes, it's painful as you yell out, his cock heavy and huge and aching as he slides into you, sheathing you fully within a few seconds. Joel's moan reverberates on your skin as his hands grip so hard at your ass you think his fingers will remain there for days. 

he immediately sets a pace that has you squirming under him, breath choking up in your chest as you slide against the hardwood. the smell of the house is Joel - sandalwood, whiskey, pine. sex. 

your arms are tugged roughly. 

panic rises in you when you think you're about to slam your face against the floor, but as Joel pounds hard into you, he pulls your hands tight to your back, holding you up to you're suspended with just his cock working you open can keep you from falling. 

it's bliss. it's sharp, this angle; he hits into that spongy spot inside you as his cock drags against your pulsing walls, your hands clenching as your breath leaves you. 

one hand sneaks over your front, grasping at your tits as he reaches up into you deeply. then it snakes lower, rocking you forward as he swats at your clit, the sharp smack of his palm causing you to squeeeeeze around him, trapping him in your aching desire. he lets out a grunt, "fuckin'- jesus christ, girl, you're s-so tight."

the noises of your arousal swallowing his dick echo around the room in a sickening chorus. 

"dumb girl, lovin' it when I yell at her," he mutters to himself, chasing your high as he feels it spasming close around him. "gonna be o-obedient and thank me for each orgasm, 'kay?" his accent is thick in the throes of passion, you notice. 

you nod, unable to speak, unable to think as you feel the crest of something incredibly blissful; you let out a wheeze of ecstasy. "y-yes, s-sir," you choke, your voice croaking from the remnants of his dick wrecking you. 

you barely realize you're cumming until you’re screaming, a white-hot, searing arousal streaking your vision. tears are resurfacing on your eyes as he hums, "say it." 

you swallow, shakily squirming as he pounds into you, unforgiving in tone and pace. "than-thank you." 

it only takes a few more minutes and his thick hand squeezing your throat before you cum for a second time, your hands pulling at his hips, trying to escape the overstimulation of his long, dragging thrusts. the floor is slick with your juices, and so is his pubic bone. 

"thank you, s-sir." you slur out, his hand holding you by the throat against his chest, his heartbeat slamming just as fast as yours. 

soon he drops your arms, their shaky muscles barely stopping you as you fall to the floor. his chest follows you until he's smothering you, thrusts becoming weak with his own nearing orgasm. you cry, the overstimulation causing you to shake. "'s too much, too much." 

he hums, "you want me to stop?" 

"no!" you scream it, wail it; no, christ, don't stop. never stop. 

he chuckles; a dark, brooding noise. "an' you wonder why I think you're such a bad influence." he mutters into the shell of your ear as he pushes further, deeper into you; "lettin' an old man fuck you into the floor. lovin' it." 

he chuckles as you let out a whine, eyes screwing shut at the bursts of pleasure coursing through you. your knees ache.

"'s dirty, isn't it? and you love it, pretty girl." 

you let your cheek drop onto the hardwood at his ministrations, spent from your previous orgasms; the pet name makes you flush, arching your hips back. he's so deep, you feel him in your throat. each thrust pushes his tip into your cervix, a dull ache with a swirl of pleasure and ecstasy. you let out a groan, "love it, love it s'much. love it, sir, thank you." you whimper, your brain empty except for Joel Joel JoelJoel-

"good m-manners, sweet girl." he hums, pressing a hot kiss to your spine. goosebumps form in his wake, his words echoing in your brain. sweet girl. 

"you're gonna cum one more time." he orders, the thrusts of his hips grinding you down, melting you, tearing you. you nod, "yes, yes-yes, fuck, gonna-gonna cum again." you whimper, the painful overstimulation of his cock drilling through your spent, swollen folds. 

your third orgasm has you wailing, shaking your head as you convulse in pleasure, his strong grip holding your hips down as he hits your spot repeatedly, the noise of him fucking into you echoing through the foyer. 

there's tears on the floor as you shake, colors exploding behind your eyes as he whispers things you cannot hear into your ear. 

when you come to, he's still ravaging your body. 

you're limp, ecstasy flowing through your very being as his cock spears through you, hands smacking you, gripping you, grunts leaving his mouth as he nears his own orgasm, having pulled three from you. 

"where are your manners?" he whispers into your ear. you let out a broken half-laugh, half-gasp. "fuck- thank you, Joel, thank you." 

he hums in satisfaction and you swear you feel his cock twitch inside you as you utter his first name. 

he's back in your ear in seconds, surrounding you, swallowing you whole. you love it. 

"this is my pussy. mine." he grunts, "never think 'bout any other pussy. jus' this one. always." his voice is laced with desperation as he swats your ass, thrusting into you a few more times as you squirm, sobbing, throat raw. 

yours, you whimper in a chorus, body limp as he uses you; his thrusts are sloppy. he's so close- 

and he cums just as he's pulling out of you; you gasp at the loss but also as his cum shoots hot spurts across the plush curve of your ass, a bit onto your spine - most of it over your ruined pussy, streaking you in white. 

you pulse around nothing, shaking as your legs give out. he groans a deep thing, fingers falling to spread you open, the lewd noise soft and slick.

you jolt and he shushes you with a soft caress of your back. "jus' wanna see it, baby. wanna see how I ruined you." 

you swallow dryly at that, nodding as you tilt your hips, eager to feel his eyes over you, over all of you; eager for him. 

a finger smears his spend over your juices, pressing lightly at your puckered hole, pushing some of his cum back into you. "fuckin' christ, girl." 

you set out a laugh that turns into a cough of pain at the ragged state of your throat. 

he stands and leaves you on the cold floor, covered in sweat. you try not to let your heart deflate when he’s gone. 

but he returns with a rag and hands it to you before shucking his jeans on; you pull your underwear back on with shaky hands once you’ve wiped yourself clean, your body exhausted. 

you sigh. even the thought of making the trek just a few houses down to your own place is daunting as your eyes flutter. something in his eyes glint in understanding when your gazes meet each other, and he seems to get it. 

so if Joel gathers you in his arms with a grunt and a short complaint, you don't think too much about it. 

(you hate him. he hates you.)

and if he holds your head to his chest as he starts the walk back to your house, it’s not a big deal to you. 

when brings you up into your bedroom instead of leaving you at your front door as he finally carries you to your house, you chalk it up to you being nearly asleep. you must be delirious when he tucks you into your mattress and pulls your blankets up. you swear he mutters something about dinner and nice and good job. 

(what a cocky asshole.) 

it's probably a dream, when a hand caresses the sweaty skin of your forehead, brushing hair away gently before footsteps disappear through the doorway. 

. part three .

requests open

. 

#joel miller smut #joel x reader smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #Joel Miller #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #the last of us smut #the last of us x reader #the last of us #tlou spoilers #tlou fanfiction #the last of us (hbo) #the last of us (tv)

[chrollohearttags]

commissions corner: lesson learned

you always had a tendency to express yourself through fashion but your husband happens to not agree with one of your outfit choices (or your attitude) and decides, you need to be punished!

content warning + themes: cowboy!reiner, mean dom!rei (🤤 bc hello) black fem reader, calls reader slut, rough sex, bondage, clothes ripping, tit fucking, cumshot, spanking, backshots, fingering, spit play, creampie, dumbification, throat fucking, squirting, hair pulling, daddy is used.

word count: 6.5K

this is a commission for @naodreaming! Thank you so much for entrusting this fic to me. I appreciate your patience and do hope that it was worth the wait! Please enjoy 🫶🏾

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marriage: a beautiful conception of two people’s undying love. A bond binding two souls together in bliss for all of eternity. Some choose to solidify their unions with a mere court house appearance and the legal confirmation of a certificate. Others want to go all out with a ceremony, reception dinners, honeymoons..the works. But no matter how you choose to join together with your sweetheart, there is one thing all couples can agree on and that’s the fact that no relationship is perfect! As much as we’d like to think that it’s all sunshine and rainbows, it’s all about compromise, learning and getting out of your own ways. That much became apparent when one day, your husband of five years approached you about a matter that had been weighing heavily on his mind..and other things as well..

“Seriously, Rei? I don’t understand the big deal. It’s just a fucking skirt, who cares?”

“First of all, watch your mouth. I won’t say it again. Second, I care. No woman of mine is gonna be struttin ‘round here, dressed like that. What’s gotten into ya’ anyways, (Y/N)? This isn’t like you.”

This conversation was one that was ultimately inevitable but important nonetheless. What started out as a simple disagreement had escalated into something rather serious. The two of you had never fought or even raised your voices at each other since you’d been together. But now? You were ready to rip his fucking head off! How dare this man treat you like his child rather than his equal? You were livid!

“Because, Reiner! I’m a grown ass woman so don’t tell me what I can and can’t wear–” he truly couldn’t believe what he was hearing..how had his sweetheart of a woman become so aggressive? And over an outfit of all things?! But little did he know, this had been long overdue and the cause of such a breaking point? Well he’d be surprised to know..

flashback - two weeks ago

“(Y/N), come onnn..hurry up!”

“Just a minute. I’m trying to find something.”

It was a sentence they had heard uttered many times before. Honestly, it had become the norm when the four of you linked up for a girls night. You and your three best friends would go out once every couple weeks to play catch up in one another’s lives, divulge in juicy family and workplace gossip and just overall, decompress from kids, husbands and all other stress inducers that came with being an adult. As for you, you were the luckiest among the quartet. No children at the moment, running a successful cooking blog and spending your rancher hubby’s money at your leisure. Your only true occupation was to look pretty and be happy. Honestly, it was all that your sweet Reiner could ever hope for as he spent hours in the hot sun, rustling cattle, baling hay and keeping the one hundred plus acres of farmland in order. He’d work himself to the bone just to see a smile on that gorgeous face. To say he was twisted around your pretty little manicured fingers would be a gross understatement. Some would even call him whipped!..but how could he possibly help himself when you were the literal embodiment of a goddess? That curvaceous figure, deep, decadent skin and gorgeous eyes that could pry anything from him. He was smitten. Perhaps a bit too much sometimes..it was never in a toxic or obsessive manner but you’d be lying to yourself if you said that your husband didn’t have a bit of a jealous side to him. You had to admit, it was cute at times..seeing him get all flustered because some guy stared too hard or tried to hit on you and you’d politely turn them down, reminding them that you were taken and happily so. You’d remind him constantly that he was the only man you’d ever love. In fact, you were equally as infatuated. Practically unable to pull yourself away from him after he’s come home from working all day, drenched in sweat and scars from hauling heavy equipment. Admiring all of his newly acquired muscles..even adding to the collection of markings at the end of the night. But the one thing Reiner despised more than anything was sharing what was his. He loved when you showed off your body..dressing in frilly lingerie or tiny outfits but only when he’d be the sole spectator of said ensembles.

however, you had other plans for the night!

finally stepping from the shadows, heels clicking against the laminate flooring of your two story cabin style home, you’d present yourself to the group. “Okay, ladies. What do we think?” To your dismay though, it wouldn’t be praise or approval you’d be receiving from the other three standing in your living room at the moment. But rather snickers and waves of dismissal. Standing dumbfounded with your purse in hand, (Y/N) questioned what the trio so tickled.

“Girl, we’re going to the lounge for drinks and to dance. Not for praise and worship.”

“Right. Girl, put them damn kitten heels and granny skirts back in that closet.”

Taking one more look over your outfit, you’d try to see what was so wrong with your choice of attire but had no idea. A simple black dress with red bottom slingbacks and a clutch..a sleek and classic look for a grown and sexy night out. But perhaps, this was far too grown. Almost grown enough to be collecting social security! It was outdated and a little old fashioned. Especially when they were all dressed in skin tight bodycon dresses and heels higher than heaven. It would completely throw off the vibe. But they knew the real reason for such a look and needless to say, they didn’t like it. Out of respect for your husband, you tended to dress more modestly when going out with the ladies. It wasn’t a matter of control or fear that made you do so..but one night when you came home with your ass hanging out and tits bouncing around in a revealing top, Reiner couldn’t take his eyes or hands off of you. You looked amazing but after he finished peeling those thin layers off of you and devouring you right there on the couch, you could tell that there was a sense of sadness that had washed over him. He didn’t outwardly say it and he was even a little bashful when admitting it but you got it out of him and what he had to say truly broke your heart:

“Ahh..I don’t know, sugar. It’s just..ya’ look so beautiful and I know how happy it makes ya’ to wear those out with your girls but it makes me a little uncomfortable, ya know? I don’t ever wanna tell ya’ what to do. I trust you and I’m not worried about some other guy but..if ya’ could just tone it back a little..”

he was so sweet about it, you couldn’t help but to comply! It crushed you to think that you’d ever upset your beloved husband. Especially when he was so good to you. And trust, when it was for his viewing pleasure only, you’d have him sweating bullets but for now? You could make that sacrifice. Little did you know, you’d become the laughing stock amongst your group because of it. Ushering her way over to you, one of the friends would drape an arm around your shoulder and breathe a sigh.

“Sis, you know I ain’t trying to cause problems with you and your man but don’t you think this is a bit much? I mean, honestly. I think it’s cute that you’re trying to be the good little wife and all but be for real..this is not your style. You and I both know that.”

before you could even utter a word, another would interject and second the notion. They didn’t want to be those friends who planted bugs in your ear and caused turmoil in your home but they felt as though Reiner may have been asking too much of you. Considering that it was that skin tight attire that bagged in the first place! Hell, when you first met him, you were straddling a mechanic bull in booty shorts and a crop top. A belly button dangling from your pudgy stomach and that ass sitting so heavy, he fucked on the first night. So they didn’t understand the need for reservation now. And the more they spoke..neither did you.

“Yeah, boo. I ain’t wanna say nothing but this whole First Lady thing you got goin on is not it. Girl, you used to have your foot on these bitches’ necks when we went out. Everybody was looking at you and now? You're dressing like Olivia Pope with a hennessy bottle. It’s crazy.”

you knew they meant well but truthfully, they were overreacting..or so you thought! In a moment of haste and you trying to explain the choice of outfit, they would spin you around to the full length mirror and allow you to observe for yourself. “C’mon y'all. You’re making a big deal out of nothing–” but as you saw firsthand, they were not. And this whole frumpy look was a total buzzkill. Feeling up the fabric, you couldn’t believe it..right now, it felt as if you were staring at an entirely different woman. It was a much needed intervention for you and you decided right then and there, that although you loved your husband more than life itself, this had to end. You didn’t carefully curate your closet and have women all around the city jealous of your wardrobe to be dressed like someone’s auntie. Enough was enough!

“You know what? I’ll be right back. Screw this..” and with those affirmations, you turned on your two inch heels and promptly changed.

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fast forward, and now..you were in the midst of a heated argument for your liberation to wear what you pleased. After one of your friends posted a video to their instagram story of you shaking your ass and them smacking it whilst out for a night on the town. But the worst part was when the skirt lifted and you flashed the camera with your barely clothed cunt. The story was spotted by one of their husbands who promptly told Reiner and needless to say, things got a little out of control. He wasn’t hellishly irate but he damn sure wasn’t happy! Confronting you with the footage, he asked a simple question:

“What the fuck is this, (y/n)? Why is yer’ damn ass all over your friend’s Instagram?” Which couldn’t exactly be taken seriously upon first asking with that thick country accent but as you saw he wasn’t joking, you promptly straightened him. “Babe, I don’t know what you’re talking about, seriously. What video did you see?” and once he showed you the clip, it was from up there! You were just as astounded as he was..you didn’t even know that your friends had even filmed you in such a state. But that's besides the point..

“..you promised, (y/n). Now I look like a damn fool because you had to go around dressing like that.” His words stung like sharp daggers because you’d never heard or seen him so irate. But honestly? You didn’t give a damn about his hurt feelings. Not when you were the one looking foolish, all for his sake! “Yes Rei, I did! But I didn’t sign up to be in the club dressed like somebody’s grandma at Sunday Service. I wore the exact same clothes when you met me so what’s the big deal all of a sudden?” Truth be told, he sounded jealous and insecure but as he paced the bedroom floor, shirtless and donning gray sweats, he’d offer up another explanation. One far more annoying than your own conclusion. Either way, you didn’t care and wasn’t going to change shit! You were a grown woman and you also had a father so you didn’t need his ass trying to be your parent. He was being incredibly unreasonable right now. But you’d soon find out just how serious he was about his request…

“I’m not gonna argue with you anymore, (y/n). This conversation is done. Tell her to delete that and I better not catch you in that again.”

because he was no longer asking but rather telling you what his expectation was. However, you couldn’t be vexed to listen and was determined or whatever you pleased. Smacking your lips, you’d snatch the skirt up from the bed and strut past him without so much as a second thought. “Got me fucked up..I’ll be back later—“ but alas, you’d come to find out that your husband was not interested in your disrespectful attitude. With a hand cradled to the back of your neck, Reiner would tug you towards him and halt you immediately in your tracks. It caught you completely off guard; mainly because he had never grabbed or even touched you in such a way. There wasn’t a lot of force behind it but it was very assertive. Something not typical for your doting, sweet husband. “What is your problem?!” He didn’t even waste time trying to answer or explain shit to you and rather..tossed you to the bed. His behavior had you so off kilt, not even you could form the correct words to express. All you could do was turn around and stare at him in complete surprise. However, he’d have plenty to say..enough for the both of you!

“My problem? Oh sweetheart…you haven’t seen problems yet..” muttering through gritted teeth with a faint smirk on his lips. Not once in the entirety of your relationship had your man ever looked so irate. There seemed to be a dormant fire lit within his eyes and your last outburst had served as the unfortunate catalyst for that impending blaze. He was angry..no, he was fucking pissed! Here he was trying to reason with you and you all but spat in his face when he asked for basic respect. Whatever or whoever had caused you to act this way had landed you in a world of trouble that you had no chance of getting out of right now! Returning that grasp back to your throat, he’d snatch your head from the mattress and grimace in your ear.. “don’t even think about moving from this fucking bed. You don’t speak, breathe or even move without my permission. Got it?” And something told you it was in your best interest to comply. “Nod.” Only allowing the command for a split moment before slamming your head back down. “Good girl.” It was something about the abrupt dominance and control that had driven you into a submissive headspace at will. That and the fact that he looked as if he were ready to go on a rampage. You knew your husband and you knew that he wouldn’t so much as hurt a fly but you had truly tested his patience and he was done with the mild mannered gestures. If you didn’t want to listen, then he’d make you in his own way…starting by restricting your limbs. Ensuring that you couldn’t do anything without his explicit permission.

“Just in case you want to get any bright ideas, darling..” reaching over across you, Reiner retrieved the leather strap he had used to fasten his Wranglers earlier in the afternoon. He’d used the belt as a makeshift collar to keep you in place. Stringing it around your neck as somewhat of a leash and binding your hands with a pair of your panties behind your back. With your face buried in the mattress, you’d find yourself ringling around instinctively; more so to feign off the urges arising between your legs. You’d never admit it but it certainly turned you on to be handled like this. Even so, your husband could give a damn less about your enjoyment. He was determined to prove a point and drill into that thick skull of yours. Chewing at your lower lip, (y/n) would be met with the harsh slap of his rough, calloused hands; making direct contact with your bubbly cheeks. “Didn't I tell ya’ no moving unless I say so?” That deep southern drawl ringing out into your ear as he stood behind you. That burly, muscular frame half nude and well on its way to being completely in the buff. He had plans prior, however..to get you stripped first.

“Damnit, pound cake…just what am I going to do with you?…” rhetorically posing the question, and knowing damn well better than to hear a response in return, because you’d surely regret it if he did! So sitting obediently…reaching the blatant epiphany that you had bitten off far more than you could chew. He was no mood in to talk or fight so he’d opt for the next best thing and that was fucking you until every bit of frustration had left his body!

“I think I know where to start..”

the sound of his voice sent shivers creeping up your spine because it wasn’t becoming of your husband and rather a man who was ready to eat you alive. Suddenly, you’d feel the sharp tug of that belt and your head raise from the mattress. In a moment’s notice, the two of you had switched positions and you found yourself near the floor and Reiner was seated in your place. “On your knees..hurry up.” The gruffly sound of his voice sharp and stern, a clear indication that he wasn’t playing anymore. You’d be met with the snap of his fingers and a sharp pull yet again when you didn’t move fast enough for his liking. But it was effective because you were now seated before him like an obedient pet. Awaiting his every word and order. There was a certain air of dominance about him..an energy that exuded confidence and set his dominion over you. That beard formed and shaped perfectly around his face, his voice deep..grovely from being tired and earlier years of smoking cigarettes. You’d never seen your precious Reiner look so roguish…but you loved it! Bringing a hand up to your face, he’d slowly circulate near your chin with a thumb brushing across your lips. Parting them, admiring the beautiful shape..the plumpness and darkish hue surrounding the pouty pink center. He could sit here all night and gaze at them. But alas, he felt they served a much better purpose at the moment. Shoving that thumb between them, he’d glide it into your mouth, allowing you to suckle. A mere preview of what was to come moments later. Those doe eyes fixated on him, nearly breaking his resolve right there but he was determined not to falter but instead, teach you a much needed lesson. “Mmm…nice and slow. Suck on my fingers.” Swiftly adding an additional one to the fray, allowing the second and third digits to become sucked in by your jaws. In essence, he was stretching them out. Preparing the orifice for his use..for his much deserved pleasure.

whilst he did so, he’d use the opposite hand that was still brandishing your leash to work the elastic of his waistband down until that erection was free from its confines. A tiny dampened spot had formed on the outside from what you assumed to be precum. Truthfully, it didn’t take much for him to become aroused in your presence. Hell, even with fury in his eyes, he was still madly infatuated with you. But he had to be steadfast if he was going to make his point. Prying those jaws open with his index and middle digits, Reiner pulled them apart whilst bucking his hips forward and promptly shoving himself inside. The swollen tip of his cock resting idly on your tongue before he began to push further. The faint ‘pop’ when he reached past your first row of teeth. Eventually, his grasp would tighten on that belt and your head would begin to snatch back and forth… faint gurgling arising once he sped up. It seemed as if he was in an entirely different zone right now..one you had undoubtedly put him into..

“Hey, look up…”

the stern command followed by a yank on that leash..which in turn led to your eyes being stretched beyond their limits to ensure that your full attention was devoted to him.

“There we go, sugar…now stay still and let me use that pretty little throat..” by this time, Reiner was steadfast in using you for his full, unadulterated pleasure. Pounding into that oral cavity with brute force until you started to emit strings of saliva..he’d send them rolling down your chin as he thrusted upwards into your mouth. “Fuuuck…that slutty little mouth of yours is good for something..” taking the opportunity to not only jab at you but establish your place for the time being. But alas, it seemed that not even he could withstand the pressure of your jaws coiled around him and withdrew with haste. Taking the sides of your face into his calloused palms, he’d examine the aftermath of his work with a proud smile. Spit smeared all around your face and a glare that signaled you being in a daze..such a pretty sight. By then, the remnants of your sloppy face fucking had trickled down to your breasts and needless to say, he was rather aroused by the sight. So much so, his cock would twitch on instinct. However, his work was far from finished..

“On your feet..I’m not done with you..”

on one hand, you wanted to test your luck right now and defy, talk out of turn for one final plea of forgiveness. On the other, you wanted to obey his every command. Follow through and be good because truth be told, you loved this side of him. This passionate aggression that stemmed only from a place of pure infatuation and love for you. He was sending a message: you were his and no one else’s. They could stare and admire all they wanted but at the end of the day, he was the only one that deserved to see you in such a light. It was a nasty habit of his..jealousy and insecurity but not to an extensive degree. Either way, you rose to your feet with a grin on your lips that truly couldn’t have been helped. Upon standing up, he’d take a moment to glance over your body..the vulnerable and submissive state you were in pleased him far more than he was letting on. In hindsight, he could’ve just allowed you to go out with your girls sporting the skimpy fit, because nine times out of ten, you would’ve came back intoxicated and ready to fuck him silly anyways but this done just fine!..

“Damnit, baby..you have no idea what you do to me..making me act all crazy…”

muttering through deep grunts, sucking his teeth as those erect nipples peaked through the fishnet top you were sporting underneath your shirt for the planned ensemble. Instead he was met with the flimsy material and your big, voluminous breasts. He’d pinch one nipple and suck at the other like a man starved. He was ravenous..wanting to take claim of each orifice on your body. But for now, those tits were his only fixation. After groping you to his leisure, he’d tear open that thin shirt and send them bouncing out. He was so unhinged at the moment, he couldn’t decide what and where he wanted to take you next. Suddenly, he’d shove three fingers between your lips, thrusting them back and forth until he cast out more gurgling noises and trails of spit, which promptly glided down to your chest. “Oh my gosh…” muttering through your pacified state..Reiner couldn’t help but to release another primal grunt. Becoming so turned on by your current appearance. “That’s my pretty little slut…choke on those fucking fingers.”

sharply snatching your head back, you’d come up gasping and glaring at him with somewhat of a smile. By now, that erect member was twitching; spouting precum from the tip..you were afraid he’d burst any minute! “You like that, huh? You like when I treat you like this, don’t you?” Grasping your chin in one hand and tugging at the belt with the other. He’d give you two solid taps across the cheek whilst choking you. The way your tongue splayed out and your face beamed with excitement..the answer to his question was blatantly obvious…

“Y-yes!” “Yes, what?..” questioning once more in that stern tone. “Yes, daddy..I love it.” Which seemed to satisfy his ego well enough. Even so, he wasn’t finished by a long shot. He couldn’t stop until the lesson was good and instilled in that cute little head of yours..that you didn’t run a damn thing around here! “Good girl..that’s what I wanna hear..” rewarding you shortly thereafter with a kiss. The only moment of compassion he’d displayed since starting. Taking hold of your breasts again, he’d place those big hands on either side before scooting closer and maneuvering his cock in between them. “Oh fuck..look at that, baby..yes..” whispering almost to himself, enamored with how those round, perky breasts just cradled him so nicely. That supple flesh squished around his shaft and massaged the skin. Almost as if they were made for him. He’d buck his hips up, groaning and whimpering the further he went..he could tell by the glint in your eyes that you were enjoying this equally as much. His obedient little slut..allowing him to take you as he saw fit. He was glad that you hadn’t complied and gave him such grief because it made this all the more fun..not to be mistaken, he’d never want to harm his sweet, precious wife but something told him that you liked this side of his personality. The only that was willing to get so out of character behind you, he’d surprise both you and himself. Speeding up those sharp strokes, Reiner bucked his hips, commanding you to drool the entire time. Your brain had practically gone blank, only following his commands from here forth. “Shit!..’m gonna come, baby. Hold still—“ what followed was a loud grunt and spouting of his warm seed all across your face and tits, making for a beautiful sight. He’d take a moment to examine his handy work; even pinching your nipples once more..

“Look at you..so pretty covered in my cum..” sticking his thumb between your lips yet again; causing an innocuous stare as those doe eyes fixated on him. Without another word, he’d snatch you up and pull you by the arm the rest of the way until that cute little torso was splayed over his lap. His knees resting in your tummy until he gets you adjusted… “Rei…please..” Your shrill cries served as nothing more than menial noise, going in one ear and right out of the next. He didn’t care how loud you whimpered, moaned or cried. It was of none of his concern..so as long as you continued doing as he asked. “We’ve talked about this, darling..don’t open that mouth again until I tell you—“ the sentence ended with a sharp smack to your ass, which made you yelp. “You lost that privilege when you decided to embarrass me for your little friends. You’re not in control. Do I make myself clear?” His voice was so deep and menacing, almost as if he were another person at the moment. Squirming around; antsy at the sensation of him treating you like a mere object. Responding with a nod..he’d smirk and take hold of your leash again, reeling up his opposite hand to spank you.

“Good, now count.” The first hit came down colliding with your asscheeks, causing you to jolt but the number came out. “O-one.” The next followed, getting even harder than the previous one. You were trying to stay still but the stinging sensations were making you inconsolable. Not because they were painful. But because they felt so fucking good! All of this felt euphoric..surreal even. Your precious, sweet Rei fucking you like a mere whore? It was more than you could imagine. Trying to conceal your smile, (y/n) resumed counting and had reached five when he paused momentarily. He wanted to take a second and examine your body. Truly admire those curves, those lines and flawless skin. He loved how perfectly that ass sat and how it jiggled as soon as his hand made contact. He loved that you barely even contained a gag reflex even when he was forcefully fucking your throat and the fact that you were a dripping mess from all of these antics! It was no wonder that he wanted you to himself. It seemed that his hardcore method of foreplay and revenge had gotten you so turned on..it was pooling around his leg.

“You like this, don’t you…your pussy’s ‘s wet, yer’ dripping down my fucking leg. At least try to pretend to have some shame, baby.”

cackling to himself as he gave you two hard smacks consecutively. From the look on your face, that much was blatantly obvious! You couldn’t fake it anymore and he certainly couldn’t pretend that he was still angry. He just needed you in the worst way right now.. “Don’t worry..lucky f’r you, I’m not good at holding back either. So let’s just cut the bullshit and get what we both want..”

for the first time since this entire ordeal, Reiner would gently caress you; handling you with far more care than he had prior. However, it wasn’t going to last for long because once he got you onto the bed, tearing open your tights, it was game. Your husband would swiftly saddle up behind you, grasping your ass and hips..kneading his fingers into the soft flesh as a means to saddle up behind you. Once he did, you’d outstretch your cuffed wrists, gripping at the sheets and subtly shake your ass..letting him know that this pussy was his for the taking! “But first, I need to hear ya’ beg..tell me how bad you need it, baby..” with a wide beam, lips curled up..Reiner took the opportunity to just sit and admire that soft ripple whilst you pleaded for him. As well as teasing himself against your slit. “Please..fuck me. Give me all that dick, baby..” and without haste, he’d grant your wish. “Well since you asked so nicely..” cackling softly before easing himself inside. The initial sensation caused an audible gasp to erupt from both of you. The feeling was insurmountable as it had also been a week since the two of you had engaged in any sexual activities and needless to say, the tension of this situation, along with the buildup was going to make this all the more satisfying. In that moment, Reiner’s head would fall forward as he mounted you with a foot placed into the mattress and yours would simultaneously become pulled backwards by your hair. “Oh fuck!…” crying out in pleasure when those thrusts inevitably began. Those puffy lips and tight flesh immediately took hold of him; gripping around his cock and emitting a sheath of cream. Smacking noises soon ensued and your mellifluous moans would join the noisy fray. Placing a thumb in between your bubbly cheeks, he’d reign you in and guide you back and forth as he saw fit. “C’mon, take it. Take it like a good little slut.” With all that you had, you’d manage to take hold of the sheets as a form of leverage and comfort. Gripping them and a nearby pillow to stifle your moans but you’d soon learn that his grace had sadly run out! “Did I tell ya’ you could bite that fuckin’ pillow? Let me hear you, darling. All that mouth ya’ had earlier.. ‘matter fact…say it.” His words spewing like venom from a snake’s mouth, he’d hiss into your ear whilst now reigning you in by the neck. “Tell me yer’ sorry. Right now.” And from the immense pressure of the brutal fucking; each one harder than the last and hitting your sensitive spot with precision, you had no choice but to cave.

“ ‘m sorry, daddy! So fucking sorry..oh my gosh!” Your legs were quaking, only mere seconds from collapsing to the bed as he drilled you into the mattress. He was akin to that of a rabid animal, mounting and claiming its prey..even huffing and grunting. It was apparent that the two of you were nearing your peaks and there was no slowing down. That fertile cunt gripping him and refusing to let go. That swollen dick stretching your insides..it was only a matter of time. “C’mon, baby…give me what I want. Do it..” and there was no question of what ‘it’ was: that inevitable rain of sticky, warm juices that came splattering down your thighs, the sheets and his shaft. “Sh-shit! Oh my gosh…” falling flat to the mattress, unable to support your weight, he’d promptly get you into a prone bone position and continue thrusting until he too reached that climatic threshold. Veins had begun protruding from his forehead and his grasp was slipping but he’d hold out long enough just to pump twice more..

“Ohhhh…fuck..”

repressing the words in a low growl before it ascended into a higher pitch as that second load came pouring out. A rope of steamy, white fluid flowed into your womb. Even earning your encouragement. “Come in me..just like that…” the ever so sultry command caused him to twitch as he finished out his orgasm. It was apparent that he was spent and very much over whatever grief you had caused him. Damn that photo, damn that skirt and damn your homegirls..this was the only place either of you wanted to be! Outside interferences or people no longer mattered. Reaching around to unlatch your throat and those wrists from their bondage, your normal, doting husband had flipped you over to examine you..ensuring that you were okay.

“C’mere. Lemme look at you..” caressing your face with loving strokes. That was the man you knew and loved. Always so attentive and empathetic. After coming down from both of your highs, you’d wind up entangled in a very passionate makeout session. “Are you okay, sugar? You know I’d never want to hurt ya..’” “Much better, baby..listen, I’m so sorry, Rei. I should’ve never worn that stupid outfit. I knew how much it hurt your feelings and I should’ve respected that.” But once again, he no longer cared. None of that mattered. All that he wanted was for you to know just how much he cared for you.. “..don’t worry ‘yerself about that. I love you and nothing could change the way I feel about you, sweetheart.” You were glad to know that all was forgiven but it was safe to say..

that your lesson was learned!

#commissions corner #commissions #writing commissions #aot x black reader #reiner x reader #reiner braun #reiner smut #reiner braun smut #aot reiner #attack on titan reiner #snk reiner #aot au #aot modern au #modern au #black fem reader #cowboy reiner #reiner x y/n #reiner x you #reiner x black reader #reiner #aot smut #attack on titan #attack on titan smut #aot reader insert #snk smut #snk au #cw choking #cw spit #cw smut #cw sex mention

[cagesofgold]

eren jaeger headcanons <3

🎵teenage fever - Drake 🎧

His favorite way to unwind is to play with your hair. Due to having longer hair himself he’s grown accustomed to the different skill sets required to craft different hair styles, and actually, is really good at it. His fingers are lithe and nimble and are able to weave through strands with ease.

He drives an all black car with tinted windows, and has a polaroid of you in a photo booth with him on your first date in a plastic case hanging from his rear view mirror.

he also always makes sure to keep your favorite snacks in the car, as he’s a guy who’s bound to text you at 2am asking bout some “you up for a drive?” 💀

in terms of tattoos despite popular belief, i personally think he’d keep it on the minimal side. He’d maybe have some on his arms - or a sleeve, but he likes to keep them tidy. Although, he is one of those guys that would have that tiktok thirst trap spider on his chest or adjacent to his v line…..

this mf smells gooooood, he’s so paranoid about smelling bad because of Jean saying he smelt like a burning pile of bodies in high school and hasn’t been able to shake the fear since.

despite not being overly adorned in tattoos he does like piercings. He’s got about five on his ears and has a nose piercing but he always forgets about it.

loves reality shows. A few months into your relationship he noticed you watching them and acted with his full chest that he had no interest, yet as the weeks rolled by he somehow got closer and closer to the couch and before you knew it he was fully shouting over Lisa Rinna. (You’ve also seen him following over 30 housewives from the different shows on instagram…)

cannot stand metal music because he spent his entire childhood covering his ears from where it bled from under Mikasa’s door. (Otherwise he’d probably enjoy it)

he’d dress quite simply, mainly with blacks and whites and would sometimes mix and match with some red or green, but i don’t think he’s as ambitious as some of his friends fashion wise, but he still looks good as hell.

his favorite holiday is with out a doubt halloween, is some of this because he spent so long as a child building the most elaborate scares for the kids on his street? maybe. but he also likes autumn as a season so that has something to do with it.

doesn’t get along with his dad too well but is a total mamas boy. He visits her at least twice a month considering they live in different cities.

is a cat person, but when he was younger he liked dogs more as according to him they were “much radder” - his own words 💀, but as he got older and became more subdued he developed a preference for cats.

has anxiety that he manages to hide, he wasn’t used to being comforted and it took a while for him to fully open up to you.

despite smoking weed with Jean and connie almost every other day he still makes a dramatic scene any time Zeke lights a cigarette around him, i’m talking coughing and clutching his chest, Zeke’s standing there like this 🧍‍♀️waiting for him to stop his fucking shenanigans.

if you want to go out with Eren Jaeger prepare to be a victim of the sassy man apocalypse, because my god, this man is relentless, and the SIDE EYE on this mf is ridiculous. He could knock down an army with his sass alone.

takes good care of his hair, oils it twice a week and does hair masks in order to keep it soft and shiny. He can’t have his gorgeous girl going out with some guy with brittle, greasy ass hair…

goes to the gym but doesn’t like it very much. he goes most days for at least an hour but never posts gym pics on his instagram or anything, he just has no interest apart from maintaining his body.

cannot sleep without you. he can try, sure, but he’ll never be successful. Before you both decided to move in together he was at your house every night, nuzzled against your body with light breaths slipping from his lips, which sparked the conversation, why not just move in, you’re here everyday anyway?

tends to bottle things up, and if something is bothering him you will have to work it out of him slowly…but he’s trying, for you he’s trying.

his lock screen is a photo of you asleep against his chest, he just thought you looked so peaceful.

gets embarrassingly competitive in just dance, threw a Wii at Connie once because he made him lose a perfect score on timber.

finally, he loves stargazing, especially with you. He’ll take you out to a deserted street, a bag full of snacks and a joint as you both lay on the hood of his car, chatting about whatever comes to mind, and it’s at those moments, when his eyes focus on the slope of your nose and the shape of your mouth, that he feels a warmth inside him he’s never felt before. <3

#attack on titan eren #eren jaeger fluff #eren aot #eren x you #eren x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren yeager #eren fanfiction #eren x y/n #eren fluff #aot x you #aot x reader

[nightdiary]

last night's story (jake) – preview

word count: estimated 15-20k genre: surfer!jake, friends to enemies to lovers, angst, attempt at humor, fluff, eventual smut author's note: the odysseus concept demon got my ass. i cannot get surfer jake out of my mind so this was born .. whew! let me know if you'd like to be added to a tag list for when this is released <3 FULL STORY HAS BEEN POSTED!

summary: lured by the prospect of earning a couple extra bucks for the summer, you head north to man your aunt's surf shop on australia's sunshine coast. it's a visit that reacquaints you with everything you've been running from– old friends, abandoned memories, and one unforgettable jake sim.

“You should come watch me at the state titles next week,” Jake leans over the counter, propping himself up on his elbows and fixing you with an impish look. The movement sends a few droplets from his fringe landing by your hands, and he sheepishly apologizes before reaching out to wipe them away.

Instinctively, you want to reach out and shove his forehead with your fingers, but you have to remind yourself that this isn’t the same Jake you’d grown up with. Whatever you’d once had was left decaying in the past.

“Sure,” you say, ignoring the nagging warmth in your chest. Feigning nonchalance, you busy yourself with tapping on the checkout screen of the iPad, if only to give your hands something to do other than to fidget with your shirt. “Me and how many other chicks?”

Jake laughs good-naturedly, but the momentary lapse of insecurity in his voice isn’t lost on you. You feel guilty for just a moment, but don’t allow yourself to dwell on it. As you finalize his order on the screen, you look up to find Jake already looking back at you, almost expectantly.

“Your total’s $270.59.”

Jake’s face falters the slightest bit, but you don’t think it’s because of the ridiculously high price. “Does that factor in the ‘good friend discount’?”

The phrase makes something sour flood in your mouth, and you resist the urge to scowl. The receipt machine prints out his total, and you rip the paper out with more force than admitted necessarily. You nearly slam it down on the counter in front of Jake, peering up at his shocked face through your lashes. “Yea? What’s my favorite color, Jake?”

Noticeably taken aback, Jake’s confident demeanor slips away as easily as a receding wave. He stutters around his next sentence, and you try not to let your satisfaction show as you open the register. Jake looks down as he counts through the bills in his wallet, pulling out several and passing them timidly across the surface. “Uh–, well, hmm. Something… blue? Wasn’t it blue?”

“I hate blue,” you spit the lie out a bit too quickly, and hope Jake can’t see right through you. You accept the bills you’re handed with pursed lips, slipping them into your register and handing back the few cents you owe him.

“You don’t,” Jake answers immediately, not bothering to reach out and pocket the change. “You love blue. That light seafoam shade you see on the shore. Used to say it reminded you of summer.”

Despite how much you want to disagree, your throat feels all dry and your eyes are stinging and you don’t think you can bear to look at Jake much longer without saying something regretful. But something about letting him think he still knows you makes your fists clench and gut boil.

“People change,” you say with an air of finality. “I changed. You changed.”

Jake takes his bag and steps back from the counter with the expression of a kicked puppy. He looks back at you like he wants to say something, something long left untouched, and you resist the urge to hide behind your counter and stuff your ears with cotton.

You feel naked and vulnerable– like Jake has carefully stripped away every last layer of your defenses and he can see the rotting remains of everything you didn’t say. You hate how he looks at you, like he knows exactly what’s going through your mind and the inner monologue you’ve been fighting since you first met him. Like he still knows you in and out, despite moving away and changing every last bit of yourself that reminded you of him.

“Thanks for shopping with us,” the smile you give him is anything but warm, and you shut the register with a bang that echoes around the shop. “Have a good rest of your day, Jake.”

likes and reblogs greatly appreciated ♥

#nightdiary.writes #enhypen #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen fic #jake sim fluff #jake sim x reader #jake sim smut #enhypen drabbles #enhypen hard hours #enhypen jake #jake imagines #heeseung x reader #sunghoon x reader #jongseong x reader #enhypen smut #enhypen scenarios #enhypen headcanons #enhypen fanfiction #sim jaeyun x reader #sim jaeyun fluff

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

Could you do the mercs with an s/o who is like- almost comically short?

Oh boy wouldn’t it be a shame if this anon asked me to do a size difference nsfw headcanons one next? Wink wink.

Mercs with an S/O who’s a small menace to society

WARNING: Older bigger men bullying the ever living shit out you. (kinda hot though?)

Scout:

- Scout will not hesitate to make fun of you at every given moment. He’s a decently tall dude so he’ll manhandle you a lot. Holding you in his arms like a personal teddy bear. Overall walking around with you in his arms.

- You bite his arms when you’re bored and he flinches and goes “Ow! What are you? A fuckin’ goblin?!” (Doesn’t he know? The smaller you are, the closer you are to hell.)

- “I could probably slug you into the stratosphere y’know.” He says. You don’t want to test that theory.

- When he’s upset he’ll pick you up, go into his quarters and lay there with you in his arms. Just like the aforementioned teddy bear analogy. If you’re screeching and biting like a fucked up chihuahua that doesn’t deter him.

————————————————————————

Soldier:

- Keeps giving you petnames like “Boot.” “Little one.” “Rat bastard.” (Ignore that last one.) and cheesy shit like that. Treats you how a rich middle aged white woman would treat her teacup pig. You’re being strapped to his back in a baby carrier while he rocket jumps.

- Gets incredibly rough with you on purpose. He likes seeing your squeaks and angry reactions. This guy definitely has a height difference thing. Throws you at enemy lines at like mach 20 knowing full well you’ll shred them like a fucking gremlin. Or stuffs you into his rocket launcher. Pick your evil.

- Lies about you being younger in order to pay less in restaurants. He somehow gets away with this 90 percent of the time. Spy is kind of envious that he didn’t even think of that.

- “NO! WAIT! DONT SHOOT! HANGFIRE! CHILD ON BATTLEFIELD!” He raises you above his head. You’re unbelievably pissed. You’re a grown ass adult. But the enemy lines somehow hesitate which abides him time to blow everyone up. He has no reason to be this smart about your height.

——————————————————————-

Demoman:

- The first time he saw you he burst out laughing. Really hard. Like nearly fell over and shit. He couldn’t stop laughing like actually. It took him days to even approach you properly and finally call you adorable.

- Picks you up when you can’t reach something off the top shelf and instead of helping you get it, he just sits you atop the shelf and leaves you there. They have to call either Heavy or Sniper in order to get you down.

- You take advantage of your height and perch on his shoulders like a parrot. The other mercs don’t understand why Demoman has a pet gremlin.

- “Er’ is my crotch goblin Y/N. They’re gonna bite your dick off if ye cap this point lad!” You can’t say you disagree with that.

————————————————————————

Engineer:

- A romantic partner whose tinier than him? Sign him the fuck up. Cradles you like a baby and kisses your head. Bounces you on his lap to soothe you. Expect a lot of sitting outside on the rocking chair at night while he rocks you in a blanket.

- You make grabby hands to him for uppies and he feels like he’s not allowed to say no. “Aww, sugarplum…” He cooes, setting down whatever he was working on and lifting you up into his arms. He might tickle your tummy if you’re fine with that :)

- Picks you up by the scruff of your uniform like a mother cat when you’re misbehaving. He will stare in amusement if you struggle.

- “Careful outside on the Badlands, darlin.. Never know when one of ‘em damn condors might be circling you.” You can’t decide if you want to kiss this man or kill him.

———————————————————————-

Heavy:

- You’re literally so small he’s scared of accidentally stepping on you or something. Always has to wiggle his way around you in the base corridors and mutter what you assume to be an apology in Russian. What you don’t know is that he’s actually cursing out the Administrator for hiring such a tiny Merc. What if you get squashed by falling debris or something?

- HE PICKS YOU UP WITH ONE HAND. YOU ARE IN HIS FUCKING FIST. YOU ARE BEING HELD LIKE AN ICE CREAM CONE.

- Treats you like a fucking stress ball. scoops you up in his hands and squishes your cheeks. Lays you on his lap like a small kitten belly up. No amount of biting or awful demon noises will ever convince him to do otherwise. Chuckles lovingly at your tiny anger. “Little, little, little. Tiny like the ant.” He baby talks you.

- Due to your height it’s impossible to bother him. Unlike the others. You can gnaw at his ankles and scratch at his chest but he remains unmoved like a large boulder. Threatens to splat you against the wall like one of those rubber toys and turn you into a pancake.

——————————————————————-

Pyro:

- In his point of view you’re actually terrifying. He doesn’t know why. But you stand out from the rest in their beloved Pyroland. You’re a creature from the primordial depths of hell that has come to eat their soul. You’re uncanny as shit.

- When they meet you for the first time it takes for godamn ever for the Mercs to finally figure out why Pyro was behaving so erratically and out of character. Engineer finally convinces poor Pyro to speak to you and it doesn’t end up in vain. You’re actually a pleasant scary monster.

- Spies don’t scare them. Pyro can kill spies with no effort. But you? Holy shit. Sometimes he doesn’t hear you come up behind them and this usually leads to Pyro spontaneously crying because you startled them. (Your team’s Spy is VERY envious of this.)

- You think this is great! You decide to play a prank on them by crawling on all fours down the dark hallway. Pyro looks like a deer in headlights. All tensed up like a cat attempting to look bigger. Two seconds later the entire base is on fire. You have to explain yourself to the other Mercs how this happened and it’s embarrassing.

- Whenever you kill someone on the battlefield it’s horrific shrieking mixed in with fleshy eating sounds.

—————————————————————-

Sniper:

- Calls you stuff like “Baby bear.” Mostly because he purposely holds you like a mama koala in his camper van’s bed and in the sniper nests. You cling to his lap and listen to his heartbeat while he scopes out the window.

- Same as scout to some extent. Carries you around wherever he goes and holds you like a plush doll. “Easy there on the lil’ daggers, mate.” You keep digging into his skin to hold steady.

- Growls at you when you bite him. Something about you both is evil and animalistic. Bites you back on your “scruff” when you bother him too much. He wants to shake you around in his teeth like a fucking chewtoy but he knows full well that might accidentally kill you. Has straight up cute aggression around you.

- Sniper your furry is showing. Helen, get yo fuckin dog bitch.

——————————————————————

Medic:

- “Well it seems you stopped growing at a certain age. That typically is due to genetics and other factors.” He says after looking at X-rays of your finger bones. Tracing his finger over the image of your growth plates as he squints to see better. He fixes his glasses back up on his nose and scratches his chin.

- He gives you a mischievous side smile. It’s unsettling. He secretly finds the size difference incredibly attractive. He tells you to take the lead vest off and waves his hand dismissively when you question his creepy expression. “What?! It is just my usual smile. I always look like this.”

- You’re not convinced. You take the vest off and straighten your team uniform a bit to get yourself situated. Without warning he grabs you by the wrist as you attempt to leave. “Ah-ba-ba-ba! I didn’t say you could go yet.” He pulls you against his chest. Forcibly. His natural heat was causing your heart beat out of your chest. He kneeled down and wrapped his arms around you. Cupping a hand over your mouth. You couldn’t move.

- The way you were (in theory) powerless was exhilarating for him. He placed his free hand on your chest and marveled in your heartbeat. Really? That’s all he wanted? Medic let out a long pleasured sigh. “Oh, that’s gooood.” He feels like he could potentially hold your tiny heart in a cute little decorated specimen jar but that would kill you, sadly. Can’t have that.

———————————————————————

Spy:

- Has unimaginable amounts of trauma from his father figure and you help him cope with said trauma a lot by being small. He deeply regrets passing by the chance of raising Scout. That in-and-itself was also a traumatic experience for him. Whenever it isn’t romantic lovey dovey adult time you lay in his arms and he looks over your adorable small body with adoration in his eyes.

- He rubs your small cheek and although he’s still frowning like always — you know full well this man is losing his mind on the inside. This was oddly healing for him. He felt butterflies in his chest as he gave you the love that his family never gave him. Jesus christ, somebody get this man a silicone baby or some shit. And a therapist. Mostly a therapist.

- He has no idea how to baby you to be honest. No fucking clue and he isn’t great at this. He does what he’s seen people do before in public. Wrap you in a blanket and pats your back. He says nothing as he does this. “There’s a scared little boy behind that mask isn’t there?” You ask him lovingly.

- He avoids eye contact after you say that. Looking away shamefully. His mouth twitches. You put your head under his chin contently.

- He stalks you and monitors you on the battlefield. Ready to stab the ever living crap out of anyone who overpowers you. In a particularly rough situation with an enemy heavy he risks his own life to backstab the opponent. You batter him for being too bold and exclaim that he could’ve killed himself. But Spy side eyes you, fixing his tie and cloaking away. He was secretly proud of himself that he had finally managed to protect somebody smaller than him. To make up for all the times he wasn’t there for Scout.

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #demoman x reader #heavy x reader #medic x reader #spy x reader #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #pyro x reader #sniper x reader #there’s no way in hell i’m taking this ask seriously i’m sorry anon #there was a chance and I took it

[margowritesthings]

Vedova Nera

pairing: Dutch van der Linde x f!reader

summary: You've been Angelo Bronte's live-in assassin for years now, going undercover to kill those who have wronged him. Your next job seems rather simple: eliminate the outlaw Dutch van der Linde. What could go wrong?

word count: 5710 words

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, violence, mentions of sex as part of a job, breath play, reader is an assassin, rough sex, choking, attempted murder, angelo bronte being a creep, sexual themes, cunnilingus (r receiving and giving)

a/n: this was a request from my beloved @cowboydisaster and god was it a wonderful prompt. I LOVED writing this, so thank you for the inspiration darling. So so glad to be publishing after such a long break, and I want to thank any and all of you who have stuck around to wait for me <3 love y'all, here's some filthy Daddy Dutch smut!

beta read by @cowboydisaster

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @beea-nie @cloudynoiire @punctillous @dutchysoriginalwife

support me by buying me a coffee!

When the sunlight streams through the gap between the red velvet curtains, peacefully stirring you awake, it feels like any other day. The silk sheets seduce you to stay, the feather pillow beneath your head luring you into five more minutes of dreaming, despite the noises of the hustle and bustle of Saint Denis penetrating the peace through a crack in your bedroom window. You really could stay here all day, cocooned in luxury while the staff serve your every whim.

But you can’t. The second your lashes flutter open and your eyes land on the dress hanging from your wardrobe, you’re reminded exactly why. While the fact that somebody must’ve delivered it to your room while you slept churns your stomach for a moment, you can’t deny that it’s an exquisite piece. The silk falls from the hook like a crimson waterfall and you know it will hug your body just perfectly by the way it hangs. You’ll look perfect tonight at the party, even if you will be draped on his arm. 

Urgh. The frown on your face is quickly pushed away at the sound of your door knocking. Nice of them to knock this time, though you’re sure it’s only because they know you’re awake and would knock whoever is brave enough to sneak into your room on their ass in seconds. 

“Miss? Mr. Bronte would like to see you.” The voice is somewhat muffled by the heavy wooden door, but your orders are clear as day, no matter how politely they’re worded. You’re to be downstairs in no more than five minutes. You huff, the only response you’re willing to give to the poor, innocent henchman at the other side of the door. Well, not exactly innocent, but who are you to talk? 

It doesn’t take long for you to brush your hair out of its braid with your fingers, the curls freely cascading down your back, get dressed, and find yourself knocking on the open, ornate door leading to the parlour. Bronte is waiting for you, arms stretched out around the back of the couch, taking up far more room than he deserves to. When he lays his eyes on you, he stands, reaching his arms out, palms upturned as he grins at you.

“Ah, il mio poccola ragna, how are you?” 

It feels like you’re being doused in lukewarm grease, but you allow him to hold your hands in his, pulling you just close enough to kiss you on the cheek, “I’m fine. Thank you for the dress, it’s beautiful.”

“And you will look stunning in it tonight, cara mia. Nothing but the best for la mia vedova nera.” 

You raise a brow, knowing that Angelo only calls you his black widow when he has a job for you. Of course he does. Nothing comes free in this world, and you have a deal. Bronte gives you a roof over your head, that plush bed you’ve grown awfully fond of, and all the luxuries a man of his stature could offer. In return, you work exclusively for him, as opposed to the freelance assassinations you used to offer to anyone with a fat enough wallet. In its simplest terms, that is your agreement with Angelo Bronte, but that doesn’t stop his wandering eyes, sickly terms of endearment and clammy hands wherever he can get them.

“It is with only the deepest regret that I shall not have you on my arm tonight, but alas, I have a job for you that requires a certain distance between the two of us, amore.”

It takes a level of restraint to not physically sigh in relief when you learn you won’t be spending the evening performing as Bronte’s woman, but your intrigue grows ever stronger when your curious gaze falls to the wanted poster laying on the table next to you. A sketch of a man steals your attention, and his intense stare threatens to never give it back despite being mere charcoal. Instinct tells you to reach out and run a finger lightly over the crumpled paper, tracing the man’s strong jawline, though you’re not quite sure why. You’ve never seen him before, nor have you heard his name: Dutch van der Linde. The poster isn’t from around here, it’s from Blackwater. You can tell, because you’ve seen your own face staring back at you on one just like it before finding yourself under Bronte’s protection. 

“This the guy?” You ask quietly, still entranced by this stranger etched into coffee coloured paper. Bronte doesn’t seem to notice, already leaning back into the loveseat.

“Sí, bella. He is new to town, he does not know of my vedova nera, and we must keep it that way. He dishonours me, dishonours my city. He will be at the mayor’s party tonight, but he will not see tomorrow, will he, cara mia?”

It isn’t a question, but you nod anyway.

Dutch van der Linde will not live to see another day. 

═══════☆═══════

Some consider this, the pomp and performance of high society, a gilded cage, forcing man into superficial roles to play and stripping him of any true freedoms, but you’ve learnt to see the beauty in taking advantage of it. You’re more than happy to put on a pretty dress and play pretend, laughing along to terrible anecdotes with a drink in your hand and a smile perfectly crafted on your reddened lips. After having truly nothing, living at the very bottom of the food chain, putting up with this farce is a small price to pay for a little security. Besides, drinking champagne while rich men call you beautiful is hardly a sacrifice. Most of them are old and rather greasy, but you’re more than capable of holding your own. They’re just microscopic cogs in a grand plan they’ll never even know about, orchestrated by someone they overlooked because of the way they look. Your greatest asset, you’re sure.

You reach for the champagne flute at the very top of the sparking pyramid, the bubbles dancing on your tongue from the first sip. When you make your way upstairs to the balcony, every tiny bubble rising to the top of your glass reflects the illuminated string lights wrapped around the iron gazebo and every pole in the perfectly tended garden, casting the who’s who of Saint Denis in a warm glow. From your spot on the balcony, you observe all, searching for your Dutch van der Linde. You can see your host, mayor Henri Lemieux, engaging in what could only be considered ‘schmoozing’ with a group of men in top hats by the fountain, and although you can’t see every face, you somehow know that none of them are the one you’re looking for. Those piercing eyes are sure to come with a presence to match, and you can’t feel it yet. 

That is, until the french doors into the house are opened and the hairs on your arm stand up straight. You blame the cool breeze that is pushed into you by the swing of the door, though that doesn’t account for the quickening pace of your heart. You rarely get nervous for a job, why would you? It’s all you’ve ever known. 

So why this one?

The thought falls down your spine with a shudder, and you try to shed your doubts quickly with a rather large sip of champagne that seems to numb the sharp edges to smooth curves just slightly. Your hand rests gently on the balcony, maintaining a facade that you’re looking out into the crowds below instead of listening in on the conversation between the group of men just feet away from you. In your peripheral vision, you spot him, dressed in a suit that simply must have been sewn around his body with the way it perfectly fits him. He wears a top hat, a large cigar burning between his gloved fingers. He takes your breath away upon first glance, your cheeks flushing when your eyes meet. You offer a small smile, before looking back over the ongoing party and finishing the rest of your champagne, leaving a red stain on the lip of the flute.

Now, you wait, hoping you left enough of an air of mystery and allure for your target to approach you. Bronte is with the group of men attending with Dutch, but neither of you acknowledges the other to maintain appearances. Definitely something you could get used to. 

Twirling the stem of your flute between your nimble fingers, you watch the crystal carvings refract and scatter beautiful dots of light over your dress as you listen in to Dutch, Bronte, and another man you’ve never seen before talk over their cigars. It’s all bullshit, Bronte bragging that the whole town fears him while he acts overly friendly to the man he has hired you to murder tonight, and it takes all the restraint you have to not visibly roll your eyes. You lift your glass to your lips again, before realising it’s empty. As you turn on your heel to head back to the drinks table, you’re met with an outstretched, gloved hand, bubbling flute presented to you in its grasp. 

It’s him.

Up close, you can see how beautifully he’s cleaned up from whenever he was sketched for his poster, his moustache gelled in an upward curve, his eyes a deep auburn that a charcoal sketch could never truly capture. He’s magnificent, his presence drowning you, and you’re sure even without the formalities he’d be just as stunning, a roughened cowboy with a drawl to send you weak in the knees. 

“For you, my dear.” He offers, watching intently as you take the flute between your fingers.

“Why, thank you, sir. I never knew they hired such well dressed gentlemen at these events.” You joke, smiling almost mischievously at him before taking a sip, “You surely can’t be a guest here, they’re never this kind.”

“Afraid so, miss. Dutch van der Linde, at your service.” He takes your free hand in his, lifting your knuckles to his mouth to kiss them tenderly. The sensation travels up your arm and sends a little flutter through your stomach. Quite the gentleman, it seems.

“A pleasure, Mr. Van der Linde.”

“Please, Dutch is fine. And the pleasure is all mine.”

You offer your name in return and a shy smile, the one that often has your victims bowing to your every need while they imagine you writhing beneath them, and by the way Dutch watches you, he’s no exception. 

“Tell me, Dutch,” you oblige, “what is a fine gentleman such as yourself doing at an event like this? Are you a friend of our host?”

“No, I am a guest of Mr Bronte’s, attending on a personal invitation.” You instantly sense it, the displeasure hidden in amongst the pleasantries. You’re not at all surprised, Angelo is hardly a likeable man. 

“Ah, I see.” “You know him?” “Not personally, no,” You lie, glancing over to the man in question, who appears to be boring the ears off Dutch’s abandoned friend as he downs his near full glass of whiskey, “But everyone who’s anyone in Saint Denis knows of him. He’s… real somethin’.” You match Dutch’s indignation with an expert precision, and you don’t need to pretend one bit. 

Dutch laughs, a hearty one at that, using the gesture to take a step closer to you, “Now that we agree on, my dear…”

A comfortable silence passes between the two of you and a waiter arrives, passing Dutch a rich amber drink that he thanks him for. You grab the waiter's attention, asking for a bourbon of your own. It doesn’t go unnoticed that Dutch looks impressed.

“I can admire a woman who appreciates a fine whiskey.” He remarks, tipping his glass to you and you smirk, raising a sharpened brow,

“I can appreciate much more than a fine whiskey, Mr Van der Linde.”

The air between the two of you is electric, charged with something inexplicable yet maybe the most powerful energy you’ve ever felt.

“Is that right?” It comes out almost a growl, which you feel deep in your core. The way he’s looking at you… it’s inevitable. Mission accomplished.

You lean in closer, glancing down to the snow white flower pinned to Dutch’s lapel. Your eyes linger on the thing, so stark a contrast to the jet black suit he’s wearing, so delicate a symbol for a hardened criminal you’ve been hired to murder. 

There’s little space between the two of you now, far less than is proper, but Dutch closes it, his hot breath tickling the lobe of your ear as he whispers to you,

“How about we get a real nice room somewhere and I show you just how much I can admire a woman who appreciates a good whiskey?”

═══════☆═══════

Sending Dutch back downstairs to the saloon for drinks gives you opportunity to reach under your skirts, pulling the dagger from your crimson garter and stashing it between the bed frame and mattress. It’s a simple routine, one that works every time to not only allow you time to prepare for the job, but to prove just how wrapped around your little finger your victims always are. Ever the gentleman, as you’re learning, it only took a simple comment of thirst and a bat of your thick lashes and Dutch was out the door. He returns to you quickly, hands full with two identical glasses of neat bourbon, the door shutting behind him with a satisfying click.

“Here we are, the finest this establishment has to offer.” He says, with just a touch of bravado as he goes to hand you the crystal glass. Your hand brushes with his own skin, tanned from what you assume to be hours out in the sun, and a jolt of electricity shoots up your arm, scattering your whole body with goosebumps. With strenuous effort, you collect yourself fast enough to thank Dutch, before letting that comfortable silence settle between the tiny space between your two bodies again. You’re so close to him you can smell the distinct cigar smoke and liquor burn on his breath, feel the energy buzzing off him. One deep breath and your supple chest would be pressed right against his hardened one. 

The golden liquid burns over your tongue and down your throat, but not nearly as much as your skin does under Dutch’s touch when he runs a thumb over your bottom lip. It feels as though your entire body heats from the contact, the only respite from the fever his contact elicits being the golden rings adorning his fingers, pressing up against your jaw when he cups the side of your face. It stops your heart, you’re sure of it.

“You, my dear, are exquisite.” He whispers tenderly.

In your line of work, there is violence. There is pain and fire and yes, sometimes passion, but never tenderness. But when Dutch van der Linde’s eyes roam over you, it feels different. Like he sees you, instead of seeking for whatever it is he’s looking for. They’re all looking for something, and they all seem to think you have it, but not Dutch… even if there is the most devilish grin tugging at the corner of his lips and a glint in his eye that tells you to be careful.

Your lips don’t meet, they collide, with a deafening crash that vibrates the earth below. Both yours and Dutch’s glasses are discarded on the table beside the four poster bed as you require both hands to grasp at his satin waistcoat while he reaches around your waist to pull you flush against him.

Every inch of him is solid, his hands moulding you around his frame as his tongue requests- no, demands entrance to your mouth. You’re happy to oblige, parting your lips so that he can run the muscle along your bottom lip, eliciting a real, sensual moan from deep within you. Most of the time, you feign interest and want and pleasure, using every tool at your disposal to have your victims as putty in your hands. Tonight, it would seem you have to fake nothing, feeling more like putty yourself, folding and sculpting around Dutch’s thick, strong fingers. 

Dutch growls, low and gravelly, and you feel it vibrate every part of you, leaving little cracks all over the shields you’ve grown so used to wielding. The tremors reach your knees and you have to put extra effort into not letting them buckle. He invades every sense, a smoky, powerful force that for a moment you worry you’ll never be rid of. It’s normally so easy to detach yourself from these men, seeing their demise as the only thing standing between you and the continuance of the life of luxury you’ve grown so accustomed to, but right now it takes everything you can to not fear a future haunted by Dutch’s ghost. It’s… strange, this attachment formed so quickly, so unexpectedly that you’re almost certain the only way to prevent it is to kill him now before anything else can happen. But you just can’t bring yourself to do it… you need him in this moment, need to take something from a man for yourself for once, instead of for your slimy Italian master. It’s a mistake, you know it is, but it’s one you can’t stop, like a train barreling towards you with broken breaks. The collision is going to hurt, but you’ll be damned if you don’t bask in the feeling of every bone in your body shattering for this moment, every speck of your being destroyed just for an evening. If your blackened soul must be broken, at least it’s your choice. And this is your choice. Dutch van der Linde is your choice.

His hand burns through the silk on your back, searing your skin that itches for a release of its confines. He never breaks your hungry, needy kiss as his expert fingers make quick work of your bodice, pushing your dress off your shoulders until it falls at your feet like a scarlet pool of blood. Your chemise is just as deep a red as your dress and the stain covering your lips, as is the garter squeezing your thigh. Dutch takes a step back, drinking you in like a fine glass of wine. Under his gaze, you burn all over again, feeling the heat pulsing in your very core, your clit throbbing and cunt weeping for him. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt a yearning so intense that you feel you might combust if you don’t have this man inside you soon. 

“As I said…” he growls, tongue licking over his own bottom lip this time, “Exquisite.” 

Your exhale is shaky from the sheer effort to stay still, to not pounce on Dutch and take him. Somehow, you take a steady step towards him, out of the pile of silk discarded on the floor, reaching back to the buttons on his waistcoat to pull them apart. Your neck cranes up slightly to meet Dutch’s intense stare, catching him flick his eyes down to watch you undress him. Your bodies are so close now you can feel his hard cock pressing against you, branding you, even hotter than the rest of him. Even through his breeches, his size is evident. Intimidating, but you can all but feel yourself drooling at the thought of taking him all. Patience growing thin, your fingers speed up to finish their job, pushing both waistcoat and crisp shirt off Dutch’s shoulders and onto the floor, revealing a strong, sturdy chest underneath. You run both hands over it with a featherlight touch, feeling him shudder at the contact. 

Looking back up to meet his eye, tracing gentle circles over his skin, you whisper, “As are you, Mister Van der Linde…”

“Oh, my dear,” Dutch catches your chin between his fingers, squeezing gently to pull you closer, until your lips are just a hair away from each other. Your breath hitches in your throat, lips parted and waiting for him. A gasp escapes when he runs a finger of his free hand up your inner thigh, pressing firmly against your slit through your lingerie, the sensation shooting up your spine, “I think we’re past the formalities, don’t you? Dutch is fine.”

You swallow down the moan building deep down, attempting to hold onto whatever little decorum you can before you crumble beneath this outlaw. When Dutch removes his finger from against your heat, it takes everything to not whimper from the loss of him. Still holding your face, he presses a kiss to your lips, inhaling you in through his nose before pulling away, glancing down to the space between the two of you.

“Kneel for me, beautiful.”

It takes you less than a second to obey, feeling the plush of the carpet against your knees. Your hands are instantly on Dutch’s belt, unbuckling it with hands that are almost vibrating with anticipation. His trousers don’t even fall past his hips before his cock springs out and you almost gasp again. It’s huge, thick and long, twitching and pulsing all for you. A beautiful sight, truly. 

Both hands look tiny in comparison, wrapping around his base with a slight squeeze that has Dutch groaning already. Your eyes lock onto his, never leaving them as you lick a line up his shaft all the way to his rosy head, the salty spend dancing on your tongue a sure sign he’s as desperate for you as you are him. When you take him in your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you get as much of his length in as you can, Dutch grips into your hair, cursing through his teeth as you start to bob up and down. 

Using your mouth and hands in tandem, you work up and down his shaft, licking across a protruding vein that causes another growl to leave Dutch’s lips and charge the air with a near blinding want. His cock pumps and swells even more so in your mouth, and when you take a deep breath and push all of his length in and down your throat, Dutch lets out a visceral groan sure to reach the ears of the devil himself.

“Fuck, just like that, angel, just like that…” He whispers to you, watching as little tears fall down your cheeks, mixing with the spit escaping the corners of your lips. Dutch holds your face between his large palms, fucking into your throat. It isn’t until your lungs are burning for air that he relents, his cock sliding out of your mouth soaked in your saliva, a bead still clinging to your chin. He wipes it away with his thumb, guiding you to your feet with an extended hand. You gasp as he lifts you into the air and all you can do is wrap your legs around his waist. His cock nudges against your lingerie, the thin, scarlet silk the only barrier between the two of you. You’re writhing, desperate for him as his tongue licks the roof of your mouth, dominating you. 

Dutch throws you onto the bed and you land with a squeak, spreading your legs wide to allow him to crawl over you, propping himself up on his elbows. His eyes roam over you, pulling the straps of your chemise down to expose your breasts. He continues to undress you, each second stretching out to an eternity until you’re bare underneath him. There’s a fire burning in his eyes and it scorches you. You feel the fire spread over every inch of you, especially when he dips down to lick a line from your nipple, across your chest, down your stomach until he is hovering above your cunt. His breath tickles your soaked skin and it takes everything you have to restrain and be patient. The devil is merciful, and after torturing you for what feels like hours, watching you writhe and whine, Dutch delves into your folds, taking your clit in his mouth and sucking on it gently. You scream, hands instantly raking into his jet black hair, nails scratching his scalp.

He hums in content, as if tasting a delicacy, and it vibrates your inner thighs. Your eyes roll back, jaw dropping as your back arches for him. 

“Oh, God…” you moan, relenting your grip just a little when Dutch stops to look at you, eyebrow raised and smirk tugging his glistening lips,

“Now, dear, I said Dutch is fine.”

He doesn’t give you much time to digest his cocky words, plunging a finger deep inside you, finding that spot that makes you go dizzy and curling against it. You whine and purr, bucking your hips up to show Dutch what you need. He takes your silent command and submits to it, bowing his head to take your clit in between his teeth. It tethers you between pain and pleasure, threatening to tear you apart from the inside out. One finger becomes two, pumping into your core and you feel yourself hurtling towards climax faster than you ever have in your life. There’s a burning on your inner thigh from his moustache while he laps up your juices, kissing and nipping and sucking until you’re sure you’re going to break and shatter all over the hotel room floor.

“Oh, God, Dutch- fuck, Dutch, yes Dutch- I- I’m gonna-” 

The whine you let out when Dutch withdraws his fingers from you is downright tortured. You look up at him, the question of why written all over your face. He simply smirks, sliding those glistening fingers in between his lips and licking your juices clean off them. 

“Tell me what you want, beautiful.” 

The sweet endearment softens your frown, his demand driving you even wilder. It isn’t a matter of want anymore, you need him. Right at this moment, you’re gasping for air, and Dutch van der Linde is your only oxygen. 

“Everything,” you breathe out, “God, Dutch, I need you, please…”

You earn a satisfied grin as Dutch begins to crawl over you again, the length of his body consuming you wholly. “Hm… I like it when you beg for me, my dear.” 

When he lines himself up to your entrance, the feeling of his tip brushing far too gentle past your clit, you’re truly dizzy with need. You reach up to Dutch, nails digging deep into the flesh of his shoulders as if he's your only tether to the earth itself. Your mewls guide him in like a siren's call, filling you more than you ever thought possible. Though slowly, Dutch slides all the way in, until you’re connected by the pelvis, the head of his cock prodding gorgeously into that swollen sweet spot of yours.

“F-Fuck…” you gasp out, concurrently to Dutch’s carnal groan. He fills you to the brim, and you squeeze his throbbing cock perfectly. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt, breaching past the barriers of what you once considered sex to be. When he steadily withdraws, pushing all the way back in, you see stars, scattering across the ceiling of the hotel room, falling into the faint freckles you’re sure nobody ever notices on Dutch’s cheeks. The pure lust ignited in his eyes burns hot as he begins to move, thrusting in and out at an excruciatingly deliberate pace.

When he picks up a little speed, you feel his hand brush against your cheek, finger tracing your jawline from ear to chin and back again. His expression as he fucks you is so intense, and there’s a certain darkness clouding it all that scares you. Dutch is otherworldly, and your mind briefly casts to under your back, where that little knife lays waiting. Your confidence in completing your mission is faltering, picturing golden ichor bleeding from Dutch’s chest in lieu of blood. He is so far removed from anybody Bronte has ever had you kill, so divine an energy that you’re starting to wonder what your failure would mean for you. It has never been an option before, but the possibility wanders into your mind as if it belongs there. 

Your whines and moans harmonise with Dutch’s groans and curses, the room filled with purely obscene, visceral vibrations. He fucks into you, one hand gripping onto the sheets, the other cupping the side of your face, slowly snaking downwards to cover your neck. He doesn’t put any pressure on yet, but can surely feel the thrumming of your pulse against his palm. The possessive way his hand covers your whole throat makes your heart skip a beat, your now untouched clit twitching at the thought of Dutch restricting your airways. 

“God, you are so beautiful…” Dutch purrs, teasing a hint of pressure on your jugular. He’s getting faster now, just faintly more erratic. That darkness is flaring in his eyes, spreading over his whole expression as he begins to squeeze at your windpipe. It's gentle at first, just slightly cutting off the blood flow to your head, making your cheeks flush red. Your lips part in gasps, less than an inch away from Dutch’s as you feel your orgasm building again, no external stimulation needed. You’re so close now, nirvana within reach, Dutch’s hold getting ever stronger. 

“So beautiful… such a shame.” He growls, not relenting his now iron-grip to give you the air to consider what he just said. You try to speak, try to ask what he means, but you suddenly can’t. He’s clenching too tight on your neck. It hurts, but coupled with the dizzying lack of breath, it’s only furthering your journey over the edge. Your vision is blackening at the corners, an unknown fear striking you in the chest. He isn’t letting up, and you’re not sure if you even want him to, but you have no idea where this is going now. The energy in the air is changing faster than you can keep up with, your chest feeling hollow as your futile attempts at breath go ignored.

“A-A shame?” You just about manage, Dutch still pounding relentlessly, gloriously into your tight cunt. 

“Oh, my dear…” he squeezes once more, a bruising grip, and it hurts so much that your hands fly up to claw at his wrist. It’s unavailing, Dutch far too strong to be deterred by the little scratches your nails are leaving on his skin, “That you’re trying to kill me, darling.”

Your eyes fly wide open, pupils shrinking to barely a drop in a sea of panic. Your hands barely make it an inch towards reaching for the dagger under the mattress before Dutch grabs them with the hand not already holding you, pinning both wrists above your head. He’s still fucking you hard, and it still feels incredible despite the pure terror coursing through your veins. 

“Oh, little vedova nera, did you really think it would be so easy?”

It’s hardly even a struggle, your scratching is no match for Dutch’s strength. You can’t move, can barely breathe, and you’re genuinely terrified he’s going to kill you before you even get the chance to fight back. His grasp relents, just enough to allow a small, struggled gulp of breath, but it’s seemingly only so you can hear his next words before blacking out.

“Now here’s what's gonna happen…” He growls at you, not once faltering from his pace. Despite everything, you’re still so close, on the verge of a blinding climax that may actually kill you. “That pretty little pussy of yours is going to cum all over my cock, and then you’re gonna go back to our friend Mr. Bronte and tell him just how well Dutch van der Linde fucked his woman and lived to tell the tale. Got it, my pretty little thing?”

Your heart is pounding, and you’re certain you only have seconds of consciousness left in you, but you manage a frantic nod, your nails leaving reddened crescent moons all over the skin of Dutch’s wrist. You’ll do anything, the terrifying part being that you’re not sure if you’re begging for your life or your death, your petite mort, if you will. 

“Good girl.”

He releases your throat, instead squeezing your cheeks together harshly, forcing your lips into a pout. The blood rushes everywhere, sending you hurtling over the edge, clenching on Dutch’s cock and keeping your promise and then some. Tears are streaming down your cheeks from the intensity of everything, screams falling from your lips as best they can through Dutch’s hands. He’s groaning loudly, vibrating your being as the two of you cum together, Dutch pumping rope upon rope of his spend deep inside you. Time stretches, seconds becoming minutes becoming an eternity falling through the stratosphere as waves of white hot pleasure mix stunningly with the pain you feel all over. 

Dutch finishes with one last thrust, so hard you’re sure you’ll never recover from him. You’ve never felt anything like this, never felt an orgasm wrack through every atom like this one, pumped through your body with a heart running on pure fear. 

Mere seconds ago you were convinced Dutch was going to end your life, but when he pulls out of you and removes all contact from your panting body, the loss is immense. By the time you manage to come around, your arms finally having enough integrity to prop yourself up, he’s already dressing himself, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt. You can’t think, let alone speak. What would you even say? The tear marks falling down your cheeks are inky black from your makeup, but you let them fall as the realisation of what just happened hits with enough force to shatter you, just as you predicted. 

You’re both silent as Dutch dresses, and all you can do is sit and cover yourself with the sheet on the bed. When he reaches the door, he stops, hand resting on the doorframe as he glances over his shoulder to you, “Tell Bronte I said hello, won’t you?”

And he walks out of the hotel room, leaving you alone, dripping with his spend, wondering what the hell you’re supposed to do now.

#dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde x you #dutch van der linde x y/n #dutch van der linde smut #dutch van der linde fanfiction #dutch van der linde imagine #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfiction #dutch van der linde fanfic #dutch van der linde rdr2 #dutch rdr2

[ragnarokhound]

((you don’t have to do both if you don’t want to, you can consider this one a back up / alt))

“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” 💞

From this writing prompt list i reblogged in...november lmao fljdsjfa

anyway this grew legs and sprinted away the second I picked it up yesterday - clearly it just needed some time to proof lmao. Thank you for the ask, tauria!! From *checks watch* almost 5 months ago fjdslafjsa I will be cross-posting it to Ao3 in my new oneshot collection fic :)

Warnings for: Vague allusions that Ra's Al Ghul is a creep (what else is new), threats of gun violence, canon-typical violence

15. “If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.”

When Tim arrived in Gotham this morning, he had no way of knowing that his day would end in Jason Todd’s bed. 

Frankly, he wasn’t really sure what bed he’d end up in— because his own certainly wasn’t an option right now. But If he had to pick, Jason Todd’s was somewhere near the bottom of whatever list he’d make.

He didn’t exactly plan on this, okay? 

But, uh. Let’s back up a little.

—

Tim knew his day was going to go to shit when he got back from the airport at 7 AM.

He had his driver drop him off two blocks away from his townhouse for the sake of caffeine at the hole in the wall place he likes. Wealthy CEO he may be, but a sixteen hour flight is still a sixteen hour flight and Tim is cursed with an inability to sleep in the air. 

Don’t ask. He’s tried. It doesn’t work.

So he wants coffee, and he wants a shower, and he wants his own bed. In that order.

With the first thing on his list acquired and blessedly burning his tongue, he managed to tug his brain cells together enough to realize that the building they’d passed that had been shrouded in tents and canvas was his building.

"What's going on here?"

The worker outside his building looks up from her clipboard, her face wrinkling into apprehensive confusion.

"Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

He hasn’t slept in roughly seventy two hours. He is not awake or patient enough for this.

“My name is Tim Drake. I own this building. What’s going on here?” He repeats.

The woman raises her eyebrows and looks down at her clipboard again. “Mr. Drake?” She questions, clearly expecting him to look like a grown-ass man and not a sleep-deprived college student coming home from spring break or whatever.

“Yes. Timothy Drake-Wayne. Why are you—” he tries to gesture with the hand still holding his suitcase handle, walking towards the tarps and tents erected around his townhouse with increasing trepidation, “—here?”

“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t go in there. Not for at least forty-eight hours.”

Tim stops in his tracks.

“Forty-eight—?”

“We've been scheduled to fumigate the property today.” She says it like she’s reading it out of a handbook. “It won't be safe to enter the building for at least forty-eight hours. You should have received prior notice. Uh. Sir.”

Tim's jet-lagged brain kicks into overdrive. 

Bruce hasn't made any disappointed noises about Tim’s perfectly normal work ethic lately so it probably wasn't a misguided attempt at benching him. And besides, rendering Tim’s apartment inaccessible is counterproductive on that front. 

Dick wouldn’t. They haven’t been exactly— great, lately but he wouldn’t. Besides, if he wanted to get Tim out of the house more, he’d show up to drag Tim out into the daylight himself. This is a little too roundabout for him.

It’s too much work to be Steph. She would think it’s funny, but there’s no way she’d follow through.

Damian might, but this doesn’t quite fit his preferred methods for making Tim’s life hell. It could be some cloak and dagger maneuver to leave him vulnerable, faking a complaint to the city so he’ll—

And then Tim thinks about the call.

The call he’d brushed off at fuck o’clock in the morning somewhere over Europe, too busy with another project. The call his secretary took for him instead. He thinks about the distracted confirmation he’d given to whatever it was she’d asked him about five minutes later. 

He also thinks about the form he signed about two weeks ago, before this last minute trip to Hong Kong had consumed his entire attention. The one with “Two Weeks Notice” stamped across the top. His stomach sinks.

“Today,” he repeats.

She looks apologetic. “Today,” she confirms. “And we just started about an hour ago. I’m very sorry, Mr. Drake-Wayne but—”

"No it's—" he says through gritted teeth, "fine. I'll just. Make other arrangements."

—

He does not make other arrangements. Though not for lack of trying.

Tim has a handful of safehouses scattered throughout the city. He has options. He gets a taxi to the closest neighborhood, and nearly falls asleep in the backseat. The cabby has to knock on the glass divider to get his attention when they come to a stop. He grumbles and hauls his suitcase out of the backseat, and tips the man excessively.

Shower. Bed. Sleep. He’s so close he could cry.

Except when he finally rolls around the block, coffee half gone and trying to remember if this safehouse is the one with in-unit laundry or if he’ll have to haul his shit down to the laundry room, his building is a blackened husk with police tape all around it.

He stops on the sidewalk. He peers up at the window of his unit, squinting at the peeling black wood and shattered glass. He ponders whether two is enough data points to be considered a pattern. And whether he could get away with napping in the alley on this street or if that’ll end with him stabbed and robbed.

As he’s pondering, he catches sight of a passerby and stops him.

“‘Scuse me,” he says apologetically. “What the hell happened here?”

The guy looks up from his phone and takes in his rumpled clothes, his suitcase, and the scorched remains of his apartment.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, there was a big fire about a week back? Bad fire. Took out, like, half the block. Cops are saying it’s arson.”

“A week ago,” Tim repeats. The guy’s eyes widen.

“Oh shit, bro, did you live here?”

“I’ve been out of town,” he explains numbly.

“Dude, that sucks. And right in the middle of con’ season. Good luck finding a hotel!”

“Yeah,” Tim sighs as the guy walks away. “Thanks.”

—

The next safehouse he tries isn’t in much better shape. 

He remembers hearing about Freeze going on a rampage a few days into his trip, but he hadn’t realized another one of his places had been caught in the cross-fire. The cold burst the pipes, and now the whole place is undergoing renovation.

He hears all this from the crotchety old lady who lives in the next building over (her building needs renovation too, but will the city pay for it? Of course not, they weren’t ‘directly impacted by disaster’ so they won’t see a penny of relief funds even though their pipes are on the same line. Typical) and when he finally extricates himself from the conversation, it’s almost noon, his second cup of coffee is long-since empty and he’s at the end of his goddamn rope.

By the time he sees his next safehouse, he isn’t even surprised anymore.

“Does God hate me?” He asks the boarded up building. “Is this a punishment? What did I do? What the fuck did I do?”

He is 99% sure at this point that someone is burning his bolt holes. There’s a short list of people with the resources and the intel to do it, and while he’s not above ruling out the likes of Damian just yet, he seriously doubts anyone wearing a bat is behind this. 

Besides, Dick would have noticed by now if Damian were sinking this many resources into convoluted covert ops designed to make Tim suffer. Definitely. Probably.

Fuck it.

He goes around the back and hops on top of his suitcase to reach the clunky camera watching the back entrance. This building is on the shittier side, closer to Crime Alley than his other haunts; cameras break all the time around here. He’ll have it replaced after he’s a functional human again.

Reportedly, this building was tagged for ‘high toxicity levels’—  which is pretty typical for any building where fear toxin or Joker gas are found in any amount. They must have found a lot to condemn the whole building, but Tim is confident he’ll be fine. The airborne shit dissipates to safe levels within hours depending on the ventilation. If it was in the air, it’s long gone. Anything else needs to be injected to be effective.

Once the camera’s busted, he kicks out the boards and heads inside.

He drags his suitcase in after him, and mourns the shower he probably won’t be getting. The hall lights are out, and chances are the water’s been shut off along with the electricity. But at this point, he simply does not give a shit. All he wants are four walls and a mattress.

Leaning on the door to his floor to make it open, he stumbles out into the hallway—

And catches sight of the glistening curved dagger stabbed into the wall next to his door, the hilt gleaming green in the sinking sun.

“Nope,” Tim says, spinning on his heel and going back down the stairwell double time. “Nope, nope, nope.”

He is now 100% certain that the League of Assassins has been burning his bolt holes. Ra’s al fucking Ghul can eat his whole ass.

—

Seven blocks away, Tim sits on the sidewalk in front of a bodega and contemplates a third cup of coffee. The shittiest one yet.

See, here’s the thing.

The thing is, he has options.

He could go to the Manor. Or the penthouse. Or to Steph’s place. He’d have to answer some unnecessary questions like ‘Master Timothy, you know you can’t sleep on aircraft, why didn’t you sleep before your flight’ or ‘Tim, why didn’t you come here first, you know you can still come to me if you’re in trouble, right’ or ‘why did you agree to fumigate your fucking house, you loser, lmao’. (Stephanie is not going to let him live this down). 

He is absolutely certain that he would be welcomed in any of these places and after a completely undeserved amount of fussing, he could take a fucking nap and someone else would deal with the League bullshit for him.

And that’s the thing. There’s the rub.

No one should have to deal with the League bullshit for him. This is his problem. He’s not in a hurry to bring them down on anyone. Not even Damian.

With grim resignation, he reaches for his phone to try and find a hotel room (during a con’ weekend apparently, RIP) and maybe get a fucking handle on this whole stupid thing, when he hears:

“Hand over your wallet!”

He lifts his head slowly and finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun. A gun held by some guy wearing a ski mask in broad fucking daylight. There’s another guy next to him who’s watching the street. There’s a third guy somewhere behind him who he can’t see, but he can hear the scuff of his boots.

Sure. Why not. With the day he’s had, this might as well happen. He holds up his hands placatingly.

Tim contemplates his muggers. The guy with the gun is jittery, probably new to this, or hopped up on something. He keeps glancing between Tim and the bodega behind him, so they were probably planning a run on the till. Might have chickened out, or thought Tim was an easier target, an unexpected meal ticket plopped right in their path. Or they were already inside when Tim sat down, which wouldn’t bode well for his situational awareness seeing as he just came out of there himself.

The grinding gears of his tired brain keep getting caught on the fact that this is happening in the middle of the fucking day. Tim glances at the street corner and bites his cheek in frustration. Yeah, he’s smack dab in the middle of the Alley. Figures.

“Are you deaf or somethin’ man?” The guy with the gun is saying. “Hand over your fucking wallet!”

The other guy doesn’t seem as crazy-eyed. He’s nervous, though. He keeps looking around like he’s expecting Batman to materialize, to come whistling down the street like a beat cop.

“Dude, come on, it’s not fucking worth it,” he says, grabbing at the gunman’s shoulder. “We got the money, let’s fucking go.”

The third guy kicks over Tim’s suitcase. “Yeah, come on, Don, let’s just grab this shit and bounce.”

Tim can’t do anything. He’s not Red Robin right now. He’s Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and he’s getting mugged in front of a bodega at two in the afternoon in a rumpled suit and tie and still toting his suitcase from his early morning flight. 

His hands are trembling from unspent adrenaline, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep. His eyelids are the heaviest they’ve ever been in his godforsaken life. His ears are ringing. He could knock all three of them down in less time than it takes to tie his shoelaces. But he can’t.

“Shut up, Johnny, look at him shaking! What’s he gonna do? If he doesn’t wanna get shot, rich boy’s gonna hand over all his fucking shit!”

“Hey, let’s just—” Tim tries to say.

Stars explode across his vision as Tim takes a punch he genuinely wasn’t expecting. He stares up at the blue sky for about half a second, more confused than anything else, before the gunman grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him up to shout in his face.

“What’s it gonna be, pretty boy?!”

Caught on the exhausted edge between vigilante training and the preservation of his identity, Tim is frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. He kind of wants to cry.

“Gee, Donny, what is it gonna be?” A fourth voice says, full of false cheer.

Tim blinks. So do the muggers. 

He knows that voice.

“Who the fuck—?” The gunman drops Tim, spinning around and into a fist. He tumbles down to the ground, out cold.

Everything happens pretty quickly after that.

Jason Todd is in civvies. He’s sporting a worn out looking hoodie and a pair of jeans that have seen better days. But his heavy boots are the same ones he wears for his uniform, and the kick he delivers to Johnny’s face is all Red Hood.

Almost in a daze, Tim watches him fight with the usual mix of seething envy and raw desire that rears its ugly head any time he gets to see Jason in action. He’s fast, decisive. Efficient. Beautiful. Tim wishes he had Jason’s skill. And he wishes— 

Well. He wishes a lot of things about Jason Todd.

Tim is pretty sure he and Jason are friends. Maybe. Probably. They’ve pretty much moved past the whole “replacement”, “zombie-dickhead” part of their relationship and have graduated to occasionally providing backup on ops that overlap in each other’s sectors, ganging up on Dick when they’re all in the same room, and maintaining a surprisingly steady stream of vigilante gossip to keep each other in the loop. 

So, ok, yes, due to the aforementioned, he’s pretty sure they’re friends. And also because Jason wouldn’t have stuck his neck out for him otherwise. He would have just let him get mugged.

Watching Jason fight is one of Tim’s favorite pastimes. But right now, Tim’s usual appreciation is soured by the gut-roiling embarrassment of being caught in this position by Jason of all people. His eyes itch. His cheek throbs. He’s so fucking tired.

“Hey, little stalker,” Jason says suddenly, holding out an expectant hand in Tim’s face. The muggers are groaning on the ground around them. Tim isn’t sure when that happened. He might have zoned out. “Did you know that you had a stalker for a change?”

Tim flushes. “I resent that. I haven’t stalked anyone in years.” He takes the hand. It’s warm, and calloused, and big around his.

Jason laughs at him and yanks him to his feet. “Liar.”

Tim’s mouth twists into a scowl. He tries to glare at Jason, but he can feel himself swaying and Jason still hasn’t let go of him, and it’s ruining everything.

Also, lowkey, Jason is right. But in his defense, it is literally their job to stalk people, so.

“I haven’t stalked you in years then. Just other guys. Bad guys. Not non-bad guys. Fuck. You know what I mean. Whatever.” He pauses; recalibrates. “Had?” He asks.

Jason’s eyebrows inched higher and higher the longer Tim talked. Tim doesn’t blame him.

“Yeah. Had.” 

So much for the League, Tim muses.

Jason gives him a once over before tugging decisively on Tim’s wrist, easily grabbing the handle of his suitcase and starting to walk with both in tow, to Tim’s rising horror. 

“You’re coming with me, shortstack. What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk? You look like shit.”

Tim tries to yank his wrist out of Jason’s grip, but the asshole doesn’t budge. “I’m not drunk,” Tim snaps. “I’m fine. I’m just. I’m just… really tired.”

Jason stops abruptly, and Tim stumbles into his shoulder.

“I can see that,” he says, steadying Tim with an amused but ultimately sympathetic look. He loads Tim’s suitcase onto the back of a motorcycle that Tim literally just now noticed. 

God, he’s fucked. And not even in a fun way. 

“C’mon,” Jason says. “Don’t fall asleep on the way over— road rash sucks ass.”

—

They don’t talk on the way to— wherever Jason is taking them, but once they’re parked in a random garage and walking towards the elevators, the game of twenty questions begins.

“So why’ve you got League assassins after you, anyway? Piss in a lazarus pit? Push over the baby brat on the playground?”

“Ra’s al Ghul wants my body,” Tim says, dejected but resigned to this bizarre fact of his life. “Since I was seventeen, I’m pretty sure.”

Jason wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

“I don’t think it’s a sex thing? But it could also be a sex thing.”

“Again. Fucking ew.”

“Yeah. Also I blew up a bunch of his shit and I think he’s still salty I got away with it.”

“Is that why you weren’t at the Manor?” Jason asks, herding Tim out of the elevator and down a long hallway. “Or anywhere but a random street in Crime Alley?”

Tim nods. “Yeah. They found all my safehouses, but— my mess. My problem.”

Jason thwacks him upside the head.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“You’re the dumbest person on the planet.”

“Am not. B is on-planet right now.”

“Then you’re pretty fucking close,” Jason snarks, fishing out some keys and opening one of the apartment doors.

Tim scoffs at him as he’s pushed inside. “Oh, please. Don’t try to tell me you would let Dick swoop in and solve all your problems for you.”

Jason rolls his eyes, stepping into the side kitchen and popping open the freezer door of the fridge.

“Dickiebird can’t even solve his own problems,” he says as he rummages. “But maybe when I’m fucked up enough to let three nobodies robbing a fucking bodega get the jump on me, that’s a sign that, maybe, it might be time to call in the cavalry. Dick isn’t the only person who’s got your back.” He presses an ice pack to Tim’s face until he takes it himself, and keeps steering him through the apartment. “Just saying.”

Tim would protest with all of his very good reasons why Jason is definitely wrong here, but he’s too busy processing the fact that Jason has led him into a bedroom. With a bed. There’s a bed, with a mattress and pillows and blankets. Right there. Tim stares at it with lustful eyes.

Jason catches him staring. He rolls his eyes, but he’s sporting a small smile that Tim has the presence of mind to memorize. He walks over to a dresser and pulls out a big shirt and a pair of shorts that he hands to Tim.

“Look. If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here. No guarantees I’ll be always around, but, yeah. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever.”

Tim eyes him up, clutching the bundle of Jason-smelling fabric in his hands. “And you’d do that for me because…why, exactly?”

Jason flicks his forehead, a stinging reprimand. Tim hisses.

“Because, dumbass, you need help and I feel like it. And you don’t actually suck to be around, so shut up and be grateful.”

“Oh, yes,” Tim deadpans, rubbing at his forehead. “So grateful to be allowed the privilege of squatting with you.”

The thing of it is, Tim is grateful. But Jason doesn’t need to know that.

Jason squawks, and before Tim can duck, he’s snatched Tim around the neck in a headlock. His arm is thick and doesn’t budge no matter how Tim shoves and kicks. The ice pack and the clothes go flying, and Tim just about dies. Jason is warm.

“Jason—!”

“Brat!” Jason crows, not giving an inch. “I paid for this place fair and square— you’re the only squatter here!”

“Blood money doesn’t count as square!”

“Tell that to half of Gotham, kid.”

“I’m trying to, thanks for noticing,” Tim says, finally wrenching himself free of Jason’s grip, stumbling into the bed and giving into its siren song. He sits down heavily on the edge, toppling over sideways and reaching pathetically for the fallen ice pack that’s just out of his reach.

“And don’t call me kid—” he complains, muffled by the pillow. It also smells like Jason. “You’re barely two years older than me.”

The cold ice pack is pressed into his fingers. He cracks an eye open to look, but Jason is just smirking at him, like he’s giving Tim the win. Ass.

“Coulda fooled me, shortstack.”

Tim rolls his eyes, and onto his back, toeing off his shoes and letting them clatter to the floor. He can’t tell if Jason’s bed is the best bed in the world, or if he’s just deliriously inventing things.

Frankly, Jason Todd’s bed is the last place he ever thought he’d end up, this morning or otherwise, so he’s never bothered to speculate. He does not have a contingency plan for this.

“Is there a reason you keep calling me short,” he complains, “Or will I just need to fill in the blanks myself?”

“Can’t help it. You’re just so small,” Jason coos. Tim props himself up on an elbow at that, raising a disgusted eyebrow.

“You don’t hear me constantly talking about how big you are.” 

Jason grins like he just won the lottery; Tim shuts his eyes the second it’s out of his mouth.

“Baby, you don’t know how big I am.”

He does, actually. Not in a creepy stalker way, just— there was this one time. A big rogue breakout at Arkham, all-hands on deck type of situation; Tim, Cass, and Jason were covering Poison Ivy in the park. Acid-spitting pitcher plants were involved.

And look, Jason’s tactical gear is fine in the day to day, but it’s not like any of them had time to prep a neutralizing agent, so when Jason needed his pants off, stat…uh. Well. Tim was right there.

He knows, okay?

“Alright,” he rallies, trying desperately not to replay the memory of Jason adjusting himself through his boxers. All of himself. “I walked right into that one.”

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know if you’ve walked into it.”

Tim scoffs, but he can feel how red his face is.

And the thing is. He says it without really meaning to. 

But he still means it.

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, big guy?”

The change is immediate. Jason had been halfway out the door, but now he turns to Tim, giving him his full, undivided attention. He looks at Tim, laid out in Jason's bed, giving him a very slow once over. The scrutiny is at once nerve-wracking and thrilling.

“Thought you didn’t want my money,” Jason murmurs.

The temperature in the room spikes. If it weren’t for the slow throb of his bruised cheek, Tim would think that he’s already asleep and dreaming.

But he isn’t. He’s very much aware that he’s wide awake.

Tim swallows. “Well. It’s not your money I want.”

Jason’s grin is electric. 

He stalks over to the bed, and Tim is frozen like a rabbit, waiting to see what he’ll do next. Jason settles a knee on the sheets between Tim’s legs, looming over Tim and boxing him in against the mattress. Tim’s free hand reaches up of its own accord to tangle in the collar of Jason’s hoodie, and the cotton is softer than he expected.

Jason’s eyes rove over his face, dark and heavy. He catches Tim’s face in his hand, swiping his thumb lightly across the bruising hot ache of his cheekbone. He leans in deliberate and slow and—

—and stops about an inch away from Tim’s mouth.

“Get some sleep, babybird,” Jason teases, his breath puffing gently over the skin of Tim’s lips. “You can proposition me again tomorrow.”

“It’s, like, 3:30 in the afternoon,” Tim argues, breathless.

“Yeah, and your body thinks it’s 3:30 in the morning. You’re dead on your feet. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, and go the fuck to sleep.”

Jason moves to rise. But Tim hooks a stubborn arm around his neck and pulls him down that last remaining inch. 

The kiss is— bad. At first. 

Tim basically smashed their mouths together to prove a point, and Jason muffles a surprised sound against Tim’s teeth. He lands heavily on top of Tim at an awkward angle, and he’s kind of crushing him. Tim refuses to let go, but— Jason doesn’t pull away.

Jason gentles the kiss instead, and Tim thrills. He levers himself up onto his elbow, wrapping an anchoring arm around Tim’s back. He finds a home between Tim’s legs, and he lets Tim kiss him until Tim's lips are tingling and his fingers go slack; until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Somewhere between fifteen minutes and a small eternity later, Jason presses one more kiss to the corner of his mouth. He curls around Tim on his side, and Tim turns his face into Jason’s neck with a soft wondering sigh.

“I’ll keep it. Promise. Wait n’ see,” Tim mumbles. Jason snorts, but doesn’t budge, and Tim can hear his smile in his voice, lilted and lulling.

“Sure, babybird. I’ll wait. I got nowhere else to be.”

Tim is already asleep.

#one hundred thousand years have passed #i creak up out of the soil gasping and hacking and coughing #'i lived bitch' #'have some jaytim that grew legs on me' #my writing #asked and answered #jaytim #ladytauria #hurt/comfort #this one is sillier and more light-hearted than the other ones #the hurt is more like 'near tears travel exhaustion' than your typical aftermath of violence lol but it so definitely counts #i held a gun to the head of the muse that said 'this is way too short' and pulled the fucking trigger #i KNOW it's a very fast get together but i did Not want this to become my next 5 digit wordcount fic okay. okay. oka #the bones of a long 'tim and jason vs the league of assassins' fic is hiding here #and if i actually wrote that this would have ended much differently #but i am Not Writing That okay I am Writing Cowboys and also Werewolves Right Now. I Do Not Have Time For This!!!!!! #prompt fill

[imdoingaokay]

Romanced!DAI Companions and Advisors (+ Platonic!Vivienne) when The Inquisitor returns to Skyhold late

(A/N: Heyyyy guys... I've missed you :) This past few months have been awful for me... but I'm back... teeheehee

I think this is gonna be really niche so I feel a need to explain what I was thinking??? Basically, The Inquisitor has been on a mission for a while now and they're returning extremely late at night.

Apologies for the inaccurate lore stuff, I don't think hours exist in Dragon Age because they don't have clocks? Or they do??? I dunno man I got a final tomorrow and I don't know if I'm gonna pass

Just know that the whole reason I got inspired for this was because it was late and I was imagining Vivienne watching The Inquisitor come back and her wrapping her robe around her waist like a mom watching their grown child come home from a rave or something

Once again, no beta we die like men

And happy late dragon age day, love y'all)

TW: Mentions of death

Blackwall/Thom Rainer: Unable to sleep. He’s waiting, whittling at the griffon he keeps. He doesn’t want to sleep anways, who will greet his lover? The wind? No. He’ll stay up, just for a few minutes longer, he tells himself… But soon he finds himself whittling into the early hours of the morning. That’s when there’s a stir of the guards, the whispers, and alerts are quiet, as to not wake up the many souls sleeping, but the message is clear.

His love has returned. And he will wait by the gate, a grin on his face and sleepiness in his eyes. He greedily hopes his lover may wish to sleep a few hours before the rest of Skyhold truly awakens.

Cassandra: She’s in bed, but not sleeping, reading a book. She’s trying to sleep, but her anxieties are getting to her. Somehow, ever since she got the letter saying that her love was returning, she fears even more. Her mind is plagued with images of an assassinated Inquisitor on the way back to her. Maker! Why didn’t that fool just bring her? 

Just as she scoffs, she hears something of a commotion outside. She prays for a moment, the news is good, and she throws on her armor, knowing better than to leave her room without it, and rushes to the gate. This is where her fears are put to rest as she greets her lover, a relieved smile on her face. And it is with this her sleepiness finally settles in. after a quick word, she urges her lover to rest, with or without her. All that matters that they returned.

Cullen Rutherford: He hasn’t slept since his lover left. A few moments where he stares off into space, drifting off before yanking himself back into consciousness. So it feels normal for him as he scribbles away the missives on his desk, being sure to double check each one so he didn’t accidentally write something foolish in his sleep deprived state. Somehow, in this half-dead state of his, he can hear the murmuring of guards outside of his door, and one enters. 

The guard has been ordered to inform Cullen of when they see The Inquisitor, so when they enter, Cullen knows what it’s for. And somehow, the sleepiness Cullen once had disappears, replaced with a drive he always feels when his lover returns. He rushes down the battlement steps, sure to not seem too desperate to his men. And in his excitement, he quickly meets his lover halfway on the bridge. They may be on their horse, but Cullen will happily walk back with them, looking up at them like they hold his whole world in their hands. When his lover gets off their horse, however, that is when he embraces them, a chaste kiss pressed to their cheek. This is when he finally asks them to rest with him, as his exhaustion is coming to bite him in the ass.

Dorian Pavus: Dorian has lied to himself multiple times throughout the night. He lied to himself claiming he didn’t care if he was asleep when his amatus returned from their very dangerous mission. So he lays in his bed for hours, trying to sleep. And when he can’t? He lies to himself, coming up with some excuse as to why his mind will not rest. So he waits in the library, sipping a glass of wine while attempting to read nonchalantly. Of course, he seemingly can’t. So he decides to wait on the battlements, claiming he must need some fresh air. Even though he despises how cold it is that night. 

But, somehow, without meaning to, he notices the small group of people making their way across the bridge. And, without a reason at all, a huge weight is lifted off of Dorian’s shoulders. 

He lets out a sigh and returns to the warmth of the library, happy to wait for his lover to come to him. And when he does, only then does Dorian finally agree to go to sleep. 

Iron Bull: Doesn’t sleep, but this is because he knew his lover was coming back tonight. So he waits patiently in the tavern, a ear out and ready, waiting for murmurs of The Inquisitor’s return. And when he does hear, he happily shoots up from his chair and makes his way to the gate, happy to greet his lover.

Bull was only slightly worried to be away from his lover, he knew they could handle their mission without him, but still, who knows what could happen? But the news that The Inquisitor was coming back? That was enough to settle his nerves. But seeing… and feeling his lover in his arms? That is what truly relaxes him.

Josephine Montilyet: Josephine is the only one who is asleep, she was corralled to his bedroom by Leliana, who told Josephine that she would wake her up when The Inquisitor returned. True to her word, Leliana gently shook awake a sleepy Josephine who, wrapped in a robe, quickly made her way to the empty Great Hall. She situated herself onto Vivienne’s balcony. She happily watched her lover pass the gates a promptly made their way to her, greeting her with a gentle kiss, which Leliana thankfully turned away from. Afterwards she’s happy to lead her lover to bed, as the second the pair’s heads hit the pillow, the pass effortlessly into a dreamless sleep.

Sera: Sera’s mindlessly making arrows, her door is locked, as she grew tired of Cole trying to make his way into the room to encourage Sera to talk about her anxieties surrounding her Inky leaving without her. She doesn’t even know her lover has returned until she hears the door jiggle a bit before her lover’s voice calls, “Sera, I saw the light was on, are you awake?”

This is when Sera happily throws the door open and grabs her Inky and drags them inside her room, into her arms. The two were eventually found the next morning by a messenger, who reported The Inquisitor and Sera were fast asleep in a pile of various blankets and pillows.

Solas: Solas isn’t sleeping much either, somehow he can’t take his mind off of his vhenan. He completely understand why his lover would take another person on their adventure, potentially a different mage than him. But he worries when they’re away! And there’s not much to do in Skyhold when The Inquisitor is gone. Most servants and nobles steer clear from him. He busies himself painting the various frescos in the atrium. He’s just taken a break and decided to walk along the battlements, and that’s of course, when he sees his beloved. He’s happy to walk down the stairs of the battlements and meet his lover at the gate, awaiting them with open arms. He happily leads them away, whether to their bed in their room, where Solas will leave them to rest. Or if they prefer, they can spend a bit of time in the atrium alone, Solas would be happy to hear the stories of his vhenan’s journey. 

Varric Tethras: Varric is rotating between the tavern and The Great Hall. Ever since he first got the letter from his lover, happily informing him of their return, he’s only been more nervous. Like Cassandra, he fears the image of a truly tragic hero, beaten down on the way back to the arms of their lover. 

He thinks he’s been writing too much tragedy when he firsts gets that mental image

Nevertheless, he pushes through the night.

Eventually, he’s sitting at his usual spot near the fire, unhappily grumbling to himself, sounding like a real dwarf. His mind is racing, and he can’t seem to get the thoughts to stop. So, for one last time that evening, he walks out of the hall, preparing to return to the tavern for a drink and a song from Maryden. That’s when he sees his beloved standing by the gate, quietly talking with a solider who leads their horse away. They’ve returned and they’re safe, that’s all he needed to know.

When The Inquisitor finally catches a glimpse of their lover, all they see is a bright grin spread across his face.

Varric is happy to go along with whatever The Inquisitor wants, bed, a drink, a tale by the fire, he’s just relieved they’ve returned.

Vivienne: Vivienne lies to herself. The day that she hears The Inquisitor will be returning that evening, she nods and nonchalantly walks away. Yet she finds herself constantly checking the gate everytime there is movement in that direction. She has no idea why, however. Her friend, whom she doesn’t really call friend, is taking an awful long amount of time to just get back to Skyhold. 

She justifies her musings on The Inquisitor’s safety as rationally as she can. If The Inquisitor dies, Thedas will be lost. If The Inquisitor dies, her position in court may affected. If The Inquisitor dies, she will be sad-

That is what gives her pause. She straightens her back, hands quickly going to her face as if to smooth out her frown that was previously there, and then she turns on her heel and returns to her sofa. She attempts to swallow down her fear the entire day, but as the night swiftly covers Skyhold, she finds herself unable to sleep. The moons is high in the sky when she emerges from her room, robe tightly wrapped around her. She is sure not a single soul will see her in such a… vulnerable state. She quickly makes her way to the balcony again, and stays there for what feels like an entire age. But just as she gets ready to sigh and return to a sleepless night in her bed, she hears a disturbance coming from the gate. That is where she sees The Inquisitor, alive and perhaps wrapped in the arms of lover. And with a sigh of… relief? She quietly returns to her chambers. Never speaking of this again.

#dragon age #dai #blackwall x inquisitor #blackwall dragon age #cassandra x inquisitor #cassandra pentaghast #commander cullen #cullen rutherford #cullen x inquisitor #dorian pavus #dorian x inquisitor #the iron bull #iron bull #iron bull x inquisitor #josephine montilyet #sera #sera dragon age #da solas #solas dai #varric dai #varric x reader #varric dragon age #vivienne de fer #solas dragon age #solas x inquisitor

[heaven4lostgirls]

Work for it (S.R)

pairing: steve rogers x reader, billy russo x reader

warning: angst, steve is still an ass but he's working on it! they also have a civil conversation for once

summary: the aftermath of the party, some closure and decison making.

word count: 1.5k

a/n: omg hey guys, been a while huh? *nervous chuckle* DONT HATE ME I'M SORRY I LOST MOTIVATION BUT I'M BACK NOW!

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

tag list: @blackhawkfanatic, @buckys-wintersoldier, @witchychanel, @nicoline1998enilocin, @vicmc624

Seeing Steve with Sharon playing happy families had been a slap in the face to put it kindly. Although you knew that Steve had brought her to invoke jealousy, it had also highlighted just how right you were to be suspicious of how much of a priority he made her.

You knew Tony and Bucky felt bad for letting them stay, and even though you had forgiven then, a part of you also felt guilty for feeling like some part of that night was partially their fault. Peter had been attached to your hip after the party, a little brother in every sense of the word, warding off any advances from men and just talking your ear off about his chem final he had last week.

You had indulged him for the most part, he was the only person you knew realistically that you’d be able to handle for such an extended amount of time. Most of the other avengers would play nice for the most part but most, if not nearly all felt a sense of protectiveness over you after your decision to end your relationship with Steve and there was only so much coddling one person could handle.

You were tuning the party out as you excused yourself from Peter, letting him know you were just going to get a refill and would be right back. The happy nod you received in return was enough to let a little bit of a drunk giggle leave your lips. As you reach the bar, you order another cocktail and as you gaze over the party, you see a lot of people you’ve never met but you know are influential, it comes to you that as much as this party was for you, it was also just a typical Tony Stark party.

You loved Tony but he often overdid most celebrations he was left in charge of, you would’ve been happy with a small cake and a movie night, but nonetheless, nobody would ever complain about a party this extravagant being thrown for them. As you receive your drink from the bartender you feel someone sit in the seat next to you, and before you turn your head you already recognise the figure. Bucky.

“Hey Buck” you greet softly as you turn in your seat to face him, he turns to you with an apologetic smile, “Hey Y/N/N.” he opens his  mouth to start off his apology but before he can speak, your hand is out and halting it. “Don’t Buck, honestly you’re not responsible for what Steve does and I’d really appreciate if you could stop taking it out on yourself whenever he does something idiotic, he’s a grown man Barnes” you state and you watch as his brows furrow before he nods, “Barnes?” he questions with a chuckle. “You’ve been demoted” you pout fakely as you smack a kiss on his cheek before trying to find Peter among the crowd of people.

You find him talking to a prestigious Harvard professor you had met once at a charity gala, you leave him be and attempt to find someone else you recognise but the sheer amount of people in the complex starts to overwhelm you and before you realise it, you’re making your way to the elevator to the roof so you can get some air.

The elevator ride is silent which gives you some time to reorganise your thoughts, as the steel doors open you make out a male figure looking at the skyline of the city. You pause and hesitate if you want to disturb them, in your inebriated state you can’t make out exactly who the person in but before you can call out and ask them if it’s okay to join them, they turn around you are met with the face of one guilty looking Steve Rogers.

You sigh and turn to leave but Steve’s voice breaks the cold night air, “Wait- Y/N please don’t go!” he yells, and you stop but don’t turn around. You hear his hurried footsteps to where you’re standing and in fear he’ll try to touch you, you turn around and hold your hand out to stop him. He looks sad but stays put, “I’ll talk to you if you don’t come any closer to me Steve and believe me if I see you even twitch your hand closer to mine, I’ll be gone, and you’ll never see me again” you threaten before making your way to the wall he stood looking out beforehand.

He sighs and nervously stands about a meter from where you’re standing, you two stand in silence for a couple seconds before you break it “Why did you bring her.” “I’m sorry”. You both look at one another in shock before you snort drunkenly and motion for him to continue. “I’m sorry, I was just jealous you were leaving me- us, for Anvil and when I found out you were going to be working for Billy Russo, I couldn’t think straight, all I could think about was you moving on and leaving me behind and that’s not how this is supposed to end Y/N, we’re not supposed to end.” He rushes out and you listen intently before snorting again.

“You know Steve, it’s so funny when you hear the one person you used to beg to hear you, verbalise the same insecurities you had when the two of you were together.” You say with a small giggle and you watch as Steve’s expressions morphs into confusion and then pain. The alcohol in your system has effectively rendered your filter useless so you start again. “You can be as jealous as you want Steve, but  what we’re not going to do is tell me how I should move on with my life, you’re the one that fucked all of this up, not me.” You tell him and he nods emphatically before sighing again.

“I know honey, I know. I fucked up real bad but I’m here asking if there’s even a single shred of hope that we can fix this, I’m going to do it. I will spend the rest of my life fixing this, I will run myself into the ground trying to mend every wound and insecurity I have ever caused you, I need to know if you see a future with us, because if you do, honey I’ll never hurt you like that ever again” he says as his eyes plead with you believe him.

“Those all sounds like empty promises right now Steve, do you know how many times you’ve promised to me that you’d prioritise me when we were together? How many times you told me you’d stop running after Sharon? How’d you Put. Me. First.” You emphasise and watch as guilt overcomes his features. He’s about to start talking again before the sound of the heavy metal door opening to the roof scrapes against the floor to open.

It's almost comical how your heart drops and then flutters at the sight of Billy Russo. You see Steve’s body stiffen at the sight of the playboy worthy smile on Billy’s lips. You smile back at him and as you move to walk over to him, Steve stops you. “Hey, I thought we were still busy talking?” he asks with jealousy and anxiety in his tone. He can’t watch you walk away with Billy; you need to stay here. You’re safe here with him, who knows what Billy will do with you. You can’t leave him again; he has to make you stay.

Before you can even make out an answer, Billy’s close enough to speak. “Hey! Tony let me know he was throwing you a party and you know I had to come a celebrate my  new assistant. He let me know he saw you coming up here, I can leave if you want some privacy” he says with a smile as he nods at Steve before focusing his attention on you. You smile at him with one of the biggest and brightest smiles he’s seen you wear since before your breakup. He wants to roll his eyes at Bily’s obvious  flirting, but his jealousy takes a backseat at the anxiety he feels because his charm seems to be working on you.

“Yeah, actually we’re a bit busy!” he calls out to the both of you but all you do is turn to glare at him as you turn to Billy and shake your head before placing your hand on his suit jacket. Steve clenches his jaw at the sight whilst glaring at your hand like it’s committing a criminal offense. You turn to Steve, and he quickly fixes a small smile on his face. “I think I’m going to head back to the party with Billy. I’ll see you around Steve.” You say and although Steve feels his heart drop in his chest, he nods with a small smile as he watches the two of you walk away, already conversing animatedly.

“Hey!” he calls out at the last minute and winces as you turn around with a look of annoyance, “What, Rogers?” you ask and winces at the use of his last name, thin ice. “You never gave me an answer! Do you still have hope?” he calls out with a hopeful look and watches as your jaw twitches but the slight movement from your lips indicate your amusement. “You’ve got work to do, Rogers” is all you call out as Billy holds the door open for you to let you go back. Like the prick he is, Billy just smiles and nods at Steve as he leaves.

#juliwrites #steve rogers hurt #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers #steven grant rogers #captain america x you #captain america angst #captain america x reader #captain

[jujutsubaby]

Hello my dear! Congrats for your achievment!✨

I’d like to play and I say:

Cafè Heaven and Hell.

I’d like to order a white mocha and take away a Macha Latte.

I’ll eat a mochi donut!🍩

Thank you very much! 🤗🌸

a/n: thanks for your ask 💓 yours was super fun to write and i hope you enjoy it hehe~ also guys i swear i don't hate gojo he’s just a male thot to me. also btw when i went to paris last year there was a male thot that served me at a cafe and so he’s just all i think about when i think of gojo and cafe au’s

✨ WELCOME TO CAFE HEAVEN & EARTH ! ✨

🤍 PAIRING. gojo

🤍 WORD COUNT. 1.3k (sorry i just love writing about male thots)

you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as you enter your favorite cafe. work today had been complete hell, and you need a caffeine and sugar fix to give you the will to live this evening.

the cozy ambience of cafe heaven and earth instantly soothes you - the romantic low lighting, the smell of eucalyptus and coffee beans, and the low jazz music playing in the background settles over you. 

after ordering your white mocha (as well as a mochi donut as an extra treat — you really deserve it today), you wander to your usual counter seat by the window and lean back with a relaxed sigh. 

you had been so excited to start work at the prestigious zenin law firm, but just three months in, you were already feeling the first signs of burnout.

you usually like to go over documents from work during your coffee runs, but today, you just need to savor the moment. as soon as you sit back down, you close your eyes and take your long awaited sip of white mocha. as the sweet, rich liquid hits your tongue, you can’t help but almost moan in satisfaction. 

your moment of calm is immediately ruined by an unfamiliar voice. “wow, that good, huh?”

you crack one eye open in annoyance to see a tall and muscular white haired man sitting a couple seats away from you. you’re taken aback by just how blue his eyes are - one glance and you find yourself sinking into its ocean blue. the next thing you notice (and you do feel a bit embarrassed about it but c’mon, you had a long day at work!) is how muscular and lean his arms are, his fingers playing his phone on the counter absentmindedly. it’s a wonder you didn’t notice him as soon as you got here. 

remembering that he just interrupted your peace and quiet to ask a question, you respond, “the white mochas here are always the best.” in spite of how astoundingly handsome the stranger sitting near you is, you’re not really in the mood for a conversation, so you hope your tone dissuades him from continuing.

“yeah? can i get a sip?” he asks, a bit too fast for your liking.  

 “what??” you’re taken aback by his forward question and brash manner. how old is this guy, anyway? this is the kind of behavior you expect out of your ten year old nephew yuji, not a grown ass adult!

the man pouts in response. what was his deal?! model-worthy good looks or not, he was starting to wear on your already limited patience. 

“maybe you could get your own drink?” you ask, trying to remain polite. “i’m kind of a germaphobe,” you lie. you don’t really care too much about sharing cups, but you really want this guy off your back. your precious relaxation time is limited!

“pleeease!!!!” he starts begging loudly, earning looks from surrounding cafe patrons. he notices you looking around self-consciously, and scrambles to the seat next to you so he can talk more quietly. 

“please!” he repeats at a more socially acceptable volume. “i’ll drink from the other side, promise! you won’t even know my mouth was there!” god, was he irritating! (it certainly didn’t help that he was making you think about his mouth now, too.) 

 desperate for this stranger to leave you be, you decide to let him have what he wants. then he’d leave you alone, right? you kind of doubt it, but it’s worth a try anyway.

“ok, ok! fine.” you slide the ceramic mug towards him, and he has the audacity to look smug as he clasps the mug between his hands. you absolutely do not notice how long and elegant his fingers look curled around the drink. 

“down the hatch!” he chirps as he lifts the mug to his lips.

you soon find out that the two of you have radically different definitions of the word “sip”. to him, a sip means gulping down half the mug, apparently. you watch wistfully as the drink you had so been looking forward to begins to disappear before your eyes. 

 when he puts the mug back down, his smug expression is replaced with an exaggerated grimace. “ewww, how do you drink that stuff?? it’s so bitter!” 

as you seethe to yourself, he darts his tongue out to swipe away at some foam left on his lips (which you are pointedly not paying attention to), before continuing. “i’m gojo, by the way.”

“it’s not bitter,” you say through gritted teeth. “it’s the best espresso in town, and one of the sweetest drinks they offer. besides, couldn’t you have decided that you hated it before you drank half the damn thing? what’s your problem, man?” 

“i told you, my name’s gojo!” the man starts to whine again, but seeing your animosity, he changes his tune quickly. “ok, sorry, sorry! i didn’t mean to annoy you! listen, why don’t you get yourself another drink on me?” he reaches into his pocket and pulls a shiny credit card from his wallet, handing it to you with an air of penitence. 

“really? thanks, gojo. that’s surprisingly decent of you,” you reply. you start to feel a little guilty for almost losing it at this complete stranger. his guilelessness, while annoying, is maybe almost even starting to charm you. 

“uh, maybe while you’re up there, you could also pick me up a drink that’s not a complete pukefest too?” he asks, fluttering his fluffy white eyelashes at you. upsettingly, your stomach does giddy somersaults at the sight, which you studiously ignore.

you sigh and roll your eyes. “all right, pretty boy, what’s your drink?” 

“oh, they’ll know,” he replies with a wink. “the gojo special — hot cocoa with strawberry milk mixed in. best drink on the planet.” 

you wrinkle your nose. “that sounds disgusting, but sure.” you head to the order counter for a second time, looking down at the card he entrusted you with as you wait in line. 

damn, a black card? he’s annoying AND rich? pick a struggle. nonetheless, you weren’t one to pass off another drink, especially at his expense. you go up to the counter and decide on ordering matcha latte and his wretched drink order. the barista looks at you with distaste after ordering it, before sighing and ringing you up. great, now you can never come to this place ever again. 

it doesn’t take long for your drinks to come out carefully make your way to the seat. you notice he’s dusting his hands on his thighs.

“alright, you weirdo, here’s your-” you stop mid sentence as you place the drinks on the table and notice there’s a huge bite taken out of your mochi donut. your precious mochi donut. you glance at gojo, then back at the donut, and then back his hands which still had remnants of frosting on top. 

“did you…did you just take a bite out of my donut while i was gone?” you say incredulously. 

“what?”

“i know you heard me.” your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose in annoyance. “do you just always take bites out of random people’s food? who raised you?!” you’re in awe of someone who has social skills like this.

“don’t worry about it, kitten,” he purrs, and you hate that your heart beats faster at his nickname for you. “i’ll just buy you another one. i’ll buy you a dozen right now.” 

you sigh. “okay, fine.” you end up ordering a box of mochi donuts against your better judgment. even worse is that you…actually had a good time with him? you can’t remember the last time you were this annoyed but laughed this much. 

“by the way, you gonna be here tomorrow?” he asks with his mouth full of the last mochi donut. ugh, you shouldn’t find this attractive, but you do. 

“yeah.” you say, before you have time to change your mind. you take out a pen from your tote and quickly scribble your number on a napkin. common sense be damned, you think to yourself on the bus as you find yourself yearning to see that color blue again.

#☕️ coffee break #🪅 pree's follower events #100 #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #gojou x reader #jujutsu kaisen

[holylulusworld]

Rude (1)

Title: Rude

Summary: He’s just rude.

Square filled for @anyfandomaubingo: Mob AU

Square filled for @steverogersbingo: C 3 - Free Space - Alpha!Steve Rogers

Pairing: Alpha(Mobster) Steve Rogers x ???!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, a/b/o, Steve being a rude asshole, injured reader, your boss is an asshole, remorse

Rating: Mature

Words: 1,9 k

AFG AU BINGO masterlist 

Steve Rogers Bingo masterlist

Rude masterlist

Divider by @firefly-graphics

“Drink, now,” snapping his fingers, one of the guests' barks orders at the waitress. The poor girl flinches, and hurriedly walks away. You can’t blame her, though. Your boss didn’t tell you all the people at the party will be rude, self-centered, and well, complete douches. “You, come back.”

“Sir, can I help you?” you’re not a waitress, but try to help your colleague out. “What do you want? Bourbon, Whiskey, some manners?”

“What did you just say,” he slowly turns around, and the hairs on your neck stand as the tall alpha turns his attention toward you. “Repeat yourself, BETA!” He can’t scent you and immediately assumes you are only a beta.

“I asked you if you want a drink, Sir,” you try to not show you despise men like him. Rich. Spoiled. Aggressive. His suit is tailor-made, and his Tom Ford shoes cost more than half of your wardrobe, still, he lacks in manners. “Sir.”

“Where is the other girl? The cute and submissive one,” he chuckles as you make a face. Alphas are even worse than rich men. “What? Don’t you like to be a good girl too?”

“If you don’t want a drink, I’ll leave and take care of the food I made for the party. Choose now, Sir,” you’re slowly losing your patience here. Usually, you are a friendly and patient person, but this guy is getting on your nerves with his cocky smirk and the way he looks down at you.

“Nah, I don’t want you to serve me a drink. Send one of the cute girls over here,” you huff, but bite your tongue.

“I’ll look if anyone is free to serve you your drink,” turning to leave, you ignore the alpha huffs behind your back. “If not, over there is a bar. You can always get yourself a drink. You’re a grown man after all.”

He growls as you make your way back toward the buffet to check on the food. You smile to yourself as you just stood your ground against the tall and bulgy alpha.

“What a rude guy,” one of the waitresses complains. “Why is the boss never around if you need them. Three guys tried to feel me up, and another poured his drink over my shirt, yelling wet t-shirt contest.”

“Grown men acting like horny teens when in a pack,” you quip. “Go and get a new shirt from the trunk of my car. I’ll cover for you meanwhile. I always bring spare clothes with me. One of the shirts should be your size.”

She smiles softly as you hand her the keys to your car. “Thank you so much, Y/N,” she coos. “I’ll be right back, promised.”

“Take your time, I’ve got this,” taking her tray you flash her a smile. “It’s no problem at all.”

While your colleague moves to the back entrance, you start to make your round. You offer drinks to drunk guys, avoid getting groped, and put on your sweetest fake smile.

“Out of my way,” you yelp as someone runs you over. He pushes you out of his way, ignoring you ended up on the ground, crying out in pain. Out of the corner of your eye, you recognize the alpha you angered some hours ago.

“Miss. Shit,” another man makes his way through the people crowding you. “Someone, call an ambulance. Her hand is bleeding, and the fingers don’t look good.” The man strips his jacket off to put it under your head. “Miss do not move too much. I’m afraid your arm is broken. Looks bad.”

You whimper as you glance at your bleeding arm. “I tried to catch my fall,” you sniffle. “It hurts.”

“I know, doll,” the man runs his hand over your hair. “The ambulance will be here in a minute, okay.”

“Okay.”

“Clint, move your ass and check if they are on their way. I want them here in two minutes,” you flinch at his outburst. “It’s okay. They will help you, doll. This looks like a FOOSH injury to me. I broke my hand when I was a kid. I fell and tried to catch my fall.”

“I—” the pain is overwhelming, and the scent hitting you from behind your back doesn’t help. You can sense the alpha from before and it makes you curl into a ball.

“Sir, you can’t fire me! I broke my hand at one of your parties! Who will make your canapes now?” he shrugs, ignoring that you tear up. It was your dream to open your own catering firm, just not so soon. “Please, I need the job.”

“You are fired,” he points at your hand. “You’re useless to me with a broken hand. If you want to sue me, you can try.” Now he smirks darkly. “Go ahead, beta. We will see what happens if you do.”

“Fuck you,” you twirl around to storm out of his office, cursing his birth on your way out. “What do I do now?”

“Steve, you must apologize to the poor girl! I was at her boss’ office, and she got fired because of you. You broke her fucking hand,” Bucky growls at his best friend. “What’s wrong with you lately? Only as Peggy left you for some beta, you can’t run that girl over and just move on.”

“I didn’t know she got fired,” Steve sighs deeply. “She was a feisty bitch, and I was mad at her. I didn’t want to hurt her, though.”

“You saw her on the ground and didn’t do shit, Steve. Why?”

“Buck, you already took care of her. The moment I stepped closer she curled into a ball, and I didn’t want to scare her even more. I’m not some asshole hurting a girl on purpose. I just—” running his fingers through his hair Steve sighs deeply. “I saw Peggy at the party, in the arms of yet another man. She was on her way out of the back entrance when I ran the girl over.”

“Fine,” Bucky says. “Either way, you will apologize to her. Here’s her address. Buy some flowers and go to the girl.”

“What? I can’t just stand on her doorstep Buck. What will she do?” Steve makes a face. “Punk, she will call the cops or worse.”

“What’s worse than ending up in jail, Stevie,” the brunette smirks. “Come on, spill it.”

“What if she freaks out or cries. Bucky, she will believe I hurt her on purpose. How can she not? I can’t go to her,” hands-on his hips Steve tries to stay adamant. “I can send her flowers, though.”

“You will not send her flowers, Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky just used his alpha voice on his friend, making Steve growl in response. “We are friends since childhood, but this doesn’t mean I will not beat you into a pulp. Be a man and apologize.”

“Fuck’s sake,” taking the piece of paper with you address out of Bucky’s hands, the blonde alpha grumbles under his breath. “Which flowers do you want me to buy?”

“Be creative, Steve. Go to a flower shop and tell them you ran the poor girl over. Find flowers telling her I’m sorry for running you over and that I was a douche…”

“Red roses, lilies, gerbera, asters, and squills,” Steve clears his throat as he stands in front of your door with a huge bouquet in his arms. “Squills say forgive me for being a rude douche the best.”

He straightens his tie with his free hand, not knowing why he’s nervous. You are just a random girl he ran over at a party. Steve takes a deep breath as he lifts his fist to knock at your door.

“Coming,” you coo from the other side of the door. “What can I—? You?” looking the alpha up and down, you frown deeply. “What do you want here?”

“Uh—I,” he huffs before pushing the flowers in your hand. “I came to apologize. I didn’t want to run you over. You see, girl.” He clears his throat, tugging at his tie, “I saw someone from my past and wanted to—”

“You wanted to what, Sir?”

“Honestly,” he nervously laughs, “I don’t know. She left me for some beta, telling me I’m too aggressive and rough. He looks down at his hands, shaking his head. “Maybe she was right. I was rude to the waitress and you for no reason. Then I ran you over.”

“I don’t know why you came here. You shouldn’t buy me flowers,” you step back when Steve moves toward you. “Stay away from me.”

“Doll,” you scrunch up your nose at the pet name. It’s the same the other man used at the party, “I’m sorry I ran you over.  Can I come in and we can talk things out?”

“No. I’m good. Really,” like hell. You will not let a foreign alpha step inside your apartment. “Thanks for the flowers and all. My hand is barely hurting, and I’ll find a job in no time. No biggie.”

“Let me inside,” he cocks his head as you seem to react to his alpha voice. Betas usually don’t hear the difference or smell his scent changes when he’s angry or nervous. “Girl, what are you hiding.” He’s sizing you up now. “Something is odd about you.”

“Ah, ha-ha…thanks for the compliment. You have a way to apologize, that’s a fact,” you try to get rid of the alpha, hoping he will just leave. “Listen, you can go now. Please.”

“Bucky said I must make sure you are alright,” Steve takes another step toward your door and another until he’s so close you can feel his breath on your face. “Let me check on you.”

“I’m good,” swallowing thickly you try to hide that his scent makes your toes curl. “I got a nice cast around my hand, and all.”

“I don’t even know your name,” shit, he cups the back of your neck and rubs his thumb over your mating gland, humming. “I knew it. You’re omega. A feisty little thing too.”

“You need to go. Now,” while you fight your hindbrain and try not to give in to the alpha, he dips his head to press his nose to your scent gland. “Go—please.” You whimper.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“I’m Steve. Now let me in and we can talk about what happened at the party. I want to know why you are using a scent blocker to hide from your alpha.”

“You’re not my alpha,” pushing against his chest with your working hand you try to make the alpha budge. “I mean it. Go home!”

“I can scent you, doll. It’s a faint scent, but it’s enough to let me know you are mine,” he doesn’t expect you to slap his cheek hard when he tries to kiss you.

“Dude! I don’t even know you. Get a hold of yourself, Sir,” Steve smirks as you straighten your oversized sleep shirt. “Now, if you would excuse me. I want to go back to sleep.”

“I want to come in. Please let me show you that I didn’t want to hurt you, Y/N.”

“Why would I? You’re a stranger who just tried to get grabby,” you push against his chest, making him stumble back. “If you want to get to know me better, come back. If not, leave me alone.”

You slam the door in his face. “What the fuck just happened?” Steve stands there in stunned silence, laughing as you are the first woman rejecting him.

>> Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#Rude #afgaubingo #steverogersbingo #steve rogers #alpha!steve rogers #mobster!steve #mobster!steve x reader #alpha!steve rogers x omega reader #a/b/o #alpha!steve x reader

[moondirti]

Begging you to write pt2 of Brat tamer Mando. 😩

alright, alright. you guys convinced me - I really can't resist hard dom Din. I wrote this one my phone in the car so forgive me for any mistakes!

part one

pairing: Bodyguard!Din Djarin x F!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 2.1k summary: you act out. din is less than pleased. warnings: brat-taming, flirting, teasing, possessiveness, punishments, manhandling, spanking, pussy slapping, praise, reader isn’t straight.

He’s been taking it slow with you.

It’s not as though the sex isn’t good. It’s great – thirst-quenching, world-shattering. But Din holds back. You can feel it in the way his muscles tense whenever you mouth off; his grip leaves your body tender to the touch but is never harsh enough to bruise. One would think he’d immediately jump at the opportunity to use sex as a venue to air his grievances – like he’s admitted to fantasising about – but he’s unbearably gentle the first few times you fuck. Dipping in with soft kisses and reassuring whispers, his touch as light as air. 

You realise it’s because you’ve been holding back, too. 

You haven’t lost your spark, per se, you’ve just been spoiled rotten as of late. Why sneak out to cause mischief when all you want is the man of beskar right outside your door? He gives you everything, everything – his tongue, his hands, that deliciously large cock – and you’ve grown pliant. Subservient. He doesn’t react because you haven’t given him any reason to.

The night your father hosts his annual networking gala, you decide to change that fact. 

He’s been given strict orders to stick by your side. The guests are all old officials; senators in charge of sectors or planets, candidates for chancellor. On paper, they’re squeaky clean, with a blank criminal history that gets them through screening. But your father knows, Din knows, that’s not the truth of the matter. Politicians lie, cheat and the majority are grotesquely perverted – the two would be damned before they let you get taken advantage of by a wealthy man with sick intentions.

So, Din is to trail behind you all night, just to interfere if things look wrong. That doesn’t mean you can’t have your fun though, especially considering your newfound relationship is still very much a secret.

You wear an A-line gown with a back that plunges to the base of your spine, the dimples just above your ass available for all to see. That’d be enough to drive him up the wall, but you make sure to tailor a leg slit that cuts to your hips for extra measure. It’s the perfect amount of skin to maintain your family’s image while still teasing those around you. You nearly faint with the excitement the latter inspires – Din doesn’t need to know that the only one you care for is him. 

The helmet makes it hard to gauge his reaction when you finally step out of your room. You’re buffed and polished, glittering, oils slathered onto your skin to reflect the warm light. But you do catch onto the subtle shift of his weight, how his hands clench tightly, the leather squeaking. When he speaks, his words tear out, rougher than usual – you haven’t heard him this agitated since the day he beat up Synko. 

“What are you wearing?” He interrogates with that deep timbre. He makes a move to grab for you, but you manage to dance away before his arms encircle your waist.

You giggle, twirling just out of reach. “My new dress!” 

And then you skip away before he can say much else. Something in you is able to place your fleeing as cowardice – you know his presence is enough to dominate you into submission, and you were not done playing just yet.

You snag an available lift before your Mandalorian can catch up, laughing at the sound of his angry snarl as the doors slam shut. You have half a mind to believe that when they inevitably open up again, Din will have run down the several flights of stairs to meet you there. You suppress the shiver that erupts at the thought. It’s impossible, but then again, he’s continuously proven the lines he’s willing to cross for you. 

Anticipation flutters in your chest as you make your descent; both for the event ahead and the undoubtedly painful punishments that await you afterwards. When you reach the level on which the gala is being held – twentieth, for its several ballrooms – you’re happy to see that Din is nowhere in sight. 

Your glee doesn’t last long, however. As the night drags on, he never makes an appearance. 

You feel the weight of his stare on you at all times. It’s searing, the heat of spite, causing phantom boils to bubble onto your exposed skin. But no matter where you look, how trained your eye is to the glint of silver beskar, you cannot spot him. He keeps his promise to your father; he is indeed ensuring your safety, yet it seems that Din has adapted his own game. One that trumps yours by a mile, something sick and twisted and so enticingly dangerous that you can’t help but test his patience. 

You preen at the men who take interest in you. They hand you flutes of champagne, large hands skimming down your back. They can never amount to Din – their lecherous quips are too wanton to compare to his careful warnings, their voices not rough enough and their humoured presence a stark contrast to his gravitational pull. But you laugh, and you bite your lip, and you take their boring stories with grace because you know he’s watching. And he knows you know. This silent back-and-forth is too addicting to pass over. Your panties start to slip with the slick you produce. 

A woman approaches you at one point, dressed in a caped dress pointed at the shoulders. She introduces herself as Latyl Pavan, one of your father’s associates, and she just so happens to be the most interesting person you’ve come across so far. You’re still all-too-aware of Din’s eye, the stuttering pace of your heart serving as a tangible reminder, but when she asks you to dance, you can forget about it. Somewhat.

She whispers into your ear about the current company, her dark skin pressing to yours, bathed in some coconut concoction, and your cheeks flare with the warmth of her special attention. As Latyl steps in tandem to the music, you lean into her guidance, growing soft, overflowing with the beginning effects of alcohol and complemented self-esteem. You hardly notice when the dance ends, or when she leads you to a secluded corner, her dainty hand rubbing circles onto your shoulder.

“Such a pretty thing. Are you here all alone?” She asks, grabbing two glasses of some unknown beverage from a passing waiter and handing one over to you. You take it, smiling bashfully. A shadow nears in your peripheral; your knowledge on who it is boosts your confidence. 

“Seems like it,” You shrug, nudging closer to her muscled form. 

“Can I take that as an invitation?” She whispers in response, a nail tracing the edge of your leg slit. Your core broils, you’re actually interested. Technically, you and Din never discussed exclusivity – but if the grunt coming from the unplaced shape next to you is anything to go by, he doesn’t like the idea. 

“I don’t see why not–” You begin, but your wrist is promptly grabbed with one gloved hand. Its orange fingertips confirm your suspicions – you melt on the inside.

“Your father needs you.” Din gruffs, pulling you away from the woman without another word. You wave apologetically at her; she just winks back. 

Your heels click against tile as you try to keep up with the fuming man ahead of you. He turns into unknown hallways, taking you away from the action of the evening. Music dims, dims, dims, until it’s nothing but echoes that carry with drifts. His clutch on you is firm, solid, breaking capillaries in a way that will undeniably bruise. 

“Let me go!” You squirm. Your thrashing earns you another harsh tug, but he doesn’t respond. “You can’t just take me away from the party, Din, you have no right!” You sound pathetically pettish, your voice peaking to girlish screams. 

He suddenly pulls you into an empty room, shoving you inwards while he locks the door. The space is dark, but with the benefit of city lights that stream through the large window, you’re able to glean the general shape of chairs and a sole conference table. 

The Mandalorian’s harsh grip lifts to your jaw as he pushes you up against a wall. You claw at the flat surface for purchase and come up empty. You cheeks squish inward with the press of his fingers, lips puckering inadvertently. Boldly, you blow a small kiss his way.

His knee finds its place between your legs, driving upwards to nestle between your inner thighs. Your dress travels up with it. 

“Explain yourself.” He husks, his visor pinning your wide-eye stare. 

“Dunno wha’ you mea– mff,” You try, but his hold on your jaw tightens. 

“I’m giving you the chance to dampen the blow, you brat.” 

You just wiggle your hips, searching for the edge of his cuisses to rub yourself on. His free hand pins your lower half to the wall, willing you to stop. 

“Mmm. Did nothing wrong, though,” You tease. With the way he’s constraining you, you can’t smile, but your eyes must twinkle with the hints of one, for he quickly snaps. 

“Alright, that’s it.” He manhandles you onto the nearby table, stomach down, your bottom hanging off the edge as he rucks up your dress. The fabric bunches around your midsection, uncovering your ass to his wolfish attentions. 

He’s taken off his gloves, so his bare hands grab fistfuls of flesh, kneading your muscles into any direction he sees fit. You’d hear his groans if you weren’t so occupied with your own breathy pants. He holds you in place by your hips, keeping you from squirming away. 

“D-Din–” One hand leaves you. You mistakenly assume he wants to hear you out.

But then the first spank comes with a roaring woosh, colliding with the side of your rear, branding you with its stinging slap. 

You screech, kicking outwards. Your feet manage to collide with some part of him, but he quickly tucks your legs between the table and his thighs, dismantling your efforts with one movement and his brute strength. 

His calloused palm smoothes over the site of your pain as he bends over your back, his helmet tucking over your shoulder so his modulated voice pitches right by your ear. 

“Count.” 

You keen. 

“One for every person you threw yourself on today.” 

Fuck.

Din doesn’t give you a moment's respite after the first one. His hand – large, dry, rough – strikes you in rapid succession, alternating between cheeks, kneading into the shaking flesh when your words falter in stuttered sobs. The skin starts to glow with pain, furnace hot, which triples after every spank. 

“AH! S-Seven, p-please– Din,” You reach back to wrap a hand around his wrist, keeping him steady against you. 

“Hm? Ready to apologise, ner kar’ta?” He hums, amusement pouring from him in tidal waves. You sniff back the snot and tears that have doubtlessly smeared your makeup by now, and shake your head. Ner kar’ta. He’d told you what it meant after murmuring the syllabic Mando’a with reverence as he ate you out one day. My heart. His use of it now, even as he punishes you, reassures you that you’re okay. He still cares for you. 

So, you turn your head, looking at him with a smug grin. “Never.” 

He growls. 

He actually, genuinely growls. 

You clench with need. 

You think he’s abandoned his mission to spank you for every flirtatious misdemeanour you’ve engaged in today when Din flips you onto your back, ripping your panties clean off. He instructs you to hold your legs to your chest, and you oblige because, well, you practically salivate at the idea of him fucking you like this. It’d make a snugger fit than usual, his thick cock filling you up to the absolute fullest. 

What meets your pussy instead is the sharp crack of a tight blow. 

“FUCK,” You shout, trying to twist away from him. If you imagine the spanking hurt, it’s nothing compared to the way he slaps your cunt. The stunning hit of his full, unadulterated power against your most sensitive region is enough to blind you momentarily; lightning shoots through your clit and roots into your gut. A fresh bout of tears escape you. 

“Shhh, hush now baby. That’s it, that’s good.” He praises, rubbing a thumb over the bundle of nerves. You shiver, tense with the whiplash of pain to gentle pleasure. “What do you say?” 

“Eigh… Eight?” You hiccup. The Mandalorian’s chuckle is a cool balm over your aching self. 

“Yes, but not quite. Try again, baby.” His fingers slip, finding the dip in between your soaked folds. Your hole flits, eager to suck his digits in. He doesn't quite finger you, not yet.  

“Th-Thank you, sir.” Din croons. “Good. Good girl.”

taglist: @leithatnight @saintbedelia

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[blasphemecel]

Portgas D. Ace — Kind Of, Maybe

PAIRING: Portgas D. Ace/Reader WORD COUNT: 4.1k TYPE: Friends to Lovers, Fluff & Humor, a little Pining, Modern AU WARNING(S): Drunken shenanigans at one point, Reader is a dangerous driver (inspired by my friend who has almost done in almost all of us), A few NSFW jokes

It’s not often that Ace is the more sensible one or the less idiotic one. After he came back from a trip overseas, however, you were unfortunately the only one who was available to pick him up from the airport. He’s never been in your car before, but he has heard Sabo’s horror stories about your driving. Sabo banned Luffy from driving with you when he alarmingly claimed it sounded like fun, but he never banned Ace from being your passenger, and sometimes Ace wonders if Sabo even cares about him.

Yes, he’s a grown ass man and Sabo can’t ban him from anything, and yes he’s being melodramatic, but those are just semantics.

He’s spacing out contemplating this grave danger he’s in, not paying attention to you until your voice brings him out from his stupor. You still have one hand around the wheel while you’re holding up your phone with the other. “Yeah man, that’s my order. Hey, Ace, what flavor of pizza do you want?”

“Eyes on the road!” he cries, realizing you’ve turned to look at him.

“Eyes on the road, I don’t think that’s a flavor. Oh, wait, he’s talking about me,” you say, looking ahead again. “Ok, you can make it a veggie then.”

“You know I don’t like that one,” he says, glaring at you. You’ve gotta be doing it on purpose.

You roll your eyes in annoyance. “He’s such a diva. Change the veggie to a barbecue. Ok, thanks. Love you.”

“Why are you telling the pizza person you love them?”

“I have no idea,” you say, throwing your phone to the backseat.

“You’re a very dangerous person, you know that?” asks Ace.

With a flick of your hand, you dismiss his concerns and take a turn. Through a suspicious squint, Ace vaguely recalls these streets, but they don’t lead to his and his brothers’ house.

“You’re going in the wrong direction.”

“I thought we’re going to my house,” you say.

“Why would we be going there?”

“To eat, moron.”

Ace doesn’t even remember agreeing to this — probably because you didn’t bother asking him if he wants any — but he sighs and gives in without a word since you already ordered for him, too, and it’s not like he would’ve denied your invitation in the first place. Instead he chooses to change the subject.

“Does your car have a name?” he blurts out.

“What?”

“You seem like the kinda douche who’d have a car named Becky or something.”

“Shut up,” you say, reaching out to punch him in the shoulder, but try to concentrate on driving again before he starts wailing about his ‘safety’ and how you guys are going to ‘die.’ “If my car had a name, it’d be something cool like Orgasmtron-3000.”

He snorts at you, eyes crinkling at your stupidity. “Pfft. That’s lame and you know it.”

“You wouldn’t get it,” you declare with a flippant hand gesture before you turn up your nose like a snob. Ace really wishes you’d watch the damn road, but the scenery becomes more familiar the longer the drive goes on. Somehow the two of you are still intact by the time you pull up near your apartment complex.

He’s only ever swung by your place for late night parties and his memories of those times are foggy at best. Now, it’ll be different: 1. Both of you will be sober, and 2. The other borderline alcoholics won’t be there to keep you company. The thought makes him a little nervous suddenly, even though he knows it’s silly. It’s just you. And he survived the ride so it’s a tad too late to be stressed.

“Soo, how was your trip?” you ask once you’ve both made it inside the elevator.

“Fun at times, not so fun at others,” he tells you, pressing the button for the floor you live on since he’s closer. “You know how it is.”

“Wow, you’re so descriptive.”

“Aw, like you really wanna listen to all that.”

This is unlike him since Ace loves chewing your ears off with his stories, though you suppose he’s not inebriated enough to start telling you about the time he and Sabo pissed in a pond and got arrested. Which is something you’ve heard about around fifteen times at your get-togethers.

You smile your usual sharp and evil little grin, inching closer to him, his nose hovering near yours, breath mingling. “What if I do?”

Ace tilts his head to the side, not understanding what you’re getting at. “I don’t know? I’d tell you, I guess.”

The elevator doors open and you back away from him like nothing had happened, face slacking, leading the way to your apartment. He follows in your stead and you two spend some time catching up for a few minutes until the pizza arrives. You act like you’ve forgotten you ordered it already, which doesn’t surprise him, but Ace would also rather give himself a noogie than miss out on free food.

Your return is cause for celebration enough, so he cheers and you bow while balancing the two boxes in your hands.

“You even got the biggest ones,” he points out with a genuine sense of wonder, like you’ve made him the happiest man alive by buying some shit full of grease. You place them on the table, re-taking your spot next to him on the couch.

“What can I say? My riches precede me.” Not to mention you had a discount on that, but you’re not about to tell him lest your delusions of luxury shatter.

“Not to be that guy, but that’s… not how you use that word.”

At his response, you scoff. “Go to Italy once and you start thinking you’re all fancy.”

“You’re an idiot,” he says, nudging you in the ribs and laughing at your expense once more. Your scowling only gets more intense, but then he stops when an idea crosses his mind. He reaches for another slice and then he brings it up to your face like he’s trying to tempt a horse with carrots. “Try some of mine. It’s really good.”

“Sure,” you concede, parting your mouth, about to take a bite. If you’re generous (which you’d insist you are, usually), you might even share yours.

At this moment Ace falls asleep with his head landing on your shoulder. Both of his pizza slices end up on your shirt and one of his arms dangles around your waist. Your eye twitches as visions of washing these new stains enter your mind. For a second you contemplate kicking him out to get robbed or something, but you end up letting him doze on you anyway.

___

You’re laying down on your towel and Ace invited himself to sit on it, too, in front of you under the parasol. It’s cramped and you don’t have enough space to stretch your legs without exposing them to the harsh sun. Besides, you’d overdramatized how you burned your soles when you guys were settling down earlier. “Why’d you even wanna go to the beach? You can’t even swim.”

“I told you already!” You can imagine the dumb expression he’s making with ease, even though you can only see him rubbing the back of his head. “I wanted to go boating with you. And then I forgot to take the boat…”

Ignoring how idiotic that is, you say, “I think you just like having an excuse to be shirtless.”

Ace clicks his tongue, your remark reminding him of something. “They actually still do that dresscode thing at restaurants, can you believe that?”

You can believe that considering he got kicked out on your birthday a few years ago for showing up in just an unbuttoned shirt, a ridiculous cowboy hat and crocs. Then you had to sneak him in through the bathroom window. Sometimes your genius mind astounds you.

“No, that’s totally a shock,” you say in the most genuine tone you can muster. A thought crosses your mind, and that never ends in anything good, but regardless you proceed.

You grace Ace with a light kick to the back, and he turns around with a small frown on his lips. “Why am I your foot scrubber all of a sudden?”

“Ace, I’m bored,” you tell him. “I wanna bury you in the sand.”

He pushes your legs away from him to fry on the scorching sands, which makes you glare at him, and then he protests, “No way! Not if I bury you first.”

Your instinctual reaction is to sit up and try to put him in a chokehold, which leads him to mumble something about you being a raging sociopath under his breath, but he wrestles out of your hold without too much trouble. What ensues next is a series of swats and pushing at each other as well as incoherent screams about who’s going to be a ‘sandy loser.’ Many bystanders stare incredulously at your childish display.

At one point, Ace manages to get you to lie back down. Not restraining your wrists or anything is definitely an unwise move, but he manages to lose his balance somehow and he tumbles over you, finding his chest pressed against yours, faces dangerously close together. Again, he gets this sort of sheepish nervousness in this proximity, even though it’s not unusual for you to touch each other. Something about this is different though, with his lips almost ghosting over yours. A queasy feeling torments his stomach.

Everything stills, and Ace swallows dryly before he clenches his fists by your sides. Alright, this is the moment. He lowers his eyelids, mentally preparing himself to give you a quick peck, but you interrupt his plans of romance by rolling over and flipping your positions so you’re straddling him now.

The sand feels unbearably hot on his back. Whatever mood he was in before is surely ruined now and you let out an evil laugh of triumph before you pour some over his abdomen, too.

“Wait, ouch, it burns,” he pleads, but you ignore him and continue with your task of burying him. “Seriously, you’re vicious!”

“Shut up. I won.”

Ace pushes you off, but you slip away and bolt towards the water. When you throw a glance over your shoulder and realize he’s following you, you don’t make it past the shallows. After one step in, he backs away with exaggerated fright. “It’s cold.”

“It’s so hot this, it's so cold that,” you say, crossing your arms and shifting your weight to one hip. “You’re such a baby.” Then, unprovoked, you splash him by swiping your leg across the water and laugh to yourself as if it’s really funny.

Ace stands upright and shivers like a hideous wet animal as a result. Still, your douchebaggery is the only motivation he needs to resolve to waddle in and try to get revenge on you while you walk sideways like a crab in your attempt at avoiding him.

Noticing your refusal to go any deeper, Ace halts with a smile. “Aw, you don’t want me to drown,” he says.

“Come on, what do you think I am-”

He takes the opportunity to pull you forward by the arms into himself and you both fall down, with him on his ass and you on your knees, almost bumping your head into his nose before you adjust yourself. You deadpan,

“What, so now we’re gonna sit here and play like toddlers?”

As if this wasn’t what you were doing before, anyway.

“Well, it’s easier to do this now,” he says, splashing you in the face. A seaweed ends up on your forehead and Ace almost dies laughing while you spit out water and rub your eye.

“Remember what you said about me not wanting you to drown?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t care anymore!”

With this declaration, Ace can only dart out of the water in a panic and run back to the parasol before you really lunge and kill him.

___

When Ace sees he has a text from you, he makes the mistake of smiling. It must mean you’re planning some outing since that’s usually why you message him, but then he unlocks his phone and swipes to your contact, and his grin falls immediately, replaced by a look of puzzlement.

butt-head Do you take it up the ass

Beavis ??????????

butt-head Lol Sorry wrong chat

Beavis who tf are u texting that

butt-head Nunya

Beavis never heard of him

butt-head Nunya Business 😎😎😎😎

Beavis seriously doesn’t ring a bell

butt-head Dude

 Idiot do u know a guy named nunya business

sabo-kins You can’t be serious?

Idiot is he rich or something

sabo-kins ACE?????????

Idiot i mean his last name is business

___

You’re having the time of your life, surrounded by several friends on the island seat while you pre-game even though there isn’t even a game. In other words, you’re piss drunk and everyone’s laughing up a storm at your story. Thatch almost chokes on his own spit when you finish off with, “And then he told Sabo, ‘I mean, his last name is Business.’”

Ace, sitting to your left, narrows his eyes at you in suspicion over the lid of his glass. “So, what, you mean to tell me Nunya Business doesn’t-” and then before he can finish his sentence, once he hears himself aloud, he stops talking and blinks in amazement. “Wow, I can’t believe I fell for that.”

“Me neither,” you howl, slapping your knee even though it’s not that funny.

“C’mon, you’re an asshole,” he says, butting into your side, though at the cost of almost falling off his bar stool. Ace swings an arm over your shoulder and brings you closer while you squint your eyes at him like he’s blurry. He kind of is, from your point of view.

“That’s not what Nunya said last night.”

He barks out a fake laugh at that, then immediately turns serious, returning your squinting. “Stop. I won’t fall for it again.”

“Whateverrr,” you slur, throwing an arm around his waist, too.

“Like, I totally won’t.”

“Hahahaha,” you say, not really laughing, but the corners of your mouth quirk up regardless. Then you nudge him like he nudged you when you ordered pizza that one time. “What’s Nunya Business to you, anyway?”

“It’s really not funny. I thought you were cheatin’ on me,” he whines, resting his head on your shoulder.

You’re too far gone to question why he’s suddenly decided you’re dating, so you place your head on his. “I’d never do that! It was the good old wrong chat maneuver.”

“[Y/nnnnnnnnn]…”

“Aceeeeeeeeeee…”

“What’s wrong with them?” Marco mutters, downing another shot of whiskey, while Thatch shrugs as if to say ‘just the regular idiocy.’

“You know,” he starts, then he shoots upright, knocking you away from him, leaving you to rub your forehead. With more determination this time, he starts over and raises his index finger high in the air. “You know, I’d- I’d get a tattoo of your name.”

You’re sure he didn’t plan to say that and just made it up on the spot and you’re also pretty sure he doesn’t mean it. Still, you’ll entertain the notion as if he’s being genuine instead of drunken gibberish. “Hmm.” Then you poke him on the biceps before you start squeezing it, rubbing your chin while deep in thought. “I don’t want that, though. You couldn’t even spell yours right.”

“It’s not meant to be my name,” he says. “I told you like, a million times. After you called me Asce once in front of everyone, remember? And the lady taking our reservations thought my name was Asce…”

“Aceeeeeeeeeee…” you cry again.

“[Y/nnnnnnnn]…” Ace spreads his arms then, trying to hug you.

“‘m sorry.” You pucker your lips like in a cartoon, trying to land one big gross kiss to his forehead.

In a fit of narcolepsy, Ace’s eyes flutter shut and he falls over the counter while you suddenly hurl over his shoulder before you start coughing, gagging on your own vomit. In a way, his abrupt nap saved him since at least his face didn’t meet this fate. And, okay, maybe you both had too much to drink just this once.

Marco jams a thumb in your direction and sighs as if to say ‘See? Idiots.’

___

You wake up with a throbbing headache, though at least you find you’re in your bed, which means you made it home without getting run over or something. Your phone blares, apparently in need of your attention, and you lean over to retrieve it.

Beavis we need to talk about last night

Uh oh. Your memories of whatever transpired yesterday are vague at best, but you don’t recall a situation when someone said this to you after a night of drinking that ended up well. You try to mask your ignorance with a neutral reply.

butt-head What about it

Beavis i cant believe u let me think nunya was a real person for a week straight?!?!?!

Oh, wait, yeah. You were telling that story to Marco and Thatch at the bar. You send a voice message of your obnoxious laughter for a minute straight in response.

___

You can’t believe Luffy has your ass playing Hide and Seek right now.

Sabo and Ace are busy until tomorrow morning and apparently he doesn’t enjoy being left alone for so long, so Ace asked you to do him a ‘small’ favor and keep him company until tomorrow morning. You like Luffy well enough to accept, and now here you are.

Though you expected he would’ve busted your ass by now. A part of you wishes he would since your limbs are all growing numb the longer you hold this position. You can hear speaking from outside, though with your position it’s all too muffled to make out. Then footsteps near Ace’s room, where you’re hiding, and you think finally Luffy is going to find you.

The door opens then shuts again, which you find kind of odd, and then something outside rustles. Maybe Luffy is checking if you’re under the bed? You can imagine him doing so.

After a while of nothing, the closet door opens.

It’s not Luffy you come face-to-face with, but Ace. His eyes widen in surprise as do yours while you stare at each other.

“Uh,” he starts while you pretend you don’t notice that he’s almost naked.

“I can explain,” you say.

“Nah. Luffy told me you guys are playing.”

He backs away and you shuffle around until you make it out of the cramped space while Ace nonchalantly leans over to rummage for pajamas. Something crosses your mind then. “I thought you’re coming back tomorrow?”

“Oh, uh… My thing ended early,” he tells you, slipping a t-shirt over his head and adjusting it. He totally didn’t bail to see you since he knew you’d be here. That’d be stupid.

You seem to catch onto this, though, because you grin and lower your eyelids at him, looking smug. Inching closer with crossed arms, you ask, “Did it now?”

“Depends on what you’re gonna do about it,” he chances, deciding to play your game.

How you’re about to continue, he’s not sure, but you jostle when you feel a tap on your shoulder. “Found you,” Luffy says, unimpressed.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that.” You level him with your trademark glare.

“You’re not very good at this game,” he says.

“What? You were looking for me for forever!”

“Touchy about Hide and Seek, aren’t you?” Ace asks with a laugh, in slight disbelief of your immaturity.

“Shut up, no one’s talking to you, bedhead.”

“Bedhead?! You like my hair and you know it.”

“I mean,” Luffy continues as if you and Ace aren’t having another unnecessary argument, “you’re just standing here in plain sight.”

“I so wasn’t!” With finality, you turn towards Ace. “Anyway, now that you’re here, I guess I can go home, right?”

“I mean, you can stay, too.”

“Like I wanna sleep on the couch.”

“Wait,” he says, and he wants to offer for you to share the bed with him or something, but instead what comes out of his mouth at the last second is, “you didn’t drive Luffy anywhere, right?”

You stare at him like you find him stupid and incredulous. “No?”

“Okay ‘cause Sabo banned it.”

With a roll of your eyes, you step out of the room, and then you notice Ace is trailing after you. “What do you want?”

“Nothing, geez.”

“Ok, but Sabo is so dramatic. I’m very good at driving.”

Ace assesses you with a disbelieving look.

“Fuck you.”

“Have a safe drive home.”

“Seriously, I’m so serious right now, fuck you.”

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” Ace says, holding up your jacket for you so you can slide your arms inside. “But maybe you need it,” he adds when you’re on the brink of letting it go, sounding amused.

Instead of saying goodbye like a normal person, you hold up your hand and tell him to talk to it.

___

Your car pulls up into view and for the first time, Ace is grateful. The feeling doesn’t last for longer than fifteen seconds, though, because you roll down the window and announce, “Orgasmtron-3000 and I are in the house tonight.”

He sighs and walks over with reasonable embarrassment (even though there’s no one else around to witness this), opening the passenger seat door before he sits down next to you. He slams the door closed, you don’t start up the car, and instead you tap your hands against the steering wheel. Then you give the abandoned gas station a look-over. “How’d you end up here, anyway?”

“Got lost,” he mumbles.

“Verbose as usual, Ace.”

“Verbose,” he repeats in a snotty tone, failing to imitate your voice.

For the first time, you ignore this. He raises an eyebrow when you don’t take the opportunity to start some entirely avoidable fight, and instead you evaluate him for a little before you smile. With your eyebrows furrowed, though, you appear kind of sinister rather than playful.

“What?”

“Uh-huh, what?” you snarl, trying to sound like a caveman to imply he’s a dunce.

Now Ace is pouting at you since he’s not all that good at glaring, not like you are, and then you remember what it was you were trying to do, or maybe you just get the nerve now. You settle your hand on his exposed knee since he’s wearing one of his hideous pairs of shorts with designs on them and say,

“We’re alone right now.”

Like an idiot, he looks around and nods and ignores the goosebumps which break out at the unexpected contact. “Yeah, we are.”

“I wanna kiss you, ok?”His cheeks redden and burn and Ace stares at you like you gave him a jumpscare. He averts his line of sight and, “Then… Then what’s stopping you?”

You shrug. “Nothing now, I guess.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt to get the slightest bit closer to him and he kind of just waits for you to make a move, like he’s scared you’re going to change your mind if you detect even a twitch from him. With your free hand you trace his nape and he leans in, tilting his head until your lips meet half-way even though it’s not the most comfortable within the confines of your car.

Ace grabs you by the waist and tries to pull you closer. You comply, jumping into his lap, and you’re kind of aggressive and harsh with the way you move now like Ace had imagined you’d be whenever he’d think about this before. Your nerves are on fire as if you’ve been waiting to feel his silken lips and the tickle of his breath under your nose for too long. And you have.

You move on from his mouth to his jaw, peppering him with little kisses while he turns to give you one on the temple, tightening his hold against your waist. Then you lick down his neck, all his hairs standing alert. When you find a spot you think will be easy to hide, you suck on the skin near his collarbone and Ace lets out a sigh, surprised to feel so sensitive there.

After you part, you take a moment to hold each other’s gazes. He loosens his grip on you and breaks eye contact.

“I, ya know,” he says, an admission of some sort. Though maybe he doesn’t need to say anything, it feels good to acknowledge it for once even if it’s scary, even if he doesn’t know why exactly you wanted to smush faces with him. Or maybe he doesn’t need to say anything because you’ve always been kind of together, haven’t you?

Your eyes turn to crescents and you give him your malicious, toothy grin. “I ya know you too.”

Ace sulks, shoulders slumping at your remark. “You’re still a jerk, though.”

#one piece x reader #one piece imagine #portgas ace x you #portgas ace x reader #portgas d. ace x reader #one shot

[amortentiainmyfirewhiskey]

|marrón pt.1? | imagine

post-azkaban sirius x reader with brown eyes

w.c:+2k

warnings: eventual smut?, cursing

description: reader is an ex-auror from america who joins the order

pt. 2

00000    

Brown eyes watched as tattooed hands scraped against dark stubble, and it was one of the most exhilarating sights she had seen in a while. Something was arousing by the rings he wore on his fingers and the wrinkles forming around his eyes and mouth. She wanted to trace the vein on the right side of his neck with her tongue before shoving him down into her bed. Holy shit, she was horrible. This man was over ten years her senior, and his Godson sat right beside him while she was having these vile thoughts.

 They didn’t even know each other that well. She looked over to where Remus sat on his other side and frowned. It was odd. Usually, she fell all over herself for guys like Remus, the cute nerdy type. She had never liked someone like Sirius, someone like herself.

She had been an auror for MACUSA until about a year ago before she was asked to resign. It was late August when she and her friends decided to drive to Montauk in the middle of the night. She used the term friends, but they had been more like family, well, the only family she had ever had anyway. The only thing she remembered from that night was Connor's arm being thrown in front of her, the sensation of falling, watching a man searching through their destroyed car from the pavement, and then waking up to them all being dead. Those who had made her shit life somewhat better were gone and never coming back.

She looked back to Sirius, who laughed at something Tonks said. When was the last time she had truly laughed? How could he laugh after he, too, had his only family taken away, his youth, his essence? How had he not given into the dementors?

After all her friends died, she had been forced by the auror department to go to therapy; they said she had gotten dangerously violent with perps and that she wasn't allowed out in the field until she got the all-clear from the assigned therapist- that obviously didn't happen. She didn't just sit idly by and work on her 'mental health' or whatever; she got her ass out there and worked. But she supposed this 'work' wasn't very honorable... or legal for that matter.

Somehow Kinglsey found her one night after a job. He knew she was a witch immediately, even though she refused to use her wand for a job just in case MACUSA tried to trace it. He said it had been the weed she was smoking, funny enough. Magically grown marijuana has a distinct smell that differs from regular weed significantly.

  “ I’m sorry dear, where are you staying again?” asked Molly Weasley from across the table, “ I can’t remember for the life of me,”

“ Oh, I didn’t say say, “ (Y/N) said with a polite smile. She supposed the conversation shifted over to her without noticing; great, “ I’m kinda just hopping around from hotels to erm friend’s places,”

Arthur smiled, " Ah! So you have friends here? That's great to hear!"

(Y/N) couldn't help but snort as she thought of all the hookups she had had while being here only a little over a month. Did she really call them friends? She slammed her hand over her mouth before collecting herself and clearing her thoughts, " Excuse me, " she said, fighting a smile, " Sorry, um, inside joke, " she clarified, " I don't really have friends here; I kinda just float around and meet new people-,"

" You've been staying with strangers!" screeched Molly, (Y/N) turned to her left to see the older witch clutching her coat in her hands and looking at (y/n) in absolute horror, " That just won't do. Maybe you can stay with us-,"

(Y/N) jumped up and laughed awkwardly while holding her hands in front of her chest, " Oh no, I'm fine!" she assured the older woman, " I. . ."

What the fuck did she even say? I like fucking people I don't know? I like going out and waking up in random places?

(Y/N) was beginning to panic now. She had paused for too long, and now the conversation had gained the attention of everyone in the room. The (y/h/c) settled with smiling and repeating what she had just said, " I'm fine, "

She convinced absolutely no one.

Tonks raised a pink brow before her eyes lit up as an idea crossed her mind, " Well you can just stay here, hell there's plenty of room- if that's okay with Remus and Sirius, since their here most ...I suppose," she turned to them with a bashful smile.

(Y/N)'s heart practically skipped a beat as Sirius's pale eyes widened. Fuck this was embarrassing. What the fuck did she do? And why was part of her excited, oh dear God, she was acting like she was thirteen, wasn't she?

She settled with an airy laugh, " I can find a hotel or something- or hell even an apartment if I have to, " As if she could fucking afford that.

Sirius shook his head and allowed a kind smile of sorts to play on his lips, " That's not necessary, (Y/L/N)- I mean you are more than welcome to stay here, even if it's just until you find a place,"

Okay, that sounded good, yeah, she'd do that. " Are you sure?" she asked him, eyeing Remus as well. (Y/N) might have been somewhat obnoxious and loud, especially while drinking, in the past but she had gained a type of weird anxiety. She absolutely refused to impose herself or any of her baggage on other people.

" Alright, you can stay on the second floor, I think Molly and the kids cleaned out the third room, yeah?" asked Sirius to Molly, who simply nodded.

Tonks stepped in once again, seemingly recovered from sticking her foot in her mouth, " Do you need help getting your stuff from your hotel?" she asked.

(Y/N) thought about the one charmed bag she had full of clothes and toiletries, " I think I can handle it," she said with a small, perhaps obvious fake smile.

The kids seemed oddly excited about her staying with them, and maybe they were just happy to have someone other than each other and Tonks. Or hell, maybe they liked her. She was pretty fucking cool when you looked past the depressed alcoholic side of her.

“ Could you tell us some auror stories?” asked the youngest Weasley, Ginny, fuck yeah they thought she was cool.

(Y/N) thought about it carefully, “ I don’t know. . .” She had seen some fucked up shit, maybe she could tell them a funny one from when she was just starting out and she was basically mall cop status.

“ Well, I guess the one about when I had to go undercover, and my friend had to pretend to be my pimp isn’t so bad,” she decided aloud. It was probably one of the funniest stories she had.

While the kids and Tonks were on the edge of their seats, Molly and Arthur shared a strained smile which Sirius and Remus noticed, “ Maybe this story can wait for tomorrow, “ said the werewolf looking at the kitchen’s clock, “ You lot have to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow and pick up books, “

Fred and George scoffed, “ Oh come off it, it’s not like she was actually pimped out !” said Fred

Finally Molly put her foot down and sent all the kids to their respective rooms and on their way out she could hear Ron asking Hermione what being pimped out was.

(Y/N) grimaced, “ Well, I thought it was teenager friendly, “ she told the three once the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione went to bed.

Sirius barked a laugh before taking a swig of his whiskey, “ Don’t fret it, “ he reassured, “ Molly is just protective is all, “

Remus nodded his agreement before looking down at his watch, “ Right, We’ve got to head to West Street and patrol, C’mon Dora,”

Soon it was just the two of them sitting in the once refined kitchen, “ You said you were recruited by Kingsley. . . what made you join?” asked Sirius.

(Y/N) sighed and offered a half-way shrug, “ I guess I just wanted to do some good, I feel like I haven’t done anything for other people in a long time,”

His silver eyes narrowed, “ I thought you had been an auror?”

“ Yeah I had been, but shit happened and I changed career paths,” she said with a small smile, hoping he wasn’t thinking of her as a possible threat. He didn’t trust her, that much was obvious.

“ Your family know you’re here?” he asked.

(Y/N) shook her head, “ There isn’t any family to tell,”

There was a pause, a shift in the air. Sirius had questions, she knew that much, but she didn’t want to answer them. Sirius seemed to sense her sensitivity to the subject and quickly changed it.

“ Tell me what was Ilvermorny like?” he asked before taking a sip of his wine.

(Y/N) couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips as she turned to him, “ Like a movie,” she hummed, “ I’d never had much stability before Ilvermorny, but it was nice. . . really nice,”

Sirius nodded, “ I know what you mean, “ he muttered looking up at the freshly clean chandelier, “ My parents were horrible, shit heads you could say,”

(Y/N) chuckled, “ I didn’t know mine, I grew up at a orphanage and then was in the foster care system for a while,”

“ It was lonely,” she finished quietly, slightly embarrassed for adding that unnecessary tidbit.

She was staring at the peeling wallpaper when Sirius patted her hand and she met his eyes. He offered her a friendly smile before drawing back, “ Well you’re not anymore with us around, yeah?”

She smiled but rolled her eyes, fighting not to call bullshit, “ I appreciate that,” she said playfully before standing up.

(Y/N) went to bed that night with her heart racing as she remembered Sirius’s hand on her own, she was a fucking disaster. He didn’t flirt with her or look her over- he was a grown man. In his eyes she was probably just some kid.

--

“ I appreciate that,” she said to him, her brown eyes melting just a bit before she stood. Sirius watched her go and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

 He didn’t know why she made him nervous, maybe it was the fact he didn’t trust her. She did kind of show up out of nowhere and had an almost nonexistent past.

Sirius had said those things to her in an attempt to get her to open up to him, to trust him, so he in turn could learn more about her. That had been his intention, but the fact his heart skipped a beat when he laid his hand on top of hers was a shock.

Did he find (y/l/n) beautiful, yes. Was she funny, yeah sure. Was she quite possibly his ideal woman, sure maybe.

Gray eyes slid across the old oak table and to the rim of her wine glass where her dark lipstick made an impression on the crystal.

Sirius shut his eyes and groaned.

“Fuck,”

---

a/n: lemme know if you guys are interested in another part.

#sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius smut #brown eyes reader #old sirius #old sirius x reader #post azkaban sirius #post azkaban sirius x reader

[clearlydiamondz]

Opposites Attract

Erik!Stevens x Black!Reader

- - - - - - - - - -

Erik and (Y/N) are the perfect example of opposites attract.

Warning:  strong language, cursing

- - - - - - - - - -

It was funny how to small little things that could get Erik going. He never thought that he would actually like (Y/N). Erik definitely had a type. He liked the expensive girls. The toxic type. The ones that would slap the shit outta you just by looking in another women’s direction. He couldn’t count on his hands and toes how many of his exes fought each other, over him.

(Y/N) though, yeah there was something different about her. She enjoyed the little things in life. Giving her extra cash to a homeless person, helping out at food banks and charity events. She was quiet and to herself.

They were literally the complete opposite of each other. Erik was a hood nigga. Whole nine yards. It was in the way he walked and talked. People knew who he was and he got respect for it.

(Y/N) was a good girl. Spent her days crocheting blankets, baking different recipes she found online, and she owned her own Dance Studio.

(Y/N) was slowly starting to rub off on Erik. Obviously she can’t take the hood outta him but he found himself more calm and relaxed when she was around. He found himself rather being with her, being forced to watch some cringe Netflix show then to be in a hot ass club.

Saturdays she loved going to different thrift stores in the city to find something cool. Whether it was clothes, little antiques, pictures. Erik always asked her,

“Why don’t you just let me buy you these things. You don’t have to wear what someone else wore,”

She’d always come back with, “Why spend a lot of money when you can get quality good stuff for cheap?” she would say in a duh tone.

Erik had money. Being in the military and all, and now being an undercover hitman. He always wanted to spoil her but she was so damn stubborn. His last exes wouldn’t think about turning him down, so it caught her off guard.

She even convinced him of going. At first, he told her no. Personally he thought it was weird. After begging he said he would go.

Her main focus this trip was to find some flower pots and some decorations for her Dance studio. As she was looking at different paintings, she heard Erik gasp. “Ayo what the fuck..” she looked back at him to see him holding an action figure that was still in perfect condition.

“What’s that?”

He showed it to her. “Do you know how much this thing is worth? Man I remember when this first came out. Shit was like 200 dollars and I begged my dad to get it for me but we ain’t have it.” he said looking at it in awe.

“So get it.” she shrugged her shoulders as he chuckled.

“I’m a grown man, I don’t play with kid toys.” he said as she playfully rolled her eyes.

“You don’t have to play with it. It could be a sentiment objects, ya know? Put it on a shelf or on a table. Just buy it so because baby Erik couldn’t.” she said then grabbed it looking at the price.

“And it’s only 15 bucks.” she said. She then threw it in the cart. Erik raised an eyebrow at her. “What? You could put it in your game room as decoration. No offense but that shit is plain as hell.” she told him as he pinched her sides.

Now, every Saturday like clock work, Erik and her would go to a random city just to go thrift shopping. It was hard to admit it but Erik was taking a liking to this thrifting habit.

It was around 5 o’clock in the morning. Erik woke up to the sounds of (Y/N) snoring in his ear. It was funny actually because she swore up and down she didn’t snore and here she was sounding like a bear in hibernation. The sun was just rising, so minimum light was entering the room but he could still see her. She was naked, wrapped up in his white sheets. She slept on her stomach while she had her head rested on her arms, her mouth slights opened with her snores escaping. Her eye twitched a bit.

He ordered her some silk pillow cases for his house for the times she forgot to put her scarf on. Last night he dicked her down so good, as soon as her head hit the pillow she was out. Her hair was short and curly, but her curls were all over the place.

Erik looked down at the tent in the sheets. Yeah, he definitely needed a piece of her. He turned over on his side to look at her, trailing his hands down her back and to her ass.

“Good morning beautiful.” he said placing kisses on her shoulder. She started to stir in her sleep but she didn’t wake up. “Daddy needs you.” he whispered in her ear. “You gonna let me get in this pussy, hmm?” She was slowly waking up, feeling the butterflies in her stomach already just by how close he was and she hadn’t even opened her eyes yet.

“Babe, it’s too early.”

“It ain’t never to early. You giving up the pussy huh? I know she still fat and sensitive. I just wanna play.” he said to her. The way he talked was what got her in trouble. There was already a pool of wetness between her thighs and her eyes still wasn’t opened.

He put her on her back, her eyes slowly opening to see him smiling down at her. “Hi fats.”

“Hi.” she said wiping her eyes. “Do you ever get tired?” she asked him tilting her head to the side. His finger tips found her stiff nipples playing with them as she bit her lip.

“Tired of you? Okay..” he said rolling her eyes making her laugh.

“I haven’t even brush my teeth yet.” she said about to sit up but he stopped her. He didn’t say anything when his fingers found her center, slowly starting to rub circular motions on her clit. Shit bit her lip, closing her eyes.

“Nah, look at me.” Erik was crazy about eye contact. Seeing her stages of pleasure through her eyes, the changes he sees when he does something different just does something for him.

Her eyes slowly started to open, him standing there with that gorgeous ass, two dimpled smile. How could he look so innocent doing something like this?

“Baby…” she whimpered out grabbing his arm. Without responding, he took his middle and ring finger, entering her collecting some of her wetness making her moan. He bought to his lips, tasting it groaning. He bought his lips to hers, finally getting to taste her.

“I hope you know you’re not getting any right now.” she said to him through heavy breaths. She wanted to go to the studio earlier to freshen up before heading to her classes. She knew that if they went at it right now, they would be going at it for hours. That’s how tempting this man can be.

He smacked his teeth before laying on the side of her. She turned to face him. “But, I’ll come home early today. So I can spend time with you.” she told him grabbing his chin with her thumb and pointy finger.

“Hmm, okay. We can try that new hibachi grill downtown. Get all dolled up. Then after have a little fun of our own.” he said kissing up her neck, she slightly pushed him away.

“Boy you ain’t slick.” she sat up, looking back at him as he laid straight on his back with his hands behind his head.

“Your hair looks a mess. Look like you just got the dick of your life.” he laughed as she rolled her eyes playfully. She grabbed her phone off of their electric night stand looking at the time. “Ima go take shower. Do me a favor and water my plants for me.” she stood up as he smacked her ass. She gave him ‘an are you serious’ look.

“It was just there. But yeah I can.” he stood up stretching as she walked to their bathroom. He walked out filling the green water can up and watering them.

Erik couldn’t help but chuckle. Never in a million years, he would’ve thought that a girl would have him watering her plants. He can’t lie though, he picked up a few tips from her to help grow his weed. His customers said that it was the best they ever had.

After doing that, he doordashed her a meal from her favorite coffee shop and grabbing something for him too. He was cleaning the kitchen, when she came out with her towel wrapped around her body and her hair still wet. 

“Thanks baby.” she kissed him on the cheek as he looked her up and down. 

“You don’t want to give me none but you’re walking around looking like this, fats?” he said licking his bottom lip. She smirked to herself before saying, 

“It’s not like you won’t be able to do anything about it.” she whispered in his ear. He raised an eyebrow at her. 

“I won’t? Quick playin with me before I have yo ass in bed all day.” she turned around ‘accidentally’ dropping the dish sponge on the floor. 

“Whoops.” she bent down grabbing it. He went behind her placing his hands in the middle of her back to make her stay. 

“Stay just like that mamas.” he said lifting the towel up, only to see her bare pussy winking back at him.

“Erik-” she was cut off by him pressing his print against her, slowly grinding against it. He grabbed a good handful of her hair, pulling her back up. He pushed her against the counter making her pushed against the counter and him. 

“Didn’t I say to quick playin with me? Now you got my dick hard.” he growled in her ear as she closed her eyes smiling.

“I know but-” 

“But nothing.” he yanked the towel off of her as he wrapped his hands around her neck from the front. He was about to pull his dick out but the doorbell ring. She groaned as he cursed.

“Who is that?” she asked him. 

“I ordered us some breakfast and I forgot.” he backed away looking at her as she turned around. His eyes trailed down her body as she tilted her head. 

“Well are you gonna get that or just stare at me?” she asked him. He took one last good look at her before he walked to his foyer to open the door. She picked up the towel and walked back into his room. 

He came back to see her and the towel gone. He groaned, placing the bag of food on the counter. He walked back to the room, to see her getting dressed. 

‘What you getting dressed for?” he asked her as she turned around. 

“Erik.. I have to go do my classes.” she said as he rolled his eyes.

“Mhm. You weren’t worried about those classes when I was just about to dig in yo-” she grabbed a pillow throwing it at him. He caught it before walking closer to the bed where she was standing next to it. He threw it on the bed before he placed his hand on her cheek. 

“You’re not going to convince me other wise.” she said. “I’ll be back home and after we come back from dinner, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” she whispered to him as he sighed looked down. 

“Fine. But this-” he moved his fingers between the both of them. “Ain’t over with.” he told her. She kissed him once more before tapping his face lightly. 

“Don’t miss me too much and thanks for breakfast!” she screamed walking out of the bedroom. 

- - - - - - - - - -

Erik stepped out of his 2022 Audi R8, looking around the neighborhood. He walked to the door unlocking it, seeing a bunch of product on the tables. “Trent! You here?” he asked throwing his keys on the table. Trent came from down the hall way giving him a bro hug. 

Trent was Erik’s right hand man who helped him run his ring. He was one of the only few people he could trust. 

“Aye..” Trent greeted him. “Your half is in the safe.” Erik followed him into the back room with his duffle bag on his shoulder. 

“How much did we make?” Erik asked him placing his bag on the table and going to unlock the pin lock. 

“189 Thousand. All of that in there is your share.” he explained to him. Erik stuffed the stacks into the bag before Trent leaned on the table looking at Erik. Erik noticed that he was staring at him before saying,

“Something you gotta say?” he asked him as Trent nodded. 

“Actually yeah. Trinity stopped by.” Erik’s jaw clenched at the name of her. That was something that he was already over and had forgotten. It was just the fact that he wasn’t expecting to hear from her. 

“Oh.. what did she want?” Erik asked not looking at him, continuing to place the stacks into the bag. 

“You.” Trent cleared his throat standing up right. “Erik don’t fuck-”

“Nigga I’m not even thinking of her like that. I only want (Y/N).” he reminded him as Trent threw his hands up. Trent knew the relationship Trinity and Erik had. How toxic that two of them were and how Erik was when he finally called it quicks with her. Trent knew as soon as Trinity had enough time to say something to him, she manipulate him into thinking he was the bad one all along. 

“Okay! I just don’t want you to fuck up what you already have going on.” he said referring to (Y/N). “She messed you up bad. We can’t afford that shit no more.” he reminded him. When they officially broke up, for a few weeks he was out of it. He didn’t even want to talk to anyone. That effecting operations for their ring. 

“Trust me. I’m not even worried about her...” he zipped up the bag, throwing the bag over his shoulder. “I just wanna know why she felt so damn bold enough to come though.” he said while they both walked outside to his car. 

“Any plans for the night. Some of us were planning on going out tonight. Prolly hit up some clubs on the strip.” he told him. 

“Nah fam. I promised (Y/N) I’d take her out to eat after I got back.” Erik told her as Trent nodded. Trent was about to say something but a car pulled into the drive way. 

“Who is that?” Erik looked at him, only seeing the annoyed expression on his face. As soon as he saw that, he concluded who it was. “Trinity.” 

“Remember what I told you.” He gave him a bro hug before walking back into the house. Erik seen him walk into the house but he heard the car door open and close. He slowly turned around before opening his own car door. 

“Erik!” she called out for him walking closer to the car. 

“How’d you know I’d be here?” Was all he asked her. She shrugged her shoulders before saying, 

“I know you come on Friday’s to pick up your share.” she told him as he nodded scratching the back of his neck. “I miss you.” she said leaning on his back door, he laughed in her face. 

“I don’t know whether that’s true or not but I really don’t care enough to find out. Now if you excuse me I-” he was cut off by her rolling her eyes and saying, 

“You know you miss me too Erik. You can stop playing that game now because I know for a fact that you do.” she attempted to convince him but he shook his head 

“No you don’t. You just miss the idea of me.” he said to her. “And I don’t miss you. I’ve moved on to bigger and better things.” he bragged to her. That made her laugh because the thought of someone being more cute or more bad than her was a foreign topic. 

“Oh what? The dance teacher? That lame ass bitch, I am not scared. She’s not going to do shit” she said with a smirk on her face. 

“Oh you say something to her, I’ll put a fucking bullet between your eyes. Understand?” he warned her as she scoffed. She shook her head looking down at the ground then back at him. 

“What happened to us, Erik? We easily use to make our way back to each other but now you-” 

“But now I don’t want you anymore. Especially after everything you done to me.”

Erik rubbed his temples annoyed at the fact that they were having another argument over something so stupid. “Trinity can you just shut up and sit down. I didn’t do nothing with her!” he yelled defending himself. He stood up walking towards her as she backed away. 

“Nigga fuck you! Why that hoe came up to me and told me that!?” she asked grabbing the plates that were in the drying rack, throwing it at him. 

“What the hell, calm the fuck down!?” he exclaimed ducking out of the way. She ran out of plates as he grabbed her hands putting her against the wall. 

“I fucking hate you! And my dumb ass was sitting up here feeling bad because I cheated!” she yelled in his face as he pulled away. He looked at her in shock, backing away. 

“Say that shit again.” she started to laugh hysterically at him.

“Oh you can do it but wanna get all hurt when I do it. You’re such a fucking hypocrite.” She suspected him to say something to her once she said that, but he just stared at her.

He nodded his head turning around. “Get out.” Was all he said before he walked into the living room, but she followed him. 

“What do you-”

“You have 20 minutes to get the fuck outta my house before I put you out myself.” he snapped at her 

“You’re so ridiculous. You cheated and-”

“What the fuck do you not understand dumb ass, I have never cheated on you!” he yelled at her. “Get your shit and leave.”

“I would have done anything for you but you fucked that up.” he snarled at her. “If you knew how I really felt, you wouldn’t be sitting up in my face with that goofy ass face.” he snapped at her. 

“I fucking hate you.” 

- - - - - - - - - -

(Y/N) was in his bathroom, fresh out the shower. She was brushing her teeth when she looked up in the mirror to see him standing there. 

“What the- Erik you scared me!?” she yelled hitting him in his chest. He busted out laughing grabbing his chest as she turned around rinsing her mouth. 

“I’m sorry fats.” he said wrapping his arms around her waist. He kissed her shoulder before massaging her hips. “So, I had a visitor at one of the houses.” he whispered as she opened her eyes from her relax state, looking at him through the mirror.

“Gonna tell me who?” she asked him. 

“Trinity.” As soon as the name came out of his mouth, she looked at him in shock. She knew about how her and Erik broke up and how their relationship was. Honestly she was surprised that she was even Erik’s type considering that her and Trinity are complete opposite of each other.  

She noticed before Erik and her got into a relationship how different they were but yet she felt like he was a soul mate. She questioned herself usually if Erik really did like her but he did more than just tell her that he wanted her. He showed her that he wanted her. 

“Really/ What did she want?” she asked him looking into the sink. 

“She was saying how she missed me.” he whispered placing his chin on her forehead. “Said how she wasn’t scared of you, blah blah.” he said then sighed as she looked back up at him. 

“How’d she know where you were going to be?” she asked him.

“She knows I go over there to get my money on Friday’s. She shouldn’t be showing up anymore,” he comforted her. He noticed the concern look on her face before grabbing her hips and turning her around. 

“You know I wouldn’t do something stupid right? I love you too much” he reminded her as she smiled at him. 

“I know. I just don’t to get hurt.” she whispered looking down at herself playing with her hands. Erik lifted her head by her chin and whispered, 

“I won’t. I promise.”

- - - - - - - - - -

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[nuviastarsworld]

SWEET HOME S2 EP 2 RANT(S)

Why is Yeong-su the literal 8/9(I low-key forgot his age) SMARTER THAN A FULLY GROWN MAN 😭 MY GOODNESS

“Ms Im is a good monster!” He’s such a optimistic little boy 😭 my son.

And that guy with the reddish brown hair?? He’s such an op. I think his name is Jae-hwan I honestly can’t remember.

WHEN HE CALLED YEONG-SU A DISRESPECTFUL BRAT? I was ready to THROW HANDS UP.

“There’s no such thing as a good monster. They all deserve to die”

Wasn’t it Hyun-su who protected you and did all those things in order to ensure YOUR survival?? Weren’t you one of the main ppl sending him around everywhere 😭❓❓ tf.

And that Slime monster that protected Yeong-su, it seemed everyone forgot abt that 😕 like hello??

Like he was the one that called the Military in the first place BCS OF HIM THATS HOW THIS WHOLE THING STARTED?? BLAME HIM

if he hadn’t called the military, they wouldn’t have come. Hyun-su would’ve had left them, the survivors wouldn’t be stuck w such corrupt ppl that are supposed to “save and protect” them.

It’s all his fault and he gets on my nerves so fucjing much. ESP WHEN HE TRIED TO INJURE JI-SU’S WOUND TO GET HER TO LET GO OF THE GUN?? ARE Y SERIOUS???

And when they get tied up he’s the most scared when they see a monster THIS IS YOUR FAULT TF?? How did no one acknowledge this man’s actions I would’ve kicked him out the first chance omds.

Also the blind monster making an appearance this episode WHEN DID IT GET SO HUGE??? But Anwyays props to that monster for killing that bumass soldier that was abt to put Ms. Im on fire.

Also Ms Im, I didn’t expect her to make her short appearance. Neither did I expect the eyeball monster 😭, but For Ms. Im I hope that’s not all that we see of her this season

Also that hot military man that saved everyone else 😼 gawd damn he fine. Might add him to the masterlist

AND ALSO NOO 😭 WHEN EUN-YU WENT BACK TO GREEN HOME AND SHE SAW HER BROTHER’S GLASSES N MUSIC PLAYER I CRIED A LIL 🥲 I may have a dislike for Eun-hyuk but I hate to see my wife Eun-yu sad 😔

Tbh I honestly don’t think he’d come back. So when Eun-yu said “He’s still alive to me” it stung a little cus something is telling me she’s gonna be heartbroken 😭 or maybe my instincts are wrong and some plot twist bullshit is gonna come and prove me wrong later 🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️

———

Okay fast forward a bit I’m in that scene where some random ass man comes w them on the bus.

I don’t trust him AT ALL 😭 but it’s a mood how he just came on, sat down and fell asleep after finding out the final destination.

I miss Bom 😕⁉️ where did that little puppy run off too, it’s tearing me apart not knowing the dog’s whereabouts 😭

WOAH HYUN-SU’S ASS CHEEKS WERE A JUMPSCARE 😕😀 can we get a front view pls WHAT? WHAT?

Also why are they pouring blood on his NAKED BODY?? It’s so unsanitary it’s making me sick but I digress cus it’s Hyun-su.

Ngl If I was one of the scientists I wld be pleading 4 Hyun-su’s freedom just cus he’s fine 😕

Also all the booty cheeks I saw…sigh

———

“I just…don’t want to hurt anymore” STOP STOP STOP IM FEELING BAD FOR TJE MONSTERS NOW

It started crying and Hyun-su was trying to comfort it THEN THE MILITARY CAME IN AND BURNT IT.

“He’s human. Don’t do this”

I can’t do this anymore ⁉️🙆🏾‍♀️

#kdramas #sweet home season 2 #sweet home kdrama #sweet home rants #sweet home spoilers #sweet home 2 #nuvia’s ted talk #i can’t do this anymore #someone stop the tears from falling #i’m emotional